Happy Weekend

So the Patriot is coming off a couple of rough weeks folks, although nothing as rough as what my poor friend Crackass has gone through, what with the feds tossing his apartment and all. I learned a very important lesson this past week. First and foremost, the principal danger at a picnic isn’t ants, stinging insects or boring conversation. No, the most dangerous thing at a picnic is mayonnaise that has sat in the 100 degree heat for several hours before it makes its way, in the innocent guise of macaroni salad, into your body. Mark my words, nothing will ruin your day, and possibly your week, more than that seemingly innocent emulsion of raw eggs and oil after it’s been exposed to the Virginia sun on a summer’s day. The Patriot learned this the hard way. Feeling somewhat at ill sorts, I took an early boat home last Monday where I promptly passed out in a delirium, only to be prodded awake by a broom-wielding seaman several long minutes after the ferry had docked in St. George’s. A restless night followed, consumed with dreams and hallucinations the like of which the Patriot hasn’t seen since the 1986 Dead shows at the Meadowlands (and they were good shows).

Nevertheless irrespective of bad mayonnaise, the engine of Capitalism grinds on. This week there must have been some serious sand in the gears. The sub-prime mortgage market led the stock market on a wild ride which had the Patriot, who is heavily leveraged in emerging markets, gnawing on his fingernails every time he checked his etrade account. That’s the price one pays for betting on the vagaries of globalism without someone on the inside pulling the strings for you. The bids are rigged my friends. Bush and his corporate masters make money because they know all the players. The markets move when they tell the markets to move. As Political-spazz noted in a posting a few months ago, the day before 911, trading on United Airlines stock was through the roof. They knew what was going to happen. The rest of us are chasing chump change. Might as well go to Vegas, get drunk and at least have a few good stories when we come home hung over and broke. Wall Street bleeds slower but its still a bleed. Alright my brothers and sisters, peace out and see y’all next week.