WRITING: My Uncle’s House (An Index Card Novel)

The problems all started with the international collapse of the dollar. Dollars could no longer buy anything internationally. It wasn’t long before those dollars couldn’t buy much inside the US either. Oh they were still handy to pay taxes with! The government was really screwed. The more the value of a dollar collapsed; the more they could easily collect taxes. People brought the dollars to pay their taxes in wheelbarrows of dollar bundles. Just as in prisons, cigarettes or sardines are currency. In the “free world”, barter became fashionable. Silver and gold began to allow commerce to resume. While the “official” world market price of gold or silver was 7,000 yuan to the ounce, there was no dollars that could buy gold. You could buy a yuan for 2,700 dollars; you might even find some one silly enough to sell it to you. Any way, that made the price of an ounce of gold about 20 million Federal Reserve Banknote dollars. Why anyone would do that is incomprehensible? Funny, thing was that any tailor would make you or any clothing store would be happy to sell you their finest suit for two gold ounces. After the total collapse of the economy, a subsistence economy resumed based on barter and small transactions in silver coins.


It was cold last night. The thermostat for the house was set at 40 degrees. It was the house that he had inherited from his uncle. Before the latest round of death taxes made the rate 95% from dollar one. No one would be inheriting this house again. Forty degrees! That’s all the heat that we could afford. Just enough to keep the pipes from freezing.

He, his wife, his beloved twins, and the two younger children lived in the Master Bedroom. He’d build the bunk beds himself out of scrap lumber they found and scavenged. His sister, her husband, and their three kids live in the second bedroom. His cousin, his husband, and their two children live in the third small bedroom. The garage was occupied by another pair of cousins and their children. The house was over occupied by anyone’s standard.

The township bureaucrats were still trying to handle the influx of all sorts of double ups. Multiple generations of families were living together. Only if there was no “blood” relation, could they “red tag” the building and force everyone out. Where people go in that case, they assert is not their problem. The bureaucrats would then move to seize the house as a participant in an “economic crime”. Some one would but it to rent out. People had to live somewhere. Amazing how the bureaucrats always seemed to be landlords.


The Department of Homeland Security using Google’s seized technology, was overflying the country with its scanners. When “threats” were found, local agents were dispatched to arrest the trouble makers.

The agents barged into the Uncle’s house demanding to see him. The nephew took them to a corner of the backyard. A small wooden cross marked it. The agent cited him for an unlicensed cemetery. Another bill to be paid. But they had lots of dollars. No heat, but lots of paper.

The agent showed him the ariel picture taken with ground penetrating radar. In the backyard, there was random buried junk. But in the front yard, the slogan was clearly visible on the scan. “Sic Semper Tyrannis” Unmistakable. The agent gave him a day to dig it up and correct the problem. And, another citation for an unlicensed advertisement. The nephew bit his tongue. Several of the folks in the house were cited for various violations. They’d total it up tonight. And, see who had what that could be hocked to pay for their “freedom”.

So several of the adults were out digging. With the one real shovel and several improvised tools. The nephew’s wife got some salt. “For replanting!” Grass, or rather the absence of, would make a political statement. The metal was only a few inches down. Easily removable.

But under the metal was a little surprise. A plastic tube. Sealed at both ends. Printed on the tube, in a shake handwritten letters, “Sic Semper Tyrannis”. The tubes were brought back to the house quickly and quietly. Who new which of the neighbors was the Homeland Security snitch?


The children were sent to bed. The adults gathered in the living room. The first tube was opened.

A block of old FRB dollars came tumbling out.

The nephew involuntarily exclaimed: “Stupid, Old Man, stupid!”

Another shake and out came some heavy plastic cylinders and a note. The note said: “I’m old; not senile! Here’s some stuff I think you might need.”

In the cylinders, gold coins. Another tube held a rifle. Pistols. Ammo. Knives.


The nephew and the other men went out that night. The Homeland Security patrol was goofing off behind the strip club where honest women had to degrade themselves to support their families. The patrol would get free sex to allow them to proceed home. The men crawled up. The patrol never knew what hit them.


Newspaper and internet ad: “The Department of Homeland Security is please to announce that due to promotions there are openings in the Patrol Division. All that is required is a certificate of political correctness. blah, blah, blah”

No one applied.

# # # # #

2 Responses to WRITING: My Uncle’s House (An Index Card Novel)

  1. reinkefj says:

    We’ll see. We will see. And, by, will we see it! What is a “dollar”?

  2. John F says:

    Index novel or a gold ad? LOL

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