E-gold - America's Last Cowboy
If Douglas Jackson was born in the tumultuous nineteenth century, he would have been in the ranks of those who went to conquer the Wild West.
And after the fight is ugly,
Which ended the struggle
You do not distinguish in a crowd rambling
Neither a pure person from dirty,
Not a free-thinker from a slave ...
A. Zhemchuzhnikov
')
If Douglas Jackson was born in the tumultuous nineteenth century, he would have been in the ranks of those who went to conquer the Wild West. He would have become a real cowboy, just like Hollywood movies portray them.
But he was born in a decent twentieth century and became a heart surgeon. Profession, highly respected. And in the States - especially respected. And especially paid.
To be a heart surgeon in the United States is not just an honor, but also profitable. Mr. Jackson could have lived for himself, did not know the sorrows and needs, and following the example of thousands of his fellow citizens, having retired to retire in his old age, devote himself to travel and memoirs.
But a real cowboy like Douglas Jackson could not stay at home. He went beyond the threshold and set off to conquer. No, not the Wild West - he was already conquered before him. Mr. Jackson went to conquer the financial prairie of e-commerce. Those prairies, where few people dared to look to him.
Soon, in the midst of the prairies, Mr. Jackson's powerful fort was erected under the proud name of e-gold, and life began to boil around it, trade routes were built, trading stations opened, and the natives switched from barter to natural commerce.
And when life began to boil, then the inhabitants of the stone jungle were surprised to see that it turns out they have prairies near by, and almost undeveloped. Immediately, bankers came to the prairie and began to build their forts-trading posts, but only to no purpose. The inhabitants of the prairies are already so accustomed to the fort of Mr. Jackson, that they did not see all these bank trading posts at close range. Yes, and for the sake of justice, I must say, Mr. Jackson was cheaper, safer, and without any bureaucratic formalities.
Bankers were offended and did what bankers always do when they are offended: they ran to complain to their banking lobby. All bankers have a banking lobby in all countries, but in the States it is so big and terrible that even the Old Jester himself is afraid of the Law and does not dare to contradict him.
A little embarrassed and fiddling with the hands of the Colt Old Jester, the Law appeared on the prairie.
- Hey, mister, he said to Jackson, - but will you show me your license for monetary operations?
“I will definitely show you,” said Mr. Jackson, “as soon as I begin to engage in monetary operations.” After all, we have wild people on the prairie, did not hold money in their hands, and they do not believe them. In Gold We Trust, and we only pay each other with warehouse receipts on Gold, and that Gold is stored exclusively in Dubai and Zurich, so even if you, Old Jester Law, take your fort by storm, it will not change anything, because your hands are short before Gold reach. Yes, and, in fact, take my fort - also short arms.
Old Jester looked around at the Law, and around the natives of the financial prairies gathered: some with a bow and arrows, some with a multuk, and some with a drekol. The old Jester Law shattered, but did not file a mind.
“Hey, Mister,” he asked sternly, “what kind of people do they have passports or at least Driver License?” Do you somehow identify them when you exchange receipts for your Gold with them? Oh, I don’t like their faces, and it seems to me that there are a lot of dark elements among them that, through your Gold, launder our money.
“Faces like faces,” replied Mr. Jackson. “Not handsome, of course, well, it’s because our life on the prairies is hard.” Your passports have never been here before, but we have never heard what a Driver License is. And we identify each other simply - by physiognomy. Von Chingachguk is the Big Serpent, and there is the hunter, the Leather Stocking. It happens, of course, and every rabble is hustling, but what he does, what he is washing is unknown to me, everyone is equal before Gold. But I will tell you, Mr. Law: if that rabble does something bad, then it's not my fault. It is your job to catch those who are doing the dark things - so do it. I have something to do with it ?! It seems to me that you want everything to fall down from a sick head to a healthy one.
The Old Jester Law was offended, but did not file a mind, he lurked. Sat down near the fort, sort of like to besiege. Not very far sat down, so that the banking lobby saw - acts, but not too close - so that the accidental bullet fired from the fort would not light up the kumpola.
Then came September 11th. And together with the twin towers collapsed the old world.
The Old Jester Law reappeared in front of the gates of the e-Gold fort, waving a piece of paper.
“Mr. Jackson,” said Old Jester, “You see, I have a piece of paper in my hands.” Do you know what it is? This is the "Patriot Act." I used to dominate this, and now he is the chief, and I am only his humble servant. It’s before you could say “I don’t know who’s running around here,” but now you can’t. Now, if you understood that terrorists could use your Gold, but did not take measures, then you are a terrorist yourself. If you understood that drug dealers could potentially take advantage of your Gold, but didn’t take action, then you are also a drug dealer. If you knew that your Gold could pay for child pornography, but didn’t take action, then you are the distributor of child pornography yourself. If you knew that your Gold could serve to launder real money, but did not take action, then you are laundering money yourself.
“Why don't you accuse me of rape at the same time?” - asked Mr. Jackson.
- And you also raped someone? - the Old Jester Law happily started up.
- No, I did not rape it, - but I have the appropriate apparatus suitable for this purpose, and, knowing that, I did not take any measures to eliminate it.
Mr. Jackson wanted to joke, but with the Old Jester Law the jokes are notoriously bad, he took out a little book and wrote another offense into Mr. Jackson’s account.
Had Mr. Jackson been an ordinary average American, he would have repented right away, ruined his fort, transferred his clientele to its new rightful owner, the banking lobby, and retired to write his memoirs and travel.
But Mr. Jackson was not the average American, he was the last cowboy of the past era of the Wild West. So he straightened his hat and said:
“You say it wisely, Mr. Law, and it’s kind of nice.” But my heart tells me that I'm right too. I can not leave the guys to fend for themselves. What will I say to old Nathaniel Bampo? How will I look into Chingachguku's eyes? What will my conscience say when your bank kites begin to peck at them and strip off seven skins? No, Mr. Law, I'm staying. And so that you know how your accusations are ridiculous, I am ready to give you information about all the suspicious types that came to me. I am also a patriot, and, for your information, we have the strictest accounting at the fort. Rummage, we will lift history, we will calculate reptiles if they actually are and did not see you, - deal with them.
“You did not understand, Mr.,” said the Old Jester Law sadly, “we do not need lists of your suspicious types, we need you.” And your fort. It is like a thorn in the eye, self-aware. And if you don’t want to remove this thorn yourself, we will have to perform a forced removal operation. Radical. By amputation of the head.
And the siege began, according to all the rules of fortification. Mr. Jackson kept his promise. From time to time, he threw lists of suspicious personalities over the wall and even arranged all sorts of traps for suspicious types inside the fort.
Servants of the Law lists are sometimes picked up, sometimes - not. Sometimes someone was arrested on these lists, and sometimes they came to those who were on those lists and explained that Mr. Jackson had betrayed them. Suspicious types were offended and sent their children to help besiegers.
Before the Leather Stocking began to reach rumors that Mr. Jackson confused with the criminals and drug dealers. The leather stocking was about to ask Mr. Jackson if it was true, but he could not get to the fort, all roads were blocked.
Chingachguku was shown a newspaper clipping, telling how Mr. Jackson was selling child pornography. And Chingachgook turned away in disgust.
Mr. Jackson was full of strength and self-righteousness, but he had an enemy stronger than the Law - time. Every day, the ranks of the fort defenders were thinning. Every day, fewer people could get to the rescue. Every day more and more former friends turned away from Mr. Jackson.
After a ten-year siege, Mr. Jackson’s fort threw a white flag. But the remnants of the garrison came out of the gate without bowing their heads dejectedly, but proudly marching forward, turning the banners to a fraction of drums.
Mr. Jackson lost the battle. But the victory that the banking lobby won over him looks too much like a victory for the king of Epirus. Ultimately, momentary battles have no meaning against the background of eternity. It is only the eternity that matters.
America lost the last cowboy, but his spirit remained hovering over the conquered prairie.
Mr. Jackson, I take off my hat to you. And if fate ever brings us together, I will gladly shake your hand and miss with you a glass of Kentucky whiskey. And, I hope that this will happen in freedom.
I do not know what awaits you tomorrow. But I firmly know what awaits you beyond the horizon. An eternity awaits you, you have already stepped into it, and your name will be printed in future economics textbooks.
But the names of those who defeated you, I do not remember now.
Andrey Shipilov
And after the fight is ugly,
Which ended the struggle
You do not distinguish in a crowd rambling
Neither a pure person from dirty,
Not a free-thinker from a slave ...
A. Zhemchuzhnikov
')
If Douglas Jackson was born in the tumultuous nineteenth century, he would have been in the ranks of those who went to conquer the Wild West. He would have become a real cowboy, just like Hollywood movies portray them.
But he was born in a decent twentieth century and became a heart surgeon. Profession, highly respected. And in the States - especially respected. And especially paid.
To be a heart surgeon in the United States is not just an honor, but also profitable. Mr. Jackson could have lived for himself, did not know the sorrows and needs, and following the example of thousands of his fellow citizens, having retired to retire in his old age, devote himself to travel and memoirs.
But a real cowboy like Douglas Jackson could not stay at home. He went beyond the threshold and set off to conquer. No, not the Wild West - he was already conquered before him. Mr. Jackson went to conquer the financial prairie of e-commerce. Those prairies, where few people dared to look to him.
Soon, in the midst of the prairies, Mr. Jackson's powerful fort was erected under the proud name of e-gold, and life began to boil around it, trade routes were built, trading stations opened, and the natives switched from barter to natural commerce.
And when life began to boil, then the inhabitants of the stone jungle were surprised to see that it turns out they have prairies near by, and almost undeveloped. Immediately, bankers came to the prairie and began to build their forts-trading posts, but only to no purpose. The inhabitants of the prairies are already so accustomed to the fort of Mr. Jackson, that they did not see all these bank trading posts at close range. Yes, and for the sake of justice, I must say, Mr. Jackson was cheaper, safer, and without any bureaucratic formalities.
Bankers were offended and did what bankers always do when they are offended: they ran to complain to their banking lobby. All bankers have a banking lobby in all countries, but in the States it is so big and terrible that even the Old Jester himself is afraid of the Law and does not dare to contradict him.
A little embarrassed and fiddling with the hands of the Colt Old Jester, the Law appeared on the prairie.
- Hey, mister, he said to Jackson, - but will you show me your license for monetary operations?
“I will definitely show you,” said Mr. Jackson, “as soon as I begin to engage in monetary operations.” After all, we have wild people on the prairie, did not hold money in their hands, and they do not believe them. In Gold We Trust, and we only pay each other with warehouse receipts on Gold, and that Gold is stored exclusively in Dubai and Zurich, so even if you, Old Jester Law, take your fort by storm, it will not change anything, because your hands are short before Gold reach. Yes, and, in fact, take my fort - also short arms.
Old Jester looked around at the Law, and around the natives of the financial prairies gathered: some with a bow and arrows, some with a multuk, and some with a drekol. The old Jester Law shattered, but did not file a mind.
“Hey, Mister,” he asked sternly, “what kind of people do they have passports or at least Driver License?” Do you somehow identify them when you exchange receipts for your Gold with them? Oh, I don’t like their faces, and it seems to me that there are a lot of dark elements among them that, through your Gold, launder our money.
“Faces like faces,” replied Mr. Jackson. “Not handsome, of course, well, it’s because our life on the prairies is hard.” Your passports have never been here before, but we have never heard what a Driver License is. And we identify each other simply - by physiognomy. Von Chingachguk is the Big Serpent, and there is the hunter, the Leather Stocking. It happens, of course, and every rabble is hustling, but what he does, what he is washing is unknown to me, everyone is equal before Gold. But I will tell you, Mr. Law: if that rabble does something bad, then it's not my fault. It is your job to catch those who are doing the dark things - so do it. I have something to do with it ?! It seems to me that you want everything to fall down from a sick head to a healthy one.
The Old Jester Law was offended, but did not file a mind, he lurked. Sat down near the fort, sort of like to besiege. Not very far sat down, so that the banking lobby saw - acts, but not too close - so that the accidental bullet fired from the fort would not light up the kumpola.
Then came September 11th. And together with the twin towers collapsed the old world.
The Old Jester Law reappeared in front of the gates of the e-Gold fort, waving a piece of paper.
“Mr. Jackson,” said Old Jester, “You see, I have a piece of paper in my hands.” Do you know what it is? This is the "Patriot Act." I used to dominate this, and now he is the chief, and I am only his humble servant. It’s before you could say “I don’t know who’s running around here,” but now you can’t. Now, if you understood that terrorists could use your Gold, but did not take measures, then you are a terrorist yourself. If you understood that drug dealers could potentially take advantage of your Gold, but didn’t take action, then you are also a drug dealer. If you knew that your Gold could pay for child pornography, but didn’t take action, then you are the distributor of child pornography yourself. If you knew that your Gold could serve to launder real money, but did not take action, then you are laundering money yourself.
“Why don't you accuse me of rape at the same time?” - asked Mr. Jackson.
- And you also raped someone? - the Old Jester Law happily started up.
- No, I did not rape it, - but I have the appropriate apparatus suitable for this purpose, and, knowing that, I did not take any measures to eliminate it.
Mr. Jackson wanted to joke, but with the Old Jester Law the jokes are notoriously bad, he took out a little book and wrote another offense into Mr. Jackson’s account.
Had Mr. Jackson been an ordinary average American, he would have repented right away, ruined his fort, transferred his clientele to its new rightful owner, the banking lobby, and retired to write his memoirs and travel.
But Mr. Jackson was not the average American, he was the last cowboy of the past era of the Wild West. So he straightened his hat and said:
“You say it wisely, Mr. Law, and it’s kind of nice.” But my heart tells me that I'm right too. I can not leave the guys to fend for themselves. What will I say to old Nathaniel Bampo? How will I look into Chingachguku's eyes? What will my conscience say when your bank kites begin to peck at them and strip off seven skins? No, Mr. Law, I'm staying. And so that you know how your accusations are ridiculous, I am ready to give you information about all the suspicious types that came to me. I am also a patriot, and, for your information, we have the strictest accounting at the fort. Rummage, we will lift history, we will calculate reptiles if they actually are and did not see you, - deal with them.
“You did not understand, Mr.,” said the Old Jester Law sadly, “we do not need lists of your suspicious types, we need you.” And your fort. It is like a thorn in the eye, self-aware. And if you don’t want to remove this thorn yourself, we will have to perform a forced removal operation. Radical. By amputation of the head.
And the siege began, according to all the rules of fortification. Mr. Jackson kept his promise. From time to time, he threw lists of suspicious personalities over the wall and even arranged all sorts of traps for suspicious types inside the fort.
Servants of the Law lists are sometimes picked up, sometimes - not. Sometimes someone was arrested on these lists, and sometimes they came to those who were on those lists and explained that Mr. Jackson had betrayed them. Suspicious types were offended and sent their children to help besiegers.
Before the Leather Stocking began to reach rumors that Mr. Jackson confused with the criminals and drug dealers. The leather stocking was about to ask Mr. Jackson if it was true, but he could not get to the fort, all roads were blocked.
Chingachguku was shown a newspaper clipping, telling how Mr. Jackson was selling child pornography. And Chingachgook turned away in disgust.
Mr. Jackson was full of strength and self-righteousness, but he had an enemy stronger than the Law - time. Every day, the ranks of the fort defenders were thinning. Every day, fewer people could get to the rescue. Every day more and more former friends turned away from Mr. Jackson.
After a ten-year siege, Mr. Jackson’s fort threw a white flag. But the remnants of the garrison came out of the gate without bowing their heads dejectedly, but proudly marching forward, turning the banners to a fraction of drums.
Mr. Jackson lost the battle. But the victory that the banking lobby won over him looks too much like a victory for the king of Epirus. Ultimately, momentary battles have no meaning against the background of eternity. It is only the eternity that matters.
America lost the last cowboy, but his spirit remained hovering over the conquered prairie.
Mr. Jackson, I take off my hat to you. And if fate ever brings us together, I will gladly shake your hand and miss with you a glass of Kentucky whiskey. And, I hope that this will happen in freedom.
I do not know what awaits you tomorrow. But I firmly know what awaits you beyond the horizon. An eternity awaits you, you have already stepped into it, and your name will be printed in future economics textbooks.
But the names of those who defeated you, I do not remember now.
Andrey Shipilov
Source: https://habr.com/ru/post/30773/
All Articles