Under the Table. Smoking Outside.

0705/1953 82/90 Blue Skies SE5/10 80%H
DOGS 9506 7235 9550 1410.

Greetings from the Hill.

A bit humid in paradise without breeze,
classics to the west, CNBC in the east,
cats on the railing, doves on the table,
the oldman pecking on the Toshiba,
was 'it' just another day...
"Or the end of the Recession."

Echoed the talking tits and twisted ties.

That little halfblack boy
is the most powerful man
in the world.

"Imagine fucking that,"
wonders the madone.

Of course who could believe that only one
might have such power to change
the direction of policy,
that one man could unite all americans
in many beliefs...
then suck up the banker's asses
with hedgefund managed reliefs.
"And this phoney health plan,
fake and pass, a jivetalking ass,
dead bodies fighting a drug war,
trillions of dollars and not one
major infrastructure project,
'it' is all about moving money,"
growls the madone
pissed with liars.

The oldman stretched and walked the balcony
looking down the hill to Bonny's,
empty since her death,
the matriarch of Soleris Hill,
the oldman's friend
since Ford was President.

Across the street,
Dead Ned's house was empty
and also for sale...
only for the ghosts.

The mansion up the street,
empty and now for sale.

"Two million too,"
snorted the madone.

The KCFedparty
at Jackson Hole portended redundance,
"The financial storm that reached
gale force this time last year...
( read a year ago hofuckingho )
has not yet subsided and it's effects
are becoming apparent in the form
of softening economic activity
and rising unemployment,
adding inflation and global commodity boom
creates the most challenging economic
environment
in memory."

"IN memorium, you asswipe,
you fucked up royally, should be fired,
but no, the Obumboy for the thirty jews
directing the CFR, applauds his fuckup
with reappointment for the higher plan,"
two pretentious academics quoting
melodious memories to a hearer
who listens not.

The most insidious tax of all unfolds,
a temporary guest who stays forever,
a relative with a trailer...
"Inflation for the nation,
cigarettes and booze state taxes,
dining and bedding next,
a fee, a charge, a billing,
the agents for the nation's
cashcows, those cash flows,"
spits the madone
at a rooster below.

Record keeping, the biggest lie of all,
"How much did you do today?"

A retailer cheating himself,
a wholesaler paying cash,
a manufacturer outsourcing,
the banker offshoring...
all crooked record keeping.

Enter another superstar from Canada,
this fellow from B.C. went east
to Bay Street and Wood Gundy,
then CIBC and TD, then Europe,
spun off his group to specialize in....
"Those fucking Derivatives."

The oldman had been watching Lance Uggla
since setting his secret little scheme
to become a leading provider of
independent daily portfolio valuation
and OTC derivative trade processing,
after all if your partners provide the info
to the world of billions you may go,
while recording trades in trillions,
within seven years, less than Bush,
a market exploding to 62TRILLION,
figure that number if you own
CDSindex, IIC, ITraxx, IBoxx, CDX,
ICE Trust,on and on....
so some smart fucker convinced
eleven of the biggest houses
to buy ownership
and provide information to
Mark It, now Markit,
fuck you, AIGFP.

Of course, of course, Off course,
what if the Big Lie got out,
imagine if all those dreamers
wanted to dream again
and found out the bankers
had gambled their trust
"And gone Bust, Haha."

"But 'it's all numbers, mere pixels
moving through an electronic world,
and what if some foreign spy
frigged the fuckwadder, but no fear,
the smartones are always near,
those California brains now have
'the Lossy Difference Aggregator',
that's Goldie Sox's alligator
diagnosing fine grain delays
and paquet losses through
hashbased primitive routers
one per million per second,
what a fucking relief,"
laughs the oldman
nearing the Truth.