At the conclusion of our first installment, [when free media had been renamed the Ministry of Truth] the employees of our beloved hedgy STCM [Short Term Capital Management] had just been sworn to secrecy - the secret, of course, being the massive gold short removed from their books by Central bankers, Estate Secretary - Roger the Raccoon, and let's not forget the noble [or Nobel, take your pick?] assistance from their investment banker cohorts at Silverman Socks and J. P. Horton.

Anyway, with the crisis being brought under control, or, shall we say contained in the short term - the Central Gangsters, err Banksters realized they were going to have to concoct something a little bigger - that is to say, more grand - to keep fooling even the dumbest of a dumbed-down Six Pack public, drinking and grazing, believing 'all was in fact' - you know, well. The question, how to do it! This was going to require a plan, Stan. So, the Central Banksters decided to hold a convention in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to wheel and deal, deceive and devise and otherwise chart their future intentions where gold was concerned [cause they were clearly running out of the stuff, ehhh?]. Anyhow, as an honest oversight, the Central Banksters forgot to make their room reservations in Albuquerque early enough [or perhaps made a wrong turn somewhere?] and all the hotels were full - and instead they had to make emergency reservations in their 2nd alternative location [after the La Brea Tar Pits were full too] - Washington, D.C. In the words of one of the participants, E. D. Smith - in his best English,

"By George, we were in a jam [a sticky situation?] and were looking into the abyss. If the price of gold rose further - we were all hula-hoop-ed. We almost got tarred and feathered! Good thing the tar pits were full [booked]. It's also a good thing the private corporation that masquerades as a Government Central Bank bailed us out and secretly sold or leased some of their gold stocks and had their stooge J.P. Horton [the who's who of Derivative Banking] swamp the gold derivatives market with untold billions of synthetic gold short sales as Chasers, ehhhh?"

Meanwhile, back at their hastily called convention, where they ended up having the world's largest Texas Hold 'Em convention - because everyone knows how much they like to gamble [risk, ehhh?], they formed a pact. Between bluffs, they decided to agree or consent - or otherwise conspire and cajole, concocting a 'green plan.' The plan spanned 5 years and involved selling vast hoards of their sovereign gold [shhhh, most of which was already leased and had left the vaults anyway, so keep it quiet and don't tell anyone, ehhh?] to obfuscate their true intentions - to keep the Freedom dollar strong and the price of gold capped - cause once you're in this deep, there's just no way you can afford to fold. Besides, it doesn't really matter what the size of the fraud you commit, so long as you are doing it in the name of Freedom [or fraud perhaps?].

Now I know that some of you folks are going to think, 'this story is just too funny' to be real. Well, I agree, but it gets funnier - believe me. Did I mention to you that the Estate Secretary [Roger the Raccoon] and then Chairman of Silverman Socks [Frank Cortizone] were take-charge type of guys and were instrumental in the diabolical cover up of the Short Term Capital gold swindle? Anyway, with life being as ironical as it is, the Estate Secretary really relished the idea of being a big city banker, while [you're not going to believe this], being perfectly frank - Cortizone was more interested in politics [where he could rid baseball of steroids] all along. So the two of them switched sides! Meanwhile, the job of Estate Secretary was plugged [or Pugged, take your pick?] during a short but hot summer before getting back to school - Harvard of course!

***Scary Music Interlude***

For any of you who have ever been to the movies before, most of you would be well aware of the Hubris that Hollywood really spews. And the scary music is usually a lead in to the most heinous part of the whole story, right? Well, I'm happy to report, that we're not going to let you down!

All's Well That Ends Well?

Shortly after Frank Cortizone and Roger the Raccoon mustered up the energy to switch sides, so to speak, the greatest calamity - to date - befell Freedomville. Talk about the luck of the Irish - always after me lucky charms, ehh? The real price of loyalty in case you were unaware [or fell asleep under a tree for a number of years, perhaps?] is calamity; the most pervasive fraud [that anyone owned up to] to ever grip Freedomville - namely, the collapse of the corporate energy behemoth - EndRuin.

Then it snowed.

Don't forget to tune in again next week for your next installment of The Anatomy of a Fictional Hedge Fund Collapse.