Tuesday 26 February 2008

O Satan, you love the money

O Satan, you love the money, but you're not getting mine. Oh no, you're not. You and Jack Pickles can take me to hell and back, but you're not getting the money.

In the howling chaos of that dark night when I saw you and Jack dancing to a Rolling Stones record, you thought you could come to me and steal all my cash. O you damn fool! I am protected by the angels, by Big Herb and Ganesh, and I have the power of a million mystic candles burning in my righteous heart.

O Satan, you love the money, but you will not triumph in the Square Mile or Canary Wharf. I can see your dark workers skulking about. Do you really think that Jack and his cohorts can outwit me? Do you think I was born yesterday?

O you mad devil, you sick angel, I have never been born! I swim through the eternal cosmos for all time! I am outside time - imagine that! You can stretch your tiny mind as far as you like and still not know half of the truth of the world's foremost financial shaman. Ha! I will destroy Jack Pickles! He will get what's coming to him. And who will you send against me then?

O Satan, you love the money, but you're not getting mine. Down, Satan! Down into the pit! You want to sprinkle me with fire? It will never work. I'm fireproof!

O Satan, you love the money, but it will be your undoing.