Making money out of suckers

They were always there, those of low intelligence. And I'm not talking only of those labelled as metally retarded; no, I'm talking of the majority of people - the workers, the salt of the Earth. In the middle ages they were serfs and were nearly slaves of the property owner on whose property they eked out an existence. In many countries, like Russia, this extended well past the middle ages. In this disempowered state they were fair game to anyone in the right position. They were shamelessly exploited for their labour and given just enough to stay alive to work again tomorrow.

But things change. In some cases it took revolutions, led by con men and idealists, and in other cases the masters slowly developed a conscience and things changed. Then came democracy and each of these children of serfs had a vote. Unfortunately intelligence didn't come with the vote. As Robert Heinlein said, "when the monkeys find out they can vote themselves bananas, they'll never climb another tree." And find out, they did. They were stupid, not mentally retarded.

With democracy came a new kind of con man: the democratically elected politician. All they had to do was convince enough people to vote for them. Abraham Lincoln said, "there are some people who can be fooled all of the time." That's all a politician asks for. The "all people can be fooled some of the time" is a bonus.

Given the fact that these people of low intelligence make up the majority, it's no wonder laws changed to favour them - the politicians want to stay on the gravy train. These people, the ones who don't know the difference between "their" and "there" and "your" and "you're" and "its" and "it's" and use apostrophes to pluralise words, are now the politically correct elite. There is no way one can herd them together and put them to work for a pittance. But that doesn't mean some people don't want to take advantage of them and make money out of them. After all, they're still stupid. One just has to come up with the right formula.

Being stupid, these people can be suckered into wanting what is really of no good use and harmful to them. This can be sold to them at a huge profit. So, how does one trick a sucker? Why, every con man and politician knows: appearances. Dress it up, talk it up and tell them it's desirable. Why are politicians' speeches so flowery and full of fine sounding, empty rhetoric? They know their audience.

So these prospective con men employed statisticians to sort the milking cattle into groups to which different strategies will appeal. And, boy, did they come up with the right answers. Things harmful to these suckers, their families and society are so popular with them they will revolt if it's taken away. Think of drugs, smoking, booze, prostitution, and all the forms of gambling. Many of these are dressed up as the essence of having a good time, and it works. Some cigarettes were sold as the brand of the man's man - the Gunston man knows where he's going. Yeah, straight to the cancer ward. Some menthol falvoured brands were for "ladies." Some with expensive, imported tobacco were for people of refined taste. The same happens with booze. The ultimate con trick with booze is the wine connoisseur. Go online and search for double and triple blind wine tasting. You will see that all this sniff, sniff, taste, twirl, the far away look in the eyes like a dog busy evacuating its bowels, and then the wise pronunciation about the origin of this wine, its character, its merits, are all such a crock of... This masterpiece of deception fooled even many people who don't belong to this stupid group.

So, now you have these people clamouring for what's bad for them and the other group who proclaims itself as benefactors of these morons, selling it to them at a huge profit and the politicians pocketing the cash from these "entepreneurs" and washing their hands and asking "am I my brother's keeper?"

Now I ask you, seeing these morons are asking for it, shouldn't one get on the band wagon and milk these suckers for all one is worth while the going is good?

Local fuel prices

The other day I filled up with fuel. It wasn't cheap. As I drove away I wondered if there were a site where I could look up local fuel prices. When I got home, I did a search. There wasn't much. Not one of those I found could give me fuel prices at local filling stations. As you know, a few hundred meters between filling stations can mean a few cents per liter difference in price.

So I did a bit of research and came up with a concept. Basically it boils down to this: a site where filling stations can sign up for free and enter fuel prices and promotions. Users can search by postcode or postcode and suburb. Then I put some icing on the cake.

To show results, the page doesn't reload. Ajax does its magic. That means fast, really fast. Drop down select boxes populate from the database using Ajax as well. Clicking on the address of a filling station returned with the results will bring up a Google map showing the location of the filling station.

I knew from the start that getting filling stations to sign up would be difficult. I emailed all the fuel companies, handed business cards I had printed to some filling stations - nothing. It takes a while for anything online to take off, if it does. So, I'm still hopeful.

Go and have a look at Petrol Price Site and enter any Australian residential postcode - there are more than 16,000 in the database. Try 2100, 2300, 2320 or something like that.

The question is, how do I get filling stations to sign up?

The booze baron is your friend

When you took your first drink, who was it who saw to it that you grew up in a society where alcohol was part of everyday life and readily available? Why, the booze barons of course. And of course their booze baron fathers and booze baron grand fathers and... It took a lot of work over many centuries to see to it that the booze was there when you took your first drink. And society, then, as now, regarded booze as a grown up thing. And the booze barons made sure everybody knew it was a grown up thing - something for kids to aspire to. As you know, all kids want to be grown up. Why, you ask yourself now. But that's another story. Be that as it may, the booze was there when you took your first drink. You didn't like it at all, but hey, that was what grown ups and the cool crowd did. Remember the booze ads?

Then, when you were a young buck who drank with his friends after work and over weekends, who saw to it that the liquor stores were open seven days a week, from early morning to late at night? That didn't happen by itself, you know. The business hours of many other business concerns were not as liberal, even though some of them would have liked it to be. Those people didn't campaign with such diligence and persistence for their customers as the booze barons did. And their pockets were not as deep. There are always politicians for sale if the price is right. And the booze barons didn't skimp in their efforts to remove all barriers between their customers and their product. Remember how much of a man you felt when you managed to out-drink your friends? Those booze ads depicting a heavy drinker as a real man had something to do with that. Alcohol was the stuff showing one was a man and the essence of having a good time. The world was your oyster and your tankard was always full.

Every time one of your friends was fined for driving under the influence his notch went up in your estimation and your circle of friends drank to that. When one of your friends went to jail for causing an accident which led to severe injuries while drunk, you drank to that. Booze was never in short supply and society had nothing bad to say about the inebriate. On the TV, in the newspapers and magazines, the booze barons told everyone booze was what made the world go round. And, like everyone else, you swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.

When an acquaintance, as drunk as a judge, took on a truck on his motorcycle and lost, it didn't phase you one bit. Your circle discussed it over many beers and decided it had most likely been the truckie's fault. There was more than enought booze to smooth over these few rough patches in life. You all drank a toast to the recently departed acquaintance and forgot about him. This type of thing was never mentioned by the booze barons in their ads, so it must have been a fluke. No need to give it too much thought.

Remember when you got your first tattoo? You went to the bar and proudly showed it off. Yvonne, who was always at the bar, was very impressed by it. She had several tattoos and body piercings. Everyone had many drinks to your tattoo. As if they needed a reason. There was booze aplenty and life was good. That night Yvonne gave you Herpes - like a booze baron, Herpes is a friend for life.

Then you were fired from a job for the first time because of booze. What a bummer. You went to the pub and had a drink to it with your friends. There were several among them who had the same experience. One can always get a new job, they assured you. And you drank and forgot about being fired from your job. Thank you booze barons for the nectar of the gods which can make a man feel good when bad things happen.

An uncle on your mother's side died of alcoholic liver cirrhosis. You knew him well as a kid. He always used to be friendly with you. Well, a man had to die of something. That night you had a few to his memory. It was so good that there was always booze to give life a golden haze. With life as it was, one surely needed it. Running out of booze was not on the cards - the booze barons saw to that. Oh well, one thing less to worry about. Thank heavens for the booze barons.

Things at home slowly got worse and worse. Your wife couldn't understand why you kept losing jobs because of booze. In the end you went on an unemployment benefit and your wife left you, taking the kids with her. There was only one thing to look forward to - your next drink.

Years went by and there was just one thing you could depend on - there will always be booze to take the sting out of life. Thank you booze barons, you said, without you my life would have been lost.

It came on quite suddenly, your slide into near permanent sickness was fast. One week your liver still coped, with the occasional hiccup, then the whites of your eyes started turning yellow. Your GP felt your abdomen and said you had a four cm liver. He sent off some tests, which showed your liver was no longer coping. Your GP said you had alcoholic liver cirrhosis. Just like your uncle, you thought. But there were liver transplants, you thought. Not unless you had been completely off the booze for two years, they told you. Who could do that? You became sicker and sicker. You felt worse than a 1000 hangovers can make a man feel. Well, the booze was still there. And your unemployment payments which now increased because you were chronically ill saw to it that there was always more than enough booze in your house. Your family heard you were, what they called terminal, and your kids, now grown up, started to visit you. You had so much catching up to do. And then you were more in hospital than out of it.

Now, as you are drifting in and out of consciousness, you have the solace of knowing that the booze barons will be there, too, for your youngest son who dropped out of school and is showing all the signs of following in your footsteps. He is in good hands. You can close your eyes on a life well spent knowing your kids will be taken care of. Thank you, booze barons.