When I was a little kid, my father was a news anchor on the local television station. I would watch and laugh at him. I knew a lot about the Vietnam war for a little kid. My family also subscribed to the local newspaper and we read that daily. This week, I have been reading through the archived accounts of history in Butte. I do that knowing that virtually every paper in Montana was at one time owned by the evil empire- the Anaconda Copper Company. But they stayed somewhat objective. They just didn't print mine fatalities. There were thousands. We knew that. It's hard to hide all of those dead bodies and grieving families. I learned something as a child. Trust what you see. Not so much what you hear. It's no secret that media is often only as good as those that own the printing press. For years, small town papers have been notorious for editorializing and editing content as one might expect with owners who want to advance agendas and pet projects. That has always be

For years, I have predicted the end of equities and a stock market collapse. I have been wrong. I have been wrong because of a number of things- but that's all about to change. Briefly... Nothing has changed since 2008 in terms of regulating banks, regulating the FED, or even changing the laws regarding how banks are allowed to "over value" assets. The FED has added trillions of dollars of liquidity to our economy which in turn has allowed financial institutions to literally run the price of the market into the heavens. Zero Interest Rate Policy or ZIRP continues unabated while the ministers of propaganda tell us inflation is essentially non existent- which anyone buying a 10 dollar can of coffee that is missing 17 ounces of contents of the lesser expensive "Supremo" bean- will tell you is bullshit. Job numbers are getting better only because employers are job splitting. They are taking full time jobs and chopping them in half so that they won't have

Hard. Simple. In the 60's, on Sundays, my father, mother, and I would climb into our white Plymouth Valiant. We would travel through Sidney, then Fairview, and into North Dakota. Three miles in, we hung a left on a straight country road which was comprised mostly of loose dirt and more recently, red scoria. We'd travel another three miles or so, go up a slight rise and over a ditch, and then the farmhouse would come into view on our right. The big red barn had the word "Pioneer" in giant white letters over the door. That's where we went every Sunday. To my grandparents farmhouse. My grandfather was a sugar beet farmer. He irrigated with siphon tubes. I looked forward to Sundays. I could hunt or fish just so long as my Uncle would take me. Maybe shoot my uncle's black nylon, semi-automatic Remington .22. Sometimes I would ride around with my father and grandfather- watching them drink brandy, laugh and tell secrets, as they sized up other farmer'