Ugh or aargh? I cannot make up my mind which incoherent sound my life is more like right now. So many things have me by the short hairs that I find myself turning in tight circles.

First is the big thing, the worse thing, the so-called 500-pound gorilla in the room, which is actually a 16-year-old lab/chow mix who weighs about 50 pounds. Sadly, I’m tasked with the job of taking him to the vet one final time.

I hate it and I hate myself for the fact that I gotta do it.

All I keep thinking, aside from fucking 2020, is why me and why alone? SHIT!

This will happen on Monday. I cannot watch this good dog suffer anymore and I need to swallow hard and do what must be done.


Next, over the last three weeks I’ve had this recurring dream. A woman named Doris, who I went to high school with, and I run into each other outside an ancient building, perhaps a church or a very small castle.

While I don’t know were she is walking from, I am passing through a grove of pink and red roses.

It feels as if we are running from something and so to escape whatever or whoever it is, we go inside the large wood door. Once inside it is like walking down and down and down a never ending hallway.

There are open doors on either side of the wide expanse, but there is no light to see what is inside the rooms. However, we are left to feel as if there is something evil in each room and while we want to run away we are stuck in slow-motion and can only walk.

Through several nights and mornings, I have revisited this dream in full. Time after time We were never able to get to the end of this hallway and the door that we could see.

Then like that I stopped having the dream.

Three nights ago, I realized that this dream was no longer haunting my sleep. But I think that because I thought that, the damn thing returned – only she and I made it down the hall and through the door.

The doorway emptied into a bazaar or open market, with fruit, vegetables and all variety of colored clothe. As we stood examining a bolt of silk, a man dressed in the older 1940’s and 50s style of a French gendarme with his light-blue kepi and cape.

While I watch him enter and pass through the market, I notice that my friend Doris is doing everything she can to keep her face hidden from his eyes. But he sees her anyway and grabs her violently.

As the pair tussle, I stepped in and started kicking him in the head. And it is there, that I keep waking up.

Stress, that is all I can chalk this up too.

Finally, an admission of sorts as I need to get this off my chest:  Biden is about to be elected president.

There are too many things that happened between 2009 and 2017, and into today, that I could never have imagined — from a president and vice-president violating the law, a dishonest media lying and hiding the truth, that a so-called pandemic would lead to a single-minded and illegal nationwide ‘mail-in’ voting scam, and that half of this nation would condone absolute evil in pedophilia and corruption, simply to get rid of a man that they hate, but cannot explain why their hate.

So, is it ‘aargh,’ or ‘ugh?’ Maybe you in the waking world can answer my question.

Final Week of Nevada Election 2020

Heading into the last week of the presidential campaign swing, Vice President Mike Pence delivered remarks during a rally last Thursday at the Reno-Tahoe International Airport. Meanwhile, Eric Trump also made a campaign stop Tuesday in Reno at the Atlantis Casino Resort.

Vice Presidential nominee Kamala Harris also stopped in Reno on Tuesday to campaign for herself and Democratic Presidential candidate Joe Biden. Senator Harris spoke to an audience of about 100 at the Bartley Ranch Regional Park’s Hawkins amphitheater.

There have been huge increases in overall voters during this election, which means more and more people are taking part in the election process. So far, 38 percent of active registered voters in Nevada have already taken to the polls. In the Quad-Counties, Republicans are leading with 25,314 ballots cast compared to the 15,427 Democratic votes cast and 10,562 votes cast by all other parties.

In Storey County 1,552 voters have cast their ballots, which is 43.06 percent of active registered voters.

Voters have returned 792 ballots by mail, which is 51 percent of the total turnout.

Democrat mail-in: 307
Republican mail-in: 290
Other party mail-in: 195

In-person, 760 voters have come to cast their ballots in Storey County.

Democrat in-person: 142
Republican in-person: 486
Other party in-person: 132

Storey County total ballots
Cast by Democrats: 28.93 percent
Cast by Republicans: 50.00 percent
Cast by other parties: 21.07 percent

In Lyon County, 15,557 voters have cast their ballots, which is 38.94 percent of active registered voters. They have returned 8,885 ballots by mail, which is 57.11 percent of the total turnout.

Democrat mail-in: 3,103
Republican mail-in: 3,568
Other party mail-in: 2,214

In-person, 6,672 voters have come to cast their ballots in Lyon County.

Democrat in-person: 886
Republican in-person: 4,536
Other party in-person: 1,250

Lyon County total ballots
Cast by Democrats: 25.64 percent
Cast by Republicans: 52.09 percent
Cast by other parties: 22.27 percent

In Carson City, 16,065 total ballots have been cast, which is 43.14 percent of active registered voters. Of those ballot, 10,085 were returned by mail, which was 62.78 percent of the total turnout.

Democrat mail-in: 4,534
Republican mail-in: 3,343
Other party mail-in: 2,208

In person, 5,980 voters have come to cast their ballots in Carson City

Democrat in-person: 1,305
Republican in-person: 3,551
Other party in-person: 1,124

Carson City total ballots
Cast by Democrats: 36.35 percent
Cast by Republicans: 42.91 percent
Cast by other parties: 20.74 percent

In Douglas County, 18,129 voters have cast their ballots, which is 46.83 percent of active registered voters. Voters have returned 12,212 ballots by mail, which is 67 percent of the total turnout.

Democrat mail-in: 4,194
Republican mail-in: 5,441
Other party mail-in: 2,577

In-person, 5,917 voters have come to cast their ballots in Douglas County.

Democrat in-person: 956
Republican in-person: 4,099
Other party in-person: 862

Douglas County total ballots
Cast by Democrats: 28.41 percent
Cast by Republicans: 52.62 percent
Cast by other parties: 18.97 percent

In the statewide race, Republicans are closing the gap. Last week early voting closed with a percentage of 44.66 percent Democrat, 33.72 percent Republican, and 21.60 percent all other parties. As of Monday, Oct. 27, this has narrowed to 41.61 percent Democratic votes, 34.91 percent Republican votes, and 22.48 percent all other party votes.

Dust Devil

It was the dark of Halloween Night 2020, India-ink black despite the full moon. Further, the streets, their vapor light lamps casting shadows on nothing, were quiet and devoid of life as all the little children and their grown parents remained home because of the threat of COVID-19.

Yet there came screams from the apartment complex on the corner. The police were call, but after witnessing the unexplainable horror, they had retreated outside.

By then a priest had been called and he stood in a misty shroud outside the double entry way, praying for the strength to face the demon in Apartment 101. The landlady met him at the doors and beckoned him in.

He could hear the terrified screams of the woman. It was obvious that she was being hideously tormented by whatever had her in its evil grasp.

The landlady pushed the door ajar after turning the key in the lock. The priest kissed his crucifix and pushed the door open and bravely stepped inside.

Above him, he saw the woman. She twist, jerked, spun and convulsed violently as she was dragged back and forth along the ceiling, screaming in terror and lashing out at her unseen tormentor with frightful language.

The priest began the opening exorcism prayer, “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, as it was in the…”

Suddenly, and without the hint of a warning, the woman crashed to the floor with a hard thump.

As the priest silently continued to pray over the now-prostrate woman, he heard the vague whirring of a vacuum cleaner as it was being turned on. Without warning both he and the woman where thrust upward and against the ceiling, shifting back and forth as the old woman in Apartment 201 continued cleaning her shag carpet.


While standing on the sidewalk, waving goodbye to my wife as she drove off to work, this tall guy, in an all black robe, hood hiding his face, and carrying a long-handled walking-stick in his right hand, suddenly appeared from nowhere behind me.

It’s been a long-time since I’ve seen a man wearing a bathrobe, so I’m guessing they’re coming back in style. Anyway, he kind of creeped me out, because I didn’t see him or hear him and worse yet was the chilled-vibe I got off the guy as he jus’ stood there all quiet.

As I took a sip of coffee, I heard him say something about him being ‘deaf.’ I told him that I was sorry about that and yet he simply stood there without saying another thing.

Being a bit unnerved, and the smart-ass I am, I said, “Don’t worry I have a hard time hearing, too. You can ask my wife.”

Nothing. Silence. Cold.

So with a quick wave, I left the guy standing at the end of the driveway and I went inside to warm up and get more coffee. I haven’t seen the fella since and am hoping he wasn’t lost or something.

The Jackalopers: Running Away

Lick Mortensen headed east into the desert. In his pack he carried enough supplies for three days and a small container holding his dogs ashes.

It had been a difficult week and getting away from civilization, society, people is all the he desired. Losing his dog had been the worst of it and now he wanted to go spread his ‘best friend’s ashes and be done with the heart ache of it.

Three days earlier, 13-year-old Donny Robbins had run away from his fourth foster home. He’d given it a week, but after that had become certain he was only there because no place else would take him and the older couple needed the money the state and county provided.

The teenager had no idea where he was headed when he found the trail north into the desert. Nor did he have any idea how arduous a journey he’d taken on with only his jacket on his back.

Lick decided on a spot some 50 feet from the finger-canyon’s rim, having located a small rivulet of water dripping over the edge and copse of Aspen to camp under.

“Tomorrow, Ol’ Roy,” he said to the small package that still rested in the bottom of his pack.

Donny lost track of time, had it been three days or four, since he’d fallen down the hillside into what he called a ravine.

“Thank god,” he said, as he nursed his bruised ribs and a sharp gash on his cheek, “that it wasn’t any deeper, I might have died.”

Then he recalled how he couldn’t get out of the ravine and with no one around, he might die anyway. He looked at the dripping water that fell from the lip of his tomb.

Morning was nearly present. The sun had not yet come up over the mountains in the distances, but the eastern sky was turning a lighter shade of gray with each passing moments.

Lick has a small fire going and a few strips of bacon sizzling in the pan. To those he added some pancake batter and began cooking them as one.

With breakfast served, he leaned back and watched the sun peak over the Ruby Mountains.

Donny, huddled against the smooth stone wall of his trap and tried to sleep. It had been too cold to fall asleep completely, so he allowed him self to catch snatches of rest here and there and to dream.

This morning, as the sun rose someplace beyond where he could see or feel it, he dreamed of bacon. The odor had been so real that it woke him from his restless slumber with a start.

Once he was awake, sitting up and rubbing his cold and numb legs and arms, the smell of cooking bacon held steady on his mind. In fact, Donny was certain the scent was real and not simply a figment of his half-dead imagination.

“Hey!” he cried out.

Lick had been busy stowing his gear in his back pack when he thought he heard an echoing shout. He stopped and standing still, he held his breath, looked around and listening.

There it was again, this time coming from the nearby canyon. Cautiously, he walked to the edge of the rock and dirt escarpment and looked over.

A pair of eye’s looked back and up at him. The skin about those eyes was crushed in dust and haggard looking, lost and without hope.

“Eh, can you help a fella out, mister?” Donny asked in a weak voice.

Nevada Warned About Chinese COVID Test Kits

It appears as if Nevada may have dodged a viral bullet early in 2020 after federal officials warned the state not to use Chinese-made coronavirus test kits donated by the United Arab Emirates (UAE) over concerns of Chinese espionage and other nefarious activities.

In documents, made public through the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA,) show that the Trump administration acted to halt Nevada from participating in a project involving the Chinese firm BGI Group, a genetic sequencing company which continues to expanded its reach during the coronavirus pandemic. Along with its sale of tests, BGI has expanded into multiple countries by offering turnkey labs, which can reportedly analyze 10,000 to 50,000 tests a day.

It has since set up such labs in multiple Chinese cities and in countries like Angola, Australia, Brunei, Kazakhstan, Saudi Arabia, Serbia and Togo. One lab, established in Abu Dhabi in March, is said to have conducted over 11 million tests in the UAE, a nation of only nine million people.

BGI formed in 1999 as a state-backed lab to work on the Human Genome Project. And while BGI claims that it is no longer owned or funded by the Chinese government, a 2018 U.S. Trade Office report stated that the company has “evident links to the government” as its leadership includes individuals who previously held positions in the Chinese government and Communist Party.

In July, two BGI subsidiaries, Xinjiang Silk Road BGI and Beijing Liuhe BGI, were sanctioned by the U.S. Commerce Department for conducting genetic analyses to further the repression of Uighurs and other Muslim minorities in China.

“Beijing actively promotes the reprehensible practice of forced labor and abusive DNA collection and analysis schemes to repress its citizens,” said Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross. “This action will ensure that our goods and technologies are not used in the Chinese Communist Party’s despicable offensive against defenseless Muslim minority populations.”

Returning to Nevada, the proposed lab would have reportedly processed samples from polymerase chain reaction (PCR) tests, using long cotton swabs that collect samples from deep inside a person’s nose and throat. It must be noted that all of BGI labs must use the company’s proprietary equipment, which the U.S. fears could be a means of collecting the personal information of U.S. citizens by the Chinese government.

The Department of Homeland Security warned the Sisolak administration that China could all exploit these samples to discover the medical history, illnesses and genetic traits of test takers.

“I hope the Nevada COVID-19 task force leadership is aware of this so they can make an educated decision and know some of the U.S. Government’s concerns,” William Puff, a Homeland Security regional attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Abu Dhabi, wrote in an email forwarded to Nevada officials.

The warnings led the office of Nevada Gov. Steve Sisolak in April to direct University Medical Center (UMC) in Las Vegas not to use any of the donated 250,000 test kits as officials turned down an offered laboratory deal.

“Based on the information communicated to me by Homeland Security, we highly recommend that you discontinue these tests and any usage of testing equipment immediately,” Nevada governor’s chief of staff Michelle White wrote to UMC.

Unfortunately, UMC had already used 20,000 of the suspect specimen collection kits offered, but claim they didn’t use any of the donated 250,000 analysis kits. Meanwhile, a 25-year-old Washoe County man is confirmed to have contracted COVID-19 for a second time, with this bout with the illness more severe than the first.

The donation to Nevada also involved the UAE company, Group 42 (G42.) BGI however now claims that G42 made the donation on its own and without BGI’s knowledge and that it never had direct contact with the state.

In April, the UAE announced through G42, its interest in donating an estimated $20 million worth of coronavirus testing kits to the state. The offer came as Nevada was struggling with a growing number of COVID-19 cases and a shortage of test kits.

UAE leadership, both political and business, have long seen Las Vegas as an investment opportunity. In 2007, in its largest investment, state-owned Dubai World partnered with MGM Resorts to build Las Vegas’ $9.2 billion multi-resort CityCenter development.

In March, former MGM chairman Jim Murren was appointed by Sisolak to be Nevada’s COVID-19 Response, Relief and Recovery Task Force chairman as part of a public-private partnership to seek funding and aid for the state. Also in late March, Murren forwarded to the governor’s office an email from Peng Xiao, CEO of G42, pitching the Chinese company’s desire to help.

Murren wrote that the UAE made the offer “both as a public service and because they see this as a future investment opportunity for them,” adding, “They have unlimited capital and would be incredibly flexible on terms – I will handle that part.”

Murren said the initial G42 proposal was to set up a “turn-key,” or ‘ready-to-use’ lab designed to process COVID-19 tests as in other nations.

Days after G42 announced its offer of aid to Nevada, the U.S. government made known its concerns with Nevada. In an email sent to state officials on April 20, Puff raised concerns about the potential risks of Americans sharing medical samples with BGI.

“The embassy has concerns with G42’s relationship with the Chinese government and BGI, and patient privacy concerns,” Puff wrote. “The guidance we received from the U.S. Department of State is we should decline testing from G42.”

In May, the U.S. National Counterintelligence and Security Center issued a warning to state health officials about the “potential threats posed by foreign powers in connection with COVID tests.” It did not specify BGI, though it did link to a news report on Israel’s largest health care plan declining to work with BGI.

In June, a Washington Post article reported that California’s health agencies had decided to avoid the offer made by BGI to that state. The report claimed that the decision was taken on the advice of the state’s coronavirus test task force advisers, in part because of concerns over China gaining access to private patient information.

Officials at G42 have refused to identify who owns the company, though many suspect it links back to Abu Dhabi’s ruling family. G42’s CEO, Peng Xiao, previously ran Abu Dhabi-based firm DarkMatter, which can pool hours of surveillance video to solely track any one person. The company has also hired a number of former CIA and National Security Agency analysts.

Finally, among G42’s marketing and communications staff is Giacomo Ziani, the creator of the video and voice calling app, TikTok, owned by ByteDance and based in Beijing, which is suspected of being a spy tool used by the UAE. The app was the subject of a possible Trump administration ban in September based on the concern that it can be used as an espionage tool.

Since the warning not to use the Chinese-linked COVID-19 test kits was issued, much of Nevada’s business operations have begun reopening, albeit very limited. Furthermore, COVID-19 testing is now widely available, with more than 1.1 million tests for COVID-19 performed and more than 85,000 cases involving1,600 deaths.

Reporters Note Book

Two things when this story first broke: first, the national media seemed far more concerned that the Trump administration had interfered with Nevada’s COVID response than the possibility that the tests kits might be dangerous. Secondly, the first attempt at reaching Gov. Siskolak’s office for comment lead to an entire day of searching for a spokesperson.

Unfortunately, for a supposed ‘transparent’ governance there are no phone number’s readily available to call the Governor’s office or staff. So resorting to email, one was sent to Sisolak’s Chief of Staff Michelle White on Oct. 15, and again on Oct. 19.

Both were responded to within minutes with an ‘automatic reply.’

After the second email was sent, a response from Meghin Delaney was received, reading, “You may direct all press inquiries for the Governor’s Office to me, as the communications director for Gov. Sisolak.”

So, within minutes an email was sent to Ms. Delaney.

The email to Delaney read, “What has become of the Chinese/UAE COVID-19 test kits? Were they returned? Destroyed? Are they sitting on a shelf some where?”

That was Oct 19. It is now Oct. 29 and still no response from the Governor’s office, and yet the question remains the same, “Where are the 250K unused test kits?”

Additionally, the questions of “How can the public be sure that they are not being used?”, “Based on the lack of response, is the Sisolak administration hiding something they don’t want people to know?” and finally, “What part of the 20K collection kits did UMC use and were any of those tested with these collection kits harmed or died as a result?”

In light of Hunter Biden’s laptop and the Chinese connection, is this a wider problem in the U.S. than simply Nevada? The gut says yes.

My wife was explaining to her friend that I see numbers or math equations the same way someone with dyslexia sees letters or words. While it’s call dyscalculia, she kept calling it necrophilia.

Fernley Woman Thwarts Own Abduction

Sunday morning, October 4, 2020, began like many other mornings, a Melissa Wortham, 24, pulled into a parking space at the QuikStop at the corner of Falcon Drive and US 95A in Fernley. She and her 3 year-old son were there to pick up some juice for him, before they drove to the local playground.

Whether the white passenger van was already in the parking lot or not, Melissa cannot say. What she does know, is that it was parked close next to her car, on her driver’s side and that it held four large men, each staring at her and her son.

Prior to seeing the van though, she noticed a big man watching and following her and her little boy around the convenience store.

“My son took off towards the juice and that’s when I saw the man look at him. He had an odd look in his eyes,” Wortham said. “He also had a Gatorade in his hand and after he put it back, he then moved so that he could get around behind me.”

“Before this, he was picking stuff up and putting it back, while side-eyeing us the whole time,” she added.

She described him as being over six-foot tall, 200 lbs., with a dark tan complexion.

“I was in so much shock that this was even happening in my little town, to me and my son, that I didn’t even think to get any better description of him or of the other four in the van.”

While Wortham’s instinct was telling her that she and her son may be in trouble, she heard a voice over the stores intercom announce that because the businesses register system had gone down, the store could only accept cash.

“So, I put everything on the counter and told the person at the register that I had to go out to my car and get my money,” Wortham said. “And as soon as I stepped outside, I instantly saw that white van and how it was parked so close to my car.”

“I could see that the sliding door near my driver’s door, was cracked open slightly. And all four men in the van were staring at me, not taking their eyes off me, which made it very obvious what their intentions were,” she added.

Deciding to listen to her internal voice, she turned around to head back into the store, but by then it was too late.

“The guy that was inside the store was now outside and walking towards us, so I rushed back to my car, tossed my son in the back seat then I crawled into the driver’s seat by getting in on the passenger side of my car,” Wortham said. “Otherwise my back would have been to the four men in the van and I’m sure no one would have noticed that they had grabbed me before it was too late.”

Wortham said she had to fight her emotions to remain calm and not cry as she struggled to think what she needed do next.

“I noticed a lady getting ready to pump gas. She had kid’s in her car and I felt bad for calling her over to help me, but I needed someone to know we were in danger. I don’t think she heard me at first, but the second time, she put the nozzle back and came over to my side of the car.”

While trying to get the woman’s attention, Wortham could see the man that she’s seen inside the store starting to approach her car.

“The guy was walking up behind us, but when he saw the woman from the gas pump coming to my window, he went back towards the van. I never saw him again,” she said. “I’m sure they were there for me, but would have taken up both and all this happened in less than 10 minutes.”

The woman helped Wortham buckle her son into his car seat, then waited with her while she called her mother. After a brief exchange, Wortham left the store’s parking lot and after making certain she wasn’t being followed, drove home.

Once home, Wortham called the Lyon County Sheriff’s office and a deputy was sent out to take her statement. Not one to stand idly by, she plans to be proactive in case she finds herself in this kind of situation again.

“I’m glad I was aware of my surroundings and had somewhat of an idea what to do,” Wortham said. “I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. I’m also looking into getting my CCW (Carry Concealed Weapon) permit since it’s just me and my son most of the time.”

Reporters notes:

By the early afternoon of Tuesday, Oct. 13, there is some confusion as to the whereabouts of Melissa Wortham. The Lyon County Sheriff Watch Commander said she was in jail on charges that he could not discuss and suggested I speak with the Lyon County District Attorney Stephen Rye’s office regarding her situation.

Upon calling the county jail and asking to speak with Ms. Wortham, I was told by a deputy that they had no records of her being arrested or jailed. Finally, I called the DA’s office, and learned that they also have no record of Ms. Wortham being in jail.

“All I show for her is a traffic citation, and that was back in 2018,” the woman in the DA’s office stated.

Again, I was instructed to call the Watch Commander one more time. After confirming who the Watch Commander on duty was, I was put through to Lt. Pete Spinuzzi, at ext. 1005, where my call went directly to voicemail.

Finally, I called Lyon County Sheriff Frank Hunewill’s office. His receptionist put me through to his voicemail, where I gave him my name, who I work for, my cellphone number, and did my best to explain what is going on, and of this articles submission deadline.

Sheriff Hunewill returned my call, saying he was ‘behind the curve’ on this situation. After going over the information I had provided in my voice mail to him, he said he would get back to me.

It is now Oct. 27, two-weeks later, and I have heard nothing from either Deputy Lopez or Sheriff Hunewill.  Further, no official report, case number or press release has been issued in this case.

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

Democratic Presidential candidate Joe Biden’s 39-year-old daughter Ashley wrote in her journal that she “was probably molested,” including taking a shower with her father (Joe) as a pre-teen or young teenager. The screen-grab, from National File, said that there exists an audio recording of Ashley  admitting this is her diary.

Fortunately for her and her recovery from substance abuse, n one is waiting for that ‘shoe to drop,’ however this comes on the heels of a number of reports of Hunter Biden having been filmed in compromising positions with young women. It’s alleged that Hunter has thousands of naked pictures of his then teenaged niece Natalie Biden on his now-recovered laptop.

It now appears as if he was having sex with his sister-in-Law Hallie Biden before and after his brother Beau died, and there are emails in which the sister-in-law/mistress Hallie is complaining to Hunter about his inappropriate activities with her daughter, who is Hunter’s blood niece Natalie, who was 14 at the time.

This means Hunter was sexually involved simultaneously with his sister-in-Law and his pubescent blood niece. As for her part, Hallie Biden reportedly told both Jill and Joe Biden that if Hunter did not stay away from Natalie, she would go to the police.

Her threat must have worked, as there are no reports nor arrest of Hunter made public since the story of the recovered hard-drives broke earlier in October.

Another child with thousands of photos on Hunter’s laptop (at least eight young girls outside the Biden family feature prominently on the laptop) is Senator Chris Coons’ daughter, Maggie. She is already recognizable as the teen girl in the photo with Joe Biden nuzzling and kissing her at her father’s swearing-in.

The photo, a frame extracted from a January 2015 video taken during the ceremony, has been shared thousands of time, if not more, on the Internet, via various social media platforms.  Coon’s has since stated that Maggie, who was 13 at the time, “doesn’t think the vice president is creepy.”

There are also videos of a Hunter smoking crack while having sex with a Chinese actress, supplied to him by the CCP. The next round to drop is said to be of Hunter sexually abusing pre-pubescent Chinese girls, almost certainly trafficked sex slaves.

While it’s true that the majority of this is being leaked from China, the FBI has known about it for well over a year now.

Purge to Pipe to Pedophilia

It’s being reveal that the Obama-Biden administration may have sold out as many as 60 CIA operatives to the Communist Party of China (CCP.) The New York Times report this in May 2017, five years after the purge occurred, which could explain why the hard drives were held by the FBI for so many months.

In the still-classified documents pulled from one of the hard-drives, it is alleged that President Obama gave then-Chinese General Secretary Hu Jintao a box as a gift during his visit to China in 2009. Hu refused to accept the gift, returning it to Obama.

Later, the same box was given as a gift to Xi Jinping, by Vice-president Joe Biden, who did open it, finding a list of operatives and information on his rivals, including secreted monies and adult children living in the U.S. Following the murders, Xi mentioned the “cooperation” multiple times as Biden bragged about “saving Xi.”

Officially, a supposed ‘firewall’ used by the CIA to communicate with its spies in China compromised their identities and contributed to their executions by the Chinese government. The internet-based system, brought over from operations in the Middle East, was taken to China under the assumption that it could not be breached.

Using this ‘firewall,” officials could communicate using ordinary laptops or desktop computers connected to the internet. Considered a “throwaway” encrypted program, it was believed to be untraceable and separate from the CIA’s main communication line.

However, Ukraine also saw the death and disappearance of many its operatives within China. This lost has yet to be explained.

Also on one of the Hunter Biden hard drives is an email from Bo Tiantian to Hunter and Joe’s brother, Robert Biden. Bo Tiantian is a daughter of Bo Xilai who headed the CCP faction, Jiang-Zeng-Meng within the CCP, whose major political rival is Xi Jinping and who challenged Xi for the leadership of the Party.

However, Bo was defeated and sentenced to prison after Biden provided Xi with this information. It’s the Jiang-Zeng-Meng Faction that is believed to have helped uncover the three Hunter Biden hard drives.

Bao Jiaqi, the daughter of another of Xi’s rival, is said to have been the facilitator of the delivery of the hard drives. A graduated from Arizona State University and Tsinghua University, Bao interned for a number of Chinese government agencies.

She worked for Ye Jianming, an oil tycoon according to the New York Post, and was the contact person between Ye and Biden, and whom she calls “Uncle”. Ye Jianming is said to be the main money launderer for Xi.

Ye has since been arrested after Xi found out that Bao was working for him and had allegedly delivered the hard drives to U.S. authorities. But none of the major news agencies are talking about the purge of the operatives or Ye’s arrest.

Instead the media are more concerned with dispelling the claim that Hunter Biden may be a pedophile. This, along with a video allegedly showing him lighting a crack pipe has led to several tech giants, including Facebook, Twitter and Google banning the video or screen-grabs, as well as the news agencies that published the claim.

Meanwhile, an alleged photo of Hunter Biden, having passed out in bed with a crack pipe in his mouth, has made the Internet rounds for days and is suddenly absent from any Google search. So far, no one is saying said Hunter might be and sadly nobody in the media is asking.

The Press Openly Hides Facts

There is plenty of information ‘hidden in plain sight,’ when one understands how to ‘decode’ the media’s path to the ‘truth.’ Taken from newspaper reports over several years, federal records and financial documents show Hunter Biden’s businesses didn’t only benefit from foreign cash, they also got tens of millions of dollars in taxpayer-backed subsidies and loans.

Rosemont Seneca Partners, founded by Hunter along with business partners Devon Archer and Christopher Heinz, the stepson of former Secretary of State Jon Kerry, oversaw tens of millions of federal security loans in 2009 through the founding of Rosemont TALF, a spinoff firm designed to handle funds from the Federal Reserve’s Term Asset-Backed Securities Loan Facility program. The 2008 program was meant to increase consumer spending during the struggling economy and ended in 2014.

After Rosemont TALF was founded, a technology initiative on Maui linked to the larger Rosemont firm received millions in public funding before folding shortly thereafter. State documents shows that mbloom, a tech fund for startups on the island of Maui, received $5 million in combined state and federal funding, $2 million from Hawaii’s HI Growth initiative and $3 million from the federal State Small Business Credit Initiative.

Hunter Biden was listed as the managing director of Rosemont Seneca Technology Partner’s Washington office in early 2014, just as mbloom was getting started, while Archer was managing the company’s New York location.

The fund was ultimately given a matching $5 million investment by Devon Archer, the state announced in early 2014; that funding came via Rosemont Seneca Technology Partners. Almost immediately, controversy came with mbloom’s first two tech investments going to startups run by the fund’s two managers.

Then there is Bohai Harvest RST (Shanghai) Equity Investment Fund Management Co., Ltd., or BHR Partners, of which Hunter remains a director, is a private investment fund backed by some of China’s largest state banks, local government and the national pension fund. At its inception in 2014, BHR listed Rosemont Seneca Thornton LLC, an investment firm co-founded by Hunter Biden, as a shareholder that owned 30% of the fund.

A year later, the two partners in RST, a consortium of Rosemont Seneca and Thornton Group, split their shares in BHR, with Rosemont Seneca taking 20% and Thornton 10%. Rosemont Seneca unloaded its BHR stakes in 2017, while Thornton kept its shares.

BHR is known for being an early investor in some of the fastest-growing technology start-ups, including Didi Chuxing, the digital transport group. It has also invested in Megvii, a facial recognition start-up whose technology has been used in Chinese government surveillance of Uighur populations in China’s western provinces.

Also in 2014, Rosemont Seneca was involved in an attempted $1.5-billion fundraiser for a new fund launched by Harvest Fund Management and Bohai Industrial Group, the Chinese asset manager. The Bank of China International Holdings was one of the biggest stakeholders in Bohai at the time.

Following Devon Archer’s arrest in 2016 on securities fraud charges, the fund’s managers departed, and it was restructured as Reef Capital Ventures.

Hunter Biden’s BHR fund also made an investment in 2014 in the China General Nuclear Power Corp., China’s largest nuclear power company. In 2016, the company was charged along with a nuclear engineer named Szuhsiung “Allen” Ho for conspiring to help China illegally obtain “sensitive and controlled” nuclear technology from within the United States. Ho, a naturalized American citizen, plead guilty and was sentenced to two years in prison.

Senate Finance Committee Chairman Chuck Grassley raised concerns over the process by which the Obama administration’s Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States (CFIUS) approved the acquisition of a U.S. automotive technology company, Henniges in August 2019. Henniges was reportedly jointly acquired by Chinese government entities and an investment firm linked to Hunter Biden and Christopher Heinz.

In a letter to Department of Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin, Grassley requested documents associated with the approval of the transaction, as well as other details that may speak to the legitimacy of the decision-making process, including any potential coordination with the Obama-Biden White House. Grassley was raising concerns about potential conflicts of interest because in September 2015, BHR joined with a subsidiary of the Aviation Industry Corporation of China (AVIC) to acquire Henniges.

The Department of State, then under Kerry’s leadership, is a CFIUS member and would have played a direct role in the decision to approve the Henniges transaction.

As for AVIC, it was sanctioned of five separate occasions since 1993 for activities ranging from violating the Arms Export Control Act and proliferating missile technology in Pakistan to multiple violations related to trafficking missile and other military technology to Iran. In 2014, one AVIC subsidiary was added to the Obama-Biden Commerce Department’s ‘Entity List,’ indicating that AVIC was on the short-list for potential sanctions prior to the 2015 CFIUS decision.

Perhaps they should also look into the fact that more than 60 CIA agents were killed by the Communist Party of China because then-Vice-president Joe Biden gave them the names. This revelation comes following the discovery of the so-called “three Hunter Biden hard drives.”

Fact Checking the Fact Checkers

Public records indicate that Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi’s son Paul Pelosi Jr. served as President and COO of the Ukraine oil company, Viscoil and Executive for NRG Lab and Research. At the time Viscoil was under investigation for securities fraud and for allegedly hiding the fact that the company was controlled by felons.

Viscoil was also one of the companies that was part of the Obama administration’s redistribution of billions of dollars into new energy technology.

This information hit the Internet in early October 2019, prompting President Trump to poke at Speaker Pelosi in December via Twitter.

‘Any answers Nancy? ‘Wow Crazy Nancy, what’s going on? This is big stuff!’ Trump wrote on Twitter two days after initially asking the House speaker to respond to the report.

Since then, Polifact  among others has stated that the connection was false.

“The situation is not similar to Hunter Biden’s appointment to the board of a Ukrainian energy company, Burisma. Paul Pelosi Jr. once served on the board of an American energy company, Viscoil. After he left the board, the company dissolved and re-formed in Singapore under a different name. Pelosi Jr. had no part in the new entity, which is not is not based in Ukraine. It’s unclear to what extent the company has done any business in Ukraine,” wrote Polifact.

So did FactCheck, which in responding to the social media claim that Pelosi, Jr. did not work for a Ukrainian oil company, neither did Mitt Romney nor John Kerry’s children.

“There’s no evidence for social media claims that the children of Nancy Pelosi, Mitt Romney and John Kerry are working for “Ukrainian gas companies” or sitting “on the board of directors for energy companies doing business in Ukraine.”” reported FactCheck.

And then there is Snopes, who dismissed the claim by tearing down and restructuring news reports by publishing:

“On Oct. 3, 2019, the website National File reported a chronologically imperfect and vaguely formulated scoop that U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s son, Paul Pelosi Jr., “was an executive of a gas industry company that did business in Ukraine.”

Though the article alleges no specific wrongdoing, an implication of impropriety is suggested by factually stating that the Speaker promoted this company at an event in 2010, perhaps as an act of nepotism, and that Paul Pelosi Jr. went to Ukraine in 2017. The allegation coincides with unsubstantiated claims of corruption leveled against Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden’s son by President Donald Trump. Similar claims have been leveled against prominent Democrat and their family members.

The National File revelation, such as it is, stems from the descriptions of two videos on YouTube promoting the related companies Viscoil Group LLC and NRGLab. In a video filmed during the 2010 X Prize announcement, Nancy Pelosi introduced her son, who then promoted those two companies via video. The description of the video reads, “Paul Pelosi Jr. is a member of [the] management team of Viscoil Group of Companies and NRGLab. Paul Pelosi Jr. is interested in developing clean energy that can replace gasoline and diesel as transportation fuel sources.”

The first video established Pelosi Jr.’s connection to a “gas industry company,” while a second promotional video created by NRGLab allegedly established a link between that company and Ukraine. The second video, which consists primarily of platitudes about the importance of renewable energy, states in its description that “[Eurovision singer] Mika Newton and other artists are actively involved in promoting the clean technology of Viscoil Group of Companies and NRGLab. … Newton helped to secure the rights to build a plant for the production of SH-boxes in Ukraine.”

As such, the entire link to Ukraine rests in the assertion that the company NRGLab built or intended to build a manufacturing plant for something called an “SH-Box” in Ukraine. For several reasons, this is false. An “SH-Box,” according to a 2013 copy of NRGLab’s business plan, is an electrical generator powered by crystal growth that would be capable of “delivering electricity to billions of people throughout the world at a cost so affordable that it was previously unimaginable, as are the potential profits to be realized as the company … accelerates production.”

As much as these fact-checking organizations wish to destroy the narrative, video and timeline aside, the fact remains Paul Pelosi Jr. did in fact work at one time for a Ukrainian oil company that was under investigation for fraud.

Face Plant

Early this morning, about 2 a.m., my bladder nudged me awake, complaining it was full. So I roll out of bed, letting my feet touch the floor as I remained seated on the edge of the mattress.

I pet the dog that had been asleep beside me and th…

My memory goes blank at this point. However the next thing I recall is waking up with my legs folded beneath me, my arms stretched along my sides and my face on the carpet.

Confused, I looked around the still dark bedroom, not fully grasping the fact that I am on the floor. It would take me another few second to understand that I fainted, or passed out, whichever you want to call it.

After lifting my head, I feel my arms and fingers begin to prickle. Then my legs start tingling as I work to get them out from beneath my hulk.

“Jus’ how fucking long I have I been here?” my brain asks as if I have a quantifiable answer.

“Long enough for your body parts to fall asleep,” I hear myself say.

Finally as I push myself to my knees, starting the process of get to my feet, I feel the pain of a busted lip. I either bit myself or I banged my face on the floor.

Either way, I’m bleeding and it hurts like hell. I get up and trudge to the bathroom to finish my business, fortunate that my bladder didn’t let go after I hit the carpet.

As I stood over the toilet bowl, I found my feelings a tad bruised. Mary didn’t wake up and neither did either of the dogs.

“Well, how’s that for a fine how-do-you-do?” I grumble as I climbed back between the warm covers.

Time to see a medical doctor.

Three Red Banners

Jus’ connecting the dots here, so don’t shoot the messenger…

Three Red Banners’ is a PRC slogan which calls on the Chinese people to build a socialist state which consists of socialist construction, the ‘Great Leap Forward’ and the people’s commune.

One of the many things I enjoy is the study of semiotics or iconography, or whatever the heck you call it. And I found this to be most interesting as I drove through Reno, Nevada, yesterday afternoon.

While I’ve seen these signs from time to time around Northern Nevada, I never gave it much thought. But then because of all of the news regarding Joe Biden and his son, Hunter, being involved with the Chinese, I found this not only to be more than interesting, but a startling and subliminal inference.

That being said, I am not really implying anything, I’m jus’ tossing this out there for you to make your own decision about the true meaning represented in the Biden/Harris signage. In the end — it may mean absolutely nothing and is simply the product of my over-active/over-imaginative mind.

And as an interesting side note: 2020 ÷ 666 = 3.033033, which according to Biden’s signs is also his campaign text number of 30330.

Mind blown?

Face Mask

It had been a direct flight from the mainland of China to the mainland of the U.S. and back again with none of the trained professionals taking the time to sleep. Instead, they now sat around the cramp conference table of the 707, drinking coffee, chain-smoking nervously, all studying and discussing what each in their respective fields had noted during their investigations.

These were some of the most intelligent, highly-regarded, well-trained and respected people in their disciplines; Nobel prize winners, university professors, hospital department heads, private pathologists and virologists and federal medical professionals. And when finished with the third round-table discussion, they did it some more.

At first they called it Bat flu, then Wuhan flu, the China flu, and 2019-nCoV before settling on the fanciful sounding, “Novel Coronavirus.” This made this disease sound as if it had been created in a petri dish, which it had, in a fun-filled lab, which it had not, and thus much less scary, which was the final consensus.

Once deplaned, each embarked back to their separate lives, their separate homes, separate families and friends and their separate work places, carrying in pockets, jackets, briefcases and binders, their face mask labels reading, “Made in China.”

A 45-year-old Recollection

2020 Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden at one time tried to block the evacuation of tens of thousands of South Vietnamese refugees who had helped the U.S. during the Vietnam War. As a senator, Biden was adamant that the U.S. had “no obligation, moral or otherwise, to evacuate foreign nationals,” dismissing concerns for their safety as the North Vietnamese Army and Viet Cong swept south toward Saigon in 1975.

As South Vietnam collapsed at the end of the Vietnam War in the spring of 1975, President Gerald Ford and the U.S. government undertook to evacuate thousands of South Vietnamese families who had assisted the U.S. throughout the war. The leading voice in the Senate opposing this rescue effort was then-Senator Joe Biden.

Hundreds of thousands of South Vietnamese allies were in danger of recriminations from the Communists, but Biden insisted that “the United States has no obligation to evacuate one — or 100,001 — South Vietnamese.”

In April 1975, Ford argued that, as the last American troops were removed from the country, the U.S. should evacuate South Vietnamese who had helped the U.S. during the war, too.

“The United States has had a long tradition of opening its doors to immigrants of all countries … And we’ve always been a humanitarian nation,” Ford said. “We felt that a number of these South Vietnamese had been very loyal to the United States and deserved an opportunity to live in freedom.”

But Biden objected and called for a meeting between the president and the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to voice his objections to Ford’s funding request for these efforts. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, who led the meeting, told the senators that “the total list of the people endangered in Vietnam is over a million” and that “the irreducible list is 174,000.”

Biden said U.S. allies should not be rescued: “We should focus on getting them (the U.S. troops) out. Getting the Vietnamese out and military aid for the GVN (South Vietnam’s government)are totally different.”

Kissinger said there were “Vietnamese to whom we have an obligation,” but Biden responded: “I will vote for any amount for getting the Americans out. I don’t want it mixed with getting the Vietnamese out.”

Ford was upset with Biden’s response, believing that failing to evacuate the South Vietnamese would be a betrayal of American values: “We opened our door to the Hungarians … Our tradition is to welcome the oppressed. I don’t think these people should be treated any differently from any other people — the Hungarians, Cubans, Jews from the Soviet Union.”

The Senate Foreign Relations Committee recommended that the bill be passed by the full Senate by a vote of 14 to 3. Biden was one of just three senators on the committee who voted nay. The conference report also passed the Senate as a whole by a vote of 46-17, where Biden again voted against it.

Saigon fell on April 30, 1975, and hundreds of thousands of South Vietnamese who did not manage to escape the country were eventually sent to reeducation camps, where they were abused, tortured, or killed.

Despite opposition from Biden, and other leading Democrats, the U.S. military evacuated over 130,000 Vietnamese refugees in the immediate wake of the collapse of South Vietnam, and hundreds of thousands more were resettled inside the U.S. in the following years.

His Secret

“Do you hear that?” she whispered.

“No,” I answered.

“Sounds like a ‘clickity-clack.’”

“Must be coming from the neighbors. How long have you been awake?”

“A couple of minutes.”

“Was it the sound that woke you?”

“No. I had a strange dream. That’s what woke me.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“I was dreaming that the old manual typewriter in the other room, the one your friend gave you, was working all by itself, writing a story.”

“I wish it worked like that,” I said, knowing what tomorrows story would be.

“Shh,” she urged, “Did you hear a ‘ding?”


Not in Front of Me, You Don’t!

Went to Walmart today and saw a 20-something woman slap a disabled, wheel-chair bound WWII Army vet from behind and on the side of the head. I said nothing as I walked over a slapped her hard across the face.

Then I called the cops and shielded him from her until they arrived. The elderly vet, smiled and with tears in his eyes, simply looked up at me and said, “Thank you.”

Yeah, I’ll be your Huckleberry!

It’s like this — doing right can be frightening. Doing right, though never truly hurts. Being arrested is temporary. Court room and jail time is also temporary. In the end I wanna hear: “Good and faithful son.” For me, that’s the take away for defending the defenseless.

And yes, you can call me an asshole for striking a woman. I don’t give an eff.

Picture Window

The two stucco houses sat facing one another, across the long-time quiet street. Each home had a large picture window in front, and that’s how he came to see her.

She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and he had no way of getting her attention. Neither one, it seemed, were allowed to leave their homes due to the pandemic.

He waved, jumped up and down, did somersaults and even screamed at the top of his lungs, till he lost his voice. And still she did not look his way.

It wasn’t until a springtime thunderstorm did she finally look across the street. The sudden flash of lightening startled her and she looked to see him smiling and waving frantically.

She stood in front of the window and waved back, excited to suddenly have a friend. Then she held up a single finger and disappeared from the room.

When she returned, she held a piece of paper against the window. It read, “Can you sneak out?”

Without thinking, he shook his head yes. Quietly, he opened the front door and sprinted across the street.

Once at the window, he looked in and found the girl was nowhere to be seen. Then he back away from the window, having noticed that he had no refection.

Frightened, he raced home. Once inside he look across the street to find the girl standing in the window, looking very confused.

“What happened?” she mouthed.

“I don’t know,” he responded, raising his hands, gesturing that he didn’t know.

That’s when he saw it – or rather –didn’t see it. His hands were suddenly invisible and his forearms were beginning to disappear.

He looked at the girl and could see that she too was vanishing, piece-by-piece. She looked panic-stricken and ghastly pale.

He race back to the door and swung it wide open and indicated for her to do the same. She did.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, as each of their bodies continued to fade away. Then they ran to one another and hugged.

Sharing their fear, they burst into a single bright flash of energy and evaporated. Neither knew that they had long been dead because of the virus and were only memories trapped in each others picture window.


Nighttime again and I’m in bed again. Actually on top of the bed. Too hot for blankets, even with the air conditioner and over-head fan running. My brain is running, too. Running hot and I cannot even begin to tell you what it might be that I had been thinking only a minute before. There is no backstop to the hard thrown pitch that curves in over home plate and slips by at the outer-edge, and still my body is burning up, my brain, boiling.

With a helpless sigh, I get up and pull on my shorts and a tee. Gonna sit out in the living room for a while, relax if I can, maybe fall asleep on the couch like I’ve done so many times since March. A slight chuckle huffs from my chest, exits my mouth at parted lips as I realize that I never used to falling asleep on the couch. What makes it so funny is that I promised myself that I’d never do such a thing.

Best laid plans — and all that bullshit.

Music. The bedroom door is closed so I don’t interrupt my wife’s sleepage and I turn on the radio, adding even more light pollution to the living room. The microwave and the stove’s lighted numbers, the refrigerators blue-glow of ice and water dispensers, the Internet tower and the TV satellite box.

We are not in Kansas anymore, nor are we in the 70’s or earlier.

Speaking of the fridge, one side is the freezer, where I keep the booze. Sure, I’m overheated on a rather warm night for October, but my taste-buds aren’t broken, so I help myself to tumbler of liquid-relaxation and trouble-starter. Isn’t gonna help my brain none either, but what the hell. I have all night and early morning if I need it and no place I have to be. So bottoms up.

The gentle fwup-fwup of the overhead fan feels good and the blades are syncopated with my heart’s beating.  But it seems that there is nothing decent on the radio. So, what about that black-box of NSA doom? I’ll ask her.

“Alexa, play soft-rock.”

“Here’s a station you might like, 70’s soft-rock.”

Two or three tunes in and I’m on my feet, slow dancing in the dark, by myself, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other madly conducting the band. Berlin. Take My Breath Away. Whadda song, memories of youth well spent and the knowledge that my old age is being wasted.

More laughter, because that isn’t what I really meant to think. But now, I can’t recall what it was I was thinking. Two sips and this Scotch whiskey is already touching my head. Perhaps it isn’t the drink at all. Maybe it the fact that thoughts come and go faster than I can hold on to them. Seems to bug me more than when I was kid. Back then I used to tell myself that there was plenty of time for those lost thoughts to come back around.

Hmm…maybe I was right: my old age is being wasted.

So lets get serious! I walk to the back room, the computer room and switch on my best quarantining friend and it lights up at my touch. Time to get some of my rambling thoughts down on paper or rather the computer screen. Then it happens like it always happens — what the fuck was I thinking and what the fuck do I write about now. Oh, how the dirty, foul, vulgar words slam up against the gate that are my front teeth and I force them back, swallowing a considerable amount of sharp-edges that leave me feeling like my throat is grated and raw.

Then I think how at 12, my dad brought home a cassette recorder that someone had given him. It came with a blanket tape, a wall plug and microphone. It was the first time I’d ever heard my voice, stuttering and all, and I fell in love with the idea of talking into a mic. Over and over and over again I recorded myself till the tape finally wore out, getting so badly jammed that not even with a pencil could it be saved. Back then, though I don’t remember what I was gobbling about as a preteen, it seemed that I had a lot to say. Unlike then, his night — soon to be this morning – nothing come to mind and I’m happier to be pounding at the keyboard and not staring blankly, dumbly at a cheap microphone.

“God, help me,” I hear myself pray, “Clean up my dirty mouth, help me put my thoughts in order, help me write something more notable than this rambling scree and please, keep me cool and let me sleep. Amen.”

Hot Seat

Think I’ll sit right here
In this chair and fry.
And why not?
I don’t do much else
And being so inactive
Is leading
To my death anyway.

So quick,
Give me that plug,
If you won’t do it.
I can and I will.

Don’t forget
To unplug me
When I’m well done
Or to break my knees
So I can lay out flat
When they light
That blaze beneath me.

The Wrecking-crew

Everybody was off doing their own thing. I sat on the couch, alone, in my usual place, feeling sorry for useless ass, a drink in one hand and my revolver in the other.

As I slowly got drunk, I began hearing voices. These were voices I had know a long time ago and they belonged to people I knew were dead.

One in particular belonged to a guy named Carlos. We’d been tight in the Suck and I was there the day half of his head exploded from the bullet of a Kalashnikov.

“Come on, Tom,” he gently said, “Then we’ll all be together again.”

Slowly, his form moved from the shadows and into the light that slipped through the blinds from the streetlamps outside. In quick succession there was Johnny, Ray-Ray, Olsen, Gonzales, Jonesy-boy, Smitty, Garrison, Ames, Manetti and Metcalf.

They were all there. The old Wrecking-crew as we were known, the one’s given the shit-ass jobs that no one else wanted to do.

“Come on, Doc, don’t be a coward,” Carlos said.

I fingered the revolver that I had resting on the arm of the sofa and took another slug of my drink.

“You ain’t Carlos,” I stated. “Carlos would never called me coward, pussy, maybe but not coward.”

I gulp another mouthful of my liquid courage and closed my eyes.

“You can’t fool a fool,” I chuckled to myself.

Then came the figures from the darkness no man wants to see. The death and the possible dead, that he helped create.

They were there for me. And though I had no idea what these being were saying as they spoke their own tongue and not my native American English, I knew they were urging me to commit the final act.

One figure moved closer than the others. I recognized his face, though it was half-rotted.

He was a Soviet Army officer and he still bore the wound I inflicted on him jus’ to the left of his sternum. His uniform was matted with mud and debris, the wound entrance, though tiny, was stained a greasy, black and the hole in his tunic was rough edged.

“Yбей себя,” he repeated over and over.

Though I speak not Russian, I was certain he was also urging me to kill myself. I picked the revolver up again, followed by more drink.

да!” he hissed at me.

It was one of two or three word I understood and it startled me. So, I took another long swallow of booze before answering, “Hет!”

With that I popped open the cylinder of the gun and slowly began unloading the cartridges, standing them up, single file a pointer finger width apart on the glass coffee table before me. As I did this the atmosphere in the half-lighted room changed and became chilled.

I picked my glass up and tossed off the last of the liquor.

The many figures, those that appeared as my buddies, those whose memories still torment my sleep and sometimes my waking hours, were gone. In the corner though, half-crouching was a hideous creature, red skin that remained taut across it’s sharp bony features, yellow-green eyes, that did not blink and elongated hands with fingers that bore dull-black dagger like nails.

“You,” I said, as a challenge. “Probably not what you really look like either, you old bastard, trickster!”

He words came to me as a growl, but I could not understand them either. Again, I was certain he was trying to get me to end my life so he could have my soul.

Staring at him, I reached for the bottle at the edge of the table and pour myself another snoot full of alcohol. I downed it and leaned back in the couch.

The thing in the corner growled and hissed some more instructions. Then it fell silent.

Still staring into the malignant eyes of that other-worldly grotesque, I began, “The Lord is my shepherd…”

The table began to shake violently and suddenly shattered as if struck my a baseball bat. My eye’s left the monster to see the table divide into a thousand shards, and when I looked back, the malevolent creature had vanished.

I continued, “I shall not want.”

Picked up a hitch-hiker last night.

Once in the truck, he asked, “How do you know I’m not a serial killer?”

“Statistically,” I answered, “It would be very rare to have two operating serial killers working in the same area, let alone sitting side-by-side in the same vehicle.”

He didn’t believe me.

Little Sister

“Whose jacket is this?” Mary asked me, as she grabbed her wrap from the coat rack on the wall.

I look at it as she lifts it up, “I don’t know. Maybe it belongs to one of the kids. Could have left it when they were here last week.”

“You’d think one of us would have noticed it before then,” she said.

In a hurry to get to work, she hung it back on the hook and headed out the door. I returned to my keyboard and computer after seeing her off, without giving the jacket another thought.

Around 11 that morning, the doorbell rang and light knocking came at the front door. I had jus’ filed my first article and was needing a break anyway.

I opened the door to a young man of about 15-years.

“Hi,” he choked, obviously shy and uncertain about what he was about to say.

“Hello,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Umm, I’m here to see Marcy,” he tried smiling.

I must have given him a hard stare, because he stepped back from the doorway as if he thought I was about to punch him or something.

“Are you sure her name is Marcy?” I asked.

“That’s what she told me last night after our walk around the neighborhood,” he said.

“You and Marcy went for a walk? Last night?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

A teenager using the polite word ‘sir,’ turned me. I had been thinking he was there to pull some sort of prank on me and I was trying to decide if I should shew him away or invite him in for a further conversation.

“Come in,” I smiled.

He hesitatingly step in the doorway as I made my way to the kitchen.

“Wanna cup of coffee, a soda, some water?” I asked.

“No thank you,” he answered. “I jus’ wanted to see Marcy again and get my coat from her.”

“Is that your coat then?” I asked, pointing to the one we hadn’t recognized earlier.

“Yes,” he said, adding ‘sir,’ following a pause.

I sighed heavily, then said, “Well, you best come in and sit down. I’ve got somethings to tell you.”

Hesitantly, he walked around and sat on the couch.

“Be right back,” I offered.

With my coffee cup in hand, I walked down the hall to the back room and pulled down a photo album, and returned to the living room. I slid a chair across the floor so we were nearly knee-to-knee and opened the book.

“Is that her, Marcy, I mean?” I asked.

“That is,” he answered.

“I thought so,” I returned.

“She does live here, doesn’t she?” he asked.

“Well,” I stumbled, “Yes and no.”

He knitted his brows as he tried to make sense of this last statement.

“I’m not sure who or what you took a walk with last night,” I began, “But know it wasn’t Marcy – at least in a human form – you see, my youngest sister died over three-years-ago at the age of 47 and you see that redwood box on top the Ethan Allen?”

He looked towards where I was pointing and nodded.

“Those are her earthly cremains,” I continued, “So, yes, she is here and no, she’s not. I’m sorry.”

He sat for a minute, looking stunned before saying, “But she was so real.”

“I honestly don’t know what to tell you,” I replied.

Still in shock, he rose, offered his hand and said, “I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry to have bothered you like this.”

We proceeded to the front door as I told him, “Thank you for the condolences and you haven’t bothered me a bit. You see, this isn’t the first time Marcy has done this.”

He looked blankly at me as I nodded my head, before adding, “If you need to talk about this some more or if you happen to see her again, don’t be afraid to drop by as I’m always open to talking about her, it, when ever you would like.”

I handed him his jacket and as he looked down at it, I could tell he wanted to ask how it came to be hanging inside our house, but I answered before he could say a word, “I have no explanation, so your guess is as good as mine.”

I closed the door as soon as he left the porch, side-eyeing the redwood box as I passed by to continue writing up my next news assignment.

Stupid Should Hurt

My wife and I got into an argument over a tree branch that had been hanging over the fence line and into our neighbors backyard. She wanted it removed; I said it wasn’t hurting a thing.

Finally, after feeling sufficiently nagged half-to-death about it, I grabbed up my pruning saw and suspension ladder, and stomping my way out to the base of the tree, setting everything up. Did I mention that I was pissed-off at this time?

No? Well, I was.

Climbing up the ladder, I proceed to saw away at the 20-inch thick branch. My wife comes out the back door in the meantime, to look, she says.

I think it’s more to gloat.

“Hun,” she starts, “You really should…”

I interrupt her, “Leave me alone, I’m already doing what you want. Isn’t that enough?”

“Thank you for doing this,” she starts, “but I think…”

“Never mind what you think,” I blurted out.

Jus’ then the branch I was working on cracks, crunches and falls away. With it came the ladder and me.

In my anger, I had hung the ladder on the branch, then proceeded to cut the branch out from under myself. So yes, stupid should hurt.

Spin: Revelation’s Science

When she didn’t answer, Miguel figured she didn’t know.

“Why is she crying,” he thought, not understanding his speaking made her happy.

He also didn’t understand that it had been a fight, this burning. Had he been older, learned to watch the television news, he’d of known what was twisting in his singular mind.

Each side, correct, but they couldn’t see the actual depth of their arguments. The outcome was the same and the outcome was as deadly as either.

A ball of flame was the spinning image in Miguel’s head and all-sides would learn that tomorrow was too late.

Spin: Flames

The radio played, “The Bones,” a song Miguel had learned to ignore. It had played and played and every time the radio was turned on, it played again.

Only one line held any interest for him: “The house don’t fall when the bones are good.” What it meant, he didn’t know or understand.

He chewed his perfectly buttered and jellied toast, turning the sentence over in his mind. Key words hung in his brain, house, fall, bones, good. An image flashed through his broken brain, the dome melting.

“What’s a supernova?” he asked his surprised Madre.

She couldn’t help crying.

Spin: Breakfast-time

“If only those ‘others’ could understand what I know,” Miguel thought. He didn’t talk, he didn’t feel he had to.

He was slow to get dressed, he couldn’t stop shaking the small plastic globe, the fascination had become a full-blown idea, one he’d never be able to share, not that he really wanted too.

“A world,” he grunted as he slipped his pants on, “A globe, a dome, and we all live in it and under it.”

“Miguel!” he heard his Madre say, “Your desayanos getting cold. Prisa!”

His thought of the dome disappeared as he hurried towards the kitchen.


Not even one cloud could be seen for entertainment sake as I lay flat on my back, the cement pad as a bed, suffering back spasms. Usually I go inside and flop on the futon, which is laid out like a bed in the back room when my back says ‘Screw you, we’ve had enough.’
Couldn’t make to the futon, so I laid down after dragging the last box out of the garage and behind our gate. Been feeling the pain every since and not even three shots of whiskey has managed to mask the pain of my ‘four and five.’

Laughingly, both dogs came over to see what was going on. Yaeger gave me a sniff, then wandered off to piss in the yard, while Buddy felt it necessary to lay on me and lick my sweaty face.

We’re getting up early in the morning, so we can go buy glue and insulation. And as I sit here, tapping out these words, I realized that I’ve no idea how I’m going to insulate the ceiling other than hanging some drywall first.

Before I put up the insulation, I plan to hide a family picture and short note in an envelop so that one day, after my wife and I are gone, and our son has sold the place, a family doing some remodeling will find it and learn a brief history of their home. I’ve always wanted to do this and though my wife poo-poo’d the idea, I’m doing it anyway.

Think I’ll add a ‘Trump 2020’ sticker and a Comstock Chronicle too, so they’ll also have some dated memorabilia.

Spin: Especial

Miguel rolled over in his bed, pulling the twisted sheets out from under his body. He reached for the plastic snow globe and spun it back and forth.

The autistic boy smiled as the flakes of snow flitted and floated about the water and drifted to the blue base of the globe. Miguel didn’t realize it, but his dream was quickly fading from his thoughts.

“Simple minded,” he’d heard the others say, but Miguel knew different. He was more than ‘different,’ he was ‘especial’ and knew it, even if the others didn’t understand.

“Desayuno!” he heard his mother call out.

Spin: Bright Weight

With horror, she touched the gun tucked in her black sweat shirt’s pocket. It brought a glaze of sweaty moisture to her neck and back and she pushed the hood of her shirt from her head.

“God, it’s bright out here,” she complained.

Standing up, she walked to a nearby garbage can and dropped the gun into the trash. She felt a great weight lift from her shoulders and it felt good.

The city was quiet as she strolled back the way she’d first come. What had she come to the park for in the first place?

She couldn’t remember.

Solenoid Switch

Twice now, I’ve sneezed and it feels like I’ve ripped something from the back of my smoke-parched throat. I do this after learning that the President and First Lady have tested positive for COVID-19.

“Well, folks, that there is the election,” my wife has pronounced.

Meanwhile, someplace in the back of my mind I hear an MSM talking-head gloat that the First Couple are with the disease.

My wife has gone to work, a ‘lunch lady’ we joke, but she’s good like that. Me? I wanna close my eyes, sleep and dream.

But there are sheets and towels to wash and later, beds to make. 12 minutes left in the cycle.

As I await their completion, I’ve turned on our sprinkler system. Section 5 hasn’t been working for the last couple of months and is finally fixed after replacing a burned out solenoid switch.

The poor grass is dry and dying, yet I allow myself to be hypnotized by the rotating sprinklers. Round and round they go, reminding me of playing in the water as a kid.

The image shifts and now I think of my favorite horror character; Cthulhu. But wait! There are no leather wings and then I think of a gigantic spider, a tarantula, one infused with radiation and on the hunt for human blood.

Better yet, I imagine the spinning spray of an Esther William’s movie. I visualize her, in all her fabulous technicolor glory, rising slowly from the center of the water-wheel and gracefully raising her arms above her head and plunging into the…

My poor grass, once so lush that I could lay in it, now dry and dying. Esther Williams has disappeared between the yellow-brown tufts of grass.

I cough.

My throat feels raw from sneezing and now I’ve begun coughing. Hell of a way to start the day as I burble a gulp of hot coffee all over the table.

The washing machine calls for my attention with it’s melodic tone, one I once mistook for my cellphone’s ringer. Answering ones cellphone doesn’t help get the wash into the drier, but it is worth a snicker.

Answering that other call, the sheets are in the drier and I’m sipping another mouthful of coffee. It occurs to me that I ought to go dance in the sprinklers before it gets too late.

Gosh, my coffee tastes great and Esther is such wonderful company.

Spin: Renewal

She started to cry. Long, hard sobs that felt like she were emptying her soul down her face, down to her chin, snot draining from her nose.

Everything seemed to be falling out of her life and she couldn’t control it what was happening. The idea made her begin to laugh, first low and quiet, then loud and even more uncontrolled.

The man with the rosary, the beads, the ability to avoid death, stood and looked down at her but not with any demeaning intent. “Welcome to your new life and have a good one,” he smiled and walked away.


Why I should recall his face after so many years, I don’t know. Dale White Sun is his name and I met him at the Stumps.

A Shoshone, he had never lived on a reservation. No, he grew up a suburban child in Glendale, Arizona.

Once his service was up, he left the Corps and headed off to the desert. I’ve never seen him since, though I did look for him a couple of times, including once the same year my brother died.

“Enjoy the rest of your time in the Suck,” he said, “And look me up when you’re out.”

Final last words as we shook hands and he climbed in his beater ‘73 Chevy Nova. The old ‘No-Go,’ as he called it.

As I lay in bed last night, into morning, I thought of him. I also thought how he’d given me a very small crystal skull.

It was on a piece of leather and was actually made of glass. I thanked him and wore it when ever I had the chance, which was nearly every time I was out of uniform.

It’s stowed in a wooden box among a hundred trinkets collected over a life time. I have since removed the piece of leather after breaking it one afternoon.

Also on my dresser are my tennis shoes. I put them there because we’ve had a sudden infestation of brown scorpions.

As a man of habits, some OCD tendencies, I rap the heel of my sneaker on the carpeted floor in my bedroom and out pops one those bugs. I’m quick about grabbing the bastard by its pissed-off stinger and rushing it outside to set it free.

“I can’t kill it, don’t want to kill it,” I think.

Had I slipped my foot in that shoe, it is no doubt I would have been stung. It is a juvenile in this case, so it would have unloaded all of its poison and my foot would’ve been swollen to twice its size in minutes.

There’s been enough death.

Search as I might, I could never find Dale. I located a bunch of people who know him, directed me out to a place beside a mountain in the Arizona desert, where I found the stone hut he’d began constructing.

But no Dale.

The hut was nearly complete. The wood slats that served as a roof had begun to warp and bend as the sun cooked them, no window panes, only wood shudders and an old bed, blankets and sheets filled with the sand and dust of wind storms.

I returned three times, leaving my skull where he could find it should he suddenly reappear.

After my first trip out, 42 miles one way, go to the right at the fork, half mile passed the new water tank, I started hearing rumors. They were not good rumors.

One afternoon, when I still wore the skull around my neck, now strung on a piece of hemp twine, I was working for a moving company. I casually jumped from the loading dock, a distance of three, perhaps four feet, and the skull rose up and slapped me in the front teeth.

There was a very small chip in my left front tooth, so tiny only I could notice and only when I licked my tongue over the upper bridge. I removed it.

That was a year after my second sojourn into the vast Arizona desert, following the hints I had realized tucked in the many rumors I had heard.

By this time I was certain he was dead. Murdered, either by accident, during a gang beating or purposely during the same violent act.

“If you’re lucky, you might find a bleached bone,” I was told more than one time.

With it came the finger of accusation and who might have done Dale in and why.

“He was an Indian,” this one stated, “He found gold,” that one claimed, “Water,” another said. I could never figure it out and as I skirted closer and closer to the truth, the more I found myself feeling threatened.

No one said or did anything. It was the silence I encountered, a deafening lack of sound, that unless you’re on point , you never hear coming till it is too late.

Years before this, I was hiking by myself when I found a prosthetic leg. Seeing it hung up in the scrub left me chilled, believing there could be a body nearby.

I backed out the way I came and notified the law.

Questioning ensued, nine-hours worth. Then, it was over — after someone looked up the serial number etched in the aluminum shaft and learned the man it belonged to was alive and that the ‘peg’ had fallen from an airplane he’d been in.

How it came to fall from a plane passing over the desert, was never answered. I had to simply accept it and move on.

The third time I returned to the stone hut, I felt the eyes of malignancy on me and I knew I had to beat feet from the area. I grabbed the glass skull I had left for Dale to find, the one he would never return to find and I left.

I’m sure Dale lays buried in shallow grave out in that lonely and mostly empty desert.

Shortly after coming home, where once again I felt safe, I consulted a friend, a Shoshone medicine woman and she performed a ‘closing ceremony,’ at least that’s what I think she called it, and I said goodbye to Dale’s spirit. Tonight, I’m going to place the glass skull in one of my shoes before bedtime.

I have accepted these truths and have learned to move on.

Wilding Wolf

The thought of thee some stillness doth beget.
I stunn’d am by thy generosity,
By thought of thee my problems I forget.
Upon high desert we two shall soon be seen,

For yonder love doth wait on our behest.
I ne’er shall from embrace of true love wean,
My love for thee hath ev’ry day progress’d.
Love, as the wilding wolf, ruthless in its ways,

Love blossoms when ‘tis planted in the heart,
Love is the wondrous pow’r that speaketh “yea,”
Love doth heal pain and grief, at least in part.
Let rivals come, who chase me at the rear,

With thee, e’en space shall not too bleak appear.

Spin: Choice

“You are everything that you’ve ever experienced during your lifetime,” the man said, sitting at the opposite end of the bench, where all of this had begun.

Her head suddenly filled with ‘pain,’ and then dissipated to vague memories. “What did you do?” she tried to scream.

“Nothing. You’re the one doing it. You’ve been doing it to yourself all of your life – willingly. Now is your chance to make a change. A change to happiness and joy. Your choice.”

She closed her eyes and watched as her bible was rewritten. Suddenly, she understood as the veil lifted from her.