A Tree Grows in Paradise.

0724/1901 82/88 Blue Skies E5/10 65%H.
DOGS 9818 7316 1067 1762.

Greetings from the Hill.

A lovely morning in paradise,
classics and 'Law and Order',
chimes ringing, cats sleeping,
green tea with the laptop.

Blue skies and beautiful.

An Australian pine grows
on the abandoned Flagler Railway,
trees unwanted at Fort Zackary,
by know it alls with caps,
"An invasive and not indigenous,"
something like a tourist.

"Imagine that...a peace price
for conducting two wars at large
and the Hopeless War at home,"
snorts the madone annoyed
with this pompous jackass
who pontificates to the masses
as were they ignorant asses,
lecturing to the uneducated
of government corruption
and corporate fraud
while representing the elements
of the most sinister of cabals.

"A fucking shill on the Hill
playing frontman to the public,
while ignoring the moneymaster
manipulations of M123,"
growls the oldman
getting testy
from sobriety.

The secret deals not so secret,
the stock deals with Barclays Bank,
Goldman Sachs and BlackRock,
a few shares of the Lynchpin
to tie to BofA and CountryWide,
all holding hands walking down
MaidenLane with Tiny Tim
and Larry Fink.

"Bite the billet....
blow your strumpet."

The public speaks and votes,
15,446 registered voters out
of 20,000 sounds fishy...
2777 elect a new mayor
by 51%, avoiding a runoff and
Big Mac and the gang of bullies
are exchanged for another
group of hopefully decent
uncorruptible spirits
with "Natures Bounty."

Imagine the Kings at lunch
discussing their favorite soup,
'Chinese derivative Aigdrop',
Blankfein laughs to Dimon,
"What about those gold derivatives
you dumped on the little buggers,
'they' threaten to renege
and ignore their obligation,"
slopping soup on his tie.

"Not a chance, theyr'e still hiding
the junkbonds from CountryWide
and those ratass MBS derivatives
that Ken got from Lynch, as well
as Freddy and Fanny crapbonds,
communist capitalists are no different
than socialist capitalists, Ha Ha,
TLC, thieving, lying cheats,"
enjoys the king of JPMC.

"Say Ken, that hundred mill payout
to retire silently is sucky, not enough
to start a MooGoo fund, Ha Ha,"
chiding the older man.

"Jamie, your'e getting drunk again,
you know Ken is major short on BA,
we've pumped 'it' up with that
fucking AIGshit for the fall in fall,"
always playing the clever jew.

"You know, I never thought banking
would be such a destuctive profession,
risk management was a hedge originally,
now a casino that games us all,"
a good man not cruel enough
for the primary dealers club.

He would be the Thanksgiving Turkey.

"Hey, 'its' all bullshit, engineered spin,
convince the sucker to buy something
all the time, oil the machine, grease
the wheels of the deals of money,
those sneaky masons used silly George,
gave him an apron and rich wife,
while Ben danced in Paris,
and the Rothschild family watched.

That time of the year again, mindless...
golf, baseball, football, hockey, basketball,
a couch and a cellphone, the Plasma TV,
even brokers sportbet, the bookies heaven,
Vegas betting on betting on betting...
imagine if the Mob was to reappear,
certain assholes might disappear
in dark toxic pools in the shadow
of the Goldie Sox Tower.

A falling dollar, market nervousness,
bank stress levels, price volatility,
investor aloofness, economic stagnation,
horrifying unemployment, tighter money,
sluggish growth, and diarrhea...
of the mouth.

Talking Tits and Jim Cramer.

Hang on to your toilet seat
before FantasyFest.

Fill up the pantry,
stock up on beer,
stop smoking.

A beautiful breeze
in the florida keys.

Inside the Reef.