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Jingling Bells



That NY Times upbeat shopping report on gift-horse
laundering recalls Judeo-Christo-Muslim-Buddhist-whatever
X-marketing of indulgences to complicitously blessed
international drug-running bandit-patrons of days gone
by.

Battling the state for tax-whack is the grand legacy of
brawling twix cult and state. Tithe or tax, forgiveness
or the noose, adorable mass-murderer, theism or atheism,
no exit, you're hoisted.

It's a fine compact for building monuments to bedrugged
faith of earthly pleasures, temples and capitols, cons
spiritual blessing and caressing cons secular for
percentages generous.

Bedrugged with the rich history and rewarding journalism
of such back-scratching by gods of mammons galore, one
wonders how many Caribbean rimmers of yet unadvertized
international cults are now bulging their laundry sacks
cuts of the drugs.

To the cults of rome and jerusalem and mecca for
swamplords of rickety blow-downs, of scientologists
mimcking these venerable predecessors, add the ex-swiss
bankers now sweltering in hellish Cayman, the hot-eyed
ex-usa's with kids in college, sole-practitioner very
hungry beagles, all deeply inhaling the colombian aroma.

All offering mother goose refuge from Sam, off-shore, in
the cave of shadows, any world of illusory power where
you're willing to pay the stiff-arm dues for protective
delusion.

There's no fee meal like that served by god-mammon's own
earthly courtesans and courtiers sweet-and-sour abrading
innermost money=immortality fears.

CoS's E-meter-cleaner is dead-on for E-cash-drug
jingling bells.