Saddled up

    Chiropractic cowgirl, Rowdi Bonebender, DC, and life sidekick, Uzi, were jawboning over by the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, about ready to cross under the Hudson River and ride on into town.  The Big Apple stood on the other side.

    Some short-selling sidewinders had been messing with the wrong cowgirl is what it was.  Short-selling hedge fund sidewinders.

    “Bloodsucking thieves been issuing bogus shares to themselves and dumping ‘em on victims.  You and me think we’re buying real stock, but racketeers slip pretend in on us just like that.  Even pay phony dividends too.  Make you believe your order was matched with bona fide company issue, but all you got is a dang bookkeeping transaction.  Bookkeeping deception is what it is.”

    Rowdi, an original subscriber to The MacDougal Post, had been reading her blogs good.  Real good.  Cowgirl knew how bad small investors were getting snakebit by short-sellers.  Too good maybe because here she was in Jersey City, outside the major artery into midtown Manhattan, getting ready to do something about it.

    Goodhearted soul knew nobody else would.

    Rowdi fingered the cylinder on her Colt .38.  She rolled it slowly, counting the clicks, then ran her palm along the double-barreled pump-action set across her lap.  Cowgirl glanced over to see how Uzi was doing with the M-79 40 mm grenade launcher.  Life sidekick was fiddling with ordinance in one of the Gucci saddle bags her chiropractic cowgirl had given her for Musculoskeletal Awareness Day.  Uzi was itching to head out.  Cowhands too.  All the girls looked ready to ride.

    Ride into the lawless Hellhole folks in the badlands of New York call Wall Street.

    Mongol bow slung over one shoulder, Roomfulla Grones riffled the fletching on a poison arrow.  Clearly, battle couldn’t come soon enough for the office Amazon.  She slipped the deadly missile back inside her quiver and fixed both eyes on the chiropractic healer, waiting for the move ‘em out.

    Anybody could see this wasn’t going to be some fool roundup.  Trail boss was out to settle a score.

    Rowdi tugged gently on the reins and nudged the great Appaloosa into traffic.  Oncoming New York commuters let the girls in with only a hoot and six or seven hollers.

    That’s when the cell phone rang.

    “STOP, Cowgirl, STOP.”  It was MacDougal Irving.  He had news.  “I’ve got news,” is how MacDougal put it.

    Traffic into Midtown from the Jersey side snarled.  “Whassup, Hoss?”

    “Bloomberg TV says the FDIC has authorized lawsuits against more than 50 officers and directors of failed banks as the Agency aims to recoup more than $1 billion in losses stemming from the credit crisis.”

    “What’s that got to do with short-sellers?”

    “Nothing, but don’t you see?  Somebody’s doing something.  You and the girls don’t have to get things started now.”

    “Hoss, we’re already here.”

    “FDIC’s negotiating.  Story says they’ll file law suits if the sitdowns don’t work out.”

    “Negotiating?”

    “Give the agency a chance, Rowdi.  Why not?”

    “Negotiating with crooks?”

    “Financial crooks.  Hey, it’s America.”

    “Negotiating with crooks for $1 BILLION?”

    Took a while, but we talked the cowgirl into turning around.  Her and her gunslingers trailered the saddle broncs and came on home.  Didn’t like it much, but we’re talking about the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation here.

    Securities and Excuses Commission sticks a thing like that in the media, and the Bonebender Bunch is riding on into Hellhole town with fire in their eyes.