The Big Hangover: Finland and Bikini Economics

“These are my good clothes. You can’t go home smelling like a meth lab.” – Breaking Bad

Say what you want about Finland, but their flag is a big plus.

Finland had originally not wanted to be involved at all in war, but the Soviets had attacked them in 1940.  Joseph Stalin had come to the conclusion that he was tired of Finns living on land he wanted, and attacked.  You could say that Stalin was Russian to the Finnish line.

Stalin expected the Soviet juggernaut to wipe Finland off the map in 1940.  Thus began what is known as the “Winter War” to protect Finland.

Did anyone come to the aid of Finland?  No, not really.  Churchill and Roosevelt were certainly sympathetic in the newspapers, but just made sad clucking noises as the Red Army prepared to assimilate yet another country.

Finland was horribly outnumbered.  For instance, the Soviets invaded with 3,880 aircraft.   The Finns had 114 planes.  The Soviets had a maximum of 6,500 tanks, the Finns had 32.  Yes, 32 tanks.

This is the recipe for a huge loss, but the Finns had other ideas – they were fighting to save Finland.

They inflicted over 300,000 Soviet casualties with only 300,000 Finnish soldiers.  The Soviets agreed to a peace treaty, taking over several islands and provinces, far short of their actual war effort.  Rumor has it that the Soviets decided they wanted peace after Christopher Lee (yes, that Christopher Lee) arrived from England as a volunteer to fight for the Finns.

How could they tell Dracula had a sore throat?  The coffin.

At the outbreak of the German invasion of the Soviet Union two years later, the Finns jumped in:  they retook the provinces that the Soviets took, but stopped.  Finland basically relaxed until, in 1944, the Soviets had the Germans on the run.  Stalin looked at Finland and described a Scandinavian church song:  Finnish Hymn.

This brings us to Aimo Koivunen.  Aimo was a corporal in the Finnish Army, and was sent on a ski patrol in March of 1944.  He and his patrol were suddenly surrounded by Soviet troops.  They managed to escape, but Aimo was dead tired from the physical exertion of skiing away from the pursuing Soviet troops.

Sorry, I guess that skiing joke went downhill fast.

Aimo had Pervitin©.  Pervitin™ was issued to some troops to overcome exhaustion and remain awake on guard duty.  Since Pervitin® was essentially crystal meth, the instructions said to just take one.  It was cold.  Aimo was tired.  He couldn’t just grasp one of the pills, so he took the entire bottle.  All 30.

That’s when the fun started.

Aimo became delirious, and the next little bit is fuzzy.  All he knows is that when he woke up less than a day later, he’d skied 60 miles and lost all of his equipment.  He hit a landmine, but that was no impediment for a meth-crazed Finn.  He just spent time in a ditch eating pine nuts and a raw bird that he caught.

Aimo ended up skiing another 190 miles (not kilometers, miles) for a grand total of 250 miles.

In March.

In Finland.

On enough meth to kill a college football team.

Okay, Aimo had more adventure in two weeks than most people have in a lifetime.  He even remembered some of it.

When they finally managed to wrestle the still meth-addled Aimo into the hospital, he had a heart rate of 200 beats per minute (three times a non-meth-saturated-human heartrate).  He weighed 94 pounds, and in the one time I don’t make fun of communist units, that’s only 43 kilograms.

That’s one hell of a hangover.

Oh, sure, I could have told a funny story that describes why I don’t drink tequila, ever, but I thought that Aimo Kiovunen’s story was a better one than I’ll ever have.  So you get that instead.

But what does a meth-soaked soldier have to do with the economy?

In the last decade, our economy has just gulped down about 30 Pervitinâ„¢.

Part of the problem was that our economy was almost already exhausted before the Coronavirus hit.  The economic expansion since the Great Recession was already 128 months old in February 2020 – the longest in United States history.  How did it get that old?

Simulants.  The biggest stimulant was economic policy.  If you wanted to buy a house in 1990, you’d pay 10% interest rates.  Buying a house in 2010, the interest rates were around 4%.  Now?  Even lower.  The Federal Reserve’s® interest rate is zero, if you’re a big bank.  Free money.

Zero interest rate?  A stimulant.

In the last year, deficit spending of the United States has been in the trillions.  $3.8 trillion, to be exact.  In one year.  That’s three times the level of deficit spending in the Great Recession.

How is that for 30 capsules of Pervitinâ„¢ in 2020 after chugging two dozen pots of coffee since 2008?

Never has so much amazingly frightening debt ever looked so good.

You simply cannot put that level of stimulant into an economy and not expect to have an impact.  What’s the impact?

As commenters have noted, the stimulant effect of all of that money dumped into the economy has been muted somewhat because people just aren’t spending it.  There are a variety of reasons for this.  Unemployed people don’t go tossing all of their 401k money into fishing boats and rare PEZ® dispensers depicting Norwegian War Heroes.

The bigger pools, though, are rich people waiting to scoop up depressed assets.  Another pool consists of money that the banks borrowed from the Fed® at zero interest, and then deposited back with the Fed© to earn interest.  This is not a trick that you or I could do, but it props up the banks.

Not one of my more successful pickup lines.

The concern I have is that once the signs of inflation show up, those pools of money will begin to move.  At first with a trickle, and then with an avalanche.  The stimulant will take effect.  And the heartrate of the economy will go to 200 beats per minute (0.2 kilobeats per minute).

There is good news.  You can look for the signs that I’m right, say, gold going up in price.  Or bitcoin going through the roof.  That might be the sign the hangover from the Pervitin© is taking hold in the economy.

Oh, those things are happening?  Keep your eyes open, folks.

The good news is that, despite his adventures in creative pharmacology, Aimo Koivunen lived to be 71.  He survived the hangover.

Let’s hope we do, too.

Penultimate Day And 2021 Thoughts

“The Babylon Project was our last, best hope for peace.  It failed.  But in the year of the Shadow War, it became something greater: our last, best hope for victory.  The year is 2260. The place: Babylon 5.” – Babylon 5

Why did 2020 cross the road?  To get to the other cyanide.

This year we didn’t celebrate our traditional Wilder family holiday, Penultimate Day.  What does Penultimate Day entail?

Well, you drive south for two hours or so.  Then you go to Best Buy® and, under no circumstances do you buy a cell phone.  But you must look at cell phones.  Then, after not buying a cell phone, you go to Olive Garden® and have some nice pasta.

This celebration started (I think) in 2011 or 2012, I think.  The Mrs.’ cell phone (a Blackberry®!) was going south.  We drove to the nearest cell phone store that was tied to our carrier, which was a Best Buy™ about two hours from us.  We got frustrated attempting to figure out the deals after the phone clerk wheeled out a surgical gurney to take out part of my intestines.  I told him, “No way!”

“Really?  You need to look at the contract closer.  It’s in the appendix.”

We gave up on buying a phone.

Then, frustrated at our lack of being able to find a phone, we gave up and decided to have dinner.

Hobbits always use vibrate on their phones – they don’t want the ring to give them away.

And then we drove home.  It was impossibly silly, driving a total of four hours to go to not buy a cell phone.  And we did it on December 30.  So, I made the joke that since the New Year was a made-up holiday, why not make up our own?  Thus Penultimate Day – the next-to-last day of the year – became an official Wilder holiday.

Over the years, we took Penultimate Day seriously.  There were one or two exceptions where we skipped Penultimate Day, primarily because Pugsley or The Boy had a sports event.  That is, of course, acceptable.  The goal of Penultimate Day is to do something fun together as a family.

We stuck to celebrating Penultimate Day.  Why?   Because it was fun, it was silly, and it was ours.

We didn’t celebrate Penultimate Day this year.

First, traveling into a major metropolitan area didn’t make sense to us – here in Modern Mayberry the case-rate for the WuFlu is relatively low, and we have no idea what the requirements are to even go into Best Buy® in Major Undisclosed Metropolitan Area.  Second, while we enjoy going to the Olive Garden™, I’m still convinced that the free breadsticks are some kind of con game.  I keep expecting a bill to arrive from them in 2028:  “owed to Olive Garden© for “free” breadsticks:  $257,065.”

What’s the only pasta you can get during COVID-19 lockdown?  Macaroni and sneeze.

Instead, we slept in late, played a few games, and more-or-less relaxed the entire day.  Our contribution to the economy of the United States?  We had a nice dinner The Mrs. cooked for us at home, used some natural gas to fire our heater, and spent about $3 in electricity for lighting the place.  That was it.  Our participation in the economy on December 30, 2020 was probably less than $20, total.

That’s the problem if you’re running an economy.  No gasoline, no money heading to the Olive Garden©, and no tip to the waitress.

I read that Christmas spending was down this year, to $851 from $976 in 2019.  That’s a drop of 13%.  But this is Monday, not Wednesday when we talk about economics.  On Monday, we talk about the big picture.

But 13% is a huge drop-off.  And when you add in all of the activities that people aren’t doing?  I imagine it was even more.  The big picture?  Economic contraction increases instability.

I wrote in 2019’s Penultimate Day that we were entering a period of chaos, where entire edifices that we used to stand behind would crumble.  Now, we sit in 2021, and a majority of the people who voted in the national election think it was rigged.

How do you get a baby alien to sleep?  Rocket.

Also rigged?  The system of justice in the nation.  We see Antifa® and BLM© “peacefully” destroy cities.  The massive number of unindicted felons?  It’s okay to loot.

2020 was a mess, but it looks like we got to get a glimpse of the man behind the curtain.

2021 will certainly start out like a mess.  January is going to be chaotic.  Regardless, I’m optimistic about 2021 – not because I’m insane, but because I know what starts the upward rise:  the upward rise starts after you’ve fallen and hit bottom.  While we around the world have fallen and are headed toward the bottom, the biggest lesson is this:  bring something back up with you.

That’s the question for today:  what can we bring back up with us?

  • Understanding that the world can change around you in an instant. One moment, the world was normal.  The next?  Lockdowns, the destruction of an economy.
  • Understanding where your vulnerabilities are. Food?  Toilet paper?  What can you do to fix them?
  • Knowing that your job is not “safe” – the entire economy isn’t safe. Be prepared for more dislocations.  What skills are you working on?

These are important realizations.  In 2021 and for the foreseeable future, complacency will not be your friend.  Constantly question your assumptions.  Constantly try to understand your side, but also periodically ask yourself, “What if I’m wrong?”  Try to understand the other side of the issue, too.

You may or may not be wrong, but questioning (not doubting, but questioning) yourself is key to deep understanding.  Hold your own beliefs up to the same scrutiny you use on opposing beliefs.

Thankfully, hindsight is 2020.  Or did I get that backward?

As I wrote on Friday, I’m not sure that 2021 will be a great year, but it will be a birth year for the next phase of what happens to our society.  What’s probable this year?

  • Unemployment continues, and likely gets worse. Ideas of a quick rebuild will be crushed.  People at the bottom end – twentysomethings and service workers – are already hoisting a white flag.
  • Society will become even more fractured. Left and Right are guaranteed to be further apart in 2021 – the way this presidential election has gone is sure to inflame both sides, no matter what happens.
  • The very mechanisms that we normally see as protecting society will continue to erode. People on the Right who are defending the “thin blue line” will become aware that many (not all!) of the police will do whatever the people signing their checks tell them to do.  This is not the year to be a cop in Portland, Oregon.
  • People will continue to flee California and large Leftist cities in a locust-like plague. They will not leave their Leftist ideas behind.
  • The debt of the United States will continue to climb. My bet?  We add another $4-5 trillion this year.  That doesn’t include personal debt and business debt.  The idea that printing money is better than earning it will continue and probably increase in 2021.  This idea will only stop when events force it to stop.

But as I said in the introduction to Friday’s post, I remain weirdly optimistic that, even given all of these trends, this will be a year that we will look back on and say, “That was the year that things changed.”  Certainly, 2020 was a year that will likely be looked on as the start of the crisis.  2021 will be looked at as the year that the seeds of the new are planted.

How can I better describe it?

1776 is they year that most people associate with the birth of the United States.  What most people forget is that it wasn’t until 1787 that the Constitutional Congress was held.  Likewise, it wasn’t until 1789 that George Washington was sworn in as our first President.  That was thirteen years after 1776 – thirteen years where there was war, economic failure, and finally a coming together over a very unique document.

Change takes time.

What did Washington say before his men got in the boats to cross the Delaware to attack the British?  “Get in the boats.”

So, if I’m right, people will look back on 2021 and say, “That was when things turned around.”

And the good news is, Penultimate Day or not, you’ll be there for it.  Again, I never said it was going to be easy.  It will likely be the complete opposite of easy.

Freedom rarely is easy.  And I’m still pretty sure that the Olive Garden© has a comprehensive spreadsheet somewhere charting my breadstick consumption . . . .

Happy New Year 2021!

Okay, because the way the holidays fell this year, my “family” wants me to spend “time” with them rather than write.  The other people that live at my house are sooooo demanding.  So, while we play games and do things together, I thought I’d sneak away and give you last year’s Penultimate Day post, especially since, due to the ‘Rona, we didn’t observe Penultimate Day this year.

I hate to say it . . . but I saw 2020 coming.

The good news?  We still have chips.  And we have yet to open the champers.

Happy New Year, all!

My prediction?  2021 will have another amazing number of surprises, but will be the seed of greatness yet to come.

So, here is last year’s post:

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds damn saucy, you lucky thing! I know some fairly liberal-minded girls, but I’ve never penultimated any of them in a solar sojourn, or for that matter, been given any Norman tongue.” – Blackadder The Third

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If we have a boogaloo, let’s hope it’s a short one. I’ve got a dentist appointment next Thursday.

If you’re reading this on Monday, December 30, congratulations! It’s Penultimate Day! This is the holiday that the Wilder’s celebrate every December 30. Why Penultimate Day? Back on December 30, 2012, The Mrs. wanted a new cell phone. We drove an hour and a half south to a Best Buy® (the nearest place that sold cell phones) and then didn’t buy a cell phone. After that, we ate at Olive Garden® and drove home.

I think this was, perhaps, the disaster foretold by the Mayans that ended their calendar in 2012. As is inscribed in ancient Mayan on the calendar: “When the pale people from the north can communicate no more, and instead decided to eat a tasty pasta dish, perhaps with fresh-grated Parmesan cheese (say when!), that shall be the end of time.”

Or my translation may be off. Regardless, we are now celebrating our seventh straight Penultimate Day, and as you read this I might be not buying a cell phone, or perhaps having some sort of bottomless salad and breadstick combination at Olive Garden©. Olive Garden’s™ motto is “when you’re here, you’re family©,” so I borrowed $50 and decided I’d never pick up when they call and insult them behind their back.

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Remember, when you’re here, you’re part of the Olivegarchy.

You can join in on Penultimate Day, too. Simply go to a place that cells cell phones that is south of your house. Then, don’t buy one. Finally: eat Italian food. Sure, that’s not the purist version and you might be burned at the stake later for heresy, but, you know, Italian food.

My Penultimate Day post is also the post that I use to look back on the year to talk about the biggest story of the year. In 2017, it was the verified UFO video from the military (Penultimate Day and The Biggest Story of 2017), in 2018, it was the loss of trust in our society (Happy Penultimate Day 2018, and the Biggest Story of 2018: Societal Trust). The 2017 link comes with a (very) short story that I wrote in a Marriott® bar.

In 2019, the main story is the unravelling of society.

The main stories in all of the news is about that unravelling this year.  And it’s not just in the United States:

  • Brexit/Boris Johnson in Great Britain.
  • Yellow Vest Protests in France.
  • Hong Kong Protests in Cleveland.
  • Impeachment.
  • Left and Right Polarity.
  • Your family at Thanksgiving.
  • AntiFa® violence in mom’s basement.
  • Popularity of Stories About Impending Civil War in the United States.

We know trouble is coming.  The topic I’ve written about that’s gotten more views than any other this year has been Civil War 2.  How divisive is society today?  In an example of whistling past the graveyard, a hypothetical future conflict has been referred to as Civil War 2:  Electric Boogaloo.  This has shortened over time to just Boogaloo.  This is, of course, is a tribute to that classic of Western cinema Breakin’ 2:  Electric Boogaloo, a 1984 film about breakdancing that I’m sure you all have seen.

Deciding that they’d like to prove my point about the unraveling of society and the Left being a bitter, humorless bunch of that make the people at the DMV look like a jovial group of partygoers, members of the Left have decided that even the term “Boogaloo” is nearly hate speech.  Yeah, I’m not surprised, either.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

William Butler Yeats wrote the above as the opening of a song for the band Iron Maiden®.  Sadly Bruce Dickenson rejected it on the grounds that all of the members of Iron Maiden© took a vote and decided that they would all be born sometime in the future when guitars were just a bit more electric but yet not too boogaloo.

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Yes, Iron Maiden did an 18 minute metal song about a poem written in 1798.  And it was glorious.

Instead, Yeats settled for using those lines for the opening of his poem The Second Coming a hundred years ago in 1919, and during this time he was writing about what he saw as an unraveling:  an unraveling of science, an unraveling of governmental structures, and an unraveling of heterogeneous communities.  He looked back at the deaths caused by the pointless World War I and its deformed stepchild – the Russian Revolution, and saw an ending of one world, and the birth of the next.

These destroyed structures were built on speed and modernity.  What did Yeats see replacing the modern world?

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Kardashians are planning on acknowledging their Wookie heritage in a new reality show.

Yeats continued with a vision as ugly as a Kardashian in a swimsuit:

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

What did Yeats see replacing the modern world?  Mysticism.  Power.  Blood.  He was right.  1919 was crappy, but the 20th Century was about to get a whole lot worse.  He concluded:

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Yup.  Creepy.  And Iron Maiden definitely should have recorded this, whether they were born or not.

Yeats’ vision is what we are living through again right now – the ending of one age, and the beginning of another.  This crisis cannot be driven by food shortages.  There is more food now than at any time in history.  It cannot be wealth – there is more individual wealth in the nations experiencing tumult than at any point in their histories.  It cannot be my hair.  My shiny scalp?  Sure.  Not my hair.

Certainly there are problems – I think that the people the Z-Man (LINK) calls the Dirt People (which almost certainly includes every reader of this blog as well as your constant writer, me) are experiencing an economy driven by and for the Cloud People (the Deep State, the Financial Elite).  Regardless of who you voted for in 2012, you knew that Mittens Romney and Barry Obama were on the same team, and it wasn’t your team.

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This might be where the Z-Man got that meme – at least it was the first thing I thought of.  And it explains sky-high real estate costs . . . .

In the end the reactions we’re seeing in society in 2019 (Trump and Brexit) are just that – reactions to a society that has gone too far Left, too fast.  Leftists never realize that all they have to do to enact their Socialist Utopia® is wait.  Instead, they smell the blood of the Right in the water and decide that it’s time to end the waiting.  Right now!  Because after making the conscious decision to borrow $375,000 for a degree in cooking, they now know that college (and those vacations to Europe on spring break!) is a right and should be free.

What do Leftist want?  Complete control.  When do they want it?  Now.  Impeachment is a technique for power and control, not enforcing the law, since at no point has anyone been able to articulate a law broken by Trump.  Nixon?  Conspiracy to commit a break-in.  Clinton?  Perjury.  Trump?  I still haven’t heard about a law that he broke that isn’t some sort of fashion or etiquette rule.

Trump is not a savior.  Trump is a symptom.  The Leftist reaction to Trump is yet another symptom.  And the inability to wait for an election that is less than a year out is yet another.

The Right is never the instigator of issues like this – there is a reason the Right is called reactionary – it reacts to the Left.  The Right just wants history to stop.  The Left wants change, and will look for any time to work for it – especially when society is functioning well.  The Left is like a wife who sees a fully functioning family, home mortgage nearly paid off, 20 years until retirement and says, “You know what?  Things are going well.  Let’s burn it all down.”

bored

As long as Stella gets her groove back, that’s all that’s important, am I right?

And the change the Left wants is never gradual – it is Revolution™.  The Left wants to destroy the existing social orders and replace them with Leftism.  As we’ve seen in the past (Robespierre, Stalin, Mao, Mangos and A Future That Must Not Be), Leftism always ends in a bloodbath, either as those on the Left kill everyone to the Right of them, or a cagey leader like Stalin kills all of the people to the Left of him.

This is the context we see ourselves in today.  All time high on the stock market, and all time high (excepting 1859) on the polarity seen in the United States.  We are splitting apart.

How does this end?  I think, if past trends for America have been true, there will be freedom.  America may not look like it does today – I think I’d actually bet money that it won’t.  There will be significant changes, and I think it will be very difficult for Washington D.C. to impose its will on Michigan, Montana, or Missouri if the peoples of those states are unwilling.

This is the last post of the ‘teens – my next post will be in the Tumultuous, Turbulent Twenties.  Remember folks, you heard that here first.  But you won’t hear it here last – I’m pretty sure the centre cannot hold . . . but neither will my belt, not after all of those free breadsticks.

The Funniest Predictions About 2021 You’ll Read This Year

“Since when can weathermen predict the weather, let alone the future?” – Back to the Future

It’s easy to buy clothes for psychics – they’re all mediums.

In the past I’ve done, once or twice, a humorous year in review post. 2020? Let’s let that year rot in the grave – in many ways, it was a year that was worse than having to spend the weekend after Christmas with the Kardashians.

How was that weekend I spent with the Kardashians?

It was hairy, smelly, oily, and just plain silly, no matter how much money got thrown around, it was still awful and made me want to take a month-long shower.

Instead, let’s look forward. Here I have a group of predictions made by the best psychics I could find on the Psychic Friends Network® who somehow decided working for $7.99 a minute was better than winning the lottery or buying Tesla© stock in 2010. These were confirmed by the time-traveling Stephen Hawking, who said, “Yeah, it all looks legit,” before beating me in a one-on-one game of basketball.

I really suck at basketball. Plus? Time-travelling Stephen Hawking is a robot with chainsaw arms.

Trust me, 2021 will be better.

January, 2021

Faced by a mounting crisis in Canada brought about by forgetting to pay the electric bill, Canadian armed forces launch an invasion of Detroit to check for spare change in the couches. The 82nd Airborne is dispatched and quickly prevents invasion of the desirable parts of Michigan. The Canadian Army quickly surrenders, but insists on adding an extra “u” in words like labor, honor, and Wednesday. Within 72 hours the Treaty of Fargo is signed, whereby Canada is punished by being prohibited from withdrawing from Detroit, and also forced to take the Jacksonville Jaguars® and Amy Schumer.

German leader Angela Merkel is quick to condemn the United States, saying, “In the annals of humanity there has never been a bigger war crime than forcing the decent citizens of Canada to take a sub-par NFL® team. Never. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

Angela Merkel arrives in Paris:
“Nationality?” asks the immigration officer.
“German,” Merkel replies.
“Occupation?”
“No, just here for a few days.”

February, 2021

Facebook® and Google™ announce a joint partnership to, “just know and predict everything about you so that we can manipulate you like a rancher manipulates cattle and extract every bit of value from you before we recycle you into Earth-friendly products.”

Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts rules that this is fine. Writing in his majority opinion, he says, “they (Facebook© and Google®) are private companies and are thus not covered by the First Amendment. Also, they have all of my Internet history, and the secret naughty chats I’ve been having with Justice Kagan, and I really don’t want my wife seeing those.”

March, 2021

According to the medical journal, The Lancet, the first COVID-19 vaccine recipients spontaneously renounce any Leftist policy and become staunch supporters of nationalism, Constitutional government and individual liberty. Congressman Alexandria Ocasio Cortez calls for the immediate recall of the vaccine.

Thankfully, nothing happens if she eats ice cream too fast.

April, 2021

George R.R. Martin announces he has written seven complete pages of his next book in the Game of Thrones® series titled, The Winds of Winter. “At this rate, I’ll be complete with the series by the year 4731. So, fans, there’s something to look forward to!”

Martin then laughed his jolly elfin laugh and jumped naked, except for his signature hat, into a swimming pool filled with $100 bills after a dinner of eating panda roasted over glowing Moon-rocks.

May, 2021

In a surprise session, the governments of 33 States serve notice to the United States that they are seceding from the Union. In the joint declaration to the Federal government via short phone call, the States note, “Listen, we tried to work this out. Don’t cry. Stop. It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve changed. I’m keeping the dog. And the nuclear weapons. And all the Tom Petty albums.”

Texas changes its Facebook™ profile to “single.” Canada is still required to keep Detroit and the Jacksonville Jaguars©, despite launching a surprise offensive on the Nordstrom™ outlet in St. Paul, Minnesota, which failed because they didn’t have actual money for parking meters. Who knew those meters would reject Canadian quarters?

I heard that Texas was voted “most likely to secede” in high school.

June, 2021

Elon Musk announces he has joined his consciousness with a machine, specifically a postal meter in the United States Post Office in Enid, Oklahoma (Zip Code 73701). Musk specifically chose this meter because he “want(ed) to not only dominate car production, and space flight, but also being able to know exactly what small objects weigh and calculate what the postage would cost to ship something far away. It’s not so easy to figure that out, you know.”

July, 2021

[REDACTED DUE TO NSC 1993-473-AB-01]

August, 2021

Practical immortality was announced jointly by the Bill Gates Foundation© and the World Economic Forum™. In a surprise, it involves subscribing to Microsoft™ Office© 365®, eating only food obtained from bugs, and living in a small pod as approved by the Facebook™/Google© Freedom For All™ coalition, and limiting stressors by avoiding unapproved news sources.

“With this new technology, most Americans can now expect to live meaningful, productive lives up to at least the age of 50, which is nearly immortal,” said Gates, while stroking a long-furred snow-white cat.

Bill Gates only wants one thing for giving us immortality, namely, to rename the Earth: “The Planet of the Apps.”

September, 2021

President-For-Life Kamala Harris indicated that rumors of her executing prisoners in her last remaining enclave of Beverly Hills were, “gross exaggerations. In most cases, they fought each other to the death for Chicken McNuggets®. We even gave some of the winners Hot Mustard™ sauce, which I believe is in line with the Geneva Convention.”

As troops loyal to the American United American States of America surrounded the Western White House, President-For-Life Harris said, “Guys, can’t you take a joke?”

October, 2021

The Federal Reserve® announced that the main Federal Reserve Bank™ headquarters in Washington, D.C. was robbed by George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and a long list of Hollywood B-list celebrities who were engaged in an overly complicated heist, with comic relief provided by Julia Roberts.

Fed© Chairman, Britney Spears, noted that, “We didn’t lose anything. We don’t have any actual money, silly, we just print it.”

November, 2021

Netflix® Health Advisor© and Minister Plenipotentiary Dr. “Fat Tony” Anthony Fauci stated flatly, “Listen, Harvard© has told us as early as 1968 that sugar is good for you. Eat all you can. And smoking isn’t that bad for you, especially if you smoke filtered cigarettes by a major manufacturer. Corn syrup? It should be called corn sugar! I bathe in it and rub it on my chest every day. So wholesome and healthy!”

When asked about why he said that masks against COVID firstly in February 2020, “wouldn’t help” and then later “should be mandatory,” Fauci said, “Oh my gosh, what is that over there? Look! A baby wolf!”

Dr. Fauci at a press conference: “Don’t worry. If I’m wrong, I’ll still have a job.”

December, 2021

Mopping up actions continue in the former “Socialist Republic of the West” and the collapsed “First New England Commune.” After determining that 93% of the residents couldn’t be poets, communist theorists, and crystal dolphin therapists due to the inability to feed themselves, the last snarky Twitter™ post went up on December 23, 2021, “Well, actually, not everyone celebrates Christmas, so by saying ‘Merry Christmas’ to me you aren’t being Christian at all, are you?”

As of December 25, 2021, peace and harmony prevail in the Reconstituted United States of America, though anyone with the word “studies” in their degree title is immediately sentenced to 7 years in the RUSA “Leisure Camps” where residents are “encouraged” to actually produce something.

See, I told you 2021 would be better!

Podcast: 9mm COVID Deaths, Gun Culture, And The ATF

In this episode, we talk about death by gunshot COVID in Colorado, gun culture, and make fun of the ATF (this episode was before they walked back their decision on pistol braces).  Our “how to” segment is on how to buy gold.

We’re still requesting viewer photos (ones you own) that you’d like us to share or make fun of (tell us which).  Send photos for inclusion and requests for “how-to” segments to movingnorth@gmail.com.

Plato’s Cave, Bonfires, And They Live

“Put the glasses on! Put them on!” – They Live

Jack Nicholson gave us a Colonel of truth in that movie.

Living in the country has advantages.  One of them is being able to conduct experiments into nuclear fusion without a license.  Oops.  Did I say that out loud?

The other is that I can make a bonfire the size of Delaware.  Why would I want to do that?  Just like making my own fusion reactor, why wouldn’t I want to do that?

In my case, the next-door neighbor and I have trees that regularly need to be trimmed, or, as I mentioned in a story (A Tree Fell On My House, But I Have A Chainsaw) a while ago, just plain fall down onto my house.  We haven’t burned the pile for about three years, so I figured it was time to get rid of prime snake habitat and burn it all down.  Winter is the best time for a ludicrously large fire, so we decided tonight was the night.

Now lighting deadwood on fire sounds easy, but this time it was fairly difficult.  We were nearly getting ready to give up, go inside, and let the pile smolder out when a section caught.  Admittedly it was on the fifth bottle of charcoal lighter fluid, so I guess persistence pays off.

If I ever become an island castaway, I’ll set up a flaming signal on the beach:  it’s the shore fire way to get attention.

Within five minutes we had a conflagration pouring tornado-like flames thirty feet into the sky.  There is a moment when, after unleashing that fire, I realized it was utterly beyond our control.  It was burning fuel so fast that branches suspended five feet about the base were burning with a bright bluish-gold flame.  Sparks were shooting 60 feet into the air on an updraft of hot air that would make Maxine Waters blush.

Thankfully, I could release that sweet, sweet CO2 back into the air to Make Siberia Warm Again.

I liked that, because an immense, hot fire burns quickly, and I wanted it to be a boring pile of coals and hot ash before I went inside.  It was – within ten more minutes (seven liters) the fire had consumed 70% plus of its fuel and it was perfect for toasting marshmallows – from forty feet away.

We heard sirens sounded like a fire engine in the neighborhood, but we didn’t go and look – showing up at a neighborhood fire with marshmallow roasting sticks is bad form here in Modern Mayberry.

As I sat there beside the fire, I was thinking about Plato.

No, Plato isn’t Goofy®’s dog, that’s Pluto™.  Which makes me wonder why a cartoon dog has a dog as a pet?  Disturbing.

My computer password is FrodoKirkGoofyScoobyBugsSacramento – just like IT said – five characters and a capital.

What I was thinking about was the dead Greek guy, Plato.  In many things, Plato was a complete idiot, but he wrote everything down, so we remember him.  Diogenes the philosopher, it is rumored, loved making fun of Plato, especially by putting Icy-Hot™ in the nether regions of Plato’s toga.

But one thing that Plato left us with that was useful was his Allegory of the Cave.

The Allegory of the Cave is a fairly simple story.   A group of people are chained in a cave so all they can do is stare at a blank wall.  But behind them is a fire, which casts shadows on the wall.  Not being able to see real, three-dimensional reality, the people stuck in the cave seeing nothing but shadows give names to the shadows.

I tried to come up with another philosopher pun, but I just Kant.  And I Kant lose any more weight.  Another Plato.

Their reality, knowing nothing else, are those shadows that they can see.

But one day, one of the people escapes.  He leaves the cave, and upon looking around sees the rich tapestry of things that are not shadows.  He sees colors.  He sees trees.  He might see a Taco Bell® depending upon where the cave is.

He finally experiences reality as you and I do, especially if he orders extra cheese on the Nachos Bell Grande®.

It must be a stunning information overload – countless things that he’s never seen before – remember, if it hasn’t cast a shadow on the cave wall, it doesn’t exist in his world.

Having friends in the cave, the escaped person goes back in.  “Dudes, you have to see this.  We’ve been wrong our whole lives – there’s a rich world out there.  Nothing is as it seems to you.  Come and see!”

In the kingdom of the blind, is the one-eyed man king?

No, in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is considered, at best, crazy.  More likely, however, the one-eyed man is viewed as a threat that must be eliminated.  So is our escapee that returns to enlighten his friends.

No one wants to be robbed of their illusions.  Many people don’t want to consider alternate viewpoints.  The escapee will be shouted down by the rest of the captives.  “Surely,” they say, “such a world cannot exist.  If it did, I’d have to change my conceptions, and there are two things I never change, my underwear and my conceptions.”

What kind of pants do they wear in Plato’s cave?  Yoga Tights?  No.  Stalac Tights.

The bad news is, to one extent or another, we’re all prisoners of the cave.  We see misperceptions in our daily life, either of our own construct or as constructed for us.

Who would construct misperceptions for us?

Lots of people.  Here are a few examples:

  • Harry Truman, on August 6, 1945, said: “Sixteen hours ago an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima, an important Japanese Army base.”  Well, sure.  It was a militarily important city.  And farms were militarily important because they made food that people might eat.  And schools were militarily important because they educated children that could fight us.  But that would be like saying, “San Francisco, an important American Army base.”  (Note:  I’m not saying I disagree with the decision, just that Truman’s statement was shady as a Netflix® show about dancing children.)

Don’t worry, in the sequel the Japanese take out Detroit.

  • Operation Northwoods: Essentially a plan from the Pentagon for our military to stage terrorist attacks in the United States while pretending to be Cubans as a justification to attack Cuba.  Really.  Here’s the Wikipedia® on that (LINK).  Not Alex Jones.  Wikipedia™.
  • The CIA performed illegal mind control experiments on American and Canadian civilians.  Here’s the Wikipedia (LINK).  Most of the documents were burned, so there’s no telling how many people were impacted.  When I first heard of this, my response was that it was impossible.  Nope.  They did it.
  • Let’s pull the media in, too. The New York Times® “reporter” Walter Duranty wrote stories that there was no mass starvation in the Soviet Union in the early 1930s, despite knowing that millions were being starved to death on purpose.  Duranty got a Pulitzer Prize™ for his lies – a prize that has never been rescinded.  I wrote about that starvation here (In The World Murder Olympics, Communists Take Gold And Silver Medals).

I could do dozens more where the government, academia, industry, or unions lied and most people believed them.  I’ve written about those again and again – the 1960’s Harvard Sugar Study, anyone (High Carbs, Harvard, Insurance, And Avoiding Doctors)?  If it was just statements from politicians that were lies that most of us believed?  I don’t have enough electrons on my computer to store all of those.

Essentially, unless I get up and go outside of the cave I’m in, I’m sitting and watching those shadows on the wall.  But when I do get up and go outside of that cave, I learn amazing things – all those things that are glossed over in history classes, and generally not easy to find, though they’re (for today) clearly documented on even Left-leaning sites like Wikipedia®.

All of those things that receive warnings on Twitter® and are banned on Facebook™?  Shadows.  I’m not saying that everything that gets a Twitter© warning is the Truth.  But I am saying that if they’re suppressing an idea, it merits investigation and clear thinking, and abandoning your preconceptions to try to find Truth.

But if someone would have told fifteen year old me that those things in the bullet points above were true?  Would I have violently rejected that?

Absolutely.

Fifteen year old me wanted to believe in the government, wanted to believe that the press wasn’t hopelessly corrupt.  Me in 2020 has seen too much.

If you haven’t seen the movie They Live, there is a scene where the protagonist tries to help his friend stop staring at the shadows on the wall of the cave.  In the movie, there are sunglasses you can wear to see a different reality.  The clip below from the movie, with Rowdy Roddy Piper playing the protagonist, and Keith David playing his reluctant friend who really, really doesn’t want to put on the glasses (some NSFW dialog):

Rowdy Roddy, rest in peace.

The bonfire in my backyard is now just some smoke and a few glowing coals, not enough light now to cast the amazing shadows that the thirty-foot flame made.  But my television is going, showing a documentary where a gentleman is earnestly telling me about his particular trip outside the cave.  If he’s right, it changes the world.

As does every trip outside the cave.  But, I have my doubts that he’s right because the truth he’s presenting is so counter to mainstream thought, so I’ll keep doing my research.  And learning.

Leaving the cave is scary, and it’s difficult.  And I absolutely don’t promise that understanding reality a little bit better will make you happy – it’s very likely to have the opposite effect.  But it will bring you one step closer to the truth.

Maybe you and I can finally figure out what those shadows really are.

Let’s go see what’s outside.

A Wilder Story, or, The BB Gun, The Black Bear, The Soviets, and Me

“You’ll put your eye out.” – A Christmas Story

bear bbgun

Nobody was too concerned with my eyes.  But do NOT make us have to pay for a neighbor’s window.

(This was first published in 2018, but I’ve made some slight edits.  Merry Christmas!)

I’m a believer in Christmas – it’s a time of redemption and rebirth that proves that miracles can happen.  People can escape their past, and become something more than they were before – they can become reborn.  We can become better.  The birth of Christ is an example that we can all be reborn and change our lives in a miraculous and meaningful way.

But, I’m not sure I can recall any particular Christmas miracles.

Oh, wait, here’s one.  It’s mostly true, as well as I can recall, and field-tested to read aloud to your family:

On Christmas Day when I was in second grade, the one thing I wanted more than anything else was . . . a BB-Gun.  No, this is not a remake of A Christmas Story, this is A Wilder Story.  And I was there for this one.

As I recall, this was the last Christmas when we opened Christmas presents on Christmas morning.  In all following years, my older brother John Wilder and I wheedled our parents into a Christmas Eve opening of everything but “Santa” gifts.  We were insufferable.  My brother (really) is also named John Wilder – my parents didn’t want to waste those extra birth announcements they had bought when they could just change the day and year, but that’s another story.

But that particular Christmas morning when I was in second grade I looked down on a real-life lever-action Daisy® BB gun.  It looked like a real rifle even though the wood parts were plastic.  I’d never shot a real rifle before, but I knew that all I wanted for Christmas was that BB gun.  And there it was, all mine, pristine in its oiled metal and plastic perfection.

daisy

It looked very real.  Mine was the one on the bottom.  It was actually mistaken for a real rifle several times.  Mainly by me, because everyone who was an adult could see it was just a BB gun.

“Take care of that, and it’ll last you a long time, Son,” Pop said as he handed me my first gun.  This was the first time he’d said that to me, and I nodded gravely, feeling the responsibility and pride deep inside me.  Pop would later repeat that phrase about boots I got in high school, a Buck© pocket knife I got in fifth grade, and my first car.

I still have the BB gun and the boots.  I lost the knife, probably at school.  It was expected when I was a kid that you had a knife with you if you were in fifth grade, because what if you had to gut a fish during English class?

But I was in second grade, and I had a BB gun.  My BB gun.

And I was ready to use it.  I was given a quick tutorial on how to load it, a list of all the things (mainly windows), people (mainly windows), places (our windows), and forbidden objects (neighbor’s windows) that I shouldn’t even think of aiming my BB gun at, let alone shoot.  I was trusted to take my new BB gun out on a Christmas morning expedition, because it was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that the worst punishment in the world would fall upon me if I shot something I shouldn’t.  I would lose (probably until I was 40) my BB gun, be grounded from TV until I had my own children and probably be branded as a BB abuser for the rest of my life in my Permanent Record.  (For kids:  Permanent Record is now called Snapchat©.)

With the earnestness only a second grader can muster, I put on my deep blue Sears™ parka (the ad said it was designed for pilots stationed in . . . the ARCTIC, you know, where we fought the Soviets to save Santa from becoming, I guess, more Red) with polyester fur trim, and a pocket for pens and pencils on the arm, because where else would you keep pens and pencils except your left arm?  I pulled on my black felt-lined snow boots and stiff green plastic gloves, and went outside.  It was cold, certainly below freezing, and probably hovering around zero in non-communist units.

sears

Like a pocket knife, every boy had a parka like this.  Every boy. But does anyone know why pilots need parkas if they’re in heated jet airplanes??  Oh, yeah.  Soviets.  Image from E-Bay.

It had already snowed enough that the snow pile in our front yard was 10 feet (43 meters) deep, but we had a packed trail where our snowmobiles had gone onto the snow-packed country road and up into miles of forest roads that dated back to the old prospectors looking for gold.

My feet crunched in the snow as I walked due north onto the road, my breath puffing out as if from a small blue fake-fur-trimmed steam engine headed uphill.  I kept going.  What was I looking for?  I’m not sure – I don’t remember, exactly.  I guess, looking at stuff with a BB gun in my hand and shooting anything that wouldn’t get me in trouble with Ma Wilder at the rate of 6 BBs per step.  But I felt like a man, and what would a man with a rifle do?  Hunt.  Win World War II again.  Look for communists.  It’s hazy, but I know I had a purpose.

Snakes weren’t a possibility, since I knew snakes wintered in Florida with baseball players, Santa and Cubans.  Regardless, I wanted to shoot my BB gun, even if the opportunities to send Soviets back to Russia with a backside full of BBs was limited, at best.  I still don’t recall ever seeing a Soviet in the forest until I saw Red Dawn, and then my BB gun was at home.

reddawn

I guess Europe decided to sit this one out.

I trundled up the road.  I think that’s probably the only time I’ve used the word “trundled” precisely since it implies I moved along slowly, noisily, and in a less than graceful manner.  All of those applied.  But I was ten feet tall with my BB gun, shooting aimed fire into snowbanks and sage brush alike.  About a half a mile from my house, more than three-quarters of the way to the Old Cemetery, I saw it.

The Bear.

Sitting motionless, huddled against the barbed wire fence, not 20’ away, was the bear.  It was a black bear.  I knew that grizzly bears had been killed nearby, but this was definitely a black bear, being black and all.  Ma Wilder had told me about them before going hiking and told me to never, ever get between a black bear cub and its mother – she said that was more dangerous than being between Beto O’Rourke and a microphone.

I didn’t know if this bear was cub-sized or mother-sized, but I already knew that this was something way out of my experience level – I mean I still wasn’t even coloring within the lines very well.  Communists?  Sure, I could take down a dozen of them since they were weak because they were Godless and fatherless and mainly starving when they weren’t swilling massive quantities of cheap Afghan vodka.

But bears?  Better call the reinforcements (spelled D-A-D) in.

wilderbear

Calling out an APB on a tiny blonde boy.  He looked tasty.

I backed away from the bear, keeping my eyes on it the whole time.  My BB gun was loaded, a precious brass sphere ready to explode outward on a column of pressurized air at the bear should it charge me.  I knew I was too slow to out-trundle the bear.  Even my candy-cane addled brain knew that the BB was scant protection against a bear, but if I was going to go down, I was going to go down fighting like a man, and not running away like a weak Soviet child would.  Even though it was nearly zero, I built up a sweat in my green turtle neck under my Air Force Pilot Parka®.

That green turtle-neck was really tight and made me look a lot like an actual turtle, so I only wore it three times.  Why?  A chubby kid covered in the smell of fear sweat and Nacho Cheese Doritos™ isn’t really a winner with the ladies despite whatever Bill Clinton might say.

An aside:  In the safe realm of 2018, I know that it seems insane to allow a second grader to hike up into the forested wilderness alone at temperatures near zero on Christmas morning armed with a weapon that’s patently illegal to arm a second grader with in New York City, and twenty other states that are, no doubt, now deeply under the influence of the Soviets.  Or, does it?   When I last had a second grader (Pugsley) he had a BB gun and trundled off into the backyard with a zillion BBs.  I can attest our backyard is now safely Soviet-free.  But back in the day?  We weren’t building weak Soviet children.  No!  We had backbones of steel and cheap Taiwanese Rambo® knives with compasses built into the handle.

So, yeah, not unusual.  I guess it was a crazy thing called freedom.  Anyway . . .

I got back to the house and threw open the door.  I stamped my snow-covered feet inside.  Yeah, I know, bad form.  But I was in a hurry, I had real news and information for the family.

My parents were lounging on the couch, enjoying a quiet coffee.

“A BEAR!”  I yelled.

“I swear, I saw it, a bear!  It was just right up the road, right where the hill starts.  A bear!  A black one!”

Ma looked at Pop, concerned.

Pop Wilder shook his head.  “Bears are hibernating.  None are up this time of year, not when it’s this cold.”

“No, it was there, right by the fence.”

Ma Wilder nudged him, seeing the absolute certainty on my face.  “We should take a look.”

There is a look a man gives a woman when he knows that he has lost the argument even before it started.  I know that look because I saw it then.  Pop sighed, got up, and got dressed.  Half an hour later, he and Ma and my brother were all dressed, and ready to go up the road.  I had my BB gun.  I hoped that the bear would still be there.

We walked.  I pointed, when the Bear came into sight, not 300 yards away.

“See, I told you.”

Ma Wilder looked concerned when she saw visual proof of my story.  I think she had put my bear story into the category of “addled ravings of an overly imaginative eight-year old that may or may not process reality like a normal human after he told me that he was worried that Grandma would turn into a zombie (Sleep Deprivation, Health, Zombies, and B-Movies).”

As for me, I was concerned that Pop hadn’t brought bazookas, howitzers, grenades, or maybe a battleship.  Nah, Pop Wilder could probably wrestle a dozen or so bears, if they came up to him one at a time, like in the Kung Fu movies.  We finally got up to the road where we were perpendicular to the black bear, still huddled up against the fence, not 30 feet (432 meters) away.  It hadn’t moved since I’d first seen it.  I felt . . .vindicated, even though I’d never heard the word.

“Hand me the BB gun,” said Pop Wilder.

I did.

Pop shot one BB into the bear, smoothly worked the lever like a cowboy in the Old West, and then shot another BB into the bear.

The bear was motionless.  It must be dead!  Pop Wilder killed it!  Pop handed the BB gun back to me.

He then walked back into the deep snow directly to the bear, reached out, and pulled up the black plastic sheeting that had blown into a ball up against the fence.

He handed me back the BB gun and handed my brother the black plastic sheet.  We walked home in silence.

So, there was that:  the Miracle of the Transubstantiation of the Bear – where a Christmas miracle transmuted a black bear into a sheet of black plastic.  Not sure of any other explanation.

But the real Christmas miracle, it’s below.  Merry Christmas to all.

Christmas

Bikini Economics, The Money Supply, And Dinner With Gandhi

“It’s a growth economy, Gus. We’ve already made like, 500 rupee.” – Psych

The economy is so bad, Facebook® just laid off 50 Congressmen.

I was flittering across the Internet the other day and I came across a disturbing image.  I mean, who wants to even think about Barack Obama wearing just a feather boa and covered in gerbils?  See if I ever go to the New York Times® website again.

But, if I may, I think I found an even more disturbing image – a graph of M1.  What is M1?  M1 is the narrowest definition of money:  it’s the cash in your cushions, it’s the cash in your pocket.  It’s the cash in your checking account.  Nearly anything you can go out and spend right now and not owe anyone for:  that defines M1.

M1 is not, however, credit cards.  And it’s not savings accounts or the stock market or savings bonds.  It’s ready, hot cash.

And the M1 graph has spiked.  Spiked as in going up from just under $4 trillion last year at this time to nearly $6.6 trillion right at this moment – a growth of $2.6 trillion dollars – in one year.  That’s a huge change, since it took sixteen years to grow from $1.4 trillion to $4 trillion, and those sixteen years contained the biggest recession the United States had seen since the Great Depression.

So, here, take a look.  Since it’s Christmas time, I tried to get the most festive pictures I could find, even though technically one of them isn’t a bikini.  Oh, sure, you feel like complaining, but what about me?  I’m the one who has to flit through literally hundreds of bikini photos to find the best ones to properly illustrate economic principles while being festive.

This is the longer view, which shows M1 since 1975.

This is a close up of more recent M1 behavior.  I made the last little bit on the graph thicker and orange because it was hard to see.

It certainly looks scary.  The graph, not the bikini.  Look at the graph.

What’s going to happen?

I’m not certain.  I originally wrote, “I have no idea” but what has happened historically when a country prints 65% extra cash in one year?

I have an idea of what happens there, and it really is scary.  After World War I, the German economy was pretty well wrecked, plus they had to put down a communist revolution.  I’m not getting into the details (mainly because it’s boring) but the Germans just started printing money as fast as they could.

And by printing as fast as they could the printing presses were the problem.  Thankfully, they managed to double money production – by only printing on one side of the currency.

That’s AOC-level super-genius thinking.

A ewe in a swimsuit just drove up in an Italian sports car.  It was a lamb bikini.

Within six years what had cost 1 Mark cost 1 trillion Marks.  And all because they printed money.  I write on a regular basis about the world changing around us, and this is a great example.  In 1914 everyone had been happy with their new-fangled electric lights, and in 1924 you had to pay 4 trillion Marks for a newspaper, but even then the news was the wurst.

The good news is that the Germans could pay off their mortgage with cheap money, right?

No.

While their money melted away in a blizzard of banknotes, their debt was (eventually) tied back to the new currency that replaced the inflated mess.  As an example, mortgages were revalued at 25 billion (yes, billion) times their value in the inflated currency.

Surely they did the same thing with depositors, right?

Of course not.  In some cases bonds were revalued, but only at a tenth of the value of the mortgages.  As always, there were winners and losers, and, as always, most people aren’t in the club that allows them to make out like bandits while the economy collapses around them.

My crack research staff uncovered that Adams never said that even though it sometimes is attributed to him.  It took a Google® search and one result.  Arduous.

As I write this, a $2.3 trillion dollar spending plan was just passed by Congress.  Nearly a trillion dollars of that is going directly to people, many of whom badly need the cash.  Trump wants to hold out to double it, since as we’ve seen, what’s another trillion?

The rest of the bill is packed with nearly six thousand pages of “stuff”.  Since it’s well known that most Congresscritters can’t spell or type, who wrote those six thousand pages, filled with things like making unauthorized downloads of movies a felony, $30 million to set up the Martin Luther King, Jr./Mohandas Gandhi Scholarly Exchange Fund.

Sounds like CoronaBux for Leftists complaining about how awful the United States treats the hordes of people that keep trying to sneak in?  Probably.  I could go on and on about the rest of the money we’re shooting like water out of a Super Soaker™, but I won’t.  The point is, since we’re in a budget deficit already, this is just printing more money.

Okay, this one might have been a bit made up.  And Gandhi was notorious for being able to put back six or seven bacon cheeseburgers at a sitting.

Not all of this money will go directly into cash.  But some of it will be quickly recycled back into the United States as cash:  we lend Egypt a billion or so to buy guns and jet fighters and bombs, and that money goes, partially, to the salaries of the Americans who make the stuff.

And from there right into that M1 graph.

The one thing I know is that vast amounts of money sloshing around within our economy have consequences.  Right now, some of those consequences are being held in check – a steak today costs about the same as a steak last year.  Gasoline costs less than gasoline did last year.

Why?  Most commodity prices that I’ve tracked are still declining, and have been for nearly a decade as the Everything Bubble that followed the Housing Bubble funnels investments into ever-lower returns.

As I’ve said before – we will have inflation.  But we will have deflation first.  And when it whips back into inflation?

Well, thankfully, I’ll have a graph for that . . . .

Next Podcast Is Up – Listen To It Because It’s Christmas

Our Christmas-themed episode is up!

We’re still requesting viewer photos (ones you own) that you’d like us to share or make fun of (tell us which) and we’re debuting our first “how-to” segment just in time for your gift-wrapping needs, which may or may not end up in a minor catastrophe.  Send photos for inclusion and requests for “how-to” segments to movingnorth@gmail.com.

We’re still working on getting it on Apple and Bitchute.

The Mrs. (yes, she’s real and not some sort of alternate personality) and I got together with Mark (Practical Escatology – LINK)  enjoyed putting this one together . . . I think you’ll enjoy it, too.

You can bookmark the channel – feel free to like/comment/and subscribe.

Thanks!