The Hell of Halloween

Devlin looked at his reflection in the mirror and straightened his shirt collar. It was Halloween Night and he was visiting the Crescent City for the first time in a while.

Instead of hailing a taxi, he chose to walk the few blocks to Bourbon Street, which was filled with revelers, young and old. Devlin wasn’t searching for anything in particular — he was simply there to enjoy the festive spirit of the city.

It was intoxicating, the different costumes of those dancing in the street and along the sidewalks. Two New Orleans police officers, astride their white horses, patrolled the area watching for partiers who may have had too much drink.

As Devlin stepped passed one of the horses, it spooked, bolting sideways into the horse next to it. He ducked and jumped up onto the sidewalk, worried he might be kicked by the skittish animal.

Soon he had forgotten the incident. Instead he was enjoying something the bartender had recommended and called a ‘Witch’s Brew.’

“Not very manly,” he chuckled, “But it tastes good.”

Looking for the right vibe, Devlin wandered down the block, visiting one establishment after another. He finally found a place that suited his mood and jus’ as quickly discovered someone who met his interest.

That someone was a woman, whose face was painted with a Mexican-style ‘Día de Muertos’ mask. The whiteness of her make up contrasted sharply with her darker skin tone and this drew Devlin’s attention.

He leaned up to the bar and shouted over the band, “Get her what ever she wants to drink,” he instructed as he pointed to the woman at the far end of the long counter.

Devlin returned to his beer, sipping it as he fought to keep from looking over at the woman he had jus’ sent a drink too. He didn’t want to seem like he was too eager for her company.

The strategy worked, as soon he was joined by the woman.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

He returned her smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Lily,” she stated out of the blue.

“Devlin,” he responded, adding “I love your costume. That’s quite the make-up job. It must’ve taken you a while to get it so perfect.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lily returned, changing the subject. “Wanna dance?”

Together the pair stepped out onto the near empty dance floor. They spun and twirled like they’d been partnered for years.

The band played a slow song and Devlin and Lily melted together as if one. He looked into he eyes, seeing her soul for the first time and knowing she was the one.

As if she were reading his mind, “Do you want to get out of here – go someplace more private?”

Without a word they left and started up Bourbon Street towards his motel room. They softly talked between themselves as the noise of the nightlife fell away behind them.

“As pretty as you are in that make-up,” Devlin said in a low tone, “I can’t wait to see you without it.”

Lily smiled coyly at the thought, “I’m not really all that much to look at. In fact I look pretty much like any girl out on the town tonight.”

“I doubt it,” Devlin argued.

Before they knew it, they were standing in front of his room. Devlin nervously fumbled with the key as he unlocked the door.

Once inside, they fell together on the queen sized bed. They pawed wildly at one another, pulling clothing from each others body until naked, except for Lily’s s face paint.

Excited as he was, Devlin asked, “Are you going to wipe that make up away?”

Lily slid down onto his manliness and giggled, “It’s not make up or paint, silly!”

Devlin froze momentarily, surprised as he watched the woman transform from a beauty into an old hag. The old woman bucked violently against his hips as she continued to change into something nearly unrecognizable from what she had been.

Instead of frightening Devlin as she intended, the man underneath her began to laugh menacingly. He then gripped her hips, pressing her down even further.

It was now her turn to be surprised as the handsome male figure grew scaly and rough. She tried to squirm loose but his massive claws held her firm as he erupted inside her.

Still laughing, “I told you that one day, Lilith — I’d have you again and that you’d come willingly,” Devlin growled as he revealed his real self.

Lucifer’s laughter drowned out her screams as the two twisted together in the throes of a deadly passion that only darkness could understand.

“I won’t know for sure, Chief,” the fire inspector answered, “until I get these samples analyzed. But for now lets jus’ call it suspicious.”

The two stood outside the door way of a fire-gutted motel room jus’ a few blocks from Bourbon Street. Nearly everything in the room was blackened from the smoke and flames.

Puzzled, the Battalion Chief shook his head, “I can’t explain the lack of burn marks in the bed. And no body or part of a body to be found – even though it sure looks the hell like one should be laying there.”

Even stranger yet, was the Day of the Dead mask, he held in a large plastic baggie, found by fire fighters amid the charred ruins of the room, untouched by either heat or smoke.

When a Car Becomes a Gun

Oh, my god — the car the woman was driving — was really a GUN!

When a woman plowed her vehicle through a homecoming parade in Stillwater, Oklahoma, killing four and injuring 30, that was news. But when the Traverse City, Michigan Record-Eagle reported the incident, its headline gave it a whole new set of facts.

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Nope, no agenda here.

Unapologetically Black

A ‘Black Lives Matter’ protester took down the American flag at the site of the Police Chiefs’ Convention in Chicago and put up a flag that read “Unapologetically Black.” A Palestinian flag was also put up for display.

The demonstration’s theme was Stop the Cops. Dozens of the protesters were arrested — most for blocking the road during a sit-in.

These have to be Conservative member’s of the Tea-Party movement because Progressives never do anything that can be construed as anti-societal.

Hollywood Goodbye

Grant stood at the foot of his driveway, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching as Kelli drove away. Once the tail lights of her SUV disappeared, he turned and headed for his front door.

“Romantic goodbyes only happen in Hollywood movies,” he muttered as he stood at the kitchen sink looking out the window at the backyard.

Certainly there had been plenty of kisses and hugs, the promise to write every week, to call every night and to text in between, but he still couldn’t help the awful ache he felt at her leaving. Grant’s voice echoed in his ears as he recalled telling her, “You can always come back if you change your mind.”

His plea fell on deaf ear’s as she tearfully started her car and backed out of the drive. He felt the sting of the hot tears as they rolled down his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was knock at the front door. Grant rushed to open it, knowing it was Kelli and that she had a change of heart.

She sheepishly smiled as she looked up at him, “I forgot my cell phone charger.”

Meme Me Another Lie

The last couple of days I’ve seen this meme on Facebook – and it pisses me off…

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Progressives are again on the march, hoping to obfuscate the truth, by confusing what the Benghazi hearings are about. While on the face of it the numbers are exacting, the message is wrong.

The four deaths in Benghazi are not about gun violence, rather about holding those who are or were in charge, responsible for their actions or lack thereof and about the truth. And those of us alive and old enough to recall the Monica Lewinsky scandal in 1998 have seen this tactic before.

Then President “B.J.” Clinton wagged his fat, meaty finger at the camera lens and lied to the American people and Congress, proclaiming his innocence: “I want you to listen to me. I’m going to say this again: I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.”

Immediately Clinton’s cohorts in the media and on Capitol Hill began spinning it from a case of ‘lying’ into a case of ‘extramarital sex.’ In the end it worked, as old B.J. got off a second time (pun intended) as Congress failed to impeach the scumbag for perjury, instead acquitting him of all charges, allowing the sexual-predator to stay in office.

Again – the Benghazi hearings aren’t about guns, gun control, or how many people killed by guns since the September 11, 2012 attack on the U.S. Consulate. Now, Hillary McCankle-Von Cackle’s cohorts in the media (including social media) and on Capitol Hill are spinning the Benghazi hearing from a case of her ‘lying’ into a case of ‘gun control.’

No, the hearings are about holding our federal leadership accountable for their willful and wanton dishonesty and the lack of responsibility that left four Americans to die when it was in their power to stop the attacks before they started. Shame on anyone willingly to believe otherwise.

Bend Over and Take It

Apparently, Health and Human Services is having a trouble convincing the 10.5 million people who are eligible for Obamacare to sign up. The initial HHS estimate for the number of people who would be signing up for coverage on the Obamacare exchanges next year was originally 20 million.

But that ain’t gonna happen. Instead the Obama Administration insists that the program is on “a much longer path toward equilibrium,” according to some faceless-nameless-brainless senior HHS official.

Meanwhile, penalties for Americans who lack health insurance will be rising dramatically in 2016 due to the individual mandate imposed by Obamacare. The penalty, or “tax,” as chief Justice John Roberts deemed it, will be rising to 2.5 percent of a household’s taxable income next year.

If you are an individual who doesn’t have health insurance, the penalty will be $625 for an adult and $347.50 for each child under the age of 18. The increase more than doubles the $325 fine imposed at present for lacking health coverage, and is six times the $95 that those lacking health insurance were forced to pay in 2014.

I tend to think that eventually even the most Progressive retard becomes a die-hard Conservative when you start effing with their money.

The Grand Panderer

Hillary McCankle-Von Cackle’s (my new name for Hillary Rodham Clinton,) latest campaign video is nothing more than straight pander as she tries to build up her non-existent foreign policy experience. In it is a shot of her wearing a Hijab; an Islamic garment of submission.

Not only is the Hijab a source of Muslim violence against women, but its origins lie in an Islamic commandment distinguishing Muslim women, who are not to be raped, from non-Muslim women captured by Mohammed’s followers. Don’t believe me?

“O Prophet, tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to bring down over themselves [part] of their outer garments. That is more suitable that they will be known and not be abused. And ever is Allah Forgiving and Merciful.” (Koran 33:59, Sahih International)

By wearing the Hijab, she’s declaring she’s the property of a man and “not to be abused.” Of course since Islamic law doesn’t recognize the rights of non-Muslim peoples it is at war with, it’s allowable for Jihadist’s to rape non-Muslim married women.

Of course, I don’t expect McCankle-Von Cackle to know this sort of stuff. Hell, she doesn’t even know that Marines stationed at U.S. embassies are there for security purposes.

She revealed her ignorance about the U.S. embassy security situation at Thursday’s House Benghazi Committee hearing, where she said that Marines stationed at Benghazi “were not there” to protect personnel.

“Certainly it was useful for our security professionals and our diplomats to be partnered in that way with the Defense Department. You know, historically the only presence at some of our facilities has been Marines. And as you know well, Marines were there not for the purpose of personnel protection; they were there to destroy classified material and equipment,” Clinton said.

Fortunately for those of us not heading up the State Department, the U.S. Marine Corps website explains rather well — in two easy to follow steps — what the mission is when it comes to U.S. embassies:

“The primary mission of the Marine Security Guard (MSG) is to provide internal security at designated U.S. diplomatic and consular facilities in order to prevent the compromise of classified material vital to the national security of the United States. The secondary mission of the MSG is to provide protection for U.S. citizens and U.S government property located within designated U.S. diplomatic and consular premises during exigent circumstances (urgent temporary circumstances which require immediate aid or action).”

In my opinion, Hillary McCankle-Von Cackle’s not even qualified to perform ‘shit-burning’ duty let alone be our next Commander-in-Chief.

Nuke Waste Dump Fire Closes U.S. 95

It wasn’t jus’ flash flooding that shuttered U.S. 95 from Tonopah to the Pahrump exit – it was a fire at a nuclear waste dump in Beatty. Drivers on U.S. 95 can often see the company’s trucks driving in and out of the desert.

The Beatty Dump, as it is sometimes called, desolate stretch in the Amargosa Desert. It looks harmless from the highway with the appropriately named Bare Mountains in the distance.

But they’re carrying hazardous chemicals and materials largely from California to the facility, made up of storage tanks and lined holes in the desert that range in the size from a sandbox to a few football fields. Next to the nuclear storage site, the company also operates one of eight hazardous waste and treatment facilities in the state.

The state, which leases 80 acres to US Ecology, charges the company a fee for every shipment of waste to the facility. The Nevada Department of Conservation and Natural Resources says that over the last five years, fees have totaled more than $10 million.

US Ecology manages 22 low-level nuclear waste trenches in Nevada, which were filled from 1970 to 1992. An agreement is in the works that would increase the Beatty site by 400 acres and extend the facility’s lifespan by at least 20 years as the current site is nearly full.

Environmental Protection Agency documents from 2012 showed the company is allowed to store up to 87,400 gallons of chemicals in tanks and containers and treat 137,000 gallons of chemical waste every day. It also disposed of at least 808 million gallons of waste there.

Sunday’s fire reportedly did not emit above-average doses of radiation. The blaze was allowed to burn itself out because crews couldn’t use water on the potentially toxic material.

Results from aerial surveys by the Department of Energy were negative as was monitoring by four Nevada National Guard soldiers, who walked within six-feet of the burn center to detect if any heavier radioactive beta or alpha particles were carried by the smoke plume and fell to the ground. Items buried in the dump include contaminated laboratory gear, medical isotopes, used-nuclear-fuel assemblies, chemicals and electrical transformers tainted with cancer-causing PCBs.

These are the same kinds of waste that Nevada’s state and federal leaders have been trying to prevent from being shipped to Yucca Mountain for years, proving their fight is more political economics than environmental. It also proves that Progressive voters are nothing more than useful idiots.

Fed’s Takes Family’s Land Near Area 51

Eighty-six percent of the Nevada is owned by the federal government. Now, private land owned by the Sheahan family since Abraham Lincoln was president, and overlooking the ‘secret base’ at ‘Area 51’ has officially been taken from them and given to the United States Air Force.

In the remote central Nevada desert, the Groom Mine has been an island of private property surrounded by a vast government buffer zone. The buffer zone’s patrolled by security troops to prevent people from getting a look at the so-called secret test base at Groom Lake.

Last month, the U.S. Air Force condemned the Groom Mine property when the Sheahan family who owns it rejected a $5.2 million government buyout. On September 16, federal Judge Miranda Du signed the order in the condemnation case giving possession of the Groom Mine property to the U.S. government.

The Sheahan’s have battled with the federal government for more than 60 years, first when radioactive fallout showered down on their property from atmospheric nuclear weapons tests at the nearby-Nevada Test Site in the early 1950s and later when the CIA and the Air Force developed an old airstrip along the Groom Dry Lake bed in 1955 to test the U-2 spy plane. The only part of the fight left for the family now is compensation and what will happen to the equipment, the buildings, and family members buried at there.

At least 20 family members have stakes in the joint 400 acres of property and mining claims. The family’s ancestors have mined for silver, lead, copper, zinc and gold during various times throughout the land’s known history.

The federal government made its final offer to the family after concluding the security and safety of defense testing in that area made private land ownership impossible. The feds valued the land at only $1.5 million, thus making their offer seem ‘more than generous.’

Nevada is slowly but surely becoming a colony of the federal government and our so-called state and federal leaders continue to do nothing about it.

The House Speaker Fiasco

Every since House Majority Leader Kevin McCarthy dropped out of the race to succeed Speaker John Boehner earlier this month, plenty of names have been bantered about for the job. At present the only one that seems to be catching any news-time is Congressman Paul Ryan.

Aside from being Mitt Romney’s selection for vice-president in 2012, Ryan, as Chairman of the House Ways And Means Committee, was essential to ushering President Obama’s trade agenda through the House of Representatives. Similarly, on the issue of immigration — Ryan has a two-decade long history of sabotaging Conservative immigration reforms and embracing Progressive ones.

During the 2013 effort to push the Rubio-Schumer bill through Congress, Ryan held secret meetings with Democratic Senator Chuck Schumer to ease the passage of the mass amnesty plan. In fact, Ryan has often invoked the language of Progressive’s in order to smear his Conservative constituents who oppose his plan for mass immigration.

At an event with Democratic Congressman Luis Gutierrez in Chicago during April 2013, where the two were aggressively stumping for current Presidential candidate Senator Marco Rubio’s immigration expansion bill, Ryan declared that his Republican constituents’ opposition to large-scale immigration is because “ignorance.”

“We’ve had plenty of waves of immigration that have always been met with resistance in the past—the Irish wave is just but one of them. Each wave is met with some ignorance, is met with some resistance,” stated Ryan.

Furthermore, and to no one’s surprise, retiring House Speaker John Boehner said he supports Ryan’s bid to become the chamber’s next top leader.

“I think Paul Ryan would make a great speaker,” Boehner told reporters. “I think Paul is going to get the support he’s looking for.”

And believe it or not, Senator Harry Reid is claiming to be “a Representative Paul Ryan fan” and says he hopes Ryan will be the next GOP Speaker. Jus’ knowing this — that should kill Ryan’s chances entirely, however the Progressive wing of the Republican Party will do what it wants to help its left-leaning agenda.

And finally — where the hell is the stalwart Conservative Texas Congressman Louis Gohmert when needed? Back in January 2015, he was all hot to trot about ridding Boehner of his job and setting American on the right path again.

“I am still supporting Dan Webster,” says Gohmert.

Disappointing to say the least.

When It Rains, It Pours

A storm on Sunday created a mess on U.S. 95 leading to a 140-mile stretch of roadway being closed between Tonopah and State Route 160 in Nye County, Nevada as flooding washed out sections of the highway. Unfortunately, I got caught in the storm.

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The rain seemed to hit all at once. Even with my trucks wipers going full-tilt at the water — I couldn’t really see out of my wind shield.

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The road took a beating. It rained hard for about five to six minutes.

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Then like that it was over and I could see again. But that’s when the real trouble began.

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Hot and humid, I rolled down my windows. In the distance I could hear the faint roaring sound of water on the move.

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Without much warning that faint roar grew to a crescendo. Beyond, in the cloud-shrouded distance, water was cascading from the steep hillsides towards U.S. 95 and my truck.

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As quick as possible, I cranked my front wheels towards the flow hoping to cause the water to rush around them and prevent my truck from being pushed into the ditch on the other side of the highway. The water still managed to turn my truck sideways.

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Soon it was inches from entering my cab. There was very little to do but sit out the torrent and pray as I snapped photographs, which I accidentally took in black-and-white, having misset the camera’s programming in my haste.

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In less than three minutes the flooding had come and gone. I watched it decrease from more than a foot in-depth to less than an inch washing over the asphalt to the west of me.

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Thunderstorms in the high desert are fast-moving. After turning my truck so it was no longer across both lanes, I noticed the hills — which had been clouded-over — were now cloudless.

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Finally, after several hours of waiting, the Nevada Highway Patrol started turning drivers around at the entrance of SR 160, which leads to Pahrump and which was also severely flooded.  There would be no traveling on U.S. 95 until further notice and I’d have to wait out the closure or find another way home.

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As I headed back towards where I had jus’ been, it surprised me to see the residue left in the wake of the flooding. U.S. 95 remained closed until Monday evening.

No one died or was hurt, one man did have to be rescued by helicopter after he got trapped in the mud, atop of his SUV. As for me, I eventually found another way home.

Life Lesson #28

Stop worrying so much.
Worry will not strip tomorrow of its burdens, it will strip today of its joy.
One way to check if something is worth mulling over is to ask yourself this question:
“Will this matter in one year’s time? Three years? Five years?”
If not, then it’s not worth worrying about.

An Execution Among the Fields of Lilies

Today, signs placed northbound along U.S. Highway 101 near the Dr. Fine Bridge over the Smith River and southbound near the Oregon border mark the nine mile stretch of highway dedicated to California Highway Patrol Office Ernie Felio. And every time I see them, I can’t help but think about the night of September 7, 1980.

It was a Sunday evening and I was about two and half hours into my air shift at KCRE, in Crescent City, California. I was supposed to still be training, but instead I was filling in for the guy who usually worked the shift had called in sick.

Not only was he supposed to be working the shift, he was supposed to be training me to do the overnight weekends. I was a little more than stressed because I had only been in training for two nights prior to this, so I was operating by the seat of my pants.

That’s when all hell broke loose across the street from the station. The window was open to the studio and as I looked out it, I saw several deputies come pouring out of the sheriff’s office across the street – including three who jumped out the open window of the break room and rushed to their patrol cars.

Since the song I was playing was nearly over, I waited to begin a new one. Once that was done, I got up and walked across the hall to the production/news room and turned on the scanner hoping to hear what was going on.

It became clear from the radio traffic that something ‘big’ had gone down. I heard Sheriff Tom Hopper being called out, his call number being 231, and responding officers calling in saying they were en route and were so many miles from Smith River.

At the sheriff’s office, I could imagine the dispatcher clearing the radio, calling for officers to respond to a radio check. One call sign, 95-3, never answered.

Then – an eerie silence. Soon that was followed by a nerve-racking, “beep-beep-beep,” and the words, “All units prepare to copy a BOLO (be on look out,) on a 187 of a peace officer in the Crescent City area.”

PC 187: Homicide. The willful taking of a human life without justification — and this one was compounded as the life taken was that of a law enforcement officer.

That’s when I decided to call the station manager and ask him what I should do. He suggested I call the news director which I did.

The news director walked up the stairs to the newsroom about 20 minutes later. Eventually, I gave up my seat so he could make the announcement that California Highway Patrol Officer shot and killed during a traffic stop in Smith River.

Soon the teletype in the hallway began ringing – alerting us to the same information the news director had jus’ put out over the airwaves. I pulled it from the machine and handed it to him, saying, “For your scrap-book.”

Smiling, he wadded it up and tossed it in the round file, replying “I don’t save them – if I did, I have a thousand of them by now.”

As soon as he left the studio, I retrieved it knowing that it may be someone I knew.

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The following day, the shock of the murder was hitting Crescent City hard. And yes, I knew who the officer was as I had graduated from Del Norte High School with his daughter, Carol, in 1978.

Ernie Felio, an 18-year veteran of the CHP, died while making a “routine traffic stop,” around 8:20 p.m. An hour later, Josephine County, Oregon sheriff’s duty Larry Michaels stopped a car in the Cave Junction area, fitting the description of a car seen at the time of the shooting and arrested its driver, Ronald Chester Hawkins.

My father and I were sharing my small apartment on Elk Valley Drive and we were listening to the radio and upon hearing the words, “routine traffic-stop,’ Dad shook his head and sighed.

“What?” I had to ask.

“You know the saying, ‘Familiarity breeds contempt?” Dad continued.

Having heard it before, I nodded my head.

“Well, it sounds like Ernie got careless and treated this pull-over like every other pull-over and that’s what got him killed.”

“How was he supposed to know he had a gun!” I heard myself exclaim, thinking my old man, an ex-cop himself, was blaming Ernie for his own death.

Nodding, Dad sensed what I was thinking, “All I’m saying is Ernie should’ve approached the guy in the car as if he were armed and dangerous.”

For me, the light-bulb went on and it was burning bright, because I knew that aside from domestic calls, pulling over a driver is one of the most dangerous things a law enforcement officer can do. The realization brought a chill to my body and I shivered.

For the next few months, very little was reported about Ernie’s death and by the time something did break, I had left the radio station because I didn’t want to work for free.

It was May 28, 1981, when Hawkins’ murder trial began with Del Norte County District Attorney Robert Weir telling the jury that the murder had been done “execution style.” It was obvious that Weir was aiming for the death penalty and was pulling no punches about it.

By this time the trial had been moved to the Shasta County Superior Court. Hawkins’ defense attorney Jere Hurley had argued successfully that his client wouldn’t be able to get a fair trial because of all the publicity.

Mike Luttrell, who worked in the Smith River Lily fields with Hawkins, testified that he was present when both Hawkins and Ernie pulled up into the drive way along Westbrook Lane. After an exchange of pleasantries with Luttrell, Ernie walked around his squad car and was confronted by Hawkins, who fired twice at the unsuspecting officer.

At hearing the first two pistol shots, Lutrell said he ran from the scene, fearing he’d be next. The farmhand also described hearing Ernie shout, “No, not me!” before two more pistol shots rang out.

Meanwhile, Hurley argued that Hawkins couldn’t be responsible for first-degree murder because he was an alcoholic with a diminished mental capacity and therefore incapable of premeditated murder. A few days later, Hawkins brother and girlfriend were in court trying to convince the jury of the same.

Bonnie Orton, Hawkins’s girlfriend, testified that she witnessed Hawkins drink seven to 10 cans of beer while they drove from Southern Oregon to Smith River the day of Ernie’s murder. She also claimed she’d seen him drunk on 15 to 20 occasions, “and possibly more than that,” in the two months she had known him.

Hawkins’ brother, Ed Hawkins, testified that the defendant had a history of drinking problems and appeared to have been drinking when he saw him several hours before Ernie was slain. Hawkins’ eyes were glazed, he was jumpy and tried to pick a fight with him, the brother claimed.

A psychiatrist said Hawkins might have “blacked out” during the slaying, meaning he didn’t remember what had happened. However, David Pike testified that Hawkins bragged about killing Ernie and expressed regret that he hadn’t killed Lutrell, too. Pike and Hawkins had shared a Del Norte County jail cell after the shooting.

It was Monday, June 15, 1981, when a jury found Hawkins guilty of first-degree murder in the shooting death of a California Highway Patrolman Ernest Ray Felio. The following month, and the day after my 21st birthday, Hawkins was formally given a sentence of death.

During the penalty phase of the trial, Superior Court Judge Richard Abbe also fined Hurley $500 and gave him a day in jail for sending an investigator to contact a juror during the trial. Evidently, while enough to piss off the Judge; the illegal meeting wasn’t enough to warrant a mistrial, which is what Abbe suspected Hurley was trying to get.

Abbe, following the jury’s recommendation, ordered Hawkins to death row at San Quentin Prison. Hawkins, however, committed suicide by hanging himself on January 17, 1983 using a bed sheet he had tied to a wall ventilator.

Ernie was also posthumously honored in December 2010 with the California State Employee Medal of Valor for his efforts in saving a teenage boy from electrocution. It was March 8, 1969, when Ernie, who was off duty at the time, came upon the scene of a traffic collision.

A vehicle had collided with a power pole that was carrying several 12,000 volt electrical lines. As a result of the collision, several live wires were hanging across the roadway in disarray and at varying heights.

The teen lived across the street from the accident and came outside to see what was happening, but because of the darkness, the black power lines, and no street lights, he walked into a live wire. Ernie saw a bluish flame leap from the boy’s head and shoulders as soon as the kid made contact with the wire, then saw him fall to the ground.

Realizing, the boy would die, Ernie raced through and around the wires to help the teenager. When he reached the boy he found him rigid, unconscious and not breathing.

Ernie was able to open his airway and begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and after several minutes, the boy finally began to breathe on his own and was transported to the hospital. The boy was released a few days later and made a full recovery.

Pulling Rank and Taking Name

Not even while in formation, marching from class to the barracks was I able to keep from pissing someone off. This time it happened to be one of my classmates behind me by the name of Bob.

We had one civilian in our class. His name was Tom as well.

He had no idea how aggravating it was to be forced to march back to our barracks in 100-degree heat. All he wanted to do was lighten the mood of the 50 or so sour-pusses as we trudged in lock-step down the road.

So to that end he started pretending to be a Drum Major, leaning way back, high kicking as stroking the air with an imaginary baton. I found it irritating and more a mockery of us than funny.

“Knock it off, Tom,” I shouted as he high stepped past me.

He immediately stopped, saying, “Oh, sorry.”

Tom dropped back and returned to walking normal. Meanwhile Bob yelled at me.

“Shut the fuck up, Darby!” he said, “You ain’t in charge of him!”

Technically he was right – but I was in no mood to put up with Tom’s antics. Now it was Bob’s turn to catch my wrath.

“Mind your own business, Bob,” I countered.

“You think you’re the shit ‘cause you got that rope on your shoulder,” Bob shot back.

Now I was really pissed off and I wanted to rip him a new asshole. I waited a minute so I could calm down before I said anything else to him.

“You’re going on report!” I finally hollered.

I could feel Bob’s glare burning a hole into the back of my head.

Less than 15 minutes later, our formation formally broke between the chow hall and the post office. As everyone scattered to do whatever, I shouted for Bob to stop.

“I wanna word with you,” I demanded.

“Fuck you,” he responded.

“Oh, is that what you think?” I asked, as he continued to walk away from me, adding “we’ll see how you feel about it by tomorrow morning.”

With a seething anger raging through me I walked along the outside of the barrack, to the outside door closest to my room. I didn’t want to hear the snide remarks made by anyone as I passed through the hallway about how I couldn’t make anyone do anything I ordered them to do.

Later that evening, Frank dropped by to ask me how everything was going. I unloaded on him about how disrespectful Bob had been to me and how I couldn’t control any of the a-holes in the flight.

“We’ll do you want to place him on report or not?” Frank asked, boiling the entire conversation down to one question.

I didn’t hesitate, “Yeah.”

“Fine,” Frank replied, “Consider it done.”

He left soon afterwards. That left me alone in my room to ponder and worry over whether I was doing the right thing or not.

“Dammit!” I said aloud as I turned off my light and dropped into bed, “I hate my fucking indecisiveness!”

The following morning we once again fell into formation, marched up the rise to school and fell out. Before we had a chance to take our seats, Bob was called out of the room.

He returned a few minutes later. I could tell he wasn’t happy.

Before long though, I realized I was the one being considered the son-of a-bitch, as most everyone was avoiding me. It was Mike Gorsline who finally broke the stalemate by sitting next to me in the chow hall.

After a few minutes of silence, he stated in a matter of fact tone, “Sometimes you gotta do the hard thing to make others do the right thing.”

I looked at him for a few seconds and finally responded, “Thanks, Mike, but I still don’t feel good about it.”

After lunch and back in the classroom, Bob was called to the Commanders office; he was going to be formally placed on report. By now my anger had subsided completely and I was feeling sick to my stomach, realizing this all was happening because I yelled at Tom.

A few minutes later Bob reappeared in class. He went to Frank and spoke to him in a whisper – then Frank pointed at me and then the door.

He stepped outside it along with Bob. I followed seconds later.

“You’re requested to make a formal statement to the C.O.,” Frank instructed, “That means both of you need to get there, pronto.”

With that we walked towards Captain Smith’s office. It was Bob who broke the silence.

“Man, I’m sorry for acting the way I did the other day,” he said.

I was stunned.

“I got two kids and wife and I can’t afford to be fined the hundred dollars a paycheck Smiths going to impose on me,” he said mournfully.

I stopped.

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry this has happened, but I can’t back out now because I’ve been pushed too far by some of the others.”

“I know,” he replied.

“I’m not blaming you for their actions,” I continued, “rather I’m jus’ trying to get everyone to understand this ain’t high school or a college frat house.”

“I hear you,” Bob said.

“I don’t wanna see you get busted,” I commented, “so here’s what we’ll do.”

I explained my idea as we returned to our fast pace walk to the Captain’s office.

Within minutes we were both standing in front of Captain Smith, who was seated at his desk. To both Bob and my surprise, Frank was standing against the wall as we entered.

“So you think its okay to disobey someone I’ve placed in command?” Smith started as he spoke directly to Bob.

“No, sir” Bob answered, “it isn’t.”

“Then why did you do it?” the Captain asked.

“Because I let my temper get outta hand,” answered Bob.

“What do you have to say about all this Darby?” Smith questioned.

“Well, Captain Smith,” I replied, “Since this took place he and I have talked it out and come to an understanding…”

“Really?” Smith interrupted as he looked at Frank.

“And…” he said.

“We both agreed that we were angry and each did and said things that made the situation worse than it was,” I continued, “and sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to chalk this up to a learning experience on both our parts.”

Smith glanced back and forth at the two airmen standing in front of his desk. Then he looked again at Frank.

“Tech Sergeant,” he stated, “what do you think?”

“Sir,” Frank replied, “if they say they worked it out, we ought to wait and see if it’s so. I’m sure if it isn’t we’ll know soon enough then we can revisit the subject then.”

“Very well,” Smith agreed, “You two – get out of my office!”

Both Bob and I saluted, pivoted and exited the way we entered. I couldn’t believe it had worked.

“Thanks, man,” Bob said as we continued back to class.

“I had no idea you had kids,” I said, “let alone were married.”

He pulled out his wallet and showed me pictures of his family. Bob and I got along from that point on and he eventually helped lessen the hostility some of the others in our flight felt towards me and the other ropes.

Tell Us More Lies, Please

Hillary Clinton shaded the facts about her use of a private email account while she was Secretary of State. And Democratic Socialist Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont wrongly placed the U.S. as the world’s leader in wealth and income inequality.

Clinton, whose defense of her private email server has shifted repeatedly over time, said during the debate that what she did was “allowed by the State Department.”

However, using a private account for all her work emails was inconsistent with long-established policies and practices under Federal law. Clinton was also supposed to turn over her personal emails to the Department at the end of her tenure, not two years later as she did.

Sanders, whose net worth at $528,014 is nearly 8 times larger than the net worth of the average American, claimed the U.S. “should not be the country that has…more wealth and income inequality than any other country.”

Someone ought to tell the that U.S. ranks 42 in ‘income inequality’ according to the World Bank. And in terms of wealth, we’re number 16 out of 46 nations.

So in the end, the truth was a casualty.

Reflection

We were the third class housed in the barracks at the time. It would be another couple of weeks before the “Senior-flight” would graduate and the “Junior-flight” would advance, followed by the “Baby-flight.”

Initially, I was housed with a member of the “Senior-flight” class. The young man, not much older than me, spent much of his time at the Enlisted Man’s Club, drinking.

One evening the young man came into the room completely intoxicated. He had with him a mirror that he promptly hung on the wall behind the door to the room.

The next day it was discovered that one of the mirrors from the restrooms across the hall was missing. A fast search of the barrack was made and the mirror was located.

At first I was blamed for the theft; however it was quickly pointed out that I still had a shaved head from my days in basic training. However my roommate had enough hair to need grooming.

I figured he was so drunk he didn’t remember doing it.

It didn’t take long for me to be moved to the ground floor with the majority of my classmates. The other airman graduated a couple of weeks later and I never heard from him again.

Walking Through a Yorkshire Forest

Mary woke me early to help her clean up a mess our Yorkie, Trixie, made as we slept. Being groggy, I rolled out of bed and discovered the mess for myself as I stepped in it.

Now mind you, Yorkie’s by nature are very small dogs, ours weighs in at less than five-pounds. So how much poop can such a tiny dog leave in its wake?

I figured a log or two – but no – she planted an entire forest. Since she was shuttered  behind a closed-door all night, like every night, I cannot discipline her for this ‘accident.’

My use of the word ‘accident’ is largely based on a lack of knowing what else to call it. Trixie is nearly 14-years old and has been house-broken since puppy-hood.

So if this wasn’t an accident and was done on purpose, we have a real problem. And more than likely that problem will turn out to be induced by a decline in her health.

Anyway – I’m up for the day, but not for the lack of returning to bed at one point. I crawled between the sheets only to find poop there too.

“Ah, shit!” I stated aloud, meaning it not only figuratively, but literally as well.

“Now I have bedding to wash,” I heard myself exclaim, “and she’s such a tiny dog!”

As Teachers, Vacuum Cleaners Suck

Being in-charge, no matter how routine the duty has never really been my idea of enjoyment because something eventually goes wrong, like the time during tech-school while I was a student leader.

Not everything that got screwed up was my doing. That’s especially true when it came to guys who were looking for ways to piss people off.

One such person was Airman Robert Hinton. He was a mouthy, blow-hard and bully when it came to getting his way.

Airman Michael O’Gorman asked me to hold on to the one and only vacuum cleaner we had on hand for use on the first-floor. I took it from him thinking it was an easy enough to do and set it upright by my bed near where my desk was.

A couple of minutes later Hinton steps into my room and says, “I want the vacuum.”

“No,” I told him, “I’m holding it for O’Gorman.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he returned.

“And I don’t care what you do or don’t give,” I replied, adding, “I said I’m holding it for O’Gorman.”

Hinton walked away muttering. I had hoped that would be the last I hear from him, but it was too much to hope for.

A couple of minutes later Hinton reappeared at my door, demanding that I give him the vacuum cleaner. I simply told him, “No!

He stood there glaring at me. I returned to the homework assignment I had laid out on my desk, pretending to not notice him anymore.

“Jus’ give me the God damned vacuum!” he shouted.

Hinton had found my button and he was pushing it. “No! And that’s final,” I shouted back, “Now go bug someone else!”

He turned and walked down the hallway, cussing at me as he went. I laid the vacuum cleaner on its back and pushed it up against my bunk.

I wanted to hide it from Hinton’s eyes.

A few minutes later Hinton was back at my door. Again he demanded that I give him the vacuum cleaner.

This time though, I told him I didn’t have it anymore. I knew it was lie.

“You fucking liar,” he screamed, “I can see the God damned thing right there!”

Hinton pointed to where the vacuum cleaner lay, tucked up against my bed.

“I told you, I don’t have it,” I continued to say, knowing full good and well he could see it. I was daring him to challenge me as by now I wanted to pound the shit out of him and leave him laying in a blood heap in the hallway.

He started around the end of my bed, but I met him before he could go the side the vacuum cleaner was on. I stopped in front of him, effective blocking his path.

Hinton was a bully and unprepared to fight so he didn’t have the stomach to push by me. Furthermore, my bravado left him confused as he wasn’t used to any one standing up to him.

We stood there looking each other in the eye, and then he stepped back and turned away. As he retreated down the hallway for the third-time, he called me a “fucking liar,” once again.

I hollered after him, “You already said that!”

A couple of minutes later, O’Gorman stepped inside my doorway and asked for the vacuum cleaner. By that time I was more than happy to get rid of it.

“Hinton wants it after you,” I told him as he wheeled it away.

Three lessons I carried away from the encounter included never letting someone get me so angry that I can’t think straight; never tell a lie even if it’s knowingly designed to piss someone off; and never promise to hold something for anyone at anytime.

Where the Photo Nazi’s Live

Decided to go to Apple Hill in California’s historic gold region. For years, I’d heard that aside from apples, apple pie, cakes and cider, they had many wonderful craft-makers selling their goods.

So I decided to go for the day since its is only 150 miles away from my home. I grabbed my camera and headed west over I-80, south on old 49 and finally east at Placerville towards Apple Hill.

I’d love to show all the fantastic and delightful pieces of craft ware I saw, but I can’t. Instead I can only share with you this single frame which sums up a day of photographic disappointment.

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*Sigh*

Making a Gun-free U.S.

As it turns out, many of my Progressive friends are right, making the U.S. gun-free can be done in five easy steps.

  1. Elect 67 Senators and 290 Representatives who support the cause.
  2. Have the newly-elected Congress propose to repeal the 2nd Amendment.
  3. Get 38 states to ratify the Constitutional change.
  4. Enact Federal legislation that makes gun ownership illegal.
  5. Confiscate every gun in the country, door-to-door if need be.

Easy-peasy. And while we’re at it — lets change the name of the country too, because we REALLY wouldn’t be ‘united’ on anything anymore.

With the Confidence of Babe Ruth

Confidence, like happiness, is mostly an inside job. One can, however instill confidence in an insecure person.

From time to time, when a new air staff member started at a station, I’d be given the duty of training them. If I saw they were hesitant, I’d stay close by to encourage them to the point that they felt somewhat confident.

The biggest problem most new hires had is the fear of screwing things up – especially stumbling over their words. If I saw this, I’d ask them if they’d ever heard of Babe Ruth.

Most said ‘yes’ and I’d continue by asking, “Do you think he was the home run king of his day?”

The response would usually be something like: “Yeah.”

“Would you be surprise to know that Ruth struck out seven of 10 times he was up to bat?” I’d continue.

“That is surprising,” was often the response.

“So, if you look at his stats,” I’d say, “then apply them to yourself by doing the math, which in this case would be speaking about 10 times in two hours, and say you flubbed up twice each hour – you’d still be doing better than Babe Ruth’s life time batting average.”

I loved seeing that ‘light bulb’ pop on.

Harry Reid Calls the Kettle Black — AGAIN

Soon to be ex-Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid is accusing Charles and David Koch of advocating criminal justice reform to cut their legal liabilities. Reid, as per his normal smear tactic, didn’t specify what illegal actions would be absolved by the Kochs’ efforts.

Reid did suggest that the Kochs have become more active in efforts to reduce “overcriminalization” and reform the U.S. justice system “because they have been in the past prosecuted for doing some things that have been illegal.”

“I’m glad they’re on the right side of something finally. Could be that one reason they’re interested in this is because they have been in the past prosecuted for doing some things that have been illegal … And they fought back,” Reid said on the Senate floor. “They are embracing reform now, but it does not negate the many bad things they’re doing to hurt American families.”

Ironically, Reid could benefit from some of the same reform efforts. Such changes would allow him to keep future illegal campaign contributions like those that he received from his granddaughter’s jewelry company or from convicted felon Harvey Whittemore, who illegally funneled nearly $150,000 to his campaign.

During the last election cycle, the Nevada Democrat lambasted the Kochs as billionaires trying to buy political influence through massive campaign spending. Reid has made clear he’ll continue that line of attack during his last 15 months in the Senate.

I’ll be glad when this fucking idiot no longer represents the Silver State — because he sure the hell doesn’t represent me!

Ignoring the Facts

I smell another ‘ Ahmed the Clock Kid’ in the making. You know the teen that ‘built’ a clock n a brief case purposefully to look like a ‘bomb,’ and the media and President Obama loved him up and turned him into a ‘misunderstood’ sensation?

Same things happening as the web history of the Umpqua Community College murderer showed him to be of mixed-race, aligned with groups like ‘Black Lives Matter,’ ‘Fuck The Police’ and ‘Fuck Yo Flag.’ However, most of that social media stuff is gone.

This little coward had a friend by the name of Mahmoud Ali Ehsani, whose profile has also disappeared. And he wrote about the attention given to the asshole that shot a television reporter and cameraman on air in Virginia in late August.

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Umpqua Community College also appears to be deleting their association with the murderer (Not that I blame them,) but it should be known that he was part of a college theater class presenting the play, “Blithe Spirit,’ later this month. However, everything to do with that production’s been scrubbed.

Being part of a college production class and performance runs counter to the seemingly preferred media narrative of this murder being a loner. He also gave a “manifesto” to a surviving student of the shooting, but that’s not being mentioned either.

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I’ve noticed that the media is continually selling the narrative that the murder was a loner, a mentally disturbed individual without any mention of his writings, behaviors and social tendencies. Furthermore, CNN has gone so far as to change the gunman’s skin color and thin his nose and lips, and no-one’s showing pictures of his mom, Laurel Margaret Harper, a Black woman — jus’ his White father.

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This piece of shit’s real name is Christopher Sean Mercer (which I hate to publicize again,) but much of the media is using ‘Christopher Harper-Mercer’ and ‘Chris Harper-Mercer.’ That’s because it sounds more Caucasian and not at all Black.

It seems like the media is trying its damnedest to back-up Obama assertions about ‘yet another school shooting.’ But now that the killer’s online background’s being examined by those more interested in the truth than the agenda, Obama’s speech doesn’t line up with the facts.

Furthermore, Obama plans to visit Roseburg, Oregon, the hometown of Umpqua Community College, this Friday. His announcement has cause a social media outcry, calling on him to stay away, allowing the community to recover by itself, since his words following the tragedy were more like salt in the wound than a salve that heals.

I hope a large, armed, 2nd Amendment-loving crowd of rural Oregonians’ shows up to turn their backs on him as he glides across the stage to make yet another play at ridding U.S. citizens of all firearms. Hell, who knows – maybe he’ll incite a riot by proclaiming tighter restrictions through executive fiat.

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I know – I’m not supposed to think such things, let alone put them into words – because it ain’t politically correct.

Pride Before a Fall

I never thought I’d be writing about a certain hairstyle, but then again I never thought I’d live to be as old as I am today. For the past several years I HAD to shave my head because I eventually developed a rash that wouldn’t go away.

However for the last few months I’ve been treating my scalp with ‘red light’ therapy and it really helped a lot. But in the last three weeks the rash returned with a vengeance, this time on my neck.

So, after doing everything I could to battle it, including up the amount of time I sat in front of my lamp, I decided to shave my neck and the sides of my scalp above my ears. In fact, I took it to the line where most male Jarheads keep their hair to pass inspection.

The only difference is, I cut nothing off the top in the style men wore back in the roaring 20’s. It’s called an undercut and I thought it looked pretty good, despite of having done it all by myself.

(Think of actor Tom Hardy’s haircut in the movie ‘Lawless,’ only a little higher and tighter.)

Unfortunately, my wife never acknowledged that I even cut my hair, though we were sitting in the living room next to one another. Then our house mate came home and took one look at me and stated emphatically: “That looks stupid.”

Neither woman was being mean. Kay tends to say exactly what’s on her mind, while Mary simply ignores my ever-changing hairstyle, commenting: “You change more than a woman.”

So I spent the next few hours sulking over the snubs while periodically going to the mirror to look at myself and assess whether I should keep it or not. In the end, feelings hurt and a little peeved, I chopped everything off and now I look like a very old ‘boot,’ once again.

Afterwards, vanity struck and I’ve since become mournful for my hair. It is proof that ‘pride goeth before a fall,’ because now I have to start all over re-growing it and looking goofy in the process.

And you know what else — I’m not Tom Hardy either — damn!

Successfully Broken

The first time I heard myself in headphones I froze. It didn’t sound like me, though I knew it was me who was talking.

Fortunately, I progressed from that to eventually being called upon to train a few disc jockeys over the years. I say training – but that is to include those who already had experience and were more or less familiar with the on-air aspect of a stations operation.

Whether it was a ‘mom and pop’ station or one of the corporate monsters so prevalent today, I never once saw a training manual. Instead training was generally a by-the-seat-of-the-britches deal where you go over particular duties of that particular shift.

Another thing sorely lacking in the development of an on-air personality was the ability to build their self-confidence. By nature many DJ’s and such are very uncertain of themselves and tend to overcompensate for this emotional gap.

Over the years, I’ve seen and heard a lot of folks in the business jealously tear-down a co-work simply because they were unsure of their own self-worth as it pertains to the public-eye. On the other hand, I’ve also seen people who have absolutely no talent carry such a big ego that nobody wants to be around them.

Somehow (and mostly due to bluster) a number of these persons have managed to garner ‘management’ positions, where they beat down anyone they perceive as a possible threat to their position. I’m certain these people exist in all areas of the workforce and are no exception to broadcasting.

Sadly, people who refuse to show that suffer from any insecurity will never truly develop a relationship beyond themselves because they don’t know how. I’ve been around men and women, who’re married, have families and yet cling to their public persona so tightly they fail to develop emotionally.

I know this because I was there at one time.

And though many will not admit it – especially the younger talent – anyone in broadcasting long enough has suffered from the wish to be liked, wanted, needed and more-over, praised. In fact, I’ve concluded that the more broken (and I use the term loosely) the person is, the better their talent is at relating with the listener one-on-one.

I think this is how God designed all of humanity to be — broken yet successful – so He could have a one-on-one relationship with each of us.

Three Questions About Gun Control

Three Questions that have yet to be answered to my satisfaction:

If gun control works so well and Chicago is the most heavily firearms regulated city in the U.S., why did they have 250 shootings resulted in 55 people getting killed and another 288 being wounded in September 2015?

And why, if regulating ownership of guns is so vital to halting gun violence why are shootings up 38 percent in Chicago, gun deaths up by 66 percent and the overall number of people wounded up by 47 percent from 2014?

Finally, President Obama, if I’m responsible for the murders that happened at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon, though my finger was never on the trigger of the weapon – are you holding yourself responsible for the 349 people shot and killed or the 1,978 wounded since the beginning of the year in Chicago?

My guess – I bet not. Instead, you do nothing but pay lip service to problems, both real and perceived, by blaming the U.S. Constitution, the National Rifle Association and the individual American whom you attempted to smear with your Saul Alinsky-ite statement about ‘clinging to their guns and religion.’

You obviously know nothing about either, nor do you understand the individual spirit of the American people. I won’t hold my breath waiting for an answer from you. to the questions posed – instead I know mindless minion will jump on it as fast as it hits the Internet.

I’ll cling to my ‘guns and religion’ and you can shove your ‘hope and change.’

Deadly Silence

Here’s a school-shooting story you may not have heard about from our national media:

A school shooting in South Dakota was stopped after a 16-year-old student opened fire with a handgun, wounding Principal Kevin Lein in the arm following an argument. Despite the wound, Lein got on the intercom to let the students and teachers know what had happened, assuring them he would be okay.

Meantime, assistant principal, Ryan Rollinger, tackled the student, holding him down along with a teacher until police arrived. Lein is reportedly doing well after suffering a flesh wound and has been released from the hospital.

And there are reports that the shooter is a Muslim and was seen asking people what their religion is. It is also what may have led up to the argument between the Principal and the would-be murder.

I had a training Sergeant warn once, “The wrong kind of silence, in even the best of condition can be deadly.”

So You Know Where I Stand

As far as I’m concerned, mass shootings anywhere ain’t got nothing to do with the shooter, the law’s response time, politicians, schools or other public places — it instead has to do with an armed citizenry and the fact that we are not allowed to carry weapons, either concealed or openly in public areas.

I can’t wear my pistol on my hip and walk by the middle school up the street, unless I remain over 200 or so yards from the building. That puts me on the other side of the street by two blocks. This is my neighborhood too, dammit!

Toss all sorts of statistics at me that you want — they are jus’ numbers manipulated to mean one thing or the other. In the end, they mean nothing.

Instead, know that actions speak louder than numbers or words. If there had been one or more person’s armed at Umpqua Community College, aside from the murderer, this tragedy may never have happened. Cowards do not like confrontation.

Unfortunately, we will never know if my assumption is correct in this particular case. I can only direct your attention to other events where another armed citizen stopped a mass-killing in progress.

It’s time to take back OUR U.S. Constitutional right to ‘keep and bear arms.’ Wake up, AMERICA, wake the hell up!

Army Strong

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Forget the nameless ass-wipe who murdered several innocent people at Umpqua Community College and instead, remember the military veteran hero who helped save countless lives. Chris Mintz was shot seven times while charging the gunman and saving others.

Originally from Randleman, North Carolina, Mintz served 10 years in the U.S. Army. After leaving the service, he moved to Oregon to find work and enroll at the community college.

His cousin reports that he’s expected to recover: “From what I’m hearing, he’s fine,” the cousin said. “But he’s going to have to learn to walk again.”

Meanwhile, I have friends, both here in the U.S. and abroad, who are tossing out meaningless statistics about International verses U.S. gun violence. These are the same people who agree with President Obama, who stated: “We are all collectively responsible for gun shootings.”

What a bunch of Social-progressive hogwash! There was only one finger on the trigger that morning and it wasn’t mine or yours.

So, thank you Chris Mintz, not only for your service, but also for showing us that freedom isn’t free and that there are still heroes in this world willing to stand-up, armed or otherwise, push back against evil when it shows its ugly head.

Fortuna Man Among Those Killed in Oregon School Shooting

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The details concerning the mass shooting in which a lone gunman opened fire at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon are still being pieced together. The latest count puts the number of casualties at 10, a tally that includes the shooter.

Officials have not yet disclosed the names of his victims, but numerous Facebook posts indicate that one of the people killed had Humboldt roots. Jason Johnson, 33 years old, was a Class of 2000 graduate of Fortuna High School and had recently begun taking classes at UCC.

Lacey Millsap graduated in the same high school class as Johnson and posted the following to her Facebook page: “Tonja Johnson Engel, Jason’s mother, spoke with NBC News about how proud she was of her son’s decision to return to school after a period struggling with drug problems. This was Jason’s first week of school.

From NBC News: “He started Monday and he was so proud of what he had accomplished, and rightly so,” Johnson Engel tearfully told NBC News. “The other day he looked at me and hugged me and said, ‘Mom, how long have you been waiting for one of your kids to go to college?’ And I said, ‘Oh, about 20 years.’”

My Iain Sinclair Knife

My next door neighbor, like me enjoys collecting different looking knives. The other day he came over and gave me one of the more unusual knives I’d ever seen.

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It’s called the “Iain Sinclair CardSharp,” and was originally designed as a lightweight surgical blade that could be used and disposed of by paramedics and aid workers around the world. It comes in either a plastic case which runs about seven dollars, like mine or in stainless steel which will set you back about 90 bucks.

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Its small enough to fit in my wallet and unfolds into a usable cutting instrument in three simple moves. First though, you have to unlock the blade from its plastic frame by twisting the round tab, which is pictured in the safe position below.

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Next, fold the blade backwards, making sure not to slice yourself in the process. Then, holding it against a flat surface, press the blade down and fold the smaller of the two triangles into place.

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Once that triangle is folded over, fold the larger one over top of the small triangle as well as the back-end of the blade. Secure the triangles in place by pressing the interlocking holes onto the corresponding nubs.

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The knife is now ready for use in an emergency or survival situation. And though I shouldn’t have to say this, the plastic body that doubles as a handle isn’t sturdy enough to be used like weapon and if done so, will lead to your being severely cut while using it as a stabbing tool.

About the UCC Shooter’s Cyber Life

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

On his Myspace page, the Umpqua Community College murderer posted a photograph of himself holding a rifle, alongside images of masked IRA gunmen and an IRA terrorist video. The IRA and Palestinian terrorism have a long history.

He had jus’ two friends — one a man by the name of Mahmoud Ali Ehsani. (His page is disappeared now, though screen shots of can be found elsewhere.)

He offered these public statements on this site:
— “The brave Mujahideen heroes”
— “The Mujahideen freedom fighters of Palestine. My brothers and sisters keep on doing your thing. Allah Akbar.”
–“My brave soldiers keep on fighting for the liberation of Palestine against Israel. fuck Israel. Kill the Jews. Jews are the only infidels.”
— “The Quran…holy book of Muslims”

Furthermore, this scumbag wrote about the attention given to the asshole who shot a television reporter and cameraman on air in Virginia. And so far, none of this is being reported in the media.

What We Know About the UCC Attack

The five things we know about the murders committed at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, Oregon:

1) An anonymous Internet message warned of an attack at a Northwest U.S. Community College.
2) An attack was carried out.
3) He asked people if they were Christian or not before shooting those who said they were, in the head.
4) The shooter is 26-year-old Chris Harper Mercer.
5) Its the same community college that Alek Scarlatos, one of the three U.S. men who took down the Jihadist gunman on a train in France, had plans to attend.

This is also the final time I will mention this piece of shit’s name!

Pentagon Issues New Army Campaign Patch

There’s a new campaign patch to be worn by U.S. military personnel taking part in ‘Operation Inherent Resolve,’ and which feels like a case of political correctness to me. For now, only 3,335 member’s of  U.S. Army are authorized the patch, which is to be displayed on the sleeve of the left shoulder.

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As the Army Times reports:

“The Army’s patch features crossed scimitars, a palm wreath and stars. The scimitars, short swords with curved blades, are meant to symbolize the twin goals of the U.S.-led coalition: to defeat the Islamic State, also referred to as ISIL, and to restore stability in the region, according to Army documents.

The palm wreath is symbol of honor. While the stars and the buff-and-blue colors on the patch indicate the three-star command and the land, air and sea forces involved in the fight.

Scimitars and palm wreaths have appeared on patches from previous periods of war in Iraq. Saddam Hussein also favored the look, building a grand sculpture called the Arc of Triumph to commemorate the Iraq-Iran War in the 1980s.”

It’s interesting to note that there’s no U.S. symbols on this patch and if you turn it sideways, there is a crescent and three stars, which is closely associated with the Ottoman Empire and the last Caliphate.