James W. Meng
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So You Decided To Buy An House In America.
apparently, my father’s family’s ancestral mansion on Long Island at 11 The Loch, Roslyn is up for sale
So, you decided to buy an house in America. It sounded like a good idea - a safe haven - and after all, everything is so picturesque.
So you moved. And now your doctor is a quack, your banker is bipolar, your mechanic doesn’t really understand how gasoline burns, your barber thinks he’s an icon of an avant-garde movement TBA even though he can’t level off your sideburns, your dentist thinks she’s living in a simulation, your mail carrier is holding private democratic referendums with the neighbors on which items of mail you should or should not receive, your lawyer…well, you don’t really want your lawyer around because he just vaguely says you have no case and then inexplicably some item of value disappears from your home, your police never enforce any law other than to arrest the most flagrant violent criminals and most obvious drunk drivers because, well, all of the above, your fire department runs actuarial and econometric calculations before responding to the simplest of house fires, ‘cause the economy sucks and after all, everybody has insurance, and now the only person you know around you anymore who you’re even sure is fully sane is actually your landscaper – whose business is a money laundering front for MS-13.
So now you want to sell. After all, you could have built the same house on a beach in Somalia for $30k. But sadly, and as your broker will tell you, this is Your Fault. He wasn’t sure to begin with that it was even the right neighborhood for you. Long Island is just so very diverse and in so many ways, he noted. But you loved the property, and you insisted, and he relented, and the lawyers and the title agency and the mortgage brokers all did all their work, and now here you are.
And now there’s a pandemic. And the local government has not exactly handled it well. Do you want to stay? In retrospect it looks like they have things handled a lot better back home, where everybody still knows what class they belong to. But now everyday life is really starting to resemble a zombie film even more than usual and you have a 50 percent down payment tied up in Old Vicarage Hall-on-Shithole Cottage because, well, you just don’t have a lengthy enough history of throwing around greenback consumption credits earned paper-tigering it in exchange for stuff on Long Island and elsewhere in the tri-state area.
Meanwhile the US Government, in its usual totally insane fashion, is holding fraudulent elections; banning Muslims; un-banning Muslims; falsely arresting slutty Russian grad students; cancelling and re-validating student visas; conducting massive illegal purges of historical immigration documents at USCIS; closing foreign consulates; and even still continuing a now three-decades-running political purge of European-Americans from industry, academia, finance, law and government.
And now it appears that your safe haven investment is now more accurately described as a rental in a luxury mental institution that historically has wavered only a little bit, and only for a relatively short period of time, as to whether or not it wants to kill you. Of course, what you could have done was to take half the money you spent on your American Home and lobbied your government to suppress leftist activist journalism against useful contributing people who do things to build and elevate the local economy, like build nice houses and private schools and horse stables and cultural institutions. But instead you inconvenienced your central bank by buying a huge amount of dollars for your rental place in a mental institution that wants to kill you and turn your country into an extremist leftist shithole.
Don’t worry, you can still get out now. You’ll just have to cut the locals a deal when you do.