We’ve got the stuffed-passage post-nasal drip-drops, and inside our head Armies of the Tennessee and the Ohio are recreating the Battle of Shilo with the Army of the Mississippi. We’ll offer the following segment from a press release without comment as anything coming out of our mouth the last few days shouldn’t have and recording for posterity what’s going on with this Civil War medical condition from Hell would surely provide the kind of opportunity to drop a few juicy ones in that has to be resisted by all loyal citizens if the Republic is to survive.
Overstock.com Proceeds with Amended Complaint that Includes Racketeering Claim against Goldman Sachs and Bank of America Subsidiary Merrill Lynch.
SALT LAKE CITY, Jan 27, 2011 - Overstock.com, Inc. (Nasdaq: OSTK) today announced that it filed its amended complaint against defendants Goldman Sachs and Bank of America subsidiary Merrill Lynch. The amended complaint includes a claim under New Jersey’s Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act. Civil RICO claims carry the possibility of treble damages.
Overstock.com announced in December it had applied to the court to allow the RICO claim. That amended complaint has now been filed, and Goldman Sachs and Merrill Lynch have 30 days to answer or challlenge the amended complaint.
Jonathan Johnson, President of Overstock.com, stated, “Goldman Sachs and Merrill Lynch and some of their market maker clients agreed to and created a scheme to effect the naked short selling in our securities in order to drive down the price of our stock to their mutual profit. It’s nice that neither Goldman nor Merrill Lynch contested our motion. We are now working to assure our racketeering claims can come before a jury.”
Patrick Byrne, Chairman and CEO of Overstock.com, added, “I am really going to enjoy watching Goldman Sachs try to justify its nefarious schemes to a jury box with 12 Americans in it.
The San Francisco action, first filed in February 2007, alleged prime broker defendents engaged in naked short selling and similar manipulative practices designed to profit from failing to deliver shares required to close trades, and that this resulted in downward pressure on Overstock.com’s stock price.
As part of the amending of the complaint, the court moved the trial date from September 12, 2011 to December 5, 2011.
Battle Hymn of the Republic
by Julia Ward Howe
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since God is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
While God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,
Our God is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.
January 29, 2011
January 26, 2011
Waltz Me Around Again, Willie
Our mob connection told us the foundation of Wall Street racketeering stood on 3 pillars: short-selling, dancing around customer orders, and gangbanging prices by deploying the full resources of all the Crime Families together, and all at once, in coordinated crippling attacks on victimized issues, market segments, whole markets sometimes, and, lately, the entire civilized world and Iceland.
Loyal readers will recall that this Capo had close matrimonial ties to our mother, who was a Saint.
Yesterday, the Securities and Excuses Commission issued the press release shown below. While we cannot recall our regulatory hotshots ever addressing Pillar Number 2 before, this one effort hardly makes up for almost 8 decades of flagrant cheerleading along the sidelines of this sociopathic industry, and should appropriate Government action actually continue, any semblance of praise for the psychotic Agency from our blogger is likely to get buried in the midst of one of his more lengthy and convoluted passages within the kind of Byzantine literary effort readers inevitably encounter in these pages whenever such a situation arises, and we rush to note that the fine here is at least several hundred billion dollars under any reasonable penalty, given the billions upon billions in current dollar (inflation-adjusted) year-end bonuses that Family racketeers have piled up waltzing their customers around since their rigged market system first began plundering our orders two freaking centuries before this one.
SEC Charges Merrill Lynch for Misusing Customer Order Information and Charging Undisclosed Trading Fees
Washington, D.C., Jan. 25, 2011 — The Securities and Exchange Commission today charged Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner & Smith Incorporated with securities fraud for misusing customer order information to place proprietary trades for the firm and for charging customers undisclosed trading fees.
To settle the SEC's charges, Merrill has agreed to pay a $10 million penalty and consent to a cease-and-desist order.
"Investors have the right to expect that their brokers won't misuse their order information," said Scott W. Friestad, Associate Director in the SEC's Division of Enforcement. "The conduct here was clearly inappropriate. Merrill's proprietary traders had improper access to information about the firm's customer orders, and misused it to place trades on the firm's behalf."
The SEC's order found that Merrill operated a proprietary trading desk between 2003 and 2005 that was known as the Equity Strategy Desk (ESD), which traded securities solely for the firm's own benefit and had no role in executing customer orders. The ESD was located on Merrill's main equity trading floor in New York City, where traders on Merrill's market making desk received and executed customer orders. While Merrill represented to customers that their order information would be maintained on a strict need-to-know basis, the firm's ESD traders obtained information about institutional customer orders from traders on the market making desk. They then used it to place trades on Merrill's behalf after executing the customers' trades. In doing so, Merrill misused this information and acted contrary to its representations to customers.
The SEC's order also found that, between 2002 and 2007, Merrill had agreements with certain institutional and high net worth customers that Merrill would only charge a commission equivalent for executing riskless principal trades. However, in some instances, Merrill also charged customers undisclosed mark-ups and mark-downs by filling customer orders at prices less favorable to the customer than the prices at which Merrill purchased or sold the securities in the market.
"Charging these undisclosed mark-ups and mark-downs was improper and contrary to Merrill's agreements with its customers," said Robert B. Kaplan, Co-Chief of the SEC's Asset Management Unit. "Brokers must act honestly and transparently when charging fees to their customers. There is no place in our markets for charging investors undisclosed trading fees."
Without admitting or denying the SEC's findings, Merrill consented to the entry of a Commission order that censures Merrill, requires it to cease-and-desist from committing or causing any violations and any future violations of Sections 15(c)(1)(A), 15(g), and 17(a) of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 and Rule 17a-3(a)(6) thereunder, and orders it to pay a penalty of $10 million.
Sounds to us like our regulatory hotshots are considering the episode an isolated incident, not Racketeering Pillar Number 2, and shutting their efforts down. Was this action merely the inevitable result of a complaint? Does the SEC even bother to audit order flow to study proprietary trading? The wording here suggests the Agency never takes proactive steps to address widespread criminal activity, more concerned with placing a lid on its investigative process to insure that G-men never dip below the tip of an obvious iceburg, no matter how humongeous its potentially gargantuan size would certainly turn out to be.
Is this it? What, are you kidding me?
And when do we start locking these serial pickpockets up?
Loyal readers will recall that this Capo had close matrimonial ties to our mother, who was a Saint.
Yesterday, the Securities and Excuses Commission issued the press release shown below. While we cannot recall our regulatory hotshots ever addressing Pillar Number 2 before, this one effort hardly makes up for almost 8 decades of flagrant cheerleading along the sidelines of this sociopathic industry, and should appropriate Government action actually continue, any semblance of praise for the psychotic Agency from our blogger is likely to get buried in the midst of one of his more lengthy and convoluted passages within the kind of Byzantine literary effort readers inevitably encounter in these pages whenever such a situation arises, and we rush to note that the fine here is at least several hundred billion dollars under any reasonable penalty, given the billions upon billions in current dollar (inflation-adjusted) year-end bonuses that Family racketeers have piled up waltzing their customers around since their rigged market system first began plundering our orders two freaking centuries before this one.
SEC Charges Merrill Lynch for Misusing Customer Order Information and Charging Undisclosed Trading Fees
Washington, D.C., Jan. 25, 2011 — The Securities and Exchange Commission today charged Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner & Smith Incorporated with securities fraud for misusing customer order information to place proprietary trades for the firm and for charging customers undisclosed trading fees.
To settle the SEC's charges, Merrill has agreed to pay a $10 million penalty and consent to a cease-and-desist order.
"Investors have the right to expect that their brokers won't misuse their order information," said Scott W. Friestad, Associate Director in the SEC's Division of Enforcement. "The conduct here was clearly inappropriate. Merrill's proprietary traders had improper access to information about the firm's customer orders, and misused it to place trades on the firm's behalf."
The SEC's order found that Merrill operated a proprietary trading desk between 2003 and 2005 that was known as the Equity Strategy Desk (ESD), which traded securities solely for the firm's own benefit and had no role in executing customer orders. The ESD was located on Merrill's main equity trading floor in New York City, where traders on Merrill's market making desk received and executed customer orders. While Merrill represented to customers that their order information would be maintained on a strict need-to-know basis, the firm's ESD traders obtained information about institutional customer orders from traders on the market making desk. They then used it to place trades on Merrill's behalf after executing the customers' trades. In doing so, Merrill misused this information and acted contrary to its representations to customers.
The SEC's order also found that, between 2002 and 2007, Merrill had agreements with certain institutional and high net worth customers that Merrill would only charge a commission equivalent for executing riskless principal trades. However, in some instances, Merrill also charged customers undisclosed mark-ups and mark-downs by filling customer orders at prices less favorable to the customer than the prices at which Merrill purchased or sold the securities in the market.
"Charging these undisclosed mark-ups and mark-downs was improper and contrary to Merrill's agreements with its customers," said Robert B. Kaplan, Co-Chief of the SEC's Asset Management Unit. "Brokers must act honestly and transparently when charging fees to their customers. There is no place in our markets for charging investors undisclosed trading fees."
Without admitting or denying the SEC's findings, Merrill consented to the entry of a Commission order that censures Merrill, requires it to cease-and-desist from committing or causing any violations and any future violations of Sections 15(c)(1)(A), 15(g), and 17(a) of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 and Rule 17a-3(a)(6) thereunder, and orders it to pay a penalty of $10 million.
Sounds to us like our regulatory hotshots are considering the episode an isolated incident, not Racketeering Pillar Number 2, and shutting their efforts down. Was this action merely the inevitable result of a complaint? Does the SEC even bother to audit order flow to study proprietary trading? The wording here suggests the Agency never takes proactive steps to address widespread criminal activity, more concerned with placing a lid on its investigative process to insure that G-men never dip below the tip of an obvious iceburg, no matter how humongeous its potentially gargantuan size would certainly turn out to be.
Is this it? What, are you kidding me?
And when do we start locking these serial pickpockets up?
January 24, 2011
Return of the Night Stalker
“Hi, I’m Shill Buckhustler, folks, and welcome to Pump and Dump, the show that tells it like it is. How can I mess up your life tonight?”
“Harriet in Harrisburg, Shill.”
“Forget you, Harrisburg Harriet.”
“Talk to me about hedge fund managers, Shill. Where do they get off stealing all our money with those short-selling rip-offs?”
“They’re better than you.”
“What do you mean, ‘better’ than me?"
“They went to Harvard Business School.”
“So what?”
“So that makes them Harvard MBA’s. Harvard MBA’s are smart enough to get together and gangbang stock prices. Your stocks’ prices, of course, not theirs.”
"Why can’t we get together and gangbang their stock prices too?”
“It’s illegal, Harriet. You know that.”
“Then how can they do it?”
“Because they‘re smarter than you. They went to Harvard Business School.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“They pay off Washington. You couldn't even come up with that one. Look, how do you think people get into Harvard Business School anyway?”
“I don’t know. Because their parents have money?”
“Harriet, where do you suppose their parents got their money?”
“They stole it from our parents?”
“I don’t think you have an aptitude for stocks, Harriet. No, I don’t think so at all. Next caller please”.
“Hey, Shill. Lawrence from Lawrenceville.”
“Sock it to me, Lawrence.”
“Face it, yuppie MBA’s like the way the ruling class got to be zillionaires by skimming our stock into their equity compensation packages. And by sneaking away with more zillions in some merger, selling out the company they’re supposed to be running for us. Or by shorting what we’ve got because they don’t have to tell us what‘s going on. And by bribing public officials with ‘campaign’ contributions to set up all this calamari.”
“It’s the entitlement thing, Lawrenceville Lawrence. They’re entitled. Everybody knows that.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re better than you. How many times do I have to say this, people? They went to Harvard Business School. They‘re entitled. Entitled, entitled, entitled entitled, entitled, entitled.
“Entitled.”
“Entitled to what? Grabbing everything we’ve got?”
“Another shlemiel who doesn’t know anything about rigged free markets. Look, people, lets go on to something else. Come up with a topic this audience can understand. Who’s the next caller please?”
“Joan from Jonesboro, Mr. Buckhustler. Why can’t hedge fund managers and the rest of them go on salary like we are? Get paid cash money.”
“And save out of their paychecks to buy stocks so crooks can skim those stocks into equity compensation packages? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Let me guess, Shill. They’re too smart for that?”
“Right. You’re the ones who sock money away, and they’re the ones who slip your dough into their wealth management accounts. That’s why they went to Harvard Business School.”
“Because they’re better than us.”
“They’re entitled. Look, Joan, the ruling class only has 75% of the country’s wealth these days. Is that enough for a ruling class? Of course not. They deserve more. A lot more. They deserve what you've got too. This is a corporate aristocracy we‘re talking about.”
“So I deserve to be what? Broke?”
“Well, look at yourself. You can’t even pay for decent financial advice. You’re here on TV talking to me, for Goodness sakes. Geeze, Joan. I mean, how pathetic is that?”
“They’re taking all my money away, aren‘t they? Everything I save up.”
“Why not? They’re better than you.”
“Well, why can’t I be a hedge fund manager too?”
“Get real. Harvard MBA’s aren’t going to tell you what stocks they’re gangbanging. Or when. You‘ll just short something that‘s going up.”
“Why won’t they tell me?”
“You’re not entitled. Your parents don’t have money. You didn‘t go to Harvard Business School. And they‘re better than you. Smarter too. Way smarter, Joan.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“Hey, it’s America. How do you think this place works? Keep bringing in those paychecks though. And saving up. We can really use your pile, Joan. How else are we supposed to get rich? Another caller please.”
“Hey, Shill. Bernie from Butner. Enjoy the show. Lemme tell your audience how I help folks make 1% a month. That’s right, folks, 1% a month. Guaranteed. Month in, month out, 1% a month guaranteed. You got a few minutes, Shill? It’s guaranteed.”
“Hmmmmmmmm. Where‘ve I heard this before. Sounds familiar. Too familiar, I think.”
“Every month, Shill.”
“You have a last name, Butner Bernie?”
(Click).
“Harriet in Harrisburg, Shill.”
“Forget you, Harrisburg Harriet.”
“Talk to me about hedge fund managers, Shill. Where do they get off stealing all our money with those short-selling rip-offs?”
“They’re better than you.”
“What do you mean, ‘better’ than me?"
“They went to Harvard Business School.”
“So what?”
“So that makes them Harvard MBA’s. Harvard MBA’s are smart enough to get together and gangbang stock prices. Your stocks’ prices, of course, not theirs.”
"Why can’t we get together and gangbang their stock prices too?”
“It’s illegal, Harriet. You know that.”
“Then how can they do it?”
“Because they‘re smarter than you. They went to Harvard Business School.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“They pay off Washington. You couldn't even come up with that one. Look, how do you think people get into Harvard Business School anyway?”
“I don’t know. Because their parents have money?”
“Harriet, where do you suppose their parents got their money?”
“They stole it from our parents?”
“I don’t think you have an aptitude for stocks, Harriet. No, I don’t think so at all. Next caller please”.
“Hey, Shill. Lawrence from Lawrenceville.”
“Sock it to me, Lawrence.”
“Face it, yuppie MBA’s like the way the ruling class got to be zillionaires by skimming our stock into their equity compensation packages. And by sneaking away with more zillions in some merger, selling out the company they’re supposed to be running for us. Or by shorting what we’ve got because they don’t have to tell us what‘s going on. And by bribing public officials with ‘campaign’ contributions to set up all this calamari.”
“It’s the entitlement thing, Lawrenceville Lawrence. They’re entitled. Everybody knows that.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re better than you. How many times do I have to say this, people? They went to Harvard Business School. They‘re entitled. Entitled, entitled, entitled entitled, entitled, entitled.
“Entitled.”
“Entitled to what? Grabbing everything we’ve got?”
“Another shlemiel who doesn’t know anything about rigged free markets. Look, people, lets go on to something else. Come up with a topic this audience can understand. Who’s the next caller please?”
“Joan from Jonesboro, Mr. Buckhustler. Why can’t hedge fund managers and the rest of them go on salary like we are? Get paid cash money.”
“And save out of their paychecks to buy stocks so crooks can skim those stocks into equity compensation packages? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Let me guess, Shill. They’re too smart for that?”
“Right. You’re the ones who sock money away, and they’re the ones who slip your dough into their wealth management accounts. That’s why they went to Harvard Business School.”
“Because they’re better than us.”
“They’re entitled. Look, Joan, the ruling class only has 75% of the country’s wealth these days. Is that enough for a ruling class? Of course not. They deserve more. A lot more. They deserve what you've got too. This is a corporate aristocracy we‘re talking about.”
“So I deserve to be what? Broke?”
“Well, look at yourself. You can’t even pay for decent financial advice. You’re here on TV talking to me, for Goodness sakes. Geeze, Joan. I mean, how pathetic is that?”
“They’re taking all my money away, aren‘t they? Everything I save up.”
“Why not? They’re better than you.”
“Well, why can’t I be a hedge fund manager too?”
“Get real. Harvard MBA’s aren’t going to tell you what stocks they’re gangbanging. Or when. You‘ll just short something that‘s going up.”
“Why won’t they tell me?”
“You’re not entitled. Your parents don’t have money. You didn‘t go to Harvard Business School. And they‘re better than you. Smarter too. Way smarter, Joan.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“Hey, it’s America. How do you think this place works? Keep bringing in those paychecks though. And saving up. We can really use your pile, Joan. How else are we supposed to get rich? Another caller please.”
“Hey, Shill. Bernie from Butner. Enjoy the show. Lemme tell your audience how I help folks make 1% a month. That’s right, folks, 1% a month. Guaranteed. Month in, month out, 1% a month guaranteed. You got a few minutes, Shill? It’s guaranteed.”
“Hmmmmmmmm. Where‘ve I heard this before. Sounds familiar. Too familiar, I think.”
“Every month, Shill.”
“You have a last name, Butner Bernie?”
(Click).
January 19, 2011
60 Minutes on CNBC
Last night Michael Lewis discussed his book, The Big Short, on 60 Minutes on CNBC, and we also got to see the PC he wrote it on and meet one of his heroes. Readers will recall our adoring review of this outstanding work, which relives Wall Street’s nefarious role in the sub-prime mortgage swindle.
Michael added more observations and opinion on the show, which is well worth watching if it airs again, as has been CNBC’s habit with similar programming in the past.
It’s interesting that everyone shies away from terms like short-selling and short-sellers, and they did last night, even though that’s what the segment was about. That the perps all walked away with big bucks and the crime went unreported by everyone but Michael Lewis still leaves us flabbergasted, and watching the author’s reaction while he said so was a delight.
Everyone in Government, finance, and the media got portrayed as a total crook on our living room TV last night, wonder of wonders. Coming away from the show feeling that the Crime Lords will never be nabbed for anything they do is more than a bit unsettling, but realistic, and that, we suppose, has to be part of the story here too.
At least we finally got to see someone who used to be a talking airhead finally telling us that Wall Street mobsters are a pack of bloodsucking thieves, though not in so many words exactly, and The MacDougal Post staff takes that as one giant leap for mankind, maybe even a win.
Kudos to 60 Minutes on CNBC. Best of luck with the rest of your new season.
Michael added more observations and opinion on the show, which is well worth watching if it airs again, as has been CNBC’s habit with similar programming in the past.
It’s interesting that everyone shies away from terms like short-selling and short-sellers, and they did last night, even though that’s what the segment was about. That the perps all walked away with big bucks and the crime went unreported by everyone but Michael Lewis still leaves us flabbergasted, and watching the author’s reaction while he said so was a delight.
Everyone in Government, finance, and the media got portrayed as a total crook on our living room TV last night, wonder of wonders. Coming away from the show feeling that the Crime Lords will never be nabbed for anything they do is more than a bit unsettling, but realistic, and that, we suppose, has to be part of the story here too.
At least we finally got to see someone who used to be a talking airhead finally telling us that Wall Street mobsters are a pack of bloodsucking thieves, though not in so many words exactly, and The MacDougal Post staff takes that as one giant leap for mankind, maybe even a win.
Kudos to 60 Minutes on CNBC. Best of luck with the rest of your new season.
January 15, 2011
The Night Stalker
“Hi, I’m Shill Buckhustler, and welcome to Pump and Dump. How can I mess up your life tonight?”
“Hey, Shill. This is Lulu in Louisiana.”
“Forget you, Louisiana Lulu. What hair-brained hogwash are we selling you this evening?”
"MCD is down 10%, and you got me in at the top. What do you want me to do now?”
“MCD gets chopped because my hedge fund buddies short it every chance they get. They’re running 75% of the nation’s wealth these days, and use that dough to trash everyone else‘s stocks. Racketeers scheme up these shorts together and pull the rug out jointly so their victims haven’t got a canary’s chance in a deregulated coal mine.
“So that’s why I want you to sell, sell, sell, sell, sell.”
“Huh?”
“To help the bloodsucking thieves buy themselves out so they can jack the quote up and then do it all over again. Public hops in at the top, jumps out at the bottom. Everybody knows that. Racketeers need you again, Lulu. Now that the price has tanked, hoodlums want folks out there to sell shares back to them. The ones you bought from my shorts when they dumped them on you at higher prices.”
“Oh, I get it now.”
"Got to help the guys out so they can loot everybody again after the next monthlies get reported. Or the latest quarterlies.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll throw in the towel then.”
“Good girl, Lulu. We’re making the market for short-sellers on this program. That’s why we keep telling everybody to use stop loss orders. I want you to dump it right here and when the price pops up good, jump in big time and climb all over that sucker at the top.”
“Then get off again after it tanks. Like I always do.”
“Right. See, some poor sucker thought he bought real MCD from the shorts when they actually conned him into buying nothing but an accounting transaction, and now the racketeers need to pick up some actual stock from a second mark for the old bookkeeping switcharoo that slips bona fide into the first mark‘s hands now that they‘re done slamming the stock for a while."
“And I’m the second mark."
“You got it, Lulu. Buy when the hedge fund guys are selling and sell when the mobsters are buying. Next caller please.”
“Yo, Shill. This is Insolvent in Indiana. Love the way you do us every night.”
“Thanks, Insolvent. We try. Haven‘t heard from you in a while.”
“I know. Is it time to pick up some more Enron now? Country’s become a living Hell and it’s freezing over out there.”
“Where do these morons come from anyway?”
“You said that was when.”
“Hey, Shill. This is Lulu in Louisiana.”
“Forget you, Louisiana Lulu. What hair-brained hogwash are we selling you this evening?”
"MCD is down 10%, and you got me in at the top. What do you want me to do now?”
“MCD gets chopped because my hedge fund buddies short it every chance they get. They’re running 75% of the nation’s wealth these days, and use that dough to trash everyone else‘s stocks. Racketeers scheme up these shorts together and pull the rug out jointly so their victims haven’t got a canary’s chance in a deregulated coal mine.
“So that’s why I want you to sell, sell, sell, sell, sell.”
“Huh?”
“To help the bloodsucking thieves buy themselves out so they can jack the quote up and then do it all over again. Public hops in at the top, jumps out at the bottom. Everybody knows that. Racketeers need you again, Lulu. Now that the price has tanked, hoodlums want folks out there to sell shares back to them. The ones you bought from my shorts when they dumped them on you at higher prices.”
“Oh, I get it now.”
"Got to help the guys out so they can loot everybody again after the next monthlies get reported. Or the latest quarterlies.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll throw in the towel then.”
“Good girl, Lulu. We’re making the market for short-sellers on this program. That’s why we keep telling everybody to use stop loss orders. I want you to dump it right here and when the price pops up good, jump in big time and climb all over that sucker at the top.”
“Then get off again after it tanks. Like I always do.”
“Right. See, some poor sucker thought he bought real MCD from the shorts when they actually conned him into buying nothing but an accounting transaction, and now the racketeers need to pick up some actual stock from a second mark for the old bookkeeping switcharoo that slips bona fide into the first mark‘s hands now that they‘re done slamming the stock for a while."
“And I’m the second mark."
“You got it, Lulu. Buy when the hedge fund guys are selling and sell when the mobsters are buying. Next caller please.”
“Yo, Shill. This is Insolvent in Indiana. Love the way you do us every night.”
“Thanks, Insolvent. We try. Haven‘t heard from you in a while.”
“I know. Is it time to pick up some more Enron now? Country’s become a living Hell and it’s freezing over out there.”
“Where do these morons come from anyway?”
“You said that was when.”
January 12, 2011
Crazy In Manhattan
Back in the middle of the last century, New Yorkers decided to trim somebody’s budget by shutting down mental institutions, and that dandy idea turned a whole lot of head cases loose in the streets. At least two ended up in Manhattan. This crazy guy and this even crazier lady.
Both looked nuts, especially in the eyes, but were conditioned like world class athletes, and covered ground with impressive pace, at a walk but easily two or three times faster than anyone else in town. And they never stopped. Not for anything except red lights. Somehow both knew about red lights and always, always obeyed them.
The crazy guy had this little toy duck on wheels, and he towed it along behind him on a string, and it went “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack“, and rather boisterously too, and he was great at this because, speedy as the crazy guy was, the little toy duck on wheels never tipped over, bounding up and down curbs, or over manhole covers or shiny pedestrian shoes sometimes, but skirting anything seriously in its path like hot dog vendors or the pretzel wagon, though skidding big time when the crazy guy put it through hairy turns, which he did a lot.
“Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” terrorized lower Manhattan the whole time The Kid worked his summer job there, and The Kid looked for the crazy guy and his pet toy duck on wheels every lunch hour except Fridays, when the guys took him along for pizza and beer, and the toy duck on wheels was happy and almost radiant with these wonderful whites and silvers and blues and ruby red toenails and a great big medium yellow beak that dipped up and down, and the wheels made something inside go “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” as the great big medium yellow beak dipped along, looking for all the world like the thing was actually talking, though in a delightful cartoon kind of way, but when you peered into the crazy guy’s eyes you could see there was absolutely nobody at home in there.
Sidewalks cleared when the crazy guy hustled by, and no matter how crowded the Wall Street area was, within maybe ten yards of the two of them, and on all sides, the crazy guy and his toy duck on wheels had the whole town to themselves in what was a really, really strange kind of way.
The Kid watched the two board the Staten Island Ferry once, and jumped on after them, and the crazy guy hustled up and down the decks there too, and his pet toy duck on wheels went “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” right behind him, and a vessel totally filled with passengers was empty to the two of them as people shoved each other up against cabin walls like it was a subway instead of the ferry just to get away from the outrageous pair, and the crazy guy took the ferry back to Manhattan, and The Kid did too, and the crazy guy never slowed down once the entire time The Kid was following him, world-class athlete that this whacko happened to be.
The crazy lady stalked pedestrians in midtown Manhattan, storming up and down Third Avenue a lot. She’d target someone on the other side of the street and charge her prey, screaming unintelligibly in the poor victim’s face when she got a few feet away, then veering back to the side she’d started on while people freaked out. Totally freaked out. Most stopped dead in their tracks, a few ran, but nobody, absolutely nobody, ever, ever went after her.
You should’ve seen the crazy lady’s face.
That woman was beyond nuts.
Over the years, and directly because of these encounters, whenever The Kid ran across an animal, any kind of animal, he’d always stare deep into the creature’s eyes, trying to see who was in there. Sharks are stone cold killers, gorillas and them could be living in the house next door, and probably were that year The Kid sublet in Alexandria. Birds are the most frightening, and a remarkable number of mammals simply look coy and you end up thinking you deserve whatever‘s coming next because you‘re so not in on stuff compared to them. But none of the animals ever came anywhere near scaring The Kid out of his mind like the crazy lady did. Not even that eighteen footer in the Seminole alligator farm a few miles outside Pahokee who singled The Kid out for lunch and followed him with his eyes everywhere The Kid went inside the Seminole alligator farm a few miles outside Pahokee, which had probably been designed to make this happen to big meals like The Kid dumb enough to start something by staring into a Goddam alligator's eyes, for Chrissakes.
Crazy lady was the only one ever got The Kid hotfooting away, and he took off every time he spotted her. Crazy lady was beyond terrifying. Kid lived off Third Avenue at the time, and got the hell out of there as soon as the lease set him free.
Anyway, whenever some psycho shoots a place up, people focus on the gun, but we remember way back when all these loonies were dumped into society, and why. Caring for them had been deemed too expensive. Now that more people have gotten themselves shot in another senseless massacre, it’s long past time to acknowledge these kinds of casualties as collateral damage to wrong thinking.
And do what’s right. For everybody, including the whack jobs. Spend the damn money and care for these people properly. We need to put them away. Always have. Especially that horrible witch stalking midtown Manhattan back in the day.
God, we hope the creature is dead. It’s an awful thing to say, but we do. We truly do.
You should’ve seen the crazy lady’s face.
That woman was beyond nuts.
Both looked nuts, especially in the eyes, but were conditioned like world class athletes, and covered ground with impressive pace, at a walk but easily two or three times faster than anyone else in town. And they never stopped. Not for anything except red lights. Somehow both knew about red lights and always, always obeyed them.
The crazy guy had this little toy duck on wheels, and he towed it along behind him on a string, and it went “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack“, and rather boisterously too, and he was great at this because, speedy as the crazy guy was, the little toy duck on wheels never tipped over, bounding up and down curbs, or over manhole covers or shiny pedestrian shoes sometimes, but skirting anything seriously in its path like hot dog vendors or the pretzel wagon, though skidding big time when the crazy guy put it through hairy turns, which he did a lot.
“Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” terrorized lower Manhattan the whole time The Kid worked his summer job there, and The Kid looked for the crazy guy and his pet toy duck on wheels every lunch hour except Fridays, when the guys took him along for pizza and beer, and the toy duck on wheels was happy and almost radiant with these wonderful whites and silvers and blues and ruby red toenails and a great big medium yellow beak that dipped up and down, and the wheels made something inside go “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” as the great big medium yellow beak dipped along, looking for all the world like the thing was actually talking, though in a delightful cartoon kind of way, but when you peered into the crazy guy’s eyes you could see there was absolutely nobody at home in there.
Sidewalks cleared when the crazy guy hustled by, and no matter how crowded the Wall Street area was, within maybe ten yards of the two of them, and on all sides, the crazy guy and his toy duck on wheels had the whole town to themselves in what was a really, really strange kind of way.
The Kid watched the two board the Staten Island Ferry once, and jumped on after them, and the crazy guy hustled up and down the decks there too, and his pet toy duck on wheels went “Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack” right behind him, and a vessel totally filled with passengers was empty to the two of them as people shoved each other up against cabin walls like it was a subway instead of the ferry just to get away from the outrageous pair, and the crazy guy took the ferry back to Manhattan, and The Kid did too, and the crazy guy never slowed down once the entire time The Kid was following him, world-class athlete that this whacko happened to be.
The crazy lady stalked pedestrians in midtown Manhattan, storming up and down Third Avenue a lot. She’d target someone on the other side of the street and charge her prey, screaming unintelligibly in the poor victim’s face when she got a few feet away, then veering back to the side she’d started on while people freaked out. Totally freaked out. Most stopped dead in their tracks, a few ran, but nobody, absolutely nobody, ever, ever went after her.
You should’ve seen the crazy lady’s face.
That woman was beyond nuts.
Over the years, and directly because of these encounters, whenever The Kid ran across an animal, any kind of animal, he’d always stare deep into the creature’s eyes, trying to see who was in there. Sharks are stone cold killers, gorillas and them could be living in the house next door, and probably were that year The Kid sublet in Alexandria. Birds are the most frightening, and a remarkable number of mammals simply look coy and you end up thinking you deserve whatever‘s coming next because you‘re so not in on stuff compared to them. But none of the animals ever came anywhere near scaring The Kid out of his mind like the crazy lady did. Not even that eighteen footer in the Seminole alligator farm a few miles outside Pahokee who singled The Kid out for lunch and followed him with his eyes everywhere The Kid went inside the Seminole alligator farm a few miles outside Pahokee, which had probably been designed to make this happen to big meals like The Kid dumb enough to start something by staring into a Goddam alligator's eyes, for Chrissakes.
Crazy lady was the only one ever got The Kid hotfooting away, and he took off every time he spotted her. Crazy lady was beyond terrifying. Kid lived off Third Avenue at the time, and got the hell out of there as soon as the lease set him free.
Anyway, whenever some psycho shoots a place up, people focus on the gun, but we remember way back when all these loonies were dumped into society, and why. Caring for them had been deemed too expensive. Now that more people have gotten themselves shot in another senseless massacre, it’s long past time to acknowledge these kinds of casualties as collateral damage to wrong thinking.
And do what’s right. For everybody, including the whack jobs. Spend the damn money and care for these people properly. We need to put them away. Always have. Especially that horrible witch stalking midtown Manhattan back in the day.
God, we hope the creature is dead. It’s an awful thing to say, but we do. We truly do.
You should’ve seen the crazy lady’s face.
That woman was beyond nuts.
January 10, 2011
The Shootings
As real unemployment/underemployment rolls on at maybe 40% plus who knows what, outsourced jobs look like they’ll fail to insource again any time soon, and illegal immigrants continue to flood domestic labor markets with this nagging impunity. Recent college graduates have no positions to apply for. None. At a time when foreclosures on top of lost wages turn middle aged adults into dependents once again, homelessness exceeds mortifying levels and young men and women in these families march off to die in an onerous war nobody ever tries to win. And while the politically unhinged hurl murderous invective at everyone in sight, declining to govern with anyone but same-minded simpletons in the face of Federal deficits programmed to destroy us all, investors faced with these unsettling horrors, and more, much, much more, scheme haplessly to position themselves for a certain spate of oncoming inflation.
Position themselves in markets rigged to peg interest on US Treasury bills at whacked rates.
And now, only now, after an Arizona Congresswoman gets gunned down in the streets, do Washington officials, living high off exorbitant bribes from Wall Street Crime Families, struggle to figure out why anyone would want to shoot them. Faced with the prospect of classifying 130 million voters as mentally deranged, law enforcement must now deal with a national constituency hell bent on at least throwing these mob stooges off Capitol Hill and killing their chances of ever running for public office again.
Our heart goes out to everyone impacted by this God-forsaken political wasteland, at least everyone not yet old enough to find consolation in the ever improving likelihood their harangued soul will get beamed up to a better, much anticipated place, and soon.
As for the latest newsworthy tragedy, our prayers are with Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and those mortally, bodily, and/or psychologically injured in the Arizona shootings, as well as their families and friends and the many impacted communities.
The human toll is heavy, and its consequences strongly suggest change, possibly for us all.
But one can’t help reflecting on the weight of so much individual tragedy going unreported across the nation these days. Clearly, that has more to do with this than anything the talking airheads choose to cover, at least so far anyway.
Position themselves in markets rigged to peg interest on US Treasury bills at whacked rates.
And now, only now, after an Arizona Congresswoman gets gunned down in the streets, do Washington officials, living high off exorbitant bribes from Wall Street Crime Families, struggle to figure out why anyone would want to shoot them. Faced with the prospect of classifying 130 million voters as mentally deranged, law enforcement must now deal with a national constituency hell bent on at least throwing these mob stooges off Capitol Hill and killing their chances of ever running for public office again.
Our heart goes out to everyone impacted by this God-forsaken political wasteland, at least everyone not yet old enough to find consolation in the ever improving likelihood their harangued soul will get beamed up to a better, much anticipated place, and soon.
As for the latest newsworthy tragedy, our prayers are with Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and those mortally, bodily, and/or psychologically injured in the Arizona shootings, as well as their families and friends and the many impacted communities.
The human toll is heavy, and its consequences strongly suggest change, possibly for us all.
But one can’t help reflecting on the weight of so much individual tragedy going unreported across the nation these days. Clearly, that has more to do with this than anything the talking airheads choose to cover, at least so far anyway.
January 5, 2011
Connubial Blisters
Your blogger was an old man before he understood what courtship is all about.
A guy is supposed to be out there looking for the right boss. The kind of supervisor who tells him what to do in a way he can at least tolerate once the fog of finding someone with boobs who’ll actually talk to him wears off. Matrimony is bondage, and labor laws don’t apply, so you have to get it right going in.
Courtship, as the scariest word in the English language so abstractly describes, also gives the suitor a chance to see how the party of her part is going to carry herself during their divorce proceedings, should that ever-present threat come to define the relationship for all time.
Nobody remembers the chase, or rather, tries to. At some point after the ring goes on, it’s like all that was some kind of weird dream and you just woke up in the middle of a gunfight. Or got woke up. Abruptly and with this dreadful hangover.
The hangover that is the rest of your life.
Anyway, your blogger was too old to strap on irons again when he finally figured all this out, and now heads for the closest woods anytime a prospective boss shows up.
The President’s recent Hawaiian vacation recalls our epiphany on this matter. Bam-Bam now finds himself wedded to a houseful of Republicans who hate Democratic presidents, and the one they’ve got in particular, and the hapless victim is scratching frantically for some way out of his bonds. He shut the White House down, threw everybody out, and fled to the other side of the planet.
The next two years could be tough for relatives like us to watch, doubly so because it’s all about money with this marriage. If the House busts his chops hard enough though, the stock market is going to love it.
Officers of the court actually hand out tickets to ferociously contested public divorces. We’ve got front row seats for this one, and gawkers flipping between Fox News and MSNBC may forget which side they’re on and just get into the show.
Congress convenes today, ringing the bell for Round One. Make sure you load up on popcorn.
A guy is supposed to be out there looking for the right boss. The kind of supervisor who tells him what to do in a way he can at least tolerate once the fog of finding someone with boobs who’ll actually talk to him wears off. Matrimony is bondage, and labor laws don’t apply, so you have to get it right going in.
Courtship, as the scariest word in the English language so abstractly describes, also gives the suitor a chance to see how the party of her part is going to carry herself during their divorce proceedings, should that ever-present threat come to define the relationship for all time.
Nobody remembers the chase, or rather, tries to. At some point after the ring goes on, it’s like all that was some kind of weird dream and you just woke up in the middle of a gunfight. Or got woke up. Abruptly and with this dreadful hangover.
The hangover that is the rest of your life.
Anyway, your blogger was too old to strap on irons again when he finally figured all this out, and now heads for the closest woods anytime a prospective boss shows up.
The President’s recent Hawaiian vacation recalls our epiphany on this matter. Bam-Bam now finds himself wedded to a houseful of Republicans who hate Democratic presidents, and the one they’ve got in particular, and the hapless victim is scratching frantically for some way out of his bonds. He shut the White House down, threw everybody out, and fled to the other side of the planet.
The next two years could be tough for relatives like us to watch, doubly so because it’s all about money with this marriage. If the House busts his chops hard enough though, the stock market is going to love it.
Officers of the court actually hand out tickets to ferociously contested public divorces. We’ve got front row seats for this one, and gawkers flipping between Fox News and MSNBC may forget which side they’re on and just get into the show.
Congress convenes today, ringing the bell for Round One. Make sure you load up on popcorn.
January 1, 2011
Happy New Year
They bring a mountain of money, this Gatsby crowd, and the ability to move it, and their pile feeds the rapacious appetite of what has morphed into a megalomaniacal arch-villain, the modern day short-seller. As the “stock option” swindle barrels on, society’s supercareless widen their death grip on the nation‘s wealth from 75% today, up from 35% yesterday, into maybe the 90%'s tomorrow, and whack job wealth managers of choice pool their deliria, targeting whole countries for devastation.
Why not? Cokeheads have the wherewithal. And the depravity.
Greece, Ireland, Portugal, Spain. Off-handedly, the talking airheads of Corporate TV recently offered up Japan and France too. And high on Capitol Hill, bought wingnuts clamor to throw our own Government far enough into the red to let the Crime Families rain a catastrophic hyperinflation down upon our beleaguered, dollar-monetized skulls. It won’t happen in 2011, just draw closer yet, plummet headwaters already cresting into faint view through the mist of a distant otherworldly horizon.
Invisible to a complicitous media, this short-selling scourge is chronicled only by these blogs. Nobody else follows the bloodsucking thieves. With that in mind, The MacDougal Post wishes all its readers a joyous 2011, and urges you to make the most of what you’ve got while you’ve still got it.
Just don’t get too used to having it, is all.
And we lead off your New Year with what may turn out to be the question of our times. Are the Dons paying Washington’s financial adolescents to play Goofy so Scrooge McDuck and his guys can eventually short the United States Treasury, and the nation along with it, finally plundering all the cherished wealth there is here? Every last cent would be 100%.
May be the only way this inexplicable debacle can end.
Why not? Cokeheads have the wherewithal. And the depravity.
Greece, Ireland, Portugal, Spain. Off-handedly, the talking airheads of Corporate TV recently offered up Japan and France too. And high on Capitol Hill, bought wingnuts clamor to throw our own Government far enough into the red to let the Crime Families rain a catastrophic hyperinflation down upon our beleaguered, dollar-monetized skulls. It won’t happen in 2011, just draw closer yet, plummet headwaters already cresting into faint view through the mist of a distant otherworldly horizon.
Invisible to a complicitous media, this short-selling scourge is chronicled only by these blogs. Nobody else follows the bloodsucking thieves. With that in mind, The MacDougal Post wishes all its readers a joyous 2011, and urges you to make the most of what you’ve got while you’ve still got it.
Just don’t get too used to having it, is all.
And we lead off your New Year with what may turn out to be the question of our times. Are the Dons paying Washington’s financial adolescents to play Goofy so Scrooge McDuck and his guys can eventually short the United States Treasury, and the nation along with it, finally plundering all the cherished wealth there is here? Every last cent would be 100%.
May be the only way this inexplicable debacle can end.
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