Part 6 in the Money Series
Mom and Dad Normal settled into their living room with a bowl of popcorn. Their daughter, Sue B. Normal would be home from her school teacher job soon. She and their son, Abe Normal, promised to explain to them how YouTube protected them from becoming wards of the state, in a global economic meltdown. They were eager to learn.
Sue B. set up her slide projector, and started her PowerPoint presentation, carefully recording her screen shots to make a video of her analysis.
Now Henry Paulson, in 2008, was the main Bankster. His concern was the global network of the Cult of the Spoons, whose Witch Doctors pointed out to him that their wampum was missing from the hole, and it had never been paid back. They hadn’t worried about that for the last 36 years, but now that one of their own members had gone bankrupt, they were making a big stink.
You see, as Head Bankster, Henry was in charge of making sure cash flowed, regardless of the underlying mechanisms. In this case, it was true that too many of the poor people had been given loans from the Banksters’ Magic Straw. They were not making their payments to the Spoon Cartel. The Spoon Cartel was furious, and they demanded payment now, or they would take all their money back that they loaned to the United States of America four generations ago.
Henry knew that the only solution was to print lots and lots and lots more Magic Straw, so he could give it to the Cartel, to make up for the payments the poor people didn’t make. He decided his best bet would be to take the American and British Tribal Chiefs into his confidence.
“What should we tell the Poor People?” the American Chief asked. “They will think the new money we print is theirs. They will think it is tax money.”
“I know it makes you sad to deceive them,” said the Bankster. “I, too, am greatly saddened to deceive the poor people. But the money is truly not their tax money. It is newly printed money, in the form of more debt. When more money is printed, it devalues the currency, making their goods and services cost more. So their future will be rife with high costs for everything they buy. But they are very stupid and misinformed, so they will never find out. You could explain it clearly, but they do not like Math, so when you tell them, it will whoosh right over the top of their heads. They will never understand that this is all just new debt, new Magic Straw, and a wholly new Paradigm. They still think of wampum as being something physical, like GOLD. I don’t think it’s even possible to explain it clearly to such people as they are. We would be foolish to even try.”
“But what about the Parliament,” said the British Chief. “What will we tell the Parliament?”
“Here,” said Henry Bankster. “Tell the Parliament we told the Congress this.” Henry whipped out a piece of paper, three pages long, that said, “You give Henry Bankster $700 Billion RIGHT NOW, and don’t you dare ask him what he’s going to do with it. Signed, The Chief.”
“But what if they tell you to go eat sh#t?” asked the British Chief.
“Then we do what Gangsters have always done,” said Henry.
The American Chief added, “We take them into the coat room, one at a time, and we tell them we’re going to declare martial law if they don’t do it.”
“But what will the Poor People say?” asked the British Chief.
“Oh, don’t worry about the Poor People,” answered Henry. “As soon as we pay all the Spoons, we’ll tell their Witch Doctors what happened. Then the Witch Doctors will go buy all the television stations in the world, and all the newspapers in the world, and they will tell the Poor People what to think.”
“Great idea,” said the American Chief. “Once all the television and newspapers are bought and paid for, we will no longer have to worry about the Poor People. Ever. We will feed them their opinions, all day, every day, on a 24 hour news cycle. They will stop threatening the Witch Doctors and the other Spoons forever.”
“But . . . what about the Internet?” said the British Chief.
“The Internet?” said Henry Bankster. “I don’t know much about this Internet. I’m an old man who doesn’t interact with Poor People. Do they use the Internet?”
“Oh, my, yes,” said both the Chiefs. “The Poor People love their pets, and their Internet. Pets and Internet are the two things they will keep, even when they are very poor.”
“All right then. All right then,” said Henry. He bit his nails and walked around the room in circles. “Can we turn the Internet off?”
“No!” shouted the Chiefs. “Even if we wanted to, it’s gotten away from us. We couldn’t shut it down if we tried.”
Much to the Chiefs surprise, Henry started vomiting, dry heaves, right there in the room in front of them. “I need to go on a ski vacation,” Henry announced. “To calm my nerves. Here’s my cell phone number at the most expensive Colorado resort on the planet. I’ll handle the crisis from there. My friend Ken Lay, who actually did not die, but faked his death and is now living on a South Pacific Island sipping mai tais with Elvis, loaned me his ski mansion.”
So the Bankster went on a ski vacation, and the Witch Doctors sent their bodyguards to the cloak room, to explain to the U S Congress what was going to happen next.
But all the Poor People of the Tribe didn’t understand. By the time they recovered from the shock, the Witch Doctors had purchased all the television stations and all the newspapers, so nobody could tell them what happened.
And the Internet? Well, on the Internet, opinions are like @ssholes. Everybody has their own. The Poor People couldn’t distinguish the Blueberries from the PopTarts , so they looked away. The only record of what really happened was on a You Tube video. And it was hidden among hundreds of thousands of YouTube videos, most of which were horse puckey. So nobody ever knew, and the Banksters took their profits and invited the IRS to join them at a conference in Vegas.
“Poor Henry Bankster,” Mom added. “He was such a good man, and so misunderstood.”
Next: What if we all bought gold?