Scott Bessent says the reason beef prices are so high is because immigrants from South America are bringing their cattle with them as they come here and they are infected with diseases.

Night settled over the borderland like a dusty stage curtain, and a strange parade marched across the desert. Moonlight caught the horns of long-suffering cattle as they trudged behind travelers from faraway ranch towns in South America. Every cow looked confused, partly from the heat, partly from the fact that none of them had any idea why they now crossed sand instead of pasture. Travelers pushed onward anyway, guided by the bold prophecy of one wealthy commentator who insisted that cattle smuggling caused every grocery store steak to cost more than a car payment.

A new wave arrived from the river next. Canoes scraped the mud, rowboats drifted in, and each boat carried one fearless rancher and one equally baffled cow. Some cows wore life vests. Some cows sat in folding chairs. One cow held a small umbrella, because dignity matters even during a clandestine maritime journey. A border agent stared at the scene and muttered that he needed a transfer to fisheries, because fish never arrived dressed like tourists.

Crowds gathered near a campfire further inland. Rumors spread faster than sparks. A man claimed that the cattle glowed in the dark due to ancient jungle curses. Another swore that every cow carried a suitcase full of contraband hay. A third shouted that he once saw a cow forging documents under a streetlamp. Everyone gasped, except the cows, who focused on chewing, since existential crisis never stopped a ruminant.

A group of economists wandered into the camp moments later. One opened a notebook and explained that drought, corporate consolidation, feed costs, and market speculation shaped beef prices. Nobody listened. A storyteller with a camera offered a far more exciting explanation involving shadowy herds, desert caravans, and a stampede so powerful that grocery stores raised prices out of pure fear.

A cow finally spoke near the edge of the group. A deep, patient moo rolled across the sand. Silence followed. A translator claimed the cow said, “We walked across three countries and rode a canoe for eight hours. We want a nap, not a conspiracy.”

Laughter ran through the camp. Travelers kept walking. Cows kept chewing. Economists kept sighing. A desert wind carried away the final echo of the tall tale, leaving only footprints, hoofprints, and a lingering reminder that strange explanations flourish whenever real answers feel too boring for prime-time storytelling.