what did they do? They called in reinforcements. When you’re weak, ask the strong for help. So they went to the Indians. Apaches, namely. The Mexican government spent almost ten years and tens of thousands of dollars, not to mention chests full of glass beads and bottles of firewater, bribing the Indians with promises of land and money in order to convince them to attack and destabilize the rightful settlers of the Republic. I’ll admit destabilization of the landholders made sense — the Mexicans didn’t have access to air cavalry, cruise missiles, or electronic jamming equipment at the time, so it was the next best thing. From the Indians’ standpoint, all the settlers offered were Bibles and conversion to Christianity. They thought that was pretty weak compared to gold coins.”
“I’d choose gold, too,” said Private Tango.
“Me, too,” added Fire Team Leader Bravo.
“Good trade.” Private Zulu coughed and then spit on the floor of the bus.
“But that’s just the beginning, men. Eventually, the United States annexed the Republic of Texas, an act of domestic terrorism I still haven’t forgiven that traitor, John Tyler, for. About that time, an Apache war party entered South Texas on behalf of the Mexican government. The mighty Chief Medium Rabbit, the son of Little Rabbit and grandson of Big Rabbit, led it. Along with the war party, a small detachment of Mexican soldiers accompanied them with several wagons loaded with gold coins to pay for their mercenaries’ services. Little did they know, Mirabeau Lamar had ordered the Texas Army to intercept their forces. Just inside the Texas border, the two sides clashed. The fighting was swift and bloody, with the Texans quickly routing their foe and chasing them back across the border. For twenty miles, the Army of Texas pursued Chief Medium Rabbit and his men. The Mexican soldiers with their heavy load of gold struggled to keep pace. Realizing that the Mexicans were slowing his warriors down, the Chief ordered his men to scatter into the Mexican desert. The Indians disappeared into the wilderness without a trace, as Indians are apt to do. Only Chief Medium Rabbit stayed with the Mexican troops. Medium Rabbit convinced the soldiers to bury the treasure in the bank of a small stream. Right about here.” The General pointed to a map in his book. His men all leaned in to take a look. “Now, the Texas Army was right behind them and soon caught up with the squad of Mexican soldiers and their now-empty wagons. Chief Medium Rabbit knew he was licked, so he disappeared into the desert. The Mexican soldiers put up a brief fight but were soon overrun by the Texans, who held a short, formal military trial consisting of deliberating the question of whether to hang the Mexicans from the tree on the left or the tree on the right. After closing arguments were made, it was unanimously decided that they would use the one on the left. A few minutes later, the squad of Mexican soldiers swung from the tree, their necks slightly longer than they’d been a few minutes before. The commander of the Texans worried that Mexican reinforcements might be on the way, so they gathered up the empty wagons and hightailed it back across the border.”
“Sir, what about the gold?” asked Fire Team Leader Bravo.
“The Texans didn’t know that there was any gold. Only Chief Medium Rabbit knew.”
“Did he come back for it?” asked Private Tango.
“Eventually, but in the meantime, a series of heavy rainstorms flooded the area. The rushing water completely changed the shape of the creek and its banks. The Chief could never find the exact spot, and he never told anyone about it.”
“Then how does this dang book know about it?” Private Zulu scratched a chigger bite.
“As more and more settlers from both Texas and Mexico moved into the area, Chief Medium Rabbit decided to get out of the Indian business. He spent the rest of his days working in a traveling Wild West show, where, ironically, he played the role of a Baptist preacher. Years later, well into his nineties, on his deathbed in Washington D.C., he recounted the story of his life to his autobiographer. She was a pretty woman in her early twenties named Margaret, whom he’d eventually marry and conceive a child with just fifteen minutes before he died. The Chief had always had a thing for young squaws. In the telling of his life’s story, the Chief explained to Margaret where the final resting place of the lost Mexican gold was, or as best he could remember. When his autobiography,
“Sir, we get you, sir!” the men chanted in unison.
“Private Foxtrot, you did pack the metal detector, didn’t you?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“And each man has his own entrenching tool, correct?”
“Mine is missing the handle, sir,” Private Zulu said. “But it still digs pretty fair.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow we hunt for gold. Wouldn’t be surprised if we come across something left behind by Cortez or the Aztecs as well. For some reason people tend to lose things all over this country. This is our big break, men. Failure is not an option. With a stash of gold, we can look into buying some of those used Chinese battle tanks I was telling y’all about. Now, let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a big day of treasure hunting ahead of us.”
Inside the Coyote’s Lair, Avery’s head hurt from lack of Mountain Dew. He was quickly entering the first stages of withdrawal. He tried to ignore the bevy of topless women vying for his attention, paid-for attention, that is, as he typed away.
To: The Department of the Treasury
Secretary of the Treasury
Dear Secretary:
I’m writing to you this evening, or whatever the hell time it is in this infernal, dry place I’m currently confined in (seriously, they should hose this place down to stop the dust)…apologies, never mind my previous comments, I’m experiencing a sugar crash. Scorpion! Jesus! Where did it go? Things are getting weird around here. Are you still there? Good.
I have something really important to suggest. And by suggest, I mean demand. Immediately! The economy is in a shambles. Unemployment is increasing, home values are declining, debt is rising, and consumer confidence is falling. Worst of all, the retail price of soft drinks is at an all-time high. Obviously, this is clearly not a good economic signal, as I’m sure you’re aware of the inverse correlation between sugar/caffeine-based asset prices and the stock market per my very popular Internet-published treatise entitled
Sir, I know you’re extremely busy, mostly with taxpayer-financed lunches and pointless speeches; by the way, do you have a speechwriter I could borrow for a few days? I have a few things I’d like to get off my chest, and apparently my signature style is a bit blunt for the common man.
I digress. You pig. Here’s my problem with the current situation. It’s all about inflation. Where does inflation come from? Pretty much from you and the Federal Reserve. Jackasses. When money is printed in order to add “liquidity” to the market, the value of previously printed paper currency is devalued. It’s an insidious form of taxation without representation, and that really gets my Jefferson up. And my Thomas is a real humdinger!
I beg you to return us to a gold standard, but not the old, ridiculous gold standard, a new and much- improved one. I suggest the World of Warlocks (WOW) Gold Standard. And by suggest, I mean demand! Wait, I demanded something earlier. I’ll just suggest it aggressively. The economy of this Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (MMORPG) is quickly becoming the twenty-sixth largest economy on the planet. At its explosive current rate of growth, it will inevitably pass Sweden’s GDP sometime in the next few years. More importantly, the stable currency and low inflation rate of World of Warlocks is the envy of most modern economists. How do they do it, you ask? Or wait, did I just ask that? Really need some caffeine. Never mind. Anyway, they do it with a currency tied to a specific commodity…gold, and lots of it. I myself, and by “myself” I mean my Level Eighty-Five Night Elf Rogue whose name is unpronounceable in the English tongue (you can just refer to him as Fred), have accumulated close to one million pieces of gold, just under the game’s allowable cap, an artificial ceiling that I
