The Economic Subversive

I met up with a friend of mine from out of town the other day. Like two friends who had not seen each other for a few months, we talked about things from our common past, developments in the present, and then we turned to the future. That is to say, we talked about the economy and our future prospects in it. And during our conversation about the stock market, selling points, buying points, and the money supply, he told me that he was an economic subversive.

Not quite a secret society (he alluded to others who shared his beliefs), being an economic subversive means to abandon the consumer culture. My friend, let us call him William, does not spend money. He keeps a journal of his every penny spent, he posts his journal entries into spreadsheets, and every day when he does not spend money, he changes the color of the date to green. Days when he has income (pay day from his day job, payments from side jobs, and payments from sales of material) are black. The default colour is red. And on those days which are green days, William is proud to call himself an economic subversive.

William resents having to spend money. He was born and raised in Ontario, but the plating of political correctness has been rubbed off him. He has never received the advantages of the invisible knapsack of white privilege, no, infact (as a card carrying member of the working class), has been victimized by political correctness. He has been passed over for jobs based on his white skin, his wages eroded and depressed by an over supply of underskilled competitors from overseas, and his disposable income vacumed up by taxes to subsidize those that keep him from the economic prosperity his parents had.

William embraced the barter economy not long after his small business was forced into bankruptcy. A customer, someone in the caring professions whose income is depression proof, whose spending habits are only limited by the credit limit on their credit cards offset by the steadily rising income of their taxpayer funded paycheque, just did not pay him for a job. Sure he got his money eventually, after the endless months of paper work pushed through small claims court, collection agencies, and legal fees, but the cash flow crisis left him with a decision between bankruptcy and insolvency. Back in his dark time when he was living on dog kibble and potatoes he had his personal economic depression moment. He began to actively seek out fellow thinkers who would trade goods and services for goods and services, doing a lobotomy on the grasping hands of the state that seeks only to encourage itself and the good fortune of its minions, the lazy consumers of the welfare class.

Take garbage collection, for example. In the politically correct village that William lives in, you pay more for more bags of trash. William lives down wind from some subsidized housing, and those pampered people neither have to count their bags nor sort nor scrub their crap. He gritted his teeth as if he was choking down some extra gritty dog kibble. Back when five dollars meant the difference between five dollars worth of fresh fruit (his bulwark against scurvy), you had to pay more for more bags; and frequently the sixty dollar an hour unionized garbage handlers would reject his paid for bags on the basis of a speck of drip in a jar of peanut butter or a sliver of flesh in his discarded can of economy tuna, William developed an appreciation of that hand maiden of capital, value.

William downgraded from the large garbage can to the medium and kept himself in apples. Instead of sorting his garbage by class and type, and spending time to clean and package it, he would just take his surplus and pitch it into the rodent infested pile that graced the front yard of the social housing colonists upwind of him. As he put it, he was paying for them anyway, he could now save value so he could buy apples to ward off the scurvy, even as the village peoples were running down his property value with their weed infested lawn, cockroaches, and frequent visits from the police (his village also has an ‘observe and respect’ police state that embraces the diversity of a ‘no arrests – no crime’ policy). Further refinements now mean that William has the smallest possible levy for his garbage (and he can now add oranges and bananas to his diet) and his daily journeys to work and labor are punctuated with drop offs of trash in the garbage bins that grace those insititutions that hold him back: anything government related.

Time is money. William does alot of his own car repairs (the product of a wasted youth learning car mechanics, when he should have learnt something useful to success in Trudeaupia, like African dance, or social work, or becoming a registered drug addict). He resented spending hours waiting during the one day of the month when an obese, under washed, non-ability gate keeper (blessed with overtime to his sixty dollar an hour job) would act the perfect incompetent, wasting the hours when William could be making some cash money doing a side job painting or dry walling or nailing wood together. The lying brochure issed from the Garbage OberKommando promised him prompt service on a weekly basis, when instead he got slow dis-service only on the weekend after the full moon. So, instead, he found another route to route his trash into the same trash pile, but without the time cost, the irritation, or the little tick marks on the tally sheet of the little incompetent, tick marks that justify their existance. Where there is no value, there you will not find William.

William was full of anecdotes about his crusade to minimize his statist overload, and maximize his value. I cannot share them all here (but if I see you at the lodge, I will tell you there), but one other I will share with you. Williams politically correct village has a tree planting initiative. Trees increase property value, so William signed up for the program. And after only three years, the responsible statist arrived to plant a tree on his front lawn. William was happy. He had noted in his local newspaper (which he cancelled his subscription to long ago because of its biased reporting) that he read in the library (which has a huge dumpster full of unsorted, uncleaned, uninspected, unaccounted trash back around the back where he parks his aging but well maintained pick up truck) that local students of impeccable environmentalist pedigree (that is, relatives and friends of non-conservative party members in the know, eager to obtain a 25 dollar an hour job for their relatives and friends for the summer) would come around and plant a tree for the green minded taxpayer seeking value for their property. It was only an eighteen inch twig, and upon inspection (it having been planted during the day when William was out working to earn tax money to pay for the wages of the friends and family of non-conservative party members) it was just that: a twig with no roots. No roots at all, just a dry stick stuck into the ground with out even a meager hole dug, but graced with the offical tag of political correctness upon the dry, dead stick. William called city hall and was told that (depending which time he called, and which clerk he summoned from the dream world of a high calorie diet supplemented by a high paying, high pensioned, low effort life of eternal security based upon the shoulders ot those without same) that (a) a certain amount of planted trees die anyway, so stop bothering me (and a click as the phone was slammed down), or that (b) you should not mess with city property, so stop bothering me or I will report you to the tree Gestapo for messing with a city tree (and a click as the phone was slammed down), and finally that (c) the statist tree planting cadre do not plant dead trees so that if your tree is dead you must have killed it yourself so can I put your name down for the waiting list and in only five years we can plant another tree (and a click as the phone was abandoned so that Trixie the clerk could tune her radio to a fave hip hop tune). That evening, William went on a reconnaissance in force to a local swamp and liberated himself a fine sapling (three foot, with life in its limbs, with roots, and a root ball, and healthy earth worms) and planted it himself in the grave of the statist zombie tree, and spent thirty seconds affixing the official city tree tag from the dead planted tree to the living tree. That was last year; this year, he has three city trees on his property, all with official city tags (taken from other dead planted trees in his neighbourhood). Indeed, with three living trees he has more value, and the relatives and friends of the non-conservative party will not have employment planting dead sticks on Williams property for decades to come, even if they do have impressive environmentalist pedigrees, enough to know how to push a dead stick into the ground that has an official city tree tag on it.

William no longer expects value for his money, instead he tests the waters to see if his money can be earned. You have to impress him now, and if you do, you get his money; and he gets value. William has also discovered the internet. It helps him in his search for value. He has found people who will trade and barter for goods and services. Like Engels, he seeks to cut out (preferably castrate) the middleman (er, middleperson) especially when that middleperson is already drinking his blood through his taxes. He will not tell you about this unless he trusts you. Not living in a society that has free speech will do that to you. And he knows alot of people who do the same. They are economic subversives, and there are more of them every day.

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this

xpd Mitchieville, DustMyBroom

4 Responses to “The Economic Subversive”

  1. mare Says:

    This sad tale is along the lines of what will certainly happen in the US. If tax rates reach the tipping point (for example a 60% or higher rate on income over $200,000) then of course, individuals will figure out ways to not make over the tipping point amount. They won’t hire new employees, they won’t rent, buy or build bigger office space to expand and grow business. They won’t buy the bigger ticket “luxury” items and they won’t buy “up” (houses, cars, boats, vacations, etc.).

    I’ll be one of them regardless of the impact on the economy. Foolish, foolish governments.

    Why work harder when you get less and those not working get more?

  2. Professor Bob Says:

    I heard it said that if all levels of gov’mint stop cutting cheques, over half the households in Canada would be unable to pay the mortgage.
    A pledge to stop gov’mint waste and cut all the parasites loose would assure that the foolish politician would loose the next election.

    Prof Bob

  3. Walter from Cambridge Says:

    I think there may be something to this ‘Economic Subversive’ idea.

    In the tax year of 2007, there were 42,527 people in the Province of Ontario, working for the Government of Ontario and its various agencies, like the OLG (Ontario Lootery and Gaming Corporation)and Liquor Control Board of Ontario (which never stopped anyone from drinking themselves to death)who earned, and I use the term loosely, more than $100,000.

    In tax year 2008, the number of people in Ontario earning more than $100,000 had grown to 53,500.

    One makes money, a portion gets confiscated. One spends money and a portion gets confiscated. Spreadsheeting revenues and expenses, to determine exactly how much of my money gets confiscated may prove illuminating.

    And I’m liking this bartering idea. Just by-pass the money confiscators. Hmmm!

  4. Steynian 348 « Free Canuckistan! Says:

    [...] FENRIS BADWULF: “The Economic Subversive” …. [...]

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