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A BaNZai7 CHRiSTMaS CaRoL..
A SuBPRiMe CHRiSTMaS CaRoL
(PaRT I)
E-Bernank Scrooge lived all alone in an old house. The yard was very dark and scary that night and when Scrooge wanted to unlock the door, he had the feeling that he saw John Maynard Keyne's face there.
This was rather spooky, but Scrooge was not frightened easily.
“Bah Munger,” he said, opened the door and walked in. He locked himself in, however, which he usually didn’t do. But then he felt safe again and sat down before the fire.
Suddenly, Scrooge heard a noise, deep down below, as if somebody was dragging a heavy chain. The noise came nearer and nearer, and then Scrooge saw a ghost coming right through the heavy door.
It was Keynes' ghost, and his chains were long; they were made of cash-boxes, HP ink jet cartidges and heavy purses.
“Who are you?” said Scrooge
“In theory I am your PhD ghost partner, John Maynard Keynes."
“But why do you come to me now?”
“I must wander through the world and I wear these chains because I was a naive old PhD fool in life.
I only cared about fanciful money printing theories but not about the people around me.
Now, I am here to warn you.
You still have a chance, E-Bernank.
Three spirits will come to you. Expect the first tomorrow, when the NYSE trading bell tolls open.”
When he had said these words, Keyne’s ghost disappeared; and the night became quiet again.
E-Bernank Scrooge went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep immediately.
PART II
When E Bernank Scrooge awoke, it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and there was no noise of people on Wall Street.
Keynes' ghost bothered him.
He didn’t know whether it was a dream or not. Then he remembered that a spirit should visit him at the opening NYSE bell.
So instead of having a Brazilian butt, head and back wax at the Federal Reserve barbershop, E-Bernank Scrooge decided to lie awake and wait to see what happens.
Suddenly, the NYSE opening bell struck. Light flashed up on his trading screen and a small ink stained hand drew back the curtains of his bed.
Then E-Bernank found himself face to face with the visitor. It was a strange figure – like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old decrepit Randian fool.
“Who, and what are you?” E-Bernank Scrooge asked the ghost.
“I am Maestro the Ghost of Busted Bubbles Past. Rise and come with me.”
The ghost took Scrooge back in time, to a place where E Bernank Scrooge studied as a young PhD candidate. There Scrooge could see his younger self playing foolish market equilibrium games with other delusional central banker wannabes and future bonehead Nobel Laureates.
They were cheerfully running around a cheap imported Christmas tree made in China; and although they were hopelessly naive in their theoretical assumptions, they had lots of geek fun.
The spirit also took E-Bernank Scrooge to a money printing factory where Scrooge was an apprentice.
Scrooge saw the merry Christmas Eve they spent on the printing presses with his boss Mr Fuzzidice and his family. There was food and music and dancing and everybody was happy.
Then the spirit took Scrooge to yet another place. Scrooge was older now. He was not alone, but sat by the side of a beautiful young girl. There were tears in her eyes.
“It is sad to see,” she said, softly. “that yet another moron has displaced me – the love of fools gold. Your heart was full of real gold once, but now …? I think it is full of QE crap. Fiat fraud begets fraud...swindle begets swindle...error begets error and the whole cycle soon becomes woebegotten.
May you be happy in the lunatic path of monetary expansion you have chosen.”
“Spirit,” said Scrooge, “show me no more. Take me home. Why do you torture me?”
“One shadow more,” said the ghost.
They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. There was a happy group celebrating Christmas with all their warmth and heartiness. Scrooge recognized his former girlfriend. She was married now and had children.
Sweetheart said her husband with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon. E-Bernank Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could see him there. His money printing plan to revive the economy is faltering miserably and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.”
“Spirit,” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “Take me back! I cannot bear it any longer.”
He struggled with the ghost to take him back.
And finally Scrooge found himself in his own bed again. He was very exhausted and sank into a heavy sleep.
PART III
E-Bernank Scrooge woke up in the middle of a snore, just before the CNBC midday report. He sat up in his bed and waited for the second ghost to come.
And there it was – the Ghost of Never Ending Banksta Presents. It had a curly brown toupee, sparkling eyes and it wore a simple greenback robe with white fur. Its feet were bare as the theoretical justifications for it's nauseating bloviations. It wore a holy bailout wreath and thick glasses.
"Didn't I just see you" inquired Scrooge.
"Shut up and don't be a wiseass if you know what's good for you" replied the ghost.
The ghost took Scrooge to his former partner Hank Paulson's house – a not too shabby poor little 12 bedroom Park Avenue penthouse. In the kitchen you could see Mrs Paulson screaming at the maids preparing Christmas bailout dinner. Her spawn were cheerfully running around playing hide and go swindle.
Then the door opened and Hank came in with Tiny Timmah upon his shoulders.
Tiny Timmah was Hank's dumbest protege. The only government salaried employee in the family. He bore a little crutch and wore a noose around his neck.
“On our way home, Tiny Timmah told me that he hoped the people saw him in the Harvard-Soviet Club, because he was a very very very important government central planning employee.
It might be pleasant to them to remember on Christmas Day, who made Bankstas rich and stroked that blind choom chugging fool Obama to sleep.” Hank's voice trembled when he said this.
Then the Christmas bailout dinner was ready, and everyone sat down at the table. As the Paulson's were very very very very...very poor by Forbes billionaire standards, it was not much they had for Christmas bailout dinner.
But still everyone was joyful and you could feel that they all had the TARP Bailout Spirit in their hearts.
“A Merry Christmas to all Bankstas my dears! God bless them. Let the rest suck it up and cope!” said Hank.
“God bless Bankstas, each and every one of em!” said Tiny Timmah.
He sat very close to his mentor's side upon his little stool. Hank held his little hand, as if he feared to lose him.
“Spirit,” said Scrooge, who felt sorry for the feckless moron, “tell me if Tiny Timmah will keep his job.”
“I see an empty Treasury Secretary seat,” replied the ghost, “and a noose with Timmah's name embroidered on it. If these shadows don’t change in the future, the happy moron will get lynched and hung with his chestnuts roasted over a Main Street open fire.”
This made Scrooge very sad for a nano-moment, but the spirit went on and took Scrooge to his best friend Lloyd Blankfein's penthouse at 15 Central Park West.
Lloyd and his slimy friends had a very cheerful party and played squidilious games like suck a buck, subpenny the client and schtup the Kraut banker.
E-Bernank Scrooge really enjoyed their celaphopodic party and wanted to stay for another while but in a second it all faded and Scrooge and the spirit were again on their travels.
They visited many homes in fraudclosure: they saw rich Wall Street financiers and Bankstas who were glad to have QE Infinity and wanted more in the form of QE IV; PIIGS in foreign lands who were close to bankrupt but saved by the ECB bailout clock, poor common people whose bank accounts shrunk smaller every day – all because of the spirit of QE+N..., can-kick-onomics and moron hazard.
Suddenly, E-Bernank Scrooge noticed something strange about the ghost. Two children-like figures were at the ghost’s feet – a boy and a girl. But, they looked old and dreadful, like little monsters.
Scrooge was shocked.
“Spirit, are they your creatures?” Scrooge asked.
“They are Wall Street's creatures,” said the spirit “The boy is Want, The girl is Want More. Cherish them both, but most of all cherish this girl” said the spirit.
“Have they no place they can go?” asked Scrooge.
“There are no prisons for Bankstas just like there are no Chinese iWorkhouses for the unemployed?” the spirit turned on Scrooge with his own words.
The NYSE bell struck the close.
The Ghost of Neverending Banksta Presents disappeared.
And at the last stroke of the bell, Scrooge saw the third ghost coming towards him.
PART IV
“Slowly and silently the ghost came nearer. It was very tall and wore a deep black piece of clothing, which covered its whole body and left nothing of it visible but one outstretched hand holding a stinking counterfeit Cohiba cigar stub.
Are you the Ghost of Crashes Yet to Come?” asked E-Bernank Scrooge, “I fear you more than any other spirit.”
The ghost did not say a word, and Scrooge was really scared.
They wandered through lower Manhattan past OWS stragglers at Zuccotti Park and Scrooge heard some men in Guy Fawkes masks talking about a Retired Central Banksta who had jumped.
E-Bernank knew the men and wanted to find out, whom they were talking about. But the spirit moved on.
They next stopped in a swanky uptown area where many pinstriped thieves and liars lived. They had stolen things with them and made fun of the person who once owned those things.
“Ha, ha!” laughed a woman, “He threw everyones money out of the chopper when he was alive, to profit us even more when he was gone! Ha, ha, ha!”
After that, the ghost led Scrooge through streets that were familiar to him; and as they went along, E-Bernank Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen.
They entered poor poor poor Hank Paulson's penthouse and found the mother and the Paulson spawn browsing Zero Hedge.
Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy Paulsons were as still as statues.
When Hank came in, the children hurried to greet him.
Then two young Paulsens got upon his knees and laid their little cheeks against his face as if to say, “Don’t mind it, father. Don’t be sad.”
“You went to Maiden Lane today?” said his wife.
“Yes, my dear,” returned Hank. “I wish you could have gone. It would have you good to see how well guarded the place is.
But you’ll see it annually. I promised him that we would walk there every April Fools Day in his honor.
My little, little Timmah.” cried Hank. “My little captive moron.”
He broke down in tears. He couldn’t help it. If he could have helped it, he and his Banksta loving protege would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.
The ghost moved on and took E-Bernank Scrooge to Trinity Church graveyard.
The spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to one.
E-Bernank Scrooge slowly went towards it and following the ghost’s finger read upon the stone "The Great Asset Bubbles of QE".
“Spirit!” E-Bernank cried, “hear me. I am not the money printing PhD fool I was!
I will not be the Central Banksta I must have been so far! Why show me this if I am past all hope? Good Spirit, I will honour austerity in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.
I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall be within me. I will not ignore the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me that I may change my fate so I may adorn the cover of Time Magazine yet again!”
Full of fear, Scrooge caught the spirit’s hand. But the spirit suddenly changed – it shrunk and faded and finally turned into a giant fraudclosure sign post...
And the calendar said December 25, 2014....
"There is nothing Sir, too little for so little a creature as man. It is by studying little things that we attain the great art of having as little misery and as much happiness as possible."--Samuel Johnson
To ALL Ye ZeRo HeDGeRS,
HAVE A HAPPY MERRY CHRISTMAS!
WilliamBanzai7
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wb, any clue why Asian girls are dying their beautiful silky black hair to the color brown lately?
Ho-Ho-Ho!!! merry xmas, bitchez!
janus has something special for all of you this post-xmas-eve; it's part story, part polemic and part 3rd party platform.
first with the story:
i'll first reveal the ending so that the beginning, middle, polemic and party platform will make perfect sense: janus was jumped. janus had his eye-tooth split through his upper lip, leaving him with a permanent scar. it's a beaut, too. there were these few beasts beating and kicking me whilst i was down on the ground. will i reveal the race of those involved? hell no! that would be racist. and we all know the ZH policies so concerning.
it's like this: i'd been, of late and very temporarily, dealing with a no-account tar-baby for to purchase my marijuana. our interaction had been thus far limited to but three encounters; and, woe is me, i forgot where i'm from and all the tar-babies i'd heretofore dealt with in my near forty years in dixie. on our second transaction, janus made the grave mistake of treating this tar-baby like a human being. this whale-turd told me that he'd just sired another tar-baby for with to pollute planet earth; and though my rational response should'a been: "that's a damned shame, you tar-babies populating", i instead gave him a hug, a warm congratulations and some money to buy his shit-stain niglet some diapers.
and though it was a matter of tar-baby calculus, janus pretended that the immutable laws of nature would be mystically suspended for him...that i would be for some reason spared from tar-baby machinations. again, woe is me (and any who would treat these people with graciousness). tar-baby calculus: if you do right by a tar-baby, they interpret it as weakness; assuming that kindness and generosity are invitations for theft and aggression. this has been my consistent experience with each and every tar-baby i've ever met (and i've known thousands).
and as was natural and inevitable, this coon then robbed me...swindled me with impunity, he did. janus didn't like it. said to the coon it was the holiday season and that such shouldn't never occur -- not among civilized folk, and especially not at this season.
the coon assured me that he saw the truth in my words, and would straight-way make me whole and restore the looted portion of our transaction.
good, thought janus...there may indeed be one among these smelly, kinky-haired vermin a soul with a sense of decency.
not so.
the promise of restorative ethics was to be left in his mailbox, right outside his door. idiot that i am, i believed him.
wouldn't you know it, the second i trod up on the first of the steps leading to his mailbox, a swarm of kinky-headed vermin come spillin out the front door for-to jump janus unawares.
the first blow was pretty impressive. it's the one that split my lip. now, i can't say how many among you've been concussed, but once you've had the experience, the features that attend it are unmistakable. first you see a bright star in the center of your mind, shit slows down to the stillness of eternity, and everything is for that moment perfectly clear...at least, that's how concussions go for janus.
in an instant's time i decide, "janus, you've gotta just take this shit...nothing good can possibly come from fighting back; just protect your head, rope-a-dope, and leave with all your teeth (if possible)." i thought all this cause i'm in west boston; and if'n i'd left a single scratch on those coons, i'd be the one wearing prison orange.
and so i took it all...and still, two days later, it's difficult chew, swallow or to discern where knots end and skull begins. my noggin's swoll-up like a watermelon, and my upper lip's as plump as a west african's. janus got fucked up like a nine-eyed-nigger's check book on Christmas eve's eve. and all for showing love and generosity to a worthless no-account coon. serves me right.
but i've learned my lesson. never again will i ever show this breed of men anything but the lash; for they were born to it, and we are doing them a disservice in denying it.
don't believe me? just ask the middlesex county DA bout my plight...she's seen the photos of my bloodied face. not a pretty sight.
but, even though this mulatto hybrid is going to be charged with a felony, it's janus who came away with most from the exchange. while daubing my puss-oozing lip, i meditated upon the words of Noah. this arketeer of olde told his sons some very important things that would color the complexion of all history. shem, ham & japeth...japeth will increase, shem will reign and ham will be a servant of servants....in other words, his younger son ham (and ALL his descendants) would function as slaves to the other two. a servant of servants.
sure, it's natural to pity the station of slavery...ignoble as it is, we turn our nose away from it and presume that all should be equal and free. but nature and experience teach us otherwise. everywhere i look i see folk dashing hither and yon to noose their necks in the brass collar...they seek-out slavery eagerly. and so, it would be a greater crime to deny them their greatest desire. ZHealots, you gotta give the people what they want...especially when it comes to niggers.
now, like i was saying, i'm not going to bring race into the discussion of slavery...that would be tacky and unseemly. but i want to call-out the japan-man for a second. you japaneese have failed us all! hang your heads in shame! after WWII, we politely asked you to build us some serviceable robots...mechanical slaves to replace those God made for Noah's noble descendants. what have you instead given us? sex dolls and pet robo-hounds with no bite? this will not do, japan-man. we esteemed you the english of the pacific, and you've again failed. i tell you what, japan, your punishment will be a bounty of real slaves to serve you in return for your inadequate efforts (go shopping in your neighborhood...tell us what you want, and ye shall have it).
i'm all out of patience waiting for robots. i instead prefer the handiwork of God Almighty.
all-right, ZHealots, let's put our thinking caps on: supposing (hypothetically, of course) that there were now living withing the borders of our shores a breed of 'men' with an average IQ of 85. and, just for fancy's sake, let's pretend that these 'men' have been dependent upon our generosity and good-will for some 150 years. let's also play-like they'd all of a sudden collapse in upon themselves sans that generosity and good-will. and let us lie to ourselves and imagine that these folk had been given EVERY chance to pull their britches up and make a go of things on their own.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFOzayDpWoI
perhaps a concise review of modern history's sweep: emancipation didn't work; segregation didn't work; 'civil rights' sure as shit didn't work....i am Darren Wilson.
and so, whilst all are everywhere scowering every crevice of 'efficiency', 'productivity', energy, equities, bonds, real-estate, insurance and finance for some over-looked morsel of yield, janus instead sees ripened fields of plenty, all of the whole of it begging for the sickle's harvest.
a veritable gold mine wallows sloth-like before us, thugging about our cities and towns aimlessly and idly...but, again, i will not enter race into this discussion; i do not mean to imply that these people are in any way golden; it's only, they cost us so very much right now, and in two year's time they could be all the more of profit. it's like purifying ore into something valuable. it looks ugly and pointless on the outside, but once your learn to master it...man-oh-man, something beautiful happens.
you people are really going to tell me that formal and honorable slavery is wrong and that this paradigm of wretched putrescence is right? a world where all and every are untended slaves to unseen masters is preferable to one in which those stations are explicitly established and the relationships are meaningful. wanna know where the concept of universal health care began? back with the ancient law-giver Hammurabi. being the custodian of a slave brought along serious obligations. and then, with Moses, in Exodus 23, right after the chapter with the ten commandments, the free man is instructed in the ways of slave-tending. and who among you will cite a name greater than these two in the modern age?
and some of you will say that the New Testament forbids it. bah! Paul's epistle to Philemon was a thoughtful and pointed missive of instruction that Philemon stay and remain a slave until his master released him. not only did the apostle Paul accept the legitimacy of slavery, he explicitly sanctioned it.
and so, for all of the reasons cited, and in consideration of a life-time's cornucopia of consistent experience, i do now establish a new political party. we will, for the time being, be a one-issue pusher; but in time, i reckon we'll take everything over...it's fair to say we'll master the system.
please understand, it's vital that we in earnest and immediately begin with the propaganda. i wanna start seeing movies called, "forty years a slave; and damned proud of it"..."i know why the caged bird sings the sweetest toons"...."roots...give us back our roots!"..."superfly chops cotton for a bumper crop"..."amos and andy find their way to the farm".
you think this party will flop! you know not the hearts of man. if there's anything everybody really wanted for xmas, it's a slave. hell, i wanted dozens of millions of em...and all i got was a lump of puss on my lip. well, janus ain't satisfied. i'm gonna get me the gift that never stops giving...santa, make it a slave for janus next xmas...only a many millions of slaves will do. otherwise, i'm gonna have to drift further north and let you know who's who. i'll bring some rednecks and we'll jump your cookie-stealin, diabetic ass unawares.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3_qUDwF-Ns
most are probably at this point asking themselves, "janus, what should we do?" well, you're all in luck, i have an answer for you. start germinating this blessing in the ear's of strangers...and it'll be easy, in this slaveless age of strangers, what's one imbecile's ill-opinion gonna matter...what? is the slave-hater gonna dis you on facebook? take it as a complement.
so, anyway, just go up to strangers and plant the germ in their mind...be all like, "don't you think, brother-stranger, that you've earned a slave at this point in your life?" ask it rhetorically, like the answer's implicit in the question. if he has any sense at all, he'll answer, "why, yes, that has been my secret wish all along...but everyone says it's for some reason wrong."
be bold ye noble and brave man of olde, there is a new political party here to put words into your secret wish. yes, you shall have all the slaves you ever wanted and more still. shit, there's so many slaves for the taking you'll have to start refusing them at some point.
look, sissy-bitchez, our Founding Fathers were of a single accord: slavery is A-okay! and all you prissy moralizers prance around here pretending to be Constitutionalists and yet you ignore its principal concern: slavery -- the very cornerstone of every great civilization and all its democracies...from sumaria to egypt to babylon to greece to rome to america, slavery is the one consistent feature found in them all. in fact, i'll go so far as to say that their relative glory would've been impossible without this most noble of institutions.
no more robots...bring back slaves! i'm casting my vote for the party that knows a good thing when it's found it. there's a FORTUNE running amok in our urban blight. money's to be made in the second oldest trade, and we're worried about the stock price of ali baba? there's gold in dem dere cities...black gold...texas tea.
see, china thought we'd lose cause we couldn't muster the good-sense to tap our most underutilized asset -- niggers. guess again, yellow man! janus arrived just in time to save the day. i'm gonna pave the way to the golden age on the yolk of Noah's cursed son.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xex07q_bob-dylan-highway-61-revisted-ca...
put some bleechers out in the sun/
have it down on hwy. 61,
janus
Ya know Janus, if a brother from down South wouldn't have been dickin around in Boston this probably wouldn't have happened, most of "those people" ain't right in the head, they never have been.
But let me amend that, its all over the place now, this Thugocracy mindset. Its not like the sixties or seventies mindset anymore (if it was ever a reality) where we thought the common bond of sharing the same interests forged a unique brotherhood through the smoke.
I have a story I often share and I hope it helps you and others, I was fortunate enough to learn it early, from a black guy I went to high school with.
We were out back of the school smoking a joint (just me and him) and we started talking about the race shit. I (we) were bussed into "their school" and there were always fights, especially around the end of the school year. One of my buddies had held off at least 10 in a hallway with his belt & buckle recently, he was a genuine badass, fucked up about half of them and got away with nothing but a bloody nose but I couldn't get over the mob mentality. It wasn't mano a mano, it wasn't fair, it wasn't how "we" were used to fighting.
So I said, you know, if it had been reversed I would have defended you, stopped "my guys" from ganging up on you and at least made it a fair fight. Would you have done the same if it was me?
He said no, he could not or would not, can't remember, that part doesn't matter.
I asked why...he said I (meaning him) have to live here...meaning with them. They would turn on him.
It was a valuable lesson for me and enlightening, at least he was honest about it. A black dude and a white dude smoking a doobie behind school, then we went back to our respective corners.
I wouldn't trade my high school education for anything ;-)
Merry Christmas, Nmewn.
since we're swappin stories, you've brought to mind a few that are apropos this discussion. janus was himself bused back in the day. growing up right outside nashville, it was by the federal gubbermint and our city's dons decided that white kids attending schools in their neighborhoods was in impermissible sin against this age's new religion. the golden 50/50 ratio of perfect racial equality was the only answer to human being's persistent insistence on living among those who look alike and have values in common.
and who can blame the feds? i mean, if there's anything modern amorica's taught us all, it's that everything we instinctively know to be true is incorrect; moreover, all our innate understanding of the world surrounding us is not only wrong, it's down-right evil. teach your children that their station of birth is no subject for self-abnegation, or that they are not defective and in need of social-engineering, and, well, you'll likely find your family shattered, counseled, DCS'd and forcibly medicated.
at my elementary school, we were taught strictly. sure, recess was awesome...we got plenty of time for free-play and exploration...but in the classroom, it was time for education. janus is olde school...we memorized the multiplication charts, could write an elegant sentence, were taught how to construct a coherent paragraph, were challenged to read above our levels, when distracted with tomfoolery, a thick pencil would whack us on the noggins and restore our discipline.
in the entire elementary school, there was but one black kid...poor aletha....not very quick on the uptake. she was from a good home and all, but, for 'some reason' (read: The Bell Curve), she just couldn't hack it. and, wacky as my teachers were, it was decided that aletha's inability to master basic academic concepts wouldn't dictate the progress of all...not only would this child be left behind, it was understood that the whole class shouldn't be impaired and punished because aletha was better suited to careers where mental acuity weren't determinant of success.
poor, poor aletha. no doubt she's now somewhere parading around a harvard degree and working hard to ensure that all the little alethas out there dragging their peers down like leaden fetters are elevated to the status nature and their talents never intended.
so anyway, as soon as we suburbanites were bused into the graffiti strewn cess-pool of downtown nashville, it was clear that we were going to have to slacken up -- big time. my world suddenly changed. everybody got a trophy now. it wasn't cool to know the answers to questions, and all the teachers who looked like aletha were keen to keep us know-it-all white boys in check. it was alarming to discover that, as a fifth grader, i was more proficient at division and multiplication than my ebonics-babbling 'teacher'.
fast forward to my freshman year in college...
jarnigan street...starkville, mississippi...right across the graveyard from Little Dooey's BBQ (mmmmmmmmm!).
my best friend, frat brother and a real class-act from the mississippi delta (greenwood), was downstairs with his girl whilst janus was showering. they had the Zeplin cranked! kashmir was blaring all across the cotton district (that's the name of the neighborhood), and so the police were called.
there's a knock at the door...my buddy takes our bong in hand; and in one motion opens the door and hides the bong behind its hinges. the officer, who didn't see anyone on the other side, only the vacant cavity of an apartment blasting the Led out, walks in uninvited.
janus comes slippin down the steps demanding to know why any would be so ill-mannered as to deprive a brother the final stanza of kashmir. it's important to add that i was at the time clad only in a pair of boxer shorts; and the interesting feature of this particular garment was its design -- a confederate flag...stars & bars made of something phosphorescent so that they glowed.
i can't describe my shock and surprise to find our living room overflowing with 5-0.
oh, man, there are so many parts to this story...but, for brevity's sake, i'll keep the narrative trained on the pertinent details.
later that night, as we were being booked and processed for marijuana possession, my buddy and i sat chatting with the main officer involved in our arrest. he was a sergeant who also happened to be black. and he was a great guy.
"sorry if my boxers offended you, officer."
"young man, the only way you could offend me is with disrespect; and you boys never showed any of it."
so then the starkville PD and janus and his friend start bonding...they show us some of their fancy gadgets (NVGs, tasers (which were very new at the time) and some other cool shit). and probably owing to the confederate flag boxers, the discussion eventually turned to race.
janus then asks this clear-thinking black sergeant what he think's constitutes the primary difference; wanting to from this wise man gain some insights on the dividing line betwixt white & black, i asked why the cultures remain so distinct and 'different'.
wise cop answers: "well, it's like this: in a white neighborhood, it's all about keeping up with the joneses...your neighbor jones goes out and buys a bmw; and your new ambition is to one-up him with a benz. in a black neighborhood, if you drive in with a new bmw, the irresistible black impulse is to equalize...put that nigger in check. he can't be gettin all uppity with a new bmw. so, by morning, that shiny new bmw will be keyed, the tires gashed and the windows smashed. it burns me up inside; and i see it everyday."
i've never forgotten that cop nor his poignant words. you could tell that it was painful for him to speak the truth on these matters; but he was a real man, one unwilling to let sentiment stand in the way of wisdom and understanding...such men are nearly extinct nowadays; as there's been a deliberate crusade to purge them from society.
if it were up to me, i'd make that cop emperor of a new negro republic. but that community hates wisdom and understanding, preferring instead the soothing victimization monologues of this world's sharptons.
and so, black-activists, i swear to you, black lives do matter to janus...only, i'm waiting for them to matter to you, too. quit killing yourselves over sneakers; quit destroying your neighborhoods; quit stealing everything not nailed down; get a job; raise your children; quit mocking intellectual development; abandon violence and embrace civilized discourse; make yourselves fuckin useful...and if for no one else, at least for yourselves. we've put FAR too much into you, and have seen a negative return.
janus
Yeah, I've had more than a few of those kind of interactions, now that we're far enough down the rabbit hole (and Banzai's post is off the front page...lol) I'll do one more on the confluences and diversions of this river called life.
Back in the early nineties I had been involved in "an altercation" that resulted in a large black man being sent unconscious to the hospital with a skull fracture and me, unfortunately for the integrity of the legal system, to jail. The long and short of this was I refused to be extorted by that "legal system" and thus was obliged to cop nolo contendere.
At this point it should be noted that I have to this day a copy of the video tape exhonerating me of guilt to the charge of a third degree battery (a felony), "the victim" was in fact an ex-con who was in the act of battering my friends & family and the incident happened in the aftermath of Rodney King. That latter part is some useful information to have in assessing the likelihood of an untainted jury pool sitting in judgement of me, the prosecutor advising my counsel that if I did opt for a jury trial the freshly minted "hate crime" prosecutorial tool would be pulled from his bag of bullshit and of course me having to give up my entire life savings to attain this form of "justice" was the last straw.
So it was in fact, no contest.
The judge, having some modicum of good sense and reading of evidence ability, placed me on three years probation even as the prosecutor alternated between growling and groveling for jail time still and I soon met one of those darlings of the "social justice set" fresh out of law school, my probation officer.
She was young, black, opinionated and obviously did not have the reading skills of the judge. She commented on "my attitude" and I'm sure she thought I must be associated with the klan as I remained defiant and indignant.
All the above is to lay out the situation and circumstances of my life for the following.
At this time I was working in Tallahassee. As I was going back to my motel one day on Capitol Circle I saw a black boy (maybe 10) on the side of the road with his bike, out in the middle of nowhere by the airport. The sun was just setting and as I passed him the tears on his cheeks glistened in the sunlight. I'm thinking, WTF, really nmewn? Just keep driving, someone else will stop, even as my foot hit the brake and I did a u-turn.
So I say you ok? I can't understand what he's saying between his thick accent and his sobbing, his chain is off the sprocket and I don't have any tools. I say do you know where you live...you lost? He nods. I say you know where you live? He nods. I say ok, I'll take you home. He nods.
Bike in the back I turn back toward downtown, he's pointing this way, then that way and I soon realize he doesn't have a clue where his house is.
So here I am, hundreds of miles from home, on probation for beating the dog snot out of a black man, with a lost black boy sitting beside me, nice going nmewn, you're fucking brilliant...lol.
I do the only thing I know to do, stop at the nearest convience store (oh yeah, did I mention I'm in the black part of town?) walk in and announce whats going on and for them to call the cops. They (customers & clerk) looked at me like I had a third eye. The cops get there, take my info and the boy and I return to my motel.
I tell Mrs.N about it on the phone and she's as dumbfounded as I am as to how I could have been so stupid & done it. "You don't know how he even got there! What if someone had molested him and just threw him out on the side of the road and him being so confused and lost says it was you!?"
Yeah, I say, I know...I know. But it was the right thing to do which is met with an exasperated sigh from her. She knows too. Sometimes it just is what it is and you take your chances.
Never seen the boy again, never got a call from the cops about him and at some point my "social justice darling" law grad probation officer pissed me off to the point I demanded she come by my house and watch a certain video tape of me putting the ex-con in the hospital.
Her only comments were "What happened to them? What were they charged with?"
Yes, them. And they were charged with nothing.
you're mad. i love it.
Bernanke is a member of the financial terrorists. They will be prosecuted.
The NSA fess's up, on Christmas Eve, naturally...
https://www.nsa.gov/public_info/declass/IntelligenceOversightBoard.shtml
An instant Christmas classic! Bravo, Banzai!
Bah, chucky. My little finger has done more for mankind.
Hot totties?
No sir.
It is a crime against whiskey to drink whiskey with anything but whiskey.
There is a pun there... what rhymes with totties?
+90 (proof)
Give the sheeple what they want...(in response to the sony fiasco. Apologies to the Kinks.
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QcE5aDTszrY
Bless'ed greetings and a belated Merry Christmas to you Sir William
Same same to all the good hearts here contributing positivity and awareness for the empowerment of ALL!
Goldman's cornered the Markit in Dumb European Fukwits.
Merry Christmess WB - awesome stuff.
Brilliant! Merry Christmas to wb and to all zh'ers !!
Merry Christmas to all!
And as proof that real life photos can sometimes outdo even the great WB7, the Daily Mail has a photo of Obama wearing a tiara surrounded by a Brownie Scout troop.
Photo:
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/12/25/article-2886769-2442BE8A000005...
Article:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2886769/All-work-play-Obamas-Chr...
The fag is in his element. All that's missing are his fishnet stockings and high heels.
No old pictures of Obama and his dad Frank Marshall Davis?
No need for NORAD to track Santa these days......
NSA can pinpoint him through his smart phone when he's on the move and all those elfs on the shelf are reporting back in real time as he makes his drop offs....
Thanks for all the fantastic work William.
Good health to you and yours and ZHers the world over.
Dickens would have been proud!
Merry Xmas Banzai
God help us, everyone!
"The Dickensian State" (tm).
Hard to imagine there was ever another way
it might be the KarDaSickensian state. poor street blacks make millions singing songs with no rhythm or harmony, rich white girls marry them, corrupt record companies buy and sell the singers, hackers hack the record company, presidents defend them (all)
Merry Christmas Banzai and ZH'ers. Don't lighten up on "them" one little bit for 2015. And thanks Tyler/s for your work and efforts in creating and maintaining this little educational fight club. Keep on trucking and when you feel down remember a Sequoi Redwood seed is a tiny thing. Keep the search for Truth on your side and someday, someway, that seed will be supported and grow, each truthseeker and truthspeaker, no matter how small they feel, contributes to that.
Here we go, the reason for the season and proving once again that God has a delightful sense of humor:
In Hawaii, Blizzard Warnings on Christmas Eve
http://www.weather.com/forecast/news/hawaii-blizzard-warning
Merry Christmas, Obama ;-)
Hope it frosts his balls.
Merry Christmas to you and yours nmewn.
PC be damned;)
Merry Christmas to you too Kaiserhoff, peace and prosperity to you and your family as well
Yes, PC be damned to hell. I had an exchange with a Hindi at work who gave me that merry x-mas salutation crap. My response of course was Merry Christmas with a smily face to him, which ended the conversation.
Hard to know if he took it the way I meant it but I certainly took his the way he meant it ;-)
loved it. Thanks Banzai for keeping up the cheer all year long, you are the best.
Merry Christmas all
Berspank
WB7, thanks for putting a satirical perspective on what we've witnessed.
It really does help.
merry christmas B7illiant One.
Merry Christmas friends, family, and fellow Z Hedgies. May we all be thankful for the blessings we've been given and keep perspective in the midst of this sublime shitshow we find ourselves in. May the elites find short ropes, a dull guillotine, and fat splintered plungers.
And Fuck you Bernanke!
Yes, it is the little things that matter. A superb rendition of Dickens' tale, WB VII. Oops! Did I use the word rendition? Off to the FEMA re-education camp with you, WB! Love everything following the tale as well. Have a drink on me!
Merry Christmas WB and fellow ZH'rs.
Outstanding as always. Merry Christmas to you and yours Banzai7 :)
Best wishes and regards to all.
That was wonderful, thank you so much for making me laugh when there are so many other things, I, we, us should be doing..
i the Obama Asshead is the official underground satirical political image of the year. wait a minute Assheads? Assets? Celebrity Whores? Joan Rivers? Boating Accidents? Vince Foster? Clinton Vs Bush? Mexican Wrestling? take a deep breath...
Thanks for the goodies, Santa WB7. Merry Christmas and joy in the new year to all the money printer haters.
WB, Thanks for all the laughs and joy you have brought us all over the last year (and before). May you and yours have a happy holiday and that goes for everyone one else here.
Merry Christmas Billy/\
My best to your Father and your Mother's spirit.
I'm not into Asian girls. I like redheads. ;-0
Yen: best wishes to you.
Merry Christmas WB!
MERRY XMAS to all with special thanks to WB7 for providing some brightness in this continuing doom and gloom......f'ing never ending.
Merry Christmas all!
I am going to see Stacy Herbert and Max Keiser to plot the end of Banksterism!
In the meantime, the entire Banzai7 Christmas image vault is here: Image Vault
Or can be scrolled off of this image...
.
Merry Christmas, WB7!
I particularly like this one of Stacy:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/expd/8233656509
And all that other stuff was good, but the Stacy Dollar got my attention too. Guess I have a crush on Stacy.
YUM YUM YUM
lovely,
My mouth is dripping with just the sight of thses lovelies.