'Twas the night before Christmas in hostel downtown
Curled a certain proud goldbug of former renown
His suit was dishevelled, His eyes? Dare discuss!
The po’ bastard looked like he’d been hit by a bus.
“What the hell happened?” he’d say if he could.
But market conditions had turned him to wood.
Though speech was beyond him, mouth parched an’ dry,
Why not be morbid and peer through mind’s eye?
“For year upon year now, through Greenspan excess
Or Nixon before him: The Great Acquiesce.
The market did party, on whisps of champagne,
And one upon other of products arcane.”
“The driver at root was a Fed run amok
Issuing paper to the quack of a duck.
‘Don’t worry, be happy, in the end we’re all dead’
Refusing to see the wall straight ahead.”
“Paribus’ hiccup, cued beginning of end,
And Lehman’s demise? We could not pretend!
The music had stopped, the end of the dance.
The Prince’s grand world, pricked by a lance!”
“The instinct, of course, in blink of an eye,
Was to turn on the spigots and print for the sky.
The TARP, the FIRP, the four-letter disaster.
Let’s damn the torpedoes and print more more faster.”
“The market reaction? It beggars belief.
Someone must have slipped it wrong brief.
Ignoring history, drunk on wild oats,
They hammer the metal and run to T-Notes!”
“We were the first to see this mess for a bubble
Yet our savings now stand, turned to dust rubble.”
Oh cruel irony and fate – our goldbug now foetal ,
Sweat from his brow, traversed by red beetle.
The matron of house had seen this whole scene
No stranger to misery or venting of spleen.
A buxom young gal from somewhere afar
She wandered on over and sat by pee jar.
“I’ve seen this before”, eyes blue an’ dart-quick
As she parted his hair and gave beetle quick-flick.
“A spat with the margin clerk, snarling and burly?
Prescience’ a curse, your type’s always too early.”
“Those schoolmarm-ish types who sing of deflation
And wag their stern fingers, and warn of damnation:
‘Let’s nuke the economy until we’re in clover,
Let’s purge all our sins, ’til nothing left over.’”
“Son fret you not, this won’t come to pass.
For no banker on earth has testes of brass.
On selective case basis, it’s been readily tried
A Lehman experiment, economy-wide?”
“Far better to use the one trick in bag
It’s a time-tested measure – we’ll give cash a good shag.
Should we decide on less pain and more pleasure
We’ll take out our pens an’ change unit of measure.”
“With a stroke such as this, the debt burden will lift
And from financial shenanigans our focus will shift
To productive endeavours, a better foundation
All with the help of a little inflation.”
“I tell you no tales, nor fancy blue fiction.
But hold up a portal to real-time addiction.”
The goldbug looked up, a glimmer of hope,
The two then turned to slippery slide slope:
“Behold the Fed’s ledgers, after buying spree pink.
The blotter now shows the coffee room sink!
And stop the print presses! A Latin cliché!
We’ve just learned from the wires the whole curve’s a buffet.”
“We see there’s a coupon: it’s purely deceit.
(In a ZIRP scenario even gold might compete!)
The money base soaked to soggy foundation;
A cash wave be triggered on smallest vibration.”
“An’ when time comes to pass, to mop up the flood,
The Fed will be helpless, its sponge soiled with crud.
The dollar’s demise is thus baked in the cake
Its anchor bank status will crumble and flake.”
“That is the backdrop, now turning ahead
Your hard asset names should rise from the dead.
So worry sweet not, in the end you’ll be right
Stick to your vision, notwithstanding this fright.”
“(And with nod to the T-Notes, I think you’ll agree
Before God doth destroy, He first fills with glee.
Roubini et al, those Blodget’s of paper
Exposed for shame truth: blind peddlers of vapour!)”
“History is quirky, it eschews a straight line
A lesson we learned from brutal decline.
But stage is now set, sprung from the fetter.
Merry Christmas to all – next year should be better!”
Curled a certain proud goldbug of former renown
His suit was dishevelled, His eyes? Dare discuss!
The po’ bastard looked like he’d been hit by a bus.
“What the hell happened?” he’d say if he could.
But market conditions had turned him to wood.
Though speech was beyond him, mouth parched an’ dry,
Why not be morbid and peer through mind’s eye?
“For year upon year now, through Greenspan excess
Or Nixon before him: The Great Acquiesce.
The market did party, on whisps of champagne,
And one upon other of products arcane.”
“The driver at root was a Fed run amok
Issuing paper to the quack of a duck.
‘Don’t worry, be happy, in the end we’re all dead’
Refusing to see the wall straight ahead.”
“Paribus’ hiccup, cued beginning of end,
And Lehman’s demise? We could not pretend!
The music had stopped, the end of the dance.
The Prince’s grand world, pricked by a lance!”
“The instinct, of course, in blink of an eye,
Was to turn on the spigots and print for the sky.
The TARP, the FIRP, the four-letter disaster.
Let’s damn the torpedoes and print more more faster.”
“The market reaction? It beggars belief.
Someone must have slipped it wrong brief.
Ignoring history, drunk on wild oats,
They hammer the metal and run to T-Notes!”
“We were the first to see this mess for a bubble
Yet our savings now stand, turned to dust rubble.”
Oh cruel irony and fate – our goldbug now foetal ,
Sweat from his brow, traversed by red beetle.
The matron of house had seen this whole scene
No stranger to misery or venting of spleen.
A buxom young gal from somewhere afar
She wandered on over and sat by pee jar.
“I’ve seen this before”, eyes blue an’ dart-quick
As she parted his hair and gave beetle quick-flick.
“A spat with the margin clerk, snarling and burly?
Prescience’ a curse, your type’s always too early.”
“Those schoolmarm-ish types who sing of deflation
And wag their stern fingers, and warn of damnation:
‘Let’s nuke the economy until we’re in clover,
Let’s purge all our sins, ’til nothing left over.’”
“Son fret you not, this won’t come to pass.
For no banker on earth has testes of brass.
On selective case basis, it’s been readily tried
A Lehman experiment, economy-wide?”
“Far better to use the one trick in bag
It’s a time-tested measure – we’ll give cash a good shag.
Should we decide on less pain and more pleasure
We’ll take out our pens an’ change unit of measure.”
“With a stroke such as this, the debt burden will lift
And from financial shenanigans our focus will shift
To productive endeavours, a better foundation
All with the help of a little inflation.”
“I tell you no tales, nor fancy blue fiction.
But hold up a portal to real-time addiction.”
The goldbug looked up, a glimmer of hope,
The two then turned to slippery slide slope:
“Behold the Fed’s ledgers, after buying spree pink.
The blotter now shows the coffee room sink!
And stop the print presses! A Latin cliché!
We’ve just learned from the wires the whole curve’s a buffet.”
“We see there’s a coupon: it’s purely deceit.
(In a ZIRP scenario even gold might compete!)
The money base soaked to soggy foundation;
A cash wave be triggered on smallest vibration.”
“An’ when time comes to pass, to mop up the flood,
The Fed will be helpless, its sponge soiled with crud.
The dollar’s demise is thus baked in the cake
Its anchor bank status will crumble and flake.”
“That is the backdrop, now turning ahead
Your hard asset names should rise from the dead.
So worry sweet not, in the end you’ll be right
Stick to your vision, notwithstanding this fright.”
“(And with nod to the T-Notes, I think you’ll agree
Before God doth destroy, He first fills with glee.
Roubini et al, those Blodget’s of paper
Exposed for shame truth: blind peddlers of vapour!)”
“History is quirky, it eschews a straight line
A lesson we learned from brutal decline.
But stage is now set, sprung from the fetter.
Merry Christmas to all – next year should be better!”
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