




On Christmas Eve, a week after his divorce from his wife, Sylvia Pardo, was finalized, Pardo went to his in-laws' house with a gun and a fuel-spraying device. The Los Angeles Times has most of the details of what motivated his crime, how he planned to kill and torch his ex-wife's family, and how his escape went wrong:
by Tim Stewart
T’was the time of the Big Crash, when all through The Street,
Merry traders flogged worthless paper, growing their bonus heap.
Derivatives were shunted ‘round the world without care,
Knowing St. Greenspan soon would proclaim, “No bubble there!”
Over-leveraged homeowners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ever-inflating values danced in their heads.
And my trophy-wife in her designer lingerie, and I in my official logo cap,
Had just flipped on the 100-inch plasma and settled into the Jacuzzi, unable to nap.
When out in the free markets there arose such a clatter,
Paulson had to pull his head out of the Wall Street Journal to see what was the matter.
Away to Goldman Sachs he flew like a flash,
Tore open the jewel-embossed shutters and quickly hid the stash.
The rose-coloured lenses, once discarded they flew,
Then stocks began tanking, as the pyramid schemes blew.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a 700 billion dollar bailout, and eighty fat-cat bankers hands outstretched so dear.
With an old boy as the driver, so two-faced and slick,
I knew in a moment it must be a trick.
More rapid than eagles the free traders they came,
And Paulson whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Goldman! Now, Merrill! Now, AIG and Bear Stearns!
Sorry, Lehman. On, Citicorp! On Morgan and Stanley!
To the top of the Federal Reserve Bank! To the top of the Street’s Wall!
Take the taxpayer’s money and dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
After impelling so many to amass debts sky high,
When they meet with an obstacle, they are ‘too big’ to die.
So back to the Congress the noble free-market men they flew,
With private jets full of toys, some for each member too.
Amid all the back scratching, Congressmen heard on the helipad roof,
The soft leather pawing of each well-heeled hoof.
As one jotted on a napkin the formula for ole trickle down,
Up the nation’s chimneys all wealth was sucked, with hardly a sound.
Investment bankers strutted dressed all in fur, from their head to their foot,
No clothes not custom-made on their skin could be put.
Bundled sub-prime mortgages they flung ‘round with Triple A matter-of-fact,
And they sounded like gamblers, just playing a game of black jack.
The Decider’s eyes—how they twinkled! His smirk how scary!
His ideals were like deadweight, his mind muddled and airy!
His fake Texas drawl sputtered out rather slow,
And the colour of his face turned as white as the snow.
He was stumped by events so gritted his teeth,
While the smoke from the Big Crash encircled his head like a wreath.
He had more lines on his face, and dreaded the sound of the closing bell,
But shrugged and laughed it all off, ‘truly sorry’ for this hell.
He was chummy with plump billionaires, around them a right jolly old elf,
The people cringed when they saw him, and resented his stealth!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave us to know we had much more to dread.
He spoke not a word, about all of his dirty work,
When people threw shoes and stockings, he ducked and he jerked.
And shooting the finger at the press conference close,
Into history he tumbled, smelling more like Herbert Hoover than a rose.
He sprang from the White House, to his team gave several loud whistles,
And away to the Crawford ranch they all flew to play golf and clear thistles.
But we heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
“Happy Big Crash to all, and to Obama good luck, yer sure gonna need a might!”
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore. Tim Stewart is an associate professor at the Kyoto University Institute for the Promotion of Excellence in Higher Education.)
As always, the North American Aerospace Defense Command (Norad) will be keeping tabs on Santa and children can follow his progress on Google Earth.
In addition, they can send e-mails to the tracking team or even follow Santa on Twitter.
This year marks the 50th anniversary of a tradition that started by accident in Colorado, in the US.
Father Christmas's journey will start at 1100 GMT and children worldwide can track his progress using Google Maps and Google Earth.
He will pass 24 "Santa cams" around the world, providing live video feeds of his progress, which will in turn be put onto Norad's YouTube channel as they happen.
Norad volunteers can answer e-mails about Santa's journey (the address is noradtrackssanta@gmail.com).
Norad's 50-year tradition of tracking Ole St. Nick goes back to a misprint in a Colorado newspaper advertisement in 1955.
A local child wanting to know Santa's whereabouts dialled the phone number printed, which connected to the Continental Air Defense Command (Conad).
As more mistaken calls came in, the commander on the other end of the phone answered the queries and the tradition continued in 1958 when Conad became Norad.
The effort spread to the internet in 1998 and in 2007 Norad's Santa tracking site saw more than 10m visitors from 212 countries. Volunteers fielded nearly 95,000 phone calls and 140,000 e-mails. This year when Santa takes flight from the North Pole, more than 1,000 volunteers will be on hand to help out.
Now my half cent of thought of this - at the conclusion of the show, Rudolph leads Santa to the Island of Misfit toys - which is probably Santa's Guantanamo Bay for depressingly broken toys. At best, it's the North Pole's Dollar Store. Santa loads up these broken, malfunctioning, and chromosome deficient toys in his sack of goodies as the credits roll.1.) WHY IS SANTA SUCH A COMPLETE BASTARD?
I'm going to say he has a chemical disorder, probably Bipolar. The elves sing him a very nice song and he's a total jerk about it, leaving the desperately co-dependent Mrs. Clause to patch things up. He has some sort of eating disorder that causes his weight to fluctuate wildly. He tells Dasher he should be ashamed for presenting Rudolph to the community simply because the child has some sort of nose disorder. He only changes his mind about Rudolph once he figures out a way to exploit him. Plus, this guy is absolutely ITCHING to cancel Christmas. Hey Santa. It's not your call. Christmas is the day Jesus was born. God will let you know if Christmas is cancelled. Until then, get in the damn sleigh.
2.) WHAT'S UP WITH CLARICE?
A generation of men my age is all screwed up because Rankin/Bass decided to make Clarice disturbingly attractive. She's a little forward, a little coy, and those eyelashes! I swear to God, we should all organize a class action suit to pay for our therapy.
3.) WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE ELVES?
Why are they such fascists? Like the head elf isn't way different than all the others? And what about the tall elf?
Is he an engineer? Is he from MIT? Why is he tall? And how come the head elf and the tall elf don't get any sh*t but Hermy does?
4.) WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE REINDEER?
Okay, Rudolph's glowing, squealing nose is weird as sh*t, but why do the other reindeer find it terrifying? What about a glowing, squealing nose makes other reindeers pupils shrink and their bodies convulse? And why does it mean the poor bastard can't 'play in any reindeer games'? He's the best at flying after Provocative; Jailbait Clarice...
...comes onto him. Is this like back when African Americans weren't allowed to play football?
5.) IS IT HERMY OR HERBIE?My word to God, he gets called both over the course of less than an hour.
6.) IS HERMY GAY?
Yes. Forty years ago you couldn't talk about homosexuality among puppets on TV, so they used the word 'dentist' instead of...
7.) IS YUKON CORNELIUS GAY?
Yukon Cornelius, like 7% of the population is asexual.
8.) WHAT'S THE DEALIO ON THAT FRIGGIN' TALKING SNOWMAN?
Forty years ago, Burl Ives, who lent his voice and a lot more of his image than you'd think to the Talking Snowman was a big star. Now nobody remembers hits like "The Big Rock Candy Mountain" (a song that is actually about Hobos dying of malnutrition, exposure and alcoholism) or "The Ugly Bug Ball" (which is actually about unattractive bugs gathering to dance) or his Oscar winning turn as "Big Daddy" in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof". All anyone remembers about Burl Ives is that he is the talking snowman and they don't even know he was really Burl Ives. I imagine this makes the ghost of Burl Ives just about as mad as f*ck.
9.) WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH TIME AT THE NORTH POLE?Okay, follow me here. Rudolph runs away from home right after Reindeer practice. He has adventures with Herbie and Yukon Cornelius and visits the Island of Misfit Toys. Then he leaves them behind and is off on his own long enough to enter puberty and grow antlers. Meanwhile, his Dad went to look for him right after he ran away, followed almost immediately by his mom and that Little Tart Clarice. The near adult Rudolph returns home to be informed by Santa that everyone's gone looking for him. We know it's been less than a year because Santa says he can't fly the team without Rudolph's dad, but it sure as hell has been a while. Rudolph goes directly to the Abominable snowman's cave JUST IN TIME TO STOP HIM FROM EATING THE ODDLY PROVOCATIVE...
...CLARICE! How are we supposed to view this sequence of events? Where Mom, dad and Clarice looking for Rudolph for almost a year before the Abominable caught them? It's just a coincidence Rudolph stumbles upon them moments after that? I think this stretches credulity. I'm forced to assume that somewhere in the vicinity of the Island of Misfit Toys there's an object of immense mass, perhaps a Fallen White Dwarf Star, and that proximity to this mass causes relativity in time so that Rudolph has aged nearly a year while only having left the Pole for about a day.
10.) DO CLARICE'S PARENTS JUST NOT GIVE A SH*T?Rudolph runs away and his folks go after him. Clarice disappears and her parents… don't appear in the special. Is she an orphan? Is that why she's always on the make, looking for the love she never got? Or maybe she's got that smokin' hot thing going on chicks get when Daddy can't be bothered.
Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about here. You want her as much as I do and you don't give a damn that she's a reindeer.
11.) WHY IS KING MOON RACER SO DAMN COOL?
Aside from the fact that a Lion with wings is pretty cool to begin with, no one knows. I mean what does he do? He's king of an Island of Misfit Toys and all he wants is for Santa to take them off his paws. Then what would he be king of? A lot of Permafrost, that's what. But he's still cool as hell and anyone who says he isn't can meet me out back for a serious beating.
12.) IS THE BUMBLE RETARDED OR WHAT?
Ten minutes before Herbie yanks his teeth out, This hulking brute snapped a damn stalactite of the roof of his cave and beat Rudolph unconscious with it. Now he's harmless cause he doesn't have teeth? HELLO! You still have huge friggin' claws! You're still a friggin' GIANT! Get another stalactite and beat Yukon Cornelius to prospector paste instead of letting him push you off a damn cliff!
13.) WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE DOLL ON THE ‘ISLAND OF MISFIT TOYS'?
She looks fine, right? She isn't. She wouldn't be on the ‘Island if Misfit Toys' if she was. Check it out. Rudy tells King Moon Racer that if he ever gets back to the North Pole he'll give Santa the 411 on the Misfits. Christmas Eve, when the doll thinks Santa isn't going to show, she goes on a crying jag and accuses Rudolph of having promised to help them. Okay, A.) He never made any damn promise B.) Rudolph doesn't run Christmas, Santa does and he's a complete, manic depressive bipolar bastard. I'll tell you why the doll is a misfit. She's a lying little bitch.
14.) WHY DOESN'T CHARLIE IN THE BOX CHANGE HIS NAME?
You can do that, you know. Have your name changed.
15.) WHY DOESN'T THE JELLY SQUIRTING WATER PISTOL EMPTY OUT THE JELLY AND PUT IN WATER?
I mean, it's not brain surgery. Stop looking for Santa to solve your problems. He's a bastard.
16.) WHY DOES RUDOLPH AGREE TO LEAD SANTA'S SLEIGH?
I mean, when someone treats you that way, all they deserve is a swift hoof in the nuts. I'm serious. Guide your own damn sleigh. Then when you crash in the Andes you can eat your Reindeer to survive. Nobody likes a skinny Santa.
We call those points in time the solstices.
The Winter Solstice has always been a time of celebration, because ancient people were intricately tied to the goings on of the sky. Their constant sky-watching was tied to a life in agriculture. The stars were their calender, GPS, and DirecTV. It might have helped that there was zero light pollution, save for a cloudy night here and there. The people of that time knew that the Winter Solstice signaled that the Sun had begun it's new cycle of life. Eventually spring - and more importantly, food - would return. The promise of another growing season would be fulfilled.
You know, I think I'll stick to the sun worship, thanks.
A $13.4 billion loan package for General Motors and Chrysler will exhaust the last of the $350 billion Congress granted the Treasury for bailout measures. The measure comes even though polls show most people don't believe the auto industry deserves saving.
Me neither.
The relentless rain of billion-dollar headlines, writedowns and recovery plans, toxic assets and bankrupted investors, has worn out our financial sympathies. Already, the sight of Detroit's chiefs flying in their private jets to beg Congress for money to pay the UAW. How many more bailouts can my pocket take? Nay, how many bailouts can my grandkids take? I don't have grandkids, or great grandkids - but this responsibility will be theirs.
In the Daily Beast, Alexandra Penney, a NY artist who lost her money in Madoff's Ponzi scheme, tells us what it's like.
I began to think about my options: I’d have to sell the cottage in West Palm Beach immediately. I’d need to lay off Yolanda. I could cancel the newspaper subscriptions and read everything online. I only needed a cellphone. I’d have to stop taking taxis. And who could highlight my hair for almost no money? And how hard was it to give yourself a really good pedicure?
The horror. She adds she's been driven to this horrible indignity:
Yesterday, I took my first subway in 30 years. Dennis came with me to show me how to get a MetroCard. The world looks very different from a crowded Lexington Avenue number 6 train.
Meanwhile, a stunning Reuters article reports that Hamptons vacation homes may have to be rented out this year. Some are even selling at a loss, if they can sell at all. The horror... the horror...