It is unlikely that the disgraced Jon Corzine of MF Global Holdings ever crossed paths with Sir Harry Hammersmith. Sir Harry, hedge fund manager by appointment to Her Royal Majesty, would have considered Mr. Corzine one of the little people, unworthy of his attention. Sir Harry only concerned himself with those who did God’s work, at the tippy top of the food chain. More than three years have passed since Sir Harry fell from the sky, without a parachute, headless, wearing only a pair of his own signature black loafers, the ones with the braided platinum tassels, platinum because gold is so appallingly common. He had planned to deliver a check that would make philanthropic history as the single largest gift ever made to a private college, but instead dropped from the sky as a monstrous chunk of flesh at the precise geometric center of the Plymouth Mather quad.
View from the porch
The college president, a serious and square-bodied man named Philip Dooley, suffered a nervous breakdown shortly thereafter and now resides on a small island off the coast of Maine, where he sits in a rocking chair on the leeward porch muttering Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater …
Of course, for those who witnessed the scene, it was the brutal red-crusted brands that were so deeply shocking, brands that seemed to transform the naked body of a middle-aged billionaire into a ciphered warning, a warning that revolved around the letters M,E,T,A,C,O,M. Yet a warning of what, and sent by whom? More than three years have passed, and these two most basic questions remain unanswered.
Yes, we know everything there is to know about Sir Harry and his special tea: how he brewed the tea from the pulverized bones of a vanquished Wampanoag sachem, bones stolen while he was an undergraduate from a special crypt beneath Plymouth Mather’s world renowned Stoughton Center For The Humanities; how the tea appeared to convey godlike properties to certain anatomical appendages while also swelling self-esteem to the proportions of a trophy zeppelin; and how his clients were far more invested in securing privileged access to the precious tea than they were in Sir Harry’s financial acumen. And yes, we also know that when he exhausted the Plymouth Mather trove, he purchased others on the open market for fabulous sums, bones picked from all over the world, relics of the conquered, the obliterated and the disappeared, against all international law and common decency.
King P. Tea
While the matter of King P. Tea may provide credible motive for retribution by any number of aggrieved parties, no shadowy groupuscule affiliated with the assembled terrorist demons of the universe ever claimed responsibility for this perverse dead letter. There were vague whisperings of a subversive mastermind codenamed “Moshup”, but nothing came from it.
With the exception of a few months of turbulence in financial markets while Sir Harry’s algorithms dissolved into a worthless smear and the cold turkey experienced by a tiny coterie of super rich teaheads, Sir Harry’s fall from the sky failed to produce the cataclysm anticipated by the agents of Homeland Security, leaving a good deal of egg on their faces following their declaration of martial law. Indeed, for most people, the event has receded into the realm of dim memories, save for those like Phillip Dooley who actually laid eyes upon the branded corpse. For them, the image of the headless, scorched trunk of Sir Harry continues to intrude:
Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater, Plymouth Mather is not my Alma Mater.
METACOM
Desperado Philosophy 