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."