0638/2018 80/90 Cloudy E 15/25 80%H
DOGS 10502 7880 1259 1926. LIBOR .30.
Greetings from the Hill.
A cool morning at eighty degrees
with thunder and showers,
notes and breakfast
on the balcony...
life in the tropics.
News from the gulf states distressing
as once again Washington waits,
rigs close down,businesses fail,
Corexit kills all ocean life
sinking the dead out of sight...
a product of Exxon after Valdez,
bury all evidence and shred the proof,
all rotting corruption.
Obama does nothing but posture,
another pathetic effete
pretending to be a leader,
no experience as a man...
at least Kostner does something
"This is the time to change
Cheney's Energy Policy,
and the 'Big Oil Corruption',
a time for real Change,"
dreams Redford to Larry King,
raising dead bird money,
Haiti ignored and forgotten,
alone to face the hurricanes.
Another sleezeball protects BP,
Jamie Gorelick, government traitor,
mouthpiece for the highest price,
whore for hire.
My good friend John keeps me aware...
a bumper sticker,
'Pray for Obama Psalm 109.8'
"Let his days be few;
and let another take his office."
T shirts and bumper stickers
are the stuff of CHANGE.
Summer and ninety two degrees
in oil free Florida Keys.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Reef.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
BP Slick and Obama Shit.
0636 2015 82/90 W 5/10 Blue Skies 80%H.
DOGS 9868 7200 1247 1834. LIBOR 0.30.
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot day in paradise,
empty streets and a few renovations,
"She owns a few around town,
got it for six ninety five,"
rolling his eyes at life...
sold for 1.5M in 2007,
renovated and offered at 2.5M,
touched the big 3M and died,
with the contractors dream.
Walking through quiet streets,
passing Paradise Cafe..closed,
a bad summer for business.
"Good Morning," smiles the lady
at the Electric Company,
cold and refreshing
before the six blocks back.
Something was getting worse,
that ominous feeling of disaster,
economic, environmental, and next...
"Emotional eruptions and Madness,"
grumbles the madone quite familiar
with intellectual turmoil,
tending the balcony plants.
"What will it smell like by august,
why is nothing being done,"
asks the reporter to the jawboner,
baffling with bullshit,
changing nothing.
"All fucking idiocy...
developers want another Sunset Key,
thirty multimillion dollar homes
in the gulf harbor...
new twenty million dollar offices
for the overweight and overpaid,
financial fucking suicide,"
growls the gardener at noon,
monitoring the backyard sprinkler.
Divert the crisis with a disaster,
avoid prosecuting the fraudsters
to pursue civil action against BP,
all total nonesense and a rerun,
force a company into bankruptcy
then bail it out after the calamity,
ecological murder not prosecuted
and the truth again hidden.
"Where are the financial geniuses
directing their prowess into answers,
great at skimming money but not
an oil slick, not for the greater good,
a pitiful collection of parasites
functioning only as pixel makers,
put the pricks skimming the Gulf,"
sighs the oldman giving up Hope.
"There isn't any money for Fema,
the National Guard playing war,
Federal and State income down
twenty percent, like employment,
and now Hurricane Season...
God's revenge against greed
and the ugly American,
all on the watch
of Slick Barry."
The oldman was thirsty,
too disgusted with the situation,
three years on the slide down
to financial parity
with the past,
a scam of the Federal Reserve
through inflation of a nation,
but not globalization,
Yummies for yellow tummies...
Saunders is rolling.
Time for a beer in the gazebo.
This sort of shit takes attention,
reading significant blogs,
searching for the voice of Truth,
finding nothing but repetition,
fools trusting Google...
a chorus line of mimics,
no significant sarcasm
in the censored society,
Burger King on granite tops.
"Yeah, yeah,blame 'it' on the limeys,
Blankfein or Rothschild, maybe Mack,
perhaps both Paulsons and Bernanke,
a currency plot by Soros enabled
by chinese gold reserves to devalue
the US dollar and Treasury bonds,
or simply a Federal Reserve method
of greening the Toxic with ZIRP
for a few years of recession,
dumping the debt into the shadow market,
washing the Wall Street dirt
from the paper,"
snorts the madone pissed with MSNBC,
especially Greenspan's wife,
all fast talking cunts.
Watching without sound.
Life without the sound of commercials,
the ringing of cash registers,
the scanning of a plastic card,
pixels in the magical magnetic core
of VISA....the secret.
Charging towards a balanced budget,
deficit free financing....
paying off the National Debt,
"Hofuckingho, those were
'the good old days'...
before Gloria got pregnant,"
All in the Family reruns
and the long hot summer,
doldrums and deadbirds,
sinking real estate,
a monster from the African coast,
raging through the Carribean
into the spewing plume
beneath the Gulf
airbrushing black
the Gold Coast homes.
Of course AIG insures all.
"Does anyone know
who's running the show?"
A runaway train,
a hijacked plane.
Disappearing money
and an uncorked gusher.
Above the Horn,
beyond the reef.
Time for another walk.
DOGS 9868 7200 1247 1834. LIBOR 0.30.
Greetings from the Hill.
A hot day in paradise,
empty streets and a few renovations,
"She owns a few around town,
got it for six ninety five,"
rolling his eyes at life...
sold for 1.5M in 2007,
renovated and offered at 2.5M,
touched the big 3M and died,
with the contractors dream.
Walking through quiet streets,
passing Paradise Cafe..closed,
a bad summer for business.
"Good Morning," smiles the lady
at the Electric Company,
cold and refreshing
before the six blocks back.
Something was getting worse,
that ominous feeling of disaster,
economic, environmental, and next...
"Emotional eruptions and Madness,"
grumbles the madone quite familiar
with intellectual turmoil,
tending the balcony plants.
"What will it smell like by august,
why is nothing being done,"
asks the reporter to the jawboner,
baffling with bullshit,
changing nothing.
"All fucking idiocy...
developers want another Sunset Key,
thirty multimillion dollar homes
in the gulf harbor...
new twenty million dollar offices
for the overweight and overpaid,
financial fucking suicide,"
growls the gardener at noon,
monitoring the backyard sprinkler.
Divert the crisis with a disaster,
avoid prosecuting the fraudsters
to pursue civil action against BP,
all total nonesense and a rerun,
force a company into bankruptcy
then bail it out after the calamity,
ecological murder not prosecuted
and the truth again hidden.
"Where are the financial geniuses
directing their prowess into answers,
great at skimming money but not
an oil slick, not for the greater good,
a pitiful collection of parasites
functioning only as pixel makers,
put the pricks skimming the Gulf,"
sighs the oldman giving up Hope.
"There isn't any money for Fema,
the National Guard playing war,
Federal and State income down
twenty percent, like employment,
and now Hurricane Season...
God's revenge against greed
and the ugly American,
all on the watch
of Slick Barry."
The oldman was thirsty,
too disgusted with the situation,
three years on the slide down
to financial parity
with the past,
a scam of the Federal Reserve
through inflation of a nation,
but not globalization,
Yummies for yellow tummies...
Saunders is rolling.
Time for a beer in the gazebo.
This sort of shit takes attention,
reading significant blogs,
searching for the voice of Truth,
finding nothing but repetition,
fools trusting Google...
a chorus line of mimics,
no significant sarcasm
in the censored society,
Burger King on granite tops.
"Yeah, yeah,blame 'it' on the limeys,
Blankfein or Rothschild, maybe Mack,
perhaps both Paulsons and Bernanke,
a currency plot by Soros enabled
by chinese gold reserves to devalue
the US dollar and Treasury bonds,
or simply a Federal Reserve method
of greening the Toxic with ZIRP
for a few years of recession,
dumping the debt into the shadow market,
washing the Wall Street dirt
from the paper,"
snorts the madone pissed with MSNBC,
especially Greenspan's wife,
all fast talking cunts.
Watching without sound.
Life without the sound of commercials,
the ringing of cash registers,
the scanning of a plastic card,
pixels in the magical magnetic core
of VISA....the secret.
Charging towards a balanced budget,
deficit free financing....
paying off the National Debt,
"Hofuckingho, those were
'the good old days'...
before Gloria got pregnant,"
All in the Family reruns
and the long hot summer,
doldrums and deadbirds,
sinking real estate,
a monster from the African coast,
raging through the Carribean
into the spewing plume
beneath the Gulf
airbrushing black
the Gold Coast homes.
Of course AIG insures all.
"Does anyone know
who's running the show?"
A runaway train,
a hijacked plane.
Disappearing money
and an uncorked gusher.
Above the Horn,
beyond the reef.
Time for another walk.
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