Elon Musk Week – Page 8 – Wilder, Wealthy, and Wise

Killing The Goose That Laid The Golden Egg

“Don’t eat the eggs. We put LSD in the eggs.” – The Men Who Stare At Goats

I never trust a goose journalist – too much propa-gander.

Aesop (no, not our modern one who appears to have just emerged from his self-imposed technological monkdom by solving the riddle of Aesop’s Cables– LINK) was a storyteller who died in 564 B.C. This was long enough ago that the Greeks had yet to find the drug that stops the aging process: hemlock. To quote Socrates, “I drank what?”

But one of my favorite of Aesop’s stories is the Goose that Laid the Golden Egg.

The story is very simple, though when I was a kid they tarted it out so that it was fifteen minutes long and they could keep us shut up while the film ran so our teachers could take smoke breaks. The Goose that Laid the Golden Egg involves a farmer and his wife. They have a goose. Each day, the goose lays a golden egg. I know this sounds like the details found on page 347 of Joe Biden’s economic plan, but bear with me.

11 year old me thought that was amazing!

In Greek mythology, Chiron was a half-horse, half-human doctor. I guess he was the Centaur for Disease Control.

Current day me?

I’d sell the goose to a private equity fund for $3 billion dollars and buy myself an island and then start a podcast where I drink bourbon every week with Elon Musk and lie to our wives about when we were going to come home. We could call it Manhattans With Musk®. Elon and I would just sit back and laugh as the private equity fund clones the goose and then crashes the gold market with goose clone gold.

Or maybe the cloning process doesn’t work and the private equity fund then has 45,000 cloned geese that lay eggs made out of whatever fake metal the Chinese use (Chinesium®?) to make all those tiny metal statues of Bandersnatch Combersnoot. I mean Blandercrab Clambakehatch. Blendersnout Clumberbake? Oh, yeah, Benedict Cumberbatch, that I bought on Ebay® after too many Manhattans.

Okay, this is actually a chocolate statue of Bunderslam Camberthatch. We had a dog that weighed six pounds and ate a one pound bag of chocolate. Killed him. 14 years later.

But back to Aesop.

In Aesop’s story, the stupid farmers couldn’t cope with getting a single, solid gold goose egg each day. Nope.

An aside: How much would a golden goose egg be worth?

The answer, at $1900 per ounce gold, is $176,640. (For those of you playing our home game: remember to convert to troy ounces.)

So, yeah, these greedy Greek peasants couldn’t just wait and have $176,640 a day show up out of the goose’s butt. So?

They killed it.

What do the Irish call fool’s gold? Shamrock.

Yes. They killed it. And when they took their pudgy stupid fingers and looked for gold? They found nothing but Greek goose guts. Oops! Instead of having a creature that slowly made them immensely wealthy, they ended up with whatever it is you eat that’s made out of goose. Pâté de foie gras? It’s okay if you want your goose . . . de-livered.

I bring this up, because that’s what’s happening to Western Civilization. I mean, not being made into pâté, but having the goose that gave Western Civilization our prosperity is being killed.

And it really is happening.

Right now.

The wonderful and amazing thing about Western Civilization is that it has produced, by far, the greatest amount of prosperity and wealth ever seen in the history of mankind. Heck, North Korea loves western rock: Sweet Child In A Mine is one of their favorite songs. They love the Guns, but said we can keep the Roses. Regardless, there has never in the history of the world been a group as amazing as Western Civilization has been.

Ever.

Nearly every invention that’s worth mentioning has been invented by Western Civilization. Nearly all the wealth that’s been produced in the world, has been produced through ideas started in Western Civilization.

So, we all win, right?

Well, no.

I’ve heard (years ago) propaganda that claimed that every culture is equally valid. This is, of course, a Big Lie®. I’m not saying that people who live in mud huts who really know how to wok a dog must move to the suburbs and eat McDonalds®. Certainly not! If people wish to live in mud huts and eat cât-e de foie gras? That’s fine – I sincerely hope that they enjoy it. Nah, I don’t – just kitten.

But they have no right to move to the suburbs in Minnesota and have people pay for their every need.

Cannibals never eat entitled kids – they always taste spoiled.

But in 2020, the idea that everyone on Earth is, somehow, entitled to live in a society that they had exactly no part in creating? Sure! Let’s call it a right. They devastated their home country, so why not let them do that in Minneapolis, too?

As near as I can figure it out, the only answer as to why this happens is Leftism. Leftism is fixated on creating a world where equality of outcome is the biggest goal. That means that no person on Earth should have anything more than any other.

Except, of course, for actors like Leonardo DiCaprio and billionaires like Bill Gates and important people in Washington D.C. like the guy who writes the tax code. I sincerely hope that Leonardo DiCaprio never gets injured in a car accident on a Star Wars® movie – I would hate it if he were Han DiCaprio.

The answer is always famine.

But to a Leftist, a murderer in prison is due the same physical comforts and opportunities as an upstanding member of the community that has worked 2500 hour years for decades and saved their money for retirement. Of course, the irony is that when everyone has the right to move to the United States, it ends with no one having any rights at all. Except for Leonardo DiCaprio, Bill Gates, and that guy who writes the tax code.

This is the reality of Leftism in the West: Leftists feel that prosperity comes from (shakes Magic 8-Ball®) luck. Except when they win, in which case it was completely deserved. Leftists believe that since prosperity is unequally distributed, they can just redistribute it at will because prosperity isn’t earned.

This is the same idea that led to walls around the communist countries in the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s: People are the property of the state. Differences in outcomes aren’t the result of cultural differences. Differences in outcomes must be a mistake, right?

According to Leftists, yes.

As I write these words, the West is facing a crossroads in every single Western country. The idea corrupting it is simple and insidious: that Western achievement is based on nothing but theft and lies, and that all men on Earth should be able to move to Western countries because everyone on Earth is owed the same lifestyle as people in Western countries have.

Used with permission.

This, my friends, is killing the Goose that Laid the Golden Egg as Aesop described over 2,500 years ago. The major theme of Leftism in 2020 is that cultures that exists on a pre-technological level, and that the residents of said culture should have the right to not only live in, but live in and direct the cultures of Western culture.

For whatever reason, the cultures of many nations have failed to produce a society that is capable of producing Western Civilization levels of comfort and wealth. It’s beyond this post to describe why that is. I’m sure that a culture producing wealth and prosperity is all random. Speaking of random, what’s the difference between a Leftist and a random word generator? Sometimes the random word generator tells the truth.

But hey, at least we’ll still have hemlock.

Right?

Three Wednesday Thoughts, But They’re Hilarious. Like Your Mom (No Your Mom Jokes Included).

“There have been many theories which say that life has been deliberately sent to Earth from another planet. Some experts ridicule these ideas. And such theories might have remained unbelievable, except for disclosures such as these, which continue to be found year after year.” – In Search Of . . .

Did you know all of the web addresses are piled up in Russia? It’s called the URL Mountains. (Not my meme.)

I’ll start with the apology.

I had not one, but three topics for tonight. None of them (for various reasons) are cooked enough for my usual post. I blame, (spins excuse wheel) hamsters in the wiring of my secret volcano lair. Sure. That works. I mean, my secret volcano lair would work.

Except for the stupid hamsters.

So, instead of being focused, this one will start off with some bloggy news, have some actual real news in the middle, and end up with some silly commentary. In a just and verdant world, filled with love and free Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup®, Sprite™, and Trump Antibody Blood© for battling the ‘Rona, well, this would be a unified post.

Not tonight. Unless you can get me some Trump Antibody Blood©. No, I don’t have the ‘Rona. But, could Trump Antibody Blood™ hurt?

Trump just banned shredded cheese – he wants to Make America Grate Again. (Not my meme.)

But the good news? You’ll find we’re extra funny tonight.

First – bloggy news.

I try not to write too much about writing. I don’t want to feel like Stephen King, especially since The Mrs. has officially ruled him as “a hack.” That happened about 1991, so according to The Mrs., old Steve has been a hack longer than Russia has been Russia. See, kids? If you’re a writer, never quit cocaine*.

*Assuming you’ve started. I never did. I get by based on my disagreeable personality, questionable personal hygiene and those U.N. war crime charges I keep dodging. Who knew there was an international law governing nuns, orphans and free-range poodles?

Here’s the actual news:

I had so much fun liveblogging the first Presidential Debate©, that I’m planning on doing the second and third ones as well. I’ll put up a post the night before, and use the comments of that post for the liveblogging. I intend to start the show about fifteen minutes before the debate starts. I fully expect Trump will transform on television into a trans-dimensional entity clothed entirely in sold gold and wielding the power of a thousand Suns during the third debate. If he doesn’t, I expect that Trump will at least unleash a hammer wielding midget from the meth cage and sic the midget on Joe Biden. The Mrs. originally thought the midget would be in a penalty box, but we both agreed a meth cage was better.

Further “behind the scenes” commentary: The Mrs. and I started this joke even before we were married. When New York outlawed dwarf tossing, The Mrs. (then The Miss) suggested that we just let them fight. I suggested it would be more humane if we restricted it to midgets, but allowed them to have normal claw hammers. You know, for the sake of the children. Or something.

Midget machete fighting? That’s for tourists.

Regardless, if there’s a midget in a meth cage, you’re already on his bad side. (This had The Mrs. in stitches at Pugsley’s latest football game. If you’re wondering, Pugsley tackled the quarterback and the ball popped up and one of his much faster teammates ran it in for six. Since our team was 43 points up, that allowed them to add a 12^th player. You guessed it: I suggested the hammer wielding midget from the meth cage. So, now you know.)

I do not intend to liveblog the Vice Presidential Debate®. Pence will do his job of being calm and collected and aware. He’s like a potted plant: he’s alive, there, quiet, and will live forever if you keep him watered and in the appropriate amount of sunlight. That’s okay – it’s his job to be exactly those things. The only real potential for amusement is if Kamala goes shrill and nutsy or tries to have sex with the moderator to get bonus debate points. Regardless of whatever Kamala does, as long as Pence appears more like a fern or one of those hanging spider plants Ma Wilder fancied, he wins.

Second – real news.

Whoa.

The last time a Clinton clinched this hard involved an intern and . . . well, I’ll stop there.

This might be the first time you read this, which would give me a scoop. I’ve had several other scoops, but most of them showed up when I was 75% complete with a post. That means I got the news at 2:30AM. I said, no, no scoop. I may be a comedic genius who has nightmares about little people with claw hammers, but I have to get some sleep sometime.

This news should surprise no one, but yet it does.

Trump specifically told us back at some time I’m not going to look up because you have DuckDuckGo®, too that he’s saving the real fireworks for October, 2020.

The first of those firework shots is declassification of all documents, without redaction, related to the Russia Hoax. I expect this to not be the biggest revelation from Trump before the election, only the first. I expect the biggest one the week before the election.

National security and the Department of Justice. Hmm. Stay tuned.

My bet? That revelation the week before the election will be film of Joe Biden personally sabotaging the space shuttle Challenger or John Podesta caught on a double date with Osama Bin Laden. Their double date partners? George Soros and Whoopi Goldberg.

Oh, wait. Maybe the final revelation of 2020 is . . .

Bin Laden.

Biden.

Bin Biden?

Bin Laden and Bin Biden, brothers separated at birth?

Now that would be an October Surprise.

This is cruel. They should at least offer him some spirit cooking for his last meal. Also, (not my meme.)

Third – some commentary.

I don’t really expect that anyone of real power will ever be indicted on charges. Why? That would upset the system. Obama is safe to go from corporation to corporation looting tens of millions in delayed payoffs. The Real Rulers™ can do whatever they want and never face justice. Why?

They hired the people that prosecute the cases that they’re involved in. They know secrets that even more powerful people don’t want told, like who really killed JFK and where my remote control is.

I’ll take things that will never happen for $1000, Alex. Also? (Not my meme.)

Regardless of that, there is no way that you’ve heard the weirdest thing yet from 2020. I stand by that. Trump, in the hospital for the ‘Rona? Not even close. We have 86 days left in 2020. That’s nearly 25% of the year.

My bet? We get 80% of the drama of 2020 in the last 25% of 2020.

What does that leave on the table?

Aliens buying San Francisco and replacing it with decent parking.
Dogs and cats, living together.
Elon Musk disclosing his wife is really a robot cat girl, and thus she is not eligible for alimony.
Places like Europe, Australia and New Zealand finally adopting reasonable, common-sense recreational nuclear device policies of no more than ten megatons per recreational nuke.
Justin Trudeau vows to one day learn the alphabet.
Kim Kardashian discovers that she is pregnant, and wonders if it is her baby.
Joe Biden admits he can’t dial 911 on the telephone because he doesn’t have an eleven key.

Well, none of those things are likely.

But was 2020 likely in the first place?

2020: More Strange To Come

“So the other shoe drops, and crushes us all.” – The Boys

Bad news – 2022 is going to be the same as 2020, because it’s 2020, too.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the biggest surprises, the biggest events of 2020 haven’t yet happened. I’m kidding, of course. I love being the bearer of bad news.

I’ll fully admit that 2020 has been the most crisis-filled year of the United States, at least as long as I have been living. Each month a new, explosive event.

And, it’s still 41 shopping days until the election.

In August and September the press has been focused on the presidential race. For the last month, there has been a “major” story every week attacking the President. By my reckoning, at this point Trump hates babies, troops, and burns thousands of gallons of diesel fuel in an open pit behind the White House to increase Global Warming as fast as he can.

You’d think that she’d be in favor of Global Warming, given how much she hates ICE.

On the Biden side, his painfully obvious quickly progressing dementia has been explained as . . . well, it’s just been ignored. Biden’s primary advantage to the Left is that he’s not Trump. His other advantage is, well, you know. You know the thing.

They fail to talk about his biggest positive, his mind. Biden’s mind is as sharp as my computer’s browser when I have 23 tabs open: 21 tabs are frozen, and I have no idea where the music is coming from.

In October I’m expecting some new mainstream news media attack against Trump every day. Here are a few from my top 10 attacks that I expect Trump will see:

Sources say Trump to personally use Social Security checks stolen from elderly widows to buy new golf clubs for smashing bald eagle eggs while humming the Soviet anthem.
Rumors indicate that Trump to give paper cuts to caged illegal immigrant orphans, pour lemon juice in wounds, sell video to YouTube®.
Washington Post® reports that Trump “uses stairs” to taunt disabled veterans.
New York Times™ exclusive that Trump demands his taco salad be made from freshly ground kitten.

I tried to use “snowflake” as a password, but after I typed it a second time, my computer told me, “Sorry, your passwords are not alike.”

Trump criticized for debate performance – “Why should he talk when Joe is interrupting him?”
News that people of Botswana are upset and no longer think the United States is leader of the free world because of Trump’s insistence of turning into a werewolf and killing the cattle during droughts.
California Governor Gavin Newsome accuses President Trump of being able to control the weather and intentionally starting the fires on the West Coast using only his mind, later admits it was really Drew Barrymore.
Exclusive to MSNBC® – “Trump is the reincarnation of that dude who shot that Austrian royal guy with the big mustache, and this started World War I, so all of that is on him.”
Outrage builds as Trump receives three scoops of ice cream at dinner, rather than the two given to other guests. Nancy Pelosi incensed, because Trumps scoops looked bigger, as well.
Russians are interfering in the election, according to CNN©, by blocking the Chinese working to get Biden elected.

In any other year, I’d say that the election would be over by Election Day or the day after, and we could move forward. It won’t be. Why?

It’s 2020.

What’s the difference between the Green New Deal and a dumpster fire? A dumpster fire produces affordable light and heat.

There will be mail in ballots “found” a week or more later in just the right numbers to offset leads in crucial states. A Federal court will rule that, “ballots are valid only if they favor Biden, because his name is first in the alphabet.”

The very best case is that the election nonsense is finished a week later. But has anything about 2020 been best case? The good thing is that it should be cold enough to discourage riots in most places.

I think that people are hoping that once 2020 is over, that 2021 will be a magical year of rebirth. In reality, the tension has been building for four years. In 2020 we built outrageous amounts of debt. We also lost tens of thousands of businesses.

And when the pizza place goes bankrupt, you know they’re out of dough.

In terms of being Antifragile® (Fragility, Resilience, or Antifragility) we are spending all of the cash we can, which makes us vulnerable. This is at the same time that businesses all across the country are finally giving up and closing up for good. This combination of spending all the cash while losing the ability to have a productive economy reinforces into a downward spiral. I’m expecting the President elected in 2028 to use the slogan, “Screw it, we’ll spend all the tax money on lottery tickets.”

Echoes and ripples from 2020 will nearly certainly continue into 2026 – and that’s if things go well.

The consequences of this are more than academic. In my current job, I get a few emails from salesmen a week. I ignore most of them. Today? I got three calls in an hour to ignore.

Businesses are now desperate. You can keep doors open for a while without revenue, but when the business slows down and there is too much capacity, the only solution is that the most vulnerable business collapses. Heck, my gym went bankrupt, which allowed me to walk by and say, “Well, who’s the quitter now?”

Repeat those business losses until you reach stability. The downside of this process is that is a negative spiral. Investing, as I’ve tried to convey, will be chaotic – and whoever wins the presidency may very well regret it. It’s bad enough that even governmental flows of money at the state level aren’t certain.

I hear that the pine tree is the most common California tree, followed by the Ash.

Take California. Please.

California is taking the genius move to tax the rich so that their rate (combined with the Federal rate) might be as high as 54%. California forgets that rich people aren’t potted plants. The result? The rich will move to places that don’t treat them like a rabid poodle treats a pork chop or Rosie O’Donnell treats a chocolate bar.

So, if California owes you money? You might be in trouble.

We’re in strange times. They haven’t peaked yet.

And I enjoyed letting you know.

Tesla: Overvalued, But Pays For The Best Space Program On Earth

“You guys taking it all in? Because this is what it looks like when Google acquires your company for over 200 million dollars. Look: Dustin Moskovitz. Elon Musk. Eric Schmidt. I mean, Kid Rock is the poorest person here.” – Silicon Valley

I hear Elon Musk’s car insurance premiums are astronomical.

I’m a fan of Elon Musk. Singlehandedly, he’s shown that even though getting to space is very, very hard, that he can do it. Beyond that, when working with NASA®, they noted that working with SpaceX™ they accomplished in a month what would normally take NASA™ a year. NASA® kept saying the work was too Falcon Heavy.

Musk has also proven that if you focus on getting things into space, you can do it. NASA® gave up on getting things into space right after Von Braun died and is now a jobs program that hires gender and grievance studies majors. I’m not kidding. Really.

Instead of, oh, going into space, NASA© chases imaginary offensive names of astronomical features (NASA© corroborates this here – LINK). From the press release: “The Agency will be working with diversity, inclusion, and equity experts in the astronomical and physical sciences to provide guidance and recommendations for other nicknames and terms for review.”

If Elon Musk’s wife breaks up with him while he’s on Mars, will that make her his Space X?

Because that’s the important thing, right? We don’t want people thinking of the Eskimo Nebula or Siamese Twins Nebula. Because . . . colonialism? I forget. Is there a scorecard I could download?

One thing I’ve been fairly consistent about, though, is that Elon Musk’s car company, Tesla® is a scam. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great scam. I’ve heard that the cars are wonderful. And from a speed standpoint, the Tesla™ can go from 0-60mph (that’s 27.39 parsec per eon) nearly as fast as any car on the planet.

But the price of Tesla®, even after losing 25% of its value in the last few days, is ludicrous. Tesla’s™ market cap is $307.7 billion dollars. Volkswagen® is worth $77.5 billion, Toyota™ is worth $210.8, and Ford™ is worth $27.5 billion. So, if Elon looked under his couch cushions for some spare change, he could trade Tesla™ for VW®, Toyota©, and Ford™.

But at least communism means always having enough to eat, right?

Is Tesla® a good company? Sure. But Tesla™ made 367,000 cars last year. Ford©, Toyota® and VW™ combined made 27,000,000 cars. That’s nearly 74 times the number of cars that Tesla® makes.

I think most people have invested in Tesla® because Elon Musk gets things done. And, it amuses me that Elon Musk takes the money he’s earned from Tesla™ to work on arguably the best space program since Apollo, back when NASA™ had real engineers working on real engineering problems and done it in his spare time.

Tesla® is a symptom.

I hear that Coronavirus symptoms start right off the bat.

When money is flooded into a market by bankers looking to prop the market up, it flows oddly. The faster the flow? The bigger the imbalances. When people are rushing to put money into the market, they look for the shiny objects. One of the shiny objects in this case is Tesla®. There are others. Dozens of them.

It is my theory that the entire market is filled with imbalances right now. The money that was flooding in to prop the market up is leaking everywhere. Reasons don’t matter. That’s the way that markets work over the short term. Silly things happen – you’ve seen it earlier this year with toilet paper. What I’m saying is that, yes, Tesla® is just like the toilet paper of the stock market.

The best way to steal a Tesla® is to put it on auto-pirate.

The Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 was just that – markets working in a panic. The world is ending, so what do I do? Make sure that I can poop in comfort. Like getting into a war with Italy as one of your allies, it’s not a great strategy, but is a strategy. In mid-late 2020, the market is flooded with money, attempting to buy whatever looks best and prettiest.

Just like the TP 2020 Terror®, the Reinflation Bubble of 2020© isn’t at all rational. And, like Tesla™ lost 25% of market value in a few days? It’s my theory that will happen across the whole market. Note – I’m not a financial advisor, so use the advice of a random guy on the Internet as just that. I pulled my money from the market, mostly, in February. After that, I’ve been spending my time collecting the three precious metals: gold, silver, and lead.

As I get older, I’ve discovered a simple truth – I have no idea if my kids will enjoy getting shares of Tesla® when I die. But I do know that if they each got a suitcase of untrackable gold and silver, half a dozen rifles and a few thousand rounds of ammo at my funeral, they’d smile.

My buddy Ty won a gold medal at the Beijing Olympics®. China won’t give him the medal because they won’t recognize Ty won.

I know this column is short, but I stared at that last line for about an hour and wouldn’t change a word. Not a bad place to end. Let’s call it a day. I know that NASA already has . . . .

Investing? Invest In Yourself.

“If M.A.D starts making gold out of lead, it will undermine the world economy!” – Inspector Gadget

I invested in a series of walking trails for mental patients, but it failed. I guess Psycho-Paths® was a bad name.

By the time the stock market crashed to signal the beginning of the Great Depression, the economy of the United States had already gone through an amazing decade of change. Electrification was moving rapidly across the country, and prisons could finally retire the acoustic chair. Radio was a miracle that was now bringing masses of people together as the radio waves propagated across the country at the speed of light. Natural gas, long a nuisance in the oil patch, was being piped and compressed and shipped across larger areas of the country, bringing instant heat (and some explosions, since they hadn’t added the stuff that makes it smell bad yet) to millions.

Perhaps one of the biggest dislocations was that horses were rapidly being replaced by cars and trucks. The economy was being motorized. Some have even come to the conclusion that part of the dislocation in the economy was that the millions of horses required to plow, move freight, and move people weren’t required anymore, leading to an oversupply of horses. That’s not a situation that lasts long – the oversupply of horses, can, um, be solved. I mean, too many horses for the barns? That’s un-stable.

But if once the oversupply of horses is solved what about the oversupply of food for the horses?

Well, what are they going to do with all of that farmland, now suddenly made even more productive through the addition of tractors and cheaply made nitrogen fertilizer?

Produce more. Which drives prices down. Which leads to . . .

Deflationary depression.

It’s hard for the Amish to travel – their system is a little buggy.

I would say that “for the want of a horse, and economy was lost,” but in hindsight the real problem was the bankers. The bankers during the 1920’s and 1930’s even developed the first birth control – their personality. The Federal Reserve Bank® (which is neither part of the government nor really a bank) managed to destroy the economy through poor currency manipulation choices.

Part of the secret of the efficiency of market economies is that there is no controller telling people to start restaurants or PEZ® vineyards or bikini ranches. The feedback from the economy is measured in customers buying the product, and if the product is good enough, profit encourages people to make it.

The flip side of that is business failure. I originally wrote that was the down side. It’s not. Businesses, in a normal economy, that can’t produce a viable product should fail. Note that I’m forced to write in a normal economy. 2020 has created the situation where tens of thousands (I’m not exaggerating) of businesses have failed due to the restrictions from the reactions to COVID-19. It’s even been an international problem – Finland closed their border. No one will cross the Finnish line.

The riots in Detroit don’t get many news stories, but I heard the rioters there have caused $20 million in improvements.

That’s not normal, of course. Hair styling places are failing in the more restrictive states. In Modern Mayberry? Not so much. But in San Francisco? You can’t get your hair styled, unless you’re Nancy Pelosi. I guess that the rules prohibiting business operation are only for common people. St. Nancy can go in and get a cut and a blow dry when no one else can. Sadly, Nancy wasn’t wearing a mask, which was the only positive thing about CoronaChan since the whole thing started.

In normal times, business thrive or fail, and both of those things lead to a stronger overall economy. The services and goods that aren’t wanted anymore go away, like Beanie Babies®. Thank Heavens. But in these times of artificial economic crisis? Good, strong businesses fail.

Regardless of the type of crisis we have now, it is upon us. Whether or not the business would have failed is irrelevant. The only real question is what happens next.

One thing that is sure, the economy after this crisis passes won’t look like it used to.

I’ve posted about possible good investments in the past – if I were betting, I’d bet that gold in ten years would be a better bet than Netflix® or Tesla™, even if Tesla© starts its own religion, and builds Elon Mosques. But who knows what the economy will even look like after this crisis? I can’t guarantee any of it.

I hear that Space-X has designed electric grass for Mars. They call it E-lawn.

So what to invest in?

Yourself.

Time is potentially quite short. How should you invest your time? In yourself.

There are so many skills that are required of a human. PowerPoint® is probably not really high on them, so I wouldn’t spend much time there.

The first place I’d begin to prepare is mental. In the United States, we have become very used to the most modern conveniences. Air conditioning when it’s hot. Central heat when it’s cold. Even in Modern Mayberry, day or night I can go and get gasoline, a gallon of milk, and some beef jerky. Fast Internet that allows me to stream a television show that’s been off the air for nearly 20 years.

What happens when you don’t have those things for a day? A week? A month? When you’re used to being able to see what the temperature is in Moscow, Manila, Manhattan or Manchester, what happens when the weather becomes a mystery?

At least Biden can hide his own Easter eggs.

When you’re used to seeing real-time riots in Kenosha or Portland, what happens when you don’t know what’s happening in your own city?

I’m not saying that’s going to happen – the Internet is robust, and the systems we have built for delivering milk, gas, electricity and natural gas have redundancy.

But still, these things are possible.

Have you put your mind in a place where they have happened? What would you do? I mean, if your spouse convinces you to go to a psychiatrist, will your couch talk you out of it again?

After the mind, invest in your body. If you’re out of shape, get in better shape. Anything will help. Get out and run. If you can’t run, walk. Being able to count on your body is always good – and if you’ve been neglecting it because of work, it’s time to pay back that debt, with interest. I am fortunate enough to already have the body of an athlete already – a sumo wrestler.

Hmmm. Maybe I need some work, too.

I got a sumo wrestler for Christmas one year. I had asked for a heavy sweater.

What other ways can you invest in yourself? There are thousands of skills that are valuable, no matter what the future brings. Can you do basic medical care? I’m not asking if you can sew up a lung, but can you clean a flesh wound? Do you have Band-Aids® and Neosporin™ for a year or two? Iodine? All of that is cheap and available now. Will it be in six months?

The Mrs. bought a book on medicinal plants that showed up the other day. I was surprised that it didn’t list thyme as a remedy – I heard that thyme cures all wounds. What kind of books do you keep?

Can you garden? Annually, The Mrs. spends about $117.53 to grow about seven tomatoes. I would make fun of that, but I would also say that The Mrs. has learned lots of ways to not grow tomatoes, too. Her gardening knowledge is better than mine. It’s a little late to invest in gardening this year, but it wouldn’t hurt to start to understand what it takes. There’s a whole Internet. Heck, you could practice by killing some houseplants, like I used to do.

This isn’t a bad time for a hobby. What kind of hobby?

Lots of farms have auctions and I’ve seen farmer forges there.
Carpentry, with and without electricity.
Small engine repair. Small engines can do a great deal beyond weed eating.
Always easier when ammo isn’t so dear, but we are where we are.
Making wine or whiskey – both are great for barter, and legal to make in most places.
Fixing things around the house. When’s the last time you patched a leaky roof?

I could probably come up with a dozen more in ten more minutes, and I imagine the comments will fill up with them. Again, in some circumstances, these are nothing more than hobbies, and if you pursue them with a local club or group, you’ll build more community in addition to building yourself.

Regardless of the future we will see, investing in yourself pays dividends. Plus? It’s always better to try to grow tomatoes and fail when failure is just results in a humorous story.

Money, Power, Politics, and Soros

“What’s the point of having power if you don’t abuse it?” – Dilbert

My superpower is hindsight. But I can see that won’t help us now.

When I was a kid between the ages of 10 and 14, sometimes my dad would take me on his business trips. They were always to the same city – the capital city of our state. It was hours away, so it was quite an adventure. Where I grew up there was exactly one elevator (in a two story building at the college) and one escalator (at the JCPenny®) building within a 130 mile radius from town. We were so isolated that our Democrats were against communism all the way into the 1990s.

Did I mention I grew up in the sticks?

Pop Wilder was a small town banker, and sometimes the meetings in Capital City were at the Big Banks®, which were inevitably in huge skyscrapers. It was quite a thrill going up into those buildings. I’d sit in the lobby on the 20^th floor, reading science fiction while Pop did whatever it was he was there for in the meeting room. One bank in particular amazed me because the bathroom, on the 30^th floor, had a full length clear window – you could stand up and pee and stare out at the city below. There is probably a joke about Big Banks™ in there. I’ll let you fill in that particular blank – this is a family blog.

These trips were fun.

I kept getting checks from the banks during the COVID-19 social isolation – the kept leaving me a loan.

But one trip, we went to visit the majority owner of the bank that Pop Wilder ran. I recall this trip rather vividly, since we didn’t go to one of those gleaming towers. Pop pulled the car into a strip mall. Not a nice strip mall, but a dingy one in a sketchy area of town. Pop never talked about why he was having those meetings, so I wasn’t exactly sure why we were there. Perhaps he was going to sell me for a kid that didn’t keep his room in a condition that was specifically listed as containing elements of a war crime as defined by the United Nations?

Pop and I went up to one of those unmarked doors you see sometimes – just a steel door with a small diamond of glass about head high. You could tell it was a classy area, because the glass was the kind with the wire mesh inside. There was a buzzer next to the door, and Pop pressed it.

A voice answered, “Who is it?”

“Pop Wilder.” The lock on the door made an angry buzzing sound and Pop pulled the door open. We went up a flight of stairs – this particular strip mall doorway led to a second floor.

The Mafia chemist wanted the brake lines to rust – that way it would look like an oxidant.

I hadn’t seen any mob movies at the age of 12, but after watching them when I got older, the office had that feel. Run down. Dingy. Like the world had passed this neighborhood by on its way to making those gleaming towers that were miles away in the downtown area.

A secretary (they were called that, back then) didn’t say much more than, “He’s waiting.”

I walked into the office with Pop. The office had a feeling that I associate with movies from the 1940s or 1950s – dark, smoky paneling, a thin, worn carpet. Even the desk was ancient, but not in the “oh, cool antique” way, but in the “early prison work camp warden furniture” way.

The man Pop was planning to meet sat behind the desk. He didn’t get up as we entered. His only acknowledgement that we were there was a glance, like an annoyed man staring at what was on the bottom of his shoe. He looked, and I kid you not, exactly like Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life. So I’ll call him that. After reviewing information on the Internet, I’d estimate his age at that time as about 85.

Pop Wilder: “Hello, Mr. Potter. This is my son, John. I mean, my other son, John.”

Pop didn’t really say that, but it amuses me to write it, since my older brother’s name was John as well. I guess he was Juan one, and I was Juan two.

Mr. Potter’s gaze fell upon me. It wasn’t pleasant. Normally, when I met an adult, they at least pretended to be interested and would ask some questions and make small talk. Not Mr. Potter.

“Hi,” I said, more to break the silence than anything.

He never said a word to me. Pop Wilder handed me the keys to the car, and said, “You can go wait outside, son.” That was fine with me – I had a book.

Bad puns? That’s how eye roll.

Mr. Potter, as I mentioned, was the majority owner of the bank that Pop ran. Pop and his brother owned a fairly small amount of the shares, but Mr. Potter owned the vast majority of the bank. From snippets between my parents in those conversations that last the length of a childhood, it turns out that Mr. Potter was far more than an angry bank owner working from a shabby office. He was actually a kingmaker in state politics. He was a Democrat, and no one got “the nod” unless he approved. He had spent decades of his life building up connections with every important person in state politics.

In today’s terms, the big, shining gleaming banks had Money, billions of dollars. This was the sort of Money that Mr. Potter didn’t have. Sure, Mr. Potter had millions back when millions meant something, but Mr. Potter also had raw, naked Power. Want to be governor? He couldn’t guarantee it, but he could probably make sure it didn’t happen if you made him mad.

Money and Power are different things – most people equate them, but it’s not really so. Elon Musk has Money, but he certainly lacks Power. Yes, there’s another fill in the blank joke in there about Tesla™ and power. If Elon Musk had Power? They wouldn’t have closed his car factories due to WuFlu. Power is where the governor would have found some way that the factories were found to be “essential” businesses. Real power is when the governor does what you want before you even ask.

Elon Musk has Money, but as only one out of 157 or so billionaires in California, he doesn’t have Power. But he does have $46 billion dollars*, so don’t feel bad for him. *That’s because it’s mainly in stock – a big Tesla™ crash, and it could be discharged. See, I finally made that electrical joke.

Soros was going to organize a riot of amputees, but he was worried it would get out of hand.

George Soros, on the other hand, only has a listed net worth of a little over $8 billion dollars. But Soros has invested heavily in politics. He’s created and funded a vast network of Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) that drive politics globally. How many connections does Soros have? According to Discover the Networks (LINK), which looks to understand who funds all of the Leftist organizations, Soros is associated in one way or another with 210 organizations that are hard Left. How hard Left? How about “Catholics for Choice”? It’s like I created a group called “Muslims for Bacon”.

But $8 billion. That seems low. Can you plot a Leftist overthrow on the cheap? Not at all. Soros has spent a staggering $32 billion on his foundations since 1984, including a recent transfer of $18 billion to his Open Society Foundation®. Heck, it once took Jeff Bezos a whole month to make that kind of money.

George Soros is just like that Mr. Potter I met, but on a global scale. Just a single one of his initiatives is active in over 120 countries in the world.

I heard that George Soros is the Lucky Charms™ evil twin – he’s tragically malicious.

What drives that kind of raw lust for Power? I mean, it must mean something to Soros, since he’s given away tens of billions of dollars to get it. Soros gives us a clue in his own words in a book he wrote about his favorite subject, himself: “If truth be known, I carried some rather potent messianic fantasies with me from childhood.” It’s no wonder that Soros looks like the evil Emperor from Star Wars™.

And what drove Mr. Potter? I have no idea. It wasn’t luxury – his office reminded me of the chief psychiatrist’s office at the asylum that all of those movie serial killers break out of. Notoriety? He had a very sparse Wikipedia page a decade ago – it’s gone. So not that. Philanthropy? Nope, none I know of.

I am always concerned about the motives of people who seek Power over others. Is it ego? Is it insecurity? Is it a genuine desire to help others?

Always remember what Mao said: “Power flows from the barrel of a gun.” You can have Money, but when Josef Stalin has the NKVD pick you up, you’ll learn quickly the difference between Money and Power.

Soros has evil lessons with Satan every week. I have no idea what Soros charges.

While mentioning Money and Power I’d be leaving out one very important part of the equation if I just kept in terms of those two material concepts.

There is at least one other type of Power – and that’s Personal Power. You can call it Spiritual, you can call it Virtue, or you can call it a dozen other names it goes by. It’s the Power that comes from standing up for what’s right despite the storms that will come. It’s telling your boss, “no” when he asks you to do what you know is unethical. It’s standing up when everyone else in the world seems to be against you, but you know that you’re right.

I’d take that Power over any Power that Mr. Potter ever had. And Soros? He may gain the whole world, but he’s already lost his soul.

Charles Peguy said, “Tyranny is always better organized than freedom.” I think this was sometime before his last quote, “Germans, what Germans?” at the opening of the Battle of the Marne during World War I.

Tyranny seeks Money and Power. Yet?

Freedom keeps winning.

Civil War 2.0 Weather Report: The Tsunami Begins, But You Knew That

“If we can stop him, we shall prevent the collapse of Western Civilization. No pressure.” – Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

I liked the ticking of the clock I got from the pawnshop, but in the end it was a second-hand emotion.

People actively avoid being near those of opposing ideology. Might move from communities or states just because of ideology.
Common violence. Organized violence is occurring monthly.
Opposing sides develop governing/war structures. Just in case.
Common violence that is generally deemed by governmental authorities as justified based on ideology.
Open War.

In the first issue of the Civil War Weather Report, I put together ten steps to a new civil war. I did not expect that on the one year anniversary of that first report we’d move from step 6 nearly to step 9. Step 9. is, of course, two minutes to midnight.

We are very, very close. I debated internally more than a bit whether we were at an 8. or a 9. this month. I finally decided to stay at an 8., despite multiple jurisdictions doing everything but arming the rioting faction of the protest movement with automatic firearms and bullhorns that make them all sound like Gilbert Gottfried. It is clear we are at least an 8., and you will see in the graphs section that our Wilder Violence Index has reached new highs.

In this issue: Front Matter – You Knew Where This Was Going – Violence and Censorship Update – Updated Civil War 2.0 Index – Balkans or Caesar Might Be The Best Case Scenario – Links

Welcome to Issue 12 of the Civil War II Weather Report. These posts are different than the other posts at Wilder Wealthy and Wise and consist of smaller segments covering multiple topics around the single focus of Civil War 2.0, on the first or second Monday of every month. I’ve created a page (Link) for links to all of the past issues.

You Knew Where This Was Going

The most popular posts on this site have been about the political state of the country. The Civil War Weather Reports aren’t my usual form of post, but have proven to be very popular. I’m sure it’s not just for graphs featuring bikinis. Well, at least not only because of the bikinis.

I think the reason these posts are popular is simple: many people could sense the fragile peak that it seems all of Western Civilization is perched on. Whether it is a conscious review of the surrounding culture or just a feeling in the pit of the stomach when confronted with an outrageous news article, something’s just not right. Society has been changing by increments over the years, but those changes are coming faster and faster and faster.

Claire Wolfe, the groundbreaking and iconic Freedom blogger said it very well at her place last week (LINK):

Each day I think I’ve processed the latest craziness enough to blog something coherent. Useful even. But then new waves of craziness wash over the world. I don’t know what to say. I can’t write good sense against the onslaught of the crazy. I don’t know how civilization is holding together under tsunamis of crazy.

But then, of course civilization isn’t holding together — and I’m not just talking about the one-two punch of totalitarian don’tleaveyourhouseism followed without pause by riotandlootallyouwantism.

Chains of rapid-fire events and chaos like this are not generally the friend of those that love freedom. The Russian Revolution promised:

Peace, through ending World War I,
Food, because Communists are well known to produce excess food,
Land, whereby peasants would get parts of land owned by the wealthy,
Minimum wages,
Maximum working hours,
Running factories by elected worker representatives and
Lots of other promises.

In the end, up to 12,000,000 people (mainly civilians) died in the civil war that followed, and the promises that were made were largely ignored. The Bolsheviks said and promised anything to get a force of disaffected behind them. Not sure if this sounds familiar to AOC fans?

Hey girl, are you the French Revolution? Because I keep imagining you sans-culottes.

I get a sense that the Left today is up to the same trick. They’ve “created” media events and have managed them to get power – political power and power in the street. Some of the Leftists may even be stupid enough to believe that there are magic economic levers that they can move to keep the promises they’re making. In reality, they really don’t care: it’s all about the power.

Lenin’s reintroduction into Russia and subsequent funding from foreign sources bring George Soros to mind. Soros continually funds groups in the United States that are directly opposed to actual freedom. The protesters and their associated rioters have a structure that has been funded and provisioned with everything from water and medical supplies to pre-staged bricks and gasoline. Not saying that George is funding those directly, but . . .

American Factory and Thoughts on the Future American Economy

â€œChina is here, Mr. Burton. The Chang Sing, the Wing Kong?Â They’ve been fighting for centuries.â€ â€“ Big Trouble in Little China

I mean, the camo looks so good, maybe they wanted to show it off?

I watched the documentary American Factory this weekend, and it seemed like a good jumping off point to discuss several topics â€“ globalization, employment, and JengaÂ®.Â In 2008, the General MotorsÂ® plant in Dayton, Ohio was closed during GMâ€™sÂ© bankruptcy.Â According to American Factory (now streaming on NetflixÂ®), 10,000 people in the Dayton area lost their jobs when the factory closed.Â In this current climate, Iâ€™m trying to come up with more unemployment jokes, but they all need work.

Fast forward to 2016, and a Chinese company, Fuyao Glass AmericaÂ®, started a new business making windshields for cars in the old GMÂ© plant.Â Fuyao bought the empty factory and spent on the order of $500 million dollars setting up the glass factory.Â Then Fuyao brought hundreds of Chinese supervisors over to start the facility and train the American workers.Â This makes sense â€“ you donâ€™t want to come across an ocean and have an employee like me when I sold used cars.Â One customer, looking at a minivan, asked me, â€œCargo space?â€

I answered, â€œCar no fly.Â Car go road.â€Â Obviously that didnâ€™t go very well.

One of these Chinese supervisors mentioned that he was committed to stay for two years.Â This was a father of two, and heâ€™d receive no extra pay for being away from his family.Â The Chinese supervisors were sleeping four to an apartment with furniture from the offices supplies aisle at Wal-Martâ„¢.Â Living with a roommate is tough.Â One roommate suggested I had schizophrenia.Â The joke was on him â€“ I didnâ€™t even have a roommate.

Poster from the documentary.Â Thatâ€™s it.Â No joke.Â Move along.

Clips from workers talking as they were just starting their work at Fuyao made it clear that the Fuyao jobs were nowhere near the pay of the GMÂ© jobs:Â At GMâ„¢, one worker made about $29 an hour in quality control until the plant closed.Â In the new Fuyao plant, she made less than $13 an hour.Â I talked to a local dog breeder about a summer job for Pugsley.Â She said that she only paid in expensive pure-bred puppies.Â Pugsley thought about it, and decided it was income-petable.

And the work is tougher than the GMÂ® work was.Â The temperature in some parts of the production area was 200Â°F, or about 63 kilograms.Â One worker spent over an hour a shift in ten minute increments in that heat in the furnace room, and the plant safety guy was trying to figure out how to keep him from overheating.Â But that level of heat had a plus side: Â during the filming I saw two hobbits throw a ring in the furnace room.

What surprised me was that the Chinese gave such access to the people making the documentary.Â They caught candid moments with the Fuyao founder, Cao Dewang, (called simply â€œChairman Caoâ€) throughout the documentary.Â There were moments where he was clearly doubtful, arrogant, or out of touch.Â We all have those moments, but most of the time billionaires try to avoid looking stupid in public.Â I mean, except Elon Musk.

I kid.Â I actually admire Mr. Musk, who seems to be able to do what NASA forgot.Â Fly people into space.

On starting the plant, production levels were described as â€œlowâ€ so Fuyao took the step of sending several of its plant supervisors to China.Â The clash of cultures was obvious at the start of the documentary, but it was during the sequence in China that really showed the difference in the way Americans and Chinese do business.

The conflict started at the first meeting.Â All of the Chinese business people were in suits. Â Most of the Americans were in jeans and t-shirts â€“ one of them was wearing a JawsÂ® movie t-shirt.Â In what was probably pretty embarrassing for the Americans, in the next scene you see them wearing Fuyao company logo polo shirts.Â How did that conversation go?Â â€œExcuse me, perhaps you would be more comfortable in a new company polo shirt and not your mustard-covered t-shirt advertising a forty year old movie?â€

But it was far, far beyond just the informal dress thatâ€™s common with line supervisors in a factory.Â One sequence showed all of the employees singing the corporate anthem.Â Another showed line production employees in a line, yelling out productivity slogans and propaganda like Marines responding to R. Lee Ermey when he was a drill instructor.

They were all out of bat.

One of the American supervisors (who had learned Chinese) was bad-mouthing his employees to a Chinese supervisor.Â To me, the American supervisor came across as someone who would do anything to make the Chinese like him â€“ he was a suck-up.Â After one negative comment about his own team, the Chinese supervisor said, â€œYou should all be united and concentrate your efforts.â€Â It was a subtle but nuclear insult â€“ the Chinese supervisor was slamming the American for not being united with his own workers.Â And the Chinese supervisor was right.

So, refresh the page.Â Am I still dead?

And working in China sounds as bad as Iâ€™d expected.Â Workers typically only get one or two days off a month â€“ a five day work week hasnâ€™t made it to China yet.Â The workers also work 12 hour shifts.Â The Chinese want their workers engaged in the company.

In fact, the American supervisors were there for the company annual Chinese New Year party, where the show was put on entirely by the employees.Â And as for engaged?Â There were several marriages performed at the company party.Â One of the Americans was so overcome with the sense of belonging around him that he was as emotional as a teenage girl watching Titanic.Â Me?Â I like my emotions like I like my beer.Â Bottled.

A quick trip through the Fuyao workers union (which is also the companyâ€™s communist party headquarters) showed that the division between company, country, party, and worker is non-existent.Â The Chinese are certain that they are superior to Americans â€“ several times in the film this is stated by Chinese people on camera.Â But they are also very proud of being Chinese â€“ when Chairman Cao was talking to his Chinese employees in America, he told that that no matter where they go, or where they are buried, that first and foremost they will always be Chinese.

China is nationalist, (mostly) ethnically homogeneous, and unambiguously pro-Chinese at the expense of everyone else on the planet.Â Work is for the government and the party.Â Why are the Muslims in China in reeducation camps?Â Because Islam isnâ€™t Chinese.Â China is a country built on unity and Islam isnâ€™t on the menu.Â And if youâ€™re not on board?

Literally.Â Â

Next, Fuyao fired the plant manager when production and profits were too low, but it was probably the lawsuits on safety that sent him over the top.Â The plant manager had been an American â€“ they replaced him with a Chinese guy.Â Iâ€™ve actually seen this in real life in one company I did business with.Â When things werenâ€™t going well, the owners fired the American and replaced him with a person from their country.Â I mean, if youâ€™re going to yell at the guy, you probably donâ€™t want to do it through a translator.

The documentary ended with increasing tensions ahead of a vote to bring in a union.

Iâ€™m torn.Â Nearly every union person Iâ€™ve ever worked with has been the opposite of what I see on television.Â Theyâ€™ve worked hard and with great skill.Â But to listen to a labor organizer for a union talk makes me feel nothing but that I want to keep one hand on my wallet.Â They have a sense of entitlement that seeks to make the worker feel that they are a victim, and to a certain mindset thatâ€™s an easy sell.Â One person who early in the documentary had been so thankful to have a job, any job, had now put himself in the role of a victim at a union meeting.Â Heck, in America we even have unions for pirates â€“ but their claims always end up in arrrrbitration.

As noted above, safety and adherence to American laws wasnâ€™t really a Chinese priority, at least at first.Â But with the union vote on the line, the Chinese gave a $2 per hour raise across the board and the Plant Manager committed to solving most problems in just one day.Â The plant workers voted to reject becoming unionized, by a 2-1 landslide.Â After that, the Chinese terminated several vocal union supporters, but since this wasnâ€™t China, that wasnâ€™t a literal termination.

Some thoughts that this movie brought out:

The Chinese like being Chinese, and like being around Chinese people. They donâ€™t have much use for everybody else on the planet except economically.Â Iâ€™m sure they keep visiting the United States to measure to make sure that their stuff will fit.
A factory worker used to be able to support a family as a sole breadwinner. The same can be said of the skilled trades.Â Immigration (illegal and legal) destroyed this because demand for jobs didnâ€™t increase, while numbers of workers did.Â â€œGreedyâ€ factory owners get blamed, but the reality is open borders means all jobs that donâ€™t require certificates or diplomas are under pressure from about several billion people willing to do it cheaper, especially if it can be done over the phone by â€œBobâ€ from Bangladesh.
Every union worker Iâ€™ve worked with has been awesome. Every union organizer Iâ€™ve ever seen on a documentary has reminded me of a conman.
This documentary showed the aftermath of the outsourcing of American manufacturing, a transition that has been ongoing since 1995.
The next economic transition is upon us. The new jobs that will be created are going to be quite a bit different than the ones disappearing.
The Mrs.â€™ Grandmother would offer her a shiny nickel to rub her corns. Thereâ€™s a job that wonâ€™t be taken away soon.
The documentary ended with discussions on how the Chinese were trying to automate the factory even more â€“ replacing workers with robots. It was less than thirty seconds of the documentary and the equivalent of writing something at the end of the essay that you wanted to write about but forgot.Â Given Chinese recent history with something as simple as eating bats, I imagine that automation will turn into automated killer robots that will kill all of humanity.Â But, hey, productivity is up!!!

I purchased some suspenders a few weeks ago.Â Pugsley immediately pounced.Â â€œWant me to get your varmint rifle, Pa?â€

Iâ€™d like to think that globalization is doomed, however I read a story two weeks ago about a surgical mask and protective equipment maker in Dallas.Â During the Swine Flu wave back in 2012, the owner had expanded capacity to meet with demand.Â What did the buyers do after the rush?Â They went back to sourcing from China.Â The owner was left with high unemployment insurance cost and new equipment that he had to pay for even though it was unused.

This time, the owner was more than happy to expand production, but heâ€™d only do it on a long-term contract.Â Last I heard?Â No takers.

But nah, Iâ€™m sure that weâ€™ll figure out that at least partially, globalization was what made our economy so fragile that a virus could cause it to collapse like a JengaÂ® game played by a drunk Michael J. Fox.

Celebrate National Blame Someone Else Day With A True Story About The Cat and I In A Duel To The Death* (*Death Not Included)

“Blame Canada! Blame Canada! It seems that everything’s gone wrong since Canada came along. Blame Canada! Blame Canada!” – South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut

God Shave the Queen.

In honor of National It’s Somebody Else’s Fault Day (the first Friday the 13^th of the year, and no, I’m not making this up, it’s an actual holiday), I provide the following true story that happened to me last week:

It started with the cat.

Actually, our cat. The Family Wilder has a cat. Sort of. This particular cat started out, optimistically, as an inside cat. When The Mrs. and Pugsley “found” it at the pet store and brought it home, I understood. They were sad that we were catless. Without cat. Feline free.

We had previously had two cats, Cisco® and Frisco, but over time they disappeared when adventures that they were attempting went tragically wrong off screen. The cats went out, and never came back. That’s why I understood that they wanted another one, especially since Cisco© and Frisco were great cats.

Cisco® and Frisco were nice, polite, clean, and calm. The Boy had named Cisco™ after our wifi router, which at least is better than naming the cat Ford Taurus®. Frisco got his name because it rhymed with Cisco™. I was okay with that. Why was I okay with naming cats with names that sounded so much alike? Because they’re cats, and I have learned that with long hours or intense focus and training, you can train a cat to do exactly what it was going to do anyway.

You could tell – he was always having hissy fits.

This new cat, Rory, was a mess from the start. Instead of a bundle of fur and purr as a kitten, it was instead a bundle of hate and spite and peeing in the hall closet. If Satan had a cat, it would be afraid of Rory. So, we hung garlic ‘round the doors and crucifixes ‘round the window sashes and banished Rory to being an outside cat.

My family, however, has the weak will of the type that doesn’t allow people to tell Madonna that what talent she had left her just like Sean Penn did, and at the same time back in the 1940’s or whenever. The Mrs. especially lets Rory in from time to time. Either that or Rory has developed a ninja-like ability to flow through the shadows and silently through the doorway when we go in and out. I don’t believe it’s a ninja since essentially it’s just a big orange rat.

The Mrs. buys Rory soft cat food, yet won’t allow me to buy him a trebuchet.

One morning, I was on a vacation day, and was alone in the house.

Or so I thought.

Inside there was also . . . Rory. I saw it dart through the kitchen. Rory avoids me because whenever I see it, I throw it out. This is exactly what I decided to do right then and there when I saw it – throw it out. I chased it, and it ran downstairs. Since the kitchen has baby gates to keep The Mrs. barking-minions inside, I closed the baby gates to better corral Rory if it had the bad judgement to try and return upstairs.

After a few minutes Rory came back upstairs from the basement. It ran into the dining room. I got it to run out from under the dining table. It was spooked, and was just a furry flash across the kitchen tile away from me. Now, the first time Rory ran through the kitchen, the baby gate was open. Not this time.

The maximum speed of a housecat is approximately thirty miles per hour. This was the speed at which Rory ran head first into the bars of the now-closed baby gate.

The thunk of metal and skull attempting to occupy the same space was exactly as you’d expect. If you’ve ever seen a cartoon cat run directly into a dirigible mooring tower owned by the Kaiser and then sit with stars orbiting around its head, well, this was exactly that. Rory sat there, dazed, just long enough to tease me into thinking that I could catch him.

Okay, I couldn’t really see the stars, but I knew they were there.

Realizing the large bald man was still chasing him, Rory looked back at me through the haze of concussion and then jumped over the baby gate.

Or, it would have jumped over the baby gate had the stars not been obscuring its cat vision. As Rory lept in the cat-addled state it found itself in, it didn’t jump quite high enough to clear the baby gate, and as a result, Rory’s back left leg got stuck in the bars of the baby gate.

If you’ve never seen a disoriented cat stuck half over a baby gate, well, you haven’t lived. I’ll give you a hint – they’re rarely happy cats. I tried to extract Rory from his predicament, despite having read what Mark Twain wrote about exactly this situation:

Okay, it was really Mark. But he didn’t look this good in leather pants.

Trying to free a near-feral and likely demonic cat summoned from another dimension where Cthulhu slumbers until the stars are right for its terrible return is necessary. Especially if said demonic cat has a hip that is stuck on the side of the baby gate opposite of the demonic cat head.

You may not realize it, but angry cats can be pointy even if you are holding on to them by the scruff of their neck. For some reason, cats don’t like having a concussion and then wandering into a cat version of a torture device and then being lifted by their neck skin by the human that chased them into the concussion in the first place.

Go figure.

Did you realize that a cat can move its front leg just like Michael Phelps swimming through a bathtub filled with mayonnaise? It can. And did you know, that in addition to the four claws on the paw, that cats have a fifth one, sort of like a thumb a just behind the other four?

They do.

And as a cat swims that claw flail-ingly into the air trying to get free, that it can reach all the way back and connect to the hand holding it by the scruff of the neck?

When that claw entered the exact center of the back of my hand, it was connected to a cat.

The cat seemed to be bothered even more that, in addition to having a concussion and a nearly dislocated hip that it found its right paw paralyzed, because its claw was firmly stuck deep in the back of my hand. What did the cat focus on? Freeing the claw that was firmly stuck in the back of my hand. Rory jerked his leg back and forth, but found that it the claw was still firm stuck in the leathery sheath that is my skin. Inside the skin, the point of the claw sliced back and forth against all the internal bits, especially that internal tube that moves the blood into (or out of, I don’t have them labeled) my hand.

He wore paw-jamas to bed.

I reached with my free hand and pulled the claw out of my flesh. After freeing the claw I realized immediately that the claw was the only thing that had kept the blood on the inside of my body. Freed of the stopper, immediately the rich, dark blood started gushing like Dracula’s Super-Soaker® at summer camp. I took three quick steps to the sink, and turned on the faucet. There I was confronted with a dilemma. In one hand, I had a cat that was behaving like a jackhammer attached to a cactus. In the other? The water from the faucet was washing the amazingly large amount of blood away from my hand. Whenever I pulled my hand away from the water? Rivers of blood formed. But I still had a cat attempting to imitate John Travolta being electrocuted in the other hand. I was one hand short.

Without really thinking, I grabbed with the cat hand (as opposed to the blood hand) and grabbed at the paper towels. Of course, they didn’t rip but instead the whole roll spun away on the tile, leaving me with a carpet of paper towel connected to the bunched up, blood soaked paper towel that I was holding to the back of my hand . . . with my cat hand. Thankfully, the combination of paper towel and cat soaked up enough blood so that the path to the back door didn’t look like young Jack the Ripper’s path on the playground slide.

I really nailed woodshop in junior high. I really liked the teacher, Coach Sevenfingers.

At the back door, I used my bloody hand to open the door, and threw Rory out with my paper towel hand. I then slammed the door.

There was a sickening thud as the door attempted to close and then bounced back.

Oh, crap. I had slammed the door, but I had slammed it on the cat. I looked down, expecting to see an angry cat that was now paralyzed because I had inadvertently crushed his spine with the door.

No.

It was an oven mitt. Even despite the blood, I was relieved to see it was an oven mitt and not the cat.

Somehow, in grabbing the paper towel to stop my house from looking like Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen, I had accidentally grabbed an oven mitt along with the paper towel, and partially threw the mitt out of the house when I attempted to give the cat an orbital velocity out of the house that Elon Musk would be proud of.

I looked down at my wrecked hand.

Amazingly, there was only one, tiny hole in the back of the hand after it stopped bleeding. But the flesh on the back was swelling like Johnny Depp’s ego as I watched. I got some more paper towel, soaked it in hydrogen peroxide, and elevated the hand and applied pressure so it didn’t swell to the size of Robert Downey, Junior’s ego. I even (briefly) considered emailing my certified medical adviser, Aesop (LINK). Instead, I remembered that this was (more or less) exactly the place where people got intravenous thingies put into their hand, so it would probably heal.

A week later, it’s still tender.

In honor of National It’s Somebody Else’s Fault Day, I blame Rory. Your mileage may vary.

And I’m sticking to that story, just like a cat claw in the back of a hand.

Complacency, An English King, Elon Musk, and Bikinis

“Well, perhaps what we most needed was a kick in our complacency to prepare us for what lies ahead.” – Star Trek, TNG

Q: Why can’t dinosaurs clap? A: They’re all dead.

Once upon a time The Mrs. and I bought a piece of bare land to build a house on, and not a Lego® one like they make in California. The land was in a county that had (eye roll) rules about that sort of thing. In order to get a permit to build the house, we had to have our land approved as a subdivision. We did it the old fashioned way – we did it ourselves. We prepared the relevant paperwork, hired the surveyor, and worked with the county zoning staff to present it to the Zoning Commission. After discussing it at the meeting, and observing the property, the chairman of the commission stated:

“Mr. Wilder, the commission would like to reserve a 40’ foot strip of land along the north boundary to put in a road at some future point. In your zoning packet, we’re going to add that you will deed us this land at no cost if we ever decide to build said road.”

That was over an acre.

The Commission Chairman must have seen the expression on my face. I’ll admit it, I wasn’t pleased. I felt, based on my law degree of “reading the Constitution” that this was a clear violation. It was, I felt, a “taking” of my land with no compensation. Even though I didn’t say a word, and wasn’t wearing a Gadsden Flag t-shirt, I think he knew right where my head was.

Snek no lyke step.

“Now, Mr. Wilder, you understand that we as a Commission have a duty, a duty not only to those living here for today, but for those not living yet. Why, this subdivision will be recorded and be in force for the next thousand years.” I don’t recall the next sentence, because I really couldn’t believe what I had just heard.

The next thousand years? Was he taking the same kind of drugs that Bernie does?

The Mrs. and I finished our turn at the podium for the meeting. We left and went outside. The Mrs. beat me to the punch.

“The next thousand years? Was he serious??? What an idiot.” We actually still joke about it to this day. You would have been proud of her scoff when I read it to her tonight. It was perfect.

We had both focused on the same sentence. It was pompous. It was self-important. It was delusional. It was . . . complacent.

The idea that the governance, the structure, or even a culture that respected property rights would follow a continuous path for a thousand years was deluded. 1,000 years ago, the Danes ruled Norway and England as well as Denmark under King Cnut (yes, that’s spelled right) the Great. Ever hear of him? Well let me tell you if you misspell his name just one time in an e-mail to Karen, you’ll have to spend an hour explaining old English history to HR so you can prove you really meant that Karen was displaying the wisdom that old King Cnut was cnown for.

Yeah, just like Karen, the Commission Chairman was a Cnut.

That more or less proves my point. I doubt that the records of that subdivision named the “Free Autonomous Reserve Tract” will even exist in a thousand years. It could be that whatever emerges from the nearly certain Musk Cat Girls on Mars© Uprising of 2257 or the Amazon™ slave rebellion of 2856 against Bezosclone4651 don’t destroy the records, but don’t bet on it.

Elon apparently has a different version of Cat Scratch Fever.

Expecting a county commission’s decisions to be relevant 1,000 years into the future was an outrageous example, but it proves the point I’m trying to make. Often, we get so complacent in our day-to-day lives that we’re willing to believe incredible things that we normally would scoff at, like, oh, Joe Biden doesn’t have dementia. I mean, it’s normal to answer the question, “What is your vision for health care?” with “I remember when it was polite for a man to call a woman a ham-handed yellow-teethed hammer soaker before you made sweet love to them in the back of your tree fort, I mean if you had a dozen or more. Pinecones, right? Those were the days when you could rub my legs and watch the hair spring back up and the wood elves would play music for hours on their nose harp. Ever have a nose harp? We did, but you could call women broads then, because they liked to get you coffee, what with the skirts and pantyhose and all. Canada. And if you don’t like it, you can damn well vote for that Reagan fellow.”

One way I choose topics to write about is I want to look at a subject I know something about, and then dig deeper. My idea is that often one of the biggest dangers was well defined by Mark Twain: “What gets us into trouble is not what we don’t know. It’s what we know for sure that just ain’t so.”

It’s a shame Twain never learned to write properly and not use “ain’t” – maybe if he had his career would have gone somewhere like mine has. Anyway, when I find a disconnect like Twain described, or new information that’s something that I like to write about.

But when I can find that same situation and tie it directly to a problem or situation in society today?

That’s perfect.

Okay, nearly perfect. It has to be interesting, too. The relative changes in the combustibility of dryer lint throughout the twentieth century might be not what you expected, but it’s probably not particularly interesting, unless you like to burn dryer lint as a hobby, which I hear is what Jeb Bush is into now, at least when it’s group craft time.

Okay, that’s actually “lightning and lightning bug.”

I really like learning new things, and I learned something new today: One thing I like writing about, and keep returning to as a nearly constant theme here is: complacency. It’s evident when I write about the economic system (Rome, Britain, and Money: Why You Can’t Find Fine China after the Apocalypse), or prepping (Be Prep-ared) or really nearly any topic I write about. And I try to live by my advice.

In my life, I try not to be complacent about:

Relationships: Love is a voluntary choice. Being complacent about those around you is a good way to lose a relationship, and that can be expensive. But, for certain people, it’s worth it. (That’s an ex-wife joke.)
Jobs: Jobs come and go, even within companies. I have seen entire departments disappear as technology made people irrelevant. Always be learning new skills, or at least be learning more about the “niece” of your boss.
Value of Money: When I was a boy, Bernie Sanders would shine a shinbone for a nickel. Now? I think he wants to expand Medicare to do that.
Economic Future: The stock market will always go up, right? Well, no. Sometimes
Limits of Human Knowledge: Much of what is science is a fad, to be replaced by new science in a few years. Not so much with math. Mostly not with physics. Medicine? 75% of it is washing your hands and eating right. 20% is antibiotics. 5% is not step on snek. And Aesop will change all of these percentages if he gets this far.

Wilder, Wealthy and Wise is absolutely against complacency. I don’t like complacency. I like finding places where it has snuck into my life or I see it sneaking into the lives of others. I especially like sharing things that help people see complacency in their own lives, because then I don’t have to change anything about me.

That moment when I’ve written something, and I imagine that someone’s entire world view changed?

That moment is why I write, though some of you might say that for a writer, I’m a fairly competent typist. Regardless, that’s the enjoyment I get from this, besides the jokes and the bikinis. I want to create discomfort in me. And in you. And also be able to explain to The Mrs. why I spend so much time looking at bikini pictures.

“Research, dear. It’s for my readers.” Oh, the things I put myself through for you.

At least it’s not another Kardashian. But I think the dog has less hair.

Back to complacency. When it comes to life and health, how often do you step back and question your basic, underlying assumptions? If never, you should. How often are they wrong? If never, then you’re not testing them hard enough.

Assumptions change because circumstances change. A forty year old metabolism isn’t the same as a twenty year old metabolism. If you eat like you’re twenty when you’re forty and fifty, you’ll end up weighing 657 pounds and being buried in a piano box. I guess the good part about that is “all the Oreos®,” and being able to dress convincingly as Jabba the Hut® at Halloween, but the downside is attractive slave girls cost more than you think.

Assumptions change because knowledge changes – we were wrong. All of us. Sugar used to be great for you, it was a carbohydrate, and those were good. But fat? Fat was bad, as bad as John Travolta acting in a movie that requires his character to be able to use words of more than one syllable bad. Everyone knew that, and they were right. But only about Travolta. Companies even made fat-free cookies in special green packages so you could know that you were safe eating them. But in 2020, we know that’s insanity.

But I hear Darth Braider did her hair.

What circumstances have changed in your life that you need to account for? What will be changing?

As for knowledge, what does “everyone know” that’s wrong today? That’s tougher. I think that the news about sugar (for instance) started to show up in more than “fad” levels about the year 2000, a good 20 years after the war on fat in food began. Pay attention. And if something seems too good to be true, it probably isn’t.

Complacency. Heck, I’ve made mistakes.

Probably enough for 1,000 years. Just ask Karen. She’s quite a Cnut.

(FCUK™, of course is the British clothing brand “French Connection, UK®.”)

Silly.