Your Money or Your Freedom.

Don't you find it interesting that, in the final analysis, the only thing your Gubmint can really take from you is your money and/or your freedom?

Oh yeah, it can take your property, and your reputation, even if wrong in doing so.  And is always asked in these situations, "How do I get my reputation back?"

You get a traffic ticket or park the wrong way or put your trash out on the wrong day, and you have to pay a fine.  For an infraction.  A few hundred dollars and the problem's in the rearview mirror.  

The worst you have to face is perhaps a traffic school, for which you pay too much for too little, and suffer it for way too long.  Welcome to being flattened by the Gubmint's Runaway Train.  

But you kick your dog, or throw a rock at your neighbor, and you might get smacked with a misdemeanor.  From which you might just get up to a $1,000 fine and 364 days in the county jail.  The jailing part almost never happens, because all their jail cells are full, and they can make more money out of you with bail and probation and court fees.  (If it's a year or more, they have to move you to a prison, and then lose the daily offender per diem they get from the Taxpayers.  Funny how that goes...)  

But try and mug somebody or jack their car or stick up the local 7/11, or make the mistake of drinking a tad too much and then driving, they will hook you up and "take you for the ride."  You get booked and charged, for a felony.  And for committing this first time felony you could get 2 to 5 years in prison.  But unless they catch you with a dead hooker in the trunk, or a live boy in your bed, or you've killed somebody - and they can prove it - you'll likely get kicked out on bail.      

And here in Taxifornia, and New Yawk, and ChicaGO, and so many other Big Blue Cities with George Soros bought-and-paid-for District Attorneys, that'll be a "no cash" bail.  Meaning, you walk out the back door of the station house before the cop who arrested you has finished your booking paperwork.  

Pissing him off royally.  Giving you at least one laugh at the expense of the Road Pirates.  That's our friendly nickname for those we pay handsomly to extort our money on every available occasion.  

But for more serious crimes, like the white collar variety, or maybe kidnapping or bank robbery, they'll lock you up.  And you'll likely get tried and convicted.  Especially if it's a Federal crime.  98% of all Federal prosecutions result in conviction, BTW.  If they come after you, you'll get got.  And you'll be sentenced.  A monetary fine of up to about $5k, and some days/weeks/months/years in the Gray Bar Hotel.  It could be a dozen years or more.  Uh oh!   

Like I said, your money and/or your freedom.

Think about our boy Rudy Guliani.  He defamed a couple of Georgia election poll workers back in 2022.  He said they'd altered the election results, which they hadn't.  It caused them untold grief, they said.  Lost sleep, lost sexual appetite, lost sense of smell, etc.  He was sued for slander, and convicted.  He was fined some $36,000,000.  That's a lot of slander, Kemosabe!  

Hmmm.  $36 MILLION DOLLARS?  Seems fair, right?  You get the loose lip and mumble some sh*t about some folks and they take you for $Millions.  In Guliani's case, he lost his pension, his bank account, his art collection, his Uptown Manhattan apartment ($3.6 Million).  And more recently his classic M-B convertible, a signed Mickey Mantle game-worn sweatshirt ($Millions?) and a game-played Babe Ruth baseball ($Zillions?).  

They asked him for his BVD's, but he said just take me to jail.  And unless The Trumpster intervenes, they just might.  

I guess we could say so until we reference the judgement meted against our boy Big Orange.  He was taken to court by an Attorney General who ran for office on the promise to Get Trump.  And he did.  To the tune of $575,000,000!  The single highest fine in the history of the world!  For a paperwork misdemeanor whose statute of limitations had already passed!  By several years!  Clearly unconstitutional, and likely to be declared as such by the Supreme Court in 2025.  But in the meantime, had he not been able to find a friendly bondsman, to whom he paid $187 Million Dollars in Cash, he'd have been in jail.  And unable to run for President.  

Lawfare?  You decide. 

So think about it.  Your Gubmint can take money and freedom from its citizens.  But as my very intelligent Dad once said, "Boy, they can kill ya,' but they sure can't eat ya."  True, Daddy, but they can sure punish your a*s in the meantime. 

But my question for the day, Fellow Patriots, is WHY DON'T THEY PUNISH THEM?  For it seems our D.A.'s are choosing to arrest and charge and try and incarcerate fewer and fewer criminals these days.  The New Yawk and Lost Angeles D.A.'s have been knocking down 53% of all the felonies to misdemeanors, and then bailing out the perps "no cash."  

Carjackers, muggers, gangsters, dope dealers, attempted murderers, all bailed.  Why don't they slap down illegal behavior before it becomes a serious threat to our community?  We hear every day about some crook who just killed a few people who had 30 or 40 or 50 prior arrests?  And out on bail for two or three crimes.  Yet to be tried.  What the Hell is going on here?

Is it that Faaaar-Lefffft commie socialist "feel good" district attorneys have taken hold and just won't punish anyone?  The ones in NY and CA and IL, for instance, knock down prosecutable felonies into misdemeanors.  And then turn them loose on a "no cash bail."  So they can go out and murder and rape and mug your friends and neighbors.

Oh well, it's just what happens when that old "...camel gets his nose under the tent" and winds up in total control of the levers of power...

Two Wolves and a Sheep...

Benjamin Franklin left Independence Hall that fateful day back in the summer of 1789, right after he and our other Founding Fathers had crafted the Constitution.  A woman stopped and asked him what kind of Government he'd given us.  He said,

"Madam, we've given you a Representative Republic, if you can keep it."

And right now, we're all about trying to keep it.

It won't surprise you to learn that we Americans are divided politically.  But it might surprise you to learn the extent of that divide.  And quite possibly, why.

Right now exactly 34% of our citizens proclaim themselves to be Republican, 32% Democrat, and 34% Independent.

(BTW, Republicans are 2 points up since the Election, and Democrats are 2 points down.  And "Independent" means they sway with the wind.  Voting this way and that, from one side to the other, like the pendulum on a grandfather clock, issue by issue, unable to make up their fragile minds.  And how they choose to vote, whether for the "R's" or for the "D's," typically decides the Election.  And it most assuredly did on November 5th.) 

We go into the New Year and the New Administration knowing these facts:

     -  Those who vote Democrat are largely those who've yet to attain their financial goals.  They're wage-earners.  Often MinWage earners.  Or low level salaried.  Often among the 49% of our population who do not pay Federal taxes.  But yet vote, often only for their own financial intererests.

        Does somebody need to take a look at that?  Don't we all need to have skin in the game?    

        Or they're very, very rich.  The movie moguls and the Wall Street $Billionaires.  It used to be the Republicans who were considered the Party of Big Business.  Or of the rich.  No longer.  The Silicon Valley crowd who donate $Billions to Democrats, and the Hollywood types who are clearly ashamed of their success.  Jeffrey Katzenburg donated $30 Million to the Democrats.  This cabal of $Zillionaires gave Harris more than $1.5 Billion Dollars to play with.  They didn't really earn all those $Millions, I'm thinking they're thinking.  And many of them didn't.  And so they're giving it away, hoping to gain some level of public absolution for their "crimes."  Like the Nottingham Sheriffs of old, they seek a "Writ of Absolution" from the then current pope.  And pay BIG for it.  But it's now turned into a sort of a digital public "whipping."  To be able to look in the mirror again without gagging, I presume. 

        Or they're women who believe that they're voting for reproductive freedom.  Even though the Supreme Court delivered that freedom with the repeal of "Roe v. Wade."  Now, the decision as to whether a woman can abort her fetus up until the instant of birth has been returned to the various states.  They vote on it.  And if a woman's state votes differently than she desires, she can then vote with her feet.  She can move.  She can go to Illinois or California, with each having offered to pay all travel and medical expenses relating to the surgery.  At their taxpayers' expense.  MY expense!  So you're a woman in Texas who desires an abortion at 38 weeks, just call BoyGuv.  He'll send you a plane ticket and put it on my MasterCard.      

     -  And those who vote Republican are often trying to retain what they have, whether income, earnings, savings or property.  Against a Democrat Party dedicated to taking it all away.  An onslaught against their persons and property.  And then redistributing it to those who didn't earn it.  For their votes.  These are the folks who earned it and want to keep it.  It's like being inside the fort, surrounded by Indians, (the "woo-woo" kind, not those "red dot" others), and trying to keep the maidens and kiddies safe from the savages.  Who are hungry, and motivated.  And would peel you like a grape if they got the chance.  And HAVE done so when they got the chance.  That's why we now have a combined upper tax rate of more than 50% of one's earnings in some Big Blue states.  Like mine.

     -  And lastly, there are terrorists.  Those who for whatever reason have decided that blowing sh*t up is a good idea.  And lots and lots of our folks with it.  Like the Ivy League grad who murdered the healthcare CEO.  And the idiots who are singing his praises.  Thinking he's "hot."  And that he was pushed by drug companies "beyond his limits," as one of our Senators remarked.

        I'm not wishing to induce unnecessary alarm.  I am suggesting that if I harbored terroristic sympathies, now would be the time.  A child shot up a Christian school in Madison, Wisconsin a couple of days back.  Several died or were wounded.  That never happened when I was a kid and everyone was armed.  EVERYONE!  Something is wrong.  Be on the alert.  We all know 3% of our population is as crazy as a hoot owl.  Drunk, or stoned, or off their meds.  Driving toward you at 70 mph.  Pay attention.  Especially now during the Holiday Season when the nutcases come out of the shadows.  Doing so just might save your life.

When Ben Franklin was asked by that same lady why the Founding Fathers hadn't chosen democracy as our governing standard, he said: 

"A democracy is two wolves and a sheep deciding on what to have for lunch."

It appears the rules have been made and enforced by the wolves over the past several years.  Let's watch the incoming Administration to see if that can be changed around to our mutual benefit.

Are You Prepared?

Have you ever wondered what would happen if somebody turned off the lights?

I mean, on purpose or by accident your local power company just goes on the fritz.  And no longer produces overpriced electricity.  And out here in Taxifornia, for some of our overpriced growed-up golf cart cars to use.  

What would you do if the lights wouldn't come on?  And the stove or air fryer wouldn't cook your food?  And you couldn't charge your phone?  And your furnace wouldn't heat your home?  Or cool it?  

Have you ever wondered what would happen if our petroleum refineries were all sabotaged?  Blown up, or hacked, and no longer producing refined petroleum we can use in the vast majority of our cars?  Or dummies like our bozo BoyGuv keeps forcing them out of business with his "climate chaos" mentality?  Like Shell, which just announced it's bolting from the once-Golden State.  After more than 75 years of service.  Taking with it some 15% of our total refining capacity.  No refineries, no $6.00 a gallon gas at the pump.  And you don't drive.  Anywhere. 

Since we still live in a "supply and demand" economy (the socialists haven't replaced Capitalism just yet), what do you think will happen to the price of our gas when 15% of the supply goes away? 

Have you ever wondered what would happen if the Internet was unplugged?  No more Google.  No more Facebook.  No more "X."  Just you.  And your family.  Like it used to be.  Back in the "good ol' days," like 40 years ago.  Your family depending upon you to protect them and make sure they are fed and clothed and kept safe from harm.

Do you know how to do that?  Have you ever even considered that you might have to do so?

Have you ever wondered what would happen if our Gubmint decided one day to take your firearms?  Just like Gubmints have done in every other country but the United States?  Would you give up yours?  Do you have any to give?  Did you know that there were more than 150,000 FBI Instant Federal Firearm Background Checks conducted on Black Friday alone?  The precursor to owning a firearm?  And you weren't one of them?  

That's alright.  I have enough for us both...

And speaking of firearms, there were 150,000,000 in American hands as of the day Obama was consecrated.  Now?  After him being named the Greatest Gun Salesman of All Time, it's 525,000,000.  With more than 110,000,000 American households owning at least one firearm.  Is your house one of them?

Can you make a fire without matches?  You know, take flint and kindling, and...  No?  Wouldn't it be a good time to learn?  Do you have a store of the food your family will need if all the grocery stores go out of business?  No gas or diesel for the trucks to bring it?  Because they've all been legislated out of existence?    And because there's no more electricity?  Could you hunt for subsitence food?  You know, because the firearms have all been confiscated, take your bow and arrows and go into the woods and hunt?  No? 

As you may have heard, Russia is in an all-out war with Ukraine.  Putin has already lost more than 725,000 of his own troops.  He's even imported the North Koreans to fight for him.  China and Iran are backing Russia, BTW.  The NATO countries, including the U. S. of A., are backing Ukraine.  They're shooting real bullets at each other.  People are dying.  

Iran, through its proxies, attacked Israel.  Israel is fighting back.  They've destroyed HAMASS, and Hezbollah, and southern Lebanon, and most of the defenses of Iran.  Which has caused the downfall of Syria.  Making it a lawless wasteland.  And the U.S. and Israel are attacking what's left of Syrian offensive capabilities with rockets and bombs.  Sinking their ships.  Removing their chemical weapons capabilities.  Or trying.  But Russia took in Al Asad.  And his $2 Billion Dollars.  Without Syria's aid and protection, Putin is even more vulnerable.  And paranoid.  

He has nuclear weapons, BTW.  And has changed Russia's constitution so that they may be used in more circumstances.  That should worry the pee out of every thinking human. 

It's still not a good idea to back a 5th Degree Black Belt into a corner.  Which we're doing.  A corner from which he knows he has only one exit.  You might not like the results. 

Iran may soon start to come apart at the seams.  Which could bring China and NoKo into the action directly.  China has forewarned us all that it intends to attack the Republic of Korea.  And 90% of our computer chips are made in South Korea.  Should that occur, whether we come to this small island's defense or not, it could bring that necessary supply line to a halt.  And American industry and manufacturing to a halt.  For months, if not years.  Returning us to the technological Dark Ages.

In short, the world's in a terrible fix, thanks to Joe O'Biden.  And one single human, somewhere, who zigs when he should have zagged, could push the wrong button and cause WW Part 3 to unfold.  Right smack in front of us.

Since you were likely born and raised in a "bubble," it's likely you have no idea how to fend for yourself.  I read a poll recently where 22% of Taxifornias believe meat comes from the local supermarket!  And I'm telling you it might be a good time to learn some of the basic skills you'd need if the Fit Hits The Shan.  

How to hunt, how to live off the land, how to build a lean to.  how to build a fire, how to stay warm, and how to stay safe.  One thing you could do is go to your local bookstore and buy a copy of the "Boy Scout Manual."  It will instruct you on all the things you'll need to know to live in a disconnected world, scary, mean, dangerous world.

Good luck, Fellow Patriots.  Sorry for the dose of reality.  I was taught by the U. S. Army to be prepared.  After having been taught by the Boy and Explorer Scouts to "Be Prepared."  I'm prepared.  Are you?

The way things look, unless The Donald can defuse multiple wars allowed to start and fester under the "Mumbler-in-Chief," you might need to get up to speed on some of the more "basic" life skills.*  

Especially if some authoritarian somewhere chooses to attack while O'Biden is still laising away on the beach at Rohoboth.  Still collecting his $400,000 a year...  

*    Or perhaps these are just the ravings of a paranoid old dude.  In which case you should just ignore them and go on back to your unprepared life.

Brown Paper Bag...

Let me start by saying that I do not, DO NOT, believe that certain Black ladies bring a brown paper bag with them to the maternity ward.

A brown paper bag filled with vowels and consonents.  Which they then draw out, one after the other, to determine their new bouncing baby's name.  Whether boy or girl, makes no difference.  The names are often so strange that they serve either sex.

And since we have 57 of them here in Taxifornia, everyone's confused anyway.

One by one they extract those bits of paper, no matter how they turn up.  You know those contractions only come every 5 or 10 minutes, so they have to have some entertainment for the down times, right?

And sometimes those boys grow up to be football players.  Professional football players.  And they take those otherworldly names with them.  For all of us to see.  And some of them are so glaringly unusual that I thought they deserved to be shared.  And yes, I checked them all out so you can be assured they are real.  Enchoi!

     -  Kool Aid McKinstry

     -  Chop Robinson

     -  Storm Duck

     -  Bump Cooper, Jr.  

     -  Ruke Orhorhoro

     -  Chad OchoCinco 

     -  Ha Ha Clinton-Dix

     -  Barkevious Mingo

     -  Guy Whimper

     -  D'Brickashaw Ferguson

     -  Captain Munnerlyn

     -  BenJarvus Green-Ellis

     -  Earthwind Moreland

     -  Ben Gay

     -  Hercules Mata'afa

     -  Rock Ya Sin

     -  JuJu Smith-Schuster

     -  Key'vantanie Coutee

     -  T. J. Houshmandzadeh

     -  Uche Nwaneri

     -  Ikponmwosa Igbinosun

     -  Prince Tega Wanogho

     -  Ogbonnia Okaronkwo

     -  Equonimeous St. Brown

     -  Ndamukong Suh

And I leave you with my personal favorite,

     -  Tuonigamanuolepola (Tua) Tagovailoa

Have a simple-to-pronounce day...    

(BTW, I'm guessing Ben Gay could help out with Guy's Whimper, don't you?)

The $10 Hamburger.

I wrote recently about my first visit to McDonalds, way back in 1963.

I bought two cheeseburgers, two order of fries and a vanilla shake.  And got $0.22 cents back out of a dollar.

The burgers were $0.15 cents back then.  You could add cheese for 4 cents more.  So I asked Mr. Google what MickeyD's cheeseburger cost the day Mr. O'Biden took office.  It was $2.71.  What is it now?  It's $5.14.  Nearly double.  "Bidenomics" in action.  

So then I started looking at the other fast food emporiums to see how they compared.  After our BoyGuv's ("Hairgod!") implementation of $20.00 an hour for people who ask, "Would you like fries with that?," fast food is no longer the province of the poor.  It's now strictly for the upper class, given recent reports of $18.49 for a Happy Meal.  

So I just bought a "Smash" burger from Jack in the Box.  It cost me $9.00.  $NINE FRIGGIN' DOLLARS!!!  I'd read that it had bested all other fast food burgers in taste tests, so I decided to give it a try.  Especially since our money's not worth much anymore, so why not throw it away? *

(BTW, it was delicious, and I can recommend it without hesitation.)

Remember when we would stoop to pick up a penny off the sidewalk?  And then it was a nickel?  Then up to a quarter?  Now?  I doubt most of our entitled Gen-Z would stoop to pick up a $Five Dollar Bill.

And it just went down in value as I write this little posting.

I should have started by mentioning that among other things, I'm a graduate economist.  That means I understand all sorts of economic theory and banking regulations and why we have inflation (politicians, especially Democrats, spend way too much!).  And what I've witnessed is that every time we have an inflationary shock, like Carter in 1979, or Obama in 2008, or O'Biden in 2024, prices go up like a skyrocket!  And then, when inflation is corrected, prices... 

...NEVER, EVER GO DOWN TO WHERE THEY WERE BEFORE!

Got it?

When this particular inflationary spiral is over, say in a year or so, now that Mr. Trump will be in office, do you think that a hamburger's price will ever go back to where it was before?  

         NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It will remain right where it is.  Or maybe even go higher.  Especially if BoyGuv is still Guv.  There still may be an area of Taxifornia he's yet to ruin, but I'm sure he's trying his best to find it.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, that they never, ever think things all the way through.  To where their idiotic policies will end up taking us.  And so far, it's cost more than 20,000 MinWage employees their jobs here, and there will be many more to come.  Especially after the fast food store owners start installing kiosks for all up-front activities.  Ordering, cashier, everything.  Including shuttering dining rooms.  They are singularly focused on removing employees out of fast food in every way they can.  There's even a new robotic burger flipper that makes 250 hamburgers an hour, error free, no sick days needed.  They're being installed as we speak.  You'll see only drive-thrus at most locations within a year or two.  

Just wait and see.

You'll also see a resurgence of "brown bagging" it.  People actually making their lunches and bringing them to work.  Fast Food ended that practice when it was affordable.  It's no longer affordable.

Do you think the price of Jack's burger will go down if the price of its employees stays high?  Ummmmm, NOOOOOOO!  It will stay right where it is.

Because everybody gets over but us poor customers.

*    I was stationed in Germany for a time while protecting America.  I got to hold a One Million DeutchMark bank note.  Their post-WW2 money.  After hyperinflation had beaten down the country.  It was the size of a bath towel, yet would not buy a loaf of bread.  That, my friends, is what inflation will do to the value of your money.  And that, my friends, has been what O'Biden and Company hath wrought.

"The Sky is Falling!"

Our lame "Corporate Media" likes to reduce everything down to a "sound bite" so that their reporters can cough it up when it's "game time," and the camera turns on.

Here it is, decade by decade:

     -   "Win the War" 40's

     -   "Rebuild" 50's

     -  "Turn on, Tune in, Drop Out" 60's

     -  "Another Ice Age" 70's

     -  "Acid Rain Will Destroy Everything" 80's

     -  The "Ozone Layer is Disappearing!"  90's

     -  "Ice Caps Will All Melt" 00's

     -  "Global Warming Will Kill Us All!"  '10's

     -  "Climate Chaos Will Cause a Fiery Hell!" '20's

Here's a little memo to all the folks who desperately need something to fear.  Something to worry about.  Something over which to suffer extreme anxiety.  Lighten up!  EGBOK!  Everything's Gonna' Be Okay!  And even if it isn't, you can't do a dayummm thing about it!

As you were...

"A Disease For Which There is No Cure."

Approximately 16.1% of our citizens are entrepreneurs.

That's about 50,0000,000 of us.

The folks who are selling us hot dogs on the corner.  Or renting us kayaks by the river.  Or starting a business and hiring your neighbors.  Like Elon Musk.  And Zuckerberg.  And Donald Trump.  All of whom have thousands of employees.

An enormous 61% of us are paid by the hour.  Including every cop, up to the rank of Asst. Chief.  They have to sign in when they get to work by the hour, just like most everybody else.

Almost everybody who works for anybody works by the hour.  To me, as an ex-employer, that's a really stupid way to do it.  We almost never get an hour's worth of work out of anyone anymore.  And never did.  We have to assess whether "the clump of work" we get out of several hours of an employee's time all packed together in a day, is truly worth the investment.  And much of the time it is not.   

Especially when our business partner, The State in Which We Work, forcibly extracts from us 35% or 40% more than an employee's salary in terms of Workers' Compensation and Unemployment and Payroll Taxes.  Like New York City, which charges an 8% excise tax, over and above all other taxes, just for the privilege of working there!  You drive across the River from New Jersey in to NYC ($8.00 fare) and you incur an additional 8% tax just to go work there.  That's why an employer has to always consider whether he's getting his money's worth by committing to hiring another employee.

Or maybe just working a bit harder or smarter and putting that unspent money in his pocket. 

And God knows I know that.  I started and managed my own business for nearly 40 years.  My wife and I created an entirely new medical specialty back in 1977 with a $2,000 investment.  And wound up employing more than 50 nurses, technicians and doctors.  And servicing more than 30 Los Angeles and Orange County hospitals by the time we'd grown it up.  I was additionally asked to teach a class for the MBA candidates from Chapman University, entitled, 

"Entrepreneurism:  A Disease for Which There is No Cure."  

So I both lived it, and taught it.  Both successfully.  I am a serial entrepreneur, having started 7 businesses, and through my management company, aided another 15 to a turnaround.  Every entrpreneur I know failed at least once in their efforts, and many 4 or 5 times.  But they never stopped trying.  And that's why I so adamantly advise anyone who will listen.  

A college degree won't guarantee you a job.  

Nor should it.  Private employers won't guarantee you a job.  There are a lot of Ivy League graduates these days asking, "Would you like fries with that?"  While also paying off gargantuan student loans.  So, my advice to you is:  

If you want true job security, create your own job.

And, on my way out the digital door, consider carefully your decision to attend a college or university.  They cost $30,000 or $40,000 or $90,000 a year, and for what?  You'll not learn how to find a job, or how to keep a job.  Or God forbid, succeed at a job!  You will learn all about "Medieval Lesbian Poetry," if that's your desire.  But in our society, that won't feed the bulldog.  New UPS truck drivers start at $175,000 a year.  Computer nerds start at $125,000.  Even cops start at over $100k.  Ferriers (horse shoers) are earning $250,000 a year!  And they get to breathe fresh outdoor air and play with horses!  With no student loans!  

And for those so inclined, you may also learn along the line what you need to know to start and operate your own business.  Successfully.  And that's the Brass Ring, so as far as I'm concerned...

"Except You Lose."

It was the late Spring of 1963.

I decided to stop by one of my favorite pool halls that day.  To try and take a few $Dollars out of the pockets of the local wannabes.  Those who thought they knew how to play pool.  And were also willing to gamble on that untested belief.

I'd been hooked on the game since I first saw my Dad play.  He'd been Missouri State Billiard champion in 1928 and '29.  So watching him play was like watching a maestro conduct an orchestra.  For making billiard balls submit to your will.  It's really quite a feat.  Taking a lifetime of practice.  That was back when I was 13.  I played every day thereafter, an average of 8 hours.  Even more sometimes.  Until I was the best I'd ever seen.  By the tender age of 17.  

I was on the road, preying on dirty dive pool halls that same year.  And especially on little beer bars named "Dew Drop Inn."  Right next to a river bridge.  I could count on one or more "contributions" to my college fund in each of them.  And since I was in college, it sure did help.  That's because I was addicted.  To new cars and new girls and new adventures.  And all of them cost $Money.        

As I walked through the door that day I saw a guy holding court in the middle of the darkened room.  A guy who I only knew by reputation.  I'd seen his pictures, and read about his lawsuit against MGM.  His name and likeness, he said, were appropriated without his permission.  What a load of crap!  You might enjoy hearing the story.  

You may recall that Jackie Gleason played the part of "Minnesota Fats" in the movie "The Hustler."  He and Paul Newman and Piper Laurie had produced one of the very best movies ever made.  And I'm saying that not just because I was a touring professional "hustler" at the time the movie opened.  But because it was a gripping story, and exceedingly well acted.  In fact, Newman won a Oscar for his performance. 

I've commented many times that I thought I made as much off that movie as Newman did.  Because it brought all the would-be Newmans out of the closet.  And into the local pool rooms.  And willing to bet money that they're better.  When they're not.  And since I'd already peeled the locals for all they had, I welcomed the new blood.  

From what I read the movie made a point to name Gleason's character, "Minnesota Fats"  And that was because a guy named Rudolph Wanderrone was hustling in the Northeast under the moniker "New York Fats."  And that Gleason studied his films to get a feel for being an overweight pool pro who'd mastered the ability to climb inside an opponent's head and live there, rent free.  For that's what I'd heard was Fat's specialty.  

He had the chutzpah to sue MGM, stating that they'd stolen his identity in "Hustler."  They threw $85,000 his way to shut him up.  They settled a nuisance suit, but he rode the result all the way to the bank!  He had the biggest mouth in New York, and he bragged that he'd brought MGM to its knees, all day every day.  The "MSMedia," particularly ABC's "Wide World of Sports," saw him as an entertainer, good for eyeballs.  In fact, they produced a special taped on top of the Hilton Hotel in Manhattan.  With our Fats playing perhaps the very best pool player who ever lived.  

ABC arranged for 17-time Player of the Year Willie Mosconi to take on Fats.*  The match was touted by ABC for weeks.  It was televised on a Saturday night with a live audience.  Mosconi embarrassed Fats by winning every game that night, but it made him quasi-famous.  Famous enough to sell exhibitions to pool halls and college campuses and big pool rooms all across the fruited plain for years thereafter. 

Which brings us to that late Spring day, back in 1963. 

Minnesota Fats was conducting an exhibition of his talents at Twilling's Pool Hall in Marshall, Missouri that day.  So I quietly walked in and took a seat at the back of the room.  Fats was an imposing guy, weighing in at a good 320, I'd say.  And loud!  We're talking not just loud, but New York loud!  And that day he was blubbering around the center table, cue swaying in the air, squealing his patter at Volume 9.  Giving the 100 or so attendees to this party the history of his life.  And how great was his talent.  And how lucky we all were to be able to witness such talent.  And how he'd either beaten or scared off every other pool player on Earth.  

And then he uttered those fateful words:

"I'm so freakin' good, I'm betting $100 there's nobody in this place that's stupid enough to try and beat me in a game of 9-ball.  In fact, here's the Franklin!"  (He smacked the $C-Note on the pool table).  "Anybody?"

And so of course my arm shot up into the air.  At warp speed.

I spent the next 20 minutes or so spanking Mr. Fats.  I ran him off the table, in fact.  I'd heard he wasn't all that good in competition, which I'd just proven.  His specialty was trick shots, which nearly anyone can master with a little practice.  I picked up my $100 bill to the applause of the crowd, and headed for the door.

Fats followed me out and stuck out his hand.  He introduced himself and asked me to follow him to his car.  He opened the trunk of his huge white Cadillac.  It was filled with cardboard boxes.  And each box was crammed full of newspaper clippings of his various appearances.  Thousands of them.  I assumed this was to show me how great he was.  And how important he was.  But I already knew by then how great he wasn't.  But it was the foundation for the offer he was preparing to make.  

"Whatcha' doing this summer," he asked?  "If you're available I'd like to hire you.  I'd like you to come to each of my exibitions this summer, and sit in the audience.  And when I ask if there's anyone dumb enough to play me, like today, you stick up your hand, right?  Just like you did here, right?  And then we play, just like we did here.  Right?  And you do everything exactly like you did today, except you lose.  Ya' got it?"

The proposal banged around inside my head like a BB in a boxcar.  And then, before I could respond, he added, "And I'll give you a $Hundred Bucks for every game we play.  And you lose."    

I thought about this unique proposal for about, oh, ten nanoseconds.  Instead of fighting my way out of grungy bars and pool halls each night, which went along with hustling mouth-breathers in smoky beer bars, I could simply meet up with this loudmouth and pocket a $C-Note.  So I did.  We started at the Grand Olive Billiards in St. Louis that July, and toured all across Missouri, and Illinois, and Arkansas.  And I was hustling all around each event. too.  Picking up spare change from 9-ball games.  Covering my expenses.  Plus, I pocketed a cool $2,500 that summer from Fats.  And $2,500 Bucks could buy a new car at the time.  

So did I know Minnesota Fats?  Yeah, I knew him.  I toured with him!  You might want to look him up on Google.  He was a hoot.  A mouthy, sweaty, smelly, crafty, cagey hustler whose talent never came close to his ability to sell it.  I even helped him write a chapter of his 1965 book, "Minnesota Fats on Pool," for which he gave me another $100.  He came up with the title, not me.  

I only saw him on one other occasion, at the "Sports and Recreation Show" at the Anaheim Convention Center in 1987.  He was still fat and ungainly and sullen.  And he was still doing his schtick.  And doing it well...

Rudolph Wanderone lived in Bell's Nashville House until his death from congestive heart failure at the age of 82, in January, 1996.  He was truly an unforgetable character.  Loved by many, hated by most.  But nobody left without an opinion.  Maybe that's the way it ought to be for each of us...

*   I won the 1961 Nebraska Snooker Championship.  My prize was a pool cue, a trophy, and the right to play Willie Mosconi on live TV at the grand opening of the Olympic Lanes in St. Joseph, Missouri.  I was young and this was my hero.  I lost, but without looking to shabby in the process.  Quite an accomplishment for a 17 year-old kid.

Football in the Snow!

You know that I'm a football fan.  

I've written about being so ad nauseum.  In fact, lemme' remind you I was at Super Bowl IV, 1970, on the 52 yard-line, seat 54.  Five back, two off Mid-Field.  QB Lenney Dawson set the then record by completing 16 passes in a row.  Field goal kicker Jan Stererud set another record by producing a then-record 48 yarder.  Plus two others, accounting for the Chiefs' first points.  And the Final Score, Chiefs upset the Vikings, 23 - 7.  

BTW, my ticket cost a whopping $55.00. 

Oh yeah, I was seated next to William Boyd, otherwise known as "Hopalong Cassidy."  The very famous 1952 - '54 Black & White TV cowboy star.  

No relation, unfortunately.

Please allow me to remind you that Kansas City's Arrowhead Stadium, the place where the Chiefs play football, very well indeed, I might add, has no sissy dome over it.  It's open to the ingredients that make up what we Missourians call "weather."*  And "weather" is a very necessary ingredient in what makes up a football game.

Whether mid-July or mid-January, we Show Me State folks luv us some of that weather!  Hot or cold, "0" degrees or "100" degrees, don't try and fool us that it's 76 and mild.  Like it is inside well over half of them there domed stadia in NFL-dom.  Like the home of the Cowboys.  Or the Vikings.  Or the Lost Angeles Rams/Chargers.  Do the Rams and the Chargers play in such awful weather that they need a brand new, $1.3 Billion Dollar DOMED stadium?  We died-in-the-wool football fans like it played outdoors!  Especially if it's freezing out!

Remember when the Bears played the Packers?  Or the Lions played the Browns?  In the snow?  In blizzards?  The "Black and Blue" division?  Back in the '70's and '80's?  Before football became a game of by and for $Millionaires?  And before the $Billionaire franchise owners floated city-backed bonds to build new domed stadia?  I liked it better before.  

Did you know that the starting salary of today's first-year NFL football recruit is $986,000.  Nearly a $Million Bucks to play a kids' game.  And those who've been playing for 4 or more years are making at least $7,000,000.  Most of the 16-game schedule is played in nice, mild, enjoyable weather.  It's only the last couple of games in the regular season that are played during inclement weather.  Is it too much to ask that they play in the snow, fergodssake? 

Oh yeah, I must remind you that "Broadway Joe" Namath, QB for the New York Jets, became the NFL's highest paid player back in early '70's when he was paid a whopping $250,000 a year.  Kinda' takes your breath away when you learn our average QB now makes north of $30,000,000 a year.   

I'm guessing some of them just have to like playing in the snow, no matter if most of them don't.  And we stay-at-home football fans like it even more!  We just love it when those football $Millionaires are forced to play football in the very nastiest of football weather.  While we sit comfortably in our Lazy Boys, with the fireplace blazing, old Shep by our side, and a case of frosty Bud awaiting our attack.  While the players have icycles hanging off their mustaches.  Frostbitten noses the expected result.  Suffering greatly with each and every snap of the ball.  Dayummm, that's the way football should be played!  

And if they don't like it I hear the Sanitation Department is hiring.   

Just like the Gladiators of ancient Rome, our players should be required, DEMANDED, to play in awful weather.  The colder and nastier the better.  Blowing snow is great.  Icy sleet flowing sideways is even better!  There are 1,600 football players in the NFL today.    Playing for 32 teams.  I'm guessing there are a whole lot of NFL near-misses who would stomp puppies to death for a chance at one of those slots.

Which brings me to last Sunday night.  It was the Buffalo Bills hosting the San Franpoopco 49ers.  The "9ers" are used to playing in 76 - 77 degree weather, with a 3 - 5 mph onshore breeze, and about 34% relative humidity.  Sunday eve welcomed them with a BLIZZZARD!  Blowing snow, drifting "Lake Effect" snow, blanketing everything!  The Bills were offering $25 an hour for locals to scoop snow, plus free food and drinks, but few were taking.  Getting to, and then from the stadium presented a problem.  But like always, they cleared the stadium enough for them to play.  In a near whiteout.  But God, was the game ever great!  

Nasty weather makes for enjoyable football.  I say anyone can go out for a pass in Miami.  Very few can go out for a pass in a blizzard!

The final score was 28 to 10, the Buffalo Bills emerged victorious!  In fact, it was a smackdown!  But then again, I'd say the only folks surprised by that result were the 49-ers.

I predict a couple of decades down the road every NFL team will be playing under a dome.  So that the football $Millionaires won't ever have to be cold again.  Heaven forbid.  

*   "Weather" is what's happening today.  You can confirm the accuracy of weather reports by sticking your head out the front door.  "Climate," on the other hand, is what's expected to happen tomorrow and the days after.  And we know how accurate weather reports are, right?  

    

Want To Put Some Fun Back In Your Life?

So just between you'n me...

Everybody out there in ChuckmeisterLand with a Prime or an Amazon membership, or both; and have a cat or a dog, or both;* listen up.  Here's a way you can have a hand in eliminating at least one form of crime.

I've just read that "Porch Pirates," those who rip off our boxes and parcels from our front porches, are stealing some $3,000,000,000 (with a "B") worth of stuff from us every year.  And nothing, even Ring cameras, have stopped them so far. 

So I have this idea, see?  I want you to save all your Amazon and Prime boxes.  The ones they used to send you the stuff that winds up on your doorstep.  So now instead of throwing them away, simply dump your cat box full of gnarly clumped pee and poo, and the dog turds you pick up from your lawn, and put them in those boxes.  Then seal them up and put them back on your porch.  And then enjoy those Ring camera videos capturing neighborhood thieves as they steal your "gifts."  As you sit around the fireplace.  Toasting your tootsies.  Just thinking about how surprised those Porch Pirates were when they opened their booty.  And wondering if this is the time when they found Jesus and promised to repent.

If you and everyone you send this humble missive to were to decide to take up this mantle, this form of crime would surely end.  Just remember:  Criminals may be foolish, but they're not stupid.  You can help them decide to stop!  

Make this idea go viral! 

*    Maybe a horse?

The Emperor (Still) Has No Clothes!

Remember the story by Hans Christian Anderson?

It told us of a long-ago emperor who was convinced by his clothier that his brand-new "clothes" could only be seen by the kingdom's elite.  While in reality his "clothes" did not exist.  He was in fact naked while wearing them.  And he paraded around his kingdom as such.  

While his subjects applauded politely, looking at one another for moral support.  

But his subjects were so afraid of the backlash they wouldn't tell him of the ruse.  They wouldn't tell him he was, in fact, naked.  Revealing to us the moral of the story.  That failing to rely on your own sense of reality, and fairness, and honesty, even whilst others are succumbing to idiocy, enables one to clap back at such nonsense.  To step up and tell the truth, no matter the personal consequences.

Why do I dredge up such a long-ago tale?  Because the easily swayed among us are once again bowing at this same old altar.  There was an opinion piece on the front page of yesterday's N.Y Times stating that women who are women are now to be called "Non-Transgender Women."  

Whu...?

This retelling of this age-old tale shows us once again that the truly "Progressive" among us have been hipppmotizzzed!  They actually believe that the Transgenders among us are more women than actual, born-that-way women are.  And that the true women among us ought to maybe possibly do a changeover in order to gain tribal acceptance.  

What a load of horsesh*t!

Where I was born and raised there were men, and there were women.  And nobody else.  Now?  California's Health and Human Services Director tells us there are 57 genders.  Of course, that same bozo has told us that we're all going to die in a fiery Hell if we don't throw $Trillions of Somebody Else's Dollars at "fixing" Global Warming.  Or Climate Heating.  Or Something.  To the extent gasoline powered automobiles are now outlawed in Taxifornia after 2030.  No wonder Millions are now bolting this used-to-be-Golden State! 

And that a 6' 5", 210 lb. male, who was 400th in the world as a competitive swimmer, should be permitted, even welcomed!, to swim against a 5' 2", 110lb female.  And then beat her by a pool length and a half.  And then the "Progressives" applauded his/her/its' victory.  Politely.  

Oh yeah, Lia Thomas was still packing "the goods."

Now that Trump was reelected I'm pretty sure he'll "Make America Great Again."  So I can die in peace about that.  But I'd like America to now bring the wierdos to their senses, if they still have any, and begin to regard trangenderism and all the "LGBTQ123ABC(*&" alternatives as the minorities they truly are.  

We run America for the Majority.  We elect folks to consider the issues and vote on our behalf.  It's called a Representative Republic.  Our elected leaders are supposed to vote for those issues that will benefit the majority.  Not the minority.  We are then obligated to  take care of our minorities.  The poor, the frail, the disabled, the mentally challenged.  And even provide suitable protection for those who decide to adopt alternative lifestyles.  Like transgenderism.  

So let's turn this whole thing back around, please, and bannish transgenders from such competition.  Let's call them what they are, MALES, and prevent them from swimming and running and throwing and jumping and every other competition against our outmatched Title IX women.  We should protect our daughters.  Your's and mine.  So I can leave this plane of existence one day soon in the same order in which I found it. 

Please?      

Buh Bye, Netflix!

Have you noticed that Elon Musk's SpaceX rockets have been firing off flawlessly since he renounced Liberalism and embraced Conservatism?

Too much of a stretch?  

"It's twue, how twue," as Tweety Bird used to say.  Musk's Falcon 9's were blowing up and going off course and draining $Millions from this new effort.  And then, Musk saw "The Light."  He discovered that voting for idealism, which is what the Democrats offer, is like cotton candy.  It tastes good initially, then melts away, just when you need it most.  

Like a Snowflake.

Musk realized this when the BoyGuv of Taxifornia declared that our children no longer belong to us.  They're wards of his State.  To do with as he pleases.  In fact, if they wish to swap genders in school, they're encoured to do so and the Gubmint won't tell you!  So Musk, who has somewhere around a dozen kids, took umbrage.  So much so he bolted Taxifornia and took Tesla and SpaceX with him.  

$Billions in tax revenue the Swells in Sacrascrewyou had planned to redistribute, just melted away...

And he bought Twitter.  To restore the Freedom of Speech, he said.  Remamed it "X," fired 80% of its bloated staff, and made it the "Peoples' Town Hall."  Which simulfriggintaneously made him the enemy of the Silicon Valley set, and the friend of every Freedom Loving American.  In fact, this one act could have saved our Freedom of Speech.  Which has been nearly erased after four years of "Progressivism."

And then he met Trump.  And the rest, as they say, is history.  Not "herstory," history.  He immediately put it all on the line, as he did with Tesla and PayPal and Solar City and The Boring Company and Starlink and NeuroLink, and threw in with Conservatism.  Small Gubmint, strong military, borders locked down tight, low taxes, well-funded police, punishment meted out for crimes committed, and the restoration of individual Rights.  

Oh yeah, and let's cut $Two Trillion Dollars off our Annual Budget.  

As the old saying goes, "The Lord helps those who help themselves."  The price of Musk's stock shot up the day after the Election.  He invested about $150 Million helping The Trumpster get elected.  And he gained another $37 Billion in share value the day after.  Just in Tesla alone.  

The largest such one-day increase in personal wealth in the history of the world.

And then there's Reid Hastings.  He was a co-founder of Netflix.  The used-to-be-rent-it-and-mail-it-back video company that now streams its stuff exclusively.  To 337 million people, worldwide.  And as the 2nd largest such service on Earth, they usually do a pretty good job.  Up until the time Mr. Hastings gave Mzzzz. Harris $1,000,000.  Of his subscribers' money.  

His company immediately dumped 7,000,000 subscribers.  And 4% of its share value.  Hmmm...

And then came that Friday night.  It seems they managed to find the ex-World's Fiercest Boxer when he was old and needed the dough, and set up an "exibition" boxing match at AT&T Stadium.  That's where the World (In)Famous Cowboys play football.

Badly.

So anyway, after two years of preparation, the match finally came off.  And you'd think everyone would be as ready as humanly possible.  One company even paid $2,000,000 for 30 ringside seats!  They were certainly ready.  And one would assume the boxers would be ready.  In fact, everyone was ready.  

But Netflix.  

The match was 8 x 2-minute rounds.  And 65,000 fans showed up to see it.  Expecting, I'm guessing, to witness a 57 year-old ex-champ, with a 49 - 11 record, who hadn't fought a round of boxing in 27 years, to show this YouTube influencer a thing or two.  We would have to think Tyson thought he could compete, even though he was fighting a 27 year-old kid.  Or he so desperately needed the $Cash, or maybe the attention, that he was willing to embarrass himself on international TV.  And he certainly did.

And so did Netflix.

Netflix has a $33.7 Billion Dollar share value.  And one would think they'd be ready for anything.  What a joke!  I spent 45 minutes and watched most of 3 rounds.  The rest of the time the video was searching for the signal.  The picture just stopped.  Pixelated.  Searching.  I stared at it.  Nothing.  

From what I could see Tyson was getting spanked so I went to bed.  I learned the next morning I was right; Tyson lost, but earned $20,000,000.  Paul won, and took home $80,000,000.  The Stadium took in $16,700,000, the most in non-football ticket sales in history.  The final match didn't even start until 11:00 p.m. CDT.  

Who dreamed up this fustercluck, anyway?  

This put me in the mind of what an evening at Rome's Colleseum must have been like.  Just people debasing themselves, both the watchers, and the watchees, for $Money. 

Oh yeah, Reid Hastings cost Netflix more than $4,000,000,000 (with a "B") of his subscribers' money.  

I've cancelled Netflix.  You do as you like...

Epilogue:  I just read our boy Reid Hastings is actively looking for an overseas pad.  Looks like the Almost New America isn't suited for him.  Or maybe he for it.  He said he's following Sharon Stone and headed to Europe.  Or maybe Asia.  Or Africa.  Anywhere but the New America.  To which I say, thank you, Mr. Trump!  

This "Winning" thing is fun!    

Racial Parity.

Remember when Warren Moon was fighting to become the Houston Astros' starting quarterback?

No?  That was back in 1984, BTW.  Before half of America was born.  Without institutional memory.  And I might mention that Warren Moon is Black.

It was the thinking of football's cognocenti back then that Black quarterback's weren't smart enough to be quarterbacks.  

There.  I said it.

Because, ummm, they were Black.  You know, memorize plays and all.  Lead a team and all.  Turns out, Moon could memorize plays.  And lead a team.  In fact, he proved to be one of the NFL's best QB's ever.  Hall of Fame, and all that.  With a mid-market team.  And he helped open the door to "players of color" to follow.  Like now...

As of October, 2024, 15 NFL teams have Black starting quarterbacks.  Out of 32 teams.  77.1% of the NFL's 1,600 players are Black, and only 17.5% are White. 

It seems that question about "smarts" has been answered.  Since Blacks represent only 17.6% of our entire population, I'm starting to wonder just who of us are the dummmies?

   

   

"In Time of Peace, Prepare For War."

The United States Army was down 11% from its recruiting goals last year.  The Navy was down 8%.  The Coast Guard, down 6%.  The Space Force, -11%.  Only the Marine Corps was close to its target at down 3%.  

All of our military is down in recruitment.  Those are our would-be replacements for those currently serving.  Whom we need to protect us from an increasingly hostile world.  And I might mention also that only 0.78% of our population is currently serving in uniform.  That's down from 15.6% during WW2, 11.3% during the Viet Nam conflict, and 5.5% during the Iraq/Afghanistan years.  

Yet, it seems nobody's pulling the fire alarm!  The so-called "Corporate Media" isn't giving this potentially existential situation any minutes or ink or noise at all.  Even though they're supposed to be our journalists.  No problem to them, I guess.

But I think it's a big problem.  I just realized that I'm almost the only person I know who's served in the military.  For the first time in my life I can say that.  It used to be a "rite of passage."  Every young man went off to a couple of years in the military, and then came back all growed up and ready to live their lives.

But no more.

Even though 45 other countries require 2 years of public service.  And I think I know why.  There's no Pledge of Allegiance in most classrooms today.  No Flag in the corner in many of those same classrooms.  No "God and Country" sort of mentality in the teaching.  Because the teachers came from a generation that was taught to hate America, perhaps.  And now they're passing it along. 

And another reason:  Why should a young person join the military instead of working at McDonalds, when working at McDonalds pays more?  We, America, permit that abomination to occur.  The Bozos in Sacrascrewyou, as an example, have mandated a Minimun Wage of $20.00 an hour for fry cooks.  500,000 fast food folks across California are now paid more than a recruit in the Army.  Or the Navy, or Marines, or Air Force.  $20 AN HOUR equates to $41,300 a year.  The military's starting pay is now $35,600 a year!

So you can get shot at, defending your Country, or ask, "Would you like fries with that?"  And take home more pay.  And since you've not been taught patriotism, you just might choose McDonalds.  Instead of donning a uniform and protecting your Country. 

It would be easy to feel uneasy about what might come next.  But I, for one, am suddenly filled with hope.  A new sheriff is coming to town.  And those currently in the services of our Country who are thinking of leaving, may now choose to stay.  And those considering offering themselves up for service, may now be encouraged to join.  New leadership is on the way.  And leadership is what's been sadly lacking. 

As the Roman general Publius Flavius Vegitus Renatus once said, "In time of peace, prepare for war."  Nothing deters like strength.  We had the biggest and best military in the world when Trump was POTUS.  I believe we'll have it once again.  America has always found a way.  If you have a son or daughter without a career plan, might I suggest they consider our military.  

And then let us, the Taxpayers, pay for their college educations when they come back...

Unlike You And Me...

We, you and me, cannot print money.  Like the Gubmint does every single day.  All day, every day.  Stop by the Department of the Treasury in Swampville if you doubt me.  They'll proudly give you a guided tour.  You'll see pallets of $100 bills, 5' wide, 4' tall.  Being printed every 7 minutes.  

The Gubmint, our Gubmint, took in $4.7 Trillion Dollars last year.  That's $Four Thousand Seven Hundred Billion Dollars.  More than ever before.  And yet, it proved to be insufficient for the spending wishes of our elected representatives.  They spent $1.6 Trillion Dollars more than that.  And they (O'Biden/Harris) overspent some $10.1 Trillion Dollars during their 4 years in office.  Causing inflation to spike to levels not seen since Jimmy Carter was screwing up America.  Contributing to an overall National Dept you and I share of more than $36 Trillion Dollars.  That's $Money we borrowed from our Grandchildren.  

And so far are making no effort to pay back... 

Now then, Fellow Patriots, since it seems we can't keep our Gubmint from spending more than it takes in, might I suggest it spend some of that excess $Cash it throws around on a charity right here at home we should all want to support.

Frank Stiller founded the Tunnel To Towers Foundation non-profit two decades ago.  His brother was a First Responder who ran into the Twin Towers while others were running out.  And he gave his life that day.  Frank has been working overtime ever since to honor his brother's passing.  Working for free, I might add.  By paying off the mortgages of, or even building new homes for, First Responders and Members of our Military who gave it all in the service of our Country.  

So far Frank and his 501(c)3 Public Benefit Corporation has taken in more than $10,000,000.  Much of it is received via an $11.00 monthly donation chosen by many Americans like you and me.  And with those donations he's building 62 custom homes for the families of some of those same heroes just this year alone.  

To date, Frank and T2T has built, or paid off the mortgages of, more than 1,000 homes.  He is to be lauded, applauded and congratulated.  But all of this makes me ask one simple question:  Why is Frank Stiller and T2T being forced to do something that should be the obligation of our Gubmint?  If a soldier dies in the service to America shouldn't America take care of his family?  And why are there hundreds of families awaiting such payback as this is written?

We have shoveled off more than $175,000,000,000 to Ukraine since Russia invaded 3 years ago.  That's $One Hundred and Seventy Five Billion Dollars.  It would seem if we could print that much $Money for Ukraine, we could certainly be able to print a few $Bucks for our fallen heroes, right?  But our elected representatives have funneled not one single $Dollar to help the families of the Soldiers and Sailors and Marines and Airmen who have paid the ultimate price?  

Why is that?

It seems nothing gets done in The Swamp unless there's an outcry from the General Public.  That's You and Me.  How about we start an outcry, right now, today?

It Just Hit Me.

It just hit me recently, that all the members of my own family were born and raised here in California.

Well, DUH!

Which means they know no other life.  Some would say that's good.  Very good.  And some would say that's bad.  Very bad.

The "California Dream" to me when I got here back in the '70's, was to be an as-yet unpainted palate.  Just waiting for me and others to invent our own success stories.  We flocked here like the wannabe' gold miners did back in the 1840's.  Looking for a chance to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and become "somebody."  And the very best place in the very best Country back then was California.  

Back when I got here our regulations were few, our laws were reasonable, our taxes were low, and the weather was great.

Now?  The regulations are many, the laws are outrageously numerous and complicated, our taxes are the highest in the Nation, but our weather's still great.

But like the "Frog in the Pot," * our friends and neighbors, and family members, have become accustomed to "socialism-Light."  The Biggest and Grandest State in the Union, home to 15% of America's population (with more than One Million having fled), with the highest gas prices, and mis-managed all to Hell.  But it could be my family, or anyone else's family born and raised here, either doesn't know it, or doesn't care.  

Because they have no other frame of reference.  They have nothing to compare it to.  

Oh, they might choose to differ, having visited nearly everywhere first with their Mom and and I, and later everywhere else on their own.  But that's not the same thing as living and working there, wherever "there" is.  Or having been born and grown up somewhere else.  And therein lay the difference.  Here's one frame of reference.

I grew up in the smallish town of Chillicothe, Missouri.  The nicest little place ever.  9,977 people when I left.  They are still trying to crack that magic "10,000" number, the last I heard.  

My Home Town was a the County Seat and a farming community, like so many others all across the fruited plain.  Everybody knows everybody, which is both wonderful and frightening.  You can never get "out of town," so to speak.  Somebody's always watching to keep you on the straight and narrow.  

And trust me, somebody's mom would call your mom, if you ever varied from the straight and narrow.   

My Dad was besties with a guy named Kenney Frost, who owned the Army-Navy Store.  And besides canteens and web belts and tents, he also sold firearms.  Lots and lots of firearms.  Everybody bought their guns from Kenney, and you could always find a gaggle of hunters and shooters hanging out around the pickle barrel at his place.  

My Dad was a champion rifle and pistol shot and a hunter of all non-human things that moved.  And so became Kenney's fast friend.  And since I often went there with him, I got interested in guns as well.  And before long, I was pawned off to Kenney as an Apprentice Gunsmith.  I'd get to take broken ones apart, and fix them, and then put them back together.  As good as new.

At the ripe old age of 13.

And then I graduated to actually building action-up hunting rifles.  The bolt-actions and barrels and stocks and scope mounts and scopes and triggers and all the other pieces necessary to put one together.  I'd get the specs from Kenney, who'd promised to build the customer's gun.  "Wink-wink."  

Little did the customer know, but I'd be doing the building!  A 13 year-old kid, ordering up actions and barrels and hunks of special wood that I'd then blend together over a couple of months into a thing of beauty.  As it happened, my cousin was a guy named Reinhardt Fajen.  He was the foremost stock maker in all of America at the time.  He produced the finest wood stock blanks which folks like me were to magically turn into finished rifle stocks.  And he was located close by the Lake of the Ozarks, Mid-America's playground.

BTW, it took about 100 hours of intense skilled labor to make a finished rifle stock out of a bare blank.  In my case, those hours were compensated at far less than minimum wage.  

I'd (Kenney'd) promise "minute-of-angle" accuracy at 100 yards from his (my) rifles.  That means 5 shots within a 1-inch diameter target at a distance of 100 yards.  Five quarter-inch bullets into the size of a half-dollar.  Pretty dayummm good, I'd say.

I continued on building and buying and collecting guns as I grew up.  I recall I'd often select a few pistols and rifles when I got older, tossing them into the back seat of my car, and then driving the 2 miles to the city limits.  

I'd park, select a target and then blast away.  All day long.  Maybe a target hung on a tree, or a tin can on the roadway, or the cardboard box that the ammo came in.  Right beside a gravel road, stopping only to wave hello to passing cars.  I didn't think it strange to do what I was doing.  No one else did either at the time.  Imagine the furor it would cause if someone did that here, today?

Maybe not in Oklahoma, or Arkansas, or Texas, but here in California?

Folks didn't routinely lock their doors back then.  Because everyone trusted everyone else.  And also, because everyone was armed.  With lots and lots of guns.  And they knew how to use them.  They'd blow you out of your loafers if you got sideways.  So nobody ever got sideways. 

I recall one Fall day when the request from our Mayor came out.  Our Court House, a big gray 3-story building right in the middle of Chillicothe, had been selected by starlings as their nesting spot.  Not just a few.  Thousands!  They were like flying rats.  And they would swarm and poop, poop and swarm.  It was getting old!  So the Mayor asked local hunters to bring their shotguns and come visit that one particular Saturday afternoon.  Oh yeah, only tiny bird shot, so as not to blow out the windows.

And the hunters responded.  I'd say there were a hundred or more, including my Dad, who showed up that late Fall day.  And on cue they started blasting away.  It was a war zone!  Thousands of shots, thousands of birds bit the dust!  It was lovely!  I wished at the time I'd been old enough to take part.  For it was days like that which helped to make me who I am.

And to a large part, how California used to be.

Oh yeah, street racing was a "thing," everybody participated, the cops looked the other way, and everyone was happy.  Racing each other was a way of determining Clan Supremacy without resorting to fist fights.  The Dairy Queen was our Home Base.  As the sun went down the cars would line up.  Shiny, fast and loud modified cars, loaded with horsepower and proud to show it off.  

We'd all back into a space and then open our hoods.  To show off our cromed-up motors.  We'd buy some barrel fries and a cherry Coke, and then back on the road.  Driving up and down the Four Lane, flashing our lights at each other as we met.  And God help you if you failed to flash!      

And since none of our parents were well-to-do, we'd "buck bales" in the Summer for extra money.  Bucking bales involves showing up in some farmer's yard before dawn.  And then following alonside a flatbed truck as we approached the hayfield.  

The gigonda hay bailer, costing about $250,000 even back then, would scrape the ground for hay and then bale it up, with tough twine.  The bales would be deposited every 20 feet of so, and one of us after another would grab a bale's twine, heft it up with one hand, and sling it up onto the truck's bed.  About 5' in the air.  In 104 degree heat.  All day.  Nearly dying, but not quite.  For the grand old sum of $0.10 cents per bale.  Lemme' repeat that:  Ten Friggin' Cents Per Bale.

Remember what Nietsche said?  "That which does not kill you makes you stronger."

Later, after the farmer had taken pity on us and let us go back to the barn, we'd man the motorized lifter and move and stack the hundreds of bales into the barn.  In the attic of the barn.  In about 130 degrees of Missouri heat.  Which is hotter than the same temperature most anywhere else.  With little bits of hay floating in the air for you to breathe.

That's how we earned enough dough to put gas in the tank and take Little Suzie to the movies on Friday night.  And to the DQ for snacks afterward.  To participate in that car show I mentioned up there above.  

For that was our world.  And we loved it.

And speaking of bales of hay, we'd throw a few dozen bales on that same flatbed trailer.  Then we'd hook it to a tractor come late October and take off on a wonderful, full-moon hayride.  We'd bundle up with our girl and boyfriends, sitting on the bales,  and wander slowly down some cornfield, way in the back 40 (acres).  

And I won't fail to mention our Friday night sock hops.  We bring boy/girlfriend to the school gymnasium.  They'd turn the lights down low and we'd dance all night.  In our socks, so as to not screw up the finish on the basketball court.  To songs across the P.A. like, "Put your head on my shoulder," and "Oh Donna" and "Mona Lisa."  That's how we kept our girl/boyfriends.  And in many cases, that's how we met our girl/boyfriends.  Like my friends and classmates Rich and Sandy Macholtz.  Just celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary.

There was actually a movie shot in my home town.  It was a black and white movie called "High School Ceasar."  You can find it on YouTube.  Turns out some guy who graduated from my high school wanted to "give back."  So he wrote a screenplay, got the funding and the circus came to town.  I was in it, Rich and Sandy were in it, nearly everybody in school was in it.  Can you say that?

I was 11 years old I think when I built my first cannon.  I bought a 3 foot section of threaded plumber's pipe and a black nipple screw cap.  I then drilled a hole in the cap just large enough for the fuse from a Cherry Bomb to barely fit through.  Then I'd take it out in the woods and blow the sh*t out of something!  

I recall the day I put a 7/8" ball bearing in my custom cannon, a Cherry Bomb fuse through the hole in the cap, screwed it all down tight, and then aimed it at the side of a decrepit old barn.  An abandoned barn.  Which was soon to feel the wrath of The Early Chuckmeister.  And it did.  I lit the fuse and ran like a sumbitch.  KaBOOOOOM!  My loyal cannon blew the barn down!  First the wall I was aiming at, and then the rest of it slowly following suit.  Such was my early childhood. 

Oh yeah, I already mentioned in earlier postings that I was a professional pool player for about 10 years.  I started playing at about 13, and was the best I'd ever seen by the age of 16.  I was on the road playing for money by 17, and was named one of the 50 Best in America by Billiards Digest Magazine by the time I was 21.  I thought everyone wore a moneybelt and carried a gun.  That's my frame of reference.  

I also might also mention I spent almost 4 years in the U. S. Army, trying to keep communism away from our doorstep.  That can alter one's frame of reference.     

Annnnd, (final annnnd), I might remind those so inclined to read this interminable drivel, that my Home Town is the Same Home Town as produced "Sliced Bread."  Yes, the guy who invented Sliced Bread was from Chillicothe.  Which is up there with "Night Baseball" in favorite sayings.  So some of that inventiveness rubbed off on me.  And I took it with me thoughout my life.  Cogitate upon that...

Now back to being born and raised in California.  If a couple of recollections from my yout (what's a yout?) sounds a whole lot more interesting than another day of "Endless Summer" surfing, maybe you ought to listen to those "Rednecks" who were born and raised somewhere else. 

Oh yeah, if any of my family is reading this humble missive, you now know why your Dear Old Dad thinks as he does.  And why those of you who don't agree with him on the issues may grow to share his views as you emerge from the fantastic bubbles I've helped you create for yourselves.

(BTW, I've checked the stats and there had not been a murder in my home town in its entire 100 year history.  Up until the day I left, that is.  That says something about the value of widespread firearm ownership, doncha' think?)

NOTE:  Sorry to talk about me.  But it's the subject I know the most about...

*  The "Frog in the Pot" theory is a cautionary tale.  It goes like this.  If you were to toss a frog into a pot of boiling water, he would surely hop right back out.  But if you put a frog into a pot of lukewarm water, and then slowly turn up the heat, he would turn a bright red as he boiled to death.  We, Fellow Patriots, are that frog...