John looked around the room once more. His first thought was, "That woman couldn't be named John." His next thought took him to the note left on his car. "Someone is stalking me."
He saw that there was a rolled up piece of paper in the bottle. He popped the cap off and fished it out..
It read, "John, I need you to work for me. I need an open minded journalist. Call this number. I will pay you handsomely. 555.231.4545."
"I didn't know you took pills!"
Cindy was back. She saddled up on her stool and gave him a smile. As if from a above a waiter approached the table.
"Another round?" He asked.
"Yes! Thank you!" Cindy replied. The waiter walked away pleased as a clam in sand.
"Sorry, I was distracted. I found this on the ground and tried to find who dropped it." John shook the the see through orange container.
"You don't need to make anything up, John. I used to take pills. After I lost my job as a weather reporter I didn't think I would like working for a newspaper. I had a heavy dose at first, oh ha ho! I can't even remember those days!"
She kept on with her story until it finished with her sleeping with her boss. That was the only part John heard. John sipped his drink so not to make a funny face. It was hard for him to listen and not think about Cindy naked, and if there was one thing John knew about women, they usually knew when a man was thinking about them naked.
"It must be their sixth sense." He thought.
But his thoughts kept wandering. "Who keeps giving me these notes? What type of work would it be? Private journalism? Why me?"
He could use the money though, if this was real.
"Maybe this isn't real. I have been drinking a lot. Maybe this is ironic."
John realized he was staring at Cindy's breasts. He looked up, right into her eye. She was talking away like she hadn't noticed.
"She had to have noticed. But she didn't act like she noticed. She must be used to it and like me enough to give me a mulligan."
John finished his drink and told Cindy about the time he was chased by an All-Pro offensive tackle for breaking a report that the footballer was a cross dresser and danced at burlesque shows.
"My photographer and I were parked outside his house. He drove up to park and got out in a full feather coat and boa. My photographer took a photo and the football player saw the flash. Before I could start the car and drive away he had the door open and dragged the photographer out by his hair. The only thing I could think of doing was to throw my cold coffee on him. When I did he yelled that I ruined his coat. He chased me for three blocks. I have never seen a 300 pound man run that fast for that long."
She laughed into her glass and finished her drink.
"You ready to go?"
"Yeah, I'm ready." Cindy said.
They walked to the door and like magic someone had her coat hung in the air for her to slip on. They drove back to her place as the radio played softly. Cindy sung along when Stevie Wonder's, "My Cherie Amour" came on. She didn't know all the words and she sung out of tune but she was smiling the whole time and it was quite endearing.
John pulled up outside her house. Cindy smiled and thanked him for the ride.
"I"m glad it's Friday night," she said, "because I'm sort of drunk."
She and John chuckled. She looked right at John after a slight pause and said -
"Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Cindy."
They smiled and she got out. John thought that maybe he should have opened her door and walked her in. But he hadn't. He drove home thinking about the note again. When he went to bed it was his last thought.
"Who the hell is stalking me?"
Friday, February 8, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
How About Drinks?
After spending a week traveling to dog shows and candy stores with Cindy, John had taken a new meaning to life: he had begun to realize why having a mid life crisis could be fun. He would wake up at 7, shower (he was shaving every other day now), dress (he was now wearing ties because he felt it would look ironic), and drive his new Benz to work. Then Cindy would give him his marching orders (and boy would he march) and they would be off for their story.
Then right after lunch he would take a few swigs off of his flask (he had never been a heavy drinker but it took the edge off the afternoon assignments and the hangover) and Cindy and he would go to dog show number two, or the new donut store that sold beer and was open to midnight.
At first Cindy and John would take her car to get to get to the locations. That was until John realized what a bad driver Cindy was. It wasn't just that she would talk on her cell phone and do her make up while driving (at the same time on a few occasions) but she just couldn't drive.
John didn't want to be driving Cindy around in his old car. She was the type of woman that may sleep in high heels if it meant she would have a high class dream and he knew she wouldn't step in his old ride. Buying a new car was something he had said he would do when he retired and now that his career was on the brink he decided to do it anyway.
So now when a cat would get stuck in a well and John and Cindy were rushed off to report on it, they would be driving in style; Cindy in her short dress and stilletos and John wearing sun glasses and a tie loossened under his neck.
After the day was over John would type up an article between sips of bourbon. Usually this is when Cindy would tell him goodnight.
"John, I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea if we let loose a little. We have been working together for a few weeks now and we haven't much about each other. Want to grab a drink?"
She must not have known John was already a few fingers deep and had been steady faded since after lunch.
He grinned. "I don't have any plans."
"Good. Pick me up at 8. I'll text you my address."
She handed him a piece of paper. John watched her leave. He knew it wasn't a date but he didn't mind having drinks with such a good looking woman.
John finished the article - something about 21 Things Successful Women do Everyday - left, went home, changed his shirt, poured himself a full drink (probably his fourth of the day), and went to Cindy's. He arrived about 5 minutes before eight, knocked twice, and waited a minute. She answered the door with a smile.
"You were early and I was still not dressed. Wait a minute while I put some earings in, would ya?"
John nodded. He looked around. She had a nice place. The walls were not cluttered, a few paintings were hung up. There weren't many pictures and she wasn't in more than two of them. She walked out into the living room where John was waiting with a big smile. She had her hair down, she usually had it up, and she was wearing a tight dress.
"You ready?" She asked rhetorically.
"You betcha."
They made their way to a restaurant that was very popular on the Beltway. Sam's Clubhouse was an old fashioned joint. It was dimly lit and had big round tables on the sides, but also had high tables and stools in the middle of the room. The big tables took reservations, but the high tables had a high turnover. Many people would meet for drinks at Sam's and move on to other bars. John and Cindy took a seat in the middle of the room.
They ordered drinks and started talking. Cindy did most of the talking. Then they ordered another round. Cindy talked some more. She had been talking so much that John realized he wasn't paying any attention to what she was saying.
"That's when all the girls pulled me out of the lake and sat me by the fire. I don't remember much before that!"
John nodded. He was actually curious what had happened. John looked around the room. Men in Brooks Brothers and women with Yves St Laurent purses were everywhere. John realized he might be having drinks with the best looking woman in the room. He smiled and took another drink.
He looked across the table. She was still talking. He realized that he was nodding and smiling in cadence with her body language. She was very easy to be around. He didn't even have to hear her words to enjoy her.
"Then the cat jumped out of the tree and landed ON the cameraman!"
John laughed and finished his drink.
"Another round?" She asked.
He nodded with lips pursed.
"K. I'm going to use the ladies room. Be right back."
He watched her walk. So did everybody else in the room. John didn't know that covering the latest in "style and fashion" could be so enjoyable.
"Excuse me, do you come here often?" A woman said, standing right behind John. "Excuse me?"
John turned around. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were asking me. Ah, not often, no."
"Do you have a smoke?" She asked.
"Ah, no, I don't smoke."
"That's ok." She said. As she turned around she looked through her purse and something dropped out. It was a pill container.
John got up, bent over, and grabbed it.
"Hey! You dropped this." He said, but she was gone.
He looked at the container. It had "John" on a piece of tape written with a sharpie covering it.
Then right after lunch he would take a few swigs off of his flask (he had never been a heavy drinker but it took the edge off the afternoon assignments and the hangover) and Cindy and he would go to dog show number two, or the new donut store that sold beer and was open to midnight.
At first Cindy and John would take her car to get to get to the locations. That was until John realized what a bad driver Cindy was. It wasn't just that she would talk on her cell phone and do her make up while driving (at the same time on a few occasions) but she just couldn't drive.
John didn't want to be driving Cindy around in his old car. She was the type of woman that may sleep in high heels if it meant she would have a high class dream and he knew she wouldn't step in his old ride. Buying a new car was something he had said he would do when he retired and now that his career was on the brink he decided to do it anyway.
So now when a cat would get stuck in a well and John and Cindy were rushed off to report on it, they would be driving in style; Cindy in her short dress and stilletos and John wearing sun glasses and a tie loossened under his neck.
After the day was over John would type up an article between sips of bourbon. Usually this is when Cindy would tell him goodnight.
"John, I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea if we let loose a little. We have been working together for a few weeks now and we haven't much about each other. Want to grab a drink?"
She must not have known John was already a few fingers deep and had been steady faded since after lunch.
He grinned. "I don't have any plans."
"Good. Pick me up at 8. I'll text you my address."
She handed him a piece of paper. John watched her leave. He knew it wasn't a date but he didn't mind having drinks with such a good looking woman.
John finished the article - something about 21 Things Successful Women do Everyday - left, went home, changed his shirt, poured himself a full drink (probably his fourth of the day), and went to Cindy's. He arrived about 5 minutes before eight, knocked twice, and waited a minute. She answered the door with a smile.
"You were early and I was still not dressed. Wait a minute while I put some earings in, would ya?"
John nodded. He looked around. She had a nice place. The walls were not cluttered, a few paintings were hung up. There weren't many pictures and she wasn't in more than two of them. She walked out into the living room where John was waiting with a big smile. She had her hair down, she usually had it up, and she was wearing a tight dress.
"You ready?" She asked rhetorically.
"You betcha."
They made their way to a restaurant that was very popular on the Beltway. Sam's Clubhouse was an old fashioned joint. It was dimly lit and had big round tables on the sides, but also had high tables and stools in the middle of the room. The big tables took reservations, but the high tables had a high turnover. Many people would meet for drinks at Sam's and move on to other bars. John and Cindy took a seat in the middle of the room.
They ordered drinks and started talking. Cindy did most of the talking. Then they ordered another round. Cindy talked some more. She had been talking so much that John realized he wasn't paying any attention to what she was saying.
"That's when all the girls pulled me out of the lake and sat me by the fire. I don't remember much before that!"
John nodded. He was actually curious what had happened. John looked around the room. Men in Brooks Brothers and women with Yves St Laurent purses were everywhere. John realized he might be having drinks with the best looking woman in the room. He smiled and took another drink.
He looked across the table. She was still talking. He realized that he was nodding and smiling in cadence with her body language. She was very easy to be around. He didn't even have to hear her words to enjoy her.
"Then the cat jumped out of the tree and landed ON the cameraman!"
John laughed and finished his drink.
"Another round?" She asked.
He nodded with lips pursed.
"K. I'm going to use the ladies room. Be right back."
He watched her walk. So did everybody else in the room. John didn't know that covering the latest in "style and fashion" could be so enjoyable.
"Excuse me, do you come here often?" A woman said, standing right behind John. "Excuse me?"
John turned around. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were asking me. Ah, not often, no."
"Do you have a smoke?" She asked.
"Ah, no, I don't smoke."
"That's ok." She said. As she turned around she looked through her purse and something dropped out. It was a pill container.
John got up, bent over, and grabbed it.
"Hey! You dropped this." He said, but she was gone.
He looked at the container. It had "John" on a piece of tape written with a sharpie covering it.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
A Means to an End
John arrived to work the next morning like he always did. He wore gray slacks and a navy blazer, neither fitted. He parked his old Toyota Camry in his numbered spot and walked from the garage into the office. First he went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the instant brewer. One of the things he told himself he would do when he retired would be to buy himself a nice coffee maker and keep a budget that allowed him to buy African coffee from a free trade supplier. As it was he couldn't pass up free coffee nor the convenience of having it made for him.
John said his good mornings and settled down in his cube to read his new assignments and look over his edited ones. John looked over the papers in front of him before checking his email in habit. His first email made his heart skip a jump. It was from his boss who wanted to see him in his office right away. John didn't like this news because he and his boss hadn't ever got along but the relationship was worsening and there is no way his boss wanted to congradulate John for a job well done.
John almost got up right then but another email caught his eye. It was titled "Be Nice". John's heart skipped two jumps as he remembered the note left on his car. He clicked to read the body of the email and all it said was, Be nice. He didn't have time to think about this targetting of what could very well be either a stalker or spam or a joke from a friend who was pranking him. John took a deep breathe and walked to his boss' office.
His boss sat in his big chair with his black dress shoes on his desk while he talked on the phone. John knocked on the door which was slightly open. His boss looked through the crack.
"Just a minute, John."
He wrapped up his conversation in a hushed tone, put down the phone and his legs, and asked John to come in while keeping his seat. John sat down across the desk while his boss looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.
"John, your articles have been sloppy lately, you know we think that, but now they are turning into sloppy opinion pieces. We aren't paying you to write poorly and we sure as hell aren't paying you to write opinion pieces."
The conversation of sloppy writing had come up once before. John was asked to cover a press conference about a cheating Congressman and misquoted an aide. At least that is what the aide said, and the paper took the aide's word and rescinded the quote and made an apology. That was strike one against John and since then his boss had handled him like a hot frying pan.
"Do you know how many writers want to write for us right now? It isn't like a journalist is hard to find when every paper in America is laying off half their workforce.
His boss leaned forward and continued, "Honestly John, you are one of the worst writers at the paper and I don't know if we should keep you. You misquoted an aide in an important report and then you decided to write about your love and worship for guns....I just don't know if we should keep you."
His boss reclined, and John tilted his head to its right and sneered. The first thought that came to mind was to belittle his boss; tell him how bad the paper stunk under the boss' guidence.
"What story will you run today?" John wanted to say. "What article will you choose over mine? Another article about cute cats on the internet? Or one about the local who was in the running for the Miss America pagent?"
John wanted to point out in the paper's desperation to sell copies it had become a hybrid of sensational news stories and a tabloid. Never did the paper question the ongoing wars, or overt gun control. No, they would print a picture of troops in Afghanistan, remind everyone the US was still there, and then give an article outlining what type of flowers would be used at the President's ball that evening. And this was a national newspaper! This was the hope of the media. Cats and flowers.
But there was something in the back of John's head telling him not to give the boss another excuse to fire him.
"Be nice," he thought.
"I'm sorry. I'll do better from now on."
John's boss winced. He seemed upset by John's apology.
"I'm taking you off of government and I'm pairing you with Cindy. You will report with her from now on."
John nodded.
"You can go....and John, remember, you are at the end of your rope."
John stood up and left. He felt half humiliated that he couldn't express himself and half relieved that the meeting was over.
"Cindy. Great. I am paired with the reported that runs the cute cats on the internet pieces."
John said his good mornings and settled down in his cube to read his new assignments and look over his edited ones. John looked over the papers in front of him before checking his email in habit. His first email made his heart skip a jump. It was from his boss who wanted to see him in his office right away. John didn't like this news because he and his boss hadn't ever got along but the relationship was worsening and there is no way his boss wanted to congradulate John for a job well done.
John almost got up right then but another email caught his eye. It was titled "Be Nice". John's heart skipped two jumps as he remembered the note left on his car. He clicked to read the body of the email and all it said was, Be nice. He didn't have time to think about this targetting of what could very well be either a stalker or spam or a joke from a friend who was pranking him. John took a deep breathe and walked to his boss' office.
His boss sat in his big chair with his black dress shoes on his desk while he talked on the phone. John knocked on the door which was slightly open. His boss looked through the crack.
"Just a minute, John."
He wrapped up his conversation in a hushed tone, put down the phone and his legs, and asked John to come in while keeping his seat. John sat down across the desk while his boss looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.
"John, your articles have been sloppy lately, you know we think that, but now they are turning into sloppy opinion pieces. We aren't paying you to write poorly and we sure as hell aren't paying you to write opinion pieces."
The conversation of sloppy writing had come up once before. John was asked to cover a press conference about a cheating Congressman and misquoted an aide. At least that is what the aide said, and the paper took the aide's word and rescinded the quote and made an apology. That was strike one against John and since then his boss had handled him like a hot frying pan.
"Do you know how many writers want to write for us right now? It isn't like a journalist is hard to find when every paper in America is laying off half their workforce.
His boss leaned forward and continued, "Honestly John, you are one of the worst writers at the paper and I don't know if we should keep you. You misquoted an aide in an important report and then you decided to write about your love and worship for guns....I just don't know if we should keep you."
His boss reclined, and John tilted his head to its right and sneered. The first thought that came to mind was to belittle his boss; tell him how bad the paper stunk under the boss' guidence.
"What story will you run today?" John wanted to say. "What article will you choose over mine? Another article about cute cats on the internet? Or one about the local who was in the running for the Miss America pagent?"
John wanted to point out in the paper's desperation to sell copies it had become a hybrid of sensational news stories and a tabloid. Never did the paper question the ongoing wars, or overt gun control. No, they would print a picture of troops in Afghanistan, remind everyone the US was still there, and then give an article outlining what type of flowers would be used at the President's ball that evening. And this was a national newspaper! This was the hope of the media. Cats and flowers.
But there was something in the back of John's head telling him not to give the boss another excuse to fire him.
"Be nice," he thought.
"I'm sorry. I'll do better from now on."
John's boss winced. He seemed upset by John's apology.
"I'm taking you off of government and I'm pairing you with Cindy. You will report with her from now on."
John nodded.
"You can go....and John, remember, you are at the end of your rope."
John stood up and left. He felt half humiliated that he couldn't express himself and half relieved that the meeting was over.
"Cindy. Great. I am paired with the reported that runs the cute cats on the internet pieces."
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Be Nice
John pushed the door to the news room open with his right hand while cradling his coffee with his left. He had been following the gun debate for the last few weeks with some interest, but as much interest as he ever had with his work, which wasn't much. John was 57 and had been a journalist his whole life. He had worked for 3 different papers in the last 10 years and was trying to wrap up his career. He was hoping to give this profession one more decade and then retire in the south of Florida somewhere.
After suffering a heart attack one and a half years ago John realized his mortality meant he needed to keep his health care. Even though he hated working at the paper he couldn't leave. All the other papers were firing their workers and he didn't think moving was an option because papers in other cities were going out of business too.
"John, you got a story done for me?"
"Not yet Bruce. Give me an hour."
Bruce left before John finished his sentence. Bruce was John's editor. Charming when he wanted to be he didn't have an ounce of tact in him, and John hated writing for him.
John started writing, "Although Sen. Bagston has mentioned she owns guns herself she has been on the war path after gun owners for her whole time in office. Back in '96 she tried to ban assault weapons and mentioned in a briefing that she would ban all guns if she could, pointing to a rise in violence as being caused by guns. There were over 11,000 deaths by guns last year."
John continued, "The President and Vice President are pushing for a new bill and momentum seems to be on their side, but there are plenty of States that would view this as an infringement on their rights. There has been talk of an Executive Order but unless the courts agreed that would not happen. As of now it looks like something will be tabled in Congress early next week."
John printed it off and finished his coffee. He walked to Bruce's office and knocked on the door. Bruce was on the phone and raised his eyebrows at John. John waved the article at him.
"Haven't you heard of email? Put it on my desk."
John walked over, set it down, and turned around to leave. He noticed a picture of the President and Bruce on the wall that hadn't been there before.
His day was done so John organized his desk and grabbed his coat. He went to the garage to get his car. He slid into his car and noticed a note on his windshield.
"Better be nice." It read.
John threw it on the floor not knowing what it meant, but soon the note would be perfectly clear.
After suffering a heart attack one and a half years ago John realized his mortality meant he needed to keep his health care. Even though he hated working at the paper he couldn't leave. All the other papers were firing their workers and he didn't think moving was an option because papers in other cities were going out of business too.
"John, you got a story done for me?"
"Not yet Bruce. Give me an hour."
Bruce left before John finished his sentence. Bruce was John's editor. Charming when he wanted to be he didn't have an ounce of tact in him, and John hated writing for him.
John started writing, "Although Sen. Bagston has mentioned she owns guns herself she has been on the war path after gun owners for her whole time in office. Back in '96 she tried to ban assault weapons and mentioned in a briefing that she would ban all guns if she could, pointing to a rise in violence as being caused by guns. There were over 11,000 deaths by guns last year."
John continued, "The President and Vice President are pushing for a new bill and momentum seems to be on their side, but there are plenty of States that would view this as an infringement on their rights. There has been talk of an Executive Order but unless the courts agreed that would not happen. As of now it looks like something will be tabled in Congress early next week."
John printed it off and finished his coffee. He walked to Bruce's office and knocked on the door. Bruce was on the phone and raised his eyebrows at John. John waved the article at him.
"Haven't you heard of email? Put it on my desk."
John walked over, set it down, and turned around to leave. He noticed a picture of the President and Bruce on the wall that hadn't been there before.
His day was done so John organized his desk and grabbed his coat. He went to the garage to get his car. He slid into his car and noticed a note on his windshield.
"Better be nice." It read.
John threw it on the floor not knowing what it meant, but soon the note would be perfectly clear.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Dem Guns
The crisp winter air whipped past the Senator as she walked up Capitol Hill. Her hair, sprayed taut with aerosal, is the only thing about her that has never flopped around. Today, after years of saying she supports the Second Amendment, she is on the Hill promoting her new bill to ban semi-automatic guns.
"Guns kill people! We must have a mature talk about this. If we don't, innocent people will continue to die."
To John, a reporter covering the speech, this sounded more like a threat than reasoning. John has a few guns himself and always wondered how much safer he would be if he had to walk around DC unarmed.
"We need to take guns out of the hands of people who shouldn't have them!"
"How do we judge who shouldn't have guns?" John asked himself.
He knew the answer would be vauge, as politics always is. The line in the sand that kept felons from being gun owners changed to three strikes and you're out. Then the meme became veterans. Now it appears to be anyone not wearing a badge.
"Great. Now it will be only cops and robbers who have them. The rest of us can hide under our sofas and wait for the men in blue."
John closed his notebook and caught a taxi back to his office.
"Guns kill people! We must have a mature talk about this. If we don't, innocent people will continue to die."
To John, a reporter covering the speech, this sounded more like a threat than reasoning. John has a few guns himself and always wondered how much safer he would be if he had to walk around DC unarmed.
"We need to take guns out of the hands of people who shouldn't have them!"
"How do we judge who shouldn't have guns?" John asked himself.
He knew the answer would be vauge, as politics always is. The line in the sand that kept felons from being gun owners changed to three strikes and you're out. Then the meme became veterans. Now it appears to be anyone not wearing a badge.
"Great. Now it will be only cops and robbers who have them. The rest of us can hide under our sofas and wait for the men in blue."
John closed his notebook and caught a taxi back to his office.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Against All Odds
Bernanke sat slumped against the cold brick wall as rain fell on him like buckets were being dumped straight above from a helicopter. He had a hollow look on his face. If you didn't know his story you may have viewed him as a beaten man, but that wasn't the case. He had beaten all odds.
Bernanke stood up and walked strong into the blowing wind. His chest was bare and his muscles rippled like an iron worker after an 8 hour shift. Directly in from of him was the Hill and on it stood the capitol building. He had been waiting until dark to make his move and the sun had just finished setting.
Two guards stood at the entrence. As Bernanke walked casually passed them one said, "Hey! You can't go in there!" Bernanke turned coily and said, "I do what I want." Then Bernanke took his pinky and chocked both men to death with it, at the same time.
He bent down at the door frame and set some dynomite next to it. "I could kick these doors open if I wanted, but I like watching things explode."
After the dust cleared he waltzed in and right up to the Bill of Rights. He broke the glass with his forehead and took the parchment from the container. "Look who's the bitch now?" He asked rhetorically.
He rolled up the papers and put them in his back pocket. "Hasta la vista, bitchez."
He stepped outside as a helicopter landed in front of the steps. Timmah Geithner gave him the thumbs up and Bernanke swung in. "It's over Timmah. It's all over."
"Timmah!" Shrieked Geithner as he flew them away into the pitch dark night.
Bernanke stood up and walked strong into the blowing wind. His chest was bare and his muscles rippled like an iron worker after an 8 hour shift. Directly in from of him was the Hill and on it stood the capitol building. He had been waiting until dark to make his move and the sun had just finished setting.
Two guards stood at the entrence. As Bernanke walked casually passed them one said, "Hey! You can't go in there!" Bernanke turned coily and said, "I do what I want." Then Bernanke took his pinky and chocked both men to death with it, at the same time.
He bent down at the door frame and set some dynomite next to it. "I could kick these doors open if I wanted, but I like watching things explode."
After the dust cleared he waltzed in and right up to the Bill of Rights. He broke the glass with his forehead and took the parchment from the container. "Look who's the bitch now?" He asked rhetorically.
He rolled up the papers and put them in his back pocket. "Hasta la vista, bitchez."
He stepped outside as a helicopter landed in front of the steps. Timmah Geithner gave him the thumbs up and Bernanke swung in. "It's over Timmah. It's all over."
"Timmah!" Shrieked Geithner as he flew them away into the pitch dark night.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Bernanke's Gold
"What's this?"
Bernanke had been wandering around the basement of the Federal Reserve. He was carrying an oil lamp and he was wearing a cloak.
"Could it be?"
He had found a map of the basement in a vault upstairs in his office which showed the building for the labyrinth that it is. The map should that below the building were thousands of corridors leading to more corridors where many treasures were to be found.
One room had Geronimo's skull, which had been housed in the Tomb on Yale's campus, but apparently was safely stored below DC. Another room had one of Lincoln's top hats along with a bullet in a glass jar with "That's for screwing my wife, Jack" written on a piece of tape on the side of the jar. The latest room Bernanke had crept into was dusty and had what looked like an alchemists cauldron. In the cauldron was a stack of papers. Each paper said, "United States Treasury: Certificate of Gold".
"I found them! I found the gold certificates!"
Bernanke was excited and scampered up the steps. He knew just what to do with all of his new found paper gold.
"Now I can lease them and releverage the Fiat Ponzi! Oh the Masters will be so pleased with all of the liquidity that I will provide! Yippee!!!"
Bernanke had been wandering around the basement of the Federal Reserve. He was carrying an oil lamp and he was wearing a cloak.
"Could it be?"
He had found a map of the basement in a vault upstairs in his office which showed the building for the labyrinth that it is. The map should that below the building were thousands of corridors leading to more corridors where many treasures were to be found.
One room had Geronimo's skull, which had been housed in the Tomb on Yale's campus, but apparently was safely stored below DC. Another room had one of Lincoln's top hats along with a bullet in a glass jar with "That's for screwing my wife, Jack" written on a piece of tape on the side of the jar. The latest room Bernanke had crept into was dusty and had what looked like an alchemists cauldron. In the cauldron was a stack of papers. Each paper said, "United States Treasury: Certificate of Gold".
"I found them! I found the gold certificates!"
Bernanke was excited and scampered up the steps. He knew just what to do with all of his new found paper gold.
"Now I can lease them and releverage the Fiat Ponzi! Oh the Masters will be so pleased with all of the liquidity that I will provide! Yippee!!!"
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Saving Greece, Again
Tomorrow, a long awaited event (background music by John Williams).
From the makers of Saving Greece, and Saving Greece Two, comes the epic story of our lifetime (theatrical pause).....
Saving Greece, Again
Starrying Academy Award Nominee, Angela Merkle and Academy Award Winner Nicolas Sarkozy; from famed Direct Herman Van Rompuy: a tale of a country that was thought once doomed to fail.
"I love you Greece" yells Angela, drenched from a rainstorm, pointing a gun at her head.
"Angela, no!" Nicolas grabs the gun and pushes it to her side. "Save Greece to save yourself."
Coming to theatres tomorrow.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Occupy Mainstreet
Occupy Mainstreet
A hooded figure steps out in front of an assembly of men. Some of the audience appear lizard like, others are much more human. The hooded figure steps in front of a podium. We see his beady eyes and large nose. A wisp of silver hair shows above his eyes.
Today I welcome all delegates from their respective worlds. To my left we have the shiny headed Blankfein [shot of Blankfein smiling and drooling], and to my right we have John Mack who has helped build our empire from the ground up [crowd applause].
I would like to start by saying our plan is near complete. We have brainwashed much of Earth into trying to act cool, and not care. Their minds and hearts have been dulled, which has allowed us to make it to where we are today. Soon, very soon, we will have our New World Order, where our Banking Houses have total control of the money supply and wealth distribution [crowd cheers, the speaker waves for silence]. Soon, victory will be ours [the crowd begins to cheer again]. Soon, our New World Order will be complete!
A hooded figure steps out in front of an assembly of men. Some of the audience appear lizard like, others are much more human. The hooded figure steps in front of a podium. We see his beady eyes and large nose. A wisp of silver hair shows above his eyes.
Today I welcome all delegates from their respective worlds. To my left we have the shiny headed Blankfein [shot of Blankfein smiling and drooling], and to my right we have John Mack who has helped build our empire from the ground up [crowd applause].
I would like to start by saying our plan is near complete. We have brainwashed much of Earth into trying to act cool, and not care. Their minds and hearts have been dulled, which has allowed us to make it to where we are today. Soon, very soon, we will have our New World Order, where our Banking Houses have total control of the money supply and wealth distribution [crowd cheers, the speaker waves for silence]. Soon, victory will be ours [the crowd begins to cheer again]. Soon, our New World Order will be complete!
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Two Printers
"Anything you can do I can do better!" Trichet said into the phone. He had gotten Bernanke's Treehouse Answering machine. Bernanke had walked in the door during the last line, he took off his trench coat and let the taped monolougue continue.
"Ve Vill do some quantitatife eazink too."
The tape stopped. Bernanke breezed back into into the living room, where Timmah was strapped into his 8 bit Nintendo PPT video game.
"Timmah, time to go back into the market. Get daddy some LULU today. Don't tire yourself out either," he said while pouring a glass of Captin' and Malibu. "Make that new Algo do the work for you."
Timmah was sick of getting so much blame. He was leaving. No more would he be dictated to by BS Bernanke.
"Benneh Bernanke." He smirked to him self. He went outside into the Clubhouse garage and got a can of gasoline. He pured it at the base of the Treehouse just in time for BS to come outside.
"What are you doing Timmah!" No!!!"
But it was too late. Timmah had lit the match and thrown it; the Treehouse was in flames.
BS ran to his printer, "I must save the printer!" He picked up the inkjet 5000 laser printer and threw it out the window. The smoke was getting thick and he was about to pass out. He fell to the floor.
Then out of nowhere, like a flash of lightening, someone picked him up and took him out of his office, and down the blazing tree. He was tossed onto the ground, and he coughed and coughed. When he looked up, he saw Trichet.
"Why? Why did you save me?"
"I can't print alone. Both printers are needed to keep the fiat ponzi gooing."
Bernanke's eyes spun in his head, and he passed out again. Trichet left him there, slumped over his printer.
"Ve Vill do some quantitatife eazink too."
The tape stopped. Bernanke breezed back into into the living room, where Timmah was strapped into his 8 bit Nintendo PPT video game.
"Timmah, time to go back into the market. Get daddy some LULU today. Don't tire yourself out either," he said while pouring a glass of Captin' and Malibu. "Make that new Algo do the work for you."
Timmah was sick of getting so much blame. He was leaving. No more would he be dictated to by BS Bernanke.
"Benneh Bernanke." He smirked to him self. He went outside into the Clubhouse garage and got a can of gasoline. He pured it at the base of the Treehouse just in time for BS to come outside.
"What are you doing Timmah!" No!!!"
But it was too late. Timmah had lit the match and thrown it; the Treehouse was in flames.
BS ran to his printer, "I must save the printer!" He picked up the inkjet 5000 laser printer and threw it out the window. The smoke was getting thick and he was about to pass out. He fell to the floor.
Then out of nowhere, like a flash of lightening, someone picked him up and took him out of his office, and down the blazing tree. He was tossed onto the ground, and he coughed and coughed. When he looked up, he saw Trichet.
"Why? Why did you save me?"
"I can't print alone. Both printers are needed to keep the fiat ponzi gooing."
Bernanke's eyes spun in his head, and he passed out again. Trichet left him there, slumped over his printer.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Who runs this motha?
Who runs this motha?
"Girls...we run this motha....yeah! Girls! Who run the world? Girls!"
BS and Timmah sang and danced along to the tune while clinking glasses in celebration of buying up every asset, toxic and otherwise, in the known universe, before a variable collapse secured their status as BUYER OF LAST RESORT.
"Tuwn it up eye wub dith thong!" Yelled Bawknee as he plopped himself on the love seat adjacent to Timmah's 8 bit Nintendo they used to run their PPT simulator.
"Girls! Who run this motha! Girls! Who run this motha!"
There was no stopping them. They had DC by the balls and Walled Street by the ears. They were gods among grasshoppers. Lords among field mice.
"Friday!" Screamed BS over the music. "Friday it all comes down. Friday we own everything and nothing at the same time!"
"Weee!" Giggled Timmah. "TIMMAH!"
Bawknee waved his pointer fingers in the air with jubilation. He was so happy he could be accepted by the great Alchemists of the Treaserve.
Girls....Who run this motha.....
BS and Timmah sang and danced along to the tune while clinking glasses in celebration of buying up every asset, toxic and otherwise, in the known universe, before a variable collapse secured their status as BUYER OF LAST RESORT.
"Tuwn it up eye wub dith thong!" Yelled Bawknee as he plopped himself on the love seat adjacent to Timmah's 8 bit Nintendo they used to run their PPT simulator.
"Girls! Who run this motha! Girls! Who run this motha!"
There was no stopping them. They had DC by the balls and Walled Street by the ears. They were gods among grasshoppers. Lords among field mice.
"Friday!" Screamed BS over the music. "Friday it all comes down. Friday we own everything and nothing at the same time!"
"Weee!" Giggled Timmah. "TIMMAH!"
Bawknee waved his pointer fingers in the air with jubilation. He was so happy he could be accepted by the great Alchemists of the Treaserve.
Girls....Who run this motha.....
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Barry does Britney
"Suck it up America! Suck it up!" Barack turned behind him. "What should I say next?"
"Just read from the teleprompter..."
Obama turned righteously, with his head strong on his neck. He swiveled it from left to right. "Look, we all knew we had to tuck our guts in. We all knew this day would come. We are strong, we are bold, and we will resolve these issues."
"Yes we can!" A blind man said from the back of the auditorium.
Barack was satisfied with himself, and stepped away from the podium. "I need some Cherry Garcia." He said to his underscore.
"Yes sir."
"Tell Michelle we will be flying to whatever vaca spot she wants next, and pop a bottle of bubbly while you are at it." He made his way to the dressing room.
"Where the hell are my skittles?" He always asked for a bowl of skittles to be set aside his mirror. "Even Britney gets what she wants." He lamented. He was getting frustrated being President. It seemed like no one respected him anymore.
"Just read from the teleprompter..."
Obama turned righteously, with his head strong on his neck. He swiveled it from left to right. "Look, we all knew we had to tuck our guts in. We all knew this day would come. We are strong, we are bold, and we will resolve these issues."
"Yes we can!" A blind man said from the back of the auditorium.
Barack was satisfied with himself, and stepped away from the podium. "I need some Cherry Garcia." He said to his underscore.
"Yes sir."
"Tell Michelle we will be flying to whatever vaca spot she wants next, and pop a bottle of bubbly while you are at it." He made his way to the dressing room.
"Where the hell are my skittles?" He always asked for a bowl of skittles to be set aside his mirror. "Even Britney gets what she wants." He lamented. He was getting frustrated being President. It seemed like no one respected him anymore.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Not the Netflix!
"What's the news today, Bennie?!" Asked Timmah as he sipped his morning Jolt. Bernanke poured rum into his coffee.
"They raised the price of gold on us. A lot of good that'll do them. Maybe I should sell all my gold, tungsten is a fair substitute..." He had begun to think out loud.
"So what should I do?" Asked Timmah as he twittled his thumbs on the controller.
"Sell SLW, and buy Apple. We got to keep this thing humming."
"We are all out of SLW." Timmah pointed at the TV.
"Shit! Ok, well sell Netflix then...damn." He sipped his coffee with resentment. There was nothing more he hated than selling Netflix.
"They raised the price of gold on us. A lot of good that'll do them. Maybe I should sell all my gold, tungsten is a fair substitute..." He had begun to think out loud.
"So what should I do?" Asked Timmah as he twittled his thumbs on the controller.
"Sell SLW, and buy Apple. We got to keep this thing humming."
"We are all out of SLW." Timmah pointed at the TV.
"Shit! Ok, well sell Netflix then...damn." He sipped his coffee with resentment. There was nothing more he hated than selling Netflix.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Bernanke Sails!
The eye of the storm has come and gone. Bernanke has battled many a financial hurricane since his time as Fed Chair. No one has more field experience. He is battle tested.
Today, the winds are in his face as he steers his ship, "Pomo". The thunder of Muni Madness is heard overhead, as the waves of failing fiat splash across the bow. Bernanke has no mercy for the sea he was thrown into. He thinks of it as not a theory to master, but a way of life. He fails to see, their is no sea, and he stands on a chair in his living room wearing a bathrobe while Timmah Geithner splashes water of his face.
Today, the winds are in his face as he steers his ship, "Pomo". The thunder of Muni Madness is heard overhead, as the waves of failing fiat splash across the bow. Bernanke has no mercy for the sea he was thrown into. He thinks of it as not a theory to master, but a way of life. He fails to see, their is no sea, and he stands on a chair in his living room wearing a bathrobe while Timmah Geithner splashes water of his face.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Timmah Fully Loaded
Timmah Fully Loaded
It was to be a big month for little Timmah Geithner. He was about to raise the debt ceiling like a zombie movie raises the dead, and at the same time act like China was manipulating their currency and no one else was. Ben Shalom Bernanke walked into the living room. Never sheepish, he asked Timmah to do the dishes, "You may finish your game after."
Timmah had stocked up on Jolt, Buzz, Flatline, and numerous other high caffeinated beverages for the new release of "Timmah Battles the Algo Machines from Hell: Fully Loaded." He was most likely going to play his PPT video game counsel for the next couple winter months as his main source of entertainment. Well, that and watch old Disney movies.
The snow was keeping everyone inside. Luckily for Timmah's Treehouse, Bawknee Fwank couldn't climb the frozen bars that lead up the trunk in the winter. Timmah mostly had it to himself, as Bernanke spent most of his time in Davos and Jackson Hole. Tonight he was having his friend Sackman for a sleep over.
"Sackman, do you want to play PPT?" Asked Timmah.
"After we guzzle some Flatline!" Sackman said as he drowned his brain in dye and chemicals.
Timmah ran to his bean bag chair. "OK, we are going to load up the futures by buying penny stocks!"
"Oh cool!" Said Sackman.
"Yeah, it works every time. Bernanke showed me how to do it."
"How to do what?" Asked Bernanke irately from the other room.
"I was just telling Sackman about the futures trick." There was an awkard silence after Timmah spoke. Bernanke sat at his desk pressing buttons on his printer.
"How long will it take you to beat this game?" Said Sackman gleefuly.
Timmah frowned, "I don't know. I beat the last one in just a few days." Sackamn sat cross legged and leaned over his pelvis with a cheshire grin. His face was inches from the screen.
"Back up!" Yelled Timmah. "I can't see!"
It was to be a big month for little Timmah Geithner. He was about to raise the debt ceiling like a zombie movie raises the dead, and at the same time act like China was manipulating their currency and no one else was. Ben Shalom Bernanke walked into the living room. Never sheepish, he asked Timmah to do the dishes, "You may finish your game after."
Timmah had stocked up on Jolt, Buzz, Flatline, and numerous other high caffeinated beverages for the new release of "Timmah Battles the Algo Machines from Hell: Fully Loaded." He was most likely going to play his PPT video game counsel for the next couple winter months as his main source of entertainment. Well, that and watch old Disney movies.
The snow was keeping everyone inside. Luckily for Timmah's Treehouse, Bawknee Fwank couldn't climb the frozen bars that lead up the trunk in the winter. Timmah mostly had it to himself, as Bernanke spent most of his time in Davos and Jackson Hole. Tonight he was having his friend Sackman for a sleep over.
"Sackman, do you want to play PPT?" Asked Timmah.
"After we guzzle some Flatline!" Sackman said as he drowned his brain in dye and chemicals.
Timmah ran to his bean bag chair. "OK, we are going to load up the futures by buying penny stocks!"
"Oh cool!" Said Sackman.
"Yeah, it works every time. Bernanke showed me how to do it."
"How to do what?" Asked Bernanke irately from the other room.
"I was just telling Sackman about the futures trick." There was an awkard silence after Timmah spoke. Bernanke sat at his desk pressing buttons on his printer.
"How long will it take you to beat this game?" Said Sackman gleefuly.
Timmah frowned, "I don't know. I beat the last one in just a few days." Sackamn sat cross legged and leaned over his pelvis with a cheshire grin. His face was inches from the screen.
"Back up!" Yelled Timmah. "I can't see!"
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Blythe does Jamie
"Meh.....Mmmmmeeeeh.....meh." The sound came dip from her (it's?) throat as if gasping for breathe. "Meeeh...cigerettes...neeed meh cigarettes." Blythe's eyes rolled around in their sockets as if searching blindly in the dark, yet the room was lit, if even dimly.
Jamie Dimon stood in the corner. He raised and snapped his fingers. A manservent in a pink and purple bikini ran to Blythe with a pack of Lights. The boyish bikini clad man held the pack out to her. She roiled about for a second, not moving in any coordinated manner.
"Pull one out for her!" Pointed Jamie. The boy did so and Blythe cocked her head so he could stick one in her lips. Her body lay in a vat of a mud like substance that appeared to be boiling. It was not clear if she ever left the pool.
"Blythe," Jamie asked nervously, "What is the plan today?"
She coughed and weezed. "Well it appears it has noticed we do not usually go after silver on Tuesdays."
"So we go after silver?" Jamie asked in aspiration.
"Let me finish, boy. We will go after all of the usual suspects." Blythe let the cigarette burn as she talked. "First oil, then gold, then silver, then the dollar."
Jamie reached in his coat pocket. "I will alert Bernanke."
"Do not waste your time. He and Barney Fwank are skiing Jackson Hole for his anniversary."
"Oh no, I forgot to get him a present!"
Blythe took a drag as an inch of ashe glowed red. She exhaled and dropped it in the ashtray. "I sent a card with your name on it."
"Thank y...."
Blythe interrupted, "Don't thank me." She relaxed her head into the ooze and shut her eyes.
Jamie Dimon stood in the corner. He raised and snapped his fingers. A manservent in a pink and purple bikini ran to Blythe with a pack of Lights. The boyish bikini clad man held the pack out to her. She roiled about for a second, not moving in any coordinated manner.
"Pull one out for her!" Pointed Jamie. The boy did so and Blythe cocked her head so he could stick one in her lips. Her body lay in a vat of a mud like substance that appeared to be boiling. It was not clear if she ever left the pool.
"Blythe," Jamie asked nervously, "What is the plan today?"
She coughed and weezed. "Well it appears it has noticed we do not usually go after silver on Tuesdays."
"So we go after silver?" Jamie asked in aspiration.
"Let me finish, boy. We will go after all of the usual suspects." Blythe let the cigarette burn as she talked. "First oil, then gold, then silver, then the dollar."
Jamie reached in his coat pocket. "I will alert Bernanke."
"Do not waste your time. He and Barney Fwank are skiing Jackson Hole for his anniversary."
"Oh no, I forgot to get him a present!"
Blythe took a drag as an inch of ashe glowed red. She exhaled and dropped it in the ashtray. "I sent a card with your name on it."
"Thank y...."
Blythe interrupted, "Don't thank me." She relaxed her head into the ooze and shut her eyes.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Ben loved spending time in Davos almost as much as he enjoyed his treehouse. The only difference was he did not have his printer in Switzerland. He hoped that would be fixed next year with his new iprinter app. He wanted to be able to print money wherever he went.
He was talking a stroll through the town square when his telephone rang. It was Timmah.
"Timmah!" Said Timmah.
"Yes I am quite well aware of the situation in Africa. Let Barry deal with it. In the meantime, I want you to buy Ford double fisted, and keep Netflix and Apple up. Lord knows how pissed Llyod will be if Hedge Funds liquidate their positions."
"Timmah?" Asked Timmah.
"Strong dollar, weak dollar, it is all the same. We are in this race until the end, and we want corporations to inherit the world. We may sacrifice the Dollar at the alter of the Temple soon."
This excited Timmah. "Timmah!"
"That's right, it is almost time. We sold off enough gold in January to flush the weak hands out. And in case you are wondering, I will step down 15 minutes after the dollar collapses."
"Timmah?"
Bernanke didn't answer him. He knew he had promised Timmah Fed Chair, but he had also promised Krugman Fed Chair. As Jamie wanted Treasury Sec, it looked like Timmah would be working for Citi with Orzog.
"We will discuss your future later. In the meantime, get my printer warmed up. Daddy is going to be home soon, and I want to cuddle."
"Heh heh...Timmah." Timmah chuckled.
Bernanke hung up the phone and Timmah got busy on his 1987 8 bit Nintendo setting up his Futures Market. He sucked on hos beer helmet, full of Jolt, and wondered, 'Maybe this was the week he would beat the last level of his PPT video game, called "Own the World's Paper". Boy was he excited!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Ice Cream
It was a warm night in Hawaii when LawWrench Summers drove his ice cream truck down the beach. He was chugging down a Coca-cola float. He loved the way the mercury from the HFCS laced his brain's pathways.
"Ice cream, ice cream!" Yelled brothers Barrock and George from the shoreline. They ran back to the hotel pool where Darth Cheney was harassing the help. "Come on sugar, show me your jugs." The attendant ignored him. "Raa." Darth whined with disappointment. Al Gore who was lying in a chair next to him with a towel over his eyes. He lifted it up and squinted as he said, "Darth you got to be smooth man. That's what Billy taught me. Be smooth." "Raa, and you are the smoothest around, raa!" "Jealous much? Muahahaha."
"Uncle Cheney?" Interrupted 'Lil Bush. "Can I have some monie for some ice cream?" "Raa. Here's a quarter." "Me too, me too!" Yelled little Barrock. "Raa." He flipped another quarter their way. "To bad you do not have girls." "They aren't mine! I am watching them for Rockefeller. Raa." "Well if they were girls you could sell them off to the highest Goldman Sachs trader like Billy did." "Do you ever shut up about him?! Raa!"
The boys ran for the ice cream truck but Summers only drove faster. 'Look at them run!' He laughed to himself. Finally he stopped. "What'll it be boys." "Do you have anything for a quarter?" asked little Barrock. "I have Jelly Smellies for fifty cents." "Let's share!" Smiled 'Lil Bush as he put his hand on his shoulder. "Yeah!" Agreed little Barrock.
Summers handed 'Lil Bush the dessert and he promptly ran away. Barrock began to cry. "Quit your crying, boy, he stole that fair and square." He laughed loudly as he drove off. Barrock walked back to where Darth Cheney was loungin'. "Raa, stop your crying boy." Barrock looked like he was all alone and without any ice cream. Poor Barry.
But Barry would get ice cream come hell or high water. He went to the bar where Hu was working. He asked Hu for some ice cream. "I give you ice cream after you pants Al Gore in front of the pool." "No prob, Bob!" Al Gore was stretching his arms high in the air. He made eye contact with a young asian girl, and winked at her. Little Barrock came up from behind and pulled down his pants. The girl blushed and covered her mouth, "Little penis!" She giggled. Hu was pleased and gave little Barrock his dessert. 'He has a smaller penis than me!' thought Hu.
"Ice cream, ice cream!" Yelled brothers Barrock and George from the shoreline. They ran back to the hotel pool where Darth Cheney was harassing the help. "Come on sugar, show me your jugs." The attendant ignored him. "Raa." Darth whined with disappointment. Al Gore who was lying in a chair next to him with a towel over his eyes. He lifted it up and squinted as he said, "Darth you got to be smooth man. That's what Billy taught me. Be smooth." "Raa, and you are the smoothest around, raa!" "Jealous much? Muahahaha."
"Uncle Cheney?" Interrupted 'Lil Bush. "Can I have some monie for some ice cream?" "Raa. Here's a quarter." "Me too, me too!" Yelled little Barrock. "Raa." He flipped another quarter their way. "To bad you do not have girls." "They aren't mine! I am watching them for Rockefeller. Raa." "Well if they were girls you could sell them off to the highest Goldman Sachs trader like Billy did." "Do you ever shut up about him?! Raa!"
The boys ran for the ice cream truck but Summers only drove faster. 'Look at them run!' He laughed to himself. Finally he stopped. "What'll it be boys." "Do you have anything for a quarter?" asked little Barrock. "I have Jelly Smellies for fifty cents." "Let's share!" Smiled 'Lil Bush as he put his hand on his shoulder. "Yeah!" Agreed little Barrock.
Summers handed 'Lil Bush the dessert and he promptly ran away. Barrock began to cry. "Quit your crying, boy, he stole that fair and square." He laughed loudly as he drove off. Barrock walked back to where Darth Cheney was loungin'. "Raa, stop your crying boy." Barrock looked like he was all alone and without any ice cream. Poor Barry.
But Barry would get ice cream come hell or high water. He went to the bar where Hu was working. He asked Hu for some ice cream. "I give you ice cream after you pants Al Gore in front of the pool." "No prob, Bob!" Al Gore was stretching his arms high in the air. He made eye contact with a young asian girl, and winked at her. Little Barrock came up from behind and pulled down his pants. The girl blushed and covered her mouth, "Little penis!" She giggled. Hu was pleased and gave little Barrock his dessert. 'He has a smaller penis than me!' thought Hu.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Carol of the Hell's Bells
Brian Cowen and Bernanke sit together on a park bench reading news papers. Ms. Sarkozy walks by wearing daisy dukes and boots. A cowboy hat keeps the bright sun from her eyes. Brian Cowen stands up and tips his hat to her. Bernanke follows and does the same. Cowen turns to Bernanke and sings, "Anything you can do I can do better. I can do anything better than you." Bernanke, "No you can't." "Yes I can!" "No you can't!" "Yes I can."
Obama enters stage left. He is dancing, "Yes we can, can, can, can, can, can, can." He lies down across the bench on his side with his arm supporting his head, smiling. Larry Summers comes out stage right eating a hot dog with one hand and holding a soda in the other. "She's gone country, look at them boots, she's gone country, back to her roots, she's gone country, a new kind of suit..."
Summers pushes Obama off of the bench and spills his soda on the ground. The ketchup from the dog splashes onto Barracks face, but the man fails to notice. Summers has instantly fallen asleep. Barrock looks up in surprise with a worried frown. "What is my line?" He says to the tune of 'Coral of the Bells'. The orchestra holds the note....everybody joins in. "What is his line, what is his line, what is his line, what is his line." "I am but a puppet, never needed to speak my mind."
"Give a give a give a Garmin!" Sarah Palin pokes her head from behind the curtain. The audience jumps from their seats. "Sarah wasn't supposed to be here!" "She is so hot, I would totally do her." The paying custies say to each other.
She steps out and walks to the front center wearing a flowing dark red dress and no glasses. "America, you are doing a wonderful job. Keep being you. And keep fighting the good fight." Carla joins her. "Let us all join together and begin the New World Order." The other players join them and hold hands. "We are the Champions my friends..." They bow, the crowd cheers.
Obama enters stage left. He is dancing, "Yes we can, can, can, can, can, can, can." He lies down across the bench on his side with his arm supporting his head, smiling. Larry Summers comes out stage right eating a hot dog with one hand and holding a soda in the other. "She's gone country, look at them boots, she's gone country, back to her roots, she's gone country, a new kind of suit..."
Summers pushes Obama off of the bench and spills his soda on the ground. The ketchup from the dog splashes onto Barracks face, but the man fails to notice. Summers has instantly fallen asleep. Barrock looks up in surprise with a worried frown. "What is my line?" He says to the tune of 'Coral of the Bells'. The orchestra holds the note....everybody joins in. "What is his line, what is his line, what is his line, what is his line." "I am but a puppet, never needed to speak my mind."
"Give a give a give a Garmin!" Sarah Palin pokes her head from behind the curtain. The audience jumps from their seats. "Sarah wasn't supposed to be here!" "She is so hot, I would totally do her." The paying custies say to each other.
She steps out and walks to the front center wearing a flowing dark red dress and no glasses. "America, you are doing a wonderful job. Keep being you. And keep fighting the good fight." Carla joins her. "Let us all join together and begin the New World Order." The other players join them and hold hands. "We are the Champions my friends..." They bow, the crowd cheers.
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