Jan 24, 2012

But the things you will learn from the Yellow an' Brown, they'll help you a lot with the white

Some folks in Bombay and Tehran are listening to Ron Paul. Those sneaky, oil-starved Indians of the sub-continent dislike our "sanctions" on Iran, so they've plotted with the ayatollahs. The sub-conts will get Iranian oil. The Iranians get gold. 

It would be fun to turn this into a 21st Century  Kipling tale. Gold-laden cargo elephants by the score lumber across the Khyber Pass to a rendezvous with Shiite camel trains at a fortified wadi in the high desert plateau of Taliban land. All is guarded with Khyber Pass Rifles, and security is further secured with golden-coin baksheesh to the Afghan war lords.


Alas, isn't that romantic, and personally I blame Obama, for whom Ben Bernanke works. His Ineptness's sanctions defy mortal understanding, but, highly simplified, they rap the knuckles of any bank looking to make a buck on Iranian oil deals.  The trouble is, the sanctions work only with banks addicted to the funny money of Fed Boss Bernanke and his counterparts in the Eurosoc zone. (And of course EastAsia with whom we have always been at war.)

The maharajahs just happen to own  their own bank which does quite nicely with a stiff middle finger presented to all the world's fiat money thugs of the "central banks" -- save their own, of course. It will handle the bullion transfers, and if it chooses to involve a SMLE or fake Remington rolling block, that will be just a nostalgic tip of the turban to its national history.

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As the cited article notes, this gold/oil deal will chip another smidgen of value from what ever assets we peons have foolishly invested in the funny money of the West. Dollars, Euros, Pounds, etc. 

Could be that Dr. Paul can digest this in time for the next debate.  For years and years he has been expounding the logic of sound money -- at the very least as an alternative to to Federal Reserve Cartoons posing as actual wealth. It might occur to him to bring up the Indian-Iran transaction to illustrate that when the shit hits the fan, gold works wonders. And people smarter than our own political masters already know it.

Jan 23, 2012

Down with sex

I see by the news that Mitt is releasing his tax dope tomorrow. Yippie. The Republic is saved.

Even better, Newt might have to come clean about how much history he taught to Freddie and Fanny in return for the  million-six.

Together that's about all we need to know to make an informed choice about who should get to control the nuke codes and the number of Federal Reserve Cartoons Ben Bernanke must print.

I know all this because I have spent an unconscionable amount of time in front of the new, cheap flat screen watching the sexiest people in the world tell me so.

Ideas? We don't need to talk about no steenken ideas.

Booooring.

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While I would miss ogling Mika and whazhername -- Mrs. Newt the Third --  some mornings, I nevertheless propose to amend the Constitution.

We must require that candidates for public office, their spouses, and, especially, electric teevee "newspersons" to be drawn from the ranks of the truly ugly. Further, they must be adjudged charmless by a jury of their peers.

By thus ending the constant titillation of our glands on the pretext of following a great national dialog, we might begin the process of thinking about how to choose those leaders who will steal the fewest possible numbers of our dollars and our liberties.

To this end I announce formation of a national committee to promote it. The honorary co-chairpersons are to be Josh Hartnett and Paris Hilton.

Jan 22, 2012

Poor Me

Once in a great while a guy wakes up just plain growly. The overnight fire didn't hold.  The coffee tastes bitter. The V8 lacks bite. All three yolks broke when you flipped them.  There's just enough biscuit mix left for one tiny, measly bite.  The view from the big south window is an insult to the eye, gray sky and snow already becoming dirty. The ancient Mac desktop is cranky.

Even the dog is standoffish.

So, no matter what crud you face in your life this morning,  you should turn thankful eyes to whatever Heaven you believe in and express gratitude that you are somewhere other than here.

(The proposed cure involves a few hours in the loading shack. If it works, you'll be the first to know. If it doesn't I'll find other phraseology to continue sharing my  fascinating self-pity with y'all.)

Jan 20, 2012

Friday morning roundup

--The calendar notwithstanding, stalwarts of the northern plains are looking at the first day of winter, ankle-deep snow, cold enough to make  you think about the cost of fuel, and a wind very clever at finding those little  cracks and gaps you forgot to recaulk last fall.

--The four inches of  fresh snow shocked New Dog Libby this morning. She assumed her normal position for answering nature's call, instantly resumed a full upright pose, thought it over, and in due course achieved relief with a much shallower squat.

-- The electric teevee can be almost as entertaining on a gloomy morning as a young lab.  Joe Scarborough built a long segment around Colbert whose run for the presidency is a  funny concept, though wearing thin. Still, Colbert redeemed himself by endorsing -- fairly seriously as far as I could tell -- Ron Paul.

--The debate last night was insufferably banal, although I had to grin at John  King's discomfort when Newt went into his self-righteous junkyard dog mode.