Pet Cobra

The PetCobra Guide To Wise Money Investing

The economy is collapsing. Major banks are aflame. Hordes of heavily armed and tattooed bond traders roam the streets, exchanging gunfire with berserking investment bankers. The corpses are piled high and the gutters run with blueblood. Heads are atop pikes. Disneyland has pulled their SoCal Discount. We are in the End Fucking Times.

I know next to nothing about the economy (case in point: every time I type the word "economy" it comes out "ecomony" or "econimoy", even on those rare occasions when I blog sober), but then again, apparently no one else does either, including people who are paid millions of dollars a year to know such stuff. Or maybe there are people who correctly predicted that things would go south this year, but no one listened to them. You know, they ought to give some sort of prize to people who correctly assess the challenges faced by today's new markets. Because if they did maybe other people would listen to what they have to say. Eh, that's crazy talk.

Anyway, here are some industries and sectors you should invest in.

• LTA Projects - the world's leading blimp and airship manufacturer. Because blimps get like 200 miles to the gallon in gas. Also, LTA Projects makes stylish laptop bags. It's good to have a diverse portfolio.
• John Deere/Caterpillar. Think about it - if everyone's broke, who's going to buy all of those houses that the banks seized? Gonna need a lot of bulldozers.
• The Personal Luxury Submarine sector . I predict a sharp increase in orders for personal luxury subs. When the ultra-rich CEO's of the mortgage and finance sector attempt to flee the country with all of their Golden Parachute money, they won't be able to fly out in their private jets because the FBI will have the airports surrounded with orders to blow any fleeing Learjets out of the sky. So, naturally, they will try to flee to their Secret Lairs (Disguised as Inactive Volcanic Islands) in Caymans,  in - what else? - their recently christened private submarines.
• HBO on DVD. During the First Great Depression, poor people apparently loved watching movies about vacuous rich people. So if Season 3 of Sex and The City is worth $75 now, image how much more it will be worth when we are all reduced to wearing Hefty bags and dog pelts.
• Anything from The Franklin Mint. Actually, I don't know if this is really a wise investment or not. But since U.S. currenct as we currently know it will soon be worthless, hey, might as well have some cool-looking valueless cash. I've gone ahead and spent everything we had in our savings account on these awesome coins. (If you live down South, I'd recommend the Ronnie Van Zant Commemorative Gold Dollars.)
• Alien technology. While I agree with former Canadian defence minister and noted technologist Paul Hellyer that alien technology is the best hope for saving our planet, his emphasis on using super-light proton cannons and anti-gravity repulsor rays captured from shot-down alien scout ships to save the environment is woefully naive. The aliens are watching our planet and are waiting for the perfect moment to strike - and what better time to launch their invasion, when our economy is going down the tank? No, we need that technology to shoot down the invading Antarean battlefleets, not to save the fucking whales. Hell, we'll probably need to EAT the whales, what with all of the cattle mutilations and grain-destroying crop circles that are sure to occur.
• Gore-Tex. It's waterproof AND breathable!

So there are my hot investment tips. As for any government bailout - hmmmm. That's a tough nut to crack. Give me a couple of days.

Jesus V. The Nazis: Who Ya Got?

This is awesome.

If I'm Humanity's Last Hope, We're Screwed

I went to the Barnes and Noble for lunch today; I do this a lot, and for those of you who want to stay abreast of the latest developments in the comic or sci-fi book worlds without looking like a complete dork in front of your spouse, family, or friends, this is the way to go. You can sit there in the Geek Stacks alongside the Japanese exchange students and socially challenged IT guys and read the latest Batman graphic novel without fear of reprisal. And you don't have to worry about salespeople giving you a look and telling you that "this isn't a library", because let's face it, big chain bookstores are today's libraries - people go there to read, and do homework, and you get dirty looks if you are loud. They might be better than libraries, because unlike libraries big chain bookstores sell lattes and Penthouse magazines.

Anyway, I'm at the B&N and I'm reading volume 1 of The Walking Dead, a comic book about zombies. The zombies have taken over the country, and the story focuses on a cop who wakes up from a coma and has adventures involving the aforementioned zombies, who comport themselves in a zombi-esque manner - moaning, shambling, eating people, etc. I do enjoy a good zombie tale (Shaun of The Dead, World War Z ) but it always strikes me as odd that in zombie movies and books, people aren't as freaked out over zombies as I would be if that zombie shit really happened. For example, the other day, there was a spider crawling along the carpet. I don't like spiders, to the extent that if I see a spider that's bigger than, say, a dime, I will leave the room and ask my wife to kill it. This was a small spider, no bigger than my thumbnail, so I grabbed a flipflop and smacked it. "Got you, you sonofabitch", I grunted, at which point the spider stirred and continued to crawl along the floor. "JESUS FUCK!!!!," I shrieked, and proceeded to pound the living hell out of the spider with the flipflop, with all the vehemence of a Spartan hoplite, coupled with the neurotic fear of a hairless Chihuahua. "DIE!!! DIE YOU BASTARD! TONIGHT YOU DINE IN HELL!!!!!!" I've noticed that in the zombie movies, the good guys are generally not completely sent off the rails at the site of long dead Aunt Tilly walking around gnawing on someone's bloody femur. There's usually a bit of terse dialogue, something along these lines:

Aunt Tilly: "Feeeeeeeeemur!"

Sheriff Chad Everett: "My GOD. It's my dear Aunt Tilly, who raised me when I was a boy and who I loved as if she were my own mother! Back from the dead and eating people!"

Nurse Margo Kidder: "Dear Lord, Sheriff Chad! You're right! Dear Aunt Tilly! She used to make those yummy Rice Krispie treats for us. So, how do we kill her?"

Sheriff Chad: "Hmmm - let me grab this pick axe and bury it in my dear Aunt Tilly's head. Even though she raised me when I was a boy and I loved her as if she were my own mother, I can do this without hesitation! Also, I'm not at all thinking about the big picture, the whole dead-walking-the-earth-eating-people thing. Odd."

Same scene, with me:

Aunt Tilly: "Feeeeeeeeeemur!"

Me: (Shits pants, puts thumb in mouth, cries.)

I would not do well in the eventual Zombie Holocaust. Nor, I suspect, would I be of much use to anyone in the event of an Alien Invasion, Robot Uprising, Giant Meteor Strike, Massive Killer Bee Attack, Supervillian Crisis, or Communist Takeover. As it stands, about the best I can do is prepare for the possibility of a McCain/Palin Victory. If you need me, I'll be out back, building my Republican-Proof Bunker. (It'll be stocked with South Park and Daily Show DVD's, imported beer, arugula, and French fries. Am I forgetting anything?)

Tonight Was Super Neato Exciting!

An evening of fine dining and good conversation. Beth, Zoe, Lucas and I ate at Islands. I will pause while you enjoy the melodic ocean soundage. Baskets of chips were consumed; I had the tortilla soup and a Mangorita. (Don't even think about questioning my manhood because I had a Mangorita. I will pop a cap in your ass. Then I will pull your still-beating heart from twixt your ribs and devour it while your woman - or man, because I am not a sexist - weeps and silently swears vengence, the sweet taste of which she - or he! - will never know because they will live out their days as my slave, fanning me with a palm frond while I lie on the chaise eating figs.) Zoe had a grilled cheese sandwich, Beth the veggie tacos, Lucas the child's burger with lettuce.

On the drive home, the boy and I spoke of his future. "Daddy", he said. "I'm going to build a Boy Mall and we can live there and buy stuff there instead of at the Other Mall." "That sounds like a plan," I said. "What will you sell, at the Boy Mall?" "Robots and chocolate milk." My lawyer has already drafted the paperwork and we hold the patent for The Boy Mall, so don't even think about copping our trip. See Paragraph 1, lines 4-7.

More site tinkering - please note that additional blogs have been added to the blogrolls to your left (right if you are in the Southern Hemisphere - special shoutout to my homies working the dog watch at McMurdo Base!), including all of the Women of MamaPop, who as of this writing have not slapped a restraining order on me.

A Pet Cobra Primer

Real quick - if you look to your right (to your left if you're in the Southern Hemisphere, because blogs south of the equator are displayed in reverse - due to the same laws of physics that make the toilet water go in the opposite direction when flushed), you will see a new TypeList, entitled "A Pet Cobra Primer". It's a smattering of posts that first time visitors to this site are encouraged to read, so that they might have a better understanding of the interstate rest stop that is my mind.

Thanks - The Management

It's Taco Tuesday!

The excitement is palpable. There is an electricity in the air. You can feet it. Feel it? Yeah, you feel it right through your monitor.

Zoe, the baby, is multi-tasking: crying, then giggling, then saying DADADADADADADADADA, all while Beth is holding her up by her babyarms and trying to teach her how to walk. Lucas is watching a DVR-ed episode of the 70's cartoon series "Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends". I am hovering over the stove, silently coming up with new titles for "Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends". These include "Spider-Man and His Drug-Addled 'Nam Buddies", "Spider-Man and Those Worthless Pricks", "Spider-Man and The Ass-masters from Atlantis", etc. The dog is licking himself.

On the stove the ground turkey sizzles. To it will be added the seasonings. Anticipation builds, as does the scent of Gebhard's Chili Powder and kosher salt. The tortillas have been wrapped in a damp paper towel and are in the microwave.

It's Taco Tuesday.

"This is water. This is water."

"It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out."

David Foster Wallace. Beth and I and the kids spent the weekend in central California, and I couldn't help but think of what he would have had to say about the elephant seals, the ramshackle roadside wineries, and the guy on the old Norton motorcycle. He had a knack for making interesting things even more so, and he will be missed. 

http://www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html

If I Pay For Your House, Will You Pay For My Mercedes?

Psst. C'mere. I have a Real Estate Investing Tip for ya. It'll save ya thousands, maybe HUNDREDS of thousands. If you act now, there's still time to get in on it.

Can you afford a house payment of, say, $3000 a month? No? How about $2000 a month? No? How about $1500 a month? Think hard! After all, buying a home is an investment! It'll make ya rich in the end! Just ask any realtor or mortgage professional! Still can't afford that?

Ok. Then here's my tip.

DON'T BUY A FUCKING HOUSE. And if you did, knowing that you couldn't afford it, well...

Preface to today's rant: I'm what Liberals call a Progressive and what Conservatives call a Liberal. That means that I am typically in favor of helping those Americans who can't (key word: CAN'T. Not WON'T.) help themselves, and usually when those Americans have run into trouble through no fault of their own (key words: THROUGH NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN). 

We don't own a home. For one reason: houses here are really, really expensive. Over the years, we've been told by family, friends, financial planners, total strangers, the TV, the radio, the Internets, and the newspapers that We Need To Buy A House Because We Are Just Throwing Our Money Away By Renting. (I'm not sure that putting a roof over our heads is actually throwing money away - I would say that buying, say, a Mercedes while living in a cardboard box might be a waste of our hard-earned dollars. But renting? I'd need to be convinced.)

Generally speaking, we've done OK, earnings wise. We both work in fields that are volatile and generally not recession proof (oh, right, we're not in a recession), and so there's been a mix of tough and good times. (Amazingly, we're actually doing well these days. Of course, I sold my soul to the Devil and am consulting for a defense contractor/war profiteer. Then again, I'm blogging at work. So I'm rotting the tree from within, my little act of rebellion.) As someone who makes his living putting people to work, I make it my business to know about things like COL and national vs. regional vs. local salary scales. And what I know is this: San Diego pays shit, compared to what it costs to live here. In fact, most people that live here can't afford it. But many of those Most People, well, they also Needed To Buy A House. That they couldn't afford. And guess what happened to the housing market here? (Scroll back up and revisit that link; go back to last year, and the year before.)

We hear lots of talk of  "bad loans". Whatever that means. Call me crazy, but if I'm planning to borrow a shitload of money that I can't possibly repay in my lifetime, I'm going to do a bit of research into the folks that are soooooo excited to give me that money.

We hear lots of talk of "good long-term investment". You know what? So's an original Monet. But if I don't have $300,000 to buy an original Monet - or the means to pay back a loan on an original Monet - should I buy it? Do I really need to answer that?

If I sound bitter, it's only because I am. The mortgage industry is collapsing like a house of cards, local housing prices are taking their cue from the title of Nine Inch Nails' only good album, and we now hear talk of "rescuing" people who can't make their house payments. Excuse me? Were we out of town when the Real Estate Police went house-to-house and forced everyone to buy a home? I can't speak for the rest of the country, but here in San Diego county we sat and listened to the "experts" - all people in the real estate industry - ramble on and on about how there's no bubble and how everyone needs (there's that word again!) to buy buy buy right now now now! We made a good choice not to buy - a sane choice, based on the facts at hand. We saw the risks - one layoff, or a downturn in the market, and we'd be screwed - and we decided to hold off. And it pisses me right the hell off that there's a possibility that we're going to have to chip in and help someone else pay for their mistake.

What The Dead Know

"Lucas, tomorrow you have to wear red, white and blue to school. For Patriot Day."

"Mommy, what's Patriot Day?"

I have to think about it, for a moment. "Is this a school thing?" I ask Beth. "No," she says. "9/11."

They gave it a name. That's right. Patriot Day. I can hear Beth explaining Patriot Day to Lucas in low tones. Bad men. Stealing airplanes. Crashing them into buildings. Hurting lots of people. There are things that a boy of four does not need to know about, I think. His world should be about Jedi Knights and dogs and t-ball. Death should be as intangible as clouds.

The politicians will gather and they'll talk of remembrance and courage and victory. They will speak of the dead and tell us what they think the dead would want us to hear. Patriot Day. A politician's name. As if, while being vaporized, or crushed, or leaping from 65 floors up because that way is preferable to burning, those who perished did so thinking not of their husbands, wives, childrens, parents, but of their country.

Years have passed. Some days that doesn't seem possible. Some days it feels like the only reality any of us have ever known. It seems like yesterday, and it seems like eons ago. We are still fighting a war against those responsible. To defeat them, yes, if such a thing, defeating such hate, is even possible. To avenge those lost - that too. We can't. And yet we can't not. And every year we try to ascribe some meaning to it, find something that will assuage the grief that's settled into our collective bones like a cancer, to somehow give peace to those that died. And we fail.

I'm reminded of some words, written by Gustav Hasford. He served in Vietnam - Hue and Khe Sanh - and later went on to pen a novel about his experiences.

"The dead", he wrote, "know only one thing: it is better to be alive."

Yeah, But Did MLK Ever Enter The Miss Alaska Pageant?

(I stole this picture from Sweetney. For more on why Sarah Palin has no business being the VP, visit FactCheck.org.)