The Money Mountain

Mary was a hard working farmer in the land of Monet. She raised carrots, and turnips, and lettuce, and squash. She had apple trees, and peach trees, and cherry trees too. In the same small town were Larry the carpenter, Shari the mechanic, Perry the artist, Kari the seamstress, Jerry the mechanic, and George the printer.

It was a friendly town, but they had one problem. Mary needed Larry to fix her barn, but Larry didn’t need carrots, or turnips, or lettuce, or squash. He didn’t need apples, or peaches, or cherries either. Larry needed his truck fixed and Mary didn’t know how to do that.

It got confusing giving apples to Perry, who painted a picture for Kari, who made shirts for Jerry, who fixed a truck for Larry, so that Larry would fix Mary’s barn.

That’s when Bonnie banker moved to town.

“You see,” said Bonnie, “all these problems will go away if you just use money.”

“Money?”

“That’s right,” said Bonnie Banker. “With money, you can pay for goods and services instead of trying to trade.”

“Where do we get this money.”

“I will provide it,” said Bonnie Banker.

So all agreed. It was easier to trade money than goods and services, and George the printer was especially happy, because Bonnie Banker paid him to print the money, even though she paid him with some of the money he just printed.

Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work just a little bit harder because Bonnie the Banker didn’t produce a useful good or service. She just provided money.

That was all right; money solved problems.

But they still had problems. They disagreed about how much money each good or service should be worth.

That’s when Donny the Judge moved to town.

“You see,” said Donny, “all these problems will go away if you just have a civil court.”

“A civil court?”

“That’s right,” said Donny Judge, “with a civil court, a unbiased person will decide a fair settlement for each dispute.”

“Where do we get this civil court?”

“I will provide it,” said Donny Judge.

So all agreed. They let Donny Judge decide things, instead of wasting time arguing about how much money each good or service was worth. George the printer was happy because Donny Judge hired him to print lots of impressing sounding legal pronouncements.

Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work a little bit harder because Bonnie the Banker and Donny the Judge didn’t produce useful goods or services. They just produced money and judgement.

That was all right; money and judgement solved problems.

But there were still problems. People had no idea what Donny Judge would decide before they went to civil court.

That’s when Ronny Politician moved to town.

“What you need,” said Ronny, “is a set of laws.”

“Set of laws?”

“That’s right,” said Ronny Politician, “with a set of laws you will know in advance how Donny Judge will decide his cases, because his guidelines will be written down on paper.”

“Where will we get this set of laws?”

“I will provide it,” said Ronny Politician.

Now, not everyone was sure they needed this set of laws, or another unproductive person in their community, but Ronny Politician produced his set of laws anyway, and George the printer was paid more money that he had printed in his shop, so he could print a set of laws.

Now Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George had to work harder because Bonnie the Banker, Donny Judge, and Ronny Politician didn’t produce useful goods and services. They just produced money, judgement and laws.

That was all right; money, judgement, and laws solved problems.

Didn’t they?

Then Connie the Lawyer moved into town. She didn’t ask permission, she just moved in, and if anyone wanted Donny Judge to give him or her justice, they had to pay money to Connie Lawyer.

So Mary, and Larry, and Jerry, and Kari, and Perry, and George were working very hard because of Bonnie, Donny, Ronny and Connie…

Tawny moved into town. No one really knew what she did, but she demanded that George print more money, so that she could move that money around. A lot of the money ended up with Ronny Politician.

“What is it Tawny does?” Mary Farmer asked George the Printer.

“I’m not sure what she does,” said George, “but she calls herself a lobbyist.” George couldn’t answer any more questions, because he was very busy printing laws, and legal pronouncements, and bank statements, and petitions, and money – lots and lots of money. Money was pouring out of the back of George’s print shop, and getting swept up by Bonnie, Donny, Ronny, Connie, and Tawny.

It was just as well that George couldn’t answer, because Mary had to get to work. She saw Perry on the way outside George’s print shop. He looked sad.

“What’s wrong, Perry?”

“George won’t print my pictures and poems and stories and photos.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have enough money to pay him to do it,” said Perry, “and besides, George is too busy printing money.”

That’s when Mary noticed that even though there was lots of money getting printed, she didn’t have very much of it. Neither did Perry, Kari, Larry, or Jerry.

Mary almost didn’t notice when Lonny the investment broker moved into town. The reason Mary almost didn’t notice was because he only spent time with people with money. The people with money were Bonnie, Ronny, Connie, Donny, and Tawny.

Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Larry to build them big homes that they stuffed with money, but they didn’t give him very much for his work.

Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Jerry to fix their big cars that cost lots of money, but they didn’t give Jerry very much for his work.

Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Perry to fill their homes with art. They sold the art back and forth to each other for lots of money, but they never paid Perry very much for his work.

Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny hired Kari to make them wonderful clothes.  They called the clothes, high fashion, and valued them for lots of money, but they never paid Keri much for her work.

Ronny, Connie, Bonnie, Donny, Tawny, and Lonny bought lots of food from Mary. They bought far more than they could ever eat, and called it gourmet, which meant it was worth lots of money. But they never paid Mary very much for it.

“How did this happen to us?” asked Jerry.

“They don’t produce anything,” said Keri.

“They don’t help us,” said Perry.

“But they couldn’t live without us,” said Larry.

“I don’t understand it either,” said Mary, “but I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either!” said Jerry, and Keri, and Perry, and Larry, all at once.

“It’s all because we needed something to exchange for goods and services,” said Mary. “If we went to George and had him print a different money – money that we control, then they would all go away.”

“YES!” said Jerry, Keri, Perry, and Larry.

And so, together, they went to George’s print shop, but it wasn’t like they remembered it. There were hundreds of people swarming all around it. They were clerks, accountants, tax preparers, and collectors. There were comptrollers, and auditors, underwriters, and risk analysts. There were investigators and regulators, financial advisors, and retirement specialists. They were all so busy doing things that looked important, but as far as Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry, and Larry could see, they were things that didn’t help anyone.

They moved money; they inspected money; they counted money; the argued about money. They shouted, laughed, cried, and drooled over money. The town was buried under a great mountain of money spewing from George’s print shop, and no matter how much money poured out, all these busy people kept shouting, “print more money!”

Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry and Larry went into the print shop. There was George, drenched in sweat, feverishly printing money as fast as he could.

“George!” shouted Mary. “You need to stop! You’ll have a heart attack if you keep working so hard.”

“I know,” said George, “but they want more money. I have to print more money.”

“More money!” shouted the people outside. It sounded like there were twice as many people as there were when Mary, Jerry, Keri, Perry and Larry first came in.

“But George,” said Mary. “These people aren’t helping anyone. They don’t make food, or fix cars. They don’t make clothes, or build houses. They don’t create art, or even print. If you stop printing money, they will all go away, and leave us in peace.”

“But then what will we do?” asked George as he shoveled great piles of money out his back door. “We’ll be back to trading like we were before.”

“More money!” shouted the people outside. The shout was so loud that the rafters shook in George’s print shop.

“No we won’t,” said Mary. “We can print our own money, a very small amount of money, just for us – just for people that do useful things.”

“More money!” shouted the people outside and the floors trembled in George’s print shop.

George stopped printing. He looked at Mary, Keri, Perry, Larry, and Jerry. “You’re my friends,” said George. “What you say is a good idea.”

“Yes!” said Mary, Keri, Jerry, Larry, and Perry.

“But I can’t do it,” said George.

“Why not?”

And George pointed to a very small pile of money. It was so small that it was hard to see in his print shop full of money. It was a really tiny pile of money, but it was different than all the other money in the print shop, because on this tiny pile of money, was a little label that read, ‘George’s money.’

“You see,” said George. “If I do what you say…

My money will be worthless.”



Here's a documentary.  Okay, it's not funny, but it's on subject.

Chapter 6 Trouble in Taos Part 5 - The Conclusion

Those of you that keep track of such things will notice that the time I traditionally post on Mondays and Thursdays will change in the coming weeks. The fine folks at Amalgamated Monster are changing my schedule.

This is the last section of chapter 6 of Trouble in Taos. If you’re the type of person who likes to know what’s going on – check the four posts preceding this one. If you want to know more (or you feel like wasting money,) you can buy the book on Amazon.

Slimy was surprisingly clean. Well, he didn’t have much blood on him anyway.

Slimy was the first to stir. I called to him, but he either didn’t hear me or was thinking about something. I guess he didn’t hear me. It took longer for Father Julio to move. Being a relatively short man saved him, that and the fact that the four dead men were pushin’ him away. Some of the blood was his, though, coming from his forehead.

Two things changed about Father Julio. One, he never heard so well anymore. People who came to his service could sit in the back and still hear his homily, because from that day onward Father Julio was a shouter. He also had a rough dark patch on his forehead.

Each year, sometime between Christmas and Easter, the folks at Saint Frank’s come in to put soot on their forehead. Father Julio looked like that every day of the year.

Claybourne Petree and me worked for a while matching bodies with head parts. They weren’t pretty, but I think we got ’em mostly right. The tallest ugly one didn’t look any worse as a mangled mess than he had in life, so we weren’t all that worried about it. It wasn’t like anybody cared about ’em. They weren’t as rich as Rutherford James, so Father Julio offered to pay us. Maybe he felt responsible ’cause he put Slimy in the casket. I didn’t think that was right, and I was going to refuse the money, but Claybourne took it before I could say no. I gave Claybourne a dirty look, but once the money was in Claybourne’s hands, I made sure to get my part. I guess I’m no more a saint than Claybourne.

If Slimy was troubled by what happened, he never said a word about it. It took him a spell before he stood up, but when he finally did, he looked over himself once and headed out the door without a word. By the time Claybourne and I had the first body together, Slimy’d finished his ditches and was heading for Estevo’s. I caught up with him ’cause I was worried he might shoot Estevo for tellin’ those fellers who shot Rutherford James and where to find him.

Slimy was just there for his glass of water and to tell about that dog that barked one night. He didn’t look any different, smell any different, or act any different.

Well, that’s not completely true. Slimy musta seen me attack those men with my stick. I think it meant somethin’ to him, ’cause he was always nice to me after that.

Too bad that was what killed him.

People keep sending me this video.  I guess they think it's funny so I should share it here - it couldn't be about my writing, could it?

Chapbooks!!!

Four years ago, Go Figure Reads asked me to put together two chapbooks, one of stories, and one of old columns. Being a diligent fella, I handed them in a couple months later, thinking they’ll want to publish these shortly after Trouble in Taos finally gets released.

Then two years later they told me to start this blog. After a few months of the blog, the chapbook with old columns got thrown out. Then they went to work on the remaining chapbook, gutting most of my work, adding stuff, and dividing it in two.

Well, at least I was going to get some money out it…

Nope. (%^$*@@&!Z*QQQ##*) They’re free.

Postage isn’t, but they’re free.

If you want your own copy of The Money Mountain (and other stories) along with Mortified (and other stories) send me a stamped self-addressed envelope large enough to enclose two 9x6 (actually 81/2”x 51/2” but by saying 9x6, I will hopefully avoid those who send a tiny envelope suitable for Tinkerbelle’s hankie and expect two honking chapbooks to be stuffed inside by magical fairy dust.) The postage on your SASE should be 182 cents (AKA a dollar – eighty-two,) in whatever postal denominational configurations you choose to employ.

Send your request to:

Headley Hauser

c/o Will Wright

5765-7 Hickory Knoll Dr.

Winston-Salem, NC 27106

Helpful tip: If you put two dollars and twenty-eight cents on the outer envelope, the post office will cancel all the postage – not just the forty-six cents to get your letter to me. They’re just that way. You won’t get any chapbooks from me – though I might mock you in a later post. I’m just that way.

So… you aren’t asking, so I’ll ask to cover your embarrassing silence, when do the e-books come out so we can save our one hundred and eight-two pennies, our honking big envelope, and the pain of addressing and licking stuff.

Well – based on track record, I’d advise you to check back in about four years.

MORTIFIED

(and other stories)

In This Book

The Only Roach: One roach has enough sense to avoid the exterminator’s trap. Now can he learn to live in a house of humans?

Toto in Munchinland: You know the story. Now see it through the eyes (and nose) of Dorothy’s little dog.

Mortified: Stan Plotz tried to play it safe. He died anyway. This is going to require some adjustment on his part.

The Money Mountain

(and other stories)

In This Book

The Money Mountain: Commerce could get confusing in the land of Monet, but how much “help” was too much?

Doeg’s Story: A songbird meets another bird in a lovely garden. There’s something about the other bird’s golden tether that seems disturbing.

The Crow and the Weeping Man: The kingdoms of Plenty and Bountiful fight for the Bay of Piscane. The Crow can bring victory – but what of the weeping man?

Here's a little help when you're counting up those old 5 cent postage stamps.

Federally-Funded School for Nudist Zombies

My beloved abusive masters at Go Figure Reads dot com (gofigurereads.com) tell me that marketing is all about using key words and phrases that catch search engine interest. They suggested that I use a provocative title like FREE NUDE MONEY for my posts in order to gain readership. I told them I was above such things, and phrases like BEASTS GO WILD VIDEO, or SUPREME COURT JUSTICE EATS BABY, would not find its way onto my blog.

Integrity is its own reward…

Though I’d rather have money.

Speaking of money – I got a check from Time Warner Cable on Thursday. It was my refund for service not used when I shut down my account almost three months ago. At first they conveniently forgot that my account was closed and billed me for December and January – even got a little snooty about how delinquent I was. Finally, I sent them a certified letter, and six weeks later, they send me this check.

The whole thing felt familiar when I thought about it. It turns out that Time Warner has done this to me twice in the past. Billing a single ex-customer three times after the account was closed has to be a co-incidence. If a company like Time Warner made it a PRACTICE to bill ex-customers for service they weren’t providing, they might make millions of dollars from unwary bill-payers. They would never want to take money that wasn’t theirs by right, would they?

And wouldn’t that constitute mail-fraud?

It must be my imagination.

With the money theme in mind, I looked through my archives for something from that blissful time when I had money – when I was self-sufficient, secure, could afford cable TV, and mostly dry when it rained.

I was a smug SOB, but I can live with smug if it comes with a supply of unexpired Pop-Tarts in the cupboard.

Tell Me Again

This morning I woke to soothing music. I had my choice of many selections. I had control of the volume and the time it began.

I rose from a bed, clean of lice and vermin, covered with fine-spun cloths of many colors. A bed as soft as anything King Solomon might have owned

I stepped upon thick carpet, clean and new and pleasing to my toes

The air had a slight chill to it. I turned a knob on the wall, not doubting a moment that the room would soon be perfectly comfortable.

I walked to the next room where warm water cascaded over my body. I voided my wastes in a chair that sent them rushing cheerily out of sight and smell. I groomed myself with a variety of implements specifically designed for the care of hair, teeth, skin and nails, using cleansers formulated for pleasant smell, feel and taste. I dried my body with a great expanse of softened cotton.

I returned to my sleeping room and pulled from a voluminous closet, items from a large selection of shirts, pants, undergarments and shoes.

I walked to yet another room to prepare my morning meal. In this room was a large appliance that will both cool and freeze food. Next to it, an appliance that bakes, broils, fries or boils up to five foods at once at a variety of temperatures. Nearby sat a device designed to toast pre-sliced bread. Below that was a box to cook or thaw any food in a matter of minutes. A number of other devices that I rarely use cluttered the clean spacious counter.

I ate more than my body required.

I warned myself to stop.

Such abundance leads to obesity.

I left for work in a heated vehicle, enclosed from the elements, with a spring-cushioned seat. Though there were four seats, I traveled alone at a speed faster than any horse owned by Alexander the Great or locomotive used by John D. Rockefeller.

Though it was already two hours past dawn, I was on-time for work. I stopped work an hour before sunset. I didn’t sweat in all my labors. Most of the time, I sat in a soft chair adjusting both height and angle for comfort.

On the way home, I stopped at a beautiful marble building. In the building were rooms full of books on every subject. In one room were hundreds of musical and theatrical performances by the world’s finest performers stored in small packages. I selected a book, a package of music and 2 packages of theatre. I showed the attendant a card and took these items with me without cost.

They even said thank you.

I stopped again at a large market.

Fresh fruits and vegetables lined one wall. Most were out of season or not even grown in my region. They had been brought in from hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

There were milk products, pasteurized and tightly sealed in plastic or waxed cardboard. There were meats carefully wrapped in sanitized containers. There were prepared meals, soups, stews, salads, seasoned vegetables, cheeses, cakes and sweet drinks of many varieties. There were even items designed so that a person could eat or drink larger quantities without becoming obese.

I gathered what appealed to me. Though some items were expensive, most of the items were within my means.

Once home, I put a theatrical performance in a device located in a room I had not yet used that day. I sat in a chair that reclines, and viewed the performance while popcorn popped in an expanding enclosure in the appliance room.

When the popcorn was prepared, I commanded the performers to pause by pushing a button beside me.

Returning with my popcorn and fizzy non-fattening sweet drink, I sat, placing an electrically heated blanket across my legs and pushed two buttons beside me. The performers resumed but at a reduced volume. They showed not the least sigh of resentment.

Could Queen Elizabeth the first have commanded such attendance from Shakespeare’s players?

I yawned in my satisfaction and indolence.

Twenty percent of the world’s population would love to pick through my dumpster.

Census figures show that my income falls in the bottom twenty percent of American households.

Even the mighty hear only one song at a time.

Tell me again how poor we are.

Oh, I never did get to talking about that Nudist Zombie School. I meant to but it seems this post has closed. I blame Time Warner.