Curious about the viability of this..I like the idea of keeping savings on hand, and due to mistrust of the government, I like to keep my finances under the radar whenever possible. It is my understanding that metals are a pretty solid investment, have established value worldwide, and are less likely to plummet through the floor than currency. Is this the case? If so, what metals are best? Palladium? Gold? Platinum? Depleted Uranium?
Don't think anyone will be stealing a large amount of lead anytime soon bad enough carrying sea fishing weights in my pocket lol.
Well lead and brass actually.
Gold huh? The color or the metal?
Finally, an intelligent answer.
It's almost as good as a relevant answer.
While it is debatable as to whether an intelligent answer is inferior to a relevant answer it can not be argued that an intelligent answer is far more rare than is a relevant answer, Chartreuse!!!
Chartreuse isn't a metal.
I was surprised at how much the junk sold for.
So basically, throwing away metals is like throwing away money.
That reminds me of a guy we used to call Earl the Squirrel I used to scrap junk cars with the last summer before I went in the army. I was 17 and Earl must have been about 23 or so. He was kind of a redneck motorhead with long stringy "dirty" blonde hair and a missing tooth. I would ride around the country with him while we looked for old scrap cars park in fields on farms. When we would spot one we would offer to haul from their property free of charge if they had a title. We would do this on Fridays and Saturdays for money to party on over the weekend.
Anyhow one Saturday we are cruising around and we spot this old late 60's Ford Country Squire station wagon. In fact is was he same pale baby shit green as the one in in the picture below.
In any event it turns out they have he title and want it off of their land. This thing had been sitting in that field for who know how long and we are towing with Earls 1970 Country Squire and chains, no shit. We hook this thing up with the long chains and drag it out of the dirt it was sunk into. Then we get it up on the road with me sitting inside steering, you see this is how we took them all to the scrap yard. We get this one onto the road and put the short chains on and start to head off. As we pull away on the pavement the right front tire begins to screech like only rubber on pavement can and I motion for Earl to stop. He gets out and ask "What's tha matter?" while standing in a could of burnt rubber. I pointed out that the wheel was locked up and he replied not to worry about it that it would free up in a half mile or so. I reluctantly agreed to attempt this once more and got back in the wreck with no running motor, power brakes, or power steering and the right front (steering) wheel locked from spinning with years of rust.
We pull away and Earl start tooling down the road at like 30 miles per hour with my wheel still locked. Wild life for 500 yards in any direction had to scurry for cover as we "squealed down the road leaving a trail of smoke behind us that would have made Adam West green with envy. Finally, after just under I would say about a mile, the tire naturally burst but old Earl he just kept pluggin' away at around 30 MPH. Now while the tire had burst it was still firmly stuck between the rim and the asphalt allowing both the noise and smoke to continue was Earl drove on down the road dragging me behind me as I skid stirred at a steady 30 MPH.
After about 3 to 4 miles total distance the rubber finally gave way and steel met street. Now Earl is towing me on one front wheel and the equivalent of a big dull double bladed ice skate because the right front wheel still ain't turning. As sparks fly from the metal of the rim as it slowly grinds away against the pavement, Earl continues dragging me along towards the scrapyard with a big goofy smile on his face as he was probably listening to Molly Hatchet or Lynyrd Skynyrd. As I look in the rear view mirror of the 1968 two ton sled on chains I see a double groove cut in the road for as far as the eye can see. By he time we pull to the edge of he small village where the scrap yard was located the rim was wore down about 35% to 40% or just a few inches below the lower most lug nut and was glowing as it sat there and smoked.
We got $25 each for that old hunk of junk on a ride that could have cost us who the hell knows how much in street repair fines if we had been pulled over. But $25 was a lot of money for a 17 year old kid to party on Saturday night in 1979.