The ‘Town Dummy’ That Saved Tonopah’s Silver

TonopahfromFlorenceHillNWOn May 19, 1900, Tonopah became the site of the second richest silver mine in Nevada, when a prospector named Jim Butler discovered silver-rich ore.

It was also the setting for an epic standoff between the town and an Indian who called himself Coyote Man.

The Yomba Shoshone Band who lived near Tonopah on a reservation, kept to themselves. If there was one thing that scared them more than the white man; it was the Coyote Man who lived near their reservation.

He was bigger than any of them, standing six-feet tall. He looked like a man, but they knew him for a Trickster according to their legends. He was as fast as a snake, and almost as wise as Wolf father. If he had one weakness, it was his pride.

He regularly visited the elders trying to get them involved in schemes that they knew would end poorly for them. They always respectively declined. Coyote Man would show his teeth in what was supposed to be a smile, but came across as a grimace, before leaving.

Luke Denst was a giant among men. He stood six-feet, six inches, tall and weighed 300 pounds. His massive torso sprouted thickly corded arms and legs. His head, perched on a squat neck, looked too small for his huge frame.

He made his living in Tonopah by challenging men to stay in a ring with him for three rounds. They’d win if they were still standing. Luke always won. His reputation was enough for most sane men in the area, but there were always those who put up their money thinking they could beat the slow-moving moron.

You see, Luke had the brain of a nine-year old, and was normally a jovial companion to have around. His good nature hid his anger. He was slow to get mad, but when did, he unleashed a fury that frightened onlookers…and his challenger.

John Denst, Luke’s father, handled all of his affairs and set up the fights. Luke’s fights were more amusing than one might think. It always started out with his opponent pounding on him!

When he finally got hit too hard in the face he lashed out. It generally only took one, or two, punches before his opponent was unconscious. Afterwards, his father would pour a bucket of water over Luke’s bald head to calm him down.

The Coyote man had a vision one night. In it, he was standing in a pile of silver bars that stretched to the skies. The white men in Tonopah gave it to him to protect their town. He wondered briefly what he would do with so much silver, but then the thought disappeared.

When he woke in the morning he set about making his vision true. While staying out of sight, he watched the white miners activities. In particular, he watched where the sticks of dynamite came from.

The shed where the nitro glycerine and dynamite were stored was guarded by two armed men. Coyote Man waited until late that night, and snuck up on the sleeping guards and cut their throats. He took a wooden box packed with dynamite back to his lair.

The first blast rocked the Tonopah Hotel killing most of the inhabitants. In the ensuing chaos another blast blew up the telegraph office and the towns newspaper – The Tonopah Bonanza – office. The town sheriff deputized everyone who had a gun and they swept the countryside looking for whoever committed the atrocities.

When the posse came to the Yomba reservation the sheriff questioned their chief, He Who Walks Softly, who told them he suspected it was Coyote Man. As the large posse rode off it left a cloud of dust hanging in the 100 degree sun. The elders looked at one another sadly.

On day two, Coyote Man blew up the entrances at three active mines. The next day he blew up four mines. A sense of doom and panic crept through the mining community and the townspeople of Tonopah.

Men gathered in large groups and searched for the perpetrator. By now everyone heard what the Yomba Shoshone chief told the Sheriff. Greed held the majority of the miners there.

In desperation the sheriff road back to the reservation and talked with He Who Walks Softly throughout the night. At first light the two men shook hands and parted.

Coyote Man was surprised to see Chief He Who Walks Softly riding alone and crying out his name. Curious, he jumped onto his pinto, and rode down the plateau to hear what he had to say.

“The white men want to parley,” the old chief said.

“Then they know who I am?”  

“Yes, I had to tell them. They threatened the whole tribe.”

A long silence as Coyote Man slowly circled around the chief, lost in his thoughts.

“What do the white-eyes have that would interest me?” he asked with a teasing tone.

Silver bullion. A wagon full.”

Coyote Man allowed a semblance of a smile to curl his thin lips. It was so easy. What cowards those men were!

“Tell them to deliver the wagon here in this valley and I give my word that I will no longer attack them.”

“Oh…there is one more thing,” the chief recalled. “They think you are such a coward that you wouldn’t even fight the stupidist among them to defend your honor.”

Rage lit up Coyote Man’s face. How dare the fools make such a claim!

“Bring him here, and after I beat the fool to death, they will realize I’m not one to mock.”

Luke and his father stood next to the sheriff and chief He Who walks Slowly, and his son. A wagon with a tarp over it waited for Coyote Man.

“You know what to do Luke,” his father assured him as Coyote Man approached on his pinto. He jumped off its bare back and boldly walked up to the five men waiting for him.

“No weapons,” the chief said as Luke walked up to his opponent.

Luke’s sheer size surprised Coyote Man. Then he looked into his eyes and saw an idiot there. He was blinking stupidly and holding up his ham-sized fists in a boxing stance. In a blinding move, he kicked Luke in the crotch while throwing sand into his face!

As Luke lumbered about helplessly Coyote Man hit him repeatedly in the ribs and chest. He jumped on Luke’s back and tried to put a choke hold on him but couldn’t find enough neck to make it work.

When he bit Luke’s nose the giant roared and flicked him off like a flea! He hit the ground hard and suddenly realized he’d been duped. When he got back up he pulled a hidden knife out.

Even Luke’s weak brain knew enough to avoid a knife. But he was mad. When Coyote Man lunged at him he grabbed him and pulled him into his body so tightly Coyote Man’s spine snapped.

When the sheriff and his father ran over to Luke they saw blood welling up on his chest. His rage left him and he was standing there dumbly waiting for help.

Because this was such an embarrasing incident everyone in Tonopah agreed not to talk about it with outsiders. When Luke told the story in the saloon and showed his scar to visitors they would wink at one another and smile at him. Sometime they bought him a beer.

As It Stands, there are times when brawn does overcome brains.

 

The Trench Stalkers and Private Billy

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All was not quiet on the Western front in September of 1918. Cannons thundered and shook the night.

Flares darting into the sky making it daylight for a moment. Men shouting. Machine guns chattering like evil sewing machines.

Another deadly assault on a well-entrenched enemy.

The Germans and the Americans both had elaborate trench and dugout systems protected from assault by barbed wire, mines, and other obstacles.

As the months turned to years, the once small improvised trenches grew deeper and more complex, gradually becoming vast areas of interlocking defensive works that went on for untold miles. They resisted both artillery bombardment and mass infantry assault.

Yet here they were, preparing to give it another try.

The American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) had joined up with the French at the Aisne Offensive (at Château-Thierry and Belleau Wood) in June 1918. The repeated frontal attacks against the well-entrenched German machine gun crews took a deadly toll every time, with little or nothing to show for it.

William “Billy” Stewart was a private in the AEF and managed to stay alive the past three months by sheer luck and determination. He kept a daily diary to pass the long hours of waiting for something bad to happen.

Attack. Or, repel an attack. Today it was attack at 0500. Over the top. Charging through barbed wire and craters from bombs and mortars. Decaying bodies. The wounded screaming for help and their mothers.

The deadly chatter of the machine guns never stopped.

Then the whistle blew three times, and it was time to retreat back over the horrific landscape of death to return to the trenches. Thunder overhead. Cannons. And then the gray skies opened and the rain came down like bullets.

That’s when Billy saw him. He was bent over a body and was eating the exposed soft organs. He was wrapped in a thick black trench coat, and was so busy eating he didn’t see Billy.

The horror of what he saw eclipsed everything in the past three months. He was so stunned he didn’t know what to do. A minute passed, and the thing in the trench coat looked up and saw him.

Instinctively, Billy raised his M-1 Garand and pointed it in the ghouls direction. It let out a high hissing sound and spun around, disappearing into the maze of tunnels. When Billy told his best friend Alan he laughed at him.

“Oh c’mon country boy, you were seeing things,” Alan said.

That night, in his candlelit muddy hovel under the ground, Billy made an entry in his Diary.

“Saw something horrific today. I almost wonder if I was hallucinating as Alan suggested. Some “thing” was eating corpses in the trench lines! It ran when it saw me. Before it disappeared, I got a good look at the pasty white face and bloody lips.

It resembled a man, and was wearing a dark trench coat. I hope it was my imagination. You can’t imagine the horror of that thing making loud chewing noises while consuming a string of intestines. Time to sign off.”

Two nights later, still troubled by what he saw, Billy was on guard duty. His unit fought off a particulary powerful assault that day. The Germans biggest thus far.

This time he saw two of the ghoulish figures dragging a body down into one of the many tunnel openings. Despite his shock he went after them. The first 50 yards were lite up by gaslights in little shelves on the wall. Then darkness descended.

Billy pulled out his flashlight and pointed it straight ahead. He soon got lost in the twisting maze of tunnels that seem to spider out forever. The air was dank and the smell of wet earth assailed his nostrils.

Unit designation signs were posted on some tunnel entrances. He noticed that they were all French regular Army units. He came to a dead-end. Go right, or left? Or, turn around and try to find his way back?

As he puzzled over what to do, he heard faint noises coming from the tunnel on the right. He fixed his bayonet onto his rifle, took a deep breath, and slowly followed the source of the noise.

He came to an opening with a sign above it – “9e Régiment d’Infanterie de Marine.”

Inside he heard animal-like grunts and growls and the unmistakable sound of feasting. He pulled out his MK2 Pineapple Fragmentation grenade. Rifle in his left hand, and the grenade in the right, Billy stepped into the room.

It was worse than he could have imagined! Nine pale skeletal things dressed in regular French Army clothes that were rotting off their bodies. One was wearing a filthy officers hat, and appeared to be the leader.

“Oh look!” the thing hissed, “We are saved by our American friend. What took you so long?” the thing asked Billy, who was looking at the body it was carving up. He could still recognize the face. Alan!

The gernade’s concussion knocked Billy down as he was backing up.

When Billy was able to return to his diary two days later, he made a short entry;  “I wrote a letter to Alans parents and told them he died, fighting bravely to the end.”  

As It Stands, years of trench warfare drove a lot of people crazy on both sides of WW I. No one knows about all the bad things that happened in those miles of terrible trenches.

 

 

 

Future Shock: The Test

Blind Justice

 

 

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“Take your time, because your life literally depends upon it,” the test-giver warned them in his clear announcer’s voice.

In contrast, he also cautioned, “Make sure to answer all of the questions in the allotted time, or you’ll be automatically disqualified.

Three men, and three women, sat in front of a row of desks with computers on them. They all pecked away on their keyboards intently.

Overhead cameras recorded the test, and streamed it live throughout the country.

Viewers at home, or on their mobile devices, listened to a host describe the test’s contents, and give a brief bio on each test-taker. They were rule-breakers. Every Friday, the prison system sent six convicted rule-breakers to the “school room” where the test was conducted.

It didn’t matter if you were a murderer or someone who was caught shop-lifting. If you broke a rule this is where you went in 2053 America. You had to take the test, and if you failed, viewers voted on how you would be killed.

The choices were narrowed down to three categories: The Easy Death – subject shot in the head. A Rough Death – subject beaten to death (several scenarios), and The Really Horrible Death – subject tortured for a day before getting executed by beheading.

The good news for those being tested was that if they passed the test, they were set free. The bad news. No ones ever passed it.

Entertainment executives were delighted with the arrangement. The prison system was never crowded. Each state had one central prison.

Corporations ruled America and reaped profit from anything and everything – including from the struggling mass of citizens who no longer were allowed to vote, but who provided some excellent entertainment on Friday night TV.

Corporate heads ran the government. Billionaires filled all the positions available, including the High CEO’s Cabinet. Old terms, like president, were replaced with a High CEO who demanded everyone kiss his ring. It was a rule.

The test also taught viewers to never break a rule. Among the many rules – posted daily at noon on websites and TVs – was the rule of never saying anything bad about the government or the High CEO. 

The government provided the material for the tests from America’s long history. It should be noted that teaching history in classrooms ceased during the reign of Donald Trump (2016 – 2020).

A new generation of Americans grew up with no idea about their history, or the country’s history. Older Americans, the ones who got history classes in public schools, were dying off and had shaky memories of the old days.

One day a man was going through the rubble where a library use to stand. He was looking for anything that might be salvageable. The great fire of 2024 had destroyed this once house of learning.

The man, whose name was Adam, stumbled across a charred trap door in the ruins. He took his homemade hatchet from his rope belt and hacked away at it. It took an hour of steady hacking before he was finally able to make an opening.

With the aide of his flashlight, Adam went down a flight of stairs and came into a vast room lined with shelves of books. The shelves extended as far as he could see. He was stunned with his find. An answer to his dreams.

Adam always suspected the government’s version of American history was false.

People called Adam a skeptic when he tried to share his views. Others warned him to watch what he was saying outloud. He learned not to talk about them at all.

Now, surrounding him was a real library. He made the library his home for five years, before the police arrested him for not bowing before the state governor when he came to town one day.

It didn’t take long for Adam to have to take the test. It was a bigger than usual audience that Friday night because word got out that Adam dared to defy a government official! That didn’t happen every day.

The minutes passed by as the six convicts concentrated on the questions. When the time was up all eyes went to the top of the computers in front of each person. A red light came on the first computer, and the woman behind it hung her head in dread.

Another red light. And another. When it came to the last computer the light turned…GREEN! Adam shouted with joy. The announcer turned pale and looked around for someone to help him. He didn’t know what to do.

It was a first. The announcer was told it was impossible for anyone to get it all of the questions right. Only the government knew the answers, and had programmed them into the six computers that were guarded 24-hours a day.

Adam was set free. The first think he did was start an underground school teaching real history. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Fake news had dominated for decades. He quickly recorded historical chapters and made the recordings available to anyone who wanted to listen.

Then he gathered together a dozen men and women, and made them his students. Their mission was clear, bring truth back to America.

As It Stands, I’ve often heard the phrase “the dumbing down of America.” I find that to be a very scary thought, and the inspiration for this futuristic cautionary tale.

 

Trump’s Mercenaries Lead Assault Against Environment/American People

sue_for_victory_poster-rb4f66633af804d6880458805341773a2_6z7_8byvr_512Even now that he’s president, Trump thinks he can get away with bullying people and groups.

Using his stable of mercenary lawyers and his new-found bully pulpit, Chump thinks he’s going to last for four-years.

It’s worked thus far, but he’s straining his legal resources with over 75 unresolved personal lawsuits, and defending himself against allegations of obstruction and colluding with the Russians during the 2016 election.

In his latest assault on our environment, Don the Con, unleashed his pack of soulless legal minions on Greenpeace over its part in protecting the Standing Rock Reservation from a corporate pipeline that threatens to pollute the native-Americans only water supply.

 Marc Kasowitz, his personal lawyer in the House and Senate investigations, has his own legal company and it’s representing Energy Transfer Partners (the pipeline owners).

Just so you know, Trump has $1 million dollars invested in the company’s stocks. Sound like a conflict of interest?

Of course, it is. Chump’s whole presidency has been a primer course in flaunting ethics, rules, and laws put into place to protect americans and our legal system. With his flock of legal vultures, Donny has been getting away with everything from not showing his taxes, to obstructing justice by interfering in the Russian/ Trump Campaign investigation.

The people who voted for Rump are going to suffer the most from his reluctance to lawfully continue funding the current healthcare plan when Congress failed to repeal or replace it.

 You know how much Hump cares about his core followers? He’s announced that he wants to let the whole healthcare system – Obamacare – fail. He hopes it’ll crash and spite everyone – including millions of Americans who didn’t vote for him.

But it all falls back to the way Bump parades through life – seeking adulation – and lashing out at anyone that doesn’t believe in his sick agenda. So he’s always kept a stable of hired mercenaries, leting them out like a pack of rabid dogs when things don’t go his way.

But the Orange Mango-In-Chief is going to reap his karma. As he defends Nazis and KKKer’s a seismic backlash is running through the country. When the investigations come to their conclusions, I don’t expect it to be good news for Donnie Little-Hands (his native-American name).

As It Stands, Chump’s motto has always been Sue For Victory, not Make America Great Again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Flew ‘Out’ Of The Cuckoo’s Nest

 

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A very short story told by Dave Stancliff…

When the raisins told Harold the cashews and peanuts were plotting to give him an upset stomach, he threw the bag across the room.

It was the only thing to do, of course. One does not ignore such warnings without consequences. Harold was no dummy. He covered all the bases. He learned to do that in the last 15 years.

They didn’t kill him for stabbing that man because a jury thought he was crazy. Instead they put him in this gray and dull place with other damaged men. The two hulking orderlies there didn’t like him, so he avoided them.

His main entertainment was sparring with the doctors who came in to see him daily. He played them like violins. From Day One they bought his stupid childlike act, and worked with him so that someday he might become a sane and productive person.

It took years. He took their tests to measure his cognitive progress without complaint. He smiled a lot. He learned medical buzz words and when to use them.

He did this while dealing with the conflicting voices in his head. They didn’t know about the voices. That would ruin everything. He’d never get out if they did. It wasn’t easy. Those voices got pretty bossy sometimes.

After a year, he was allowed to watch pre-selected movies every Friday night in the home‘s viewing room. The second year saw him with a TV in his own room. He worked hard to impress those doctors. Day ,after day, year, after year.

Meanwhile, the doctors talked about Harold’s progress and grew to like him. They all secretly felt they were turning a crazy man’s life around with their inspiring words.

They would go home, and during dinner would tell their families what a service they were providing for this man who’d been misunderstood and misdiagnosed all of his life.

There was one big problem for Harold. It got harder every month, every year, trying to control the warring voices in his head. After twelve years, he started responding out loud and cursing the difficult voices.

His will power was tested daily as he fought against blurting out something in response to the voices while the doctors were in the room. Three more years trudged by.
Finally, Harold was up for a parole hearing that could set him free. The doctors bought him a pair of new shoes and suit. It was an auspicious sign. He even got a haircut the night before.

The morning of his big hearing the voices weren’t arguing. They were being sarcastic, but he could deal with that. As he slipped on a new pair of socks the voices offered him a deal.

They would be silent, and just sit in his head nicely if he did them a favor. Not even a murmur, as the worthies questioned him. For the first time in years, Harold began to relax.

Without hesitation Harold agreed with the voices, even though he didn’t know what they wanted in return.

He was escorted by his main doctor to another wing he’d never been in before. They entered a small room with a table, and chairs behind it. One lone chair sat before the long table.

The doctor indicated for him to sit down, then went to one of the empty chairs behind the table. Shortly there after, five more people entered the room. Three men and two women.

He calmly answered their questions and made sure to smile a lot. After an hour passed Harold was asked to step outside and wait in a small lobby across from the hearing room.

One of the hulking orderlies he disliked stood by the door. Time went slowly for Harold. The voices were starting to argue again. He had to be careful. Couldn’t respond to the voices with the orderly so close by.

Finally, the door opened and his judges walked out. His doctor was smiling when he came up to Harold.

“Your going to be a free man soon,“ he said with a twinkle in his eyes.”

They sent him to a transition house two days later. Within six months, counselors there helped him get a job and find a small apartment. They showed him how to open a bank account and how to budget his meager pay.

The voices had been strangely quiet during the whole transition. Six more months passed and he no longer had to see a counselor every week. It was after his last visit that the voices suddenly returned.

“It’s time,” they said, “to hold up your end of the bargain.

He walked over to the bike rack and unlocked his bicycle from the stand. Riding home he asked, “What do you want?

“Human sacrifices!” the chorus of voices shouted.

A month later. A newspaper’s headlines: Ritual Killer Strikes Again,” and “Victim Count Up To Eight.” A monster was loose.

Meanwhile, back at the facility where Harold spent 15 years, his doctors were in the break room wondering how their favorite patient was doing?

The End

As It Stands, I’ve always enjoyed a sense of irony in a story.

An Incident On A Chicago Street Corner

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I’ve got a very short story with a twist for you today:

Scene: a street corner in Chicago.

LeVar’s mouth was cotton dry with fear.

He was surrounded by a group of 18th Street Boys showing guns. As a Loco Boy he was fair game and LeVar  knew they would toy with him before killing him.

LeVar’s thoughts turned back into his past. He saw his mother and father, alive then, smiling at him and telling him he was a smart boy. He was protective of his little sister Diedre. He was a good son.

A police siren shrieked somewhere nearby. Startled by the sound LeVar looked around him for an opening. There were four of them. Heavily armed, bad ass killers, with no souls. Their dark eyes were pinpoints of hate.

Just yesterday someone warned LeVar that some 18th Street Boys were looking for him. He said quit messing around with one of their women, they’re crazy. He should have listened to his homie.

LeVar rallied his courage. His voice sounded high and almost girlish as he told them he was sorry and that he would give them all a lot of money if they let him live. One of the gang knew who LeVar was. His uncle, who he lived with, was a rich retired athlete.

The possibility that LeVar could come up with a lot of money had them thinking. Silence while LeVar sweated. Waiting for their answer. The leader put his Glock down and walked up to LeVar…breathing in his face he was so close.

We want a million dollars. Tomorrow. Call your uncle. LeVar pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. In moments his fate would be decided. When his uncle came on the line and he explained the situation his uncle simply said, “Where do they want it delivered?”

A rush of relief that he was going to live made LeVar’s body tremble with joy.

When the police discovered the body of a young black man full of bullet holes on 18th Street, they sighed and went to work on the crime scene. Another death. They knew who did it. What they didn’t know was why.

The End

My apologies to the great American writer Ambrose Bierce who wrote the classic An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” one of the most famous and frequently anthologized stories in American literature.

As It Stands, Bierce’s story showed there was no glory in war. My take on it is there’s no glory in being a gangster.

 

 

Silence is not Golden: Stand Up To ‘Unite the Right’ Rally

If we work together Love will trump Hate

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Photo Author
Fibonacci Blue from Minnesota, USA

Update: 11:00 a.m. PST – State of emergency as white nationalist rally in Charlottesville turns violent

Thanks to Trump, the alt-rights national recruitment program in America is thriving.

Today, Neo-Nazis and KKKer’s will take over the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia. The event is being called “Unite the Right.” It’s a siren call to fascists, racists, Neo-Nazis, Klan members, and anarchists.

Organizers are expecting 1000 people to attend. Perhaps more, if their pre-rally recruiting did well. Some are calling it the biggest racist rally in recent memory.

While there have been dozens of far-right rallies since Trump’s election, this will be the first major, national rally run by the alt-right’s openly white nationalist wing. 

Charlottesville has seen multiple white nationalist rallies this year. The first, a May 2017 daytime event, was followed by a nighttime torchlight photo-op.

Led by alt-right poster boy Richard Spencer, attendees chanted Nazi slogans like “blood and soil.” The second, in July, was a KKK rally.

The white nationalist rallies have been ostensibly held to oppose the removal of a statue of former Confederate Army General Robert E. Lee. But don’t kid yourself; it’s not that the alt-right gives a tinker’s damn about history, but they do know how to exploit it for their agenda.

Some progressive groups will be there to counter-demonstrate. Hopefully, it won’t turn into a riot. Americans are not particularley happy right now with how things are going; the threat of a nuclear war with Korea, and Trump’s racist immigration policies have set the stage for a high level of tension right now.

The last thing this country needs is idealogical warfare turning into massive street fights across the country.

Counterprotests serve as an immediate denucication of a current event – like this hate rally – but they are not the answer to the problem. The answer lies in sharing the truth about these groups.

Exposing the hate in the alt-right movement is not hard to do. Countering it takes more than a one-off protest against a current event. Silence is not golden when it comes to opposing hate.

We all need to voice our oppostion to this wave of hate through whatever means are available to us. Nearly everyone has access to a computer and social media. We can all write our legislators and voice our opinion.

Finally, most importantly, we can all be examples of tolerance by the way we live, and how we interact with others.

As It Stands, call me old-fashioned…but I believe love trumps hate.

 

 

Things I Never Thought I’d See

I’ve seen the elephant, but nothing like this!

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I use to watch The Twilight Zone, a television anthology series  created by Rod Serling.

The show pushed the limits of reality with psychological horrorfantasyscience fictionsuspense, and psychological thrillers, often concluding with a macabre or unexpected twist, and usually with a moral.

But as strange as Serling’s stories were they pale in the light of our 21st century realities.

Who would have thought America would some day be led by a racist man-child who thought it was okay to grab women’s vaginas?

Who would have thought America would become a laughingstock because we have a narcissist Liar-In-Chief leading us?

Who would have thought we’d be so close to a nuclear war with Korea? It’s a modern day Cuban missile crisis, but we have added the factor of two emotional stunted world leaders threatening each other.

Who would have thought that there would be a renaissance of racism in America in the 21st century, as the alt-right stepped into the lime light after Trump was elected?

Who would have thought that the American people would become so dumbed down by fake news that they would elect a greedy con man president?

Who would have thought something called the internet would change the world?

As It Stands, I’m 66-years old and have “seen the elephant as the oldtimers use to say, but nothing compares to today!

 

Now What? Everyone’s on Vacation

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One of the reasons that I have a blog is I like to write about politics.

But I’m up against a wall right now. Trump and Congress are on vacation, regardless of what Trump claims. That leaves less options. But there’s still news.

For example. 

A federal climate report says the United States is already feeling the effects of climate change, with temperatures rising dramatically over the last four decades.

That’s according to The New York Times, which acquired a draft copy of the report by scientists from 13 federal agencies. But don’t expect to see it.

Trump has made it clear he doesn’t believe in climate change. His administration is going to review the study and then make a recommendation. Do you want to guess what’s going to happen with that report?

It’s going to get filed in the round file, aka trash. That based upon what Trump has said and done, like getting out of the Paris Climate Accord which was signed by nearly every country in the world.

Here’s an perfect example of what science is up against: The Trump administration’s solution to climate change: ban the term

Moving on.

The U.S. is getting sucked into a nasty little war between the Philippine government and an ISIS affiliate who captured the city of Marawi. It’s a siege situation right now. We’ve given limited support thus far.

And on.

I read that USA Today is tracking Trump’s real estate deals, and readers are invited to help.

Since winning the Republican nomination, Trump’s businesses have sold at least 32 luxury condos and home lots for about $20 million to shell companies that shield the identities of buyers.

The identities of people paying Trump’s companies for real estate may come under a microscope as the special counsel investigating Russian meddling in the 2016 election expands his probe to examine Trump’s business transactions.

As It Stands, the best show in the house is always Trump, and our bumbling Congress.

‘Can You Hear Me Now,’ and Other Silly Questions

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If a tree falls in the middle of a forest, does anyone hear it?

The answer is, of course, the wildlife hear it really well, especially the ones that were living in that fallen tree.

If a blog hardly gets any traffic what is the answer?

More than likely, it wasn’t set-up properly and no one sees it on the web. This is especially true if you’re an amateur, like me. Blogging content is also obviously important.

I made a few adjustments yesterday, but I’m not sure they’re making any difference yet. Question:

By the way, how did you find my blog? Moving on…

What were the first words ever spoken on the telephone?

Mr. Watson–come here–I want to see you.”  – Alexander Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone

What would you have said?

I thought about a reply, or two. How about, “Hello! Can you hear me?” Or perhaps, “Hello! Do you deliver pizza?” 

Communication is so important.

The best communication takes place when two, or more people, are in the room and everyone is contributing.

When you see someone walking down the street and talking out loud in what appears to be a one-way conversation, what comes to your mind?

The person is crazy. Or, the person has an earbud in, and is talking with someone else on a cell phone. To determine which it is casually look at their ears – you should get your answer pretty quickly.

As It Stands, when I was younger (I won’t say how young) I thought animals could talk, but they only did it when humans weren’t around.

 

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