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.