Wednesday, 18 February 2009

Where is Allen Stanford?

Everyone wants to know where Allen Stanford is. The Feds. Journalists. Bloggers. Everyone.

I have just got off the phone to Jack Pickles (and Stanford) - he's at his home in the Cayman Islands. Do not continue reading if you are of a sensitive disposition. This is what was said (I'm in italics) -

Hello. (Hello, Jack. Michael.) He's not here. (Who's not there, Jack?) Allen. (Er - why would you say something like that?) Don't fuck me around, Michael. It's pretty obvious why you're calling me. (Jack, I know he's with you. Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Madoff. Stanford. Where is it all going to end?) Where it ends is on the astral plane, on all the levels, with me ruling the roost. Taking over the whole fucking operation. I'm gonna fix you. And that fucking Big Herb cocksucker money god. And Ganesh! (You're out of your pathetic, little mind! You ain't got the muscle.) I got Satan, man. (Satan is a pussy. I'll be speaking to Jesus H. Christ about this.) Jesus won't back you up. (You wanna bet? He'll take to the plane with any of you devilish motherfuckers. You've screwed yourself.) Just me and you. (What?) Just me and you, man. Face to face, in the desert, on the astral plane, in the City of London, I don't give a fuck, I'll take you on. Just the two of us. (When?) Soon. (Bullshit. You ain't got the balls.) Soon, Mikey. (Tell Stanford to give himself up.) I don't know where he is. (I CAN FUCKING HEAR HIM SNIGGERING IN THE BACKGROUND!!! PUT HIM ON THE FUCKING LINE!!!)

Stanford comes on -

Hello. (Allen, mate, what the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing getting mixed up with Jack Pickles?) What can I say, Mike? It's the money. (How much money do you need?) And it's the power. Jack has promised to show me all the delights of hell. (Oh, Allen. You've gone insane. You've really gone insane. I could cry.) Don't cry for me. I know what I'm doing. I'm connected. Jack. Satan. No one's gonna mess with me now. The Feds will never find me. (I found you, you fool!) You're the world's foremost financial shaman, not some deadbeat cop. And I respect you, Mike. Honestly I do. But let me go my own way. (You're making a big mistake.) Well, then, let me make my own mistakes. It's my life.

Yeah, dear reader, it's his life. But hell is forever.