Scott Rothstein, the Song

Someone said everyone's getting "punchy" around here lately, and I agree. So I thought we might take a small break from the relentless pursuit of information and enjoy ourselves for a moment with the finer things in life, namely music and literature. 

One of the beautiful things about the Scott Rothstein case is that it's captured this town's imagination unlike any story in at least the last half century or so (no, I haven't been here nearly that long, but I've checked with a few people who have, and they agree). There's a lot of collective brain power going into this thing, and out of that comes... art. It's just the way we humans are made.

Today I was sent an excellent song about Rothstein written and performed in studio by the talented John Day, owner of Mangos on Las Olas during the day and damned fine musician at night. I wound up on the phone with Day over the weekend, and he sang me a piece of the song, and I immediately dug it. I'm not sure of the title, but someone who just emailed me a copy of it called it "Bad Bad Scott Rothstein." I sort of prefer "Slick Slick Scott Rothstein" (it's sung to the tune of "Bad Bad Leroy Brown"), but that's going to be up to Day.

To listen to the song, click here.

Beautiful, huh? It reminded me of some of the Rothstein-inspired works of fiction that were written on here by some of the readers. I went back and retrieved a couple of them that I thought were worthy of reprint, but I'm sure I'm missing many more.

In fact, the only ones I've got come from Saturday night, when we might be able to assume that various spirits heightened the creative process.

Here's one from the venerable Virgil (Starkwell):

Captain's Log:

I am aboard the SS Ponzi with Ft. Frauderdale's best. The Gangs all here. I just saw the Levinsons hiding in the

hull of the vessel. They are packed in there like two kilos. The Morses' are fighting over the cocktail waitress with the fake boobs and Levin is wearing the latest in Versace black capes. Nurik keeps complaining about the rain and how this year's parade is not like the one at Disney.

I just saw Moe's boat, which looks like a Bentley, smash into another vessel. I used the Ferragamo alligator shoe phone in the cabin to call Captain Adderly, but I was told that he's knee deep in V. Georgio, the Vodka, not the Bova girl by the same name.

We are having a wonderful time. Norton is here with his photographers clicking and flashing away so that you peasants can see how we real people live.

Love Ya kidzzz!

And now we get a poem from one of those anonymice:

Sittin' here readin' da blog

Thoughts regarding a ponzi frog

Parked in a jail cell on Chanukah

Twiddlin' Twitchin'

lucky he ain't in Attica

Makin' deals with da Fed's

43 voices

In da Jewish kid from da Bronx head

Worldwind of lies

Doubt he has remorse or even cries.

No mo AMEX cards for his slimy little spies.

Ed and Teddy, da bro he neva had

Cuttin' ties.

Lawsuit seekin' reprise

Damn. Wanted to get more, but got a meeting to go to.

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