Life in New York City When It's HOT!

Bulletin: President Obama in Mexico:
We hate to keep "trashing" President Obama, but come on, folks. We are definitely not rightwingers, wingnuts--we're nuts alright, but not on that side of the fence. Those positionalists are trashing Obama because they are in political combat with him, already planning their comeback tactics for the Congressional elections coming up in 2010. We are not trashing President Obama for that reason. We are trashing him because we feel we are correct in our empiricist analyses of what's really going on up in the Big Circles of the District of Corruption both in terms of his new presence there and what was there already. We have from the get-go emphasized the fact that most of us are out of fields of business, especially advertising, and we have worked in the bowels of Manhattan for a Redwood-tree's worth of years, one in journalism, one in television, management consulting, and pharmaceutical advertising, one a poet but a poet with a wicked eye, a graduate of a cornhusker university, who because of his relationship to a famous Texan, ended up in Texas, in Texas politics during its midstream changing, and at the University of Texas when the anti-Vietnam War students tried to shut it down, just after old Charlie Whitman had climbed up in the UT Library Tower and from there using his sharp-shooting killing training he'd gotten in the US Marines, blew away a dozen or so innocent as far as Charlie was concerned victims. Charlie hated all people, not just the citizens of Austin, Texas, or the students at UT. The Marines had trained him to be suspicious of "foreigners" and especially people who weren't White, though even Whites in case they were Commies and as such probably Kremlin-paid spies. And this poet-empiricist just recently introduced us to President Obama using his fine speeches as shields against adversity. This same "pundit" (in Sanskrit it means "a Hindu scholar"--pandit) also recently observed that when President Obama faced strong opposition (as he is now over his healthcare reform packagings) he took off in Air Force One for a chance to make more glorious speeches and get in some great photo-ops. Which is exactly what is going on with President Obama and this "Tres Amigos" bullshit going on today in Mexico City (two members of our little parallel-lines journeys-in-life blog have lived in Mexico City and other parts of Mexico; our own thegrowlingwolf traveled with his wife and her Mexican Air Force lover throughout Mexico, Central America (Guatemala, Honduras (he said Tegucigalpa was the filthiest city he'd ever been in), Colombia, Venezuela, Trinidad & Tobago, Grenada) trying to establish an air-cargo business in Maracaibo, Venezuela)(Plus, we are required to add, Franny & Zoe love Costa Rica as do a lot of other people of our acquaintance). Obama promised during his fantastic run for president that when elected he would renegotiate NAFTA. The Mexican critics of it say it takes jobs and economy away from Mexico. They say it is the reason so many Mexican workers are flocking to the US to save their asses from abject poverty and Federales control. They say the US car companies especially take advantage of the devastated Mexican economy by building assembling factories all along the US-Mexican border, assembling these overpriced gas-guzzlers, then shipping them back to the US free under NAFTA, Mexico's economy not gaining a god-damn thing from the deal--except its workers being paid low-low wages, some as low as $3.50 a day--Maquiladoras is what the Mexicans call these plants [A maquiladora or maquila is a factory that imports materials and equipment on a duty-free and tariff-free basis for assembly or manufacturing and then re-exports the assembled product, usually back to the originating country. A maquila is also referred to as a "twin plant", or "in-bond" industry. Nearly half a million Mexicans are employed in maquiladoras (from Wikipedia)]. And the ghettos that surround these plants are autrociously foul with the workers living in tin shacks or cardboard boxes with no running water, no sewage system, only one doctor per thousands--these US plants have contaminated the water supply for Tijuana, which in turn is gradually contaminating San Diego's source of water. (California has no water, folks--except Arnold Swartzennegger and Sweet Maria Shriver have plenty of water; Arnie has his room-size cigar humidor--his cigar smoking room at the Capitol--well stocked with illegal Cuban cigars; and during all this economic meltdown, neither Arnie or Maria lost their personal fortunes nor were any of their many mansions foreclosed on--all this while California has gone BROKE! Maria's mommy just kicked the bucket at 88 so Maria is floating in a lot more dough this morning than she and Arnie were yesterday.)(Did anyone ever figure up how many Kennedy relatives JFK gave jobs to--including his brother Bobby? Probably half the Kennedy fortune was made off the earned wages of We the People of the good ole USA.) (Both parenthetical comments on the Kennedys from thegrowlingwolf who is lollygagging around our hot office today seeking as he says, "cool conversation.") Mexican critics of NAFTA also interestingly blame it for renaming Swine Flu H1N1 or whatever the biochemists are calling it now. This takes the focus off the source of Swine Flu, the Smithfield Ham of Virginia's pig farm and slaughterhouse in Mexico, the pig farm being in Mexico because of NAFTA. According to reports from the Mexican leftside (this morning on Amy Goodman's show she had a Mexican economist on who was right on about the situation going on down there today), so far at the Tres Amigos meeting there has been no mention of NAFTA. In fact, before leaving for this photo-op, Obama had already backed down on his election promise of revamping NAFTA. In a speech Obama gave yesterday he defended the US policy of flip-flop on the Honduras coup situation when questioned about it by Mexican reporters. The speech was pathetic with its long pauses, long stumblings of speech as Obama was dissing people who criticized the US for interferring in other countries's affairs and are now criticizing him for not interferring in Honduras's affairs. A pathetic answer than contains nothing substantial in meaning at all. Obama has trouble lying--when he stutters a lot, and we think we've read he's a former stutterer, we feel through observation he's having to lie. Having to lie for Obama is gut wrenching, but he's forced to do it by the Power Elite that actually controls him. All this while, too, our State Department's head honcho is junketing around Africa. She's in the Congo today, in Gorah, the most dangerous city for women and children in the world doing a photo-op with those women--especially the rape victims. Her main purpose for being in Africa is the promotion of Afro-Com, G.W. Bush's invention that means African Command, which is military lingo for an African-land military base for US forces--all African nations except Ghana have said they do not want a US military presence in their country. Hilary's also in Africa looking for OIL.

thestaff for The Daily Growler Bulletin Dept. [And now back to our regular programming.]
foto by tgw, 2009

In the Highchair With Austin Highchew
I have been out fishing in the waters of other blogs (my fame was as a poet, you know). Sloggy waters they are, too. Stagnant as well. Even the best of them. Who are their readers? It's like they write as though they are mainstream players. Players of importance. Yet, they are so far behind in their observations. Their summations are subjective to the point tomorrow their whole spin could topple to a stop. It's not that they shift their gears, they don't. The problem is they restate and restate and their restatements are coin-flipping answers to the reality of everything. Their statements just continue as was continued. Shouldn't a continuation bring up something new? Like new leftwing strategies against what traditionally in this country is an invincible rightwing.

Like the stock market limps back up over 9300 and President Obama is jumping up and down with glee. No one, remember, knows just really how the stock market works. Stocks bounce up and down day after day, figures flying so fast and furious that it is impossible to know why the market is acting or reacting the way it is (the answer of course is in volume and number of trades made daily, the brokerage houses never losing since they get selling and buying fees, same as an auction works, which is what the stock market is, a big stock-buying-and-selling eBay (Electronic Auction Bay)).

There once was a man from Connecticut, a newspaperman (they were called "journalists" in those ancient days), Charles H. Dow, writing brilliantly on a Providence, Rhode Island, newspaper before he came to New York after being invited by a bunch of Wall Street investors to go with them to check out the mining industry around Leadville, Colorado. Because of that venture, he wrote a very well received treatise on the mining industry and on investing in it, from which he then developed a theory of how the stock market works and how business works in general. His theory is now called the Dow Theory, though Dow never referred to it as that. Dow, like New York City's billionaire mayor Mike Bloomberg did with his Wall Street-handed-over Bloomberg Network, lucked into his major role in the business world after his adventure with the mining investors and his insightful writing on the mining industry by becoming founder of Dow-Jones & Company (Jones was a newspaperman buddy of Dow's who was a genius at reading financial reports) and eventually founder of the Wall Street Journal, founded to report on stock market and business activities in an honest and above board way. Charlie Dow was known as an honest journalist! [Charles Dow eventually sold his interest in the Wall Street Journal to Charles Barron, who would eventually found Barron's financial newspaper/magazine. They all know each other, as we keep reporting HERE.]

To show you how complicated and mathematically puzzling the stock market is, here are the first three tenets of Charles Dow's theory (I've read where Dow based his theory on the phases of the moon and the ocean tides):

1. The market has three movements

   (1) The "main movement", primary movement or major trend may last from less than a year to several years. It can be bullish or bearish. (2) The "medium swing", secondary reaction or intermediate reaction may last from ten days to three months and generally retraces from 33% to 66% of the primary price change since the previous medium swing or start of the main movement. (3) The "short swing" or minor movement varies with opinion from hours to a month or more. The three movements may be simultaneous, for instance, a daily minor movement in a bearish secondary reaction in a bullish primary movement.

2. Market Trends have three phases

   Dow Theory asserts that major market trends are composed of three phases: an accumulation phase, a public participation phase, and a distribution phase. The accumulation phase (phase 1) is a period when investors "in the know" are actively buying (selling) stock against the general opinion of the market. During this phase, the stock price does not change much because these investors are in the minority absorbing (releasing) stock that the market at large is supplying (demanding). Eventually, the market catches on to these astute investors and a rapid price change occurs (phase 2). This occurs when trend followers and other technically oriented investors participate. This phase continues until rampant speculation occurs. At this point, the astute investors begin to distribute their holdings to the market (phase 3).

3. The stock market discounts all news

   Stock prices quickly incorporate new information as soon as it becomes available. Once news is released, stock prices will change to reflect this new information. On this point, Dow Theory agrees with one of the premises of the efficient market analysis.
   

From Wikipedia

I've read that in terms of odds; you have the same chances of winning on favorites at the horse track as you do investing in favorites on the Dow-Jones. If you bet favorites at the track, percentagewise, one-third of them will win. The only way to win big at the horse track is the same way to win big in the stock market. You parlay favorites or "good chance" horses with possible upsetters and longshots--second and third best horses and the best dark horses in terms of breeding, speed, and past performance. You get the same information about horses in the Racing Forum as you do about stocks in the Wall Street Journal or on the Bloomberg Network. In both cases, you are dealing with unpredictable results.

What I'm saying is, there's a lot of hot air on the subjects of politics, healthcare, Wall Street, etc., spread like rancid butter across the sourdough pages of the Internet. No one that I've read lately on various blogs or logs or diurnal screechings has any solution to anything; they spout opinions that lead you in circles accomplishing no forward progress. No one talks about the Power Elite that rules us and "backwards thinking" (laissez-faire thinking) is the reasoning they use to keep us under their bootheels. In fact, though some Internet blowhards mention "the elite" or "those in power," they don't seem to understand the awesome ruling power the Power Elite has and how they manage to keep that power among themselves, passing it on to their heirs (like Sam Walton's fortune going to his worthless heirs, now the world's wealthiest family) or forming foundations with their ill-gained largesses, like the Kennedy Foundation (the Kennedys's original monies based on bootlegging and Bootlegger Joe Kennedy being married to the daughter of the ruthless Shanty Irish mayor of Boston at the time (Prohibition)), or the Rockefeller Foundation, or the Mrs. Bernie Madoff Foundation. A lot of these online blowhards are themselves members of the Power Elite, though maybe in the lower echelons (only worth a few million) of the closed community but in it just the same (like Gloria Vanderbilt's son--I forget his name (remember when Gloria Vanderbilt (the jean queen) tried to marry poor old rather gay Bobby Short and move him into her exclusive Sutton Place digs and her peeps wouldn't let Black Bobby in?)).

Think about the power an ordinary rich movie star has in terms of investing, insider trading, social privilege, etc. They said Barbra Streisand, a day trader, used to call Bill Clinton on the telephone all the time; they'd talk for hours, it was said; can you imagine what they talked about? Sex? "I love your nose, Miss Streisand." "I'd love to experience being diddled by a big, long, Cuban cigar, Mister President."

Think about the special privilege a foreign rock star like Bono has with our Power Elite? Or how about as worthless a human being as Mick Jagger has been since he hit stardom (ingesting tons of drugs, fathering little bastard children all over the world, marrying at will, divorcing at will), and yet, this Mick and his stoned Stone buddies could probably get in to see President Obama and have a beer with him where you on your own couldn't get past the barricades that surround the White (Man's) House, especially if you had a beer in your hand. [I must admit, I've been in a bar on Music Row (West 48th) in New York City across from where Mick was recording and he came quietly into the bar--he was with Bo Diddley--and I got Bo Diddley's autograph--then Bo played for us on a violin he'd just bought from a dude selling instruments on the sidewalk outside that recording studio--and then I shook hands with Mick and stood around while he ordered drinks, keeping to himself in the sidelines while all the eyes at the bar were on Bo Diddley, most of them not recognizing Mick. Then again later when he was in his limo, we stuck our heads in the limo and gave old Mick at faretheewell--and, I'm sorry to say, he was a very nice dude--extremely wanting to be hidden from view but also seriously wanting to be dug by American musicians, especially American blues musicians--and though I have nothing against his lifestyle, I love the irony of thinking about Mick and the Stones being able to text President Obama on his Blackberry or even calling him on his cell phone and being able to probably get an invitation to the White (Man's) House--in order to paint that irony in vivid colors, I portray Mick as a wastrel and profligate.]

The people of the US are dumb. They are extremely stupid and manipulatable. The reason is our education system is based on making kids Capitalists, conformists, obeyers of regulations, rules, laws, and the Ten Commandments (from a Jewish myth found in a Jewish book of fables we call the Holy Bible on which all our government lackeys take their oaths of office (Hah!)). As a result, we are subject to thousands upon thousands of these "laws." It is very paranoid trying to live happily in the USA. Our school systems are training kids on how to be Middle-Class credit-card-dependent Amuricans and how as Middle-Class credit-card-carrying Amuricans to get jobs in some profit-pirating industry rather than opening up students's minds to different logics, ideologies, and disciplines thereby allowing them to determine their interests and letting them learn to be whatever they show talent for and the desire to be, if a dancer a dancer, if a math genius then a math genius, if a writer--oh please don't let your kids grow up to be writers! There is no hope for writers in the future of the world. You may as well encourage them to be poets. I have a theory about Power Elite poets, too, of whom in American Literature there are many, i.e., the Lowells (including Amy Lowell), James Merrill, James Dickey, Wallace Stevens!

My experience investing in the stock market was short and sour then sweet. I at one time as a young man found it fascinating to go down to Merrill, Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, and Bean (it was Smith before Bean) and hang out in the board room with the theater seats to sit in as you watched the electronic ticker tape flying by up on the MLPFB board. You had to know your symbols and how to understand Moody's and Standard & Poors charts and gradings. I had subscribed to something called the Dow Theory Report. It was a report that cost me over $100 a year I got once a month that advised me, based on Charlie Dow's theory, what stocks looked the most promising to the Dow Theory experts. Their first "highly recommended" stock buy I decided to try was Chris-Craft, a company that started out building motor boats, but ended up diversifying to the point they were buying radio and television stations (original Chris-Craft boats were made out of wood--and featured varnished rare-wood decks and bodies, leather seats set down in like a well cockpit, with a steering wheel and a wood dashboard with dials and gauges--beautiful boats. When I was a youngster, my family owned a Chris-Craft speedboat--it had an inboard Chrysler motor in it--it drove on the water just like my dad's Buick Roadmaster sailed down the highway).


I went to Merrill Lynch and opened an account and was given a broker, a former Duke U basketball player who was fairly nationally well known. I told him I wanted to buy 100 shares of Chris-Craft at 12 bucks a share. He said, "Hmmmm, let me see, Chris-Craft, er-ah, Chris-Craft, hmmm, OK, here's their S&P stats--not bad...." Then he put down his whatever he was reading from, looked up at me and said, "Chris-Craft is OK, but, I've got this stock here, Lowenstein, they own cotton mills down South. I think you'd do better buying say 50 shares of Chris-Craft and 50 shares of Lowenstein...." Diversification. I didn't really believe in diversification then. I put all my eggs in one basket in those days. Like at the race track; I'd bet horses whose names I liked, like Commander Snod, a horse I once bet on at Aksarben race track--Nebraska spelled backwards if you want to know where that horse track was--and he came home the winner and paid me $32, which I lost back in the next race betting on a filly named after my wife, Hellfire Helen.

Turned out Chris-Craft didn't do doodly squat. Sat at $12 a share for months; and neither did Lowenstein do anything.

Soon I told the basketball player to sell those stocks and reinvest me in Universal Match Co. "Oh no," said my broker. "First of all, I wouldn't sell Chris-Craft and Lowenstein just yet; the potential to move up is still extant with them." I insisted he sell them and buy me Universal Match. "If you insist, but I wouldn't go that heavy into Universal Match. How about say 100 shares until we see what it does...er-ah, anyway, why do you want to go into this stock?" "It's a hunch," I told him, "a hunch I picked up out at Aksarben the other day."

I forced him to buy me a thousand shares of Universal Match at $5 a share. Over the next several months Universal Match climbed up to $11 a share and I made $6,000 on it.

Then one day I read in the Wall Street Journal, a small piece at the bottom of a page, that Universal Match was being bought by some big corp at 20 bucks a share. I ended up selling my shares for $20,000, a profit of $15,000 (not that much after the brokerage fee was subtracted).

What was my hunch at the race track? I noticed in the track program that the race track totalizator board (the board that shows you the odds and prices on all the ponies in a race in the infield of the racetrack) was made by the American Totalizator Co., which was, the program said, a division of Universal Match. Later, after I was vacationing in Acapulco on some of my winnings, I was watching an American television game show and it had a big board that kept track of the questions answered correctly and the money won by each contestant. After the show as the credits were running I noticed in those credits The American Totalizator Co.--they also made all the totalizer boards on all the teevee game shows.

That's how you as an individual win at the stock market. Same as you win at the race track--frigging LUCK, which is simply chance. In everything in life, you've got a 50-50 chance at least. That's why I prefer blackjack if I go to Vegas, AC, or the Native American reservations. My gambling uncle told me that you got the best odds at all the casinos with blackjack, which is a simple game really. Its basic tenet is if you're dealt anything under a 16 you take a hit--depending on what the dealer is showing. Even if the dealer's showing a face card or an ace, I still wouldn't take a hit on a 16. The fun of the game and the expert's best chance at winning comes when he or she confidently stays on a 13 with the dealer showing a 2 up to a 6 (the dealer has to hit 16 to win, odds are he'll bust). Simple deductions like that (percentage playing); or knowing when to suddenly double down or split (taking a chance; speculating). (Card-counting is no longer possible since now casino load more than six decks in a shoe.)

It's all about streaks. The stock market, like blackjack, is a game. In games, like the New York Yankees are currently on a 6-game-winning streak, streaks are what you look for. Same in golf. Tiger Woods, the greatest golfer who has ever lived, wins in streaks; recently he's won 3 of the last four tournaments he's entered. If you bet golf, then you bet either with or against Tiger Woods since he's the odds-on favorite in any tournament he enters.

Of course, the old adage "it takes money to make money" works on the stock market as well as at the racetrack or the blackjack tables.

It's all about "pools of money." Even at the race track, if nobody bets on any of the races, there's no pool to pay out of. (Social Security is a pool of money, for instance; the government can borrow from that pool but they are obligated to pay it back just like any loan has to be paid back.) In any game, it's that pool of big money--the JACKPOT--we're all trying to hit. The jackpot of course comes from myth! And, as we all should know, everything's a myth.

austinhighchew
for The Daily Growler
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With Eisenstein in Hollywood, a Continuance of Books Found on the Floor
by thegrowlingwolf

Let me just list some interesting things I've learned from rereading this commie-published book by Ivor Montagu on being with Sergei Eisenstein (Sergei Mikhailovich) in the Western World starting in 1930 and ending up colossally bad in Mexico, after a 6-month stretch of working on treatments in Hollywood on a deal set up by Jesse Lasky in New York with B.F. Schulberg (Budd Schulberg's father) at Paramount Pictures in the days just as sound was taking over the movies--as they were coming out of the silent era.

"In Paris he [Eisenstein] had just fulfilled an ambition by meeting James Joyce. At the film school in Moscow he used to set his pupils passages from Ulysses as prose exercises to be turned into script form" (p. 29, With Eisenstein in Hollywood, Montagu, International Publishers, 1967, reprinted in 1974). How fucking far into the future is that? I can't imagine trying to make Ulysses into a script much less a movie.

Getting Off the Track
It is suddenly getting hotter than several holy hells in New York City today as it nears noon. The air is drying out. It's getting desert-like in its hanging-around intensity. I love it. I was born in this kind of atmosphere. I remember when I was in Haiti for 3 months, when wife #2 divorced me and paid my way to Haiti to get a Haitian divorce, from March until June, and the heat every day was up in the 90s, dry heat, and a sunlamp sun, and I used to take my schoolboy notebook out to the hotel pool and while a beautiful French babe wearing a black bikini swam in the pool (everyday while I was there--on the last day she was there I talked a little pidgen French with her and then said adieu when her big strong very handsome boyfriend or husband came and hustled her out of the pool), I wrote like a fiend on a novella. I eventually submitted it to Jonathan Demi who I was told was a Haitian nut but I never got it back or ever heard from him about it--it was a damn fine little novella, too, about two US businessmen down in Haiti to make business deals with Baby Doc Duvalier who get drunk one night out by the pool in the Haitian moonlight. Out there they suddenly notice rats around the hotel's garbage dumpster off in a back corner away from the pool. One of the guy's goes back to his room and returns with a pistol and the drunken men start shooting at the rats--after one shot, they hear a female scream--which suddenly puts a quiet seriousness on their drunken fun and games, not knowing whether rats scream like female humans when they're shot or else they've shot a real female human. I still remember that as some of my best writing for that year, which means I write damn well in heat.

I used to write in Mexico City up on the roof of our hotel, a sweet private spot to write, with a fountain splashing water sounds around me while I wrote and drank $1.50 bottles of Bacardi Anejo rum, a platter of limes provided by the hotel by my side, also tapas, like proscuito and Persian melon, at my reach. The manager of the hotel's restaurant was an old Spanish woman from Valencia. She used to call up to our room on the nights she made her special paella and invite us down to eat with her.

Our hotel was right around the corner from a bar called Granma (the name of the yacht Castro sailed from Vera Cruz, Mexico, to make his initial entrance into Cuba, into the mountains behind Habana, to start his revolution). When in Mexico City, Castro and the boyz used to drink and make their plans for his return to Cuba as a savior (from the brutal US-Mafia-backed Batista regime) in the Granma bar. I was told by a Mexican Air Force lieutenant who was in love with my Tex-Mex-Choctaw-Welsh wife, who looked very Mexican in the summers with her luscious body tanning into Mexican tones under summer suns but very Welsh in the winter when her Whiteness came out from under her Mexican tan, that when I went in Granma, and I'd informed him I intended to go that very day, and ordered a rum and Coke, which I did drink while in Mexico, I'd better order it as a "Cuba libre con Castro" or they wouldn't serve me and would ask me to leave. Sure 'nuff, I went in the joint, a dark very conspiratorial-looking bar, and boldly ordered a Cuba libre con Castro, and immediately I was waited on along with curious questions as to how a norteamericano came to enter the Granma.

At that time, Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson was sending the US Marines into the Dominican Republic after the US-Mafia-Rum-Sugar-Industry-backed ruthless dictator Rafael Trujillo had died and there was a big possibility the DR was going commie--and Lyndon couldn't allow that to happen under his Monroe Doctrine responsibilities in policing and keeping honest elections out of the Caribbean countries. Every day in the streets of Mexico City there were marches protesting the US's involvement in Caribbean affairs and signs all over the District Federal saying "Yanqui Go Home!" Right after this old "I am not a crook" Richard Milhouse (yep, Milhouse on "the Simpsons" is Nixon as a kid) went to Colombia and the good people of that country stormed his limo, threw rocks at him, and spat at him, some shooting him the universally known and understood bird. General Smedley Butler, the most decorated soldier ever--2 Congressional Medals while still alive--some say three--said that while he was in charge of the US Marines and dog soldiers in the Caribbean back in the 20s and 30s he was actually working for Chase Bank and the United Fruit Company, the latter now quaintly called Chiquita Banana--and look at the mischief they are into now in Colombia where President Obama is negotiating with the corrupt Colombian president (he gets big bucks from the drug cartels don't you know) to establish a military base in Colombia on the pretense of protecting US interests there from the indigenous rebels of Venezuela, Brasil, and Ecuador (where they now have democratically elected governments headed by indigenous people rather than the Spanish grandees that rule Colombia now and Honduras now, too), and also as enforcers in our money-wasting and ineffectual War on Drugs--"Just say no to drugs"--nobody takes that adage as something that can be done--say no to Bayer aspirin, too; say no to Abilify, too? NEVER is the answer to that stupid statement. Recently, Chiquita Banana was caught paying extortion money to Colombian guerillas for protection--no where in any commercial teevee biased reporting on this matter did they mention that Chiquita Banana is the former United Fruit Co., the originators of The Banana Republics, in which we are still to this day having trouble--i.e., Honduras.

Writing in the broiling heat of a high hard beaming-down vicious sun.

My room is getting ovenish, but still coolly so so far. I am tired of writing...think I'll take me down to the Hashfire Inn--and I'm paraphrasing a great scene from an old Firesign Theater bit where they suddenly announce, "All our Forefathers were on drugs!" and have Ben Franklin thinking to himself, "I think I'll take myself down to the Hashfire Inn...." Everyone's high during a Firesign Theater episode, high on the tomfooleries of life, high on the hypocrisies and bullshit. Remember, "We're all Bozos on this bus. Hey, honk your beezers, everybody."

(to be continued as it is always continued in the continuing present tense--as it continues...)

theexhaustedgrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler