Sunday, March 21, 2010

Libor, Libor, a hole in the Door.

0729/1938 70/78 Hazy SE10/15 75%H
DOGS 10750 8068 1106 1693. LIBOR .240.

Greetings from the Hill.

A gorgeous day in paradise,
warm breezes and classics from Cuba,
quiet streets without home repairs,
the elite working in their gardens,
growing 'green sprouts'
contemplating 'Obama doubts'.

"Is Barry a fool and tool of the banksters?"

"If the American people ever allow
private banks to control the issue of currency..
the banks and corporations that will grow
around them will deprive the people of prosperity
until their children wake up homeless
on the continent their Fathers conquered."

Imagine that President Jefferson.

"How long to destroy the American Dream,
an idiotic globalization scheme,
endorsed by Blowjob Bill,
allowed by Retard George
and promulgated by
Halfwit Barry...
Commander General's
never in military service,
pansy boys,"
rants the madone
disgusted with win by spin.

What about those Bloomberg Terminals,
the one dollar mayor
made four billion
during 'the recession',
the eighth richest man
in America.

"Hey, Jack...
come out to the garden,"
beams the gardener
with a sunset fourpack.

More treasures from the streets.

Rich fucks too cheap to hire trucks.

Garbagemen were auxiliary police...
with Obamaphones.

"Hello, hello, blame 'it' all on Ranieri,
another inventor of CMO's at Salomon,
then Florida Bank United to WAMU,
disgraced at Franklin Bank,
now Prosperity..."
snorts the madone,
recalling pitches with Jeb Bush
to destroy wetlands,
"making it easier for minorities
to become homeowners",
more bullshit to the NAH in Lost Vegas
while circumventing banking regulation.

Let the working class pay taxes.

Buy a house and deduct your interest.

No principal for five years.

A new bankruptcy law.

"Who the fuck conceived this scheme
to nightmare the dream...?"

The oldman needed a cane to walk,
a lefthanded nine iron worked well,
shuffling down the steps
through Bill's workshop,
as idle as american factories
into the backyard...
a magical creation
of a golfcourse janitor,
a term terminating a marriage
when Johnson was President...
of course when he started smoking
the grass as well as cutting...
"That was Barry's fault in '65,"
chuckling over the past.

A walkabout in the backyard,
the last weekend before borrowing
to save the house from DEBT,
that monster that lurks
about the beauty created
and sucks dry the appetite
for steak and apple pie.

Jim Furyk was leading
but donkeydick was coming back,
"Is 'it' in you,"
laughs Tony mocking the ad
that Pepsi regrets.

The oldman gazed out the windows,
palm trees still on the hill,
a piano concerto from Havana,
static from the storms
over the Straits,
still the same
after three decades...
Cuba Libra.

Chinese cars on sugarcane fuel.

Marxist money.

Waldorf Astoria in Havana.

Blackstone Blackrock,
a Fink in your sink.

A breeze in the Keys,
blue skies and beautiful.

Above the Horn.

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