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Memorial Day – who and what are we remembering?

I struggled with today, Memorial Day. Every other Memorial Day of my life has been straight forward – we remember the fallen military service members who gave us the freedoms we HAD until January 20th of this year.

Now, America is witnessing a terrifying tyranny emanating from Washington DC, as the entire federal government apparatus is lining up to illegally attack patriots and conservatives from every direction. It is clear that the American government has been hijacked by the worst enemies of everyday Americans. The Biden Administration and their holdovers in government are the avowed enemies of freedom, liberty, the very Constitution that binds Americans together and has protected our rights since 1787. They are bad people. Definitely not Americans.

The FBI and the DOJ are staffed by individual people who are running rampant, crazed with unfettered power, trampling the Constitution underfoot, making a mockery of their own oaths of office. FBI agents concocting phony charges right and left, based on their personal political opinions. And military service people being drummed out of their careers, simply because they are pro-America.

These are dangerous times, and so in this context, Memorial Day today takes on a whole other meaning. At least to me. Like, if our citizens, elected officials, and taxpayer-funded public employees will not fight for audits of the 2020 election, to ensure the election was 100% kosher, then Memorial Day is actually a joke. We are in actuality remembering nothing and no one, but rather we are just going through the motions. We are sitting on our hands while the greatest nation in the world is literally stolen from us, right in front of us, and our noses are being rubbed in it.

What would our fallen service members have said about this situation? Would they have said “Yeah, no problem, we died in vain and that is OK. Go ahead and just give away the country to these evil people who want to subjugate you”…?

It is doubtful the fallen heroes would have said this, right?

So again, what is it we memorialized today? The failure of democracy because the citizens were too lazy or complacent? The failure of the military to actually stand behind their oaths of office, and to defend the nation from enemies foreign and domestic? The really shocking failure of our elected leaders to stand up for forensic audits of every state’s 2020 election results?

I am still struggling with this question. “Happy” Memorial Day, everyone.

Koo koo for KoKo Puffs, Crazeeee for Covid

Having deigned to come down from the mountain and mingle with the lowlanders (‘flatlanders’ around here), I was immediately struck by how many people I know in my neighborhood who are still taking the mask thingy so seriously. Wearing the mask like a religious burka, looking all sincerely severe and all. My friends have struck a significant pose with all kinds of massive wrap-around masks that are nonetheless colorful and playful.

It is the ultimate virtue signal: Gotta be some joy in your self-imposed death march, right? Make sure your mask is cinched down real tight and has the requisite flowers or symbols of humor to show that you are not really taking it seriously. Yeah, right.

Recently former Arkansas governor and politico Mike Huckabee said that liberals don’t want to relinquish mask requirements, because they have achieved so much iron-fisted control over so many Americans. Big-government fascist governors Wolf (PA), Whitmer (MI), Newsom (CA) and others have no science on their side, but they are goose stepping down the mask wearing street every day anyway. “You will comply!”

These fascist governors are afraid of what the citizens will do when they rediscover their own freedom, Huckabee says. And while Governor Huckabee is correct, what about people like my friends who take on the onerous and bizarre mask self-requirement? These otherwise fine people are purposefully disfiguring themselves with these ridiculous masks.

Their mask-wearing has to be more than virtue signaling, and it has to be more than fear. Because the mask wearers are surrounded by maskless people going about their lives happily and healthily, there ain’t a whole lot of self-evident virtue or health to be gained from the mask. So it is something else that compels them.

Here is what I believe mask wearing means to mask wearers: It is the personal worship of something larger than themselves. Mask wearing has become the physical and very public demonstration of a belief in something higher and more important than the individual; a sublimation of the self to a higher good.

“Islam” means to submit, and mask wearing is a form of personal submission to some greater authority. It ain’t a coincidence that the Islamic burka and the covid mask both are symbols of personal submission and self-denial. And it ain’t a coincidence that 49.8% of the voters in Dauphin County voted yesterday to continue to grant the Pennsylvania governor the un-ending authoritarian power to keep fake emergencies and crises going for as long as the governor wants. The mask wearers don’t like freedom.

So while Governor Huckabee is correct that authoritarians like Governor Tom Wolf (PA) covet the power over people that the mask commandment has given them, there is another side to this power transaction too. It takes two to tango. That other side is the desire (not just the willingness) of everyday citizens to literally give up their freedom and comfort and happiness and sacrifice it on the Altar of Fake Covid Crises. The mask wearers literally believe they are worshiping something greater than themselves, and it gives them a sense of purpose they could not find when not wearing a mask.

This gets to another and bigger related issue, as if there could be anything bigger. It explains why so many Democrat Party governors engaged (and are still engaged) in the heavy-handed fake and unnecessary covid crisis lockdowns and mask edicts, and also why the Democrat Party stole the 2020 election in the first place. The Democrat Party knows that a large portion of Americans have become not just complacent and lazy, but willingly, almost slavishly devoted to silly causes and fake crises, to the point where they will happily sign over all their freedom for a very shallow sense of personal fulfillment.

The Democrat Party either believes or knows that the actual resistance to their forced and unlawful takeover of America will end up being very little, if anything at all.

Does anyone remember the movie The Matrix, and how the enslaved humans were living in a make-believe world created out of chemicals and human imagination? That is what is happening now. And if we add this Matrix -style method of ruling over Americans to Orwell’s 1984, which Democrats have embraced as a how-to manual, and not as a warning against totalitarian government, we can finally understand what the Democrat Party understands and is fully implementing: Humans just want to be lied to and led.

Mask wearers say: “Free will and free choice is just too damned hard. Just point me in the right direction and I will willingly obey. Gosh that feels good to have no more friction or hard decisions to make in my life!”

And this is why mask wearers are crazy for covid.

 

How’s Your Turkey Season Going? Yeah, Me Neither

Highly successful turkey hunters are as rare as hen turkey teeth, and they will earnestly tell anyone in earshot that it is a pursuit only for the crazy. Spring gobbler hunting is tough, for so many reasons. Very tough. The weather is often cold as hell in the dark pre-dawn, you must sit unmoving for hours, call perfectly, but then move very slowly and correctly only at the precise moment when the shot is offered, and then eventually the temperature warms up and the swarming bugs come out, ticks crawl up your butt crack and into your armpits, etc.

The wild turkey itself is a fickle and troublesome quarry with the tolerance for anything being even slightly out of sort measured by the millisecond, etc. Wild turkeys can go from standing still to 50 miles per hour in about a second-and-a-half. So when they detect something wrong with the set-up into which they have been lured by the hunter’s calling, they can get out of Dodge with amazing speed. They are also incredibly tough and can withstand tremendous punishment before actually giving up the ghost. Even when they are shot fatally, a wild turkey can run or fly out of reach of the hunter.

So turkey hunting is an almost guaranteed skunk right off the bat, with success rates in Pennsylvania just above zero percent. To really effectively hunt wild turkeys in most places, and especially in Pennsylvania where hunting competition is thick and fierce, a person must have the patience of Job, the grit of Rooster Cogburn, and the faith of Moses. Not to mention the time needed to finally orchestrate the one brief moment where all these qualities briefly line up with your shotgun barrel that is itself lined up on a turkey’s neck about thirty yards distant.

Because spring turkey hunting is more than a fad, something slightly less than a religion, and has the word “pursuit” in virtually all of the turkey hunting gear companies gear descriptions, I thought I would share with the three readers of this website my own recent turkey hunting experience. It was almost like a bad dream.

It started with me falling asleep in the blind I set up on the southern side of the ravine, through which Sheep Hollow runs. My two hen decoys were 30 and 40 yards distant, on the other side of Sheep Hollow, stuck into old stumps for extra elevation and visibility. I use a slate call, and am good enough to call in some turkeys who die at 40-45 yards out with the most skeptical looks on their faces. Turkey hunting is nothing if it isn’t an excuse to get some shuteye in some really uncomfortable surroundings, surrounded by annoying insects, with hidden tree roots exploring the hidden recesses of one’s posterior and lower back. It’s great!

So there I was, head lolling around like a Hershey Park kiddy ride, chin on my chest, alternately dozing and suddenly jumping awake with a start, wondering if that crunching leaf was a sneaky gobbler (it never is). This happened a dozen times until I fell deeply asleep.

Far into one of my deepest REM sleep modes, an uncommon noise on the far side of Sheep Hollow caught my slumbering hunter-sense, and my head automatically raised up. My eyes slowly opened to slits, to look through the bug netting. Suddenly my neck extended three times its normal length as my head craned to ascertain that in fact a mature gobbler was consorting with the decoys. Like most guys on the make, he was playing both and as yet uncommitted.

Slowly I brought the shotgun barrel from its resting place on my knees to a place where it was resting on the wooden crossbar and burlap, and generally pointing at the gobbler. Then my eyes were focused and working pretty well in concert with my head and hands to align the front barrel bead with the gobbler’s head and neck area. This happened in silent, slow-motion seconds.

But, turkeys being what they are, which is essentially a CIA spy satellite with wings, complete with the latest in high-tech optics and listening capabilities that miss absolutely nothing within a 300-yard radius, the amorous gobbler went from struttin’ his stuff to suddenly looking my way. Then, mimicking my own startled reaction just seconds before, his own head telescoped three times his neck’s normal length as he stared in alarm at the strange object thirty five yards away. His big eyes bulged as he saw through my contrived hiding place and into my very soul.

I fired just as he collapsed his neck in preparation for high-velocity lift-off, and the shot pattern just clipped his neck area. It was not the solid hit it would have been if the dang bird had just stayed focused on the rubber chicken thingies meant to deceive him. So he hit the ground, rolled downhill, and began to thrash wildly in what were either death throes or an intelligent effort to escape. Anyone who has hunted wild turkeys for a while knows this moment: The hunter is either a hero, or is about to behave like the clumsiest brute in the wild woods, because the turkey is either about to die on the spot and be tagged, or it is about to lead the hunter on a merry chase across hill and dell.

The bird opted to turn me into a clumsy brute as it staggered to its feet and began heading down Sheep Hollow in a drunken stagger toward Route 414 and Pine Creek beyond. And so I played my assigned part and I myself staggered out of the blind, swatting burlap out of my way, my legs numb from being asleep for two hours. Partially running, partially bouncing off of trees to steady myself until the blood flowed back into my independent-minded feet, I headed on a downhill sidelong trajectory meant to intercept the wounded animal and quickly bring it into my death embrace.

Almost like a cartoon rendering of a buffoonish hunter after a smarter prey animal, the turkey caught my drift and picked up speed, stumbling and rolling faster down the ravine and closer to the highway. I slid on my ass down a large smooth rock face just as the bird flopped out onto Route 414. From there it was literally all downhill. Instead of some locals driving by in their pickup and jumping out to grab the bird for me, no one happened by and the bird crossed Route 414, bounced off the guard rail, and then pitched down over the tree-studded sheer cliff face to the Pine Creek rail-trail below.

Meanwhile I was still trying to cross Route 414 while pulling clumps of leaves and twigs and other forest floor detritus out of my pants. Upon reaching the guard rail I looked down and saw the turkey laying in the middle of the rail trail. He was not looking real healthy and it was possible he was going to simply peter out there, if left undisturbed for a couple minutes. Then I could tag him and lie about what a perfect shot I had made on him to my friends.

But such are the plans of mice and men, or something like that. Because what is a rail-trail if not a place for humans to ride their bikes? Especially when it is the only brief moment in the year the place must be left undisturbed for just a couple minutes. The rail-trail is not the designated dying area for severely wounded wildlife. And so when the nice lady in her pink Gore-Tex get-up came riding her bicycle along the rail-trail, toward the listless creature, and making a gentle crunching sound in the fine pea gravel that even I could hear a hundred yards out, the bird felt like it was being pursued once again. And it decided that, in fact, rail-trails are not the dignified place to die. So it weakly flopped its way over the rail-trail and down to the edge of Pine Creek.

Meanwhile, I had seen what was coming. Determined not to lose the bird to the rushing water, I sat down and again rode the next steep incline down on my butt, and once again bouncing from tree to tree in an effort to slow down my headlong speed and prevent serious breakage of some part of my body. This stretch of the rail-trail is actually part of our property, and it is also about the most useless part of our tax parcel. Except for now.

Of course I reached the margin of the rail-trail in a dramatic flourish of flying leaves and branches, a mini avalanche of stones and dirt and curses, just as the pretty in pink lady on her bike arrived. The dying turkey heard the commotion and rolled down the stream bank and into the edge of Pine Creek. Now a dead animal at the water’s edge is nothing new and no big deal. But a dead or dying animal out in the current is something else altogether, and so not having time to explain my bizarre appearance to the nice lady, who had come to a stop to either gawk at the camo-clad madman or ask if I needed medical/ mental help, I bolted across the rail-trail and once again pitched head-first over the stream bank. Launching myself head-first at the turkey, whose carcass lolled gently with the stream current against the bank, my fingers came up just inches short as the rest of my not-insignificant bulk made its crash landing in the rocks and thorns along the stream’s margin.

With its last ounce of dying energy, the turkey rolled itself out into the stream current and immediately began floating away at a rapidly increasing clip. My friend Scott and I had just floated Pine the week before, casting for trout (thank you to the Big Brown Trout Club run out of Wolfe’s General Store at Slate Run for the amazing fish we caught), and the substantial rains over the past few days had turned a high but fishable river into a near-maelstrom with a really fast current. So I crawled on my hands and knees into the water and then rushed toward the disappearing turkey carcass.

Down through the run we went, bird, white caps, and human in pursuit. Under normal conditions, this part is a good fast stretch with trout under the trail-side cut bank and beavers denning on the far side bank. But today, it was practically a white water, with literal white caps from the high speed water slamming into boulders under the surface. Although at one time I had taught lifesaving and certified lifeguards, and I had been as comfortably aquatic as a human can be short of being a trained Navy SEAL, I was quickly beginning to doubt the wisdom of my ways. Pine Creek was at about 48 degrees that day, and despite my ample natural insulation against cold, I was beginning to really feel the chill tug at my willpower to continue. In fact, I was starting to wonder if I was going to drown. Making the situation worse, I passed an otter laying on the edge of the little island we had now reached. Never have I seen more disbelieving eyes in human or beast than the look on that animal’s face as the bedraggled human (me) splashed by.

Comical sounding yes, but at that point I was actually scared that the one minute I had presently spent swim-chasing after the now-dead gobbler was going to be my last on earth. My physical ability was rapidly diminishing. But all good things come to an end, and the powerful run quickly petered out at the end of the island, where Pine becomes a large pool below Miller Run Natural Area. It was here that the high-velocity turkey suddenly became just a piece of random flotsam that I was able to splash my way up to and grab.

With my prize finally in hand and dragging lifelessly in the stream behind me, I sloshed my way to the shore, clambered up the bank, dropped the turkey at my feet, and laid down on some large rip rap boulders. How long I huddled there, soaking wet in the thin sunshine, I don’t know. Probably fifteen minutes had gone by before I had the strength to look around and get up the nerve to collect the bird and head up to the cabin. But my wet camo and death-like stillness had fooled one more animal, the otter I had passed on the way downstream, who came in at a mad dash along the boulders, grabbed the dead turkey, and dove head-long back into the water.

And oddly enough, my only thought was “At least I didn’t fill out the tag yet, and my season is not over, so I get to keep hunting.”

Like I said, spring gobbler hunting is for either the mentally retarded or the crazy. Whichever I may be, go ahead and be the otter. Take your pick. I stopped caring.

 

 

This election map says it all

If you are shocked at how easily the 2020 election was stolen from the legal voters of America, then take heart. Two can play that game, and IF the Republican Party will only gain its nerve and assert itself half as hard as the Democrat Party, the tables can be turned.

After 300 Democrat Party lawsuits nationwide right before the 2020 election in dozens of states attempting to overturn established election laws, and about a dozen broad daylight unilateral and illegal usurpation of election law jurisdiction and plain-as-day constitutional limits by secretaries of state in Pennsylvania, Michigan, Arizona and other states that allowed unsupervised absentee ballots, ballot harvesting, delayed voting until the “right number” of votes are found, and a bunch of other non-transparent “voting” techniques that are all designed to steal elections, it is time for conservatives to quit whining and get with that program.

If you are in a lacrosse or hockey match, and one team is just high-sticking and high elbows right and left and beating the crap out of your team, and scoring on your team as a result, and the referees are not calling the illegal hits, then play the game to the referees. Play to the standard the referees are playing at, not to self-imposed rules that make you “better people” than the other team.

There is no need to be a martyr and to lose the entire game or match because you would not lower yourself to play (cheat) like the other team did. Forget that, play to win! Do whatever it takes, whatever the other team is doing, to win. That is fair. What is unfair is what happened in November 2020, where one political party changed all the rules at the last second, spammed the voting system in a bunch of swing states, and stole the election in a mass of vote fraud, and is now trying to shut down investigations into the obvious fraud.

If the 2020 election was fraud-free and clear, why is one political party doing its utmost to stop transparency into the voting process? In Arizona, the entire Democrat political party is seething around the Maricopa County vote recount, trying to stop it through legal channels, and also to infiltrate it and cloud its legitimacy.

And so, if you look at the map below, you will see that America is almost entirely red. That is, America is almost entirely conservative, patriotic, Constitutional, committed to the rule-of-law etc. Even in supposedly “blue” states like Virginia, Oregon, Washington State, and New York, the number of red voting districts far outnumber the blue ones.

This means that if the red voting districts have the same 150% voter turnout that the blue voting districts had in the 2020 election, and that 97% of that 150% voter turnout goes to the Republican candidates, then the Republican Party should win handily just about everywhere. Even in states that supposedly have a Democrat Party voter edge. And especially in the swing states that so magically had Democrat Party-dominated cities vote at about 150% voter turnout in November 2020.

This would not be cheating, per se, it would simply be following the lead of the Democrat Party and doing just as they do. Everyone following the same rules of the game, the same referees.

And it means that when some federal investigators show up to view that 150% voter turnout, your county sheriff and dozens or hundreds of deputies not only physically stop the investigators from viewing the ballots, they arrest them for attempted vote tampering themselves. Holding a couple dozen communist anti-America federal employees without bail in East Succotash County Jail for a few months will probably send a strong message to communist-occupied Washington, DC, that our votes will not be stolen or rigged. The only unknown here is whether or not the Republican Party actually wants to win elections, or are they happy to be the powerless perpetual minority?

If every red voting district nationwide has the same 150% voter turnout that the Democrat Party claimed in many swing state cities, the Republican Party should do great in the 2022 election.