The Pentagong Show

The Pentagong Show
United State of Terror: Is Drone War Fair?

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

The Share-ing Economy: Maiden Trump Tower.

We Cayman; made him cry Crocodile tears; said, "Later, alligator".

There is excitement in the Trumpelstiltskin penthouse. The nymphet with her spinning wheel has  spun the Scarecrow into Goldfinger. She is about to be married to his mature young apprentice, and she's to be married in the Trumpelstitltskin Suite of the Trumplestiltskin Tower, and the Trumpelstitlskins are giving the wedding breakfast, which, I'm assured, will be "A Cratered Affair"; in fact a flotilla of vans is even at this moment delivering loads of greenhouse plants so that the feast is crowned with celestial flowers that flow in a magnificent stream of garlands down the golden tresses of spun gold flowing from the bride-to-be's trousseau, an outpouring of splendid flax cascading in undulating waves of splendor so glorious they blind those who have the temerity to gaze upon them overmuch.

Naturally, the mature young lady is a lady of property, as is the gentleman. He invests in property. One of which is her. He casts about condescending golden stares, escalating the gossip about his primogeniture and Louis 16'th furniture. He goes into The City, hobnobs on Walla Walla Wall St., attends meetings of Directorates. He sits on boards, lays down planks, beats employees to a pulp, and otherwise reduces his competition to sawdust, mostly via his association with those in the know about Stocks. He himself knows nothing about them, but, as is well known to the wise of his generation, trafficking in Stocks is the one thing to have to do with in this world.

Have no antecedents, no established character, no cultivation, no manners? Have Stocks. Have Stocks enough to sit on boards of Misdirectors, oscillate on oh-so-serious business between London and Paris, and be great. Where does he come from? Stocks. Where is he going? Into Stocks. What are his tastes? Stocks. Has he any principles? Stocks. What gives him a voice in Congress? Stocks. Although he never of himself achieved success in anything, beyond ushering one company after the other into bankruptcy court, never originated anything, never produced anything, let it suffice to know he has Stocks. O mighty Stocks.

To manipulate those blaring instruments of finance up so high as to cause us smaller vermin, as though under the influence of crack cocaine or crystal meth, to cry out night and day, "Relieve us of our money, scatter it for us to the winds of chance, buy us and sell us, ruin us to enrich yourself, only, we beseech you, sit on the Peecock Throne among the other powers of the earth and fatten yourself, even to the state of repugnancy, on us.

And then spin spin spin those Stocks into gold, lest King Midas Muffle her, changing her golden fleets back to straw dogs nipping at her too-high heels. MedUSA, MedUSA, MedUSA, which turned his heart to stone, his skin to flint and drained power from  his tower.  As the crowds below yelled Rapunzel Rapunzel, her sister-wife let down her long hair and into the sanctuary, the mystery, the hallowed ground, climbed, unbidden, a riotous mass of faces, bent on creating a wild weekend with Bernie as they tumbled into the sanctum sanctorum, intent on breaking the chapel windows, juggling the sacred vessels and performing step-dances round the tabernacle.

Up, up, up they climbed, and in a flash it was crammed with men wielding clubs, sticks, torches, pistols; filled with deafening tumult, oaths, shouts, screams, hootings; changed suddenly into a beer-garden, a madhouse, an infernal temple: men darting in and out, by door and by window, smashing glass, raiding the bar, flinging the poolballs, breaking the cuesticks, tearing the green felt; drinking liquor out of China punchbowls that were then dashed to pieces on the marble floors, soon followed by the Swarovski crystal glasses; some were sitting astride the Villa Valencia settees puffing on atomizers stuffed with weed, as others were cutting down the curtains, and still more were hacking and hewing at an early 18th century Casket, veneered with tortoiseshell, gilt copper, pewter, and ebony, so as to break open its inviolable draws, stuffing their pockets with its contents without even glancing at what those might be, dividing his cash and precious stones among themselves right in front of his own eyes, wantonly wasting, pulling down and tearing up: nothing left untrashed, nothing private: men everywhere - above, below, overhead, in the bedrooms, in the kitchen, in the salon - carousing into the greenhouse where a horde of them were tearing through the caladiums, ripping up the Amorphophallus, jumbling up begonias and stomping on the rhizomorphs; all the while more men were pouring in - some  yelling some singing, some fighting, some breaking glass and crockery, some pouring out expensive liqueurs they couldn't drink, some ringing the bells till they pulled them from the walls, others beating them with pokers till they were pulverized to dust: more men still - more more more - swarming in like insects: noise, smoke, light, darkness, frolic, anger, laughter, groans, plunder, fear, and ruin whirled through the air like a raid of locusts on a defenseless crop, a Luftwaffe air raid strafing a terrified village.

At length the band began to reassemble outside the suite, and to call to those remaining within to  join them, so, as one phalanx streamed in through the window, the leaders of the mob streamed through the hallways and down the stairs, out the front doors and into the street, bent on spreading more mayhem until their irresistible onslaught bumped up against the immovable security forces, at which point they flowed like so many rats down ripped up sewers grates and popped manhole covers, through underground parking garages, streaming screaming into subway entrances leaving behind a flaming ruin and a pall of terror.

Thus have the forces unleashed by the mocking muppet stunned and castigated the great agitator as the rabble revel in a feverish orgy of anarchy, displaying the destruction and nihilism fostered within them that cried to be unleashed in a paroxysm of fire as the unexpressed rage he has bellowed to a white hot heat explodes in his face.

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