The New Mafia....Money Transcends Murder

Friends: The New Mafia...
Money Transcends Murder

"Not even the best vengeance pays the rent.” Tony Soprano

The New Mafia...why is that a surprising concept? Why, just look at the presidential election process...promises of change and hope, new faces in Washington, and lots of new money, Fed gone wild, tax rebates in the mail...money, money, money everywhere. Everybody's in the game, and why not the Mafia?

I know this because my friend, Michael "The Nose" Dioguardi, scion of an old and venerable Mafia family from Pennsylvania, rolled onto the island last night under the cover of darkness (isn't that the way they always arrive?), fresh from profiteering from the Florida primary. He had sniffed out early the way the wind was blowing and profited obscenely by going short on Giuliani with the Vegas bookies. His job was done and money flowed. How? Read on.

Michael "The Nose" is the new breed of Mafia Chieftain, skilled in sniffing out opportunities and subversive manipulations of people and events. "The Nose", you see, has a unique proclivity: He is able to sniff out smells of all sorts, like a bloodhound. For example, he learned early from his uncle, Johnny Dio, The Pennsylvania Family Patriarch, how to sniff out the singular ingredients in spaghetti meat sauce, from which it's reported came the recipe for Newman's Own. His talent was perfected in the Catholic Church where he was able to locate phony Professors of the Faith and shake them down, increasing the church's budget ten-fold.

"Nose" found this skill both a blessing and a curse in the college Frat house where, often beaten by his Brothers, he was forced to spend time in sorority houses "nosing out" the co-eds who were insecure or homesick and needed consolation. One evening turned particularly nasty, and only when The Godfather promised the Dean "a deal he couldn't refuse" that "Nose" came out of hiding and was allowed to remain in college at Rollins.

"Nose" moved on from silly fraternity tricks to the serious money of the securities business, where he was adept at sniffing out fear, weakness, desperation and greed. He became the mentor of an infamous start-up trader named Manny Milken. From there he moved into heavy equipment...and in visits to state capitols was able to sniff out vulnerable politicians with small budgets and capture the most lucrative road-building contracts. He has turned down numerous book deals and offers for TV time from Oprah, Larry King and Trump, preferring to remain under the radar and content with his fortune.

Currently in the “laundry” business, "The Nose" is considering retirement now, but I am plying him with my very best wine in hopes of getting some assistance in the real estate business. Yes, it would be a big help to know just which investors are bleeding badly enough to sell out for pennies on the dollar...My late-blooming career could use a boast!

I have convinced "Nose" to pass on his valuable built-in ability to others, and he has agreed to set up a training school for this purpose. Applications are limited, but for those selected the course comes with a money-back guarantee to sniff out anything...for the right money, of course. See me for details.

"The Nose" has made three predictions for 2008, so bet accordingly: One, The Patriots will triumph in the Super Bowl; Two, it'll be McCain vs. Obama in November; and Three, Money will continue to transcend about near everything else.

Bad blood be damned, The New Mafia Creed has taken on a Biblical perspective, though ill-contextualized, of course: “Money answereth all things.” (Eccl 10:19) Let the good times roll!


Bud
January 31, 2008

Rent a Rabbi and Other Useless Indulgences

Rent a Rabbi and Other Useless Indulgences

Hello Friends:

What better way to begin a new year, or anything for that matter, than to invoke the favor of Divine Beneficence? From wash room to Wall Street, coast to coast, it's being done.

The methods vary, of course. It's commonly known that Americans love their money and their God, in that order. Political cliches provide a good summary:
"In politics there are two things that matter most: First is money: and nobody can remember the other one."

Martin Luther made a statement in 1517 by nailing up his 95 Theses on the Pope's Temple door, condemning the practice by The Church of Mary and Peter of selling "Indulgences" to illiterate and destitute parishioners for the remission of sins--you know, for enough money perhaps God will assuage a guilty conscience, or so the Pope's minions promised.

Not to be outdone, Tom "Top Gun" Cruise and his Bride, The Church of Scientology, are offering redemption to Hollywood Celebrities for the relatively modest sums of $700 for "entry-level" salvation and $5,000 for the speed course. These "Indulgences" are expressly designed to "Clean" the Contritioner from all past Public and Private indiscretions. (As an aside, I believe the Chateau Scientology was the model for the Eagles hit song, "Hotel California," a place that's easy to get into and hard to get out of...listen closely to the words!)

As usual, the selling of "Indulgences" has reached its Apotheosis on Wall Street, where the "Rent a Rabbi" program has taken root. For $10,000 one can learn the Torah in group sessions--but for up to $250,000, cash of course, your Rental Rabbi will come to your home, business or Starbucks for sessions of salvation scriptures. Of course, Wall Street lives or dies second by second, tick by tick, so it's important to have up-to-the-minute God-sessions...hey, the DJIA, NASDAQ and CBOT wait for no man!

Even in the Backwater South Indulgence-selling is ubiquitous, if not cleverly disguised. I once visited a so-called Mega-Church--you know, those charismatically-charged services of 30,000 or more--where tears of contrition and cash meet for the purpose of Absolution. I'm told unless one tithes, there will be no hospital visits ~~Hey, cash is King here!
Collection "plates" (5 gallon white buckets with words emblazoned in red, the Devil's favorite color, claiming: "The Lord loves a cheerful giver") are passed throughout the 2 hour services. When the soft cash trickles out, coins, Rolexes, Benz keys and jewelry hit with heavy thuds, audible assurances that all is forgiven, COD. I ran out of cash and was asked to leave early!

Even the political Carnival of Candidates is getting into the act, selling insidious Indulgences... cheap 2-bit promises for $200 hits on your Visa or checkbook...hey, for enough, you too can sleep in the White House.

Well, with wisdom comes age, so satis verborum--enough of words--you get the point…. And I’m about to leap from this corner I’ve painted myself into by a wild prediction for 2008: Rental Forgiveness Programs still won’t work, but a healthy dose of humility or scotch might!

“Res ipsa loquitor…” The thing speaks for itself!

And that's Something to Think About!

Bud
January 18, 2008

On The Shoulders of Giants...A Resurgent Career

Hello Friends:

"On The Shoulders of Giants..."
A Resurgent Career

On January 11, 2008, our friend, Peter L. Banks, was inaugurated as the 36th Mayor of Barnesville, GA. He is a former Friday Forum regular….a giant, savagely beating back the darkness of the “functional irrelevance” that age is heir to. This is in his honor.

Peter retired after a long career of service as an attorney, State Senator, head of Governmental Affairs for AGL Resources and recipient of many civic and state honors. He returned to his hometown, Barnesville, population 6153, 50 miles south of Atlanta. Now Barnesville is not the end of the world, but some say you can see it from here. But the job of Mayor offered more challenge than golf and relaxation, so he ran for the office.

About 300 folks gathered on a rainy morning at the Civic Center, eager to witness Supreme Court Justice George Carley swear in the new Mayor. Friends ran the spectrum, from community well-wishers to business and political cronies. The atmosphere was electric and buzzed with excitement, unusual for such a small-town event. I had hoped to add to it by infusing some "spice" to the punch bowl, but the Police Chief spotted my mischief and touched his weapon...I got the message. Besides, the abundance of food was sufficient anesthetization!

Many think 69 year-old men are irrelevant...hardly. Peter ran unopposed, perhaps in fear of the Machiavellian politics of "reward to friends and retribution to enemies" that somehow had circulated early in the campaign. Peter gave a rousing speech of unity, with great swelling promises, but with the caveat that his office did have a back door! At the conclusion one would have thought it was a family reunion for all the hugs, kisses and back-slaps Pete got. I had suggested his campaign slogan should have been, "Old age and treachery will always overcome youth and vigor," but Pete thought it too extreme for the village.

Pete, the Native son, had returned to offer back something to his hometown. What did he offer? Well, if our generation is not the Vanguard of the new brand of mayors, at least we are the shoulders of wisdom, experience and compassion the youth will stand on to launch their careers.

After the event the remnant of us retired for lunch to Miss Bessie's Tea Room, a rather Victorian restaurant situated downtown in the old pool hall. With the exception of Pete's 3 daughters, the average age was, well, old. Outside on the sidewalks of this small college town youth and locals walked past, oblivious to what had transpired...Power had passed, and soon the "Irrelevance of Retirement" would give way to "The Relevance" of a Resurgent Career.

Political ceremonies, like small-town funerals also end. Goodbyes were said, hugs and kisses exchanged, and life began to return to normal. I immediately got on the phone to John and Eddie, raising money for the 10 foot tall bronze statue of Hizzoner next to the new Mayoral Library in the new Mayoral Park...can't wait too long for these things, you know, momentum is fleeting!

And as I headed back to the coast, Peter's words kept resounding in my mind: "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants..." Sir Isaac Newton, 1676. So much for so-called "Irrelevance of Age"...Peter's Resurgent Career is encouragement to us all! 'Cause, friends, it ain't over till it's over...

The Honorable Peter Louis Banks, the 36th Mayor of Barnesville, Georgia.


Bud

January 17, 2008

Carnival of Candidates

Friends: A Carnival of Candidates…..
Bait and Switch in Iowa

Bait and Switch: “A form of fraud in which the fraudster lures in customers (voters) in to purchase (elect) a lower price item and but is encouraged to buy a higher priced one.”

The Caucus Carnival has arrived…come out, spend your money for nothing but ephemeral entertainment along The Great White Way…

You knew I’d have a dark-side view of the spectacle of Caucuses…why, who could witness such a display of groveling human nature, as slimy as worms, without a sense of utter revulsion?
The advance operatives showed up a year ago on a treeless, wind-swept and snow-encrusted desolate Iowa wilderness, a state with what, a total of 7 Electoral Votes? Like a horde of locusts, these jobless Jehovah’s Witnesses, dressed in black, canvassed neighborhoods, handing out tracts proclaiming, “Vote for My Candidate,” savior of the world.

They came, preaching with great swelling words and promises of prosperity and security and the manic mantra of hope and change—concepts so subjective as to render their messages meaningless, just like the Carnies who invade small illiterate communities, shaking down the gullible with empty promises of cheap trinkets and Cupie dolls. It was a disgusting sight to behold.

“Rod” Clinton (or HillRod if you prefer) was the star attraction. I once knew a fellow named Rod. He was very rigid, inflexible, and when he spoke people were in awe of his intellect…only he was arrested wandering aimlessly in public parks pontificating to trees and derelicts.

Another premier attraction was “Almike” Hucksterbee, the chief Barker at his religious sideshow, lights blinking, a haunted house of sin, and bullhorns offering Redemption to all Believers who voted for him. Rumors circulated in Des Moines that late at night he was seen in the rear of his tent “laying hands” on strangers and selling indulgences.

Ken, of the Ken and Barbie fame, Misstep Romney, was the Concessionaire, selling cotton candy, that puffy concoction that looks like a big deal, but actually is about an ounce of spun sugar…a cheap “high” that resembles Marge Simpson’s hairdo…actually, in another life I heard he had been a hairdresser. Figures.

Not to be outdone, Rudee Guilana, the Italian Stud, the Sole Savior of New York, was in a small booth passing our biographical “Get Rich Quick Books” on how he went from $7,000 to $70 million in two weeks after 9/11. And of course, Obama was there…he might have sounded credible but for his name…it’s simply too close to the name “Alabama” to suit me…why, what would the world think of us if he were elected?

It all reminds me of the Associated Press article recently which said, “Fake Grouper Passed Off as the Real Thing.” Seems restaurants were selling Asian catfish posing as grouper, fish that cost $2.00 a pound for grouper for $20 a pound. And the idiotic patrons never knew the difference! Friends, that’s what a Carnival is all about…a quick high, lots of laughs and $20 buck Purchases for $2 buck Promises, the classic Bait and Switch!

Maybe I’ve been too cynical, but these vainglorious promises made by a Carnival of Candidates have been too much for me to bear…and remember, “they” will show up in Georgia February 5…so, check out your fish before you eat…and lets hope this is not the end of a Great Republic!

Bud
January 10, 2008

Apocalypse in a Package

Friends: Apocalypse in a Package

FedX arrived early Christmas morning with a gi ft box from Pakistan. The card said simply, “To Bud, From Ace.” You can tell a lot about your friends from the gifts you get!

My friend’s current name, Dwight Blackbanks, is an alias given him by the OPA (Operatives Protection Agency), and “Ace” was his code name. In another life he worked with the CIA as a Black-ops espionage agent, a very nasty trade, and had cut his teeth in Viet Nam back in the ‘60’s flying sorties in a modified F/A Raptor jet, nuclear armed, with Mach 2 speeds. Often he had parachuted deep in the jungles of S. Asia, exploited Juntas of Central America, provided technical support to the Sandinistas and other insurgency groups. He was a trained killer, a black belt in karate, expert in subversive and torture techniques, but most of all a specialist in Plastiques C-4 explosives. He is reputed to have been the role model for Fleming’s 007 James Bond and Ludlum’s Jason Bourne. I know some of these secrets from nights of heavy scotch drinking by the fires in his home.

Since 1990 he has lived a quiet life with his wife, Lady Whitehead, daughter of Count Whitehead, whose family migrated from Lancashire, England in the late 1800’s, and settled on a feudal estate in Southwest Georgia. He blended well into the local culture and has thus far escaped retribution from his nemesis, the mad Cossack Ivan Brusco, The Siberian Assassin, who had been on his trail since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Brusco, reportedly the love-child of Stalin and a Gypsy girl, was insane with revenge and had been commissioned to terminate Ace for his role in the fall of communism.

On the night of November 9, 1989, Ace had parachuted into East Germany with 100 pounds of C-4 explosives in a backpack, and had planted the explosives along the northern end of the Berlin Wall in order to provide an opening into the West. Ace had managed to lure Brusco into a dark and shadowy escarpment and by superior stealth was able to overpower the 7 foot tall, 450 pound Brusco, taking his Kalashnikov AK-47 as a souvenir, highly embarrassing Brusco with his peers. Only Ace’s compassion saved Brusco from a brutal death on that evening. Suddenly, the night lit up as The Berlin Wall exploded with an energy force sufficient to level the city of Brunswick, and before the Russians were able to regain composure, East and West Berliners began to cross the lines at will, reuniting, shouting and celebrating, dancing in the Brandenburg Gates. This night, November 9, 1989, was the official fall of Communism, and it was Ace who was single-handedly responsible for the demise of the Soviet Republic.

Of course, covert successes are not rewarded with the giving of metals, ceremonies on TV or other public acknowledgements. For Ace’s role in the event he received only a handshake from President Reagan, a few nods and winks from his superiors and a new name and identity. Such is the nature of this business.

But Black-ops are never fully retired. On or about December 20 this year all communiqués with him suddenly failed…telephone calls were not returned, email not answered, and his island home was shuttered. Ace had suddenly “gone dark” as they say in the spy business. He was nowhere to be found. We wondered about it. Then an article appeared in the WSJ, “…Pakistan, the world’s most unstable nuclear-armed nation is plunging deeper into crisis…Bhutto is assassinated…” Shortly afterwards, a small column in Reuters simply read, “The Cossack, Ivan Brusco, renowned as The Siberian Assassin, was found dead near the scene of Bhutto’s assassination.” It all left me puzzled, wondering somehow if it had anything to do with Ace’s sudden disappearance.

But it’s Christmas morning, a nice time with my family, and I begin to open the package from Pakistan. As I peeled away the cheap wrapping paper there appeared a grey Usanka, a Cossack hat, out of which fell a large piece of concrete stone with remnants of graffiti art, matching the German words, “Irgendwann faelt jedes Mauer”, translated ”At some time every wall must fall.” Along with it was a note card with the words inscribed, “All’s well…read Reuters. Ace”

Life is certainly full of contradictory coincidences, but suddenly, like a completed puzzle, it began to make sense to me. Like I said, you can tell a lot about your friends by the gifts you get from them.

Bud
January 3, 2008