Thursday, June 4, 2009

The Arizona Eugenics Movement and a Strange Night with Nickel Bag Joe

By Jet Lacey

I had the best of intentions when I left the house. A day earlier, I was ripped to the tits when my editor found me in the bathroom of my satellite office, Garnett's Rite-Inn lounge. I said "Hey Bernie, I've been looking all over for you. Where have you been?" He began shouting about this and that; about my phone being off, that I hadn't checked in for two weeks, deadlines and going to press, et cetera. I remember making many droll and empty promises; anything to shut him up. His voice reverberated against the tile walls of the small restroom and it was jamming up my systems. I was on the verge of a full-fledged journalistic meltdown, and nobody wanted that. The last time it happened, I submitted a ten-thousand word essay on ticks, and how Pliny the Elder found them to be "the foulest and nastiest creatures that be." Those were erratic and wicked days.

I had promised to provide "blanket" coverage of the Maricopa County Sheriff's immigration sweep of Guadalupe the next day, and to my credit I almost made it there. In the desert, you have to be highly adaptable and extreme thirst can set in quickly. I was parched, and working with dipsomania blunted senses was simply out of the question. I needed to stay sharp. I pointed my car toward the first dive bar I saw, hoping to find stiff drink and real action. This time it was Sandy's lounge, a single story cinderblock edifice with the sublime charm of a storage shed or Quonset hut. There were no windows, and only two doors; one in the front for patrons, one on the side for deliveries - quintessential form-function architecture.

I was pounding 'em down and watching a baseball game on an ancient 25" Curtis Mathes console somehow affixed to the wall behind the bar. I envisioned lifting it had required an elaborate system of pulleys and levers, erected and manned by swarthy slaves. After all, Curtis Mathes TVs were "the most expensive television set in America – and darned well worth it."

A stealthy survey of the environment found me among a dozen or so bottom-feeders, torn and twisted from the spectrum of known intoxicants. One half-crazed mutant offered me a wilted fistful of Jimson weed which I politely accepted, if only for scientific purposes which are not yet clear to me. Slightly beneath it all, I could feel a presence; a dark entity that lives and thrives in these walls. Some manifestation of evil had gained a foothold and ingrained itself into the very foundation. It moved about on a cold sulfur breeze that made short-hairs stand on end.

Sandy's is one of many places where the soulless and the damned congregate to sup - to feast on each other's life-blood. Pol Pot and Idi Amin would've liked it here. It is the realm of drunks, dopers, and megalomaniacs. You could tell this was no place for amateurs. The single room had the heady, pheromonal musk of utter depravity.

There's real excitement in being where someone could be stabbed over a drink, and the other patrons would step over or around the bleeding victim, deaf to their pleas for assistance or another cocktail. It was my first time here, but I liked it. I could see its inherent charm.

For one, the bartender was a real pro. He looked like a half-dead reincarnation of Rasputin the Mad Monk. His aged skin was loose and paper thin, with extremities dark and mottled from vascular disease and abuse of the drink. Time and distilled spirits had been cruel mistresses.

He spoke very little, but when he did, it was through the pearly haze of a lit cigarette. He said he knew it was illegal to smoke indoors in public, but they could pry the Chesterfield from his "cold, dead lips" if they wanted to. I felt some freakish honor that I had met the Charlton Heston of cigarette smoking. His voice had the timbre of a broken cement mixer, and you could feel it crash into your sternum and travel via direct conduction up to the brain.

He wore dingy grey slacks and a black belt that hoisted them high on his midsection. The belt was a sad timeline of sorts. A sequence of many hand-made holes appeared to mark the reclamation of his body by the earth. On the day he left this world, I wondered if he would leave some part of his body behind or simply deteriorate into nothingness; an outline of opaque mist diffused by an arid breeze.
After an unknown time of similar introspective fantasy, I looked up and found the bar virtually empty. Where had they all gone? Had the Rapture had gone horribly awry? If I wanted to know, I'd have to ask whoever was left. To that end, chances appeared slim. The bartender and a 50-something Yaqui Indian hooker comprised the entire pool of prospective witnesses.

The 'beat up from the feet up' Yaqui floozy didn't look to be any help. Her Medusan hair stayed fixed in place as she babbled angrily about nothing and it was obvious she had recently been in a violent altercation. Someone had given her a healthy taste of the long knuckle; probably the result of a breakdown in the hooker/john negotiation process. Her left eye was swollen shut, and a vibrant palette of pale greens and yellows streaked across the purple lid like an acid-trip sunset. Blood from her nose had dried in wide streaks on her face. In a queer coincidence, the dried blood had the appearance of war paint.

I observed this fractured harridan for about 30 seconds, and I could see how effortlessly she could awaken one's long-dormant instinct for caterwauling homicide. As my ennui fulminated, I imagined doing the 'Nestea Plunge' into the vodka/soda before me.

The door opened in a crash that shattered the relative silence as three men entered Sandy's. It was a buzz-kill; the wickedest kind. Two went to the booth in the corner while the other approached the bar. One guy was talking, or rather shouting as he came in. The words that passed his lips were the rat-tat-tat-tat drone of the chemically insane.

"Wetbacks-blah-blah-blah-fucking monkeys-blah-blah-blah you fight one bean you fight the whole burrito-blah-blah-blah."

Normally, I don't pay "white is right" xenophobic speed-freaks any mind. They're everywhere, and observing their atavistic behavior is often a painful experience. It would take irrefutable scientific evidence for me to believe these invidious creeps aren't in a state of de-evolution.

I hypothesize that many consecutive generations of profane brother-sister and father-
daughter couplings, with an absence of any meaningful socialization, nurturing, or education has triggered an unprecedented de-evolution of the Homo sapiens DNA. At a critical glance, one becomes keenly aware they are some manner of lesser creature; almost but not fully human. Along with the British Royals, they are the flesh and bone manifestation of why you don't play 'slap and tickle' with your own family.

Welcome to the circus side-show of the New World Order.

I've dubbed them neo-Neanderthals, the verminous scourge of trailer parks and Wal-Marts everywhere. They're randy little freaks with breeding tendencies similar to Rattus Norvegicus, or the brown rat if you're feeling sassy. They have thus far retained opposable thumbs and bipedal locomotion, but for how long cannot be said. (No part of my theory has been evaluated scientifically, but some truths lie within the narrow boundaries of the painfully obvious.)

I'm a gonzo journalist and amateur social scientist, not Charles-fucking-Darwin.
The one doing all the talking had an eerily familiar voice. I was sure that I'd heard it before, but it was much more rapid and animated than I recalled. It carried the heft of complete self-absorption.

Then in an instant, I knew whose it was.

"Well if it isn't Joe Arpaio, America's Toughest Sheriff" my internal monologue stated flatly.
"Right you are! Johnny, tell him what he's won!" I shot back.

They say talking to your self is a definitive sign of madness. Who knows, maybe they're right.
As I started listening to the substance of the conversation in the corner, my journalist's ears pricked up; I was on the chase. I knew the story, the real story was here, but what was it? I thought it odd that Sheriff Joe would enter such a place with so little personal protection. He's created more than a few enemies as Maricopa County's Sheriff. While the details remain sketchy at best, I've heard rumors that Arizona's Governor, Janet Napolitano stamps her hooves and begins chomping at the bit at the mere mention of his name.

I spun my bar stool around to get a good look at the cartoonish vermin soiling the lone booth. Sheriff Joe was seated with his back toward the door, and the other two race-baiting miscreants sat opposite him.

I first took notice of the kid who had gone to the bar. He looked to be some kind of gargantuan white leech in cargo shorts, a faded Toby Keith tank top, and high-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars that had been flattened; crushed under the twenty-seven atmospheres of pressure beneath his step.

Although it was a cool night inside and out, his bald head was pouring sweat; no doubt he was tweaking balls. He repeatedly wiped it out of his eyes with the front of his tank top, exposing a flabby, hirsute midsection and a massive concave umbilicus.

The other guy was much smaller, maybe 5'8" or 5'9" but built like a brick shit-house; not huge but well-defined. This terminal creep was dressed in pleated Calvin's, a pink Polo with the collar 'popped', and hand-crafted Ferragamo loafers; probably from the hide of a rare species. He wore a TAG Heuer Carrera that glistened, even under the low-watt incandescent light. He too was pie-eyed on meth; bent like an acute angle.

'I ain't fakin' -There's a Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On."

- Jerry Lee Lewis

Sheriff Joe was dressed per his usual, of which there are two. Tonight he is dressed in the classicfrumpy/dumpy used-car salesman look. His other look is pure donut eating, straight out of the sty, oink-oink; a chambray uniform shirt with all the accoutrements of militaristic grade and status, polyester slacks, and a wide black belt. With either outfit, he wears a Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a worn leather holster that rides high on his right hip. He's worn the same gun in the same holster since his DEA days, where he earned the epithet "Nickel Bag Joe" for the prodigious number of people he arrested for small-time possession. Whatever he wears, his hair is always the same. He sports a slicked back 'do, held in place with firm-setting pomade.

Nickel Bag Joe was spitting mad; angrier than I'd ever seen him before. As he raged, a lock of his hair became unhinged and appeared to wave at me to get my attention.

"Wow – this guy knows all the tricks." It was obvious. My inner dialogue was duly impressed.
His eyes, wild with mydriatic rage, were bulging from their sockets. Thick, white spittle rained down on the two seated across from him, but they pretended not to notice. "Do these brown-town A-holes think they know what I can and can't do in MY County? I am the e-sonofabitchin'-lected Sheriff, and I will rain hell-fire on these creepy little retards. By lunch-time tomorrow, we'll be playing 'whack-a-mole' with their goddamn heads and knocking their balls off a tee at the driving range with a six-iron. They ain't seen nothin' yet."

The other two tried to contribute their two-cents to the conversation, but had thus far been woefully unsuccessful. They glanced over at one another and shrugged their shoulders in frustration, but Sheriff Joe either failed to notice, or more likely, failed to give a rat's ass.

You don't screw with Sheriff Joe when he's 'on' as it can only prove disastrous. Joe's a tried-and-true "Neapolitan guinea" and if you cross him it's a fact you'll never forget, ever. Joe treats the MCSO like it's one of New York's five families, and he's the Don; the Boss. Really get his dander up, and you might awaken to find a horde of rabid, steroid-fed wildebeests stampeding through your house - sworn "to serve and protect", badge-wearing fiends with odious hearts and the law on their side. They'll take a diseased pleasure in putting a boot or two deep in your ass before chunking you in the back of an undercover car (possibly with Mexican plates) and hauling you off to the crowbar hotel on any number of trumped-up charges; two of which are sure to be resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.

Bear with me people, I get sidetracked.

"Hey lard-ass, you got any more of that devil's dandruff? I ain't got any with me in here, but I got plenty more in the Yukon." Sheriff Joe said as he pumped his eyebrows.

"No one's ever said Sheriff Joe had a flair for subtlety." groaned my internal monologue. "Shut the fuck up" I replied.

"Yeah, I got that O-Z from you earlier, remember Sheriff Joe?" Doughboy said with relish.
"Oh, I remember you little maggot. You still owe me for that" the Sheriff shot back. "That's seven hundred and fifty samoleans, dick-weed. You and I know it's some damn good shit, and I could've got a lot more for it. You'd better not be jerking me off, or I'll be scraping what's left of you off my boot with a stick, like I just stepped in dog shit."

"I won't forget" the kid said and cowered demurely.

"Goddammit, you're fuckin'-A you won't. I ain't your hose-bag, mattress jockey of a mama." In one quick motion, Sheriff Joe pimp-slapped Doughboy. "Damn, he's cold" I thought as Doughboy's face fell into an open-mouthed look of surprise and embarrassment. "I got another one where that came from, and a fresh batch comin' outta the oven, scumbag." Sheriff Joe showed him the back of his hand. "Well, do ya get me fatso?"

"I get you Sheriff Joe."

"Alrighty then. Look - I don't like credit, especially in this business. As far as I'm concerned you tweaking sister-diddlers are a necessary evil, a means to an end. You ain't such a bad kid, you just run with a bunch of misguided bumpkins who can't see the forest through the fuckin' trees. Get it through your head boy; "White Priders" are nothing more than greasy pimples on the sweet ass of humanity. It ain't about color; it's about getting people to do exactly what you want them to do, when and how you want them to do it."

He pointed to Pop-a-collar; "See, this guy sort of knows what it's all about. It's about getting what you want, and doing what it takes to get it."

Pop-a-collar nodded in agreement, but Sheriff Joe dismissed him, giving him the New York salute in contempt. "Vaffanculo pompinaio."* "See, it ain't just the white-trash types. You richey-rich slime-balls think you're somehow above the law. Ain't nobody above the law, do you get me asshole?" he said, again displaying the back of his hand. There was no reply. (* - Vaffanculo pompinaio: Italian for fuck you, asshole)

I sat there, stunned. Could Sheriff Joe and I possibly have anything in common other than being carbon-based life forms? Will wonders never cease?

Suddenly, the Sheriff's expression softened. "Hey, let's leave it alone for tonight. We'll go to the bathroom, get hopped-up one more time, and go screw some Mexicans; literally this time. I know a little massage place not too far from here that we've raided a few times, and they're bat-shit scared of me" Sheriff Joe said with a wide smile.

"They got 'em pretty young there, and I feel like getting nasty. This glass shit makes my pecker hard, and at seventy-five-and-change, it ain't the easiest thing to do. After we get our peepers wet, I've got a few other things planned. You boys will be pleasantly surprised."

"One more thing - those taco-eating subhumans and that See-you-next-Tuesday of a Guadalupe Mayor got me a bit riled up, but you know what? Fuck 'em, each and every one. It's time to celebrate. You boys done good and I'm gonna repay you. Ol' Sheriff Joe knows how to treat his friends right."
"Right on" the pair said in unison.

"I'm going to hurt me a bitch tonight" said Doughboy, squealing with delight. It was pretty obvious that he hadn't gotten any in a while, if ever.

"I don't see how you couldn't, even if you didn't want to" said Pop-a-collar, snidely chuckling.
"Screw you, dick" was the reply.

"Alright you two, let's go" said the Sheriff. He rocked and grunted, trying to free his pendulous abdomen from the narrow confines of the booth. He was starting to get pissed off again when he finally unwedged himself, and the three made their way to the men's room and disappeared inside.
I turned back to my beloved drink, and noticed that it was empty. The bartender, being a pro, brought me another without asking. "You know, I voted for that sonofabitch; twice already" he grumbled, shaking his head in disgust as he walked away. "I got fooled once as well" I replied. With fresh, strong drink in hand, I began processing the fantastic chain of events that had just transpired.

After a few moments, the door to Sandy's again opened with a deafening crash. When I spun around to see who or what had made such an ungodly noise this time, twenty or more protesters from the Guadalupe immigration sweep came barreling in through the door. "Jesus, this ain't good." I said aloud as I watched the angry procession enter.

The crowd, mostly young Mexican men with a few Yaquis sprinkled in for good measure, poured into Sandy's like a molested hornet's nest. They were buzzing and humming in a drunken, basest frenzy. They carried in half-drank bottles of beer and tequila, and couple of them had rope-handled machetes. Maybe one of them had an old wooden pitchfork, but I can't be sure as it all happened so fast.
Almost immediately, one of the more diminutive members of the crowd, a runty bantam rooster, staggered in, saw me, and swaggered over. With angry mob-emboldened machismo, he leaned up hard against the bar with our faces mere inches apart. "What-choo lookin' at, dickhead? Pinche gabacho*." His breath was foul; so foul that it defied description. "Whew" was all I could manage to say as hot, acrid bile sped up my esophagus, pausing at the back of my throat. (Pinche gabacho – Spanish pejorative for 'fucking white-boy.')

After thirty some-odd years of bearing witness to the painful and protracted death of the American dream, it takes more than foul breath to make me vomit, and I swallowed it down as quickly as it came up. After taking a second or two to regain my composure, I said "That's an excellent question, my friend. How about you just tell me because I can't stand the suspense; not for a second longer."
"You lookin' at an Azatlan Guerrero muthafucka; a warrior. That's what you lookin' at. Viva Mexico! Viva La Raza! Down with you gabachos and down with Sheriff Joe Arpayaso*" he shouted, pointing his blunted index finger in my face. He raised a long neck Bud Light into the air and shouted, "Ay-ya-ya-ya-yay!" (Arpayaso is Spanglish new-speak for Arpaio and payaso, which means clown)

With overt mockery and plain old disdain, I said "You've thought this through, haven't you? I mean, that's great, and I'm really impressed. What's your next move, my young friend? I suppose you want to make some example out of me, right? I get it. You want to turn me into some douche-bag guero piƱata for you and your friends to beat the stuffing out of and then burn in effigy, right?" I don't think he got it, but it was a rhetorical question all the way.

Right then, the three re-emerged from the men's room, sniffling, coughing, and pinching their noses. All eyes, save for Death-breath's, immediately fell on them. It was an early Christmas for the protesters, but for me it was the perfect time to deal with an ugly situation that could only get uglier.
Ol' Death-breath was now understandably livid with me, but I'd already had enough of his diseased-mouth bullshit. In his fury, his face flashed hot crimson, and large, tortuous veins popped out on his neck and forehead. As he inhaled deeply to give me another putrid ration of the "same old, same old", I jumped off the bar stool with surprising quickness, grabbed the back of his head, and laid into him.

I slammed my left fist into his nose with the sudden, devastating violence of a five car pileup. There was another sick churning in the pit of my stomach as I felt the little fucker's nose shatter under my knuckles, but I wasn't done, not yet.

With my right hand still gripping his hair, I shoved his head down in a quick thrust toward my rapidly ascending right knee. I might have imagined it, but I was sure I felt his brain caroming inside his cranium like a pinball against the bumpers. With that, the wind eased out of him in final submission. Now, I was done, and so was he. I gently laid him on the ground and calmly stepped away.

"Nighty-night motherfucker" I whispered.

I absolutely despise fisticuffs, but he had put me in one unholy bitch of a situation; pure fight or flight. According to Kenny Rogers," You've got to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em." Too true Kenny, too true my nig.

I had an uneasy feeling that the brief altercation I had just experienced would prove to be a mere appetizer to a banquet of violence I was likely about to ingest. The table was set and the dinner bell rung. It was a meal I was not at all hungry for.

In case you were wondering, I harbor a real and visceral disdain for Nickel Bag Joe. He is my Dick Nixon, or at least as Tricky Dick was to Hunter Thompson; he's my arch-nemesis. And lo and behold, there he was - in living color, twisted on meth, and wading neck-deep in an Olympic-sized pool of shit. Welcome friends, to my waking dream.

I should have been glad, but I wasn't. If the last moments of his life went down like it was shaping up to, something much more powerful and horrible would come to life. All the makings of a hurricane-force shit storm loomed on the horizon.

He would receive an obscenely lavish hero's funeral, a huge send-off with all the weird trappings of a fetish ball or Clinton fundraiser. Every high-ranking political dung beetle from the local and national mounds would drop everything to attend. I could see them now - scurrying around, doing some old-timey politicking, and turning wherever they happened to be into an open sewer. Business as usual, as they say.

Lou Dobbs would be in the audience dressed like some upwardly-mobile Kansas City pimp. It is said that no felt hat or fur-lined cape is too rich for his 'media-titan's' wallet. Also, Lou's never been known to possess a rock-solid personal constitution, so you might catch him drinking Crown Royal straight from the bottle, chewing Oxycodones by the fistful, and sobbing inconsolably on the bosom of an underage Thai prostitute.

Rep. Barney Frank, who is said to love a good funeral, would arrive in a chiffon whirlwind, accompanied by a warren of limp-wristed page-boys, who giggle daintily and throw dried rose petals at his feet.

Sen. John McCain, himself an id of cannibalistic umbrage, would have to be restrained like Hannibal Lecter for the occasion. No matter - an event of this magnitude would be one of those rare political bonanzas where the stakes are simply too high to consider skipping. When Sen. McCain must be seen in public on one of his many "bad days", he is administered heroic amounts of sedatives, fitted with a Lucite bite guard, and dressed in a custom-tailored Armani straight-jacket; a garment given to him with much fanfare at his 70th birthday gala, hosted and paid for by Anheuser-Busch and General Dynamics.

Under directive of the President, McCain is escorted at all times by a team of four Secret Service agents and an operant conditioning expert. The team's sole purpose is to keep anyone who ventures near the Senator out of harm's way. They have been sanctioned to use any non-lethal means deemed necessary to keep the senior Senator from Arizona under control. The agents carry a large Naugahyde duffel bag filled with various types of tranquilizer guns, Tasers, and cattle prods to achieve that end.

Because Sheriff Joe never had any real friends to speak of, a chain gang from Tent City would be forced, like unwitting grooms at a shotgun wedding, into carrying the coffin from the church to the hearse, and from the hearse to the grave.

Upon death, scum like Joe Arpaio deserve to have their corpse dipped in rat's blood and set adrift on the open sea; tossed over the edge of a garbage scow without so much as a "see you in hell." But what then? Who would be the comically villainous Joker to my rancorous, alcoholic Batman?

Adding insult to injury, he would be canonized into secular Sainthood; martyred by the same low-minded syndicate of crazies that keep voting him and others of his ilk into office.
They are spread across the map of Arizona in thick, broad brushstrokes, like coarse graffiti on a Rembrandt. However, these diseased animals exist in their highest concentrations in Arizona's "retirement communities"; communities with quaint names like Sun City, Verrado, and Pebble Creek.

It is the land of lumbago and elastic waistbands, with a liquor store or pharmacy on every corner. Outwardly these burgs appear serene, tranquil even, but don't be fooled. They are overrun by marauding platoons of over-medicated and besotted Blue-hairs, who I refer to as the 'liver spot' demographic; caustic, freakish crones who only come out in the twilight of pre-dawn, or for happy hour.

Their lives are driven by three basic motivations; an irrational fear of nearly everything, greeting each day with an unslakable thirst for the drink, and, on each election day, arriving at the polling station at the crack of dawn to proudly vote an up-and-down "straight fascism" ticket.

These Sea-bond loving wack-a-doos get their burlap granny-panties all moist and dewy over the perception that Sheriff Joe keeps them safe from "vicious and dangerous minorities." Many have been known to lapse into a catatonic state of 'the fears' over the arrival of a Hispanic substitute mailman.

These aged hate-mongers use their vote as a weapon; a demented defense mechanism against the fear of impending death. They make no bones about it either; their goal is to make the rest of us pay for each and every one of our unlived days. They are far too afraid to live, and too wicked and miserable to fuck off and die.

Yowza! That was one hell of a tangent. Let's get back to business, shall we?

Killing Sheriff Joe would almost certainly serve as the catalyst that would destroy all hope for the return of sanity to Arizona immigration law, and quite possibly the entire country. It would also ruin the lives of the 20 or so understandably furious Mexicans and Yaquis, as well as their families' lives. It had lose-lose written all over it, in every known dialect.

"Hey, Arpay-asshole, it looks like you're finding yourself in a lot of trouble here tonight, gringo." said the obvious Alpha-male of the group, violently shaking a weathered and calloused fist. The incensed group hummed and growled in agreement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bartender and the hooker abandoning ship in a beeline toward the front door. The bartender had a new bottle of Chivas in his left hand and two unopened packs of smokes in the right. "Smart move", I thought. In her inebriated haste to leave the premises, the Yaqui hooker tripped over Death-breath, kicking him flush in the ear. He moaned, inhaled deeply, and again fell silent. It was then, more or less, I knew he'd be ok.

Sheriff Joe started winding up again. "All right you assholes, what you are going to do is to get your dark-skinned asses out of my way and let me pass, Right Fucking Now, or I swear to God al-fucking-mighty himself that you'll pay, and I mean pay dearly. Now MOVE!" It was evident ol' Sheriff Joe had been in some tight spots before, and he knew the best defense is oftentimes a good offense.
I noticed him reaching for his service revolver, and for the second time in as many minutes, I knew it was 'do or die' time. "So let it be written, so let it be done" I muttered as I quietly stepped to the trio from a blind spot on their right side. I waylaid Pop-a-collar with a cheap-shot; an overhand left that landed flush on his cheek. Before he fell, I grabbed him, spun him around, and shoved him into the group of surprised protesters, knocking over the Alpha-male in the process. Almost instantaneously, the vicious attack began. He wailed a high-pitched shriek as they had their way with him. The sound was most unbecoming; one I would describe as the antithesis of masculine. A few seconds later I saw one of the protester's fists raised in the air, and it was clutching a handful of Pop-a-collar's hair. I must admit, I almost felt bad for the poor bastard.

Doughboy started to blubber. A biblical deluge of tears began flowing like Havasu falls down his fat face. I thought to myself, "Oh Christ, here comes the waterworks." I turned and laid my full weight into Sheriff Joe, straight-arming him in the direction of the side door. The bizarre look on his face told me he was seeing the sum total of his life flash before his eyes. Though his expression remained blank, his arms flailed wildly, trying to maintain balance as he reeled backward. With two down and one to go, I homed in on Doughboy. From behind, I kicked him in the coin-purse as if my childhood dream was to become a Rockette, and it was my turn to audition for the Christmas Spectacular. As he lurched forward in terror and agony, I put my foot on the meat of his ass and launched him headlong, weeping and gagging, into the bowels of the blood-thirsty crowd.

The scene was nothing short of fantastic. It was a hideous scrum of brown limbs and black hair accented by the primal grunts of predator and prey. In a further rush to the senses, the fetid odor of urine exploded in my nasal passageways.

With the angry mob otherwise engaged, I manhandled Sheriff Joe with the tenderness afforded a prison bitch caught 'making eyes' during a stroll in the exercise yard. I snatched the Smith & Wesson out of his right hand and dragged him out of Sandy's through the side door and into the brisk night.

I barked "Where are the goddamn keys, Joe? Give me the goddamn keys." His eyes were glazed over and he seemed to be in a different time and place, but I didn't have time for any of that shit. As we continued to walk, I reached across my body and stiffly back-handed him, much like he had done to Doughboy. "Joe, quit fiddly-fucking around and give me goddamn keys." I growled. He fished in his pocket, dropped the keys in my hand, and returned to the catatonic daze; a mix of near-death-experience and the synaptic melt-down of an amphetamine freak-out.

After unlocking the door with the key fob, I shoved him into the back seat, face first. In the middle of doing so, I came to the vile realization that both of my hands had a firm grip on the flesh of his old, saggy ass. After he was safely inside, I jumped in the driver's seat, jammed the key in the switch, and fired up the massive power plant.

They must've had all the fun they had wanted with the other two, because the angry protesters finally figured out they had been buffaloed. The real object of their hatred, Sheriff Joe Arpayaso, had done fucked off for parts unknown. They came pouring out of both doors into the cool, dusty night, wilder than when they came in; but it was too late. Fists and bottles rained down on the black Yukon as I hit the 'lock' button and slid the gear shift lever into Drive.

"You better move it, or someone's gonna get hurt, you dumb sons-a-bitches" I bellowed, pointing my finger at the protesters. After I ran over a few of their feet, they seemed to get the message.
Once clear, I stomped on the accelerator until it was all the way to the floor. The Yukon's rear tires grabbed two huge handfuls of earth and pounced to life. As I fish-tailed out of the parking lot, I took one last look at the scene through the rear-view mirror. The mob was scattering; desperately retreating from the hell-storm of gravel and dirt I left in my wake.

At that point, relief started to set in and I began laughing uncontrollably. I couldn't believe I had escaped with my life, let alone unscathed. I rolled down the window and shouted; "Vaya con Dios muthafuckas!" and continued laughing.

After a few minutes of driving at ridiculous speeds and completely ignoring traffic signals, I realized I could use a drink. No, I needed one. As far as I knew, the Sheriff was still face-down in the back seat, and I figured I should check on him. Other than what had just occurred, the very last thing I needed right now was to be pulled over for driving erratically in the Sheriff's personal Yukon with the very possibly dead, smacked-around and drugged up seventy-five year old Sheriff lying ass-up in the back seat. Also, my prints and DNA were all over the truck and his .38, which I was still in possession of. At that moment, I was thankful it hadn't gone off.

How the hell would you even begin to explain that one? What witness would back up my story? I decided to call my good friend and lawyer, the ever-entertaining Dave Fulcher, but only after I bought some beer. I'd need it to tell him this tale.

About a half-mile farther down the road, I pulled into a 7-11, and went in. I left the car running and the AC on full-blast in the hopes of bringing him around, but I couldn't bear to look in the back seat just yet.

I bought a case of Bud Light, cracked one open, and drained the first bottle in one long pull as I tentatively approached the SUV. I tried to look in the backseat through the window, but the tint was far too dark to see anything, especially at night. I jumped back in shock as the back door opened slowly. I dropped the empty bottle, and it shattered on the pavement in front of the 7-11.
On the other side of the door was Sheriff Joe, sitting upright. He was still pie-eyed and dazed, but ok. 

"Holy shit" I thought "Holy fucking shit."

"You got my revolver, son?", the Sheriff said quietly. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do" I said. I grabbed the .38 from the passenger's seat, wiped it off with my shirt, and handed it back to Sheriff Joe handle first, still wrapped in the cotton fabric. "Thanks boy" he said hoarsely "I've never had another gun on my hip my entire career. This gun means the world to me and I thought I'd lost it." "No problem" I replied. "No problem at all."

"I see you got some beers there. Could I have one, please? I'm drier than a popcorn fart" he said. I noticed that his voice was quivering, like he was about to cry. "Sure, man. Take two, they're small." I said.

He took a beer from the box, cracked it open and drank deeply. Then, he smiled wanly and said "What you did for me tonight, no one else has ever done. You reached deep and saved my sorry hide" he said, taking another long swig of beer and wiping a lone tear from his eye. "I'll never forget this; what you've done. So help me God, I'm gonna pay you back." "Please, don't worry about it Sheriff Joe." I said. "Shouldn't we go back and check on your friends, or at least call for some assistance? I'm sure it's safe now."

"No way. Screw them yahoos. They're big boys and they can fend for themselves" Sheriff Joe said. "Those two, they had broken computers, know what I mean?" he said chuckling and pointing at his head. 

Nickel Bag Joe finished his beer lustily. He was starting to come back to life.

Saved lines – Not currently in use………………………………………………………
He walks about with the knock-kneed shuffle of the morbidly obese.

"Its salty language that makes this country what it is; a fucking shithole."

They root of their xenophobia lies within the awareness of what they are, and more importantly, what they are not. They are the essence of the pot calling the kettle black, no pun intended of course.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

The Economic Crisis and Why It’s Happening Part II

The Economic Crisis and Why it's Happening Part II: Deflation, Hyper-inflation, and a Call to Action

Now that we have started down the path and we are beginning to understand what is happening and why, we will now delve into how the economic crisis will ultimately affect your everyday lives. Again, I am going to do my best to describe it in layman's terms. This will not be an easy read for many of you because denial is a powerful defense mechanism. I absolutely loathe being the bearer of bad tidings, but with rapid action I will help you to keep your freedoms intact. The essence of this article is:

In the very near future, off-the-grid self-sufficiency will undoubtedly equal freedom.

But I digress. The fact of the matter is that whether or not you subscribe to the Keynesian theory of government intervention (spending) to reinflate a faltering economy, it simply will not be sufficient to return us to prosperity. It is the same as pouring gasoline on a fire to put it out. Our government was effectually insolvent before the crisis occurred. Social Security, Medicare/Medicaid, and rampant spending by the Federal government, especially on the war in Iraq, have only hastened what was already inevitable (see central banking in part I). Unfunded mandates, government regulations that require states to act or uphold certain standards without providing sufficient money with which to do so, are also a big problem. Among these are the No Child Left Behind Act, and various and ever multiplying Homeland Security mandates.

I will say this again: The economies of the United States and the world are terminally ill and they are breathing their gasping, dying breaths. However, behemoth of this size does not die overnight.

The sooner you come to realize this, the sooner you will be able to get your house in order so that you and your families will be prepared to weather the crisis. However, let me be perfectly clear; I am in no way saying the world is coming to an end, I'm saying that the ways we have been doing things are coming to an end. We will need to be able to react appropriately in a rapidly changing and fluid environment in order to continue surviving and thriving. I recently read the text of a speech given by Dmitry Orlov in San Francisco on February 13th entitled "Social Collapse Best Practices." In the speech, Mr. Orlov explains the vast similarities between our collapsing economy and the complete collapse of the Russian economy after the fall of communism. By glimpsing into recent Russian history, we will be better equipped to handle our near future.

Now that we've examined what has caused the crisis and why, we can now look into ways the inevitable collapse might unfold. To achieve this, we will look into various economic situations that may occur and how they would affect your daily life. We will focus on the possible emergence of deflation, hyperinflation, stagflation, the collapse in the dollar as a currency, and the emergence of a new system of banking and governance in America.

Deflation, as one might assume, is not the plague befalling tires everywhere. Deflation is the opposite of inflation. Whereas inflation is a general increase in prices and wages and a decrease in the value of the currency, deflation is a general decline in prices and wages and an increase in the value of the currency. While falling prices are a boon to individual consumers, it can signal something much more ominous in an economy. Deflation occurs when there is a decrease in the aggregate demand for goods and services, and it is often caused by a decrease in the supply of money or credit. In other words, it is when the levels of supply are greater than the demand. Deflation causes companies and businesses, because they're not selling enough of whatever they produce, to decrease production and therefore contract, leading to layoffs. An episode of deflation does not always devolve into a deflationary spiral, but when it does, it is a far more dangerous and devastating situation. A deflationary spiral is when wages and prices rapidly decrease and there is a rapid increase in the value of the currency. It is seen as a sign of a worsening recession.

It is commonly understood that we are in a deepening recession. According to Keynesian economics, the economic theory followed by the Federal Reserve and banking industry, the proper course of action is for the government to print and throw money at the problem. However, as I pointed out above, the United States is already effectively insolvent. The printing press is working overtime, and our National debt, including unfunded mandates, Social Security, and Medicare/Medicaid is equal to the world's Gross Domestic Product (GDP), or the output of the entire world for a year. That amount of the national debt is the staggering sum of 65.5 trillion dollars. The government purposefully omits certain statistics when reporting the National debt to the public.

To tie it all together:

  1. The worth of fiat money is related to the faith and good credit of the issuing nation, but the United States is effectively insolvent.
  2. We are in a deepening recession because there has been a continuing decrease in the aggregate demand for goods and services, and a there is a continuing decrease in prices and wages, signaling deflation.
  3. The Federal Reserve, following Keynesian economics, is printing fiat currency at a rate never before seen.
  4. Adding insult to injury, President Obama has proposed a 2009 budget with a further 1.7 trillion dollar deficit with no end in sight.

We are already technically insolvent with a debt load that we can never repay. And as we continue to print money at an unprecedented rate with compounded debt attached to it, someday soon (very soon) we will no longer be able to service the interest on the debt and we will then default. When we default and our credit is no longer good, investors and governments will rapidly abandon the US dollar, and our money will become increasingly worthless, which will cause prices to skyrocket. This is hyperinflation.

This is the main reason I have been encouraging people to abandon their 401k's and the stock market while they still can, because it won't matter if someone has a million shares of IBM if the dollar ends up being worthless. If their shares are in dollars, their shares will be worthless. This is part of the scam because the businesses' infrastructure will still be in place, ready to be bought up at a fraction of the company's true worth.

Another possibility to look at is Stagflation. Stagflation is when deflation and inflation occur at the same time. In stagflation, the economy deflates, but unemployment and prices continue to rise. This is also considered to be a very bad economic sign. Gerald Celente, the #1 forecaster in the world, believes that we are in for "the Greatest Depression," and has coined the term Hyper-Stagflation; a term that means the economy is pretty much cooked.

So what will happen if the dollar does collapse? The answer to that is both complicated and devastating. For one thing, if our currency collapses, many countries and their currencies will collapse along with the dollar because our economies are so intertwined. Secondly, purchasing the most basic foodstuffs and necessities, if they are even available, will be priced out of the reach of most people.

A Call to Action

What would you do to survive if the store shelves were empty? What would you do if you simply couldn't afford to buy what was available? You'd be in a really tough spot right? By taking steps to ensure you and your family have food to eat, regardless of the economic climate, can mean the difference between freedom and enslavement. If you act now, the fix is pretty easy; especially during this deflationary period when prices are low. That is why I encourage you, in fact I beg of you, to purchase as much non-perishable food as you possibly can, and to plant a garden. In the United States, 95% of the population is absolutely dependent on the availability of stocked grocery store shelves for our provisions.

If you are unable to provide for yourself, FEMA is more than ready to take you in. The US Army Northern Command (NORTHCOM) has 20,000 Iraq and Afghanistan-hardened troops that are prepared to engage the American people and numerous FEMA camps are fully constructed and ready for you should the situation get out of hand, which many (including the IMF Bank) are predicting will come to pass. The FEMA camps are like roach motels; you go in freely but you can't leave freely. FEMA has also hired 26,000 pastors as "Clergy Response Teams" to encourage their flocks to accept relinquishing your weapons, martial law, and going to the FEMA camps.

In the very near future, the responsibility for your freedom will ultimately fall on to your own lap. This is why I say that self-sufficiency will equal freedom.

I realize that I may turn some people off when I speak of the push for world government by the banking and corporate elite. But I ask you, why does it bother you? Is it because of denial? Is it because you can't imagine anyone is so evil that their aim is to create a single world government, a single world bank, and a cashless society? Is it because you cannot imagine anyone would be willing to stage false-flag terror attacks or manufacture a world economic crisis to achieve that end? Is it because you just can't seem to wrap your mind around the concept that a small but sinister group of elites, who have everything they could ever possibly want, have a sincere wish to rule the world and enslave you with surveillance, debt, and taxation, and they are on the precipice of achieving that goal? Well I suggest that you get used to the idea if you don't want to end up as someone else's property.

Again, this is not a conspiracy, it's an AGENDA. The New World Order is very nearly a reality.

The New World Order is mentioned in the news every day. They are preparing us to accept it. Now, more than ever, is the time to understand what the Declaration of Independence and Constitution really mean before it's too late. I urge you to read them again and familiarize yourself with the words and their meaning. They are the greatest documents ever written in the history of mankind. The belief that individual and the protection of their rights is the government's primary responsibility. The founding fathers believed that we are born free, that freedom was a right bestowed upon us by God and not to be bestowed or taken away by government. But, with rights come responsibility, and you are ultimately responsible to ensure that your rights are upheld. If you don't stand up demand your rights, someone is always waiting to take them away. To quote a friend of mine, Ed Vallejo;

"Rights are like muscles, if you don't exercise them they atrophy."

If I believed that the cause was already lost, I wouldn't put forth the effort; I'd make like John Galt and get out of here tuit suite. However, I believe in America and I sense that a massive groundswell is rising. Many of us don't realize what we have until it is gone or almost gone. Once it's gone, it's too late. It's not too late right now, but the hour is certainly getting late. For ourselves, for our children, and for our future generations, please step up and don't give up on liberty. By protecting yourself, you are also protecting the liberties of others. Other than life and love, liberty is the most important thing we can experience.


Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Economic Crisis and Why It’s Happening

By Jet Lacey

February 28, 2009

I've been doing a lot of reading on Economics lately, and frankly it bores me to tears. I am not, nor do I ever wish to become an Economist. The reason I've been reading about economics is to understand the origins of the crisis that is happening around the world right now. Something just doesn't seem right about the cause of the global banking collapse. Subprime mortgages did this? Could it be possible? I remembered I had read somewhere in passing, before this crisis ever began, that the Federal Reserve admitted that they had caused the original Great Depression, and they "wouldn't let it happen again."

When this latest crisis started to unfold, I thought "Hmmm." Something about this stinks, and chances are, if it smells like bulls**t it probably is. Alex Jones said on his radio show the other day, "It starts with investigating one lie and a whole universe opens." Man, ain't it the truth.

I will explain step-by-step and in layman's terms how the greatest robbery in the history of mankind is occurring right now. And I will show how it is you, along with everyone else in the world, who are the ones being robbed. To comprehend what is happening and why, we must break down each facet of the situation into its lowest common denominator. To achieve that, we must start at the bottom and work up from there.

I will, to the best of my ability, help you to:

  1. Understand what money and currency is, especially fiat currency.
  2. Understand what debt is.
  3. Understand the basic theories of economics, emphasizing the Keynesian and Austrian School models.
  4. Understand fractional reserve banking and other methods banks and investment houses use to make money, both literally and figuratively.
  5. Understand Central banks, and what their purposes are.
  6. Understand gold and silver as currency and why they are important.
  7. Understand what derivatives are and why they are ultimately leading to the complete destruction of the World economy.
  8. Understand who engineered the crisis are and what their ultimate goals are.

"Money is power," as they say. That is true. But money also is the most fundamental way a country says "We're a sovereign nation, and we're open for business." In the past, it was commonplace that countries kept a reserve of gold with which to back their money, but this practice has been largely abandoned. This brings us to fiat currency. Fiat currency is money that does not have any inherent or intrinsic value, but is authorized by governments as legal tender, which is defined as money that must be accepted under law. In other words, it is money that is not backed by anything of value other than the faith and good credit of the people of that nation.

Since fiat currency's value lies within the faith and good credit of the nation issuing it, what then is debt? Debt can mean numerous things but in its most literal sense it means something owed; an obligation. In terms of economics, debt much more complicated. The United States total public debt, or national debt, which is what is always referred to with regard to the economic crisis, is defined as the sum total of all existing claims against the United States.

Simply stated, how do we understand currency (the positive side of the balance sheet) and debt (the negative side), their effects on one another, their affect on the nation as a whole, and how to act when economic crises do occur? It is through the study of economics. According to Merriam-Webster, economics is a social science concerned chiefly with description and analysis of the production, distribution, and consumption of goods and services.

There are many schools of thought regarding economics, and trying to make sense of them in the most basic of terms is a frustrating endeavor at best. For simplicity's sake we will look at Keynesian and Austrian School economics with special interest paid to how each theory believes is the right way to deal with economic crisis. These belief systems are at the very forefront of the disagreements over how to deal with the crisis. By understanding the basics of these theories, you will begin to understand where many of the main "actors" involved with managing the crisis base their logic.

Keynesian economics is a macroeconomic theory developed by John Maynard Keynes. It was first described in his book The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money published in 1936. He is largely credited with creating the terminology and direction of modern macroeconomics. Keynes argued that total spending in an economy, known as aggregate demand, might be insufficient during an economic downturn, leading to unnecessarily high unemployment rates and further decreases in production. In a depression, Keynesian economics dictates that the government should stimulate the economy by reducing interest rates and investing in infrastructure. Investment by the government injects income into the economy which increases spending, which in turn creates more production and investment and so on.

The Austrian School theory was created by Carl Menger, but was popularized by Ludwig von Mises, Frederich Hayek, and Murray Rothbard. Austrians subscribe to a laissez-faire market economy. That is to say an economy that is free from government intervention, a free market. The Austrians believed in the study of the axioms (self-evident truths) of human existence. They believed, first and foremost, that humans take conscious actions toward personal goals. In other words personal choice determines the direction of the economy, and that the protection of personal property and support for individualism was absolutely necessary for economic growth.

To achieve that end, Austrians also believe in the principles of sound money. Sound money is a currency that is properly managed to avoid excessive inflation, such as a currency that adheres to the gold standard. Austrians argue that without excessive inflation, there wouldn't be any wild fluctuations in the economy, thus avoiding depressions.

Austrians strongly disagree with the Keynesian strategy of artificially reducing interest rates and manipulating the circulating money supply to create growth. Murray Rothbard, who wrote America's Great Depression in 1963, believed that the first Great Depression was caused by the Federal Reserve's expansion of the money supply, leading to an unsustainable credit-driven boom. He also felt that government intervention delayed the much needed market correction and lengthened the road to recovery. Does this sound familiar?

So, how are fluctuations in the money supply created? To contract the money supply, a Treasury or Central bank simply makes less money available as the money cycles through the system. However, in this economic crisis the increase in the money supply and the decrease of available credit are the major problems.

One way to increase the money supply is to turn on the printing press. Another more insidious way is through fractional reserve banking, a practice done universally by banking establishments. In fractional reserve banking, a bank is required to have only a fraction of its deposits on hand with the percentage determined by the government. In the United States, the Federal Reserve has set the required on hand amount at 10%. For instance, if a bank receives a one million dollar deposit, only $100,000 of that amount is required to be on hand. The rest is leant out at a higher interest rate than is paid to the depositor. However, what the banks actually do is keep the $1,000,000 deposit on hand, and create $9,000,000 more to be leant out, thus increasing the money supply by nine million dollars artificially. In essence the money is counterfeited into existence. And when banks lend money to each other, as they often do, the process occurs over and over again.

Through direct printing and fractional reserve banking, money in a fiat system is literally created out of thin air.

According to Article I Section 8 of the Constitution, the borrowing of money on the credit of the United States, the coining of money and regulating the value thereof is solely the responsibility of Congress. However, on January 12, 1912, Senator Nelson Aldrich of Rhode Island submitted legislation to create the Federal Reserve System at the behest of the banking elite. To learn more about this I highly recommend The Creature from Jekyll Island by G. Edward Griffin. The Aldrich plan (The Federal Reserve Act), which legislated away that right, was passed on December 23, 1913 and signed by President Woodrow Wilson. On that day, the Federal Reserve became the Central Banking Establishment of the United States and our nation was changed forever. The Federal Reserve, contrary to popular belief, is not nor has it ever been a government institution. It is a private bank owned privately.

Since then, our currency has no longer belonged to the American people but by private banks. Is it a mere coincidence that the 16th Amendment, which created the Federal income tax, was enacted in the same year as the Federal Reserve? Not by a long shot. Most of what is paid in Federal income taxes goes toward servicing the National debt because every dollar that is printed by the Federal Reserve comes with a percentage of compounded debt attached to it.

Central Banks state that their purpose is to alleviate fluctuations in the economy, but what really happens is that the citizens are doomed to abject slavery because of the inherent debt attached to the currency that an outside force creates and controls. Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to John Taylor in 1816, "And I sincerely believe, with you, that banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies; and that the principle of spending money to be paid by posterity, under the name of funding, is but swindling futurity on a large scale." The World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the Bank for International Settlements act in the same fashion, but on an international level.

So, after you understand these principles, it is easy to see how gold and silver is so vitally important in all of this. It is because gold and silver are the real currencies of the world, and they have been for as long as there have been societies with individuals that traded with one other. How banking institutions and Central banks operate is largely through smoke and mirrors; they make you believe that nothing is really something. Gold and silver are irrefutable, hard currency. Regardless of the economic climate, by possessing precious metals you actually create your own freedom. You create freedom by being able to trade with others apart from the restrictions of regulatory systems or governments. In essence, with gold in your purse you automatically become your own free market.

The wisdom of trading in your paper assets for gold at this point is also a matter of simple mathematics. The Federal Reserve has doubled the money supply within the last four months or so. Therefore, if there are twice as many dollars in circulation as there were just four months ago, dollars are probably worth half as much, right? I want to clarify that the presses aren't really working overtime. What the Federal Reserve is actually doing is adding zeroes on to their computer balance sheet at will (with the debt attached to it), and they will continue to do so. They will keep doing it until the dollar is ruined as a currency, but more on that later.

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, hailed as the 'hero' who saved us from the first Great Depression, should have been sent straight to prison, or the gallows, as a traitor to his country. On April 5, 1933 by signing Executive Order 6102, FDR was responsible for seizing the gold directly from Americans' hands by forcing them to sell it to the Federal Reserve, and accept mere paper in return. The criminality of it is stupefying. Not only did the Federal Reserve get all of the American people's gold, they simply printed the money to buy it out of thin air with compounded debt attached to it. This did not change until President Richard Nixon cancelled the Bretton Woods Agreements and fully divested the US dollar from the gold standard in 1971.

Derivatives. Remember that word. Here is where things get really messy. Derivatives are what insurance and banking institutions, like AIG and Citigroup, have used to turn the stock exchange into something more like a casino, rather than an investment and commodities exchange. In short, derivatives are what has bankrupted the world. In extremely simple terms, derivatives are contracts that seek to bet/insure when a company or fund will fail. There are many kinds of derivatives but the most destructive to the world economy have been Credit Derivatives, and the most common you will hear referred to in the news are Credit Default Swaps (CDS).

A CDS is a quasi-insurance policy that pays if the financial instrument the buyer bet against fails. However, the buyer of the CDS didn't need to own the underlying security or even be at risk for loss should it fail. To quote James Lieber's great article in the Village Voice "What Cooked the World's Economy?"- Imagine that a person is terminally ill. He or she would not be able to buy a life insurance policy with a huge death benefit. Obviously, third parties could not purchase policies on the soon-to-be-dead person's life. However, with financial instruments, especially Collateralized Debt Obligations such as bundled mortgages, this is exactly what happened.

Credit Default Swaps were meant to be insurance policies for investors, but what they actually did was destroy the world economy. Aside from the Congressional bailouts, over 9.7 Trillion dollars has been given to the banks by the Federal Reserve without Congressional input nor will they say where the money went. This is enough money to pay off 90% of all existing mortgages in the United States. Unfortunately, 9.7 Trillion is a drop in the bucket. According to the Bank of International Settlements' December 2007 quarterly review, there are 681 Trillion dollars worth of derivatives written. That is 681,000 billion dollars. No matter how much money we throw at Citigroup and AIG, we will never make them solvent institutions.

Know this: The economies of the United States and the world are terminally ill and they are breathing their gasping, dying breaths.

So you ask, how did this happen? Who allowed such a nightmare to unfold? Although Obama and all of the news outlets are saying it is because of free market economics, you can't blame free market economics because there has never been a free market. The simple fact of the matter is that there are regulations already in place but the regulatory agencies, such as the SEC, have been complicit in the scam.

What's happening is not a conspiracy; it is an agenda.

This agenda, which is the brainchild the world banking and corporate elite, is to literally crush the world's economies and currencies in order to usher in a single world government which will be run behind the scenes by them, with a single world currency and a single world bank that you will pay your taxes to directly. Also, through the Credit Default Swap scheme, it is the biggest land grab in the history of mankind. They will not only own all of the homes that have defaulted, they will own all of the other mortgages as well as billions of square feet of commercial real estate. The commercial real estate market is far more leveraged than private family homes are. In short, they have created money out of thin air, collapsed the economy, and they are receiving real assets in return. It is the biggest robbery in the history of mankind.

It is well known that our government doesn't work for "We the People;" they work for the banks, the corporations and the Military Industrial Complex.

At their handlers' behest, the government uses the classic Problem-Reaction-Solution paradigm, or Hegelian Dialectic.

Simply, Hegelian Dialectic says:

  1. Create a problem (destroy the economy).
  2. Generate opposition to the problem (fear, hysteria, paranoia)
  3. Offer a solution to the problem (one world bank and one world currency).

This is what our government has been doing to us on numerous levels for years, with the War on Terror being a perfect example.

The Globalist's ultimate aim is to control every aspect of everyone's life the world over. In a cashless society, you won't be able to pay your babysitter or go to a yard sale without paying sales tax. You won't be able to be a babysitter or host a yard sale without paying income tax. They will know every single transaction everybody makes. You will be further taxed into slavery (Carbon tax, mileage tax, sales tax, income tax, etc.) more than you already are.

If they succeed in forming a world government you won't have any rights either. The protections afforded to you under the Constitution and the Bill of Rights will be a bittersweet memory. You will no longer be able to go where you wish or do as you wish. You will be under surveillance everywhere you go. You will no longer have any choices regarding your health care. You will be forced into receiving inoculations. You will eat nothing but genetically modified foods. You will no longer be able to raise your children as you see fit. You will no longer be able to own firearms for self protection. You will no longer be an American citizen; you will be a "world citizen."

All of these things are happening NOW! We must wake up and resist. If you are passive you will be an accomplice in your own enslavement and the enslavement of everyone in your family. They cannot possibly overtake all of us and we can accomplish it without violence because we are still protected by the Constitution of the United States.

I pray that I have been successful in proving that the economies of the United States and the rest of the world will ultimately collapse and why. However, I don't want anyone to feel that all hope is lost. There is still time but it is running short. Self-sufficiency and knowing your enemy will ultimately equal freedom.

  • Take all of your savings (IRAs, CDs, Stocks, etc.) out of the banks before it's too late, and don't worry if there's a penalty.
  • Buy gold and silver coins (not stock) to trade with.
  • Buy a Life Saver bottle.
  • Grow a garden with non-GMO heirloom seeds.
  • Store non-perishable foods.
  • Buy a gun, learn how to use it, and buy ammunition.
  • Turn off the propaganda box, the Television.
  • Tell everyone you know what you've learned.
  • Take an active role in the preservation of your freedom.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Jet Lacey’s State of the Union 2009

Yesterday, I went to the Arizona Breakfast Club for the first time.  It was both interesting and informative to listen to those who are educated in legal and economic matters speak about the plight of the American people at the hands of our Government.  The crowd was much larger than expected and accommodations had to be made at the last minute.  Many Americans seem to be awakening to the gravity of our situation in greater numbers.  Even though it is very scary on some levels, I believe it is an exciting time to be an American. 

I also went out on First Friday ArtWalk with people from my Ron Paul Campaign For Liberty group and gathered signatures for HR 2755 - The Federal Reserve Abolition Act

I only write to all of you on this subject because I care about each one of you (well, most of you) and I care about our great country. 

I believe that individual liberty is a right afforded to us by the Laws of Nature, or whatever Creator you believe in.  I say this because the writings of Thomas Aquinas, Thomas Hobbes, and John Locke regarding Laws of Nature and the State of Nature point out that man's need to be free is an inherent trait within all of us, thus making it a part of our "nature." 

There are many things that are occurring that portend the end of the United States of America as both a country and as a free society as we know it. 

For the record, I always check the sources in what I read, and I urge you to as well. Anything that is linked herein has been placed there for that purpose. 

Jet Lacey's State of the Union 2009


  • Gerald Celente Predicts Revolution, Food Riots, Tax Rebellions By 2012
  • A coalition of 6 Arab states are creating a (probably gold-backed) currency called the Khaleejli (Translation: Gulf in Arabic) by 2010.  Every barrel of oil currently traded is traded in US dollars.  This move by the Arabs will further devastate our currency, quite possibly pushing it into obsolescence.  Saudis have also made a huge run on the available gold on the market, including a single transaction of 3.5 billion dollars, the largest ever.
  • The incessant printing of money that is backed by NOTHING is a plan by the Federal Reserve Bank (a private company) in conjunction with the Bilderburg Group, Trilateral Commission, and the Council of Foreign Relations (link about Obama and the CFR) to ruin our economy, turn the US a Third World nation to defeat our willingness and ability to fight for liberty, and create a single World Government (Kissinger on Charlie Rose 12/17/08) and a single World Bank ran behind the scenes by an oligarchy of Elites. 
  • The Federal Reserve has, with our "money", bought up all of the mortgage backed securities from the failed or failing banks.  So, homes that go into foreclosure are now owned by the Federal Reserve.  It is a criminal land grab of astronomical proportions.
  • The uncontrolled printing of money ALWAYS leads to hyper-inflation (see Zimbabwe).  This will effectively enslave us by making us unable to purchase even the simplest of staples, leading to starvation, riots, etc.   
  • Also, as you might have seen in the news, the Governors of many states are asking for One Trillion Dollars to buy up the debts of the States.  Rest assured the Federal Reserve will eagerly buy up that debt, and then they will send out their government-run debt collectors, the IRS to collect.  Has anyone noticed that no one is speaking of contracting the Government out of necessity that they are only speaking of increasing taxes?
  • Under a Central Banking system, every dollar that is printed carries debt attached to it, and it dooms the citizens under it to slavery.
  • With credit drying up (or already dried), grocery stores and other essential businesses will soon be unable to stock their shelves, forcing them to close.
  • The Baltic Dry Index (BDI) is the rate shipping companies charge for shipping dry goods and commodities.  It has plummeted over 94% because of a global collapse in demand.  It is a leading economic indicator, and indicative of the severity of the crisis that is fulminating around us (see the chart at the bottom of the linked page). 
  • Major protections for the citizens against the Federal Government have been erased or ignored in recent months.  The most disturbing is the rapid advancement of a Militarized Police State.  The State Militias (National Guard), which are under the direction of the States' Governors (as opposed to the President) in order to limit the power of the Federal Government, have been militarized in direct violation of the Constitution, the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, and the Insurrection Act of 1807.


National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2008 (Enrolled as Agreed to or Passed by Both House and Senate)


(a) Joint Activity of the Department of Defense- Subsection (a) of section 10501 of title 10, United States Code, is amended by striking `joint bureau of the Department of the Army and the Department of the Air Force' and inserting `joint activity of the Department of Defense'.

(b) Joint Manpower Requirements-

(1) IN GENERAL- Chapter 1011 of such title is amended by adding at the end the following new section:

`Sec. 10508. National Guard Bureau: general provisions

`The manpower requirements of the National Guard Bureau as a joint activity of the Department of Defense shall be determined in accordance with regulations prescribed by the Secretary of Defense, in consultation with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.'.

All hope is not lost, not by a long shot, and I believe in America and Americans.  We were all taught that with rights come responsibilities, and to quote a friend, Ed Vallejo, who is a real American patriot; Rights are like muscles - If you don't use them they atrophy.

  • Cash in your dwindling IRAs and buy gold or silver before it's too late.  Don't let the bankers use ANY of your money.
  • Stock up on non-perishable food and grow a garden. 
  • Buy guns and ammunition for the protection of you and your families.
  • Take action at your municipal level   

"Let me control a peoples currency and I care not who makes their laws."

Meyer Nathaniel Rothschild in a speech to a gathering of world bankers February 12, 1912. The following year, the USA subscribed to the 'services' of the newly incorporated Federal Reserve, headed by Mr. Rothschild.

"Naturally the common people don't want war: Neither in Russia, nor in England, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."

Hermann Goering, President of the Reichstag, Nazi Party, and Luftwaffe Commander in Chief