Skip to main content

Inflation



Inflation

It has taken me a while to figure it out.

Gas prices have doubled along with happy meals, the dollar is worth a third less and my paycheck has not changed.

Inflation is only inflation if I make more money, otherwise it's just considered a good business practice.Prices can go up as much as they want to as long as the average worker's pay remains the same.

Thank god we got rid of unions, otherwise we would be in a mess of stagflational hurt -- that's the difference between now and the go slow 70's-- we can't match up and keep even with business anymore -- people lose, but we stay competitive with the world.

We are becoming right sized as a nation, a low cost exporter of goods and services to an more affluent world.

Oil costs a little more -- but mostly, our money is worth less.

Food and commodities cost a little more due to demand, but really, our money is worth less.
Try to find really good cherries this year -- the kind of killer cherries you wait for every June, and search local markets for. You can't find them because they've all been shipped to Japan -- not because they pay more -- but because their money is worth more.

Four more years of this crap and we'll be selling yellow cake to the Saudi's for spare oil to fuel our torches.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Explain nothing, except your self

Explain nothing, except your self. I feel like the last of a tribe struggling to keep my identity a secret from the mob, one step ahead at best, reduced to hiding in bushes from the monsters waiting to snag and devour me. Sort of a delicacy and a poison – a non-specific drug that exudes memes instead of hormones and physical highs – subconscious, primitive analog get-off-ness apparently responsible for some weird competitive advantage consolidating over geological time out of our mixed genus ancestors, or maybe Texans. At the same time, I feel like spasmed dots from gods own printer cartridge ejaculated onto the canvas of a great emptiness, the thought of which is expressed in the three-dimensional representation of the position I’m braced into while doing the splatting -- all hologram like but only juicier and used -- like an in and out burger wrapper chewed on by a trashcan opossum. Or better, a goat in a pickup heading for a quinceanera debating Schrödinger with the

Free Willy

“…Some say it's just a part of it We've got to fulfill the book.” B. Marley Before I completely run away from the point, the subject of this essay is free will, or, more accurately, the illusion of free will. It will be interesting to see if free will even comes up laterally over the next few hundred words now that I’ve set it up as a specific goal.  The imp of the perverse makes it a sure thing that I won’t – but that surety might also double back and force  me to stay on point. There are no dogs to pick  in this fight and it’s not a fight,  and if I’m right, none of this is anything but documentation for a litigious god that will never see it. Like quantum mechanics, life is about either time or place, never both, and how we choose to pretty up our choices is neither the point, or even a choice – it’s after the fact punctuation we use to justify and make sense of our ontological messiness.  (Science has proven that we decide things with our body before the brain