Here it comes...

In October of last year, after reading an article in the Dallas Morning News about pending legislation to "strengthen" 401K plans, I hopped immediately on my old blog and pronounced "The stock market will crash within a year." To be honest, I couldn't tell you what, specifically, about that article gave me the impression. It just seemed like someone higher up the economic food-chain was desperate to get more money invested in the stock market. Why so desperate? When I encounter that kind of desperation, I'm usually dealing with either a salesman or a criminal (as if there were a difference). A year seemed like about the right time frame.

So, it's been almost eleven months. I'll give credit to Alex Jones (I think he's read my blog) for pointing out the story on PrisonPlanet.com. The original story came from Dow Jones Financial News.

As I said nearly a year ago, I'm not worried, because I have nothing to lose, nothing that can be taken away. You might want to worry, though. There is a "They," and "They" are going to crash the stock market, soon. Did you buy food? Maybe plant a garden? Put some money away in precious metals? Of course not. You didn't even buy a gun, did you? I don't like to gloat, but that may be because I rarely get the chance. If it turns out I'm not crazy, my dying words will be "I told you so," and I'll laugh like hell.

So, to recap: Lord Bush recently signs a series of Executive Orders and Presidential Directives granting himself "emergency" dictatorial powers that Hitler or Stalin wouldn't have had the balls to put on paper, and the stock market is about to crash.

I'm buying a shotgun with my next check. When the food line winds past the mass graves, wave at me.

Being mean to the troops...

I'm about to piss someone off. I don't care, I'm just aware of the likelihood.

You can probably guess how I feel about the war. I argue with people about it. It boggles my mind how so many obviously intelligent people can regurgitate such inane garbage. I've had the distinct pleasure of discussing the matter with a couple of "ex-military," recently.

I'll cut the second one short. I was told I just don't understand what we're fighting for over there. I asked "What are we fighting for over there?" I'm still waiting for an answer.

This is the one that's been stuck in my craw for a couple of weeks. I'll cut it short and get to the point, because we argued for hours (while we smoked bowl after bowl). The troops don't want to come home, I'm told. They would feel bad if they "left without finishing the job." We'll leave aside the fact that he couldn't explain what the "job" was, either, and I will make my statement:

Dear Troops,
You work for me. When I tell you to come home, I will not be asking how you feel about it. And quit being such a dick. There is no doubt in my mind that, when you do come home, you'll be bug-fucked crazy, and you'll get a job as a cop somewhere. I already hate cops. Ex-military cops are the worst. Stay out of my police force. Quit telling me how many ways you know to kill a man, too. That's just creepy.

Love,
Matt