The Horror of Central Bank Digital Currencies
- Imagine not being able to buy a drink, even if you had the purchasing power to do so.
- What if the government wouldn’t let you eat ice cream because you’ve put on weight?
- What if they prohibited you from eating meat because “we’re all going vegan now.”
You’ve made it and deserve your cup of joe – and an adult beverage or three this evening…
Between the Canadian truckers, the Russia/Ukraine conflict, and the alleged do-gooders trying to wreck our financial system, it’s been a helluva week.
One of my good friends – I can’t remember which one – sent over a Doomberg post about CBDCs – central bank digital currencies.
I must admit CBDCs passed completely out of my mind with everything else going on.
But that’s how they get you, isn’t it?
Start a war over there… so they don’t know you’ve built a social credit program – or worse – right here.
I had a tough enough time getting my head around Bitcoin. Thanks to overreaching governments, coiner arguments have been thrown into sharp relief.
Quite frankly, I underestimated The State’s mission creep once again.
The kids with the coins didn’t.
Honor is due.
But that’s regular cryptocurrency.
CBDCs are like cryptocurrencies, except their supply is as infinite as ever, you have no privacy, and worst of all, they make not work like good old cash at all.
Let me explain.
After a Long Day Driving a Rig
Let’s do a thought experiment together.
There’s this man, named John Ring, who’s a philosopher-truck driver.
John works his ass off for his family.
He wakes up at 5 am every day, rain or shine, snow or sleet, to get to this terminal.
There, his owner-operated truck rests idly, waiting for the ignition of a new day.
The little people don’t know it, but their toothpaste, cereal, or chocolate bars don’t just magically manifest themselves on the shelves.
There’s this thing called the supply chain, and truckers are paramount to its smooth operation.
Before John became a “local,” he drove all over America, delivering goods long haul with his 18-wheeler.
But since he’s started a family, he suffers the roads and drivers of the New York metropolitan area all day, every day.
When John gets home after his deliveries are done, he smells of grease.
(To this day, the smell of grease makes me think “Ah, that’s a job well done.”)
His wife makes him take a shower as soon as he takes off his shoes.
If it were the summer, John would take a dip in the pool.
But since it’s only early March, he jumps in a hot shower to wash off that hard day’s work.
In the old days, dinner would be a London Broil a la Trump -that’s with ketchup – and a can of Budweiser.
But these days are different.
The Regulation of Choice
These days, John’s dinner consists of Beyond Meat’s plant-based Frankenfood.
It looks like a steak, smells like a steak, and tastes like dung.
But he must eat it.
His drink is an O’Doul’s, the non-alcoholic beer for ghouls.
At least the UK’s Brewdog had the good sense to call their non-alcoholic brew Nanny State.
Anheuser-Busch thought creating a non-alcoholic beer was a good idea back in the day.
But now most folks are prohibited from buying real beer with real alcohol.
No one really knows who can, because you don’t need an ID anymore.
But mostly, it’s government workers. Well, that’s the rumor anyway.
The reason no one gets carded anymore is that you don’t have to.
When you go to pay, the government either lets you buy stuff… or it doesn’t.
Today’s 50 Cent Word is “Programmable”
The Sheeple didn’t see it coming.
They never do.
But an article written in the UK’s Daily Telegraph gave the game away.
One question was asked. It was the one question every politician in the world wanted to hear.
“Would you like our new digital currency to be programmable?”
It was the question to end all questions.
Because now the government, and not the people, for they were not one and the same, could make buying decisions on behalf of the “constituents.”
The answer to the question was a full-throated “Yes!”
And so it began.
In the name of social justice, universal healthcare, and this new thing called equity, the government could prohibit you from buying the goods and services of your choice.
Never mind that seemingly insignificant kerfuffle with GoFundMe.
That was just charity given to “terrorists.”
Or that banks the world over prohibited innocent Russians from transacting.
After all, that was an invasion, for crissakes!
But this, this really hit where it hurts.
John can’t go to the store to buy red meat anymore.
His doctor said he’s got an arrhythmia and slightly elevated blood pressure.
So whenever John tries to buy steak, the armed cashier – they have those because so many people try to do a runner with “contraband” goods – shakes his head and puts the steak back in the meat section.
Despondent, John sees that same cashier restock his favorite Budweiser for a six-pack of O’Doul’s.
John can’t even get a little buzzed because the government was concerned about John’s slightly fatty liver.
John’s not even a heavy drinker.
In fact, he really only drinks a couple of cans of Bud on Friday night.
Phyllis, his loving wife, is very concerned with John’s health.
Even though John is following the Surgeon General’s directives to the letter – willingly or not – he seems awfully lethargic.
She doesn’t know what to do. The frankenfood, though she never calls it that, seems to taste fine to her.
Their son, Sean, eats anything but never seems to gain weight.
Hey! This is my thought experiment! 😉
But Phyllis keeps on keeping on. What’s she going to do anyway?
The only people who seem to be sprightly are government officials and the oligarchs.
Well, “oligarch” is a Russian word.
So in America, which is a free country, of course, we call them “plutocrats.”
That’s much better than “oligarch.”
One day, Sean might be a plutocrat if he works hard enough.
She prays for that.
In the meantime, John just keeps his head down and works hard for his little family.
After all, they’re depending on him.
Perhaps the government will let him buy a beer again one day.
After all, they did let everyone out of their houses once the Wu Flu passed.
Sure, there was a war on.
And it was everyone’s patriotic duty to get back to work.
But they got back outside, thanks to the government.
As John thought this, he cocked an eyebrow.
Deep down – maybe not so deep down – John knew better.
And so he ate his frankensteak and drank his frankenbeer.
After all, what else was he supposed to do?
In the name of God, St. Michael, and St; George, I give you the power to go out, eat, drink, and be merry.
This weekend, seize your freedom, drink your red wine, eat your red meat, and dance drunkenly to your heart’s content.
They’re coming for you, but not yet.
In the meantime, the best thing you can do is thumb your nose at them.
Your non-compliance is their undoing.
Have a great weekend!
All the best,