Lock your doors!

So only 300 days left and we can wave good by to Georgie Jr and hopefully look forward to being a prosperous, respected world power once again.

Early this morning I was driving at full speed into Babylon (manhattan) with two strippers who had been up all night crazed out of their minds on high quality cocaine and beating the shit out of each other in a $30 per night sleazy hotel room. They picked me up at 5am. When i got the call to take a ride I thought, what the hell? These are my people, bent, twisted, creatures that try depserately to be acceptable socialites and fail so misreably that the end result always leads them back to skid row, dreaming and waiting, for something or anything to happen.

I hopped into the car and put the radio to AM CBS 880. If we were going to briefly visit the land of the sodomites its always best to get traffic updates every ten minutes or so.

The girls started talking about how great it would be if Hilary was president. They were obviously out of their minds. Any fool can see that we havent had a solid presidential candidate since ’72

And then it happened--traffic-gridlocked. No way around it, no exit to get off. The shoulders were jammed packed as well. Suddenly, the girls were ripped from the car by Bear Stern’s Executives and carried off into some back alley to be violently penetrated in all orifices. I wasnt armed. Nor was I prepared to take on a gang of unruly finance people. You need high power weapons and ammunition if you plan to do battle with these brutes. As they carried away the girls I just yelled " I told you fuckers years ago to buy gold."

But i understood. If my company was riding high on the crest of financial superpower and then suddenly that wave crashed making my personal net worth only 1/10th of what it was the week before, I too would go crazy. I too would also roam the streets with my coworkers striking back at society anyway possible. And what better place to savagely kidnap someone than in broad daylight rush hour traffic.

I thought about calling the police or maybe even the FBI to report this at once. But it would only tie up my day. Plus at that exact moment the break down lane had cleared giving me a open lane to the next off ramp. So i hopped into the driver seat and mashed the accelarator. The exit ramp was a sharp hair-pin turn and the yellow signs indicated that the DOT reccomended all vehicles to slow down to 15 mph to properly navigate that turn. However, the DOT forgets that sometimes people are driving precision tuned Mercedes Benz’s and when you pay over 100K for your automobile that just means that you have bought your right to ignore all those posted signs. I took the turn at 70mph without so much as a peep from the tires.

Total control.

The S600 is truly a beast, I thought, as I headed back northbound to safety. I thought about the situation and I was glad that I didnt get involved with the kidnapping of helpless girls by obvious cannibals. Plus I had a lot of things to do today.

A dedication was in order along with a moment of silence. I scanned through the radio and found a station playing a classic that I dedicate to the memory of those poor girls

Peter Sarstedt: Where Do You Go My Lovely?

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are

You live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I’ve seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you’re found in Saint Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don’t

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Won’t you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha

They say that when you get married
It’ll be to a millionaire
But they don’t realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

Where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
’Cause I can look inside your head

(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)
(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)