The set-up. Master the mental code

I was thinking about bullshit. I had intentions of setting up an office and selling you all the available smoke. The office was a dingy little shabby room. It smelled very bad. The walls were gray and had been lacquered with some dark shade of green. What they gave was a feeling of mental banishment. I put a desk found outside in the trash a few blocks away and a corroded typewriter.

I spent five hundred hours looking for information to sell. Typical mental trigger shit. The power of the mind applied to finding an ordinary guy and turning him into a powerful entrepreneur. But you and I both know that's some of the biggest bullshit.
Still, I intend to sell you something. I'm sure the smart-asses will jump on it. But there's some truth I know about the world behind the scenes.
The office had only one entrance. The door was made of shoddy tempered glass. I wrote in gold letters. Master the mental code. Only 3 slots.

I walked to the nearest post office and sent the same note to the local newspaper. I had this phone as an extension of a haggard old woman who screamed constantly, I want something exclusive? At the time she was pretty sane. But now she was just repeating the same thing countless times. And it wasn't bad. We should focus on transcendental things.

In the morning I would walk several kilometers, straining the saleable smoke. I used some passers-by as proof of something. It was clear that you could sell anything. Even things that don't exist. That we haven't invented yet.

2 Scarcity

I've hired one of those freckled redheads I viciously hate. His father has a lot of money, but his head is totally empty. As I slap myself a few times on this old sack that I pass off as fancy. Billy follows me like his life depends on it. He's the first one I'm going to go shearing. The cold is embracing. I order him to cross the sidewalk and bring me an apple. I've been looking at fucking apples for months and I can't buy them.

Arriving at the office I have a customer. Billy leans against a small section of the window. To watch a professional at work. I intend to teach you. Open your eyes, for fuck's sake, Billy. Open up for the lady. First I look at her big ass. The perfect figure, and before I send her to sit down, she asks me: Isn't it true that there are still quotas? I was thinking for two seconds, what quotas was it about. Be clearer, miss. I read in the paper that they unlocked the mind or something. Or God yes. I remembered the note in the paper.

I just create the feeling of scarcity. The mind does the rest. It's all about looking for unique opportunities anywhere. It's the mind working on behalf of an opportunistic smoke peddler.