Making the Universe Right

Thank God for you Jack.

I have reached that age where I cannot always tell the true from the false. I tend to think my younger years were kinder and gentler. But that is a lie. The world has always been a harsh place where one poor decision might spell disaster. Many of us escape a lot of bad decisions intact. We learn and we live. Mostly though, we remember what happened to us along the way. 

I had always been an explorer. Always going somewhere, always trying new things, some good and some bad. I think in the beginning, I wasn't fully aware of all of the judgement and evil in the world until I experienced it in those explorations. These are the things we don't talk about. The things that impact us and change us for the better and sometimes for the worse.

I felt the sting of many bad decisions, some my fault, some not. 

And during those explorations we call our lives, we have bastions or pillars of sanity we meet along the way. Guideposts. People who "get us" when most do not. Jack was one of the ones. One of the few.

Mrs. Webb in the 5th grade. Mr Winchell in the 11th. Doug D when I was 17. Jack S when I was 30. Jim A when I was 43. Des C when I was 47. My 2nd wife when I was 56. That's it.

The list of people who didn't "get me" is much longer. These are the people who judge us harshly. They can't believe we act the way we do. The proper way to act is a secret, discoverable only when you violate some script these judgers carry about in their heads. At their best, they keep their opinions to themselves. At their worst, they seek to actually damage us. The conflict is really about who they are- sometimes our mere presence is something they cannot tolerate.

I understood that at an early age. It took me a lot longer to accept it.

So when Jack S came to me by way of Mayoral edict, I was wary of him and he was wary of me. After a few months of long hours working together, I discovered that Jack was a tolerant, kind person with a large dose of patience. I think Jack discovered that I was a head strong but loyal person. I didn't quit until the job was over. I was always willing to fight for what I thought was right and it landed me in some trouble. Jack bailed me out a few times. I like to think I bailed him out a few times as well.

Many times in the eleven years we were together, I very often looked at Jack like he was a father of sorts. He was caring and tolerant. He was empathetic. He had all the skills he needed to deal with me. Skills my own father never had. Some call these people role models. I call them blessings, perhaps miracles.

For eleven years or so, Jack and I worked hard to make the universe right. We locked up murderers, pedophiles, thieves, and drunks. We suffered through refusals to prosecute, plea bargaining, chicken shit dismissals, and ridiculous sentences. We dodged a few scandals, attended meetings ad infinitum and then one day, Jack up and quit. He never really gave me the reason, but I suspected what it was. For me, the timing could not have been worse. 

So it was, I had another seven years left on my sentence. When you take hard stands or tell people truths they don't want to hear, you don't last very long in the upper echelons of small-town politics. The very best chiefs and city administrators master the art of ass kissing. They survive long stretches, through some combination of convincing folks they are irreplaceable coupled with a large dose of ass smoochery. I have a different script in my head that they don't get. That I made it seven years after Jack, was a miracle all by itself.   

I quit trying to make the universe right in 2007. By then Jack was out enjoying his life. I was certainly the better for having known him. 

So, when I heard Jack had cancer a while back, we talked on the phone after all those years. Same nice guy I had always known, offering hope and encouragement for his future and mine. Some thirty years had gone by, and I still remembered his phone number.

Jack fell ill and died January 5. The new Chief gave me the news. I felt sick to my stomach. The truth is, it has taken me nearly two weeks to come to terms with it. I tried to write a note on his chapel obituary but for some strange reason, it wouldn't publish. 

I loved Jack like a father. He was one of the good ones. I owe him a lot. Thank you for being such a decent, kind man. Jack Stoneback, 1941-2023.

 

You Can't Measure This Heart

Munith Fred Higbee. One of the very best. A cop story.

I met Fred in 1983. He was about 64 years old at the time. He was the process/civil order server for the Sheriff's Office in Blaine County Idaho. A uniformed position.  I was a newly hired jailer.

Fred had been a cook in the Navy. He was present in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked. I always pictured him on the deck of some ship shooting at Zeroes. He retired from the Navy after the war. He began a second career as a cook for the Sun Valley Company ski resort. I don't know how many years he worked there. I do know that it would have been in the 50's and I think one of the railroads owned Sun Valley and that technically Fred worked for the railroad.

In 1981 or thereabouts, Fred wrapped up that career and decided to become a deputy sheriff. He was the oldest man at that time to graduate from the Idaho State police academy. He didn't finish near the bottom either. Mid pack as I recall, he was a 63 year old who could run 1.5 miles in 14 mins., do 20 pushups and 35 sit ups. I think the avg age in the academy was 29 at that time.

Fred had a great work ethic and always had a daily routine. I remember one day at the office, I had made the coffee that morning. Fred took one look at the finished pot and poured it into the sink. He then pulled out the carrier, filled the filter to the brim with coffee, and restarted the coffee maker. That coffee was black and thick. Fred looked at me and said, "that was real coffee."

My favorite thing about Fred was what a horrible driver he was. His driving was legendary, simply awful.

I am going to tell you a few stories about his driving, all of which I witnessed. I have many more.

Fred drove fast. All the time. He was the king of distracted drivers long before cell phones made it common.

I was following Fred up a county highway one day in my personal car. Fred was in his patrol car and obviously not paying attention. This was a two-lane highway at the time and people were constantly slowing and turning into subdivisions before they finally put in some turn lanes. Anyway, Fred looked up just in time to see that the car in front of him was stopping to turn left and there was oncoming traffic. With no time to stop, Fred jerked the wheel right to avoid a rear ender, slammed on the brakes, skid marks through the fog line, off the pavement and into the ditch. I watched as he traveled at 50 MPH or so about two hundred feet down the ditch, as the car was bouncing wildly. Fred brought 'er back up on the road, past the car that he nearly hit, and continued down the highway like nothing happened.

We used to have those barrels during hunting season where hunters would skin their deer and elk and donate the hide. I suppose some group tanned the hides and sold them. Anyway, every year during hunting season, they put one of those barrels on the corner, just one block from the sheriff's office. One snowy morning when the road was slick, I watched as Fred came down the hill in his car going way too fast. He tried to turn right but the front end was sliding. It suddenly caught the curb, jumped it, and he smacked that metal deer and elk hide barrel and sent it careening down Main. Spilling out a hide or two in the process. Fred simply kept going like it was nobody's business.

We had a jailer, Mike, and I don't think Fred was a big fan of Mike's. One day Mike had bought 6 snow shovels for the inmates to use as they cleared all the walks and driveways at the sheriff's office. Mike had placed all six of the shovels in the center bay, on the floor, and had spray painted some identifying marks on them. He was letting them dry. Pretty soon Fred came wheeling up, hit his garage door opener, and promptly ran over all six shovels snapping them in half and ruining them. Mike started yelling holy hell at Fred. Fred looked at Mike and said they shouldn't have been there. Mike looked at me, for sympathy, and said "Do you believe that shit?" I looked at Mike and said Fred was right.

I will not tell you how Fred shot out the rear window, front seat, and steering wheel of his patrol car with a 30-30 rifle I had sold him. I will just say, he told me before selling the gun back to me, that he had never fired it. About 30 seconds later, with one round still hanging in the chamber, Fred fired that gun for the very first time. The trustee who was in the garage was shell shocked. I remember it well. It was the hardest I ever laughed in my life. I could not quit laughing. Between Fred holding that gun in a state of shock and Terry the trustee standing their gaping- I tried, really, I did. But I couldn't hold it in. I was laughing hours later on a traffic stop and remember a motorist looking at me like I was nuts.

Fred retired after 20 years. Lived a couple more before leaving this plane for the next. One of the best, zaniest, characters that I have ever met. You can't measure that heart. 

 

Inches From Insanity

 On my Twitter page. Cousin Ellis. "Ya can't stop what's coming, it ain't all waitin' on you."

I underestimated the damage Obama infused into America. I am sorry we elected him. It wasn't the banker "get out of jail free card" for his donors, it wasn't his health insurer bailout aka ACA, it wasn't his many abuses of power or his cutesy little quips.

I have talked about this traitorous shit ad nauseum. Obama was a tool for American aristocracy. Where does he live? Martha's Vineyard. That's all you really need to know.

The aristocracy has rewarded him well. 

If the aristocracy relied on Obama to safeguard their wealth, then the tradeoff would be greenlighting Obama's plan to destroy the fabric of our country. 

And from Obama's loins sprang every fucked up and distorted alternate reality. Black Lives Matter, cancel culture, woke politics and speech, deviant sex, pedophilia, defund police, Trump derangement, pot sales on every corner, skyrocketing crime rates, drag queens reading to children, and government worship. I won't even go into the covid catastrophe.

You can't lay all that at the feet of Bush or Trump. It was singly sourced. Extended by Biden.

It's like a tidal wave of Godless insanity and moral decay. It feels overwhelming. We cannot stop this.

In the months and years to come, I see this getting worse. If I were younger and single, I'd probably go looking for a warm and friendly country. 

Absent that, I simply prepare. The aristocracy is going to try and keep a lid on this mess but eventually it will boil over. All of the wars, money printing, and lies will find the cesspool of history. I have no idea how badly that landscape will look. Or when. I'm not sure we'll want to see it.

 

A Halloween Story

 I have a Halloween story to tell. It certainly wasn't pretty or enjoyable. But to tell this story, I must reveal an embarrassing moment of my own past. 

Halloween night, 1971 or 1972, I was about half a mile from home and trick or treating. I was 11 or so and every bit a juvenile delinquent on the fast track.

After trick or treating at a house and turning around, I decided to grab a little girl's trick or treat bag. I ran off with it. About an hour later, I returned home. My father was on fire. The little girl and her father had seen me. They had gone to my house and told my father. My father kicked my ass, made me go to the young girl's house and apologize, and then I was instructed to give her all of my candy. That was the last time I went trick or treating. 

It was one of a few humiliating mistakes I would make in the next four or five years. I wish I could tell you that I was this great kid. I wished I could blame something other than myself, but the truth is- I was a juvenile delinquent that knew the difference between right and wrong. My story is one of hard learning and ultimately, redemption.

Last night, Halloween night, we were taking all of our nephews to a different subdivision to go trick or treating. My wife an eternal optimist, left a bowl of candy out with a note which asked kids to take one or two pieces. I told her the contents of the bowl would get wiped out and taken by some kid. She said she didn't think so. We set out the bowl, placed a camera on the porch, and left the subdivision. About half an hour later, some kid maybe 14 or so, sees the unattended candy bowl. He looks around for cameras, fails to see our camera which was mounted low, and then takes most of the contents of the bowl. He left 11 pieces behind.

My wife posted the video of this kid on our town's website. What happened next took me back 15 years.

We received about 40 comments. A few of the comments supported our position and chastised this kid a bit. But the majority of the comments were in support of this poor kid. He was only doing what kids do. Another third of the comments were hateful commentary directed at us for posting the video and shaming this kid. You see...

It was our fault for leaving this bowl of unattended candy out. And some people even called us assholes for shaming this kid for posting video of his conduct.

Eventually we took the whole thread down. Not because we couldn't handle our own with these people, mostly libs, but because one person actually directed hateful, personal, content at this kid. 

What happened as I read those mocking comments- reminded me of why I grew to hate policing. 

My first patrol year, I had caught a kid burglarizing a house down the street. I was looking for 3 items in particular and I felt pretty sure that this kid was responsible and had the items. I sat down with his parents. These people had money. They were from California. The kid lived in his own house on the property, and I explained to his parents that with their permission- I'd like to have a look around their son's house. 

They refused. In fact, they said that their son had exactly the three items I was looking for but that they had been legally purchased. I am staring at them in disbelief. I told them I had serial numbers on two of the items. Then they added this. Our son likes to smoke a little pot, and he grows pot in that house and that they certainly weren't going to allow me to look into his house. It was 1984. I was incredulous. 

There was no way I could lock this house up and get a search warrant. Just not enough cops working that day. I knew I was screwed and that this kid was going to get away with this.

I became jaded in one day on the job.

There wasn't going to be any dad kicking his son's ass, there wasn't going to be return of the stolen property, no apologies. That's when I realized just how fucked up this job was going to be. 

It didn't get any better over the years. In fact, it got a lot worse. The liberal mindset was winning.

So, if you just stay focused on the job and don't care about outcomes- I think you'll be fine. I know cops like this. They don't see the ethical and moral decay around them, and they don't really care. They know how to protect their check. So, when some rich guy's lawyer pulls rank on a local prosecutor and they reduce or dismiss a solid case, they don't care. They just shrug their shoulders. 

It all pays the same. Famous words from one of my early bosses.

I wasn't like that. But if you are going to engage in the ethical philosophy of calling prosecutors on their shit for protecting their own careers- they are going to heap some pain on you. Those fragile little egos aren't used to taking shit from some crazy cop willing to pull out the stops. This led to a lot of fuck you matches over the years. I survived I think- because ultimately, they knew I was right and my heart was in the right place. They still didn't like it much. Each confrontation added a few logs to a fire that one day will consume you.

Over the years I came to believe that entitled rich kids and liberals were simply snobs that think they can impose their opinions on you like they are a matter of fact that only they are aware of. Some will even try to get you canned because you have the gall to tell them that their opinions are ill conceived or wrong. Those little entitled egos don't take kindly to that. Your opinion is always the wrong one.

So you either sign up for ethical and moral integrity or you saddle up with the little rich kids who can buy influence and save your career. Is it really like that? Absolutely.

By the time my career was coming to an end, I was surrounded by liberal, moral decay. It was everywhere. Then a strange thought struck me. Who were these opinionated cowards? Who were these atheistic, abortion craving snobs? With no real moral directive other than what was good for me, my children, or my friends, did they possess any sense of right or wrong beyond their own self interest?

No. They talk a great game of ethics and honesty until it lands in their own living room.

All they cared about was protecting their image, their ego, their gifted careers, and their superficial standing in the community. Any intrusion by law enforcement was met with active resistance. They would try to defame you, attack your beliefs, or characterize you as an uneducated dolt or redneck. Anything to escape taking responsibility for their poor choices and decisions. 

So it's ok to shame people so long as it furthers your agenda. The entitled rich don't care about any moral or ethical dilemma. That is nonsense. Just so long as they get what they want- they'll find an argument to justify it. We see it daily- all over the media and political commentary. 

And it keeps getting worse. These corrupted people have no idea that they are weaving the fabric of their own self destruction. 

So one day, I asked the question. Are you willing to die for people like this? I could see the lynch mob.

So I packed it up and left. That was 15 years ago. I have seen the enemy of our society, our culture- and they are exactly who I thought they were.

It ain't some kid who steals a few items from a house. It's not a kid who takes an entire bowl of candy and leaves none for anyone else. It's not even an idiot who swipes someone else's candy bag. Those are mistakes, even small mistakes, easily corrected with some intervention. Parenting intervention.

The problem is a culture that sees that type of conduct as acceptable or makes excuses for it. It's a complete failure to parent. To take responsibility and teach your children what is right and wrong. That shaming a child is a lot better than bailing them out of jail a few years later. 

The most important job any of us will ever do is raising morally and ethically correct children. I cannot overstate this. When you fail your children you have failed society and you have failed as a parent. The rest of us will feel that sting. I can think of three cases where a shitty parenting job resulted in the deaths of people. Hopefully one of those shitty parenting jobs doesn't cross the centerline and kill one of your family members one day.

I have often wondered what happened to that dope growing, burglar kid from my rookie year. I wonder what kind of kids he churned out. The good news is that I didn't stick around to find out. Trust me when I say- I bet some other poor cops are sorting that out.

Next year, we're probably not going to set any candy out.

/

Three Great Gambling Stories

 At the behest of long time blog reader and friend, MMinWa, I thought you might enjoy three of the greatest gambling moments of my life. Please allow an introduction and disclaimer.

I started gambling on golf at age 12 and continued on for the next 50 years. I managed to lose a semester's college tuition playing two card guts when I bet the pot with a pair of queens and someone at the table turned over a pair of kings. I have gone completely broke on at least three occasions in my lifetime with no visible way of bailing myself out. This is where my disclaimer comes in.

Gambling is all about math. The people who offer gambling opportunities understand this concept well. They have an insurmountable mathematical edge with which they will beat you bloody. In horseracing, the track/house edge can be as high as 30%. In sports parlays, the house edge is 25% or greater. In straight proposition betting, the minimum house edge is 10%. Casino table games rely on math as well giving the house a small to large edge depending on the mathematical skill of the player. Games like Keno, Wheel of Fortune, slot machines, and lotteries are for math challenged idiots. 

That's the way it is. Gambling is an insurmountable mountain with the exception of two situations. One of those situations will be one of the stories I tell you about today. The other is what I refer to as a "spot play" which is an infrequent situation wherein some incredible angle injects itself into the potential wager. One of those situations currently exists between the Memphis Grizzlies and the Dallas Mavericks of the NBA. Memphis simply can't beat Dallas the last two years and although on paper Memphis looks like a better team, they get their ass handed to them every time they meet. Now that might change if Luka Doncic is benched or injured but sans that line up change- Dallas gets my wager until the angle evaporates.

In short, gambling is a waste of time and money. Fortunately, 50 years of this worthless pursuit has led me to the front row of some of the zaniest stories ever witnessed. These are all very true stories. I saw them and I brook no bullshit. I could probably come up with a hundred of these stories but I have cherry picked these three because they were particularly insane and defied all odds.

The Great Roll

In the late 80's, the best card room in Vegas was probably the Las Vegas Hilton. They had about 35 tables and this was where I first saw Phil Hellmuth when he arrived in Las Vegas. The dealers liked him and he was a genuinely nice guy. You can see what 35 years of card playing can do to someone.

At any rate, I think it was sometime in the fall of '87 when I became involved in one of the greatest crap rolls of all time at the Las Vegas Hilton.

I had busted out of the poker game and when I went to the casino cage with my remaining 30 dollars worth of chips, the line was so long I said screw it. I went to the pit to blast off my remaining chips or so I thought.

I wound up at the craps table. The minimum bet at that table was 5 bucks so I just took my remaining chips and placed the 4,5,6, 9, and 10 in a bet we call 26 across. The point was 8. 

The dice rollers or "shooters" were three young, well dressed, black guys which I believe were from Hawaii. They had the dice. And the greatest roll of the dice I have ever witnessed was about to begin.

The shooter probably rolled at least 10 numbers that I had bet before he made the 8. I remember having about 100 bucks before he made his point so maybe he hit my numbers even more than that. Maybe 13 or 14 numbers excluding 2,3,11, 12. The black guys were "pressing" or doubling all their place bets like mine. So I started doing the same thing.

After at least a half hour had passed, I had 5 or 6 hundred in chips. By that time, I had 25 or 30 bucks on every number. The table was so crammed we were all forced to stand sideways. The casino was getting pissed and the pit bosses were all gaping at our table. People clamored to get into the game but there was no room. The casino strung one of those velvet ropes around us and barred anyone else from getting into this game.

But the real story were those three black guys. Each of them had 5000 dollars, the table limit, placed on every number. So when the shooter threw a 4, each of them received 9000 dollars or 27,000 dollars plus whatever they had bet on the field or the hard ways. It was insane. I could not see how much they had but after an hour- they had to have had a million dollars. They had to chip up to the highest denominations and the table actually went broke. The had to get more chips, at least twice from the vault. The black guys had racks of chips under the table where drinks and ashtrays normally go.

Paying the table sucked and was very slow. It took the craps dealers about two minutes to pay off all the bets before the next roll of the dice could occur. By this time, the pit bosses were becoming assholes. They slowed the game. They grabbed the dice and twirled them between rolls. One of them, an attractive brunette, was actually inventorying chips as I caught her staring at every person's chips and writing amounts down on paper by position. 

When the roll finally ended, I had won 1500 bucks. I was the small chipper on the table by far. There is not a doubt in my mind that the Las Vegas Hilton lost a couple million dollars on that nearly two-hour roll of the dice. When it finally ended, the players at that table knew we had been involved in something miraculous. Some 35 years later, I have never seen anything like that.

As an epilogue to this story, the Las Vegas Hilton fired every employee on the shift that day. This resulted in a long running lawsuit that eventually saw each of one those employees receive 2 million dollars. It took a few years.

God Loves Drunks and Fools 

The following year after the great roll, I was trying to get a seat at a low limit poker game at the Palace Station. The games were full so I wandered out in the casino to find something interesting while I waited for a seat to open after putting my name on the list. I sat at a slot machine right behind the 21 pit and I noticed a middle-aged Mexican guy sit down at an empty table. It was midafternoon.

He had clearly been drinking but I didn't think he was drunk. He bought into the game for 500 bucks. I didn't realize I was about to see another crazy run at the table. The limit was 2000 at this game.

He bet 200 dollars on his very first hand and was dealt 21. He then bet 500 and received another 21. Wow, this is starting to look interesting. He was up 1000 dollars in two hands. He ordered a drink. He bet 1000 this time. I think he just won that hand. Soon he was betting the table limit. Every hand he got seemed to be a 20 or 21. It was an insane run of cards. 

When the cocktail waitress came back- he tried to tip her 500 bucks. The pit boss stepped in and refused to let her accept the tip. Eventually they let her have 75 bucks or three green chips.

This guy's run continued. The pit boss knew this could not continue. They asked the player if he wanted to raise the limits. He said yes and they raised the limit and changed the limit sign to 5000.

He won a few more hands and at his very highest, I think he had something very close to 45,000. In 20 minutes, this guy had turned 500 bucks into a small fortune. He was starting to get drunk and I think he was on his 4th drink- the turnaround time on a guy tipping 75 bucks a drink is about 30 seconds. The cocktail waitress nearly ran back to this table. The Federal Express of cocktails.

Unfortunately, at 5000 bucks a hand, the drunk guy simply didn't know when to quit. When he split 7s for 10 grand total, against a dealer's 9, I knew the end was near. Still, I think he could have left with 25,000 or so but he didn't. In 10 minutes and before they called my name, this guy had lost everything. I will never forget the smug look on the pit boss's face. What a shame.

I often wonder when he went home that night, or perhaps the next day, whether he told his wife "Sorry honey, I had a bad day and lost 500." 

When the Sheep Eat the Wolves

I have so many stories that it's hard to pick just one. Do I tell em about the autistic kid in Tucson or the horrible beat I saw a guy take on a 1500 college football bet? After mulling it over- I landed on this story. Every once in a while, the sheep eat the wolves. This is one of those stories.

Each year, sportsbooks offer what are called "futures bets." These are bets on sports teams to accomplish certain feats. For instance, you can bet on whether a professional baseball team will win the National League pennant or whether they will win the World Series. These odds can range anywhere from 1000-1 to 9/5 depending on a team's record, talent, and opponent. The odds generally change quite a bit as teams are eliminated from contention. That is- when the sportsbook remembers to change them. One day they didn't.

I used to play cards with a little old guy who is still with us and well into his 90's now. He is in the poker hall of fame. I'll call him Dave because that is his name. He is a sharp guy, always looking for any angle to make a buck. He generally makes small sports bets usually 20 bucks or so. Well, until this one day.

I noticed him continually circulating through the sports book, making 500 hundred-to-1000-dollar bets. This was a huge deviation from his normal betting pattern. So, after making another big bet, I took him aside and asked him what the fuck are you doing? Just like that.

Dave explained to me that the year before, before the AFC and NFC championship games in professional football had finished, the sportsbook forgot to take down the futures bets or change them after the divisional round. He said he had made a small killing before they realized their mistake. This year he said he was ready. He had 12 grand with him.

The AFC championship game was between the New England Patriots at plus 225 and the Indianapolis Colts at plus 285. These were the odds to win the AFC championship before they won their respective games. Instead of adjusting the odds or taking the bet down, they left those bets up.

This meant for every 100 dollars you bet on the Patriots you would receive 225 dollars plus your 100 dollars back. The same was true with the Colts. If the Colts won- you would receive 285 bucks for every 100 you wagered plus your bet back.

You could not lose.

Dave bet a total of 12,000 on these two teams. That was 6,000 on each. All I could muster was 4,000 and so I circulated through the betting window making smaller bets so that the employees wouldn't notice. I alternated between cashiers. I managed to get 2000 down on each team before running out of money. I had a friend, a multi-millionaire friend, but could not find him- or I might have sold my house and bet it all that day.

I was kind of worried that they would catch this. The tickets were date and time stamped. I figured at the very worst, the gaming commission would declare the tickets dead and return our money.

That never happened.

The next week, we were in the poker room, Dave and I. Rooting for the Colts of course. Unfortunately, Brady the G.O.A.T. (greatest of all time) and the Patriots won.  

I collected 6500 dollars minus my investment for a 2500-dollar payday.

Dave nailed down 7500 bucks for his efforts minus expenses. Strangely, the following year, Dave said the sportsbook immediately took down the futures betting after the divisional round was over. 

It's not often that the sheep get to eat the wolves. But it sure was fun that day.

 

Alive, One Year Later

 On September 30 of 2021, I was admitted to our local hospital with covid 19. I was released on Oct. 17. I was unvaccinated and remain so.

I wanted to tell my story on behalf of all the people who died and those of us who narrowly survived. 

On March 11 of 2020, my wife and I had just returned from Las Vegas. We had been staying at the Wynn and went to dine at the buffet on the evening of the 10th. They had placed a stand with hand sanitizer on it near the entrance to the restaurant and employees were serving up portions of food rather than allowing patrons to do that. Nobody had masks on. Not yet.

That was when I realized that covid was going to be a giant pain in the ass. 

We returned home the following day and quarantined ourselves. I began to read about covid all over the world nearly every day. I looked at pre existing conditions, mortality rates, read other countries accounts, and dutifully wore my mask when we ventured out. 

My two covid sins. I was 60 years old and 35 pounds overweight. Otherwise, I was in pretty good shape. I have always been on the heavy side due to years of weightlifting when I was younger. I still managed to walk a few miles every day without too much effort.

In the summer of 2020, I realized two things. We were not going to be eligible for the vaccines when they first became available. Secondly, I began reading accounts of doctors in South America who were using Ivermectin with a great deal of success. Ivermectin had been around for 40 years and was safe. I also started reading accounts of doctors in the U.S. using Hydroxychloroquine (Trump used this) and Ivermectin. I found the FLCC website and forwarded some video to my doctor. My doctor prescribed Ivermectin for my wife and I. I also added Vitamin D and zinc to my daily intake. I stored the Ivermectin. That would be my first mistake.

I had hernia surgery in late November 2020. I took a covid test before surgery and tested negative.

In late 2020, local government started opening up various age groups and allowing those groups to get the vaccine. Thinking that I was fully prepared, I passed on getting the vaccine. To be honest, I don't trust anything our government does any more. Time and time again, they have proven to me that they are generally incapable of performing any function that actually benefits society at large beyond the NTSB. Politicians and the deep state work on behalf of the U.S. aristocracy. Just look at the tax code and the military industrial complex and our never-ending war machine. Big pharma? List of withdrawn medications, which were once FDA approved. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_withdrawn_drugs

It took 50 years or so but the United States earned my distrust. They are consistent if nothing else.

I should also mention that I bought Ivermectin for horses at farm stores. 

Around September 24th, I made the big mistake. We went to look at a custom Road King motorcycle listed for sale. The owner of the bike came out of the house, coughing like crazy. I even asked him if he had covid. He said, "I don't have that shit." We kept our distance. He finally quit coughing and my big mistake- I went into a toy hauler he had for sale. It was in that enclosed space where I think we got our dose of covid.

We left for Montana two days later. My wife was getting the chills badly and showered 4 or 5 times a day. I didn't have any symptoms until the day we left Montana, about 6 days later. My temperature was 99.6. I took my first dose of horse Ivermectin. I took 5 doses in 5 days but by day 5 I was in pretty bad shape. My fever was around 101, we were both lethargic, and my oximeter said my oxygen saturation was 83. I fell into the bathtub and could not climb out. We have a nurse in the family and she told my wife to take me to the hospital.

I don't remember too much after that. I remember a giant security guard bear hugging me out of the car and into a wheelchair. I spent the first two days on my stomach and high flow oxygen. It wasn't enough. After a day and a half, one of the doctors roused me and said they wanted to put me on a ventilator. However, I'd seen the 85% death rate in Texas for people on a ventilator. I refused. He told me my life was a coin flip. So, I relented. I woke up ventilated in the ICU.   

The next nine days were the worst days of my life. Strapped to your bed with a hardware store down my throat. One tube went into one nostril and into my lungs. In the other nostril, a tube fed me through my small intestine. I had catheters in both ends. IV's and a heart monitor. Your mouth is always semi open, and I was dying of thirst. You cannot move. You cannot communicate. It's like some horrible movie where you are bound and gagged. Every once in a while, a nurse would come in and rip open the tube into my lungs. I'd be coughing, sometimes uncontrollably, on the verge of choking. Alarms ringing. You can't get up and go to the bathroom.

On day 7, I had had enough. I felt ok. I focused on freeing myself from my fabric bindings. It took an hour or so, and one sprained wrist, but I reached down my throat and extubated myself. I pulled that shit out. My wife shot out of the room and led the cavalry charge of doctors and nurses back into the room. The last thing I remember before they knocked me out and intubated me again, was a doctor asking me if I wanted to die.

Two days later they took me off the vent. The pain was so bad in my wrist from my escape attempt, that I could not sleep. I asked for enough pain meds to knock me out. They gave me that and actually let me sleep through the day for the very first time. 

Another week in the hospital and then they released me. I was in awe how debilitating this ordeal was. I could barely stand. Nurse Ratchet would not let me leave the last day. This was some hateful, lefty, kind of nurse displaying her passive aggressive tendencies. I still remember her name.

A month of forced walking and oxygen came next. I managed only 100 yards the first day. But I continued to work hard. Today, I'd say I am 90%. I have lost some lung capacity and I get winded doing simple tasks like mowing the lawn. But I am here. 

Today, I'm a little bit angry. I'm a little bit angry because I know in my gut that this was a lab created virus in a city with a lab that creates viruses. It nearly killed me and did kill some of my friends. Who benefitted from that? The bankers and big pharma. They stole billions selling us the "cure" to their virus.

I'm angry that there was no investigation. No justice. I am angry that our government wasted billions  and trillions and pushed another lethal concoction called Remdesivir.

I'm angry at the idiot minions, mostly liberal, for victim shaming those of us who contracted this horrible disease. I'm angry they've never apologized for their fearful, misdirected hatred, and the obvious failures and deaths associated with those horrible "vaccines."

I am angry at the cover up of vaccine injuries and deaths. I am angry that they are forcing this poison into our children.

I am angry that I spent 3 weeks in hell fighting this. 

I'm angry that the liberal minions backed an idiot President who was all too happy to fire and dismiss people for simply exercising their human rights. If they had their way, like Hitler and the jews, FDR and the Japanese Americans, and this time the Australians- we'd have all been put in concentration camps. Co-exist my ass. 

But I'm grateful because we smoked all these cowards out. 

And I am so very grateful for God, my family, and my fellow critical thinkers. People who can actually think for themselves. 

In the age of such vast deceit, it's hard to see clearly. But you must. Your life may depend on it.

That's what I've learned, one year later.

 

It's Time To Protect Yourself

 About 10 years ago, I bought 5 ounces of gold for about 6000 dollars. Today, gold closed at 1668 dollars an ounce. That means my 6000-dollar investment is now worth 8340 dollars.

Did I make money? The answer, quite obviously, is no.

For many years, I used to ask friends and family a simple question. Where does money come from? 

Nobody knew the answer. I used to get all sorts of crazy answers. The U.S. Mint. The bank. My employer gives me checks. I don't know.

When I told people that money was loaned into existence, they rarely ever asked me a follow up question. The topic just didn't appeal to them nor did they seem too interested in listening to any explanation from me. I'm ok with that. 

In the early 70's, runaway inflation began in earnest. From 9% in '73, to 16% in '74, to a staggering 24% in 1975. That is a cumulative 49% rise in prices in 3 years.

To be fair, those were the inflation rates for the UK. In the U.S. the dollar was the reserve currency, allegedly backed by 8,000 tons of gold nobody has seen for 70 years. Inflation rates, around 10% smoothed per year, persisted from '72 to '80.  

Please try to remember that if you have 10% inflation for 8 years, it is cumulative. You will be suffering from an 80% rise in prices. Prices generally do not go back down once inflation is stopped. They just level out.

When I was 12 years old, I remember an old man in the checkout line at Bernie's pharmacy in Butte, Mt. I was buying a 10 cent Butterfinger candy bar. He told me that one day that Butterfinger would cost over a dollar. I thought he was nuts. That was 1973.

I wished I had been more curious. I wish now that I would have asked him why. But I was a kid, not too inclined to listen to random old men. Not unlike those people I used to question about where money came from. Not interested.

You know what scares me? We are just at the beginning of this inflationary event. The FED Reserve Bank is cornered. Based on the current inflation rate they should have already jacked up rates twice as much as they have. Inflation doesn't just magically stop on it's own. The central banks create it with excessive, cheap lending and only they can stop it.  People are still taking out 6 and 7% loans here. The creation of money continues. People simply don't remember the history from 50 years ago. 

I remember. The 70's were bad. If we are in for a repeat of the 70's then I think it will be worse this time. We are at the beginning and looking for help from political cowards like Biden, Yellen, and Powell. 

Imagine sitting there with 50k in the bank and watching it's value erode. You get some paltry interest rate that doesn't come close to compensating you for the dollar destruction that is going to occur over the next 5-10 years. Are you prepared to watch your 50k worth of 2022 dollars get cut in half? That's what's going to happen. The best CD rate I could find yesterday was 2.75 percent. Laughable. A 2.75 interest rate still leaves you with a 7% inflation loss. Just for this year.

In 2004, my truck cost 30k. In 2022, my truck costs 200% more. 90k. That's dollar destruction.

I have plenty of reserves. Generators, fuel, food storage, water, prescriptions for 2 years, plenty of guns and ammo. Although I'm not sure you ever have enough ammo. I have plenty of silver and 125 pounds of copper.

How do you protect your money against a government and a central bank hell bent on destroying what's left of our currency?

Gold. 

At 1670 dollars, gold is a screaming buy. I used to allocate 20% of short term net assets (cash) to gold. I am currently upping my personal allocation to 40% gold. That's right. Remember that 50% rise in inflation that Britain experienced in from '73 to '75? Half of your buying power wiped out in 3 years time. It happened here in the 70's and trust me, Jay Powell is a steer. He doesn't have the nuts Paul Volcker had. Volcker raised the Fed funds rate to 20%. The prime rate went to 21.5%. 

You want to stop inflation? You have to aggressively hike rates and stop lending dead in it's tracks. Our central bank can't do this. Can you imagine having to finance 31 trillion in debt into that kind of scenario? The U.S. will be completely exposed as the bankrupt country that we are. We couldn't service the debt interest into those kinds of rates. It would be in the trillions annually.

Now do you understand why they hired 87,000 IRS agents?

How much money did my gold make? Nothing. I haven't sold it. If I did I'd be trading it for the same worthless currency I am trying to protect myself from. I never bought gold to make money. I bought it for currency destruction and I am currently buying more. Don't worry about the 100 dollar premium you'll have to pay the brokers per ounce. A hundred bucks will seem like nothing- especially if they quit selling gold. I've seen them run out.

Remember gold is inverse of the USD/inflation. The more buying power is lost with the USD- the higher the price of gold will climb.

When the zombie minions of America finally wake up and realize that they only way they can insure their savings against currency destruction is gold- the second greatest gold rush in American history will begin. It would be nice to see you get there first.

It's the only way you can protect yourself. It's an insurance policy against a government that has been screwing it's citizens since the Vietnam War.

Here's a great piece from Alistair Macleod. He explains it in great detail. I stole his 1970 UK inflation numbers. https://www.goldmoney.com/research/gold-has-never-been-so-attractive