Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Two Weeks Lost without Internet.

0732/1848 62/70 Cloudy NE10/15 60%H
DOGS 9120 6746 7560 9855...

Greetings from the Hill,
the Dow, Oil, Gas and Silver...DOGS..
arf fuckingarf.

A chilly night in paradise
beneath a comforter
inside closed windows,
not sense last major storm...
isolated without internet,
only the classics from Havana
and cable from America and CNBC.

The oldman was into his fall change,
Law and Order at 0400, then
Bloomberg until 0800,
reading Greenspan, great sentences...

"Hey, oldman, how are you feeling,"
not looking at the withered person
shivering in the heat of the console
bringing the world an update
on the continuing financial rape
of Big Daddy Warbucks
and his retarded son, George...
the oldman nodded
and took the cold pint,
"Inflation has hit home...
Millers went up a dime,
thats 15% inflation at once,
the recession begins for real,"
rants the madone on fixed income.

Two weeks off riding the roiling seas
and the crashing waves of volatility,
200 and 300 then 500 point changes,
the VIXX, 80 points of Volatility,
another indice to bet, oh, oh,
the betting Market...
the drugs are on the street,
credit default swaps and
derivatives no longer the secret,
Markit, Markit, Markit gives
you the prices, have for years,
"Some secret to the dunces,
those payroll slaves in the
Kingdom of Duncedom,
the lovers of George,"
spitting snot over the balcony
towards Bill the rooster,
he crowed in the noon sunlight,
from the porch railing,
blazing colors ruffling in contrast
to the natural ambiance
of the unpainted wood.

The financial news competes
with the presidential election,
lie upon lie upon lie by the best,
Greenspan, Snow and Cox
and the politician waving the Truth,
thank cable for CSPAN...
"The fuckers freaked over that one,
holding up 'the document' of fact,
the True Debt numbers USA,"
smiled the madone shrugging,
the numbers were so exagerated
and words between lying in your eye,
the betting voting fools believe
in their own lies and of course
buy their own bullshit.

John McCain is acting silly being nice,
his voice sounds drugged and he sways,
could he be swooning for a fantasy
in black nylon over thunder thighs,
grade school teachers glasses
and a voice only a deaf man
could love...a shrill shrew,
Palen gets worse by the week.

The halfwhite fellow is syrupy,
trying to be something he isn't
by making up poverty stories
while playing basketball at a private
very elite and expensive high school,
now visiting the dying white granny
who paid for 'it' all and the'uppity'
kept expecting more, spoiled, spoiled,
another mommies boy
with dead daddies in the ditch.

"Well, my heavens, maybe this was planned
by treacherous minds to collapse
the nation by DEBT not BLOOD,
moles inside the FED monitoring the funds
awaiting the timing of events
leading to the declaration MARTIAL LAW,
Hofuckingho and King George for Christmas,"
laughs the madone at the irony.

Solve the whole problem...Warbucks.

The oldman liked to listen to Greenspan,
his past of Ayn Rand and jazz
with the Village background made musical
the movement of trillions of dollars
lost in the past month in equities
while the same loaned back with toxic collateral,
the Twelve Bankers of Fedhell
playing games with the Federal Banking Agents,
JPMorgan on the foodstamp card
"Love that cashflow on plastic,
trunching and tranching, dicing and slicing
those derivatives fly high in the sky
of US DEBT, no lifeboats no anchor,
ports closed running on empty,
the captain in the galley
cooking turkey,"
ready for an afternoon walk.

The curious thing about the Big Rush on the Tarp
was the results of government intervention,
"Everyone is selling and no one is buying,"
oozes the talking tits to TVland, strange...
how can you sell if no one buys,
but then no one owns anything, 'its' streetname,
short what you don't own, who knows,
"The computer knows and operators
make secret numbered trades to protect
those gamblers and speculators of The Market,
that forum of Democratic Capitalism,
the global Fuck of the Buck by 'them',
the secret society of jewish masons,"
growled the madone off to Faustos.

A good day to clean windows.

The indianwoman was working for Doug
and had another 'gig' at Blue Heaven
with a telephone in her rogosuite,
her life was improving in the recession.

The oldman was increasing his reserves.

The FantasyFest was a fantasy fast,
the season was looking bleak,
free beer with a tshirt
and 99cent cheeseburgers
for local McMansioners.

Recycle and bicycle.

A fourpack went up forty cents.

Alcoholfree sundays.

A beautiful day in paradise.

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