This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

Twas two weeks before Christmas, and all throughout the Wall Street. Not a creature was stirring, not even the creeps. The stocking was all hung round the chimney with care. With hopes a Fed rate cut will soon be there. When up on the rooftop there arose such a clatter. A quarter point rate cut? Why, that doesn’t even matter!

The street were all hoping for a Red Rider BB gun. But when they opened their packages, socks and underwear? Shit, that’s no fun. But most of them took it all with aplomb and tried on their drawers except for the orange one who shouted, ‘Where’s my BB gun? He vented and fumed. He wanted half a point or even three-quarters of a point, or maybe even a whole point! He cursed and swore under his breath. Free money for Wall Street and hard biscuits for you! A quarter point pink bunny suit? That’s not for me, that’s for you!

The orange Floriduh failure had just come from a Pennsylvania rally where he proclaimed to them all, “who’s your daddy?” Never mind the facts and figures, y’all. Never mind your bank accounts! Never mind the grocery stores, they don’t even count! Reality is all a Democratic hoax! Everything is great! Never been better! Who are you going to believe? Me? Or your foreclosure letter? January 6^th was a Democratic hoax and Jeffrey Epstein too! We’re out killing drug smugglers out to get me and you! Watch! I’ll show you the video! Watch, like I said, I won’t show you the video!

What do you want to see the video for? If you’ve seen one murder, you’ve seen them all! Don’t you trust me? We never did kill them. Well, we did kill them, but we had a good reason. They were aggressively waving a white flag at us was the reason! That flag could have come from Iran, you know? They could have been signaling for another drug boat to show. Cunningly, they were disguised as simple fishermen, but our intelligence saw right through that thin guise. Eleven men in an empty boat delivering the deadliest invisible cocaine ever devised.

Percolated, Pete said, he didn’t do it! Peculated Pete said he did do it. Percolated Pete said he didn’t watch it. He was out of the room. Percolated Pete said the Admiral gave the order. He saw it on zoom. Every single innocent fisherman we kill, saves twenty-five thousand barrels of oil. I mean, er, a American lives! What? Why are you looking at me like that for? Do you think I would lie? Maybe even fifty-thousand American lies, er, a  lives. Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? Reality is all a Democratic hoax!

If the economy is in trouble. Why yes, I have a plan. Fill a room up with loyalists and strike up the band. Give them all signs and watch them all cheer. Reality is overrated, trust me, everything’s in the clear! I came to talk about the economy and smooth with molasses, but blame all the shit hole countries for all our morasses. In case of fire, talk racism and then break all the glasses. What’s the difference to this room filled with moron jackasses. Look at me, maw! I’m on the TV now!  

The Kingdom of Denmark is like Al Qaeda, only with cleaner streets and better health care. Danes dare to declare the United Snakes as a threat to their national security! Where do they get off trying to run their own country? We’re not trying to steal Greenland; we just want to borrow it for a century or two. We just want to make it safe for hypocrisy.

Donald Trump warns the International Criminal Court not to debate the killing fishermen for sport. You leave Pete out of this. He didn’t do it; you know! And even if he did, I put him up to it. So? So what then hoe? Justice may be blind, but I know where you all live, and laws against me, you should immediately forgive.

Look at me now, I’m a man of action! I conquered an oil tanker, what grand distraction! Should we murder the crew, nobodies looking? It’s all up to you! Evil sailors on an evil boat out doing nothing. Man, what a joke! They’ll forget all about Epstein once the talking heads get this note. The economy is great, and all is in the clear. I’ve got the new jobs report sequestered, right here!  You don’t need to see it. I’ve already told you so. Reality is all a Democratic hoax, don’t you know?

I’ve rescued the farmers with nickels and dimes. They’ve lost millions of dollars because of my crimes. Ten cents on the dollar is fair, you’ll be fine. Only the same customers who didn’t buy this year won’t be buying next year, next time. The farmers haven’t just lost a crop, they’ve lost their markets. Why plant what you can’t sell? Why bother with all the trouble of going through hell?

Trump has fired his architect for being so squeamish. Build it bigger, he said, I really need it! Sure, sure, that will be easy. Just find someone else who will listen to reason. Build it bigger, he said, never mind the reason. Who will take on this job with no real plans who’ll do what they’re told and build on shifting sands. Bigger and bigger and bigger is the reason! Just add more gold and don’t question the season.

Up, up, up Wall Street went with the news. Giving it all back the next day ain’t really the blues. The problems are still there and they won’t go away! Distraction, distraction is the order of the day and we can call it action! “Teacher says, every time a Wall Street bell rings, an angel sells his Bitcoin!” The bankers have all borrowed up to their eyes with hopes of AI data centers will be their Christmas surprise. Borrowed and borrowed and borrowed some more, expecting a rate cut to save their big stores. Cheaper credit is needed. Cheaper credit is the only real reason for the season.

But Krampus, oh Krampus, that murderous tell delivers the message. It’s all going to hell. They wanted Santa Claus but got only more Trump. It’s time to sell out and it’s time they all dump. Relax, he says reality is all a Democratic hoax. What’s the matter with you guys? Can’t you see through their smoke?

Twas two weeks before Christmas and all throughout Wall Street. Not a creature was stirring except perhaps defeat.

“The greedy, profit-seeking exploiter cannot see beyond the end of his nose. He can see a chance for an “opening”; he is cunning enough to know what graft is and where it is, and how it can be secured, but vision he has none-not the slightest. He knows nothing of the great throbbing world that spreads out in all directions. He has no capacity for literature; no appreciation of art; no soul for beauty. That is the penalty the parasites pay for the violation of the laws of life.” ― Eugene V. Debs.