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February 28, 2009



A Depression isn't the the end... but who says this is just a depression? Seems to me that with each spending bill, new taxes, and now he's talking about amnesty, that this may be the march of the idiots... or, "How I took tough times and made them the end times". We had an industrial base in the last depression. Not so much, these days. I wonder what we'll recover to (assuming we have a chance of recovering, which isn't likely)? I know, "We're going to invest in new technologies", blah, blah, blah.

I passed a windmill farm on my way to work five days a week. They've never made it pay, not even for a month. It's not lost on me that Russia, for all it's great wealth, managed to make it meaningless with their petty rules, pie in the sky assumptions and dogma. I'm thinking that in less than two years we'll equal Soviet Russia's economic miracle.

James Bowery

Here's an end-times scenario:

A Hell's Angel is hanging out with a Berkeley Dead Head in Portola, kvetching about how the Mexican gangs have taken over the drug business and are getting all the "midwestern girls, no tattoos" nowadays. The BDH, who can't afford he skyrocketing tuition and sees the student-debt-slavery created by the 2005 bankruptcy act, happens to have been doing some genetic research and comes up with a brilliant plan: Engineer the germline of conventional crops to produce drugs far more economically, and covertly, than the Mexicans can! The sexually frustrated HA reaches into his bottom drawer, pulls out several bars of gold, and hands it to the insolvent BDH. Next year, the central valley agricultural fields are dying of lack of water except for a few "specialty crops" which mysteriously can afford to truck water in. The market is flooded with cocaine, psilocybin and designer opiates, the Hells Angels are back in pussy and the Mexican gangs can't afford ammo let alone MGNTs.

Word gets around Berkeley about how Owsley II made a fortune and an even more sexually frustrated young man, of Northeast Asian descent, who happens to also be a bioengineer, decides he's had enough of the round-eyes taking all the women. He engineers a bug that, only in the presence of certain Y-chromosome haplotypes, produces estrogen, and releases it into the SF gay community.


Well, we go out of our way to pretend that there are no social classes in the US. And the inability/unwillingness to acknowledge them leads to blindness about just what is going on, and who's going to be hurt in this meltdown. Since it becomes impossible (for social reasons) to tell who's getting nailed and who isn't, the only reasonable presumption that John Q Public can make is "I am."

You know that old saying about card games: if you can't tell who the chump is, then you are.

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