FTVS was, as usual, where the money is.

Friday February the 5th was the 2010 meeting of the National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) at the Federal Reserve. Naturally, FTVS was in attendance. Yes, dear readers, we crashed one of the most significant economic meetings of the year.

As the agile FTVS reader will recall, sexuality and economic performance are highly correlated, like boyscouts and tummy sticks. Consequently, while it is clear our Leninist leader Obama is extremely well endowed, FTVS set out to investigate whether the current crop of frontier Economists had the cojones to lubricate and stimulate the Black Mamba.

Specifically, the libido-teasing focus was on Economic Fluctuations and Growth. The latest in economical research was presented, analyzed, criticized, and for the two New Keynesians who happened to be present, sodomized.

To my surprise, crashing an exclusive meeting at this supposedly secretive organization was no more difficult than soliciting sexual favors from an FTVS intern. I was greeted by a gentle female in the bank’s lobby who kindly asked me to choose among a rather large collection of exotic sounding name tags. I curated the one that read “Kenichi Ueda (IMF)“, a natural fit, considering my proclivity for all things Nipponese.

I sat for an hour, watching twenty or so persons arguing over an array of Greek letters and mathematical symbols arranged in a way that made absolutely no sense. It was beautiful display of complexity with a subtle touch of masochistic sexuality. I had entered a new world, and the natives, while docile, were incomprehensible.

What Economics is all about, I still do not know. What is clear however, is that this group of frontier Economists remains nonplussed with how the Obama syndicate has sought to arouse the domestic economy. All but unanimously, there was agreement that the Stimulus Package is a misguided program, not unlike a broken penis too skewed to the right, which misses the unmissable stimulation point of the great American vagine (known as the “G-spot” in fornication, and “Growth” in Economics).

This, readers, begs an important question: if frontier Economists are the Peter North of society, why is the current administration wearing a chastity belt and not willingly taking their penetrating guidance?

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Free RajRaj! Tasers + Midgets = Liberty!

Readers, in this age of indecency and acutely sodomizing atheism, it is supremely important that we continue to acknowledge life’s finer offerings, such as midgets and Tasers.

None have grasped this maxim of dwarfs and electronic current weaponry with more agility than the corpulent and habitually jolly Indian capitalist, Raj Rajaratnam.

RajRaj rightly acknowledged the air of moral fatigue and theological malfeasance that has plagued our stained society as of late, and took it upon himself to rectify this dire cultural incorrection. How did he do it? By bringing midgets and Tasers into his workplace, a hedge fund, of course.

The man, however, is being threatened by the very society he has spent his life seeking to help, and is currently fighting slanderous insider trading charges waged against him by the Stalinist SEC.

In addition to being a beacon of capitalist benevolence by sharing trading tips with close friends and closer enemies, RajRaj also hired a midget to entertain his staff, and encouraged with a five thousand (5000) dollar bonus a female employee to have her nipples erected by a Taser. Sadly, it is his first move that aroused the usually flaccid member of the SEC.

RajRaj is a man of the people. Indeed, the hedge fund manager, and currently number two hundred and seventy fourth (274) wealthiest man in the American States, donated well over twenty (20) million dollars to charitable organizations over the past five (5) years, in particular toward clearing land mines in former conflict zones of Sri Lanka (East Indies) — such generosities surely bestow upon a man the right to get his Tase on and/or dabble in the hiring of vertically challenged bipedal humanoids.

FTVS is outraged to have such an extraordinary fellow charged for a mere one (1) million dollar windfall following the failed merger between Sun Microsystems and IBM. God damn it reader, does the SEC not realize THIS IS the type of corporate leader America is presently begging for? And was the eighty seven thousand (87,000) dollars donated to the Obama Hussein Barack campaign not supposed to insure him against this sort of mistreatment?

Accordingly, FTVS has dispatched a generous and sexual offer to RajRaj, seeking to solicit his services to head-up the newly anointed FTVS Financial Services Division. More information to follow.

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Let us not compare sources of inspiration.

Until two weeks ago, Lance Armstrong’s arousing victory over testicular malignancy was the most acceded ‘hero’s journey’ of our time. The grace with which he vanquished billions of pudenda-attacking metastasizers captivated our collective psyche, and defined him as the world’s apotheosis of hope (that is, until the harlequin Obama copyrighted the term).

Lance even went on to reproduce! With multiple women! What glorious sperm he must have! Four-time Tour de Uterine Canal champions! His singular nut must possess at once the perseverance of Prometheus’ flame and the beefiness of Thor’s hammer!

However, the Western world has found a new lodestar of hope. One that goes beyond the triviality of colonizing cells or shattered colored-glass ceilings. As you are likely aware, an FTVS founder recently broke the most vital of appendages while defending himself from an envy-fueled physical attack. Fame – to which Michael Jackson, JFK, Anna Nicole Smith, that Nirvana guy, and now Bob Albatross are testament – is not without its consequences.

The world can cease its heaving sobs over Farrah’s fall to that devilish butt cancer ambush, and redirect its gaze to this more recent, more compelling calamity.

A lesser man might relinquish all hope and would likely take his own life, or perhaps embark on a Columbine-like pursuit, were he to face such a profound injury. Amen, our fearless padre is not a lesser man. Indeed, on several occasions his physical prowess has been likened to Stephen Hawking’s, as has his mental fortitude been compared to that of Steve McNair. Or perhaps vice versa.

As the heroic FTVS founder refuses to abandon his, nay, the world’s dream of seeing him one day again pound the ~ and q keys on his keyboard, 6 billion humans hold their breath and offer their succor to Mr. Albatross.

Like the long roads of the Tour de France, the keyboard is a wild beast that is nary tamed. As a champion of qwerty maneuvering, Bob Albatross refuses to submit to the deafening odds he presently faces – and as he stares into, or rather stirs the the abyss with his umbrageous pinky, the abyss wets its bed to a nightmare of its bad uncle.

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Until recently, a clear and incontrovertible rule had been justly respected: female-gendered African-Americans between the ages of 30-45, and male-gendered Orientals (jovial appellation, not racism) between the ages of 45-60 years retained an unmitigated monopoly on the Bay Area’s bus driving circuit.

It rests exclusively within the province of these two marvelous racial categorizations to ensure my timely arrival at the location from where I conduct groundbreaking research.

No longer.

Last Saturday, as I boarded my bus, I was awestruck by the fact that a white male was piloting one of the city’s urban transport jalopies (71L to be precise). This evidenced a clear violation of the ordained ethnological stratification that has been maintained in San Francisco for decades. Or at least for as long as minorities have been allowed to navigate these insalubrious Marxist vessels.

To avoid being sent to an Auschwitz-like detention camp, I secreted my knowledge of his genuine constitution, knowing full well his capacity for rape and theft.

As an apostle of integrity, I am burdened with a profound obligation to expose neo-colonial stratagems wherever they are to be found. It is my devoir to expose the thieving of the modes of production! The pilfering of the proletariat to satiate the frothing appetites of the honkey bourgeoisie.

I will proceed immediately to the climax:

From Amistad to bus 71L, the slave-trading cracker is insatiable.

As the bus door squeegeed itself open, I lifted my gaze to the driver. Of course, based on my unparalleled knowledge of race relations in urban histories, I rightly expected to encounter a jubilant Nubian princess at the helm, perhaps named Shaquiqui, her nails bright as the sun, as long and sharp as pocketknives. Or quite possibly today would bring me Xiang, that cantankerous Canton, with his mole-whiskers and noxious body odor that smells of schadenfreude. Surely, you can appreciate the paralytic shock that possessed my being when I saw that 40-something year old Caucasian oppressor, likely a trafficker in humans, sitting in the seat normally reserved for those of more tender coloration.

“Good morning.” he said to me. Absurd! This imperial despot’s attempted bamboozlement, his attempt to appear benign, if not downright friendly, was evaded. It is widely known that bus-drivers do not acknowledge those they convoy. It is in the order of man.

To avoid being sent to an Auschwitz-like detention camp, I secreted my knowledge of his genuine constitution, knowing full well his capacity for rape and theft. I sat at the back of the bus – a locale usually reserved for connoisseurs of heavily polluted crack cocaine and individuals whom indulge in courageous research aimed at identifying the biological consequences of excessive libation.

Like my fellow riders, I pretended not to be perturbed by this sacrilege. We all clenched our buttocks to the urine-scented seats. There was a shared fear of the white devil shepherding us.

Not without miracle, I arrived at my destination without physical harm. The mental assailment, however, remains. Upon arriving at the office from which I disseminate my field(s) of expertise, I immediately transcribed a letter to our Mussolini-like bastard of a mayor. That noxious malefactor, Gavin Newsom.

Needless to say, my courageous ode of justice has yet to solicit any response. With great clarity and confidence I declare that the civic fascists running this city are indeed swastika-fondling overlords. And that a great wave of oppression has crashed across northern California!

What is next? Dare I even ask?

Will the people of Japan begin constructing my shawarma? What then, will the émigrés of Lebanon do? Will the Australians take over the Thai restaurants and happy ending massage parlors? How shall the great people of Siam acquire their sustenance? Will the Sri Lankans subsume the taxi industry? What of the Punjabi people? Will the Ecuadorians begin DJing trance music? What will the Dutch do?

I alone cannot answer such questions of allocation and role. So I ask you, my fanatical reader base, to answer them with me. Where do we stand with our categories of race and expectation in this age of Obama?

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