❍ October 21 Imagine being fined for spreading "misinformation"? 🤫

Imagine if the government had the power to quell dissenting opinions? [Take The Trades]( [--------------------] Francie thinks of the year in terms of its holidays, and since the first holiday after school gets out is the Fourth of July, she thinks of that as the start of a new year. The Fourth of July: She keeps firecrackers hidden in a box under her bed. It’s so cool to have them that she even feels kind of sad when it’s time to use them. Halloween: Francie and other girls go out with white chalk and mark a cross on the back of anyone who walks by in a coat. This ritual may have started back in the Middle Ages to mark places where the plague struck, but the kids don’t know this. They just perform the ritual without knowing why. (What? This isn’t how you spent your last Halloween?! Our Halloween traditions have really changed since then, huh?) Election Day: Francie thinks this is the greatest holiday because it belongs to everyone in the whole neighborhood. Aw… Francie loves to listen to Mama and Papa talk politics. Papa is a die-hard Democrat and thinks that the party does a lot of good for the people. Mama, however, looks on it all with a very critical eye. Whatever good they do for people usually has an ulterior motive, namely getting re-elected. Mama believes that once women get the right to vote, they will really change the corrupt nature of things. The Democrats try to influence the women and children by holding a fun carnival to help re-elect Mattie Mahony. The carnival is a real thrill for the children, and Francie is no exception. She can’t wait to get on the boat that will take them to the carnival. A week before the carnival, each child is given a strip of tickets to get a free hotdog and stuff, but Francie loses hers. Luckily for her, a policeman notices her looking longingly at the hot dogs and figures out what happened. He gives her some tickets and tells her that her mama is pretty. Francie hears her mother ask who the policeman is, and she finds out his name is Sergeant Michael McShane from their precinct. The Sergeant is still looking at her. (Uh oh.) Papa tells Mama about Sergeant McShane—who is known as "The Honest Cop"—on the way home. He is an Irish immigrant who ended up married to a woman out of a sense of duty; now he’s a hard worker with a sick wife. They had fourteen children, and all but four died young of consumption, which they caught from their mother. Mama is a bit harsh and wishes this woman would die so that Michael can go on to marry a healthy woman who can give him more children. Francie (just like Shmoop and maybe you, too) senses something is up here, and a fear rises in her. Johnny is the type of guy who goes through spurts of heavy drinking, and spurts of good parenting where he works hard and spends all his spare time with Francie and Neeley. Just like Mary Rommely and Mama, he believes that education is the key to a better life. He takes his kids places and teaches lessons about whatever he happens to be thinking about. One day they go to Bushwick Avenue, a well-to-do neighborhood, and he shows them a whole new world. Even though cars are starting to come into use, most of these families still have their horses and beautiful carriages; Francie thinks that if she was a man, she would love to drive one of these carriages as her job. When they see a cab, Johnny comments on the beauty of democracy. He tells Francie that anyone can take a ride in the cab if he has the money, and that is what being in a free country means. Francie doesn’t get it. If it costs money, how is it free? He explains that it is free because in the old countries, even if you have enough money to take a ride, only certain people are allowed. There is no upward mobility in the old countries—if you are born a servant, you stay a servant. In the United States though, there is the hope that you can make a better life. His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor and lay there sputtering. He placed his foot on it and put it out. Then he flung himself into the rickety chair that was standing by the table and buried his face in his hand. "Good God, Dorian, what a lesson! What an awful lesson!" There was no answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. "Pray, Dorian, pray," he murmured. "What is it that one was taught to say in one's boyhood? 'Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins. Wash away our iniquities.' Let us say that together. The prayer of your pride has been answered. The prayer of your repentance will be answered also. I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished." Dear Reader, As Americans, we hold very dear our rights under the First Amendment. Even the slightest suggestion of any limitations to it, real or imagined, is quickly squashed. Yet now that the government has rolled out its FedNow service, providing an almost instant payment with digital currency… What happens when an entity decides to go rogue? Remember when the Canadian government made news by freezing the bank accounts of the protesting truck drivers during the pandemic? PayPal considered doing the same… According to The Hill, “It’s not difficult to imagine the consequences of a payment processing giant instituting a policy that makes it the arbitrator of ‘truth’ and giving it a stranglehold over a person’s livelihood when it disagrees with that individual.” Fortunately, PayPal reversed its decision, but that’s some scary stuff. I’ve been watching the FedNow rollout for quite some time. And I recorded a free presentation that details all of my concerns… As well as the potential upside that could help you grow your wealth. Some might consider it controversial. But it’s a must-watch for anyone with more than $2,500 in an American bank or retirement fund. [Click here to find out everything you need to know about this historic transformation.]( Regards, Nomi Prins Editor, Rogue Economics His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor and lay there sputtering. He placed his foot on it and put it out. Then he flung himself into the rickety chair that was standing by the table and buried his face in his hand. "Good God, Dorian, what a lesson! What an awful lesson!" There was no answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. "Pray, Dorian, pray," he murmured. "What is it that one was taught to say in one's boyhood? 'Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins. Wash away our iniquities.' Let us say that together. The prayer of your pride has been answered. The prayer of your repentance will be answered also. I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished." We are back to learning about their holidays. Next up: Thanksgiving. On Thanksgiving morning, the boys and girls put on cheap costumes and go to the local businesses to get treats. Shop owners who have something to gain by keeping the children’s good favor, like the candy-store and the baker, give out little treats. The shop owners that have nothing to gain from their business throughout the year either lock their places up or give them lectures about how bad it is to be beggars. They eat a lovely meal of pot roast and listen to Papa talk about Thanksgiving days when he was a boy. Francie learns a very powerful lesson one year on the day before Thanksgiving. At school, some children put on a performance that involves holding some Thanksgiving symbols like corn, a turkey leg, apples, and a small pumpkin pie. At the end, the teacher asks if anyone would like the pumpkin pie. No one raises her hand because they are taught by their families not to accept charity. Finally, Francie can’t take it anymore and raises her hand. The teacher gives her the pie, but to save face, Francie says that she’s going to give it to a poor family. She eats the pie on the way home for lunch, and she thinks it tastes pretty gross, kind of like soap. When she returns after lunch, her teacher asks if the family enjoyed the pie, and Francie starts telling a very unbelievable story about these twins who would have died had it not been for the pie she gave them. She realizes that she took her story too far and feels remorse. When the teacher (who definitely knows Francie is telling a tall tale) gives her a hug, Francie comes clean about lying. The teacher says she will not punish her for having an imagination. Instead, she gives her a strategy: tell people what happens the way it actually happens, but then write down the story as she would like to tell it—with all the exaggerations and additions. The teacher says, “Tell the truth and write the story” (25.32), which is the best advice Francie's ever received, and she starts writing. Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man’s head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock’s tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish workmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel, and studded with coarse turquoises. Perhaps it might be missed by his servant, and questions would be asked. He hesitated for a moment, then he turned back and took it from the table. He could not help seeing the dead thing. How still it was! How horribly white the long hands looked! It was like a dreadful wax image. [Take The Trades](urlhere) A special message from the Editor of Take The Trades: We are often approached by other businesses with special offers for our readers. While many don’t make the cut, the message above is one we believe deserves your consideration. Need assistance? 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