The MacDougal Post: Connubial Blisters

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.

Inside the Scam

Short-sellers flood markets with bogus shares, involving buyers in bookkeeping transactions, not stock, and not telling them about it. Wall Street helps hide the fraud with Madoff accounting, even letting shorts pay dividends as part of this scam, duping investors into believing they get real dividends paid by the company they thought they invested in.

Worse, short-selling, in effect, adds these phony shares to the actual total number reported in company financial statements, which goes into the various earnings per share (EPS) calculations, essential components of the critical metric universally used to value common stocks, the price/earnings ratio (P/E). In a selling frenzy, EPS can be cut from, say, $4.00 to $0.40 or $0.04 or whatever, by the immense volume of fake shares these pretend investors are drubbing the real ones with at point of purchase.

Every reference made to P/E as a calculable metric is a lie. Our stock market is gamed by short-side racketeers, rendering equity investment in this country a massive securities fraud. Their humongous swindle purloins much of our savings during every market downdraft.

Odds are the SEC staff belongs in jail. Gangland racketeering is more than enabled by the complicity of our regulatory hotshots. Mob stooges inside that agency have spearheaded these cons for generations, flat out lying to us all those years.

Surely, the SEC's remarkable contention that short-sellers borrow their shares from you and me is, in its downright absurdity, the nadir of arrogance and criminal obfuscation.

That's why we're never asked to go along with it.

Site Exclusives

As our young readers know, any loser who steals mommy and daddy's savings is a stupid ninny.

Wall Street hires the biggest dumbbells in the world. That's because God hates stealers, and the nincompoops don't even know it.

Keep an eye on bad men like hedge fund managers, bank CEOs and proprietary traders right here in The MacDougal Post. Incorrigible dingbats like Mucus Poole-Knightly, Pockets MulGoon, and Lewie the Dip, just to name a few of the head cases found on the site, are contracted to appear here exclusively.

You won't find that kind of financial coverage anywhere else in cyberspace.

Check in with us regularly to find out what's really going on with your money, if there's any left. And when it's all gone, take a shower whenever you can and drop in on us from the local public library.

The MacDougal Post

Prize

January 5, 2011

Connubial Blisters

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