The Best Laid Plans...

They built Las Vegas to peel Southern Californians.  Like a grape.  To take their excess cash.  And sometimes more than their excess.  Sometimes all of it...

Except in order to give Lost Wages your wages, you have to first get there.  Which involves either an expensive, time-consuming flight, or a 5-hour drive.  Sometimes you can do it in less than 4 hours, with a radar detector, and sometimes it takes a bit more.  Like if the traffic is heavy.  Which it can tend to be upon occasion.  

But nothing like this past weekend.

At about 9:00 a.m. this past Friday morning a semi-trailer truck packed full of lithium-ion batteries crashed.  More than 70,000 pounds of batteries.  And it started to burn.  And burn.  

And burn! 

What you may not know is that when lithium-ion starts to burn, it doesn't stop.  It will burn until it's entirely consumed.  And pouring water on it only makes it worse.  Like throwing water on burning grease fire.  Only mucho worse.  Except some of those wonderful First Responders might not know that. 

So the Northbound lane of I-15, the only way to drive to Vegas, was completely shut down.  And when those First Responders started dowsing it with water, the fire spread over to the Southbound lane.  And that lane was closed as well.  

Resulting in the Traffic Jam From Hell.  A traffic jam  more than 120 miles long.

The wreck happened just north of Baker.  That's about 90 miles from Las Vegas.  And there's virtually nothing after Baker.  And the motoring public...stopped motoring.  

It was 110 degrees out and nobody could move.  Not forward, nor backward.  Whole families in scorching hot cars, with weekends up in flames.  Some cars resorted to driving along the median to try and escape.  Other drivers, having gotten the word, tried to avoid the jam by taking the cutoff to route I-40.  Clogging that Interstate Highway as well.  It was not only a massive traffic jam, there was no clear way out of it.  

For hours.  For days.  

There were no gas stations out there.  No shopping malls.  No rest areas.  Just miles and miles of desert.  So cars could not run their A/C's.  No convenience stores.  No places to hydrate for those without water.  No food available.  It was a true emergency.  A long one.  With no way out.

Las Vegas, as we know, is an "attractive nuisance."  One that draws us SoCal residents to it like moths to a flame.  Except there's only two ways to get there.  And flying is too expensive for many of us.  Leaving us having to drive.  And never expecting we might wind up stranded in our cars halfway there.  Something to think about the next time you have a need to be fleeced (did you ever think about who pays their light bill?  You do...).   

This is being written on Tuesday morning, just before I push "Publish."  The wreck happened 96 hours ago, and so far as I know, this lithium-ion fire is still burning.  They were able to open the Southbound lane of I-15 early Saturday.  And then to do a car-by-car, one-lane-at-a-time escape.  Of tens of thousands of cars.  The nice folks in Lost Wages are considering this to be one of the very worse (un)natural disasters ever.  Because they lost so much revenue.  Just imagine how awfully it impacted the lives of all those miserable folks stuck in hot cars, for hours and hours.  

And why do I bring this up?  

Most Tesla batteries use lithium-ion technology!  And so do many of its competitors.  That means roughly 7% of all the cars on our roads use the very same technology as this semi-truckload of batteries!  Electric cars have a 2,000 pound power plant under the passenger's feet.  It's a tightly-wound electricity generator that's often hard to contain.  That's why Teslas are known to spontaneously self-combust!  And burn for hours!  One just did so in a parking garage in Boston and burned the entire 8-floor structure, and the hundreds of cars therein, right down to the ground!  

And another thing.  First responders won't use the Jaws of Life on Teslas, and some other electric cars.  They fear getting electrocuted!  And remember, a computer controls their door locks.  And just might lock you in when you want to get out.  NEED to get out!  I'm urging my Fellow Patriots to consider these important factors before choosing their next automobile.  

That choice just might save your life...

The View From 30,000 Feet...

You have a lot of time on your hands when you get old(er).

Enough time to really consider all those nagging questions that pop up every now and again.  Stuff you always wanted to know the answer to if you just had time.  Well I now have time.  And here a but a few of them.*

     -  There are 220,000,000 automobiles on our Country's roads.  And about 12,000,000 added to the National Fleet every year.  And they are careening around like pin balls in a machine, all day and all night.  5,000 pound missiles cruising at 70 mph, often separated by nothing more than a thin line painted down the middle of the highway.  

And the drivers of those missiles are often raging at some sleight or other.  Pis*ed off at another dipsh*t in his missile, maybe.  Or drunk.  Or high as a kite.  Or any number of other possible reasons.  Just got fired?  Didn't get laid last night?  And yes, they do run into one another on occasion.  But what astounds me is how relatively seldom that occurs!  

If the risks were really calculated, we would all walk to work.  

     -  Did you ever wonder why Joe O'Bidens skin is stretched tighter than a drum?  And orange?  And why, I wonder, does he never blink?  Are we sure he's not an avatar?  

     -  Have you noticed that it takes an act of Congress to go to prison these days?  The average number of arrests before prison is 37.  You can break the law 36 times without fear of a trip to the Big House.  I find that astounding.  It always paid to be a criminal, until you got caught.  But getting caught is now no longer a deterrant.  It's become a status symbol!  We are friggin' nuts!     

     -  I texted a Brit buddy of mine a couple of days back.  I told him it seems 'Murica is now becoming more and more like his Jolly Old Homeland.  I mentioned that one of our two major political parties just coronated its new candidate.  Kicked out the old guy who got 14 million votes in their primaries, but was languishing in the polls.  And then, all in a day, poof!  They have a new candidate!

This was conjured up in some dark room somewhere, managed by whomever is really running the show.  They picked a woman who never got a single vote in any nominating process, ever, yet is now their Co-President.  A woman who never started a business.  Or hired anyone with her own money.  Or signed a check on its face.  Sort of their "line of succession."  Just like Louis the XIV-th gave way to Louis the XV-th.  

They never did that before, I told my buddy.  They used to hide their dictatorial tendencies.  They were always there, hidden, just below the surface, as with any Left-wing organization.  But no longer.  Like a lion's claws are hidden...until they're needed.  It's all right out in there in public, for all to see.

That, I told my friend, is the definition of brazen.      

     -  I just watched the opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympic Games.  The one where they openly mocked the Christian faith by recreating the Last Supper using drag queens.  Giving the finger to 1.6 Billion Christians.  I wonder if they'd do that to Muslims?  I don't know about you, but I'm less inclined to watch the rest of the Olympics.  

     -  And another thing.  Four years ago Uber was fighting it out with the cab companies to pick up rides at the airport.  And then all of a sudden the Chinese unleashed their Killer Wuhan Virus Pandemic upon the world.  And killed millions of people, including more than 200,000 Americans.  And forced our citizens indoors and locked down.  So they had to order food brought in.  Then VOILA!  Uber magically transforms into "UberEats" and stops picking up people at the airport.  And starts picking up orders from Pizza Hut.  Except a 12" pizza from any of the big chains will now cost you $30.00.  That's because they have 4 levels of charges.  All packed on to make sure everyone in the loop "gets their beaks wet."  And God help you if you piss off the delivery jerk or he just might pi*s in you Diet Coke.

     -  And as I'm on my way out the digital door, here's a question:  If a medium can see spirits, imagine what a large could do?

*   Trust me, I have more.  You just wait...

Q: Want to Beat Taxifornia's High Gas Prices?

A:  Take a job with the Federal Gubmint!

There are a couple of things we know for sure.

One, living in Taxifornia costs more.  Mucho more.  Our housing cost more, our food costs more, our electricity costs more, our clothing costs more and our gas costs more.  Our healthcare costs more, too.  And godddammit, our taxes cost more!    

More than any other state.  

And all the high-earners have up and moved as a result!  And taken their taxable income with them.  To any of the other 21 states without an income tax.  Leaving us poor taxpaying schlubs behind.  

For example, the recent average gas price here is $5.83 a gallon.  That's just about $2.00 per gallon more than the rest of our Nation.  

Did you know that 15% of our population pays 40% more for gas than the rest of our folks?  And the "Corporate Media" doesn't report it!  

Did you know that BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom just hiked our gas taxes to $0.61.7 cents a gallon!  

Far higher than any other state?  Did you know that fully 17% of our cars are electric?  And that they pay no gas taxes?  While weighing so much (a ton more on average) they're destroying our roads?  Without contributing anything toward their maintenance?  

We pay more, so they can skate?

But there's a way to avoid Taxifornia's HIGH gas prices.  You can simply go to work for the Federal Gubmint!  

During a recent interview the Director of HHS casually mentioned that 40% of their office space is currently mothballed.  Empty.  Nobody home.  So the next logical question is, why?  And then he said, 31% of our Federal employees are still working from home!  Two years after the Chinese Wuhan Pandemic was visited upon us, and declared kaput, a third of our Federal employees are still working from home because of it!  

Can't you just see it?  In their 'jammies, watching Jerry Springer reruns, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, smoking legal weed they bought with SNAP coupons, and eating bon-bons.  Tapping a keystroke every now and again.  Just to make sure their Overlords know they haven't died.  

Soooooo, you can now avoid Taxifornia's high gas prices without having to move.  And you can earn a salary averaging $106,997 a year (Google it), and have a one-in-three chance of working from home!  In fact, they'll probably tell you, if you ask, if you could be among that exalted few!  And since your boss is probably working from home also, he'll certainly understand your request!  In fact, since I work from home every day now, I might just apply myself!

And if the Gubmint doesn't hire me, I'll sue, proclaiming that failure a Crime Against the Aged!

And since lawyers are thick as fleas here (more attorneys in Orange County, Taxifornia, than in all of Canada!), I can probably find one to file that suit on the cheap.    

I can see it all now.  $106k a year for doing the unnecessary, for the unimportant.  While in my boxer shorts.  Smoking dubies.  With the Star Spangled Banner playing softly in the background.  

Is America a Great Country, or what?     

Back When Cars Were Pretty...

Somewhere along the line we were sold a bill of goods by the car manufacturers.  And their bosses, the Federal Gubmint.  

They sold us on buying SUV's instead of 2-door coupes.  SUV's instead of 4-door sedans.  SUV's instead of Station Wagons.  And SUV's instead of convertibles.  

Why?  Because it's easier to make one style of automobile.  And cheaper.  And more profitable. 

And what's an SUV (Sport Utility Vehicle)?  It's nothing but a pickup truck with a different suit of clothes.  And a prettied-up interior.  And another $25,000 packed onto the window sticker.  

Oh yeah, and let's talk pickup trucks.  They used to cost about half what a sedan did.  And guys were buying them fully-loaded, especially Ford's F-150's, in the millions.  So the manufacturers decided to pack them with the same stuff all those SUV's had, and then mark up the prices accordingly.  

So $60,000 pickups are now the norm.

Did you know there was a time when the auto manufacturers changed the designs of their cars each and every year?  And they did so for decades!  It was expected!  We, the motoring public, would have stood for nothing less!  But today's car buying public seems to have embraced sameness.  Like those car makers were hoping.  The "Frog in the Pot" theory writ large (look it up).

Just think how much those manufacturers save by not having to do major restyles each year?   

I fondly recall peeking through a small tear in the butcher paper covering the floor-to-ceiling windows at my friendly Chevy dealer.  It was early September of 1957 and we couldn't wait to see what they were going to look like.  Me and my young teenage buddies.  Because in early September of every year they came out with an all new design.  All the manufacturers did.  They competed with each other for the styling buzz.  But it was still a few days until the formal reveal...

"It's longer!  It's lower!  And wider!  And it handles better!  And has more horsepower!  And more torque!   You'll have a "'tiger in your tank!"'  

Today?  That infernal TV screen in the middle of your dash is now bigger!  Perhaps it will soon grow so big you cannot see around it.  Or maybe the 128 speaker sound system will knock your socks off.  If you choose to wear socks (no suggestion as to lifestyle, positive or negative, hereby implied).  Or perhaps it will be so very quiet you'll not be able to hear it at all.  And for those who love the rumble of those throaty V-8's?  

Too bad, so sad, you Troglodytes!  You're out of luck.

Think about it this way.  Cars when I was coming up were gorgeous.  And their interiors were stylish.  Think the '57 Plymouth Sport Fury.  And the '60 DeSoto Adventurer.  And the '68 and '69 Chevelles.  And the '55, '56 and '57 Chevys.  And the '60 Ford Starliner.  And the '64 Oldsmobile Starfire.  And the '58 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz.  Let's not forget the '57 Thunderbird.  The the luscious '57 Studebaker Golden Hawk.  

The designers of these vehicles competed with each other through looks.  They penned a design and the engineers had to fit their stuff inside it.  Oh, they were mechanically pieces of crap, compared to the expected longevity of today's vehicles, but they were pretty.  They were likely to wind up on the side of the road, completely used up, by 80,000 miles.  That's why so many of them wound up in stock car races and then in junk yards.  

Oh, and they would kill you if you ran into anything of substance at more than 40 mph.*

And then the Gubmint got involved.  They came up with the NHTSA (National Highway Transportation Safety  Administration) back in the 1970's.  And it began issuing edicts like crazy.  To make our cars safer!  And less powerful.  

And heavier! 

The average weight of a "Big 3" full size sedan back in 1960?  2,789 lbs.  The average weight of a full size sedan today?  4,219 lbs.  That's a dozen air bags and "crush zones" and steel cross-reinforcing, and a bunch of other safety stuff.  And you have to pay in reduced gas mileage to cart it all around.  And worse yet, you have to pay your dealer for all that stuff.  Whether he wants to put it in the car or not.  And whether you want it on your car or not.

Example:  Try and find a car today without power windows.  Or power steering.  Or power brakes.  You can't.  That's because it's cheaper to install them in every car, and then to charge you for them as a part of a package options.  No delete, so sorry.  

And face it: cars are ugly.  And the customers have been conditioned not to care, it seems.  I defy you: stand 50 feet away from the side view of any sedan today and try and tell me who made it.  Or the model.  Or even the year.  That's because they all look the same.  Unfortunately.   And our public keeps on buying ugly crap, which takes away any reason at all for the manufacturers to change.  In fact, manufacturers now refurbish existing designs only once every 6 years.  

The lazy creeps.

Back when I was growing up, cars were beautiful!  They were works of art!  In fact, most of them were penned by famed designers.  Raymond Loewey.  And Virgil Exner.  And the world famous Harley Earle.  They drew the cars Detroit built.  And they changed each and every year!  Brand new designs, all new cars!

Maybe that's why these 60 - 65 year-old automobiles are commanding a king's ransom when they cross the block at Barrett-Jackson or Mecum Auctions.

I ask you.  What would you prefer.  Beatiful works of rolling automotive art, that you would want to wash by yourself, or shoebox-shaped lumps of souless metal, that you would take to the car wash without a second thought?  

Think about it:  An automobile is likely the 2nd largest purchase a citizen is likely to make.  Right behind one's house.  And it seems to me that we should demand a whole lot more for our $900 a month for 7 years, than a square clump of ugly metal you're not excited to drive.  If you agree with me, you could always send off a nice email to the folks who made your car, and lettem' know exactly how you feel about your ugly piece of crap.

An aged, wandering Scribe Without Portfolio needs to vent every now and again.  I just did...  

*     I recall having to check the box for seatbelts on the order form for my 1962 Chevrolet Super Sport 409 cu. in./409 hp., with 4-speed, and posi-traction.  While the Beach Boys song ("Giddiyup giddiyup 409!") was on the charts.  The extra cost for the belts?  $7.62.  Really.

The True Cost of a Permissive Society.

Seems to me like there's a lot of evil people in this world.  And evil people do evil things.  And I, The Chuckmeiser, propose that we're doing a terrible job of minimizing their impact, and also of "adjusting" their attitudes.    

While the D.A.'s in the Big Blue Cities are taking carjackers and murderers and muggers and armed robbers and releasing them from jail on a misdeamenors.  Some 54% of felonies are being downgraded.  To misdemeanors.  More than half of them.  In Lost Angeles, ChicaGO, New Yawk and San Franpoopco.  And dozens of other Big Blues.

And then they're freed to go out and sin some more.  The average numbers of arrests before a first-timer is sent to prison...is 38!  Thirty-eight arrests!  This would be funny if it weren't so serious...   

A percentage of our population, including moi, believe we've been "mollycoddling" (remember that word?) these miscreants by failing to mete out the proper punishment, when appropriate, and with all due speed.  Believing, as they do, that refusing to prosecute them will somehow be an incentive to stop thier evil ways.

It isn't.

I was taught while studying to become a clinical psychologist (Army got in the way), that up to 3% of our population are criminals.  Or clinically psychotic.  Or road raging.  Or drunk.  Or high.  As a kite...

And those people are at the supermarket, shopping right alongside you.  Or coming toward you at 70 mph on the other side of the road.  Or sitting next to you at Little Johnnie's little league game.  On on the bar stool beside you at the "Dew Drop Inn."  Or working with you at "Mad Jack's Gun Emporium."

And they can erupt at any time.  Or all of the time.  And that's the reason why we have to hire 3% of our population to police them.  If we add up all the cops, and sheriffs' deputies, and marshals, and constables, and military police, and all their support staffs (just double the number of cops, which is 880,000), we're looking at about 3,000,000 of our fellow citizens.  To "protect and to serve" all us peons when we need protection from these under-punished criminals. 

And I emphasize under-punished. 

You know, the ones who want to separate us from our wallets, and our watches, and our "Murssaydeez-Benz-es."  And on far too many occasions, our lives.

And then since sh*t flows downhill, and we Taxpayers are downhill, we need another 3% of our population to populate the courts.  The municipal, superior, district, appelate and supreme courts.  In each state.  And all of their judges.  And their baliffs.  And their stenographers.  And all of their secretaries.  And their secretaries' secretaries.  And the courthouse cleaning staff.  There are 30,000 in just the Federal court system.  There's another 115,000 in our U. S. Justice System.  There are 450 courthouses in Taxifornia, fergodssake!  That's another 3,000,000 people we Taxpayers are burdened with.    

Our society requires us citizens to obey the laws.  And proscribes punishment for those who do not.  Yet, some people find crime easier than working.  Apparently not knowing they'll be required to work in prison, I'm guessing. 

And another chunk of our population are dead-set against prisons and cops and requiring Bad Guys to be punished for their evil deeds.  For some unearthly reason.  Maybe they were just raised wrong.  So they stand in the way, often politically, of meting out proper punishment and on a timely basis. 

And speaking of which, there are the prisons.  For those who break the law, get arrested, charged, tried and convicted.  Costing this polite society even more of its hard earned $cash.  About $54,000 a year for Federal felons, on average.  And for them we have our Federal, state, city, township and Indian Reservation hoosegows, totalling  1,987,000 jail cells.  Requiring the tens of thousands of prison guards it takes to oversee these criminals.  And all the civilians these prisons need to operate.  The kitchens, and the infirmaries, and maintenance, and their administrations.  Another how many million?  Can't find the answer to that, but it's got to be at least 1 Million more.

And let me throw in at this point that every single one of our prisons is understaffed and over-criminaled.  Prisons built for one-man cells now have 3 or even 4 to a cell.  And there hasn't been a new Federal prison built in the last 25 years.  Because soft-on-crime Lefty politicians have blocked the effort. Our own BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom has plans to close San Quentin, our oldest and biggest and more fearsome prison, and turn it into a summer camp for paroled felons.  

Sooooooo,

Q:  Since all our prisons are beyond full, where do we send our new felons?  A:  We downgrade their felony beef and magically turn it into a misD.  And then give them a 60-day sentence, and then suspend it, giving their comminity service instead.  Don't do it again.  Sure...

I could go even farther down this rabbit hole, but I think you've got the idea.  You chose to live in a community of other people.  And a surprisingly big chunk of your fellow citizens would steal your piggy bank, or even your life, if they thought they could get away with it.  So we pay a yuuuuge bunch of $cash to hire and train and field policing forces to protect us.  Are they?  Could they do better?  And if so, why aren't they?  

We've created a permissive society.  Some of us see what others have, and we're either too lazy or too stupid to acquire it short of lawbreaking.  We've created that.  

It's up to us to "un-create" it.  

We've got to "fire" all the George Soros bought-and-paid-for District Attorneys, holding sway in all the "Big Blue" cities, holding reign over the lives of more than 70,000,000 of our fellow citizens.  More than 20% of our population.  Stop sending accused felons home on a "no cash" bail.  And then stop being so permissive in your sentencing.  It's time to put the word out through the System that there's a New Sheriff in Town.  

(I know, I know.  It make take until November 5th for us to get that new Sheriff, but I'm just paving the way in advance.)

And if the hard-Left in this Country won't let us build more prisons, let's focus all our energies on eliminating the hard-Left!  Vote them out!  Lock criminals up!  Show them we mean business!  If you punish people for bad behavior, 

you'll get less bad behavior!

Summation:  Because 3% of our society choose to break our laws, repeatedly, we must hire another 6% or 7% of our society to clean up after them.  That's nearly 10% of our folks engaged in an unproductive task.  Think of it this way:  We could easily pay off our National Debt if we would simply start punishing our career criminals.  We've got to put a stop to this.  What part of my entirely reasonable solution to a major-league problem, affecting every single one of us, do people not get? 

P.S.  Well now, that felt good!  Once I get all cranked up on a rant I find it hard to dismount.  It's the frustrated teacher in me.  But I feel all better now.  I think I'll go take a nap...

On Fat Cops and Thin Wallets...

So I was headed off to my favorite bakery the other day, anxious to buy a load of their famous oatmeal salted carmel cookies (Great Harvest, Temecula, CA).  

I am feverishly addicted to them.  They are like crack.  And if they were next door and more accessible, I'd weight 700 pounds.

Anyway, I'm driving along one of our wide, wide neighborhood boulevards, 3 lanes on each side, 10:00 a.m., bright Spring morning, through a nice neighborhood, 50 mph speed limit, and my phone rang.  The subject of which made it necessary to change my plans.  So I found the next stop light and made a "U" turn.  On the left turn arrow.  A very costly turn, as it turned out...

It seems  that I made the Earth-shattering mistake of "U" turning in a no-"U" turn lane.  Into a quiet neighborhood.  Without a single car within sight in either direction.  Except I was facing the blaring sun, straight in front of me, ten o'clock high, glaring off my windshield, and couldn't see the little sign.  The one hanging from under the stop light.  The one that says, "No U Turn."

So a fat cop on a Kawasaki pulled me over.  It seems he was hiding behind a parked car, just waiting for some poor schlub to violate some law or other so he could collect some more revenue.  Like a good road pirate should.

When he came to my window and said, "Do you know why I pulled your over?"  We know a recent law in Taxifornia makes it illegal for cops to pull that trick.  So I said, "If you don't know, why did you pull me over?   

He didn't answer.  But the scowl on his pudgy face was evident.  He took my information and disappeared for about 20 minutes.  I'm convinced that since I haven't had a ticket in more than 20 years, he was playing poker on his cell phone.  Or maybe visiting his OnlyFans account.  Or maybe trying to find some other reason to hem me up.  Maybe call out a puppy and run him around my car.  Looking for contriband.  They do that here in Taxifornia...   

Fat Cop finally reappeared with a lengthy ticked in tow.  I asked him why I wasn't getting a warning, given the fact I'm not an international terrorist?  And I'm "of age," and haven't gotten a ticket in like forever, and couldn't see the friggin' sign because of the sun?  And for all he knew I'm living on a subsistence budget and should be given a break?  

Seems like Fat Cop was in no mood to cut me any slack.  Maybe my car was nicer than his.  Or he didn't care for my response to his illegal question.  Cops, especially Fat ones, get a bad case of the "Butthurt" if you don't show them fielty and lick their boots.  But I guess they don't give warnings any more.  Until they reach their monthly ticket quotas, that is.

Or maybe he was pissed because he didn't get the job on the mariachi band.  

"Here's your ticket," he said gruffly.  "For running that light" (which I didn't!).  "Sign here..."

Realising I'd be snagged, I decided to go out in a blaze of glory.  I said, "I'd like to say how proud of you I am for 'protecting and serving' this quiet community from an aged old Veteran."  I then went on to say, 

"I'd like to say that, but I can't."

Fat Cop had a quizzicle look on his mustacheoed face, trying to figure out if I'd dissed him.  And if so, how hard.  But then again, he was not equipped by God to deduce such intellectual musings.  He was one of those worker drones supplied only with the brain cells necessary to ride that silly bike and write tickets.  Gobs and gobs of tickets.  And gather up scads of revenue.  

And eat donuts.  

I drove off with a display of speed, tires chirpping as I left, daring Fat Cop to cite me, while he played with himself on his motorscooter.  I came home pissed.  No cookies, but ticket in tow.  I immediately Googled "traffic courts," And dozens showed up.  I picked the one at the top, not wishing to invest any more time than necessary before I could figuratively wash Fat Cop's fingerprints off my Drivers Licence.  

And off my life...

Epilogue:  Fat Cop is in my rearview mirror, thank God, and so is $389.00 of my hard-earned money.  $320.00 for the ticket, and $69.00 for the "Fast & Furious" traffic court.  Plus "Graduation certificate suitable for framing."  There were about a dozen categories, such as "Staying in your lane," and "Avoiding Rear-Enders," and "Don't Speed."  I decided not to read the laborious info and just take the test.  I got 98 out of 100.

What a load of bullsh*t.

But I still can't see road signs if the sun bakes my eyeballs.  Maybe Fat Cop can, fueled by XX, but normal citizens cannot.  Especially if Fat Cops hide behind parked cars at the appropriate times each day, when the sun's just right in the sky, so they can fatten up their city's fat coffers.  While being fat.  Which in my opinion is the main reason they exist.

I'm over my ticket.  But I'm not over the System that produced it.  And lightened my shrinking wallet.  We've created a paramilitary force within our borders, which is designed, created and implemented to catch us in an infraction, detain us, grab our "papers," and take our money.  While simulataneously letting real criminals out the revolving door.  They're taught only the laws while in the academy which will bring in revenue.  And then released upon the public to snatch their employer's money.  

Those employers would be us.  

If anybody can come up with a system that doesn't make the citizens afraid of their sworn protectors, whose salaries they pay, he/she/it will win the hearts and minds of the Taxpayers...

A "Color-Blind" Society.

You might remember that Democrats have been calling for a "Color-Blind" society since the days of LBJ.

And since then, we, The Taxpayers, have spent more than $6 Trillion Dollars on efforts to more fully integrate Black folks into the fabric of America.  Giving them rental assistance, food stamps, no-interest loans, and extra points on their civil service and college and university entrance exams.  

Considering all that, I thought I'd take a look at what Black folks have done to integrate themselves into our society.  Ready?      

You might not know it, but there's another national convention going on this week.  Besides the Republican National Convention, that is.

That would be the "National Association for the Advancement of Colored People."  They believe in advancing "Colored" people.  Only "Colored" people, it would seem.  

Which is the only context in which you can now mention the word "Colored."  If you'd like to remain a part of our polite society.

It used to be that "Colored" was the preferred word for their race.  That's what they called themselves.  That's what they wished to be called.  It was preferable to that other word they were often called, the dreaded "N" word, the use of which now is akin to taking a dump, while naked, and spewing fielty to Donald Trump, in the middle of a garden party.  

Of course, they were also called "Negroes."  Not disparragingly, just what they were called, and what they called themselves.  They evolved to preferring "Colored" over "Negro," and we "Others" tried to stay up on their wishes.

That's the way it was where I grew up, and likely where you grew up as well.  

BTW, the only remaining vestage of that name that I could find is located smack in the middle of the "United Negro College Fund."  A fund only for "Negroes," BTW.  No other races may apply, I would assume.   

Funny they haven't changed the name, isn't it?  Perhaps it would cost too much for new stationery.

It should be known if you called one of them "Black" when I was coming up, you'd likely get knifed.  "Colored" was okay, "Negro" was okay, Black was not okay.

Now?  That's all they're called.  And that's just fine with me.  I'm agreeable with whatever makes them happy.  One big happy family, under the Flag, with the Star Spangled Banner Playing in the background.  

Excepppppt, you can't swing a dead cat these days without hitting something with the name "Black" in it.  The "Black Entertainment Network."  The Congressional Black Caucus.  And Revrund Al's "Black Action Network," which pays him more than $1 Million Dollars a year.  For being a talking head on MSDNC.

And the "National Congress of Negro Women."  And we can't forget "Black Lives Matter."  Only Black lives, no others.  And one of my personal faves, The "American Association of Black Museums."  Black museums?  Since when did they start dividing museums up by race?

And then there's "Black History Month."  Seems like if we learned their history once, should we have to relearn it every year?  

And then there's the National Association of Black Accountants.  And the Association of Black Psychologists.  And the National Association of African-Americans in Human Resources.  And out of all such Black organizations, we have to feature the "Alliance of Black Jews."  

I have to ask, how does that come about?  Does one just desire to be persecuted in stereo?    

Speaking of which, if you are Black, and you were born here, why on Earth would you call yourself an "African-American?"  At least put "American" first, okay?  "American-African" has a nice ring to it, okay?  Or maybe just American?

And then there's the National Black Nurses Association.  And the National Council of Negro Women.  (There's that "Negro" again!).  And the National Society of Black Engineers.

Now then, I've looked long and hard and I cannot find the "White Entertainment Network."  Nor the "National Association for the Advancement of White People."  Nor the "National Association of European-Americans in Human Resources."  And I must have missed when the History Channel featured "White History Month."  

So am I daft for believing that subdividing our culture by race is a fools' errand?      

It seems to me that all minority groups have a certain number of the disaffected within their ranks.  And they use those groups to shout out their grievances.  That's how the LGBTQ21AAXYZ123+++ came into being.  A bunch of tiny groups massing together to gain clout.  And I get it.  

But tell me how dividing nurses into "Blacks" and "Other-than-Blacks" to create a convention makes any sense at all?  Do they practice medicine differently?  And do Black accountants use a separate kind of math?  Or do they just hate to be around White people?  

Just think: the Jews represent only about 7% of our population, yet they are fully integrated.  I might suggest that a "Black" minority of 16.7% is no longer a minority.  It's a large portion of our Human Stew.  Coming in a close third behind Hispanics.  Maybe they should start acting like it.    

I've done a rather exhaustive Google search and I cannot find more than a dozen organizations with the word "White" in their names.  And they're all on the FBI's Watch List.  And that same Google tells me there's more than 1,000 orgs with "Black" in their names.  Maybe it's up to them to change?  

In summartion, I frankly don't care what color they are.  But apparently they do...

"The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread."

My home town of Chillicothe, Missouri, is famous for two things:  

     First:  Baker Frank Bench and inventor Otto Rohwedder's machine sliced the very first loaf of bread in history.  Thus making Chillicothe famous forever more as the "Home of Sliced Bread."  

     Second:  I got drafted.  And therefore forcibly removed from this town I'd more or less terrorized for my entire life.  Because I obeyed its laws most of the time, unless I was behind the wheel of a car.  And then I was ungovernable.  Speed limits, schmeed limits!  I liked to go fast!  I shot a fantastic game of pool, and it paid me boucoup bucks.  And I used those bucks to buy fast cars.  And on girls and cheap beer.  And then unleash terror on the streets of this normally quiet town.

Example?  Sure.  I wrote a $3,802.12 check for a new 1962 Chevy Impala Super Sport, 409/409, 4-speed, posi-trac, Honduras Maroon, black bucket seats, gorgeous.  That was about 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning in Kansas City, about 92 miles away.  

I was back in town by early evening.  It was my 19th birthday and I was feeling all sporty like.  When a red light changed to green, I revved it a bit and dumped the clutch.  That resulted in a burn out of mythical porportions.  Figure 150 feet of black rubber.  Two black stripes.  In the middle of town.  I never exceeded the speed limit, but only because my 750:14 General Jet Airs could not gain traction.  After all, a 750 tire had about 4" of tread width.  Not good.  Especially since I did it all in full view of a police officer who just happened to be parked on the corner.  Not overly wise!

He wrote me a nasty ticket and I drove on.  "Careless and Imprudent," I think the ticket read.  They just didn't understand.  

It had been snowing the previous week, leaving patches of it all over the roads as is often the case in November.  That day had been mild, however, melting the snow traces off the highways.  So around midnight, after a nice evening of pool shooting and underage beer drinking and Hell raising, I deciding to blow the carbon out of my new 409 with a little top end run.  Out of town toward Ithica, 8 miles distant.  And I'll take you along for the ride.

Wide, elelvated four-lane, full moon, otherwise dark-dark, and not a car on the road.  I cooled it until the city limit marker was in my rear view mirror and then opened it up.  Two big Carter four-barrel carburetors began to sing.  "Muuwwwaaahhh!"  

Now, this bruiser was delivered with a 3:08 ratio rear end gearing, better suited for top end than drag racing.  I intended to change it out later for a 4:11, or maybe even a 4:56.  But on this evening, my very first evening, this ratio was just find with me.  

The now opened carburetors were wailing, sucking in gobs of the cold night air.  Through second gear, to third, chirping the tires, and up to fourth.  And then sit back and focus on the road ahead.  As the speedometer went past 90, 100, 110, 120, just about as fast as it took to write that.  And then it buried the needle on the bump stop.  Plus about 500 rpm.  

I'd guess 150 mph and 3 or 4 minutes of duration by the time I'd had enough.  As in, scared shi*less.  So I let it slow down of its own accord, dancing all over the road, which took a half-mile or so.  And it was only then I saw the red and blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror.

Patrolman Dick DeFreece of the Missouri Highway Patrol pulled me over.  Again.  He and I were old "friends" by then.  He'd stopped and ticketed me on several occasions prior to that evening.  And this one was to be the cherry on top.  When he came up to my window he started by thanking me for stopping, as there was no way he could have caught me in his Dodge.  I concurred.  And then he asked if I knew how fast I was going since he was too far away to pace me.  I said no, which was true, as my speedometer was buried.  He didn't bother to ask for my licence, he said, as he'd memorized my DL number.  He wound up ticketing me for 80-plus, which was like a Christmas gift.  

And then I went home and waited for the letter from the State, revoking my driving privileges.  For this was the 17th ticket I'd received in my short driving career.  I waited.  Months passed...

Our Chillicothe Constitition-Tribune newspaper blasted it across the front page.  "Sheriff Caught in Compromising Position."  It turns out they found bare female footprints on the inside of the windshield of Sheriff Kelsey Reeter's patrol car.  Seems he'd been, ummm, "serving and protecting" a Black hooker he frequented.  In his front seat.  And they found proof.  And he was sent packing.  In a town of 10,000, that's news enough to last a month!  

Epilogue:  Oh yeah, that letter from the State never arrived.  Turns out Sheriff Reeter was so busy "servicing" his hooker that he had no time to deal with tickets.  He'd been putting the copy of driving infractions which should be sent to the Jefferson City DMV, and putting them in the lower right hand drawer of his desk.  Mine, and everybody else's.  So the statute of limitations ran out for my tickets, and a lot of other folks.  Which also made the front page.  So those 17 tickets went "poof," and never showed up on my driving record.  

I got to start all over again, with a lesson learned.  This was called "dodging the bullet."  And although I got more than my share of tickets thereafter, I'd decided to pay more attention to the speed limits in the future.

More or less...

They Could Always Shoot His Plane Out of the Sky...

Well now, THAT didn't work.

And I'm guessing that was Plan "B."  They'd better go back to the drawing board real fast to figure out what comes next...

Because they have libeled him, and slandered him.

They have lied about his record.  They have called him a felon, and a rapist, and a crook, and "a threat to democracy!"  And called him Hitler.  And the embodiment of evil.  And incited their half of the Country to do something about it.    

They used O'Biden's Justice Department to weaponize the law against him.  Four separate "lawfare" charges were brought against him, and four separate trials.  Hoping to keep him bottled up in court instead of campaigning.  And to do their best to bankrupt him.

Bennie Johnson, the Democrat Chairman of the January 6 Committee, submitted legislation to remove his Secret Service protection.  Making it easier to "turn the page?"    

Their best and brightest have called for Trump to be eliminated.  The most dangerous and violent rhetoric against Trump has come from the likes of The View, and Morning Joe, and Liz Cheney, and Adam Kinzinger, and Nancy Pelosi, and CNN, and MSNBC, and Rob Reiner, and Stephen King, and Mark Hamill, and Rachel Maddow, and George Clooney, and the Lincoln Project, and Robert De Niro.  And Alexander Soros.  And Barack Obama.  And Hillary Clinton.  And scores more.  Dozens more!

And, of course, Joe O'Biden.

Just days ago death threats against Donald Trump were posted on "X" without any consequences.  An invitation?  A roadmap?  A "call to arms" from aggrieved Leftists? 

So what to do, what to do...

Aha!  Let's assasinate him!  Yeah, that's it!  Let's use one of our many fringe groups to snipe him at a rally.  Sort of a "grassy knoll, 2.0."  Trump's people knew his Secret Service Team was too small, and they'd asked for additional protection.  But Homeland Security Secretary Mayorkas had refused.  On multiple occasions.  Doing so made it easier for the likes of Antifa.  Or Black Lives Matter.  Or any other violent fringe element to kill Trump.  No doubt their preferred outcome.

Like Nancy Pelosi said only yesterday, "Donald Trump will never be President."  What did she know, and when did she know it?

Things are now going so well for O'Biden and the Democrats, they noticed, so let's turn the page.  Let's find a new opponent.  Let's get rid of this one.  We know that was their intention, because O'Biden said in a speech LAST NIGHT that they should stop screwing around.  It was time, he said, 

"...to aim for the bullseye!"

A signal?  Prophetic?  Just a coincidence?  Who knows, but I'm guessing if it doesn't get better for the O'Biden Campaign real soon,

...they could always shoot his plane out of the sky...

Free Booze for Alcoholics?

What could possibly be more looney than offering to pay those who identify as Black, who identify as living in San Franpoopco, and who identify as having maybe "suffered" as a result, to receive $5,000,000?  And a free house?  And $99,000 a year forever?  Some of those "reparations" we keep hearing about?  You know what could beat even THAT for sheer, out-of-this-world lunacy?    

Our friends up there in San Franpoopco have now decided to give free vodka and beer to homeless alcoholics.

Another of those looney, Left-Wing groups up there just put forth another of those looney, Left-Wing policies their overtaxed taxpayers have to pay for.  

Truly!  They are not in the least offput by the folks up there in Oregon deciding to pull back on their free heroin and meth, and how it's ravaged their State.  SanFran is not dismayed.  They believe that it's cheaper to ply alkies with booze than it is to pay to dry them out when they go into delirium tremens.  And wind up at some local for-profit hospital.  That the City must then reimburse.  Because it decided to pass a law reclassifying their homeless as "pets."  Or something...

So the new idea is to give all the homeless alcoholics a free shot of vodka or a can of beer every day.  Available at their local bars.  Really.  That's what they're doing.  And no, this is not "The Onion."  This is not a joke.  They are serious.  

And I'm in shock.  Could this possibly be the very worst idea in history?

I didn't think they could get worse, but they have.  Just consider this: there are 139,435 homeless on the streets of Taxifornia.  And there are 39,432 homeless Veterans on those streets.  Has anyone created a "program" for them?  Does anyone care about them?  The people that fought for us in uniform?  Only the future Democrat voters fresh in from Venezuela.  Or Russia.  Or China. 

How about a free drink for our homeless Vets, you commies? 

Let's take inventory here:  You can shoot up your favorite drug, in public, while sitting on the sidewalk out front of the fanciest restaurant on Union Square.  And take a nice morning dump, and nobody gives a damn.  They even have a "Poop Patrol" to come an clean it up!  But what was always lacking at this "party" was FREE BOOZE!  You want an additional magnetic draw to bring America's bums to Sunny California?  

San Franpoopco just provided it, and BoyGuv Newsom just permitted it.

This Just In!  There is $12,000,000 for Reparations in Taxifornia's 2025 Fiscal Year Budget.  For payment to those Blacks who weren't enslaved, from those who didn't do any enslaving.  BoyGuv put it there.  That's the best idea since paying off your doctor's student loans!  Remember that on Election Day.   

I can't imagine what might come next.  But they can...

People Are a Whole Lot Like Cars...

When I was young I believed I would live forever.

Or, if I ever even considered the act of someday, somehow, mis-managing to, like, DIE, I managed to brush it off quickly and with terminal velocity.

And then have another beer.

In addition, I believed, despite a whole bunch of $cash invested in my education, that our bodies are One Major Organism, working in synchronicity with each other to keep up us alive.  Because if everything's working, like it was "designed," then we have no Earthly reason to contemplate the why's and wherefore's about a liver or a heart or a brain or a foot.  We should be focusing on populating the Earth, as God had impolitely demanded (Genesis, 1:9).

And God knows I did my very best.  Ahem!  On 6 continents.

Howevvvveeeerrr, as one ages, which is thus far sort of a "given," you discover that you were all wrong about your "synchronicity" thinking.  Because the older you get, the more you come to understand each and every part and piece of your aged body will start sending you error messages.  Like on the dashboard of an 1987 Toyota Celica.  Except far, far more serious.

Did you know that the average age at death of a White male in 1850's Dodge City, Kansas was?  44.  That would be, Forty Four.  Just about half what it is today (76.8).  And when they died, they took the Dusty Trail Discharge from such ailments as an infected wisdom tooth.  Or a rattlesnake bite.  Or what they called "consumption" (tuberculosis).  

And then we went on a tear inventing new medicines for new ailments in the 19th and 20th Centuries.  Like smallpox, and measles, and God love them, polio.  So that cancer, which plagues us today, was no problem at all 170 years ago.  Because people didn't live long enough to get it!  

So now our old folks are dying of the stuff the fat dancing girls in catchy TV commercials are blathering about.  Stuff like "Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyrediculopathy."  

Which didn't exist in 1850.  Or if it did, we didn't live long enough to contract it.

So in fact we're very much like that 1987 Toyota Celica.  With 150,000 miles on the clock.  There are about 28,000 parts in a Toyota Celica of that year.  And there are millions and millions (billions!) of parts in our bodies.

That Toyota's been well maintained, oil changed every 7,000 miles, washed and waxed regularly.  Excepppppt, by now it has a leaky main seal ($1,800.00).  And it's power steering pump needs replaced ($649.80).  And the struts and shocks are in need of the figurative emergency room makeover ($1,288).  None of those ailments will stop that ever-lovin' Celica from operating, but they're gonna' leave you high and dry one day unless you pay attention.  And go to the mechanic and get them fixed.  

If he can...  

And oh yeah, one more thing.  The doctor (mechanic) tells you there's this suspicious "clicking sound" coming from your (gulp!) oil pan.  Just sayin'...

One of these days I'm going to have to visit the Celestial DMV.  We all are.  We show up, we give them our information, they ask us to take a chair and wait for our names to show up on those infernal TV screens. 

And then...

I was asked by Daughter No. 1 the other day how I felt.  I thought for a minute, pointed to my left upper arm, just above the elbow, and said, "It feels fine right there."  She started laughing.  I joined in.  But it wasn't funny...  

And another thing, when people ask you how you're doing, they really don't want to know.  A quick, "Okay, thanks," will do.  Nothing more is needed nor desired.  They're just trying to be polite.  They're really looking at you like they're surprised you're still on this side of the veil.  Like they do a lepodoptera with a pin stuck in his back.  Sort of like they're now able to view our President.  Without that "Cheap Fakes" baloney they dreamed up in the bowels of the White House.  

Because lying In D.C. is the coin of the realm.    

Not that I blame his handlers for coming up with an excuse for his dimentia.  Like "He has a cold" halfway through the debate.  Or he had jet lag from a trip he took two weeks ago.  Like that.  I'm guessing they were updating their resumes between such flimsy excuses... 

So, I'm not gonna' tell you about my five back surgeries or my neuropathy or my prostatitis, or that persistent rash, or fading eyesight, you really don't want to know.  But like that '87 Celica, and that Timex watch of old, and you, my faithful Fellow Patriots, we're still ticking.

For now...

NGO's.

So you've been living in downtown Tegucigalpa, and you'd really rather live in downtown Manhattan.

So you spend a few months walking through the jungles, then pay the Mexican coyote $8,000, and then wade across the Rio (not so) Grande.  

Good news!  You've now arrived in the Land of the NGO's!  The "Non-Governmental Organizations."  

You'll soon be met by one of our Border Guards, who will proceed to try and mimic the old "Welcome Wagon" of the 1960's.  Replete with smile.  They used to come to new  homeowners and give them coupons and such.  But in this case, our newly-arrived illegal aliens will be provided with a wealth of goodies!  He/she (I doubt they have "it" genders like us wierdos) will present our almost-citizens with a new cell phone.  All charged up.  And a SNAP card, usually packed full of about $1,200 worth of food at their local Piggly Wiggly or Albertsons or wherever.  

And a nice physical, insuring they're in good health.  And an agent there to help them with their travel plans.  And a plane/train/bus ticket to wherever, presented as a "loan."  A "loan" that need never be paid back.  

And off they go to San Diego.  Or New York City.  Or Chicago.  Or Denver.  Or any of the other 268 self-designated "Sanctuary Cities."  Self-designated as such, and for sure never, ever expecting that they'd be required to perform according to that designation.  

And then a Guvner in a wheel chair from a Ruby Red state decided to share the wealth.  And send them their fair share of illegal aliens.  

And everybody knows you should pay your "fair share," right? 

Thereafter they'll be incorporated into the fabric of these "Sanctuaries," evading police and using stolen E-bikes to deliver Uber eats "off the books," and building houses and stealing from the local drug stores (if it's Taxifornia, they get to steal all the way up to $950 per-day, per-store, before the commie D.A. gives a sh*t).

But you should know that this gargantuan giveaway is being orchestrated by the United Nations, and funded by the United States of America.  That would be you, the Taxpayer.  

Surprised?  O'Biden gave the Catholic Charities USA more than $1.6 BILLION DOLLARS last year.  They run a chain of shelters and soup kitchens across our 1,763 miles of Southern Border, and have so far failed to provide an accounting of where our money goes.

And not to show favoritism, Good Ol' Joe gave the Lutheran Charities $93.1 MILLION in 2023.    

Our little known "Emergency Food and Shelter Program," ever heard of that?, coughed up more than $400 MILLION to feed and shelter our illegal aliens.  

And BTW, don't be bullied into calling them "newcomers," or "undocumented migrants."  They are, according to our Constitution of These Here United States, "ILLEGAL ALIENS."  And until or unless our Consitution is changed, by a vote of two-thirds of Congress, and three-quarters of the States, they shall forever remain, "ILLEGAL ALIENS."

Got it?

Okay now, where was I.  Oh yeah, the Border Charities Fund has been given so much of our money they are throwing it away.  They just "invested" more than $500,000 in "Music Therapy" to aid the PTSD new illegals may be experiencing.  And, its CEO has a salary of $1,000,000 a year.  That's just one of the more than 200 non-profit funds we fund.  Did you know that? 

Imagine getting paid $1MM a year by America's Taxpayers, to hand out America's freshly printned money? 

Put succintly, the top 3 NGO charities received more than $2,000,000,000 (with a "B") from you and me last year.  The Taxpayer.  To pay for the 10+ million illegals and 1.7+ million "gotaways" who've been invited to come and eat and sleep and be educated and VOTE by Joe O'Biden.  

Do you recall when or if this huge expenditure was being debated and voted on?  No?  Neither do I.  Because it wasn't.  It's like a scary little secret.  And it shouldn't be, if our Corporate Media would do its job.  Didn't anybody but me ever wonder who was paying for those cell phones?  The MSMedia should be asking these questions!  And they would be if they weren't a bunch of Liberal weenies. 

Did you know all this?  Did you know any of it?  Are you surprised to learn it?  And then, what are you going to do about it?

I used to tell my prospective clients in a sales call, "It's my passion to give you enough information today, so you can make an intelligent buying decision.  Have I?" 

HOA's...

An event happened in New Palestine, Indiana, recently, that demanded I, The Chuckmeister, opine...

A 74 year-old female retiree was caught on camera defecating, not once but twice, on her neighbor's home.  She actually crapped on her neighbor's house!  And what made it worse, she was a member of her Home Owners Association.

An idea, BTW, spawned in the bowels of Hell.

HOA's, "Homeowners Associations," as they're known, are the governing bodies which oversee private communities.  In new developments, mobile homes and retiree compounds.  And if you needed that explanation, you're the better off for it.

In other words, the residents elect folks to make the decisions regarding the expenditures of the dues HOA members pay into their fund.  That can work as intended sometimes.

And sometimes, it won't.

Like the defecating oldster.  I admit that's one of the  more extreme examples of HOA "dumnitude," but far, far from the only one.

I promised myself way back when that I would never, ever buy a home in an HOA-managed development.  That's because I've been all over the place and I know what can happen if you give unqualified people a little power.  A little authority.  Giving power and authority to those who've never had it, but always craved it, can be a dangerous thing.

But due to the untimely passing of my wife and partner, I had to move fast.  It was like this: I didn't hate my daughters enough to impose my ancient self upon them and their kids, knowing that me living in a spare bedroom, corrupting their children, might doom their marriage.  So I moved to one of those nice 55-plus communties.  Thinking that I could now enjoy a peaceful retreat while planning my next caper.  

And all went well until BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom hijacked Taxifornia.  And caused the electricity rates to skyrocket.  My electric bill was $75.00 a month when I moved in.  Now, six years later, it's over $200.00.  And so I chose to go solar.  Again.  For the fourth time.

Little did I know this would cause an uproar, of the First Magnitude!

I'd solarized 3 homes prior to my current abode.  And since I do my homework, especially when it concerns a multi-$thousand dollar investment, I wound up knowing more than the salesmen who are supposed to sell it.  Much more.  And so each of the next three installations were better, and bigger, and more powerful, and more $expensive than the last.  Yet, much less costly on a per-therm of production standpoint.

And then Elaine passed, and it was time to put solar on my last home.

So I interviewed a number of companies, selected one, entered into an agreement and waited for my electric bill to go down.  And that morning arrived.  The guys from the solar installation company knocked on my door at 7:05 a.m. (can't start work in an HOA until 7:00 a.m.!).  They began their installation, making polite noise as such installations do.

Within 5 minutes my phone rang.

It was my neighbor Cheyenne.  Really.  She's a retired quilter, BTW.  Up to then our relationship had been cordial, as next door neighbors tend to be.  But then everything changed.  For it happened that one of the installers apparently dropped a tool "under her window."  A window which was at least 50 feet away.  From where the tool purportedly was dropped.  My guys would have to have thrown a tool to achieve that lofty feat.  But of course, they didn't.  

But Cheyenne called to complain.  Loudly.  As in, screaming!  And when I suggested to her that she might want to hang up and call me back later, after my morning coffee, she exploded.  As only a retired quilter can.

I thought it was all over.  It wasn't.  She banged on my door within one minute.  Demanding to be let in.  So she could scream at me some more.  She wound up chasing me all around my kitchen until I suggested she leave.  With some application of force, I must admit.

She then started screaming at the installers, demanding the permit.  It should be displayed, she said.  And godddammit, she should know, BECAUSE SHE'S ON THE BOARD OF THE HOA!  

She demanded they quit and leave.  I told them to stay.  She threatened to call the police.  I suggested she call the sheriff and the highway patrol and BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom.  Or maybe the "Mumbler-in-Chief."  Within minutes there were five or six people in my back yard.  Most of whom I've never met.  All screaming at each other.  

I'd been up about 18 minutes by this time, and I was sincerely stupified at these goings on.  By this time I'd made contact with my sales rep and had the permit sent to my phone.  Which I stuck in the quilter's face.  With extreme prejudice.  She was yelling.  I was yelling.  By this time 2 others from the HOA board were there, yelling.  Trying to corral Cheyenne.  It took most of an hour before they got her to wind down and leave my property.  

But she wasn't done yet.  She actually called the City of Murietta and demanded my permit be pulled.  They did.  I called the solar company and wished them good luck in solving this problem.

I was dumbfounded by this whole deal and quickly downed some coffee.  Unfortunately I had no "non-lethal" option near me that morning, or I'd have used it.  Like a taser.  Or perhaps a billy club.  Yeah, that would have worked!  Or maybe a quick shot to the lips.  After all, there was no one else in the kitchen.  My word against hers, right?  She fell, right?  But no, I displayed my Better Angels that morning.  Otherwise, this old bag would have been splayed out on my kitchen floor and I'd have had difficulty explaining that to the local gendarmarie.

My own personal opinion is that she was lit up on some PCP.  And maybe methamphetamine, plus some schrooms.  And perhaps a heavy dose of spice.  She was wound up tight, for sure.  What set her off, she said, was that my workmen had awakened her after she'd worked so hard to get to sleep.  And we know that strung out druggies display that symptom, now don't we?     

I had the chance to contemplate what had just transpired.  The sad truth is, Fellow Patriot, there are a bunch of near-psychopaths out there who spend their entire lives just barely in control.  They spend their entire careers delivering the mail, or selling tires, or teaching kids, or growing wheat.  Without a shred of authority.   

No way to get those animalistic agressions out.  No way to get back at "the man."  Barely supressed anger.  At no time prior to being elected to an HOA board did they have any authority whatsoever.  But NOWWWW!  They get elected to an HOA board.  And then they go on a tear!  They start looking for something to get pissed off about, and then start mailing off citations.  They WILL be obeyed!  Trim that tree!  Move that car!  Paint that fence!  And God help you if you question their authority.  

Fellow Patriots, I have one of those living next door.  I just heard from Quilter's 45 year-old (brain-damaged, of course) son, that she moved out following this, umm, display, and has only recently returned.  Under cover of darkness.  So as to not have to interact with yours truly.  She is apparently that shagrinned at the whole event.  As well she should.

And this was six months ago.  He was sent to apologize, he said.  I told him to forget it, as we all have bad days.  As he walked away, I thought to myself, "Especially if you have a near canniption fit when somebody questions your authority..." 

I guess I should consider myself lucky.  At least she hasn't crapped on my house...

The Biggest Bluff in History...

Happy Birthday, America!!!  And what's more  American than a good game of poker?  And the very biggest game of poker ever was played out on National TV a week ago for your viewing (dis)pleasure.  

Somebody on O'Biden's staff, knowing the Old Guy was running behind on every issue except abortion, and in every "battleground" state except Wisconsin and Minnesota, decided to run the Biggest Bluff in the History of Bluffs.

And lost.

If you'll recall it was only a few weeks ago when O'Biden's Camp issued a flat challenge to Trump to meet him on the Field of Battle.   So to speak.  

To debate him twice, O'Biden's handlers demanded, once last Thursday, and again in September.  And to have it on the Clinton News Network, a den of iniquity everyone knows is dedicated to skewering Trump and every Republican on every issue and on every possible occasion.  And that sports only about half the viewers of the Home and Garden Network.    

And the moderators had to be Jake Tapper and his ex-wife, Dana Bash.  With both on record as hating the ground Trump walks on.  They've slandered Trump on at least a dozen occasions (Google it).  Including, I might mention, Tapper having fulminated about the size of Trump's penis.

Can we say obsessed?

And oh yeah, no audience at this proposed debate in Atlanta, they demanded.  So no audience for Trump, the Entertainer, to whip up or respond to.  

And it just had to be in CNN's Headquarters.  Deep in the heart of Deep Blue Ettlanta.  And better yet, O'Biden proposed that the mics should be turned off when it was the other person's turn to speak.  Thus, no chance for Trump to bully Good Ol' Joe by speaking over him.  They were convinced that would muzzle Trump, and take him out of his comfort zone.  

And each would receive only a pencil, a pad of paper, and a bottle of water.  

There.  They penned and forwarded this metaphoric "throwing down of the gauntlet."  They were no doubt predicting Trump would come back with a demand that one or more of the proposed conditions was unacceptable.  They should change the Network, he would say.  Or the moderators.  Or demand an audience.  And such demand would enable O'Biden to crow that Trump was afraid to debate him "Any time, any place, and under any conditions!," as Trump had offered.  And then enable O'Biden to withdraw with a victory.  Mic drop.

But Trump accepted!

Within two hours.  Without any requested changes.  He took the bait.  Orrrr, perhaps he knew he'd mop the floor with O'Biden.  All he wanted was the chance.  And he got that chance.  O'Biden handed it to him.  And we all know the results.  

And the Democrat Party is in historic disarray.  

They're flying apart like a dime store watch!  They can't run O'Biden, with the Electorate now aware he's in the early stages of dimentia.  Or perhaps even Alzheimers.  Like that's a shocker to those of us who follow the news.  He's been going downhill since about the day after he took the oath.  And had his family and his doctor and his Party been truthful with us, the Voters, instead of hiding him away from the press and the voters, they wouldn't be in this Major League Box.  One they cannot crawl out of.

Why?  They can't just bypass the first Black female, who's been waiting patiently, standing by in 2nd place, bleating about abortion, making foolish sound bites and displaying her sub-100 I.Q. every time she opens her overpriviledged mouth, just waiting for Joe to die.  Minority Leader (Black) Jim Clyborn won't permit it.  Even though Kamala is dumber than a bag of rocks.  And even though everyone in America who cares knows how she got that job.  (Wink, wink).  And even though she'd be deserving of the title, "Cackler-in-Chief."  Maybe if they could convince her not to speak, she'd have a better chance.

So they ran a bluff.  I'm guessing it was Obama, but it doesn't matter.  It was the very biggest bluff in the history of bluffs.  At the very biggest poker game in history.  And Trump called that bluff.  And they couldn't back out.  With 8 days of preparation, beginning no earlier than 11:00 a.m., plus daily naps, overseen by 16 of his closest aides (we're paying this guy $400,000 a year!), he crapped his pants on National TV.

Damn, this is fun!

Taxing Ourselves Into Prosperity...

As we head into the extra long Independence Day holiday, I thought I'd remind all of us of the famous words of our Revolutionary War Heroes as they shouted, 

           "No Taxation Without 

               Representation!"

And yet, we residents of Taxifornia are being taxed out of our socks, every day, without representation.  While our cost of living goes up, every day.

You knew that 47 of Taxifornia's 54 counties are owned and controlled by the Democrat Party, didn't you?  And that the Assembly and the Senate of this once-Golden State have a Supermajority, thus permitting them to pass any law at any time for any reason.  And some of the dumbest laws imaginable get puked out from this gang of Leftists.  

Like:  These goons just voted to require auto makers to install by 2030 a magic system that makes your car honk if it if it meets any other car going 10 miles per hour over the speed limit.  And to apply the offending car's brakes if honked at(!).  

Sort of a Gubmint-sponsored "brake check."

So I thought I'd pass along the meager thoughts from an aged old Vet who just might have a point of view.  Let's see if you agree...

"A nation trying to tax itself into prosperity, is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to pull himself up by the bootstraps..."

                                          -  Benjamin Franklin

Did you know that the top marginal tax rate in America is 37%?  That means the Gubmint owns more than one-third of what you make.  And that's on an income of $630,000? 

And the Gubmint will come and take it from you if you don't cough it up willingly.  Remember, we have a "voluntary" tax system.  Rigggghhhhhtttt!!!

And yet, the mental midgets on the Left continue to bleat about taxing the "rich" for their "fair share."  And lying about the taxes $Billionaires actually pay.  It's called "gaslighting," folks!  But you already know that... 

And that fully 48% of our population pays no Federal income taxes at all?  And yet they get a vote just as big and as just as important as those who pay that 37%?  

And then we consider the Very Special Case of Taxifornia.  We poor souls who still reside here can be coerced into paying an additional, eye-watering, 14.4% on our incomes over $698,272. 

So if you still live here (fool!), and you're earning near $700k, you're paying a combined 51.1% of your income.  Did you know you had a full partner in your earnings when you got this hot job?  Did they invest anything in your education?  Nooooooo!  Yet they put their hand in your pocket and never take it out.

It's pretty obvious that only the most productive of us earn enough money to be hounded for more than half of it, by the useless politicians who somebody elected.  And perhaps those useless politicians, starting with useless BoyGuv ("Hairgod") Newsom, might want to hear that sound.  You know the one?  

The sound of that roll-up door slamming shut on those U-Haul trucks as they prepare to head East on the I-10.  For a more favorable location.  Knowing almost ANY location is more favorable.  Like Nevada.  Or Arizona.  Or Utah.  Or Texas.  Or Oklahoma.  Or Tennesee.  Or Louisiana.  Or Florida.  Or Kansas.  Or Missouri.  Or Iowa.  Or North or South Dakota.  Or Wyoming.  Or North or South Carolina.  Or Georgia.  Most of them are no-tax states.  Meaning you get to keep everything you make?

What a concept!

Taxifornia has lost more than 1,000,000 high earners who took their earnings, and their taxes, folded them over, put them in their pockets, and ran like bandits.  

Oh yeah, and you can get a concealed carry permit in any of them, simply by asking (some require a small fee, maybe $25.00).  Having been to all of them, I can recommend any of them.  

And on the subject of firearms and the 2nd Amendment, on July 1st Taxifornia just implemented a brand-new tax on gun purchases.  You must now pay an additional 11% tax on firearm or ammunition purchases.  On top of the existing 11% tax we've been forced to pay for years.  That's a 22% tax on a Constitutional Right.  

Singled out, unconstitutionally.  As if people buying new guns should be required to finance the damage done by other guns, done at other times, by other people.  Sound fair to you?  

Since cars kill as many or more folks as do guns.  A 6,000 pound missile driven by a 16 year-old into a crowd of people, can cause far more carnage than a gun.  So when do we start double-taxing auto purchasers? 

And BTW, one way to supercharge military enlistments, considering they're all below requirements, would be to eliminate Federal taxes on our Veterans.  Good idea? 

So I would suggest the bozos in Sacrascrewyou have a "come to Jesus moment."  If they don't stop trying to kill the Golden Goose, there won't be anyone left here but sign twirlers and Starbucks baristas.  And I'm no longer sure about those baristas...