A Quadrillion Here or There.

0712/1753 50/60 Blue Skies N15 70%H
DOGS 10511 8176 1129 1804.

Greetings from the Hill.

Shoes, socks, sweater and coat...
closed windows and cats inside,
no heating in this old house,
two comforters and no spouse.

Classics from Havana and swaying palms,
"You lying old dog, you have a heater on
in the President's room,"
laughed the madone,
sipping hot chocolate.

The oldman was studying derivatives again,
Barry Obumboy promised to intercede
on this perplexing problem not understood
by the oppressed masses and horse's asses,
those elected officials.

The very idea that someone could conceive
of such a scam to circumvent debt
seemed beyond fair and honest accounting,
more likely a limey plot by City of London...
and American investment bankers,
to perpetrate one world currency.

"Hey asshole, a Visa card does that
with a higher net profit than banks,"
laughs the madone amazed
at a public gone dumb.

The bitch was now running the commodity racket
for Jamie Dimon and the Cap and Trade
beyond imagination ripoff...
"Could anyone believe this scam,
Greenhouse Alfucking Gore,
dumb as they come,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with another asshole
speechmaking for Goldie Sox
and the Wall Street pimps.

The media has enough whores
flashing thighs eying the camera,
interrupting shrill cunts,
talking over emasculated dicks
who weakly concede,
not a man left standing.

"A K Street whore,"roars a man
still shouting from Florida,
a dissenting man who resents
the Federal Reserve System,
the private company of Thieves,
Liars and Cheats, twelve disciples
of economic deceit.

"This Robertson slut was in the bag
with the Gramm's , Rubin, Summers
and Blowjob Bill...
deregulation on the Hill to save Citi,
and now Obama sucks tit,"
growling in the dark,
the oldman was mad.

Little Ben, the pathetic academic
who pretends so well to try,
suckass fuckfaces using words
of excuses for failures...
worse than a preacher.

"Pump the printer, buy T bonds,
stash them in the Funny Bank
with F and F's toxic waste
and the Big Twelves shadow debt,
leveraged bets gone bad,
while the Hedge Hogs wait
to change the signs,"
muses the oldman
as the cat shits in the corner.

A savior to this calamity, this outrage
to the believers of goodtimes for all,
supporters of optimistic futures,
comfort and decency in old age,
small fortunes to pass on....
"Hofuckingho, asshole,
get a grip on reality,
there is no heaven or hell,
jews run the CFR,
and you have AIG on your face,"
snorts the madone
hating that kike Greenberg
who caused 'it' all.

Of course 'Tiny Tim' will save the world
from the imaginators of wealth,
engineers of financial products
that promise rewards beyond before...
and of course protection from loss,
the age of risk management
when the largest company in the world
"Goes fucking bankrupt....
Up up and away in your new Chevrolet."

The oldman was disgusted with the gutless.


The sellout started with cheap goods,
the power of a world reserve dollar,
military intimidation and information,
spies went to the skies
and no man went to the moon,
since then every president
has been a goon.

This one merely educated,

Beyond the Reef.

Enjoying the Hill.