Wall Street Drummers for the Bankers of God

Reflections in a Petri Dish – October 31, 2011

Dog Poet Transmitting…… 

May your noses always be cold and wet.

Here are the very things that I have been saying coming from one reporter still telling it like it is. The dam is breaking. The levees are rising; at least they are in Bangkok where the banker boys and their sons go to get their pleasure in their Levi’s, probably wearing something different now since confusion and the desire to be entertained and having the appetites and hungers of the public manipulated for profit is the point,

All of our ambitions just lead into traditions that imprison us. There are spiders that drain our substance from our power and performance and we are drones whose energy is used by people to support their lifestyles and profits. Somehow I feel like a possible commie or socialist but then again, systems are just systems and all systems have people at the top even when there is no top to be seen, which is the best of worlds. The more prominent the leader, the less consideration is given to the people. The people are at their best when they barely know that their leaders are around. You can have shepherds and sheep and you can have the other guy with German Shepherds; that being a metaphor since I like the breed but a dog does what you train it to and sometimes doesn’t know who his best friend is. We’re all dogs and we all have masters. I wish someone would pat my head right about now.

Sometimes it is the best of times and sometimes it is the worst of times and sometimes you don’t know what time it is and that is probably what time it is now. Then again I don’t wear a watch cause I’m not into time, unless I’m trying to get eight thousand bucks for my drum cause the cops destroyed one that cost five thousand bucks and I guess inflation is a bitch sometimes and if you are going to drum them out of Wall Street the drum should probably cost a lot. It was probably made out of the skin of Paris Hilton’s chihuahua. Most likely it was a combination job of the dog and the bag it was being carried in. Back in the 80’s all the coke snorting bankers used to have two thousand dollar bottles of wine with their lunch and I suspect that lunch was where the rest of the dog went; probably chased it with a Welsh rabbit, or am I off topic here? Rarebit rabbi; can I get a witness? Of course rabies might be a problem for the chef but he could just say it was Cajun. All I can hope is that they don’t foreclose on my penis while I’m trying to employ the delivery system but you can’t get good Noahide leather anymore since Winona Ryder’s pussy got tanned in Brazil. Now where was I? Oh right, I was helping the Roman Army get spray-cans for the Kabbalah graffiti they had to do on the walls of Lady Gaga’s vagina or was that Demi Moore? I’m still trying to get myself one of those Kabbalah red strings from Target but they are sold out now. Who knew? Religion is not what it used to be but neither is the Kabbalah. See… you can use the thing in reverse which is where we are now.

We know that the bankers are bad chefs who never saw a tuna they couldn’t fish out of the pocket of the fish riding a bicycle through two Berkeley lesbians looking for an ATM transplant. It’s too bad I’m not drunk cause this feels better than the glue they used to stick all that debt up your ass with; talk about constipation.

How is it that everyone can go broke when all the systems that made industry happen are still there for people to make things with? I got a mystery, you got a mystery everybody got a mystery so why don’t you play Misty for me? Ah the deliquescence, ah the effervescence of the champagne bottles popping corks out of the assholes who blew up too big to fit into the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and here comes the Michelin Man, no, that’s the American public easy wider wide load bumper sticker that needs two airplane seats to sit in and now I know how they killed Paris Hilton’s dog. The Queen of England sat her cottage cheese ass down on the puppy. It was the fart that killed it not the weight but that’s just a bunch of pig bladders pretending to be porpoises in the Gulf of Mexico. Can I get a witness!! They want to punch your ticket and punch your clock and make you feel like Ving Rhames in Pulp Fiction getting a high colonic. I guess it is just about time for the cosmos to get medieval on somebody’s ass with a bunch of pipe swinging niggazs; two nuns walk into a bar so maybe I should die of lung cancer?

People who want a new world should think about why Hebrew reads right to left and how come the Crown colonies drive on the wrong side of the road except for the Americans and Canada got included. I’m not a tool and die man so you guys will have to figure this shit out for yourselves. Christmas is coming and so are Satan’s elves.

Two worlds are going into orbit in a separated at birth scenario and you do have the option to choose what planet you have lunch on after the migration. You don’t want to be having the Gaddafi Duck; just my recommendation. Duck! Duck! Incoming! I love the smell of burning surfboards of salvation in the morning. We hold these truths to be self ignorant. Wake up people.

If you want to be a prophet then you can look at the football teams in almost ruined cities of industry are doing where money is supposed to determine the win loss reality of the times. The World Series says something too. St Louis is not my idea of an economic miracle but you need to understand something about the dynamics of the human spirit and the beauty of some people in trouble when the right hand is on the rudder or when the cosmos wants to make a statement.

For myself I am soon to travel into a new world with the understanding that maybe there is a purpose to our lives. I suppose how you end up depends on who you are; what you made out of yourself on your way to wherever it was you thought you were going. Everyone is going to find out what that adds up to sooner or later and the indications and signs should be evident on whatever highway you might be traveling on.

End Transmission…….


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