Tuesday, July 28, 2009

welcome the weather channel!

0652/2015 77/87 Showers NE 10/20 80H%

DOGS 9092 6854 9360 1366 LIBOR 0.50

Greetings from the Hill.

A perect day in pardise, lush greenery everywhere,
that smell of tropical air...
a marvelous day to open the beach,
naked butts seeking salt water,
and Famous Al here
to share 'it' all.

Hohofuckingho.

"A five star destination Fat Farm,"
laughs the madone thinking about
little obeise piggys and parents
discovering 'the cure' in Key West,
then running tanned and trim
down a white sand beach
at sunrise.

Viagra is against the Law.

All Curing Homes are licensed,
inspected and permitted,
photographed and filed
before receiving
state tax accounts.

Topless Only.

"Donny said no genitals
of either sex exposed,
tits are good, no hardons,"
explained Sergeant Rodregish
to the local media,
referring to the chief of police,
the first of his kind,
and gay as well.

The Mayor loves to see his wife naked,
"But no one else to covet,"
he claims that nudity should be
at home under a roof
not in public.

The Editor of " The Other Paper",
makes no comment of opinion.

The Candidate for Mayor,
a title in itself.....
Sonny McCoy the most.
Capt. Tony five times
and now, Sloan for Mayor,
if you care,
if you dare,
if you want to share....
A Nude Beach.

A Town Divided...sandels seperated.

The showers end, a light breeze.

Sunshine and blue skies

In the Florida Keys.

Inside the conch horn
abandoned on the beach.

Eighty degrees at noon.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Hemingway Frauds with Viagra rods.

0650/2016 83/90 Hazy S/5 90%H

DOGS 9093 6814 9515 1387. LIBOR 03/05



Greetings from the Hill.



A fucking killer day in paradise,

blue skies and thunder...

stick the shirt to your back,

white bearded fat fucks

ready to chase the Bull,

imitators in illusion,

"Buy a classic car and stay

away from replications,"

snorted Mad Jack,

watched the fraud,

laid the sod.



Another excuse to fill the rooms,

maintain the mortgage payments,

cook an epicureans delight

by CIA's unknown,

and entertain with no ones.



"Who ever wrote a Key West song,

created the poem of lost gold,

manufactured the mystery

of hometown banking theft,"

wonders the madone.



Mendacity, a family bank.



An egg farmer from Mendocino,

a drag queen from the 'Birdcage',

who can recall ' Howies Lounge'

and Bobby at the bar,

the sheriff and the chief,

Bum Farto and Manny James.



"And this is where cocaine

\is as easy to buy

as Key Lime pie,"

broadcasted all networks.



Shrimp boats are coming,

pink gold from Columbia,

"Where is Mikes' nose,

missing with Kennedy's brain,

and OJ's wife's tits,"

growled the madone,

thunder and lightning

on the balcony.

Nothing like a cooling afternoon rain,
cleaning the streets and washing
the sidewalks of dogshit
that male owners
forget about 'it'.

Something about motherhood.

One thing about these pretenders,
these immitators at the feast,
they are all fat and overweight,
most unlike Ernest even late
in his career.

The Wall Street pretenders
are having investigations into trading,
that very fast electronic kind
that the Goldie Sox gang use
to siphon that first wave of buys,
twentyfive cents to a penny
adds up when the 'firm'
does have the action.

"Hey, how long before a foreign spy
infiltrated the system and syphoned
a bit by bit the capital balances
of those phoney pink sheets,
imploding the derivative racket
before the banksters try to coverup
this mockery of finance
with transparent clearinghouses,
Yeahfuckingyeah, when Obumboy
drains the Treasury to finance
the current accounts all empty,
250 Billion this week
and traders laughing,"
rants the madone.

Six months and 'it' gets worse.

The very sight of this pompous ass,
every day pontificating on TV,
selfinflating with arrogance
and posing, posturing to the camera
with his facial routines,
a real fucking fraud.

No wonder fat people pretend.

Time to get 'high' on the Hill.
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Thursday, July 23, 2009

Substitutability of Securitisation.

0651/2015 83/90 Blue Skies SW/5 75%H
DOGS 8848 6502 9505 1366 LIBOR .30

Greetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
an early morning ride to the beach
ruminating on BIS #79, good stuff,
get that jargon down and...
"You could be on The Daily Show,
telling lies with a smile,
telling the truth with a laugh,"
smirks the madone
feeding the cats,
hosing the roosters.

A good piece on Clusterfuck,
the comments mostly foolish
or ingratiating, Kuntsler's
obsessions with suburban sprawl
and the fourwheel love affair.

"Hey, hey, the Big Road is back,
from tacos to polar bears,
the shit from China lands on the west,
distribution plants in Mexico,
sorted and shipped throughout
North America on trucks...
no no no, not rail, trucks...
GM trucks made in China,
who the fuck owns those plants
outselling the US dealers, hummm,"
wonders the madone.

Closed windows keeping the room cool,
clear and clean for the guest,
an A/C installed for the night,
the fellow wrote and watched
movies and reruns.

He had been away for five terms,
during the arms for drugs,
sailboats for snow and square grouper days,
Key West at 'its' best.

Before arms became a realestate term
and a New York queer named McDaniel
brought his little dandies
to treat on the nose candies,
flying on Air Sunshine
with baggies of joy.

Key West was Nosetown USA.

The Great Seal of a once great nation.

"The talking tits and dildo heads
arguing in disharmony, interrupting
for attention, scripted, rehersed
for ultimate unnerving, legshots
of cunts in miniskirts, these silly whores
no brighter than weather women,
and those voices," growls the madone,
sneering at CNBC,
cleaning the inside windows.

Mad Jack liked to see out.

He had been inside too long.

Fat fools with beards and even fatter
beardless wives without their knives,
waddling not too far without the car,
larger asses than a black momma,
"We are the Gold Bond girls,"
shouts the madone at the pair
of shorthaired widesterns,
the husbands guts the same size,
one wobbles, the other bobbles.

One wonders how these creatures
came to be so large and portly,
perhaps a donut diet with pizza,
comfortably ensconsed on a couch,
halfway between kitchen and TV,
Lady Woobly serving King Bobble
in their Kingdom of Duncedom
while manipulators and traitors
steal their pensions funds
and embezzle from Medicare
taking away any HOPE
for a comfortable old age...
"And the oldbag can forget about
the fantasies from insurance,
Goldman sucked out the AIG,
nothing but an empty shell,"
cackled the madone
getting goofy by noon,
ninety degrees in the shade.

"This fucking media, an extension
of the National Enquirer by Murdock,
total ignorance by censorship...
finally a hardon on TV, hilarious,
'The Fortyearold Virgin', maybe..
the hidden persuaders behind all,
little messages in your mind that call,"
smiles the oldman pleased
to have Mad Jack back.

Any asshole can read about Obama,
Barry Dunham, sounds corny and Kansas,
granny's boy spoiled by Stanley,
accepted by the Hawaiians,
his mother was a doctor who travelled
in search of a dream, a hippie dream,
porked by a married blackman with children,
but bigamy is legal in Kenya.

The prick leaves boy and wife to carry on
with another white woman at Harvard,
in later years marries and has children
with this teacher in Kenya.

The guy is a firstclass asshole drunk
who DWI's losing both legs and still breeds.

Hits another drunk ditch and ends 'it'.

Barry Dunham Barrack Obama,
sweet memories.

Another day in paradise
without CNBC.

Watch out for forced reintermediation.
"Laws for The Few."

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Tranched Apple Pie from a Binomial Tree.

0650 2016 84/90 Cloudy,Rain E10/15 70%H.
DOGS 8855 6415 9470 1354.

Greetings from the Hill.

Rain, thunder, lightning, and sirens,
the quivering voice of Bernanke on TV,
politicians ingratiating to the mystery
that not one wishes to investigate.

"They brings the covers to hide the body
from the gawking eyes of publicans,
who do not want to know the name,
see the face, hear the crime...
assholes deserve rats like Rattner,
a suckass bumboy for Bloomberg,"
rants the madone knowing about
the weasle's work as bagboy
for the HedgeHogs,
the plunderers
of pension funds.

"It can all be settled with transparency
rather than private, secret, hidden
accounting of offshore assets...
hofuckinghoho, tell that to banksters,
gangsters with shiny shoes and heads."

A weekend read of BIS#79 2008,
explains the situation with clarity,
but to accept the facts is to find
the fuckheads that perpetrate the crime.

"Not a crime, not regulated by the SEC,
crooked lawyers guiding every step,
steering the Golden Ship through all
the naked shorts, the put and call,
the Weinberg barge of one hundred years,
from Sidney and John Whitehead
with FDR and the War Board, Ford's IPO,
John L. and the investment dealer
of Treasury Bonds and partner
in the world of takeovers and buyouts,
John the third W, a token officer
earned but 22Million at Goldie Sox,
where 30T average 880T....
a lot of taxes for NYS,"
muses the oldman working on the bed,
away from the torrential rain,
flooding streets driving tourists
to discuss the economy in bars.

"Go fishing with the mayor,
maybe dive on the Vandenberg,
the 8million dollar destination
and five star fish hotel,
allowing morons to manage money
might be a cause of the crisis...
unable to manage at home,
these incompetent blowhards
determine the operational funds,
select the bond agencies and
manage balanced budgets...
fuck everything up and leave,
real estate values collapse,
appraisals are cut, equity diminished,
and the millrate increased...
crooked government
is a local thing.

Another interesting read was from
FRBSL, a Financial Crisis, Timeline,
absolutely amazing the available knowledge
of the situation but the failure to act,
this collection of economists at the Fed
must be an odd group.

Those things that will not go away,
Greenspan's beautiful balloons,
algorithms, simple equations projected
into ifwhats, couldbes, watchouts,
then beautified into mathematical models.

Probability Theory, Stochastic calculus,
IR correlation, Montecarlo, PRAM, DMM,
and the oldman's favorite by Simon Shaw,
the Binomial Tree, a primer for politicians,
shaking out the leaves and it seems
so much of that derivative shit came from
Cambridge...Hello Hello, where that cunt
from JP Morgan learned her numbers.

Also noticed over the weekend Jamie Boy
cashed some options for 20 or 30 Million,
must be buying some Goldie Sox.

How nice to know the investment bankers
are policing themselves with a fancy report
rationalizing past behavior and covering
the dead trades with granny's opaque blanket.
These lying pricks are protected by the media,
CNBC, owned by GE, one of the gang...
As William K Black offers, "The leaders
are scared shitless the public will learn,"
another exsupporter of Obama,
"Unfortunately this president has reneiged
on his promises and changes, becoming
more reckless than Bush, plunging the nation
into depths of Debt, financial quicksand."

Midday, storms over, blue skies, light breeze,
roosters crowing on all corners,
entertaining tourists.

A beautiful day in paradise,
"Turn those gasping gushing dresses off,
and that fraud Santelli,"
snorts the madone ready for a walk
in the tropical sun and beneath
the royal poinciannas gone green.

Buy canned goods,
grow mushrooms,
store potatoes.

Friday, July 17, 2009

In fraud we trust.

0648/2017 82/91 Blue Skies NSW/5 65%H
DOGS 8733 6358 9370 1335.

Greetings from the Hill.

Peace and quiet in paradise,
the cement truck left,
the bathtub pool makers
back to Miami...
upgrading finished.

Cats on the railings,
classics from Havana,
idiots gushing on CNBC,
roosters back on the street.

The Waterman servicing his customers,
salt, filters and a smile,
with of course a check.

"Ain't life great in Key West."

The oldman was crippled again,
unable to write resting in bed.
"What if the mind is in a state of TV,
would the mood be subjective,
incapable of objectivity, imagine if

a society was hypnotized into believing
that commercials were real....
only consumers of course,"
musing to the cat on the windowsill.

He was watching the movie, 'Ed',
a Meathead parody of Reality TV.

All in the Family of Duncedom.

The lingering doubts of those 'things'
and the schemes of financial engineers,
more and more the idea of deceit, distrust,
magnitudes of money numbers
entering the galaxies of quadrillions,
a timespace differentation into
the conspiracy of currency.

"World devaluation on a numeric scale
by derivative inflation, hofuckingho,
central banks guarantee derivative debt
invented by counterparties' debt,
debt, debt, debt, credit to a bank,
fractional banking and shadow leverage,
based on the price of a home,"
snorts the oldman on the balcony
a slight breeze in the keys
at the closing bell.

"Upward mobility in the middleclass,
sell the house make a profit,
don't plant a garden
or cut the grass,"
growled the madone
surrounded by 'flippers',
no longer equity dippers.

A Trillion Dollars of savings spent
on toys for the boys,
granite tops for the wife with a knife,
all for the lawyers.

"That lying suckass weneed perpetrator
of false promises and bogomoney,"
growls the madone hearing
the preacher teacher deadeying
the spirit hope.

Reggie Jackson smiling and grinning
on CNBC with Maria,
making the weekend better.

Goldman Sachs has holes in their socks.

"Hey Hank, how's your portfolio,
hopefully with polio,"
chuckles Airhead, a bit drunk,
off to Faustos for beer and wine.

Another glorious day
in paradise...
dinner on the balcony,
beyond the reef,
outside the Straits,
high on the hill,
on top of the Rock.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Lefteyed with Jesus and the CFR.

Greetings from theHill.

No weather..no numerical immaginations.



"Sunset time on the balcony,

a small plane noises overhead,

NCIS reruns on TV,

in the oldmans bedroom,

the AC going in the 'West Wing."



The voice in the unpainted hall...

who knows it all and dreams

when recuperating

from a fall,,,

comma obama.dom....

a hopefree oportunity world dreamn

whofuckinghopes..



"A Jacksso a day..

you ashoole,the indian went,

to Faustos but not Bucko's for water...

Monday, July 13, 2009

Stupid shit again.

Pissing about with the layout.

Can't leave well enough alone.

Googleblog offers no help.

Just spys and secrets.
Posted by Picasa

Chasing down those derivatives.

0646/2018 81/88 Cloudy and Showers E/5 75%H
DOGS 8286 5939 9205 1275.

Greetings from the Hill.

A cooler day on the balcony, a few showers,
keeping the birds under the house,
an investigative day tying in the notes
from the beginning of the Blog.

"Where do you come up with this shit,
sometimes 'its' before the mainstream,"
wonders the madone being polite,
throwing catfood in the garden
for the chickeebees.

Tiny Tim wanted to be a tennis star but..
"The theft began at home,
stealing from the kitchen for the garage,
borrowing from the bedroom for the backyard.
The dream couple became the working couple
and the lies began...
the homemaker became the commuter,
household incomes were coupled and
granny moved into the basement,
spoiling the kids, buying their clothes
with her social security money,"
Tim could be honest, he suffered,
"The dumb dick wasn't getting anywhere,
watching TV, sucking beer,
couldn't get 'it' up until Viagra."

The dream was a nightly passout
as the American Hero wasted away.

A smart limey cunt with a big mouth,
"In bypassing barriers between
different classes, maturities, ratings
and debt seniority levels,
credit derivatives are creating
enormous opportunities to exploit
and profit from associated discontinuities
in the pricing of credit risk, Ha ha ha,"
she laughed to Bill Demchak, Peter Hancock,
Terri Duhon all wasted out of their skulls,
you had to be, it was the old Pothead's
funny way of talking, Fedspeak.

The magic of Objectivism.

So the wiseasses packaged the first deal
pooling 300 loans of 10billion,
"Let's call them Super Seniors,
for a better rating and an exotic label,
a broad index securitised offering,
BISTRO," offered Romita Shetty,
sucking on the columbian gold,
after all they were in Miami.

Acronyms and financial engineering.

"Hey, I know this greedy wop at AIGFP,
he will do anything to get laid...
Joey Cassano, something like that,"

Imagination is funny when one is high.

Of course some people are just sour,
all the different chairs they sit in,
the hats some get to wear
seem to change nothing.

The children often react doing things
just because they can.

"That fucking George, son of George
just kicked out the sheriff and let
the country go to Hell and Hot money,
detirmined to ruin the nation
and end the American Dream,"
growled the madone wondering
how these foreign cunts
outsmarted the jews on Wall Street,
maybe they were spys from
the chinese branch
of the Rothschild family.

Too tired to walk, take a train ride
and think about things in the head...

"Hope..leaves us to invent new fixes
to old messes, elects politicians
with the biggest empty promise,
like greed, fuels the engine of capitalism,"
Margaret Atwood.

"Too many generations that believe
that if they bend over and grunt hard enough,
they'll magically shit gold coins
and pay off their debts."
hofuckingho, too funny.

"Junior AARP's looking at harps,
the last party, the big heart attack,
fat guts, boats, trophy wives
and crumbling McMansions.....
the fuckup was insured
with AIG."

Wannabees, fat hags in denial,
epistomologically unsound.

A note from the geniuses at the Fed.

More than twenty years ago, Hyman Minsky
proposed a financial instability hypothisis,
arguing prosperous times can induce
borrowers to accumulate debt,
beyond their ability to repay
out of current income....
leading to financial crisis
and severe economic contractions.

All since the little lady went to work.

And left the kitchen.

Above Solaris Hill.

Blue skies and beautiful.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Ruminations and Faraway Nations.

0645/2019 82/90 hazy E10/15 60@H.
DOGS 8146 5973 9130 1260.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another early morning
rising with the eastern star
"And the fucking roosters,"
growls the madone pissed
and popping a Hurricane
leftover last night.

He was leaving again.

Going to buy himself a new car,
a bright red convertible,
hot off the line...
with Ontario license plates,
no asshole american hybird,
made in Canada, all canadian,
even the gasoline.

"Fuck that Obama horses ass,
next he'll be preaching in Africa,
promoting a kingdom of Change,
getting the spearchuckers enraged,"
growls the madone distrustful
of the teacher preacher.

"Yes sir allfuckingright....
right from Barry's backyard, Oshawa,
the canadian government bailed
the company out to save the plant,
Michigan can't save Detroit,"
disgusted with the lot.

A beautiful day in paradise, cats fed,
classics from Havana, chimes ringing,
a twenty knot wind from the east.

Tea, toast and juice on the balcony.

Another walkabout to the waterfront,
saturday morning drunks on stools
sucking suds at the Schooner Wharf,
behind an empty lot blows sand
where a great dream was foreclosed,
how many more to come when
"The commercial paper hits shit,"
rants a knowitall from the bar.

Serendipity, kismit, coincidence,
accident, oddity....Key West.

"I helped invent that machine, you know,
yes sir, back at Princeton, before...
we had a good plan too, far advanced,
long before Google, and that's another,
Serkie and I were roomates, I speak russian,
I also taught him ballroom dancing,
Sniffing and Phishing were my expertise,
I was a hightech Seal...."

it was the 'breakfast club'
and tales of old keywesters.
onceonce
One never knows who really knows,
so many stories told, so many secrets kept,
even at the 'Little Whitehouse'
that Harry enjoyed so much
and many presidents thereafter.

"Get a fresh lease on life."

"You can rent..but you're not trusted to own."

"But I was great once," boasts the Dunce,
now merely a resident,
no longer a citizen of Duncedom.

"Bad habits," frowned the banker
disdaining the predicament,
the very one who provided the loans
to buy the toxins that poisoned the system,
refused to pay doctor bills,
let alone offering hospital insurance,
but himself insured if the patient passes.
"How horrible that Uncle Sam died..
he was such a kindly gentleman before
taking up with the daughters of DEBT,"
sighed the niece with a box of derivatives
and counterparties to pay...
a polite chinaman in suit and tie
waiting at the front door,
a nasty oldjew from Goldman Sachs
already in the kitchen,
russians in the winecellar stealing inventory
arabs sitting in the Escalade.

Funny thoughts on a walkabout.

Inside the Reef.

High on the Rock.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Another walkabout with old friends.

0645/2019 82/90 Hazy S5/10 80%H
DOGS 8211 6028 9158 1298.

Greetings from the Hill.

The lazy hazy days of summer,
hard to imagine that chickens
are an endangered species
in Key West.

"Why not the drunks and homeless,"
rants the oldman from the balcony
getting the hose ready.

The breeding bastards communicate
from all corners of the lot
and the block...
arrogant red assholes
with their fucking wives,
and that crazy old indianwoman
midwife to the breed,
a blogger now
sitting on her ass
telling lies
avoiding reality.

Off to the waterfront and gawk
at the tourists who walk
a short block to Duval Street,
"And buy a stupid Tshirt,"
growls the madone hating crowds
of gullible people
expecting something original.

"Visit the Custom House and learn,
you worthless dumbfucks," screaming
and making a scene among
the senseless sheep.

His brain was filled with conspiracies,
secret plots and encrypted codes,
sniffers and phishing,
fastflux botnets,
unique shings of URL's,
the Obama spam and...
the malcode gang.

Someone would understand hopefully,
a glass of wine with a friend,
recollections of days past.

"Hey, Mad Jack, you old fucker,
come on in, I heard you were dead,"
laughing and offering a chair
and a clean glass
with cat hair.

Some things never change.

"Hey, I read your blog..
too bad you never learned to write,
let alone type....you see, I had to,
when I was a reporter with
the Toronto Star, Eh..Ha,Ha,"
emptying the bottle of wine.

Tourists and cats passed unseeing.

His head was dizzy and he had a date.

"Well, sweetie, you're late as usual,
getting drunk with that fraud,"
pretending outrage and rejection,
"Everyone knows everything
in our queer community, we talk..
on telephones,..heh heh heh,"
offering a foamy glass of beer
with dog hair.

They moved to the gazebo
joining other guests
who seemed ageless,
"I say, Ten," boomed
the manly Gore Vidal,
"Let's have a gay day."

And so 'it' became.

Finally arriving on the beach
and the patient lady.

"Visiting old friends from the past,"
that knowing smile,
enquiring for more.

"The current crisis is not only the bust
that follows the housing boom,
its basically the end
of a sixty year period
of continuing credit expansion
of the dollar as reserve currency.
Following the pound.
Now the rest of the world
is increasingly unwilling
to accumulate dollars...",
she sighed, gazing towards Cuba.

"No longer a reserve currency globally..
maybe the renmindi, the euro,
maybe the world buck,
or simply VISA,"
smiled the oldman
with youthful thoughts,
adlibbing a George Soros speech.

A strange day in paradise
where memories never age
and dreams dance
with the wind
talking in the night.

A summer breeze in the keys.

Hofuckingho,
pretty funny.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Off the balcony and around the town.

0644/2020 82/90 Blue Skies SW5/10 75%H
DOGS 8187 6254 9260 1313.

G suck secondreetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
a lovely breeze on the balcony...
classics from Havana,
CNBC on TV,
talking tits and stupid heads.

Rodgin Cohen is quite the fellow.

His billion dollar firm of shysters
play both and every way...
he could never suck second
to Tiny Tim.

Enough to leave the house.

These guys are all in the know,
arrange the biggest mergers
and advise the leveraged buyouts.

Permit the banks thier pieces of gold,
after the toxic is sold
to the citizens of Duncedom.

"They make the laws
to break the laws,"rages the madone
tying his sneakers for the walk.

Another morning studying those things,
those very mysterious things
that Alan Greenspan loves
and will be the savior of greed
and the nemesis of need...

"A financial instrument whose value
is based on the value of an underlying
reference...commodity, currency, bond,
equity...or an index or event.
Price, yield, volatility,dividends,
weather, carbon exhaust and death."
suggests Sheila Bair.

Replicating a sale without owning.

"Ever get a corporate certifcate,
Fuck no, street name so the banksters
use your stock for leverage and...
those naked shorts, hofuckingho,
investors with pants down,"
grumbles the madone
heading away from hucksters.

Tourists certainly are a strange bunch,
behaving as they are without neighbors,
without fools in thier pools.

"As the Austrian School of Economics
always said, 'it' was human behavior
with a huge random element
not to mention Talib's Black Swan hypothisis
of unforeseen catastrophic events
making a complete mockery
of bell curve probabilities
to forecast longterm expected results,"
hofuckingho mused the oldman
heading to the blue waters.

Perhaps 'it' was something simpler,
a desire to be wanted and loved...
I need, I want, I deserve.
Go for the Best Deal.
The Price is Right.
Reach for the Star.
You deserve the Best.

Phrases from the Devil's Handbook
of financial engineering
and the whores of Madison Avenue.

"Have a drink oldman, Flagler's Folly,
'they' took out the putting greens,"
laughed the madone helping
the oldfart through the hallway.

Already three miles from home
and ninety degrees in the shade.

A lovely young woman administered
to the oldman's needs
beneath a palm tree
on the beach,
she worked for Raymond James.

"What does 'it' mean oldman,"
she smiled in the tropical sun.

"Absurdity, my dear, the twisted tongue
of legal semantics....'Security related
derivatives are securities, therefore
SEC regulated'...
If you bet on a horse in a horse race,
do you own the nag, the track
or the concessions...."
the investment dealers are agents
of the government conducting
a market for invisible trades
without a systemic risk regulator.

Section 17A.

Tax the trades and follow the trail.

Just like a phonecall.

The oldman was weak and feeling faint,
perhaps a swim before renting
a windsurfer or canoe.

"Hey, Mad Jack, you're looking good,
I heard you were dead,"
smiles a happy soul from the past,
inviting the oldman to the shelter
on the beach with an ocean view.

Sunset on the other side of the Rock.

Above the Horn.

Beyond the Reef.

Waiting....

Stoned on the Hill

Above Solaris Hill

with the help of

old friends.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Fireworks and Fantasies.

0643/2019 82/90 blue skies NE5/10 55@H
Fuck the Dogs.

Greetings from the Hill.

A whole afternoon lost in space
somewhere in the ethernet,
very frustrating to a slowtyper.

Thunder and lightning
black skies and rumbling
now cleared for fireworks.

Outrage about the Obama's
757 flight for fish and chips,
so much lopears tasking
of corporate America.

Off to see the Queen
avoiding that Sarkozy woman
and a visit to the Louvre.

Special treatment for
the black princesses
of a bigamist grandfather.

So much for the smooth talker.

"Hey, face facts, a worm's a worm,
bait on Wall Street's hookers."

The Goldie Sox girls will
have him for brunch.

Don't expect lunch
with Lori and Larry.

Model wives differ across the seas.

Madame Wu is gonna get you,
boy....

Burned out after losing the good stuff.

Love the country,
distrust politicians,
and never believe
statisticians.

Maybe jazz musicians.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

North Americans, not Middle Americans.

Happy Canada Day.

Humour with the you.

Saturday Night Live.

Happy Birthday, Dannyboy
from Ottawa.

Glenn Ford and Leslie Neilsen
same age.

Who makes you laugh Yankee,
all those pissed off canadians,
watching from above
mocking with love.

Steal their Hockey
and Fuck 'it' up.

All for ratings
and crooked scores.

Happy fucking Forth of July.

Find your you.

Making out and made off.

0642/2020 83/89 cloudy SE10/20 80@H
Dogs 8440 7010 9470 1360

Greetings from the Hill.

Another month and what will pass,
certainly not intelligent laws
or honest regulation.

The halfwhite pompous halfwit
has a goat and a revolution.

Hard times on the Rock for all,
politicians in financial foreclosure,
mentally as well....
"Borrowing and stealing to live
in a five star destination where
room rates never fall....
but house prices sure as shit did,"
laughs the madone
wondering about county income.

A collusion among the Conchs
to protect the native born braindead.

The Mayor's buddy elected as well
finding himself an unwitting recipient
of his spouses largess...
size 54 suits and campaign funding
for schools superintendent.
"Hey, kids....this is how to do 'it',"
that insideous 'it' that diseases the brain
and makes embezzling just reward
for enduring the system.

Princess Dunce steals and charges
a couple hundred grand from the school funds
that no one seemed to miss, after all
the Ace Vedos can't live on 200T salaries.

After all, responsibility has immortality,
'The Avevedo School' or the 'McCoy Airport',
collapsed concrete and stolen dreams.

"Jesus H Fuck, mellow out oldman,
a southern breeze, static from Havana,
talking tits onTV, sleeping cats,
papers blowing on the balcony floor,
love doves on the railings
and roosters on the sidewalk...
ain't paradise great,"
snorts the madone
sipping honey and green tea.

Thirty five years ago the oldman printed
'The Real McCoy' on a hundred dollar bill,
matching green and fine halftone,
for Sonny's reelection,
he wondered about the implications
way back then.

An eight million dollar diving destination.

Two halfwit mayors collude to sink
The Vandenberg for the fivestar
destination.
Mario got the bends in Spain
and was never quite right since,
Big Mac never got over
his pot fantasies.

Kings of Duncedom.

"Yeah,yeah, but how about the WaterPark,
another five star playground
to enhance the family destination
with moorings for yachts
and maybe another hotel,
perfectly designed on the navy base,
operated by the Spottswood Family
and financed by a city bond,
hofuckingcheeryho,"
grumbles the oldman
seen 'it' all,
heard 'it' all.

All before Pretty Sing
lost to the California bankers.

"Oh yeah, but that was the
Jimmy Weekly Giveaway,
local affordable housing
that became weekly rentals,
the conbook never changes,"
sighed the oldman thirsty
after an alcoholfree day
and puffed fingers,
the classics clear
and traffic oddly
busy for summer.

Had the Recession ended
or was a hurricane coming?

Days past and nothing but that,
an oldfart slowtyping in the breeze,
living a dream in the keys.

Above the Horn
beyond the Straits
inside the Reef
high on the Hill.

Obama is a puppet
of George Soros
and Larrry Fink.

Grow mosquitoes
and water
roosters.