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The Great Man strode upwards to the top of the mountain, clad in fine garments, having freshly waxed his dome. Beneath at the foot of the mountain were the scribes with stone tablets at the ready in one arm and cell phones clutched in the other. Knowing the habit of the Great man to speaketh in parables, they clustered together to share a collective wisdom of the most correct interpretation of the Great Man's words. For it was from a fair distance that the Great Man viewed his minions hovering below him.

Having just completed a rather handsome quantity of the finest of Italian cuisine, he was feeling the slight beginnings of some gastrointestinal discomfort as he commenced his speech.

"I want to give some personal perspectives on central banking", he began. As he continued, his lower disturbance continued building. In the midst of his speech his "attack", gained momentum.

"......We can see that in the inverse relationship exhibited by price/earnings ratios and the rate of inflation in the past", he droned on. Then suddenly he was overtaken by his excessive culinary indulgence..."But how do we know when....(errr...rahhh...ohhhh)... (excuse..err..brummmp)" as the pressure was relieved.

"What did he say?", asked the scribes, One to Another.

"I don't know", said One. "Sounded like he had gas!"

"Don't be absurd", said Another. "The Great Man would do no such thing in public."

As they queried each amongst their group, the quietest within their ranks, a certain William, from the nearby village of Clinton, and who was nicknamed "The Conqueror", for the many he had "conquered" spoke up. "Perhaps... he said irrational ...for the first word."

"But what of the second word?", the gathering intoned.

A fair maiden, nameth Hillary, who was diminutive of size, and who had difficult times going to the markets as of late, due to being so short, piped up. "He said exuberance's, you dolts!"

"Good Lord...that means The Great Man said irrational exuberance's!", choired the masses as in a harmonious chorus. "What must we do?"

"Sell the Nikkei!", spaketh the Japanese scribe, while hitting the speed dial of his cell phone.

"Sell the friggin' DAX!", cried the German representative into his transmission device.

"Sell the bloody FTSE", implored the British gentleman to whomever was at the other end of his communication vehicle.

And there was great consternation in the land and much trembling and gnashing of teeth, amongst those still in possession of same. A dark cloud descended and the sun showneth no more.

But as the morn developed into itself, and the shadows grew longer, the most stalwart of the scribes appeared on a very large white horse. In fact it was the largest horse in the stables. He dismounted and brandished his sword back into its sheath.

"My name is Bond", he spoke. "U.S. Bond, ...and I have come to save you!" And he began to rise taller in stature. As he pulled himself to loftier levels, in his best imitation of the Shaq, they all stood in amazement and extolled his virtue and they became unafraid.

Throughout the land of Delphi, within the country of America, comfort descended amongst all and they celebrated by returning to the markets for gathering of materials for yet another feast. And they all lived happily ever after, basking in the warmth and glow of knowledge certain that no harm would ever befall them and they could grow fat from the harvest brought forth from the markets, as they appreciated that even The Great Man could fall victim to a harmless case of ill timed gas. And if that were not true, Mr. U.S. Bond would always be there to haul their cookies from the fire.

So spaketh the scribes, One and Another.


(Jim Horan - 1997) Copyright ©  All Rights Reserved.