Monday, June 10, 2013
Piracy
We drank daily midst the wattles overlooking
the narrow river.
This early evening a pirate took to sea, standing in
a tiny skiff. "Avast ye landlubbers!"
We delivered a universal finger back.
Andy the Antagonist yelled at him "Where's your
pegleg, Asshole?"
The Pirate yelled back "You'll swing from the yardarm
for that!"
"Yeah you shouldn’t insult professions," added Billy O.
"He's heading for a do at the yacht club. Probably a real
pirate, a broker," sneered Christie.
"I can confirm former," once-Little Lucy confirmed.
fresh from her shift at The Dockery. "We're catering."
The professor put in "And I the latter. A broker of sleazy variety well-known on The Street. At any rate, Orwell says we wear a mask and our face gradually grows to fit it."
"Meaning he'll become a genuine pirate in time, if his
act keeps going over to plutocratic applause?"
asked Christie.
"Precisely. And he'll possess a yardarm then."
“Oh no!” fell Andy to the marshy grass in a fit of pseudo choking, which, though, took possession of him with dramatic intensity.
He died in Cove Hospital!
Well, seven years later...but let's hold on to a story while we can.
The broker kept his pirate act, buying a replica ship with skull and crossbones, and bona fide yardarm.
One day a junior executive will hang from it during a degrading orgy, all participants except the broker getting jail time.
He won’t escape, however, a scathing lecture from the judge. Cry in Bentley going home.
We drank daily midst the wattles overlooking
the narrow river.
This early evening a pirate took to sea, standing in
a tiny skiff. "Avast ye landlubbers!"
We delivered a universal finger back.
Andy the Antagonist yelled at him "Where's your
pegleg, Asshole?"
The Pirate yelled back "You'll swing from the yardarm
for that!"
"Yeah you shouldn’t insult professions," added Billy O.
"He's heading for a do at the yacht club. Probably a real
pirate, a broker," sneered Christie.
"I can confirm former," once-Little Lucy confirmed.
fresh from her shift at The Dockery. "We're catering."
The professor put in "And I the latter. A broker of sleazy variety well-known on The Street. At any rate, Orwell says we wear a mask and our face gradually grows to fit it."
"Meaning he'll become a genuine pirate in time, if his
act keeps going over to plutocratic applause?"
asked Christie.
"Precisely. And he'll possess a yardarm then."
“Oh no!” fell Andy to the marshy grass in a fit of pseudo choking, which, though, took possession of him with dramatic intensity.
He died in Cove Hospital!
Well, seven years later...but let's hold on to a story while we can.
The broker kept his pirate act, buying a replica ship with skull and crossbones, and bona fide yardarm.
One day a junior executive will hang from it during a degrading orgy, all participants except the broker getting jail time.
He won’t escape, however, a scathing lecture from the judge. Cry in Bentley going home.
Labels: business, orgy, Pirate, Plutocrat, Wall St
