My son was about four years old when we went on a campout with a group of friends for the weekend. It was a hot summer day, we were on vacation, and someone handed me a cold beer.

He kept asking for a drink, so I gulped the remainder of the can down, went to the water container, and filled the can up. The next time he asked, I gave him the can, where he promptly took a slug.

He screwed his face up and fairly shouted, “Tastes like wah!”

Everyone laughed as he sat down and continued to take sips from the can. In the meantime, I helped myself to a second beer.

In an unguarded moment, he snatched my can of beer from the cup holder built into the chair I was sitting in and took a gulp. The look on his face said it all.

After he stopped gagging, he exclaimed, “That’s shitty!”

At least three of the seven people gathered around the still cold hearth blew beer suds from their noses.

A Conversation in Heaven

What are you doing here?
I don’t know.
How long have you known Jesus?
Not long.
What were some of the changes Jesus made in your life?
None that I was aware of.
What do you know about justification by faith?
Nothing, I have no idea what that is.
Can you tell us about imputed righteousness?
I don’t even know what that means.
Well, then, when were you baptized?
Did you attend church?
What did you do for a living?
I was a thief.
Then, how did you get in here?
(Pointing to Jesus) He said I could.


Before taking off from Lindbergh Airfield in San Diego, ten Marines hurriedly boarded the commercial aircraft, filling empty seats around me.

“Where are you heading?”

“Camp Lejeune, then to Afghanistan.”

About half an hour into the flight, an announcement came, saying lunch would be available for five dollars.

“You going to buy lunch?” one Marine asked the other.

“No, I’ll wait.”

Looking around, I saw that none were buying lunch, so I walked aft and handed the flight attendant a fifty-dollar bill.

“Please make sure each Marine gets fed.”

Her eyes went wet with tears as she thanked me.

After eating, I went again to the back of the plane to use the restroom, where a man stopped me.

“Here, take this.”

He handed me twenty dollars.

Returning to my seat, the plane’s Captain came down the aisle.

“I want to shake your hand. I was an Air Force pilot, and once, someone bought me lunch, an act of kindness I never forgot.”

I felt embarrassed as passengers applauded.

Later, a passing man reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He secreted another twenty-dollar bill in my palm.

After landing, waiting inside the plane’s door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without a word. Forty bucks!

Inside the terminal, I saw a Marine Sergeant accounting for his nine charges. I walked over and handed him the 80 dollars.

“It’s going be a while before you reach the east coast. Your guys will be hungry before that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to call me, ‘sir.’ I was enlisted like you.”

“Yeah? What branch?”

“Marine Corps.”

How’s That Again?

When it comes to being a smart-ass to my wife, I continue to find myself on her shortlist. But at least I will never go hungry, even when I manage to piss her off.

She was in the kitchen busying herself with meal prep. She had a ham hock and a pot roast on the counter.

“Should I make a roast or pea soup?”

“Anyone can cook a roast.”

I had a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water for dinner.

It was worth it.

From the Sky

The difficulty hasn’t been the writing but finding the time to sleep while writing. Therefore, I have been posting only “Cousin Elmo” jokes, if one can call any of them funny.

As I was finishing up my paper route in Virginia City, I had parked, crossed the street, dropped off some newspapers, and returned to my truck. That’s when I saw the light blue faux leather grain bible in the bed of my vehicle.

My first thought was, “How long has that been there?” followed by, “When did someone put that in there?”

To neither question do I have an answer. Then maybe, it simply fell from the sky.

So, I picked it up, and while sitting in my truck, I thumbed through it. No names, no highlighting, jus’ an off-white ribbon from Santa Rosa, Calif., and the Salvation Army on Pierce Street, that city.

That did not tell me much, so I decided to look over the pages where the ribbon had been place-marking: 1 Corinthians 13, which speaks to “spiritual gifts” and “agape-love.” I looked about the wooden boardwalks and saw no one that could have put it there.

Never one of my favorite letters in the New Testament, I am planning to re-study this scripture. Maybe it holds a message I’ve never known was there.

Perhaps, like the murder of ravens that screamed and followed me earlier in the morning, there could be meaning in this.

Sissy La-la

Bill must have thought I had lost my mind as I jumped up and screamed.

Working by myself, printing newspapers, and folding them demands focus, or I’d find something else to distract me and fall behind in my work. While some foot traffic and vehicles pass by the shop, there are times when it is quiet.

During these quiet times, amid the thump-thump of the printer, strange noises and shadows can be heard and seen. I generally ignore them.

However, this day as I worked, I was looking at a computer on my left. I had turned it on to see the time.

It went to “sleep” a few seconds later. When the screen goes off, it becomes dark and refective.

In that reflection, behind me, standing in the doorway, I saw a figure of a bearded man wearing a miner’s fedora.

As I stood and screamed, Bill backed up and out the door where the bearded man had been standing. I didn’t recognize him with facial hair.

He’ll probably never come by to say hello to me ever again.

Bully Pulpit Bully

Heading into town, I saw three people standing on a corner waving signs, campaigning for their favorite candidate. Generally, I pay sign-wavers, spinners, and holders no mind.

However, I couldn’t help but pay attention to these three — children between 12 and 15. It wasn’t they who stood out, but the man waving his arms, shaking his fists, half-kicking at them, yelling, swearing, and threatening to do physical harm to the trio.

“I’m going to kick your little asses since your dumb bitch of momma didn’t do it when you were younger,” the man shouted as I got out of my truck and approached.

He didn’t see me coming up behind him, but he must have read the middle child’s eyes as the girl looked at me, pleading with her eyes. Suddenly, he spun around, fists up.

“You get away from them right now,” I demanded.

“Yeah, watch’ya gonna do if I don’t?”

“Filet you, like a fish,” I quietly stated. “Now go away and don’t come back.”

“Let’s see you do it.”

I opened my knife with a click.

“Oh, your one of those, gonna pick on an old disabled man.”

“Don’t pull that with me. You’re standing on your own two feet.”

“Well, I have a right to give them a piece of my mind.”

“But not threaten them. Again — move along.”

Still mouthing off, he walked back to his wheelchair that he left in the middle of the crosswalk and started down the sidewalk. I watched him till I felt he was far enough away that he didn’t appear threatening.

“Where are your folks?” I asked, “And do they know you’re out here?”

“Mom’s at home,” the eldest said, pointing to a nearby apartment complex.

“I think you ought to go home because it’s dangerous for you to be out here without any supervision. And it could be worse next time.”

“Okay. Come on guys, let’s go,” she said to the younger pair.

I watched them disappear into the complex before getting back in my truck.

Jus’ Another Self-serving Politician

Ever since New York City Mayor Eric Adams demanded the federal government close down Polymer80 in Dayton, Nev., I have been trying to get current Congressman Mark Amodei or congressman-wannabe Danny Tarkanian to comment on the situation. Nothing from either man.

Getting no response from Amodei has become the norm, as he has never returned an email, a tweet, a FB post, or telephone call in the years he’s been our so-called congressional representative. And because that will never change, and because he has time and again voted to raise our taxes through Democrat-sponsored bills, I refuse to vote for him.

Tarkanian, who wants the job, is heading in the same direction. It is unfortunate.

While willing to bucket-mouth some anti-2A, showboating actor but not say a single word about the jobs and incomes of Northern Nevadans, being threatened by the Cities of Los Angeles and New York, he is not the man for the job: “If Matthew McConaughey thinks he’s going to smile into the camera and get the Second Amendment repealed, he’s completely wrong.” (Danny Tarkanian, Wed., Jun. 6, 2022, Twitter.)

Polymer80 has been in the news for the last couple of years because they manufacture gun kits that do not have registration numbers embossed on those parts. Thus they have been the scary name “ghost guns,” by the propaganda media. The business is within its legal right to do business within Nevada, including selling the sale of gun kits and individual parts outside of the state.

Nevada is being sold down the river again to the UNIPARTY: a coterie of Leftist Democrats and Republicans in Name Only, anti-Constitutional, bought and paid for bunch of backroom deal-making, champagne swilling, cigar-puffing, European-governance loving, Washington D.C. elitist politicos.

Play with His WHAT?!

Recently, my son took up playing the cahóne, a box-shaped percussion instrument from Peru. He has enjoyed it so much that he purchased a second one.

That is where this tale goes sideways.

First, you must know that his wife is of Mexican descent. And though she does speak some Spanish, she doe not speak the language fluently.

While visiting their pastor, my son got out his newest drum and let his wife and the pastor play on it. Afterward, the three of them arrived at the church for worship, where she told church members, “The pastor and I were playing with my husband’s cajones before coming here.”

Creep Factor

Here is a photograph of Nevada Governor Steve Sisolak wearing a Mickey Mouse watch and showing it off to a little girl from his Instagram account. It is in line with American Broadcasting Company and its subsidiary, The Walt Disney Company’s wokeness.

I’m just pointing it out because members of the UNIPARTY cannot see their gaffs and lack total self-awareness.

Blowing Smoke

On Wed., Apr. 1, 1970, President Richard Nixon signed legislation officially banning cigarette ads on the radio. The last advertisement aired on TV on Thu., July 1, 1971, and on the radio long before that.

Why is this being brought up now? Marijuana dispenseries.

First off, if you smoke tobacco or weed, I don’t care. I subscribe to the Thomas Jefferson quote, “If it neither picks my pocket nor breaks my bone, what matter is it to me?”

That said, more and more, I am hearing advertising on the radio for “head shops,” “CBD dispensaries,” and “herbal lounges.” Further, some commercials even describe their “green,” “leafy,” products as “bud” with funky names.

It is only an observation on my part, but I must ask, where is the line drawn between the two?