Monday, August 3, 2009

Exculpating the Derivative Excresence.

0656/2009 84/90 Blue Skies SE10/15 65%H
DOGS 9235 7130 9580 1425.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
blue skies and perfect white clouds,
a flag in the putting hole
in the artscaped backyard,
Tony, the golfcourse lover.

The guest who filled the pantry.

One wonders what the Fink's discuss
alone together if ever,
the man who knows 'it' all,
and will not tell,
the innovator of risk management
back in Boston days past...
"Imagine Joe Kennedy at the Bay,"
muses the oldman,
considering the master
of deceit.

Larry is managing the funds
for the three stooges.

"Pretty fucking funny,
the biggest hedge fund
running the Treasury and Fed,"
snorts the madone amazed,
amused and annoyed.

FDR put the biggest crook
to run the SEC, Joe Kennedy,
a criminal consultant.

Another of those derivative dames
has a crew of the Leftovers
from dead investment banks
charting courses for corpses.

Just sitting on his throne,
not yapping like dog Dimon,
apparently beyond the dumb,
those simple shits who know not
of forwards, options, swaps
or time based contracts
on the OTC...

"The Nasdaq blows it's bubble,
hofuckingho, that pirate's den
where Madoff presided learning
his craft of grifting and lifting
the last dollars of suckers,"
rants the madone drinking
warm Miller pints
before dinner.

Six o'clock advertising on CNBC,
GM, ATT, TDTRADE, and Dan Marino.
"This asshole has brainloss, a mockery
of the financial foundation of the nation,
entertainment for Airheads,
MadTV and Goldman Sachs,
where are the skits,
bring on the fits,
send in the clowns,"
fumes the madone
at fuckhead Cramer,
a posing loser
bankrolled by
the shorters.

The dick should be in leather
in a street parade.

Some silly old man
picked up a Miami whore,
took a pecker pill
and went running at sunrise
at the Nude Beach,
'it' was still up at sundown.

"Where was the Viagra cop?"

Swaying palm trees surrounding the house,
fucking roosters always crowing,
cats sleeping on the balcony,
classics from Havana,
chimes in the wind,
above solaris hill.

"You can't have everything,"
smiles the oldman
to himself.

Above the Horn.

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