“Greed is a fat demon with a small mouth and whatever you feed it is never enough.”—Janwillem van de Wetering
I can remember sitting in a church pew and the minister was announcing that the offering plate would be coming around. He said, “When you look into your wallet and you see a 50 dollar bill, a twenty, and a five and you’re trying to decide which one to give back to God select it all.” I was 18. I worked extremely hard for the little money I had. I was living on my own in an apartment. I had rent to pay and the associated costs, electric, garbage and other, car insurance and I had to pay for all of my meals as well as any entertainment. I had my wallet in my hand, a couple of twenties and a 10 dollar bill were in there. I watched people throw the money on the plate, soon they’d be looking at me. I felt coerced.
The other morning, I spent three hours on a writing titled, Our Cunning Enemy. I got it done. I did a few proofreads of which I almost always miss something. There is real scientific reasons for this too. It has to do with, if you miss it on the first pass the likely hood that you will miss it on the second pass increases. I typically find the simplest writing errors on the fourth or fifth pass after I have already published it and you have read it and are thinking what a dumbshit writer Mike is. That’s a fair criticism. My response, FU it’s FREE.
It was 3am or 3:12am. I can’t remember now. It was dark out. I was strolling in the garden and I threw out the title of this article to the universe. A return question came back to me. Where are you going with this Mike?
“I want to know how cunning my enemy is.”
“You already know.”
“I want you to confirm what I already know.”
“Okay, I confirm what you already know.”
“Thank you.”
I deleted the article. I didn’t even place it IN Q. It wasn’t time. It was Walter’s time. I wrote that article instead. Now it’s time to write about our cunning enemy. I’m trying to remember what I wrote a few days ago and I can’t. You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes of the VRR. I think that’s a good thing. There is a flood of emails, text messages, and a lot of silence. The silence is for universe. Universe is shifting, positioning, placing thoughts and ideas in connecting souls. Some of the souls are you. Some of the souls are our enemy. Universe is setting them up. They don’t know this because they see themselves as very cunning. They think they can’t be out thunk, or out thinked, at least not by me.
As I was strolling in the garden I was thinking how the enemy could get to me, own me, make me write for them. What if, “SUDDENLY,” ten thousand subscribers poured in. Not all on the same day. Let’s say over the course of a few weeks. The upgrade to paid would start looking like a very sexy girl. Correction—woman. The comments are flooding in how great I am, blah, blah, blah. I do the math. If six thousand upgrade to paid and I charge $7.00 a month that’s $42K a month isn’t it? Holy fucking shit.
Maybe I resist. My enemy adds an additional 2,500 subscribers and 1,000 upgrade to paid. The woman is now in a bikini lying on a deserted beach waiting for me. She has two bottles of wine. I’m at $49K a month. What if they all choose the one time annual fee and my bank account is at $588K immediately? She’s naked now and walking towards the ocean waving for me to join her. I can’t resist. My enemy sends me a message, “Nobody will ever find out.” Thank God.
It's easy too. All I have to do is write bullshit Covid stories that lead nowhere. I just take all of my subscribers down this path that will dead end. I then write an article saying, “Opps, I didn’t know it would dead end,” and then repeat the cycle. Maybe add in funny Friday posts where a person could plagiarize comics. I have an advantage here, I can create my own.
The writing goal being to just waste everyone’s time. Steer them away from what is really happening. Force them to think about Spike Protein bullshit, cosmic science, look over here, and more. What if some clever fucker does some math and figures out I’m profiting off this, then what? Dig up dirt on him. What if he’s as clean as a fucking whistle?
This is where the enemy who was your enemy who is now your boss leaves you high and dry. If there is one clever fucker there’s two. Two will grow to four soon, and then 666. Now you’re in a world of fucking hurt. Your enemy fucked you. They took you out of the fight and let the side that you use to fight for eat you alive.