HAIL, Holy Queen, Maria B., Mother of markets, goddess of spring, our life, our sweetness, our pagan sprite, and our hope.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children in an era of trickle down economics from the appointed Wicked one.
To thee, Maria B., woman of earth, air, fire, water, and kinky equity positions, do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this air pocket of fear, a valley of tears.
Turn then, most gracious advocate, to the bears with honey covered bottoms and shine thine hot eyes towards these giddy shorts.
And after this show unto us the blessed fruit of thy market calls and anything else that might turn you on- we are hot to trot and at thy disposal.
O clement, O loving, O sweet and juicy Maria B.
Pray for us, O Holy Mother of this market, that we may be made worthy of the bottom slapping promises.
Let us buy. O Maria, whose friend Easy Al, by his political maneuvering, late night printing, and peanut eating attitude has purchased for us a margined house of cards.
We beseech thee, Maria B., we meditate upon thy past joys with hand held wireless devices from the Holy Palm Pilot.
Easy Al our Lord. Amen. |
