Feminism mansplained: One need not have a dick, to be a dick.

And now to the financial news. Its jumpy out there. Dollar hegemony is caving to the pressure of crypto, which is living proof that fiat currency requires the strength of ingrained illusion to maintain credibility, while crypto is built on the transparency of the block chain, eliminates the parasites feeding off interest, fees and services, limits the supply of "coins" in circulation and lets you buy ecstasy on the dark web. An illusion one can get behind.

Of course it does take as much energy to "mine" the coins as is used to power the state of Ohio, pushing the climate crisis perilously closer to doomsday tipping points, but hey, gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet stuffed with cheesy profit and jalepeno poppers. The hidden costs of wealth.

Central banks can print unlimited supplies of coin of the realm, loan it to financial institutions, watch as it benefits the few, who inevitably screw the pooch with wildly bizarre financial "instruments" and demonic greed driven schemes, all the while knowing another bailout awaits.

Central banks are now loaning at negative interest rates, which means that if the Rancho borrows a hundred bucks from the Fed, it owes 98 smackers to cover the loan. Say wut? Which way to the wabbit hole?
The sands upon which this edifice rests are shifting while the lives of so many are drifting into hitherto unknown realms of what is possible, and what is not. The novelty is wearing thin. President Malarkey has already bailed on healthcare, student loan relief, minimum wage and buying me a Maserati tractor.

The folks running the show remind me of regulars at a crack house, only well dressed. Ready, day after day, to blow it in the name of maintaining the illusion. Each infusion into the system of finance being like taking another giant hit off the pipe and rising up in revery over how fucking great it is to be you.

And there they are, Yellen and Greenspan, sprawled out on the plush persian carpet, Zappa playing loud, crack pipe on the etched glass table top, propane torch hissing away. They're havin' at it, hairy ass and thorny pecker, pumping away. And as they reach a frenzied climax there are no "oh gods" or "yes baby yes's" only crescendoed voicings of " the great reset, the Great Reset, oh my god, the GREAT RESET", and as fever pitch is reached, they collapse into a unisplooge of deep sleep. All better now. Best minds in the biz.

I merged with Jesus for a spell. Felt swell. A little like your head feels when pumped with thorazine while strapped to a table for merging with Jesus.

Captain Carson of the wwoof platoon successfully dispatced a 40 pound piggy with his bow hunting prowess. He used the stealthy method of playing a pirated video of Miss Piggy and Kermit having wild Bonobo sex in Playa del Carmen. He had a battery operated rig, set to play when the pigs tripped the wire. Stopped em' in their tracks. Mesmerized. Never knew a frog could do that. Shootin' pork in a barrel.

All four wwoofs then had a Lord of the Flies moment gathering round a bonfire, hacking and hewing away, skinning and butchering. Scorching the skin for cracklins. Little Caroline started howling relentlessly around sunset, as she painted everyones face with blood while holding the heart in the palm of her hand. Clearly her first pig kill. A wild eyed look lingers still. A fine Rancho thumbnail.

When the tides of tumult withdrew, ribs, boston butt, hams, liver and heart remained, neatly stowed away after slow cooking one of the butts with some carrots, turnips and parsnips. Just dazzle with a yummy tomato mushroom sauce, and there ya go.

The next morning, I went out to find them all diggin' my garden up with their snouts, eating worms and soil and such. Made me laugh pretty hard. They took off, a squealin' through the underbrush. True story.

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp