A Few Answers To Questions You Always Wondered About

August 16, 2017 | 35 Comments » | Topics: Interesting, Answers

What’s the best way to launder $5,000,000 in cash?

Buy a cash business like a nail salon, paying the majority of the true purchase price in cash to the seller with a token amount on paper. “Sales” increase steadily over a year, you sock away all the clean money thrown off by the salon, maybe 4-5K/mo. After that year, put the 50-60K as a down payment for a really shitty investment home or “flip”. Pay for all renovations in cash. Sell house for a clean profit, rinse and repeat.

Once you get tired of that, buy yourself a small commercial building. A shitty little neighborhood shopping center with vacancy problems. Hire patsies to open more cash businesses. A dry cleaner. A tanning salon. A boutique clothing store. Each of these operations now serve two purposes: cleaning a little cash each month which pays for your patsies and a little taste for you, but more importantly, they pay their above-market rent on time each month.

Now you’ve operated this for a year and have built some excellent financials on the shopping center, so you sell it as a leased investment on the commercial real estate market. What you purchased for $1m when it was throwing off no rental income you now sell for $5m as investors pare paying you for value of future cash flows. Now 1031 tax defer your profits into a like kind investment, which means your $4m profit is now down payment on a $15m office building throwing off $750K/year in crystal clean income.

The real trick is don’t take that $750K/year though (taxable as income). Pay your mortgage down early, and after 5 years you refi and take your $5m out as capital gains to minimize tax exposure. Rinse, repeat as needed.

– Caulkpunch

Disclaimer: We do not condone the illegal laudndering of money, this is for entertainment purposes only



Whats it like to live with PTSD?

I was standing about 40 ft away from the man when the mortar bomb hit him.

They don’t travel that fast, and I’d swear to this day I could see it coming, a little dart zipping down, hitting right at his feet. At least, that’s what happens in the dreams. The bomb was small – probably a 60mm round with no more than 2lbs of explosive in it.

I know that because I’m not dead. 

That small bomb was still enough to make that man just instantaneously cease to exist as anything recognisably human. The effect was not unlike a jar of strawberry jam being struck with a sledgehammer.

I was knocked to the ground. I scrambled into the slit trench nearby and hid, terrified. As the shelling died down, I felt I had something sticky on my face. I reached up and slowly peeled a rasher of bloody human skin off my cheek. This is hard to write. I’m shaking and breathing quickly from the memory. Thinking about it is like picking at a scab.

I didn’t break down instantly. It was at least a month before I had the first dream where I woke up, safe in my bed, but sheeted in sweat, scared to go back to sleep. After a few months, I was a mess. I was incredibly irritable, and would fly off the handle at the slightest thing. I stopped enjoying reading or watching films, spent whole days doing nothing. Just eating and sleeping. Staying alive.

I loved the oblivion of sleep when I didn’t dream. I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew something was very wrong, but I kept putting off doing something about it. I didn’t want to admit to myself I’d gone mad. I was incredibly embarrassed about the fact I’d often wake up my housemates, screaming. I’m pretty loud.

It was the embarrassment that made me realise I’d become very strange. I reluctantly went to the doctor, and started getting treated. It’s a long process, and I’m much better now, but I’m basically never going to be cured, never going to get a piece of paper saying “Congratulations, you are sane again”. You learn to live with it.

I can’t bear to be touched unexpectedly. This goes from being mildly unpleasant when it’s a pat on the back through clothes, all the way to chills, sweats and burning tension if someone with wet hands touches my bare skin. It makes nightclubs an all but no-go area. Wherever I work, there’s always one touchy-feely person. It’s telly, there’s always a woman who likes to hug you if you don’t get a commission or a man who likes jolly backslaps when things go well. Fairly swiftly I have to have the conversation where I say “Please don’t touch me, I have PTSD.” Cue the odd looks from then on.

When I sleep with someone for the first time, I have to have the conversation where I warn them that if I go to sleep, I might start screaming – literally screaming – about mortars, stumbling out of bed and taking cover behind something in the room. I used to wait until I knew someone quite well before I’d lay that on them, but I had one experience where I didn’t tell the girl, I had one of those dreams, and she was absolutely terrified of me.

The noise of diesel engines turning over upsets me immensely – I took cover from rockets under a tank once. The DUNK-DUNK-DUNK of a diesel just brings bad things back. Buses are a no-go. Oh, and fireworks. I hate fireworks now. If I can see them, it’s OK, but it’s unexpected bangs that really upset me. The week of bonfire night and the week around to New Year I usually spend indoors, with good headphones in.

Those are my most common triggers, but almost anything can set you off. Indeed, after reading this brilliant article about PTSD, I was an emotional mess, and had to take a day off work. Which is pretty ironic as it’s an article that says trigger warnings are bullshit. You live in a world where suddenly you can be pushed into re-experiencing something awful at a moment’s notice.

When I have flashbacks, it’s never a Hollywood hallucination of the sounds of the day, or the sights. I relive what happened emotionally and physically, in moments. The terror, the horror, the emptiness, the dry throat, the tense muscles, all dumped on you in five seconds. A day ruined because some goon lets off a firework.

That said, it’s the dreams that are the most pervasive legacy. A doctor told me to think of them as dreams, not nightmares. I can avoid and mitigate triggers; not the same with dreams. I now probably have them about once every couple of months, but it always ruins the following day. I thrash around in my sleep, live out those moments, over and over. I’ve hurt myself; clawed a couple of nails off on my wall thinking I was buried once.

Of course, I’m much better now than I was. I go to support groups, and often I’m the one leading the discussion. People like that I make jokes in the awkward moments where we break and have tea and biscuits, in between sharing horrors. 

PTSD is much more common than you think – the incident I experienced happened when I was on a journalistic assignment, covering a war. And although veterans – represented by brilliant charities like Combat Stress and Help for Heroes – are the most visible face of it, they represent a small minority of sufferers. There’s no shortage of medical care, but support groups are few and far between.

The mix of people in support groups is odd. I’m not sure my experience is representative, but as I say, mine have been split largely between male combat veterans and female rape survivors. While only around 3% of the population are thought to have PTSD, as many as 50% of rape survivors develop it. Rape is by far and away the most common reason for a woman to be there. Everyone bonds over tea; we all share experiences of how we’ve learned to cope, and stories of times when we didn’t.

So that’s what it’s like. Personally, I always come back to a bitter, sarcastic part of a Sassoon poem, called “Does it matter”, which sums up in 30 words what I’ve done in a thousand.

Do they matter? — those dreams from the pit?

You can drink and forget and be glad,

And people won’t say that you’re mad;

And no one will worry a bit.

– Willard Foxton



What are the primary motivations, thoughts and feelings of a White Separatist?

First off, let’s clear up the difference between White Supremacists and White Separatists. The media doesn’t seem able or willing to understand there is a difference between the two. White Supremacists believe that White people are a chosen race, and strongly dislike or hate other races. Obviously they seem to hate blacks, Hispanics, and Jews in particular. White Separatists may or may not be White Supremacists (there are many that are both). White Separatists want to live in a country or region that is only white. The concept that Whites are superior to other races may be present, but not everyone that is a White Separatist thinks this way. I don’t want to cause violence to someone because they are a different race or burn a cross in their yard. I basically want to not be around other races and want a homeland of my own, free of other races I find distasteful.

I was raised in a moderate, middle-class family that was pretty liberal about race issues. I was very much an all-race-loving Democrat who gave money to the Southern Poverty Law Center on several occasions and felt that all races should blend together and live in happy harmony with each other.

I experienced what I would call my racial awakening about 7 or 8 years ago. Over the years I knew I was beginning to see through the media brainwashing about racism and feeling my building anger with other races but tried to bury my feelings about it. After many years of this I finally had to ask myself one day “Self… would I be worse off or better off if every black, latino, asian, and other race just disappeared one day?” The answer was, uncomfortably for me, better off. I was ashamed at first of my revelation, but I have to grown to understand and accept that I’m right.

I realized that whites have their own culture and heritage. To me it is the most significant and advanced culture the world has ever had, and it was disappearing before my eyes. Our kids are growing up being inundated with drug-dealing rappers, rapist basketball players, and gangster Latinos in their music and movies. Every day on Reddit some white college kid is quoting Jay-Z and speaking with pride of their colorful friends.

Cain Valesquez, the UFC fighter, has BROWN PRIDE tattooed across his chest. There’s a Jewish Cultural Center on every block of every city it seems. Blacks constantly talk about Black Pride and preserving their culture. They even invent holidays (Kwanza) out of thin air so “minorities” can have their own cultural holiday. What about MY culture? Why is it that blacks are pressured by teachers to be proud of MLK and at the same time whites are pressured to think that the white race has done so much evil in this world and hasn’t contributed to society?

Why is the endless breeding between whites and other races looked upon as such a great thing these days? I can’t go anywhere without seeing blacks and Hispanics and Whites together with their muddy-skinned kids running around. I don’t understand why anyone…a black person or a white person… thinks this is ok. It is natural for every race to want to preserve their heritage, cultural identity, and race. This is fine for everyone except whites. Woe to any white that feels any sort of pride or wants to preserve anything for his heritage. They will find out very quickly that modern society does NOT approve.

I want a land free of everyone but MY people. I don’t hate blacks or Hispanics or Jews, but I don’t like them and I don’t want to live with them anymore. I want to be able to walk down a city street and not worry about black gangs robbing me. I want to be able to sit outside with listening to rap music being pumped out of car stereos at full blast as they pass my house. I want to turn on the TV and not hear about how the government won’t stop illegal immigration and will sue any state that attempts to. Yet to even talk openly about this could be considered treason and/or sedition. A black man hits a white man? That’s just a fight (and the blacks have been oppressed for so long it’s certainly understandable). W white man hits a black man? That’s a fucking hate crime.

– Anonymous

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