Last Chance ... maybe?
Hey Trailer Parkers!
A LOT going on as we get right into the Fireball and Crown Royal season here in the Park.
You don't have to tell me it has been a long and disappointing year. Can't wait until the Missus and I crack open the Baby Duck when the big hand and the little hand both hit 12 on the night of the 31st. Or maybe we do the usual and celebrate it Winnipeg time and get some extra shut eye, but you get the general idea, so long and buh-bye to a 2014 that came in looking lame and left looking dead beat.
Over there in Mongololololia those kooky kats are still playing Keystone Kop politics, but I'll be darned if they weren't almost able to line up in alphabetical order for a few minutes last week. Shows what a few days of almost holding to a one-bottle daily limit on Stoli can do to help clear the cobwebs. They are even trying to get some of 2009's gang that could actually find the dotted line on our good friend's IA back with pens again poised in their hands instead of martini glasses. Christmas is coming and maybe these guys want to talk turkey again! Nothing like having an empty wallet to get your attention ... you know, you take it out down at the bottle store juggling a few 2-4's, but she's emptier than a crack house fridge, and you say "What the???? Am I broke, again????" I hate that.
Down there in Obamaland seems some smart-dressed politico figured out the Yerington Land legislation could be slipped in as a rider on a must-pass Defence Bill. Somebody should play a joke on the Prez, and call it the "Yerington Keystone Land Bill" ... then watch the fur fly as he sounds like a Mob Boss calling for his Capo "Vito, Vito, Vito!" Anywho, looks good for Freeport to start putting the coals to a made-in-the-USA copper project and wink wink guess who has been staking like mad all around the area. Close enough to Reno you could run up there and shoot a man just to watch him die, and be back in time for lunch. Tip of the black stetson to the late great Mr. Cash.
Speaking of losing a pulse ... how's about gold this week? Real money you know. Don't get caught out by those sneaky finks at the Fed. Word to the wise, got gold? There's been a bunch of QE left sloshing around the world - even prices for pads in the park could rise some day. Gold is loking more persistent than a street dealer in Philly. Here to stay, come what may baby. Adversity breeds resilience.
The big deal is oily oil. Now I know your pre-family know-it-all teens and twenty-somethings have been suggesting, a little holier-than-thou'ishly, that you sell the F-250 and get bicycles, or all the polar bears gonna go brown. Yeah, well in a few years when they have a few of your grandkids to shuttle around to hockey and tai-kwon-do they'll be singing a different song, called "Bank of Mom and Dad", the chorus goes something like "everything is so expensive can you give me a big interest free loan for my huge house and honking SUV? Gotta get to Costco and Best Buy and be back in time for the game." So you see when oil gets cheap, everybody from the guys in the huts in Africa to the hipsters in Brooklyn are getting a break on almost everything they buy or need. Some of those smarty-pants must think the carbon-fibre bike and organic shade grown coffee they like gets flown to their neighbourhood on a hemp rug woven out of the same stuff they have been huffing on. Which may promote schitzophrenia I might add. Heh heh, no Sir to any magic in the machine that makes it all happen, like electricity down at the coffee house. Big burly gear-jammers in greasy Peterbilt caps blow clouds of diesel to make it all happen. Demonic great chemical plants and refineries suck in oceans of the black gold and spit out all the plastic and multitude of things required to make the city tick. Farmers use gas in their tractors!
So turns out in 2014, after a little shennanigans in Kiev to get under Vlad's skin, our team has won a round against Gazprom and OPEC - they are sucking on the old hard currency boobs and pumping it as fast as they can (that was unintentional, get your mind out of the gutter) and that spells something for the rest of the world called "Good Times".
So we got some spaceship out there near the planetoid Pluto, another one way off on an asteroid, hoping for a little sunshine, the mighty Argo is getting ready to take us to Mars, the biogene wizards are leapfrogging medical science ahead every day. It may have looked bleak here in the Park, but look around the world and apart from some seriously wrong folks in Syria and a few other very sad spots where now and again you wonder if you could get all the non-combatants out, a good old fashioned carpet bombing might be progress, well, things are looking up for next year for most of our homo sapien kinfolk. Our friends in China have had a little wind taken out of their sails, Vlad is looking like a nincompoop, Angela has a rolling pin and wooden spoon to keep the Eurokitchen clean and tidy ... er, ... well, clean and tidy, considering those filthy spendthrifts down in olive oil country. Down in the Great Democracy apart from all the friendly fire that whacks about 15,000 a year who didn't see it coming when they had breakfast that day, and another 20,000 who decided to end it all and had a gun handy, there is an argument to be made Washington looks better poised to generate a little forward momentum than with the deadlocked Congress they had in October.
And out on the lonely Gobi where the cold winds whistle across the steppes, we have a spanking beautiful and very expensive underutilised concentrator and four deep shafts just begging to tuck into some higher grade ore. And here in the Park against all odds we have a nice chunk of that, all the water under the bridge and shennanigans notwithstanding.
I'll just flap my gums a sec longer here and say this ... prediction wise. Now and again an opportunity comes along when you really need a friend to take a shingling hammer, the rusty old bar-b-que brush or other heavy object and give you a good whack upside the noggin. People, these shares at under 25 cents aren't just a bargain, they are pure theft and larceny, but when you make your gettaway they don't hunt you down and put you in the calaboose, they say you were a smart cookie and envy your easy money. Say you "lucked out". Lucked out? Man, I budgetted weenies and beans and drank Lucky Lager to scape up the shinola for my shares. I wasn't lucky, I was stubborn.
My Magic 8 Ball, the prime directive in all major financial decisions aimed towards your pal's ultimate victory of moving into that Uncle Si Special Edition Clayton Homes manufactured home (goosebumps just thinking about it), says "It is decidedly so." In fact, it may be stuck on that since I dropped it last week when gold jumped 60 bucks mid-day.
So here's to the holidays, let 'er rip on love and kindness to the fam and friends, 2015 couldn't be worse amigoes and amigas. And do yourself a little favour and tuck a few ETG's in the toe of the stocking this year.
Yer old pal, CG