CUT AND PASTE CATS TOSS FRAUD SALAD IN FINANCIAL DISTRICT

Criminal Cats Cut and Paste sometimes took an hour off for lunch downtown in San Francisco. Today, they'd toss a Fraud Salad. It was their favorite to serve guests.

"Paw me over the Hedgefund Lettuce to start, Cut dear," said Paste Cat.

"Here you are, Paste. Need some Percentage Points? They look wonderful in a tossed dish like this, you know," said Cut.

"What've we got on the table?"

"Uh...6.7%, 4.4%, .09%..."

"Mmmm, okay. Why not? Crunchy. How about we throw in some Oil Futures? No salad's complete without speculation to delight the diner," said Paste.

"We've got Oil, but no Futures," said Cut.

"Oh, wrong table. Okay, let's finish the dish with a little TARP spice and fine Warrant White Wine," said Paste. "Bank Cat loves that flavor."

"Okay. I'll fetch the European Commercial Paper napkins," said Cut.

"Oh, Cut, I don't want those laying around the table while everyone's trying to relax," said Paste.

"Oh, no, no. We'll resell them in Chinatown around 7 a.m.," said Cut. "I know what I'm doing in this kitchen."

by lurene gisee
june 11, 2009
SF SPCA cats for adoption for real!

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THE ZODIAC KITTY TERRORIZES MARKET STREET IN SAN FRANCISCO WITH NOTES...AS IN, THE PROMISSORY KIND

Cut and Paste Cats, the feline con artists and forgers of San Francisco's Financial District, had a new gig. They sat in a dark alley off Market Street hurriedly cutting and pasting letters from that day's newspapers to send out new threats.

NOBODY COMPLAINS BECAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW WHO TO CALL. NOBODY BELIEVES THEM AT THE SEC TODAY BECAUSE NOBODY BELIEVES IN THE SEC.

REGULAR THIEVES WASTE THEIR TIME ON CRIME THAT'S SO BACKWARD IT'S STILL ILLEGAL. NOT ME. THE HOLDER OF THIS NOTE -- YOU -- WILL PAY. I DON'T WASTE TIME IN THEFT AND BLACKMAIL. I GET RIGHT TO IT.

tHe ZOdiAC KittY


PAY NOW.

The criminal cats sent their booty to the bank and waited for money from their terrorized victims, or at least victims too embarassed to go to the police.

by lurene gisee
june 11, 2009
360-752-6581
SF SPCA cats for adoption are shown. PayPal donations of $5 for blog upkeep only.

NO MONEY DOWN CAT FINDS PERFECT TOY FOR PASTE CAT IN SF FINANCIAL DISTRICT

Still in San Francisco's Dreamy Financial District, No Money Down Cat decided to scam Paste Cat's money. She found the cat "Laser" button on her fraud-filled, diamond collar. She'd just picked it up at North Beach Pet Supplies.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty....here Paste!" she said teasingly.

She twirled its green, bright light on the pavement, turned it off and on. Paste Cat chased and clawed at the uncatchable light. Why?

Because it was a green light in the shape of a U.S. DOLLAR SIGN! Other buttons on the new cat collar could display a big kitty house in Pacific Heights, fresh Fillmore fish, mice on Montgomery holding ripe muni bonds.

"Get it, Pssssste! Get it, get it, get it!" said No Money Down.

Off and On, Round and Round, Dollars, Fish, Scratch Pads, Big Stocks, Lost Mice, Plane Tickets....

"Get it now, kitty! Get it now!" said No Money Down Cat.

by Lurene Gisee
June 3, 2009
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(photo of kitty from SF SPCA adoption center)

SPOT QUITS PLAYING MONOPOLY, EXPLORES NEW, CRIMINAL OCCUPATIONS

Spot the dog quit trying to win board games with his neighbors in San Francisco's shadowy Financial District. His off-and-on friend, Seed Money Parrot, wondered what the humble Fox Terrier now did for his bones in life.

"We've been missing you weekends, Spot. Monopoly's getting 'little routine without a regular loser like you at the table. What are you doing now?" asked Seed Money loudly, so everyone on the street could overhear.

"Dealing Cheerios on Montgomery, dude. Cheap pipelines, no hassles with New York. Boys on Sansome Street quiet, too," Spot answered, narrowing his canine eyes like the clever opportunist he ...increasingly...was.

"They don't know this new market like I do. Gotta poop papers close-style to know this town like me, Cage Breath," said a new, more confident Spot dog.

- May 17, 2009 Lurene Gisee --

TRADING DUMMIES IN THE SLUMMIES

One time, there was a slum. It was over in some other part of town. There was a pink slum house. It had a dumb dog, cat and fat guy livin’ there. They weren’t botherin’ nobody. Things changed one day.

Wednesday, the dog was hit by a car. He didn’t wait for the light to turn green, walked, and died. The driver didn’t see nothin’, so he drove off. Dumb was uninsured.

Fat guy found out. He told cat. Cat didn’t care at first. But later, began to cry.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t I feed you?” said fat guy.

“Yeah, but I liked being smarter than someone all the time,” said cat.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I miss having Dumb around. Before Dumb got ‘imself run over, I felt good. I had Dumb fer lookin’ down on. Now, there’s just that stupid rug,” cat said.

“What’ya want then? A new dog or a new rug?”

“Dog’s the dumb I know,” said cat. “Let’s get a new dog.”

That's the true story.

-- end --
by Lurene Gisee, March 23, 2009
www.blackholeeconomics.com

FECKLESS AND PRE-APPROVED TRIPLE THEIR CASH HOLDINGS

Feckless and Pre-Approved, the criminal cats, sat. They wondered how to get a massive loan from the local bank without identification, a job, or any credit history whatsoever.

"How about a fake ID, Feckless? Works on Wall Street, doesn't it?" said Pre-Approved.

"No, no, no. All you've got to do is walk in with your signed application, Pre-Approved."

"What signed application?"

"The one in the big junk mail pile over there. It already has your name on it. It doesn't matter if you're a cat with 14-prior defaults, convictions and no known address. They've got your name already," said Feckless.

"Oh, oh, okay! I didn't think of it," said Pre-Approved.

"Neither did they, but they'll be thinking plenty when it's too late," said Feckless. "That's just the way the world works, Pre-Approved. I can't wait to tell Cut and Paste Cats, either. Just think of the money we're going to make in this town! We'll triple our cash by sundown."

-- 30 --

FISH FOOL FUN

I was walking through The City a few days ago. I came into Chinatown. A couple of Chinese grocers were loading some fish from cardboard boxes into plastic containers. There must have been about 30 fish stacked up there. Fish are Fools! They have no idea they are going to be at any moment mere decoration in a Chinatown storefront, with their blue eyes staring at passing Chinese ladies with plastic shopping bags.

Anyway, two Chinese guys were slapping them from cardboard box to plastic box, cardboard box to plastic box, and so on. One of the guys had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. A fish, who had somehow managed to survive the journey from the ocean to the store, wriggled out of the man’s hand and slapped himself down to the pavement. There he was: gaFlop gaFlop gaFlop.

The merchant picked up the fish and threw him like a slimy washcloth into the plastic bin with the other fish.

The question struck me suddenly: “Where did that fish think he was going? Did he think he was going to catch a cable car back to the beach or something?”

I felt a weak spot in my heart. To die as a fish in Chinatown has to be miserable. That fish isn’t going to end up on a $40 plate at some elite restaurant with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge with little parsley twigs surrounding him. No. His head is going to end up in a pot boiling away with green, leafy Chinese vegetables in a crowded apartment somewhere.