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Got him, do you want some mayo for that /dev/bin/laden burger? Turn back the time, it never happened.  The 400 burned alive on an over-crowded Egyptian train. The 400 not burned in a north Georgia crematorium and, the silly pop songs that go on and on; sing about globalization, or gyno-economics, you’re about to get screwed Bobby; and all you  get in return is an urn full of red Georgia mud as a lifetime achievement award. Make you think that it sucks to be us.

 It’s a once in a lifetime 15 minutes so don’t be afraid to bite the bullet when that time comes. Can you see the lynching line form?  Queue up to the right to be another victim of the new world’s international banking wet dream and, ignore us for as long as it takes. Continue on Madison. So where did the WTC go? It certainly can’t be those giant golden vaults guarded by the wonderful world black suited ears of those all seeing eyes of escargot sucking bears. Or so they say. It’s IMF baby blue. It’s really very simple they say but, if you think too hard you lose understanding. What you know is correct they say so red pill or blue? It’s a once in a lifetime trip and,  Walt rules because Walt rocks it with the kids in blue jeans and Pepsi…can you make those tumblers click in the right sequence?

That’s it baby! Blond leading the blond through the global landscape of spectacular flame-outs bronzed starlets with another latte in crystal Champagne flutes and green corporate jets on the wide ass Texas tarmac. Sing it! How do you like your Chicago blue eyed boy Mr. President? Can you Bilderburg us a new one?

Argy Bargy, I heard them say and the next thing you know they are up rebuilding a new equity stake in anything and everything. Whoosh, a natural gas flame out fed on outside internet interests. Of  101 billion dollars in revenue locked up behind those giant golden vault doors in some trashed out theme park of mechanical bears rusting in a they still line up to see it scheme. This is the Bain of our existence. Trust the future self interest. This is a comedy of terrors. The Vulture venture capital produced the dot calm after the dot storm. There are trillions to be made if you pick over the right corpse. Market it to the millions of red or blues. Push it like a crack dealer. Give this a try, the first one is free! Then the very next thing you know they are hooked like a derivatives dealer peddling off shores. Wake up in a cold sweat, you can`t sleep. You will sell another for the next big idea. Sooner or later needs clouds reason and the mediocre becomes the next great thing to bring about the multi-jet office Jacuzzi. Built and installed just to hide the failure as your sunglasses` hide those bloodshot eyes. The good idea high falls, flat-lined as you drive a Mercedes off a bridge like you actually mattered in the greater scheme of things. There will be others, there always is. Queue up to the left of the floating Vulture Capital.

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