I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.

“Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

“What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”

“Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”

The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”

“Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”

“Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”

He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.

“Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.


“Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”

It didn’t seem like they did.

“Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”

Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.

I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

“Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.

Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.

I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”

He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.

“All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”

I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

“Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”

He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me for arresting him.

:33

:3

Fool me once? I'm mad. Fool me twice? How could you. Fool me three times, you're officially that guy okay, you know, you know the one, you go to the bar and he's like 'This suit is uh officially 's a Gorgio Armani aksh muh dad knows him n-' F*** YOU! *short pause* IIIIIIIIII AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIINNNN'T HAAAVIIN' THAAAT S***!

Hewwo wadies and gentwemen (・`ω´・) Wewcome to episode onye of Jewmacwaft, the sewies whewe I pway Minyecwaft.

This is gonnya be a singwepwayew wet's pway and when I say wet's pway I use that tewm... pwetty woosewy because I'm an idiot in this game - you'we gonnya see wots of faiws, you'we gonnya see wots of twiumphs, at weast I'm hoping.

So go gwab youwsewf a nyice hot cup of coffee, hot cup of cocoa. I've got appwe cidew wight hewe fweshwy bwewed, wet me take a sip.

sip

Ah that's good cidew. Awwight, so wet's get this stawted - cweate nyew wowwd.

Wowwd nyame is going to be... JewmaCwaft (・`ω´・) Sounds about wight, eh ok...

Game mode is going to be suuwvii- suwvivaw, that's the most intewesting I think.

Mowe wowwd options- seed fow wowwd genyewatow ok this is impowtant (・`ω´・)

(Cont.)

Well, Seymour, I made it- despite your directions. Ah. Superintendent Chalmers. Welcome. - I hope you're prepared for an unforgettable luncheon. - Yeah. Oh, egads! My roast is ruined. But what if I were to purchase fast food and disguise it as my own cooking? Delightfully devilish, Seymour. Ah- Superintendent, I was just- uh, just stretching my calves on the windowsill. Isometric exercise. Care to join me? Why is there smoke coming out of your oven, Seymour? Uh- Oh. That isn't smoke. It's steam. Steam from the steamed clams we're having. Mmm. Steamed clams. Whew. Superintendent, I hope you're ready for mouthwatering hamburgers. I thought we were having steamed clams. D'oh, no. I said steamed hams. That's what I call hamburgers. You call hamburgers steamed hams? Yes. It's a regional dialect.

- Uh-huh. Uh, what region? - Uh, upstate New York. Really. Well, I'm from Utica, and I've never heard anyone use the phrase "steamed hams. " Oh, not in Utica. No. It's an Albany expression. I see. You know, these hamburgers are quite similar to the ones they have at Krusty Burger. Oh, no. Patented Skinner burgers. Old family recipe. - For steamed hams. - Yes. Yes. And you call them steamed hams despite the fact that they are obviously grilled. Ye- You know, the- One thing I should- - Excuse me for one second. - Of course. Well, that was wonderful. A good time was had by all. I'm pooped. Yes. I should be- Good Lord! What is happening in there? - Aurora borealis. - Uh- Aurora borealis at this time of year at this time of day in this part of the country localized entirely within your kitchen? - Yes. - May I see it? No. Seymour. ! The house is on fire. ! No, Mother. It's just the northern lights. Well, Seymour, you are an odd fellow but I must say you steam a good ham. Help. ! Help.

Yo listen... Real talk man, this is not a game. Do not go to these churches anymore. They... Steal your money. They sell drugs. The only church that is... of God is the 7 Churches in Asia. Those are the only churches that have God. And they sho-hold on, hold on, hold on, condown, conair-...I am Allah. There's no reason why God sell drugs, God... do all kinds of things. If you can't tell me what "Holy" mean, OH-BUSHATABOHOTA-GHBOSHATA, you can't tell me what that mean. I'm buildin' the church called the Seven, My church is gunna be on FIRE. So I'm asking you to stop supporting those churches and support me.

Could you please resend the offer?

ahahha lol your photo ? http://imageres.org/images/img854313 :D:D nice )) ahah rofl

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

ur ugly

[ez ns gtxfnftim cer ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

+rep good trade!

Mah kinda guy! (appropriately of course) *thumbs up*