Dog Poet Transmitting…….
May your noses always sniff out the truth.
If you close your eyes you can feel it. You can feel the hot hissing breath rolling off of the forked tongues of Central Bankers as they lean on the poor fools, whose body and soul they own at 7% and compounded daily. You can see them in their dining rooms; all dark wood and even darker servants, moving soundlessly through the room. They don’t smile and they don’t laugh. One might see that their tongues had been removed at some point earlier in time. The Bankers laugh though. They cackle and they chortle. They look at the awkward slithers of their various Prime Ministers of localized and relative evil, dancing to a tune that only they hear through the Grima Wormtongue implant…
When someone is trying to do the right thing, the surrounding weasels group together and look for a weak spot. When something happens like what just happened in The Land of Oz… you know… you know that an ill wind is blowing across the wide wastes. On the other hand, those who are Prime Evil can do whatever and the worst it can transform into is, “so what?”