Phalli and the Federal reserve
Where the hell did August come from? It kinda snuck up on me all discreet like before charging out from the undergrowth screaming hysterically, poking me in the eyes with its keys and then kneeing me in the groin. Fortunately, having received a fair amount of blunt force trauma to my scrotum (and surrounds) during my tenure on this planet I am now able walk it off much quicker than your average male. Seriously I’m surprised anything down there actually works… no that slight leftward curvature was there before.
I also feel I have been somewhat remiss with my blogging lately and have recently become concerned that my karmic tally might wander off into positive territory, creating spam and digital flotsam that clogs up the internet kinda feels like my calling. Obviously I would have liked to have another vocation, one perhaps slightly more utilitarian that actually bettered humanity, but the divine Sorting-hat that decides these sorts of linear life progressions had other ideas. And so here I am, cupping my bruised testicle with one hand and finger typing with the other.
I’m not entirely sure where I was going with all of this… and it seems difficult to segue into a melancholic whine about the Federal Reserve now and how twenty five percentiles can cause so much consternation and ludicrosity*. Which… might… have been my original intention for this post. But really… I’m over it now. I’ve applied the ointment and I’ve been burn free since ten past three.
*Google says its a word. And I trust Google. Although I kinda have to say that because they know what sort of porn I’m into. Which kinda makes me their thrall. I’d like to say its mostly the regular up and down kind. But occasionally I meander off-piste… for… eh… educational purposes.
In any event. Down with the Fed! I think. My feelings on Central and Reserve banks generally lean towards the dim. But really, they don’t upset me quite as much as they do other peeps with libertarian tendencies. Well lets say its lower down on my list of things we should burn down… like probably near the bottom. Figuratively burn down I mean. Joey with a tiki-torch is really just a recipe for self-immolation.
Which is obviously something we want to avoid. If at all possible.