0638/2010 80/90 Blue Skies E10/20 60%H.
DOGS 12,441 101 1537 3802. Libor 14. Vix 18.
Greetings from the Hill.
Another beautiful day in paradise,
hard to believe the shit gets worse
in that society dwelling above
Jewfish Creek...
hard choices in life
of what not to have,
learning to live with
what one has
"And saving ten per cent
for banker's capitalization..
hofuckingho," laughed the madone,
cleaning the windows.
"Something seems to be very peculiar,
that disappointing sense of deception
when trusting another's lying eyes
and soothing words, those leaders
of medicine, law and finance
who act on behalf of profit makers
through their minions in government,"
muses the oldman weary of the way.
"Fourteen Trillion,four hundred Billion,
raise the ceiling or the roof collapses,
the checks will stop with food stamps,
BP won't fuel the jets in any war,
old farts will have to wait,
deadbeat emergency wards close,
and nobody really knows
what the Joker in the White House
is talking about,"
interrupts the printer
moving things into an empty room,
attempting to resume civilized life,
hopefully for a season...
"Park the truck and ride a bike,
find someone nice to like!"
"I really don't care about 'it'
or even about 'that'..."
shrugs the painter connecting
the printer to WiWi and the world,
a house wired to the universe
and the unanswered suspicions
of the one percent elite.
"I leave the investigation of fraud,
corruption and theft to you,"
laughing on the way to Faustos.
Chimes ringing on the balcony,
curtains gusting with the wind,
classics from Havana in both rooms,
Law and Order with Big Mac...
sunday and another toothache.
"Hey, Gummy, get use to milkshakes!"
"The Joker is in Joplin lying again,
where can the money be found
to replace houses on the ground,
spent bombing Libya
and drones in Afghanistan,
protecting oil in Iraq
for the global giants
who pervert the central banking system
collateralised with toxic waste,
insured by imaginary derivatives
and guaranteed by a government in default,"
snorts the oldman sipping a pint
to ease the pain.
"Eric Schneiderman has the Big Five on fraud
under the Martin Act and reports
from Angeledes and Lewin,"
offers the printer
taking a break from snooping
about the IMF head
getting head.
"The derivatives market is dead."
Based on misinformation regarding
the IMF ECBEU bailout program stalling,
the ESFS bond for Ireland in limbo,
the speculative derivative market
facing chain collapse...
Greece, Spain, Portugal, Italy, downgraded,
the ECB trillion dollar debt
looking grim...
the Inter Alpha Gang,
RBS, Sunlander, downgraded
with the Moody Blues...
Rating Rats and 2008 again.
Twenty banks have Twenty Trillion on paper.
Four shaky ass US banks have Seven Maybe Trillion.
"How is your credit rating?"
"We can grow the economy,"
babbles the President of War Mongering,
the tool of the Pentagon,
fool of the CIA,
King of Duncedom.
Imagine if the half white pretender
had an indonesian sister,
a chinese canadian brother in law,
black african siblings,
a black american wife...
and a white granny from Kansas.
Wouldn't that be something!
And a queer commie closet case...
Something quite else.
Above the Horn.
Beyond the Reef.
Within belief.
corruption
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Joker is King!
0647/1959 76/86 Blue Skies SW/10 60%H.
DOGS 12584 99 1474 34.41. Libor 14. Vix 16.
Greetings from the Hill.
Trying again after yesterday's post lost
in a power failure or machine error...
"A term for computer illiterate,
he won't read the manuals!"
Reflections on a week of oddities...
The future King marries.
The present dictator defies NATO.
The past terrorist is assassinated.
"Who gives a Fuck anymore!"
A pathetic president incapable of action
while his staff make decisions,
"More like a coup d'etat
for a coup de grace...
Barry cowered while Hillary powered,"
growled the painter,
stumbling into the hallway
quoting his night people.
"And that half black bitch from Chicago
tried to fuck up the 'kill',"
never a fan of Valerie Jarrett.
So much secrecy and lies from the 'Boss',
two brothers who traveled in their twenties,
one with Stingers from Reagan in Afghanistan,
the other holding Momma's hand in Pakistan,
a freedom fighter for CIA forces
who canceled his pension thirty years later,
circumventing the Joker on the Hill.
"In our tradition, we buried 'him' at sea!"
Dissembling has become the media expression
to avoid any confrontation with TRUTH,
obnoxious cunts flashing thighs
and talking dicks playing with their ties,
"Who writes the scripts for the whores
who flirt with the 'fatasses' from CNBC,
readers of 'Grow the Economy Club',"
wonders the oldman at noon,
disgusted with the diversion
to disguise the depression.
"When you first heard the news...
how did you feel,"oozes Fareed,
kissassing to Condoleeza on CNN,
admittedly the Indian a favorite,
a few brief minutes of nothing.
"Bedtime scary stories told by a Liar
to ruin the lives of his cherished two
to become a man in the eyes of a shrew,"
snorted the oldman not in the least amused.
"What's that retard doing in Libya?"
"Where the fuck is Phil Gramme and the bitch Wendy?"
"Hillary has a new hairstyle."
"Who is 'she' screwing?"
"Why do 'Banksters' cheat, steal and lie?"
The chimes were silent without a breeze,
a quiet sunday afternoon on the Big Mac,
the 'rainbird' irrigating the garden,
taking care of the chores...
"Talk about inflation right here,
over three dollars for milk and juice,
two dollars for a can of cat food,
Faustos ain't my family store,"
bringing supplies for the cripple.
"You know, I took Steve's advice,
chasing down these fools on Facebook,
politicians, developers, the school board,
talk about stupid boasting morons,
'connect the pictures people',
Swift, Singh, Spottswood, Acevedo, Rossi,
Walsh, Bernstein, Cortex and Blackrock,
just the beginning," chuckled the printer
torching a thin treat....
"Hey, what's happening,"
shuffling into the room,
the hangover could smell pot
a long block away.
"You know I met Mark Rossi last night,
drunk and really stupid...
and his pal, Peter Anderson,
what a pair of fat pompous Assholes,
I mean, they should be married,"
sucking down the treat,
a pig to the end.
"Is this all a little war scenario
to create the financial origination
of a new system of national banking,
denominated on a world clearing house,
currencies mean shit, indices mean all,
derivatives and arbitrage unnecessary,
government agents lose their cut,
money is just a number..."
the printer loved to imagine economics
when a little high.
He was a fan of Krugman.
Time to turn the sprinkler off.
Above the Reef.
Beyond the Horn.
A Breeze in the Keys.
DOGS 12584 99 1474 34.41. Libor 14. Vix 16.
Greetings from the Hill.
Trying again after yesterday's post lost
in a power failure or machine error...
"A term for computer illiterate,
he won't read the manuals!"
Reflections on a week of oddities...
The future King marries.
The present dictator defies NATO.
The past terrorist is assassinated.
"Who gives a Fuck anymore!"
A pathetic president incapable of action
while his staff make decisions,
"More like a coup d'etat
for a coup de grace...
Barry cowered while Hillary powered,"
growled the painter,
stumbling into the hallway
quoting his night people.
"And that half black bitch from Chicago
tried to fuck up the 'kill',"
never a fan of Valerie Jarrett.
So much secrecy and lies from the 'Boss',
two brothers who traveled in their twenties,
one with Stingers from Reagan in Afghanistan,
the other holding Momma's hand in Pakistan,
a freedom fighter for CIA forces
who canceled his pension thirty years later,
circumventing the Joker on the Hill.
"In our tradition, we buried 'him' at sea!"
Dissembling has become the media expression
to avoid any confrontation with TRUTH,
obnoxious cunts flashing thighs
and talking dicks playing with their ties,
"Who writes the scripts for the whores
who flirt with the 'fatasses' from CNBC,
readers of 'Grow the Economy Club',"
wonders the oldman at noon,
disgusted with the diversion
to disguise the depression.
"When you first heard the news...
how did you feel,"oozes Fareed,
kissassing to Condoleeza on CNN,
admittedly the Indian a favorite,
a few brief minutes of nothing.
"Bedtime scary stories told by a Liar
to ruin the lives of his cherished two
to become a man in the eyes of a shrew,"
snorted the oldman not in the least amused.
"What's that retard doing in Libya?"
"Where the fuck is Phil Gramme and the bitch Wendy?"
"Hillary has a new hairstyle."
"Who is 'she' screwing?"
"Why do 'Banksters' cheat, steal and lie?"
The chimes were silent without a breeze,
a quiet sunday afternoon on the Big Mac,
the 'rainbird' irrigating the garden,
taking care of the chores...
"Talk about inflation right here,
over three dollars for milk and juice,
two dollars for a can of cat food,
Faustos ain't my family store,"
bringing supplies for the cripple.
"You know, I took Steve's advice,
chasing down these fools on Facebook,
politicians, developers, the school board,
talk about stupid boasting morons,
'connect the pictures people',
Swift, Singh, Spottswood, Acevedo, Rossi,
Walsh, Bernstein, Cortex and Blackrock,
just the beginning," chuckled the printer
torching a thin treat....
"Hey, what's happening,"
shuffling into the room,
the hangover could smell pot
a long block away.
"You know I met Mark Rossi last night,
drunk and really stupid...
and his pal, Peter Anderson,
what a pair of fat pompous Assholes,
I mean, they should be married,"
sucking down the treat,
a pig to the end.
"Is this all a little war scenario
to create the financial origination
of a new system of national banking,
denominated on a world clearing house,
currencies mean shit, indices mean all,
derivatives and arbitrage unnecessary,
government agents lose their cut,
money is just a number..."
the printer loved to imagine economics
when a little high.
He was a fan of Krugman.
Time to turn the sprinkler off.
Above the Reef.
Beyond the Horn.
A Breeze in the Keys.
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