We Are Going To Be Talking About Money Today
Directly and indirectly. If you don't like reading about what you haven't got, tough. Instead, when you go to bed, imagine that, rather than lying on a mattress, you're lying on a giant pile of thousand-pound notes. Just don't sweat too much.
Right! Let's get into this Intro. Art!
Art!
No, no, no. You're getting all confused, you poor old Neanderthal you. When I said 'Trumpkinhead' I meant the -
Easily confused. No, no, don't worry, no Tazer today, have a cookie instead.
Yes, I said "cookie" instead of "biscuit" as we're going to be zooming across The Pond to do a smidgeon of detective work. You see, one of Pumpkinhead's lawyers resigned as of 15th January with no warning, and no explanation, either, which is not very wise, as people like myself will endlessly speculate as to Why. Art!
Here an aside. YES ALREADY. Ol' Ferg was the vocalist in The Undertones before leaving and going solo. Then, abruptly, he quit being a musician and went into "A & R", which is "Artist And Repertoire", or the HR side of the busic musiness. He never gave any reason why, which explains why the poor bloke has been pestered ever since by fans who The Ferg want need an explanation. If journalists asked him why, he would politely avoid answering.
Conrad, of course - obviously! - would have advised him to come up with any explanation, no matter how nonsensical, because that would have slaked the thirst of the truth-seekers and they'd have left him in peace.
"CREATIVE DIFFEENCES"
"POLYPS ON VOCAL CORDS"
"BECAME A SEVENTH-DAY ADVENBUDDHISHISMIST"
You see? Easy when you have a creative mind. Art!
How to scare cats the Joe Tacopina way!
"O Noes!" I hear you quake. "We will never know the truth!"
Certainly not if Joe has his way. He did a single post-resignation interview on a South Canadian news program and merely stated that "It was my time". <sighs> No, Joe, no; say you inherited millions and don't need to work; a Nigerian prince is going to help make you rich; or Jack Smith's place at the I.C.C. needs back-filling.
"It was my time". O Rly.
Well now, well now, who's this in the blue corner but Farron Cousins, who vlogs daily on Youtube. Farron isn't a lawyer but works in the legal business - he coyly and wisely does not explain what he does nor where he does it - and is well-versed in the ways of South Canadian law. Art!
Farron explained what has been enforced for several months yet which has only just come to light, namely that Pimpkinhead has been feeling aggrieved at how much he has to pay out in legal fees ($50 million in 2023!) and is now putting a cap on how much his legal team get paid. To wit, $750 per hour.
This sounds like a lot to the uninitiated and is certainly more than you'd get paid for flipping burgers at a fast food joint.
Not when it comes to high-powered, experienced, competent and talented attorneys who regularly get people off murder charges, they charge a lot more. A LOT more. Art!
From TWO THOUSAND dollars per hour to SIX THOUSAND dollars per hour.
Okay, assume that Alina Habba is happy getting paid $750 per hour, and she works solely for Donald Buck, eight hours a day, five days a week. She comes out with just over $1,500,000 per annum.
Now, assume that Joe is on the lower scale, again working eight hours a day five days a week. He'd scoop in $4,000,000 per annum. Or on the highest scale, $12,000,000 per annum.
You can see why Bloaty Biffer Bafune Boy wants to cut his legal bills, and why Joe is no longer employed by him.
The trouble is - Art!
Burning The Midnight Oil
In fact, burning the mid-day oil, too. In fact, burning all the oil all the time.
To what am I referring? Why, none other than Ukraine's persistent and successful attacks on Ruffian petro-chemical infrastructure. As one person replied to me on Twitter, this is the logical consequence of waging a hot war against a neighbour when you possess tons of sites housing highly flammable fuels. Art!
This is a Ruffian fuel storage depot in Kursk oblast, where three of the tanks are on fire. As visible in the overhead shot, it's not a large site, but it is important thanks to being local, since it will be supplying the forces outside and inside Ukraine. Two things about this will bother the Kremlin. First, it's nearly fifty miles inside Ruffia, meaning everything else within fifty miles of the border is vulnerable, and you can't pick up and move a storage depot or refinery.
Secondly, money. Get ready for Money Maths! Each of those three tanks held 100 tons of fuel. A single ton of oil contains 7.6 barrels of oil. Let us assume that Putin cannot hawk his black gold for anything more than the sanctions-capped price of $60 per barrel. Thus a ton of oil nets Ruffia $456 per ton (I use dollars as this is the specie of choice in the petroleum industry). Therefore $45,600 per tank. Thus $136,000 worth of oil just went up in smoke. Art!
Indeed it does. If you're frowning a little and thinking "Yes, but - that's not a lot, really, in the scheme of things", bear in mind this damage was caused by two UAVs that cost at most £600 pounds each. Art!
"Join the Russian Fire Service! We're never idle!"
"City In The Sky"
I don't think there's any way I can work money into this extract, so we'll just plonk it here and imagine.
He also remembered to turn his life support recycle coefficients to
their lowest permissible settings, to extend his breathable air. Then he practiced long, slow breathing.
Gradually he realised there was something missing. A slow check of his surroundings brought the
realisation that his personal rock spaceship no longer trembled under the braking
effect of the solid fuel booster – and a slightly more startling realisation
that planet Earth loomed closer, closer enough for him to be able to discern
tributaries in the Amazon. Not a lot
closer, not enough.
Setting his jaw, and the booster at the rough angle recommended by his
Tab, Barclay pulled the ignition tab and shut his eyes. Even with his visor fully polarised and with his
eyes shut a wash of light and heat came to him, the acid light more powerful
than the faint increase in temperature.
The net in his hands twisted and tugged like a hooked fish and withered
away when the sacrificial booster burned down to it. By that time the rocket had bedded itself in
the rock socket so firmly that it stayed in place and Barclay slumped into
cover gratefully. Great blobby patches
of purple and black swam across his vision, over a smeared patch on the
exterior of his suit visor where backwash had scorched the gold laminate and
ceramic.
I like 'rock spaceship'. This author has a way with words!
Sweaty Eddy The Greasy Crim
You may recall that the South Canadian's Congress got shot of Speaker Kevin McCarthy last year, in a move orchestrated by Matt 'Eddie Munster' Gaetz. Ol' Kev McCarthy had been so desperate to become Speaker that he'd gone through 15 successive votes amongst the Wizard Lizard Gizzard party to get the position. One of the terms that got him in there was being able to get voted out by a handful of people, which is what Gaetz did. Art!
"Then I grabbed him by the throat -"
Gaetz is already heartily disliked, if not actively loathed, by at least three-quarters of his party, which is why his position is now looking verrrrrry shaky thanks to the House Ethics Committee investigating him. No shortage of people willing to stab him in the back - heck, stab him in the front if it comes to that - and the senior party grandees are furious that McCarthy was so angry that he resigned from Congress, because -
He was a money-raising machine par excellence. Money is the basis for all South Canadian politics and politicians and now they (the Wizard Lizard Gizzards) are going to get significantly less because of Greasy Eddy. Both the House and Senate are sharpening their knives because, you know, that front and back thing. Art!
Yes Yes Yes That Was Politics So Sue Me
OR
Possible D J Tango Overload
(Skipping This Item Permitted)
Unless You Like Schadenfreude
I am aswill with tea and porridge typing this up Friday morning, before Judge Engoron rules on how much of a 'disgorgement' the Bloaty Biffer Bafune Boy will have to pony up, which will probably come in the evening here in This Sceptred Isle. Art!
 |
| How to strangle cats the D J Trump way! |
The BBC has an item on how Donald Buck might try and get out of paying the huge fine - because that's what it is - and
He can't*.
They did detail how he might be able to get a bond company to foot the bill, which we've also covered here at BOOJUM! They point out that if - and that's an enormous IF - a bond company does take his case on, they will want 10% of the total judgement in collateral. $37 million, in other words, which will also require interest payments upon, as well as any Bottomhole Tax fees they care to append. And he won't get any of it back, even if his appeal is successful.
Bring on the wheeli-bins of popcorn!
Finally -
Your Humble Scribe discovered another bottle of Quink yesteryon, which means I don't have to visit either Babylon Lite or Gomorrah-in-the-Irwell to purchase more, whoopee. Mind you, since I have a hankering to make a Scottish 'clootie dumpling' I now need suet. So my crystal ball foresees a visit to Lesser Sodom this weekend.
* Tee hee!
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