I want to start off by saying if you’re new here, welcome and thank you. Odds are, you’ve probably been watching my videos for a while, and now with this newsletter, I can connect with you in a way where I won’t be censored. The format for this thing goes as follows:

Some pieces of current news

A blog I write just for you guys.

I do this because if you scroll to the bottom of any of my first eleven editions, those blogs still hold up. Meaning anyone joining this community later than all of you can play catch-up quickly. While today’s stock market will be different than tomorrow’s, the stories I write about our pedophilic politicians will remain relevant. Except today is a little different. Today we will be talking about sports media as a whole because some shit just went down. Now, take the gun out of your mouth and start reading.

World News:

Bitcoin Climbs Past $30,000:

Bitcoin has absolutely surged in recent weeks, with hopes regulators will soon clear Bitcoin exchange-traded funds. Bitcoin has gained over 10% in the last seven days, making me and many friends look like fools for being scared and selling a few years ago. While the Dow Jones Industrial Average and S&P 500 have been hit in recent weeks amid a surge in government bond yields, cryptos have been resilient. Higher returns on risk-free U.S. Treasuries tend to dampen demand for riskier bets, but Bitcoin has bucked that trend to surge amid optimism that the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) will soon clear a Bitcoin exchange-traded fund (ETF).

The prospect of a spot Bitcoin ETF has loomed for months, especially since BlackRock and other financial giants filed for such funds in the summer and crypto asset manager Grayscale won a critical legal ruling over the conversion of its Bitcoin trust to an ETF. A spot Bitcoin ETF would hold the token itself, a departure from existing funds that hold Bitcoin futures. It is expected to usher in a new wave of retail and institutional interest in digital assets, supporting prices. In the simplest possible terms, it’s back.

Biden’s New Aid Package:

I’m sure many of you heard that Biden came out with a new aid package he wants to use our money for, and after diving through the numbers on it, it is something else. The package calls for:

$61 billion for the Ukraine

$14 billion for Israel;

$14 billion for a border wall;

$14 billion for various bleeding heart “humanitarian” purposes;

$3 billion of walking around money

You might think those numbers are crazy, especially the amount going to Ukraine (a country you’re probably sick of me talking about at this point), but what’s even funnier is what’s happening in the United States.

What’s left of the Fed-tortured bond market cried out for help this morning, tagging the 5.00% level on the benchmark ten-year UST (purple line) for the first time since June 2007. But here’s the thing. Back then, the public debt (yellow line) was $8.8 trillion, meaning every 100 basis points of increased yield added $88 billion to annual debt service. Today, of course, the public debt is $33.5 trillion, and the incremental debt service on 100 basis points will amount to $335 billion or nearly four times more.

This is a major indicator for an economy that’s about to collapse rapidly.

An Average Morning With A Girl

It’s 9:52 AM, and the girl who told you last night that she wanted to be up bright and early for brunch is quietly wheezing with her mouth open six centimeters away from your face. Whoever wrote the 2005 smash-hit, Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off, is one of the world’s biggest fucking liars because, from your experience, tequila actually doesn’t make her clothes fall off at all. It makes the outfit she wore out stay on, completely on, because whenever you and your girlfriend rip tequila shots, she’s falling asleep in denim and taking up most of the bed. If anything, the only thing tequila makes fall off is the little flakes of mascara that find their way on your right-side pillow every Saturday morning. You open up your phone to several notifications; most are from your bank begging you to stop spending money (this is fine because money is fake when you’re hungover, plus your roommate owes you two Wi-Fi Bills). The other notifications are from a subreddit you read while shitting, ten thousand messages from Matt and Shane saying there’s a new Patreon episode out because Lemaire fucked up again, and Tik Tok sending you a push reminder to play on it. You turn to your female companion to make sure she’s still out, open up TikTok on two bars of volume, and consume fifteen minutes of black people reacting to populist country music while picking your nose. please recreate What a way to get the day started.

Your lady wakes up, says good morning, and reaches for her phone. You hope with all your heart she doesn’t get caught in the crosshairs of what’s under her beautiful, white blankets because anticipating she would be sleeping for another hour, you cooked a string of farts that would make the heads in Jeffrey Dahmer’s refrigerator turn away. Being a woman is incredibly difficult, but it has some perks. One of those perks is that, for some reason, we’ve collectively decided it’s okay for girls to watch social media videos on full volume, regardless of the social setting. And because of that fact, as you hear the sound of Alix Earle’s roommate describing her busy day of doing nothing and making more than your Dad doing it, you realize that the Chinese have once again saved you from fart accountability.

She gives you a look that tells you that you have to get up to get her water with ice; when you return with her request, she infers that no man will ever have access to her body again if you find her a blue Gatorade. There’s a Walgreens a quarter of a mile away, and you hate the idea of another man seeing your girlfriend’s nipples, but you don’t know if you can see the sun just yet. You’re indecisive- like an Instagram activist deciding whose side of the Israel-Palestine war she’s on and whether or not it’s in bad taste to fire off a picture from her friend’s twenty-fourth birthday party. Twenty minutes later, you return with two blue Gatorades and a pack of six-Milligram Zyns that will rip your stomach apart. The reality of life for a guy past the age of twenty-two is this: you can either give up nicotine altogether, deal with the burdens of dip and cigarettes, command no respect in any room while ripping a delicious vape, or Zyn and pretend to like it way more than you really do.

One of the greatest parts about having a romantic interest in your life is that when you guys are both hungover, you can do the thing that all hungover couples do (have sex). This procrastinates the toll sixty dollars at the bar had on your bodies until you run to the other side of the room to get a paper towel (or something). The only problem is as soon as that’s over, you’re completely out of options. Nothing in the world can make you forget about problems you need to address like hangover sex, but also, there’s nothing more solemn than when it ends. You’re panting with a dry mouth, she’s peeing brown in the adjacent bathroom, and both of your hearts are racing like an NFL player on his way home from a night of clubbing. This leaves the two of you in a spot where you can either take the pain and anxiety head-on, go to the gym (something only psychopaths would do on a Saturday morning), or overpay for chicken and waffles at a brunch spot while getting buzzed off mimosas. Judging by the fact you’re reading this right now, I will go out on a limb and say that you choose the mimosas.

Brunch is excellent if you have reasonable expectations. A good brunch has nothing to do with the food, the political opinions of the wait staff, or the wobbly chair they’ll stick you in because you didn’t make a reservation- brunch is supposed to be about getting kind of drunk in public while eating the potatoes, most of an egg, and sixty-percent of whatever else is on your plate. Sure, you might have to navigate around five-thousand dogs because millennials choose not to visit Grandma at the nursing home, but their dogs get a seat at the table; and yes, you should be worried about the infant two tables away from you that will be nurtured with prosecco-flavored milk later. That being said, it works. You both start to feel better a glass and a half in.

Two mimosas deep, you have to go to the bathroom. On your way through the sea of gay men twerking and frustrated servers trying to get out an extra side of sausage, you overhear couples talking and immediately want to take their voting rights away from them. Hot people without brains conversing with one another about the Middle East, grown-ass men using marketing terms like brand affinity sitting across from women who are only with them because of their trust fund and LinkedIn following, and worst of all, the occasional social media wannabee star influencing absolutely nobody. When you sit back down after wiping soapy hands on the bottom of your sweatshirt, you look at the girl across from you in the eyes, and a smile begins to stretch across your face. Because at that moment, you realize that modern love isn’t about dragging an animal you killed back to the village or sending each other love letters while you’re stationed in the Pacific- it’s about finding someone you like in a world full of retards. You spend the rest of the day sleeping and watching college football. Life in the big city.