Skateboards for Baghdad.

0646/1958 Blue Skies ESE10/15 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A lovely day in paradise
reading on the balcony...
the diary of Henry Wallace.
A reincarnation for the times.

Imagine ugly skateboards, 100,000,
going to Baghdad to promote
the Disney Skatepark,
or boardpunks avoiding deadheads
and those without beds.

Could this promotion of the 'Occupants'
be bizarre or the fantasy's
of the King of Duncedom.

"Another fucking week of Bullshit
and Bushturds,"
grumbles the madone pissed
with monitoring the lies
from banksters and corporapists,
the spin from pixel land,
CountryWide on cheap TV,
and now the Garden gone
for a theme park

"A pathetic collection of cowards,
the men pretend to decide upon
the input from women too old
for their sexual fantasies,
coupled households
and obeise brats,"
sighs the oldman thirsty
for a coldone
but too weary
to be disturbed.

The fools of local government
closed the newly built SkatePark
to fuck the kids
as well as Harry and Pritham...
"And just who might those fools be,"
snorting at such lowlife,
the fulltime bureaucrat and other
brokers of favors,
a system so slimey that all
are contaminated in crime,
guilt that runs corruption
and makes a fool
believe
in god.

"Take a walk around the block,"
growling to the oldman,
something very suspicious was
happening in the financial markets,
obviously a sinister plot so far beyond
the banksters and fedsters
the hedgehogs and raters,
equity and debt,
canned goods and cash.

"It's the Rapture or a Rupture,"
smiles the oldman to the cat behind him,
a warm night without breeze
and the feel of thunder,
too long without rain
and too many things
out of harmony,
too long living the lie
of another' dream,
greed's scheme
of the lender's cream...

"Fuck you allllllllllll...
Subprime and Sour Milk,
SIV's in the dark
and CDO's that bark,"
laughing in the moonlight

on a tropical night

with hardly a breeze

in the quiet keys.

Lyndon LaRouche
supports Hillary...
whatfuckingnext.

McCoy is eighty.