0723/1902 78/84 Cloudy ESE10 80%H
8451 79 912 11.5
Greetings from the Hill.
Black clouds over the Straits,
static with the classics from Havana,
a cool breeze and a feeling of fall...
"Yeah, fall down a financial hole,
excavated by the 'Goldie Sox' gang
that have kidnapped the Fed
and blackmailed central banks
shorting the 'shit' they sold them,"
taking the warm beer downstairs
to the freezer.
The scandal starts with the nonjew,
token head of the Street, 50M a year man,
who sells his 500M in GS at the top,
taxfree gift from George...
consolidates the investment business,
wipes out competition and banks,
acquires a portfolio of WellsFargo
then resigns by Thanksgiving
taking the turkey and trimmings
from whichever loser...
and takes little Bens' job.
Georgie becomes a supreme court judge,
appointing himself at Christmas.
"Ho, fuckingho, Santa Claus,
Mumbles gets elected, but he's sick...
Wacko becomes Wonderwoman in black
and Pelosi as Speaker becomes VP,
a nation united under WomanKind,
could 'it' be worse than being halfwhite,
with a black foreigner father
and a black alien family,"
chortles the madone
accepting the failure of 'it' all.
A strange week watching numbers and
listening to the talking tits playing coy,
the tricks with the hair and smirk
to the camera, a secret not shared...
always the last word driving
the oldman to drink
by the closing bell.
"They are all Jews from New York,
they sound like Streisand doing
a horse racing announcer,"
he laughed at a funny one.
What a sorryass fuckup George is,
he chairs the G6 in Washington,
gives a speech after the 'bell'
and the 'Market' tumbles
500 Points before rallying,
"Trust me, Believe me,
I won't cum in your ear,"
this dickhead is heading
a World Economy Summit,
"See how we do 'it'."
And next the G20, hofuckingho.
"Tough shit you dumb bastards,
imagine had all your retirement
been invested in equity shares
managed by traitorous traders,"
snorted the oldman bored
with crime without punishment.
This whole pile of shit was predicated
on the odds in the gamble
and the larceny of the House
and the Street and the Strip,
the last a family destination
for Main Streeters,
like sending the little boys
camping in Key West.
"Who the fuck made you think
your home would double
every five years, a little voice on TV,
those moneymaggots convincing you,
'You deserve 'it' because you want 'it',
anddddd, you need it, pictures you see
on Big Screen slopping pizza
and guzzling beer with the men,
while the little woman connives
with other wives...
another conspiracy, the worst,
mendacity.. what a word,
you can see it drooling
from Orson Welles' lips,"
snorted the madone
checking the freezer.
The old indianwoman was in bliss,
a breeze blowing through the window,
cigarettes, grapes, avocados, a mango
in bamboo trays, a filled fridge...
she was the foodstamp
Queen for a Day.
And played her flutes
for the fruit loops
at Capt Tim's political rally
for King of Fantasy Fest.
"Rally round the Faghags, guys."
"What the fuck, I remember when
we'd bumfuck a whitegirl caught
screwing a spearchucker,
those black boys don't like
the Hershey Highway,"
laughed the madone
remembering days past
growing up in Detroit.
Times had changed or something else,
acceptance and compromise
seemed to be effected by bloatedness...
the american public was fatter
not in the bank but in the ass,
not in the stash but in the gut,
piggy banks had become food banks.
And overfilled septic tanks.
The blabbering idiots talk about polls,
the odds, the bet for what...
only stupid ass americans would
bet on a losing race...
The American Race is Over,
no cars, no drivers, no gas,
no Track....no fans,"
spits the oldman
on a sleeping cat.
IT was all bullshit, a good word
said Henry Fonda to Billy,
an ability to tell a lie
when one knows the truth,
to tell the truth knowing a lie,
with a trusting eye.
Financial instruments of a bygone era,
common stocks and debt obligations
have been augmented by a vast array
of complex hybrid financial products
which allow risk to be isolated
but which in many cases
seemingly challenge human understanding.
Hofuckingho, wrote the jazzman,
a lover of Ayn Rand
and the spreader
of financial disease,
Blue skies and beautiful.
Palm trees swaying
and three weeks
before Martial Law.
A Trillion here, a Trillion there.