When I arrived in D.C the first week of March, the cherry blossoms had yet to spring from their pods. It had always been a dream of mine to see the capital. After seeing all the notable monuments I crossed Constitution Ave. to set my eyes on the biggest scam on the face of the world. Without diving too far into a rant, the Federal Reserve is neither Federal nor a Reserve. It is a money printer, run by a board of Ivy league educated bankers and bureaucrats. As they sit around their cauldron of fiat currency, they concoct devilish elixirs such as quantitative easing. All in the hopes of praising the gods of fractional reserve banking. Its stoic marble walls and clean-cut lines deceive onlookers of the true evils hidden inside.