Friday afternoon at The Reykjavík Grapevine offices. Waiters circulate with trays of Kir Royales and vol-au-vents. “We’ve done a lot for the masses lately, haven’t we?” someone says to general agreement. “We published Best of Reykjavík — a useful guide for the ignorant — and not a single bribe was accepted. That’s a record.” More agreement. “And our music awards,” said little Timmy, our mailboy, voice quaking from fatigue, “We really helped out the scene.” “Hush, back to work,” we said. There was still a great deal of fan mail for him to sort through.
But the adorable little urchin was right. We’d done a lot. But could we do more? “How about another Free Business Idea?” someone suggested. “The people, they remain unshod.” The fateful decision was made. Calls were connected, sleeper cells activated, a briefcase stuffed with unmarked cash crossed three borders on a single moonless night. Two days later the following article was taped to a brick and thrown from a moving car, breaking a window at the Grapevine offices, maiming two.
Making money is, generally speaking, a lot of work. Men and women engaged in the Noble Art spend countless hours adjusting spreadsheets, yelling into phone receivers, saying things like, “Money never sleeps,” and “Don’t touch my bread.” It is tireless work. They dress differently from the mass, they see the world differently: where you see nature they see resources, where you see human frailty they see slick opportunity. The key thing to know is that they work hard for their dosh, all right? When they’re not working they’re networking. If they’re not working or networking they’re reading the business papers in leather armchairs. They are the deserving rich.
Meanwhile lesser people engage in something called hobbies. Others raise families. Some senseless and misguided people even volunteer. I wrote this article for them. What’s needed is some method of making money from nothing. An infinite money glitch, a passive income stream, the satisfying clink of another coin tossed into the vault pile.
Throughout time many schemes for easy riches have been tried and found wanting: alchemy, NFTs, forex day trading, highly leveraged and loosely regulated banking. But folk tales gathered in the mid-1800s by one Jón Árnason indicate that a scheme for infinite money does in fact actually really truly in fact exist. A scheme long forgotten, but bound to make a return. How it was first discovered is anyone’s guess as the process is a little intricate.
First you wait until your friend is in an exceptionally good mood. Ideally a little drunk. Put your hand on his shoulder (it has to be his rather than her shoulder for reasons that will soon become apparent) then you ask if he’s willing to do a deal. The deal would go something like this: Good Friend, when you die, I’m allowed to flay the skin off your body, okay? But if I die first, get this, you get my skin!
This will strike most right thinking people as a fair deal. What use will I have of skin in the great beyond? So he says yes, and he soon dies from an unfortunate accident. When he is buried, go by night and dig him up. Once you have skinned his lower half as one whole piece (don’t puncture it), step into the soggy trousers that once encompassed your beloved friend (RIP). Then Jón Árnason goes on to say: “So that the breaches may be of some use, one needs to steal a coin from an impoverished widow.” Place the coin in the necropantic scrotum. Here’s where all this effort (which I know you don’t like) starts to make an enormous amount of practical sense: Next time you’re at the checkout counter, you reach into your dead friend’s scrotum. You will find a bottomless supply of coins. Take what you need, just make sure not to use the initial ill-gotten coin!
Sadly this spell hasn’t received much feminist critique, closed as it is to women donors, and I for one am not thrilled about stealing from impoverished widows. I think it’s plain wrong. But more importantly, another anachronism hangs over the whole scheme like a dark cloud: The money takes the form of coins. This might have cut the mustard back in the day but now, with cashless businesses running rampant, it’s anyone’s guess what payment system should sprout from the Modern Man’s necropants. Today you might reach into the sack and pull out a limitless bank card or even a phone, complete with a wallet app.
Prissy detractors say it’s wrong to resurrect dark and ancient magic. Others may even doubt its veracity. But I say there’s no harm in trying. Worst case you’ll learn how to skin an animal, a useful skill for you people in the lower orders, who I am given to understand sometimes eat roadkill. The best case is that you’ll be rich, at which point I ask you to send a bit of your sack-coin to your old friends at the Grapevine — who put you on to the scheme to begin with.
Freyr Thorvaldsson also writes Atlantic Islander — the premier newsletter for business psychos. Find it at freyr.substack.com
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