Monday, October 31, 2016

A Grande Aposta

Esse filme é gol contra a realidade, confira: 

Essa ficção procura convencer que os confiscos bilionários praticados pelo governo Bush nada tinham a ver com o colapso financeiro que desabou em 2007. Houve sim o vencimento de hipotecas a juros variáveis coincidindo com confisco de imóveis onde se cultivava cannabis. Resultou a retirada dos ativos deste enorme setor dos bancos e casas de corretagem, como em 1929. Mas nos dois casos o proibicionismo derrubou a economia pelo simples encolhimento de liquidez resultante dessa evasão. Compramos imóvel justamente nessa época com hipoteca a juros fixos. As imobiliárias empurravam com a barriga os contratos de juros reajustáveis, e achavam otário que comprasse. 

O George Bush, tão logo eleito, usou Ordens Presidenciais para  encher o governo americano de infiltradores místicos, mediante o Gabinete de Iniciativas Comunitárias baseadas na Fé da Casa Branca (OFBCI). Num estouro de boiada as burocracias amamentadas com verba federal viraram currais de crentes fanáticos e proibicionistas à exemplo dos resultados das eleições brasileiras do pós-golpe onde os votos nulos e em branco poderiam ter sidos votos pelo Partido Libertário (se tal coisa fosse permitida existir). 

O resultado? Repetiram a façanha do presidente americano Herbert Hoover, que--eleito em 1928--lançou mão de um programa de confiscos em 1929. A cerveja era delito federal com pena de 5 anos de reclusão e multa que equivaleria hoje a R$1,8 milhões.  Mabel Walker Willebrandt foi a promotora que tocou as devassas que indiciaram fábricas de glucose no cinturão cerealista e os bancos de investimento na região do Império do Contrabando e cobrava quebra de sigilo fiscal das declarações de imposto de renda das sociedades anônimas em setembro de 1929. As causas em juízo penal se arrastaram durante anos, seus efeitos colaterais desmoronando a economia e fechando os bancos do país até mudar o governo em 1932. Passaram-se 24 anos sem outro republicano ser eleito. 

Mas em 1928 houve muita infiltração do ku-klux-klã e do Partido da Proibição no Partido Republicano. Vinte e quatro anos depois, o Nixon foi eleito como vice do Eisenhower, e foi o novo vetor para o fanatismo místico cuja única solução é proibir à mão armada os direitos das mulheres, dos estrangeiros, e dos concorrentes das corporações destiladoras, farmacêuticas e tabagistas. Olha o resultado dos confiscos que superaram os roubos de gatunos e arrombadores: 

Bastou isso para desequilibrar e derrubar a economia. Depois do estrago, com queda de 40% dos valores mobiliários, ainda tentaram recuperar com mais confiscos. Foi fazendo A Grande Aposta contra os títulos mobiliários e as moedas de circulação forçada dos demais países que, pelos bons ofícios da ONU, imitaram a causa do desastre americano, que conseguiram uma recuperação parcial. Na Europa aconteceu o mesmo encafuamento de dinheiro vivo em colchões que ocorreu nos EUA desde 1927 (quando o IR foi cobrado dos destiladores ilícitos) até 1933 (quando todos os bancos fecharam).

Adam Smith ensinou que só o governo, pela violência da lei, era capaz de arruinar a um país. O verdadeiro Big Short foi a aposta dos corretores de Wall Street de que a política de extorsão e do confisco que o Departamento de Estado dos EUA injetou na América Latina e na Europa provocariam quedas brutais nas suas bolsas e moedas. Essas quedas seriam exploradas mediante contratos de especulação nos mercados futuros e de derivativos. Assim--e com confiscos mais diretos--sempre em função de "suspeitas de terrorismo"--recuperaram o grosso dos empréstimos do Programa de Alívio de Ativos Problemáticos (TARP). 

Nada disso aparece no livro ou no filme americano A Grande Aposta, mas no livro Stress Test do Secretário do Tesouro Americano Timothy Geithner transparecem indícios da verdade. Geithner, como George Orwell, passou sua infância na Índia. No filme só aparece a ganância dos banqueiros e corretores, como nos filmes da Alemanha nacionalsocialista da década de 1930. 
Le plus ça change, le plus c'est la même chose. --libertariantranslator.com




Saturday, October 29, 2016

Escolhas sem opções

O expatriota longe do seu país até que escapa de ter que usar saco de papel na cabeça em dia de eleição. Se americano, não gostando do programa dos republicanos ou das democratas, tem pelo menos a opção de votar pelo partido libertário, verde, comunista ou dos fanáticos religiosos--ou não votar.

Já, no Brasil, são 33 partidos semelhantes: 11 comunistas, 11 nazifascistas e 11 proibicionistas. Quem é do contra pode votar em branco ou nulo, das duas uma. O governo tem uns trocentos sites no ar enchendo páginas de explicações de que nulo NÃO é o mesmo que em branco. As aparências que enganam, só isso. Eis que chega o chargista Adão Iturrusgarai...


Parece os EUA. Se tu votas pelo libertário, dizem os nazifascistas republicanos que isso só ajuda a comuna a ganhar. E se votar na candidata do partido verde, as democratas acham que isso é o mesmo que ajudar os republicanos a ganharem.

Nos dois casos o voto pelo partido de consciência ajuda a mudar as leis. É justamente para roubar votos dos pequenos partidos que os políticos mudam de programa. E se não mudam, os juízes re-interpretam as leis de forma a mudá-las para que os pequenos partidos não consigam votos para ameaçar seus patronos.

Em 2000 o partido verde encampou 5 vezes a diferença entre ganhador e perdedor. Os democratas absorveram todo o programa destes e hoje o partido verde não consegue mais se diferenciar. Os republicanos para assimilar o programa libertário teriam que parar de invadir e bombardear, largar mão do proibicionismo e dos confiscos que derrubam o sistema financeiro e deixar as mocinhas tomarem as suas próprias decisões reprodutivas, como no Canadá.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

BST Great Escape--The Plot Thickens

British School of Teresopolis, The Great Escape, Part 2 The plot thickens.

Naturally I got busy extorting contributions in cash and other impedimenta in furtherance of Conspiracy and Cause. Since everyone in the school was thrilled by the prospect of someday going “Over The Hill,” this turned out pretty easy. When by some miracle Robyn’s twin brother Carol (my other rival for the attentions of the gorgeous German lass) decided to join the Great Escape, my efforts on behalf of the Underground Railroad acquired the fury of desperation. By nightfall the conjuration had prospered and the Daring young Dutchmen slipped off into twilight, packed and bound for that nostalgic den of vice and iniquity—Rio de Janeiro. Nobody noticed a thing until the next morning. 

Never was a rollcall attended by so many expressions of helpless bafflement and insincere offers to “help.” We lied en masse about having seen the fugitives asleep in their bunks the night before, or strolling the ground just minutes ago. All eagerly pointed in every direction of the compass to convey impressions as to their probable immediate whereabouts. Nobody believed us, but the Headmaster believed in us, which was a much more practical and important consideration. Case Morris realized that no amount of torture would rattle the truth out of any of us, but he did go through the motions with inquisitions, an emergency meeting, lectures, exhortations, wheedling, promises and threats—mainly to give the appearance of due diligence. Then with tears in his eyes he loaded wanted posters, shovels, rakes, come-alongs, handcuffs and straitjackets into a blue VW microbus and headed off into the sunset, bound for that dark Sodom of Gomorrahs so distant from the cheerful sunlight and invigorating breezes that whistled through the British School of Teresópolis. 

Our versatile and intrepid escapees, meanwhile, had neither the means not the inclination to string a telephone wire across the street, strangle a passing Gestapo agent and steal his motorcycle and go cross-country rallye-hopping over the barbed wire. Instead they hitchhiked (this was, after all, the 1960s!) and quickly caught a ride on a truck headed all the way into Rio—100 km or 62 miles.  Case Morris wasted no time contacting the authorities or searching the surrounding countryside. It was clear to him that the lot of us street-wise little weasels were perfectly competent to organize a successful break. He plotted a course directly to Laranjeiras—not far from the cog-wheel choo-choo train that takes tourists up from Cosme Velho to the Big Jesus on the Mountain—where the fugitives’ mom lived. Case’s blue VW microbus probably passed the truck carrying the contraband along the way. I believe our heroes ended up having to hike some distance after getting dropped off. Imagine their chagrin to arrive well after dark and find The Long Arm of the Law—Case Morris himself—sitting in the easy chair chatting with Mrs DeRoo over a cuppa tea!  AUGH!


Needless to say, the two villains were clapped in irons and frogmarched back to the compound where, under heightened security, we did the daily death-defying steeplechase as warmup for the grueling physical jerks. On Mondays we ran long distance down to the tourist hotel and back a total of 3 km, dreaming every foot of the way of the next Great Escape.

Monday, October 24, 2016

BST: The Great Escape, Part 1

Back when the Beatles were the new kids on the block, the British School of Teresópolis was popular among British and American expatriates and Brazilian parents eager to delegate the learning of English to their offspring. Also new at the time was a movie titled “The Great Escape,” which pretty well summed up the way a lot of us offspring viewed the arrangement. We even had a stern and unforgiving German nurse, a British math teacher,  a headmaster and a physical education teacher both of whom were eager to see how many of us could be trained to win metals for the Vaterland in athletic competition.

A normal day started with lineup and roll-call followed immediately by steeplechase race up a treacherous clay slope embedded with angular lumps of chert, then back down an equally steep and slippery goat trail to arrive, gasping and panting, at the main torture grounds. Divide and conquer was the motto as we lined up into freebooter and militaristic Drake, Churchill and Nelson “houses” to be broiled under the tropical sun seeking to outdo one another at the physical jerks popularized in Orwell’s totalitarian dystopias. 

The physical jerks weren’t so bad compared to the torture of being five millimeters taller than Suzy Ludwig, the most gorgeous heartbreaker there, and thus having to watch her muscular butt-cheeks ripple beneath a tiny pair of gym shorts throughout the entire ordeal. For a skinny adolescent with no girlfriend, it was Hell! 


Like Steve McQueen, I dreamt of escaping over the hill—this when I wasn’t wishing the Fraulein would notice my pathetic existence. Then it happened! I was wandering aimlessly when Robyn de Roo sidled up alongside and announced his intention of making a break for it. I was awash in friendship and sympathy as I handed him all the cash I had on me, plus half a stick of gum and a useful-looking piece of string. This altruistic camaraderie was of course seasoned with the very practical realization that with one of the handsome and roguish DeRoo brothers out of the county I might have a better shot at obtruding upon the notice of the pretty German girl. 

Don't miss Part 2: The Plot Thickens
BST: The Great Escape, Part 1

Back when the Beatles were the new kids on the block, the British School of Teresópolis was popular among British and American expatriates and Brazilian parents eager to delegate the learning of English to their offspring. Also new at the time was a movie titled “The Great Escape,” which pretty well summed up the way a lot of us offspring viewed the arrangement. We even had a stern and unforgiving German nurse, a British math teacher,  a headmaster and a physical education teacher both of whom were eager to see how many of us could be trained to win metals for the Vaterland in athletic competition.

A normal day started with lineup and roll-call followed immediately by steeplechase race up a treacherous clay slope embedded with angular lumps of chert, then back down an equally steep and slippery goat trail to arrive, gasping and panting, at the main torture grounds. Divide and conquer was the motto as we lined up into freebooter and militaristic Drake, Churchill and Nelson “houses” to be broiled under the tropical sun seeking to outdo one another at the physical jerks popularized in Orwell’s totalitarian dystopias. 

The physical jerks weren’t so bad compared to the torture of being five millimeters taller than Suzy Ludwig, the most gorgeous heartbreaker there, and thus having to watch her muscular butt-cheeks ripple beneath a tiny pair of gym shorts throughout the entire ordeal. For a skinny adolescent with no girlfriend, it was Hell! 


Like Steve McQueen, I dreamt of escaping over the hill—this when I wasn’t wishing the Fraulein would notice my pathetic existence. Then it happened! I was wandering aimlessly when Robyn de Roo sidled up alongside and announced his intention of making a break for it. I was awash in friendship and sympathy as I handed him all the cash I had on me, plus half a stick of gum and a useful-looking piece of string. This altruistic camaraderie was of course seasoned with the very practical realization that with one of the handsome and roguish DeRoo brothers out of the county I might have a better shot at obtruding upon the notice of the pretty German girl. 

Don't miss Part 2: The Plot Thickens

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Livro novo, que não li

A book I have not read... is out. Here's the info courtesy of Thelma:

Vai ter o lançamento no sábado, às 11 horas, numa livraria bicho grilo no centro.

Thelma L Sabim
www.speakwrite.com.br
Curitiba (41) 3276-5659 USA (512) 837-5708
ATA & ABRATES Certified Translator
Juramentada JUCEPAR 12/219-T

Make every allowance for errors of knowledge; do not forgive or accept any breach of morality. Ayn Rand

Monday, October 17, 2016

A pixador is one of those juvenile delinquents who mess up other people's paint jobs with illegible scrawl. Grafitti artist is the wrong translation, for it suggests talent or ability. Thanks to the gruff, loveable and cantankerous Everett True, here is another translation just as bad, but more entertaining.


Saturday, October 15, 2016

The Republicans claim that if you vote for a balanced candidate, that would help the Dems win again like they did in 2008 and 2012 (after the Bush asset-forfeiture crash). The Dems say voting for someone who is not an insane looter would only help a Republican win.

A website was formed to cancel out votes, much the way in Brazil people not interested in 33 communist, fascist and prohibitionist parties vote NULO and EM BRANCO. Search and you will find thousands of government pages explaining that those are NOT the same thing. NULO means "none of the above," whereas EM BRANCO means "none of the above," see?

The US system is simpler. Here's a video that explains it:

This is much like the Fimose and Espinha (Charges.com.br) agreement to each cancel the other's vote in Brazilian elections. This cartoon may have been the original idea behind Balancedrebellion.com

The difference is that the BalancedRebellion vote drains off part of the spoiler vote effect. I personally approach with unruffled equanimity the prospect of Republicans committing cyanide Kool-aid suicide because Hillary won after they voted Libertarian. Paddypower.com bookies are betting 6 to 1 the pro-choice party wins and 5 to 1 the life-begins-at-erection party loses. Paddypower is run by Irish bookies using actuarial math to make money on outcomes. Unlike rigged polls putting the adversaries neck-and-neck, they care as little about who wins across the ocean as the Republicans have chances of winning.

The good news about the odds is that feminists who believe in choice but do not believe in looter kleptocracy can vote Libertarian with no fear that God's Own Prohibitionists are therefore going to put a girl-bullying madman into the highest office. This third-party choice multiplies the power of your vote by anywhere from 600% to 3600%, and the LP.org platform is not anti-choice.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Election news talking blues

Instead of 33 parties in 3 categories, the US still has but 7 parties in 4 categories. Two, however, hog the spotlight, as in 1960. 

http://reason.com/blog/2016/10/14/do-trumps-groping-clintons-lying-johnson

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Rindo para não chorar

O mais bem-desenhado entre as charges que conheço é o sinfest.net. 
Nesta época, o cartunista, Tatsuya, mexe com os partidos entrincheirados...

Desde 2007 EUA viraram, bem... veja você.


Sunday, October 9, 2016

Distance Voting

Another deadline looms. Now is a good time to find out about voting in the November elections. My candidate was nominated much later than the entrenched party candidates, and I was surprised at how little time we have left.

Here's a link:
https://www.fvap.gov/fwab-privacy-notice

The mailing part is kind of a joke. Nobody mails anything in Brazil. The last thing mailed to this address was from the US, and it was delivered to a neighbor a block away. But there is a way to Sedex stuff to a local voter, kind of like proxy voting in a corporation.

Right now we are looking for someone in São Paulo or Porto Alegre willing to drop off ballots at the American Consulates. The Consulate in SP is kind of like a wartime bunker. To approach you have to use their website and fill out forms days in advance. The website only works intermittently, and the place is best approached with your hands raised and empty.

Cheerfully,

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Bilingual Voting Machines

Bilingual Voting Machines have arrived--if you can believe what you see in political cartoons.  Locally you can vote for any party you want... provided that party is firmly committed to the initiation of force to get things done. Any party that isn't, ain't on the ballot machine. It's that simple.

Voting is mandatory, albeit not exactly at gunpoint. The idea was cooked up in the People's State of Australia back when populated largely by transportees. According to proponents, the idea was to keep those favoring a gold standard from intimidating (and occasionally shooting) those who wanted a currency backed by the promises of politicians (as in 1923 Germany and 1992 Brazil). Nowadays there is no gold standard currency, thanks in part to Ian Fleming's revelation that gold is easily made radioactive. In Australia and Brazil the League of Non-Voters consists entirely of Orwellian "unpersons." These worthies are not themselves vaporized--just their documents. This makes it impossible to open a bank account, rent anything, operate a vehicle, etc. until they kneel, confess, make penance--perhaps by reciting something akin to the Eisenhower Pledge of Allegiance--and rejoin the fold of the goodthinkful by paying a punitive tithe to The Political State.
With all this nonsense in place to force the sanction of the victim, would it be asking too much to let the victim verify that his or her vote was counted the way it was cast? Anyone with a smartphone can read barcodes or QR codes to look up all kinds of websites and information, just not whether their ballot was switched, trashed or altered. The switching, trashing and forging of ballots has been a constant feature of all elections for the past two centuries, according to newspapers. If this is such a bad thing, does it not make sense to let the voter verify the way his vote was counted? We check deposits using Automatic Teller Machines all the time suing a secret password. Asking for honest politicians is asking too much. So why not have verifiable voting?