jman's post nearly killed me for lols. but in a way it's kind of serious.
since i was a kid i have been almost obsessed by precious metals. it must be the white blood in me because indians don't really give a crap about the stuff. but the stuff has just found it's way into my pockets for years and now i got a ton of the stuff. well not really a ton but more than i can carry. so if you were to look at me you would basically see this biker wasteoid and think i got nothing.
then people look into my portfolio and all the sudden they think "hey this guys is smart". but in reality, i ain't all that smart. i just thought metal was neat. and i been alive long enough to where are one point, people were practically throwing the stuff away. so i got into gold, what, i think the stuff was going for like $360 an ounce. and when my patriarchal grandpa died, he left us all this silver and NOBODY ELSE WANTED IT. they were like "we're gonna sell it" and i said like hells you are.
oh man everybody was all over the native artifacts, they all wanted the bear skin jacket and the buffalo robes. they just didn't see the metal as being a Wampum. so from my patrilineal grandparents i got a cast-iron skillet and a poop-load of metal. and i got a rifle but we had tons of those already. but i got grand-pappy's black-powder deer rifle.
because again, nobody though anything of it. they thought it was a hunk of junk. know what that puppy is worth today? and i gathered up all the metal i could get my hands on because grandpappy had held it with his own hands. how did i know it would ever be so enumerated with numerical value?
now the gold i actually did sell, but i did it to consolidate my position. there was too much of the stuff and it looked disorderly to me so i moved it into Kruger-rands. but that was just dumb luck. i guess i sold high and since i really don't care about money, the money just sat in my account until one day i met a guy who wanted to liquidate and he did me a favor. so i got a handful of brillian, uncirculated Krugers.
they really are quite pretty to look at. they really are quite fun to hold in your hand. but what i find people really like is handling one of those 100 Oz. bars of silver. their eyes light up and you can see that wasichu ghost in them because white people get jelous over money and kill each other.
and don't let me make you think i'm any better than you are because i'm mostly white. i just honestly feel like it's that little bit of indian in me that saves me. for i really have no desire for wealth. i don't want a big house because it will be too hard to keep clean and i have already had fast motorcycles and horses and pretty women. i have even had what they told me was the finest Peruvian flake coicane. i thought the coicane was horrible and pretty women are a major source of trouble in this world. the best part was the fast motorcycles and a good horse, why, that is wealth.
and i know i joke about drug use but it's a really major problem on the reservations. people without hope. and there is this one drug that is so punishing, so toxic. crystal meth. i really don't understand what it is about that stuff but everybody i have met who did it, their lives were so completely and totally destroyed. and i have heard every excuse in the book. "i'm just dipping bro, i got it under control". yeah right. should i order up the coffin now?
indians used to be the proudest people on the planet. look at us now. we're a bunch of screwed up loosers. want to know how what i am saying to you is true? by the world's definition i am rich. my own kids don't even want to learn their native Chippewa language.
and that hurts. because they are such perfect indo-american kids. their skin is the most lovely color orange. my kids ain't red and they ain't white, they are orange. and their hair ain't black like most indians. they got almost ecactly the same hair color i did. you kind of have to look at my daugther to see how her features are "distincly meso-American".
i keep looking at her because i can't see her mom in her atall. but that's ok because i ain't their natural father. their real father is a truly freaking fearsome Wabbanaki warrior. so in truth, i don't even know who's kids i'm raising. our family tree is going to look exactly like the crayon drawing on your refridgerator. a hopeless tangle of circles.
so i can tell you how to make money. i can't tell you what to do with it.
i can tell you how to be a warrior and defeat your enemies but i'm not sure i'd be doing you a favor. because violence and money have to be the two most unreliable things in this world as far as getting what you want.