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“Since when can weathermen predict the weather, let alone the future?” – Back to the Future

It’s easy to buy clothes for psychics – they’re all mediums.

In the past I’ve done, once or twice, a humorous year in review post. 2020? Let’s let that year rot in the grave – in many ways, it was a year that was worse than having to spend the weekend after Christmas with the Kardashians.

How was that weekend I spent with the Kardashians?

It was hairy, smelly, oily, and just plain silly, no matter how much money got thrown around, it was still awful and made me want to take a month-long shower.

Instead, let’s look forward. Here I have a group of predictions made by the best psychics I could find on the Psychic Friends Network® who somehow decided working for $7.99 a minute was better than winning the lottery or buying Tesla© stock in 2010. These were confirmed by the time-traveling Stephen Hawking, who said, “Yeah, it all looks legit,” before beating me in a one-on-one game of basketball.

I really suck at basketball. Plus? Time-travelling Stephen Hawking is a robot with chainsaw arms.

Trust me, 2021 will be better.

January, 2021

Faced by a mounting crisis in Canada brought about by forgetting to pay the electric bill, Canadian armed forces launch an invasion of Detroit to check for spare change in the couches. The 82^nd Airborne is dispatched and quickly prevents invasion of the desirable parts of Michigan. The Canadian Army quickly surrenders, but insists on adding an extra “u” in words like labor, honor, and Wednesday. Within 72 hours the Treaty of Fargo is signed, whereby Canada is punished by being prohibited from withdrawing from Detroit, and also forced to take the Jacksonville Jaguars® and Amy Schumer.

German leader Angela Merkel is quick to condemn the United States, saying, “In the annals of humanity there has never been a bigger war crime than forcing the decent citizens of Canada to take a sub-par NFL® team. Never. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

Angela Merkel arrives in Paris:
“Nationality?” asks the immigration officer.
“German,” Merkel replies.
“Occupation?”
“No, just here for a few days.”

February, 2021

Facebook® and Google™ announce a joint partnership to, “just know and predict everything about you so that we can manipulate you like a rancher manipulates cattle and extract every bit of value from you before we recycle you into Earth-friendly products.”

Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts rules that this is fine. Writing in his majority opinion, he says, “they (Facebook© and Google®) are private companies and are thus not covered by the First Amendment. Also, they have all of my Internet history, and the secret naughty chats I’ve been having with Justice Kagan, and I really don’t want my wife seeing those.”

March, 2021

According to the medical journal, The Lancet, the first COVID-19 vaccine recipients spontaneously renounce any Leftist policy and become staunch supporters of nationalism, Constitutional government and individual liberty. Congressman Alexandria Ocasio Cortez calls for the immediate recall of the vaccine.

Thankfully, nothing happens if she eats ice cream too fast.

April, 2021

George R.R. Martin announces he has written seven complete pages of his next book in the Game of Thrones® series titled, The Winds of Winter. “At this rate, I’ll be complete with the series by the year 4731. So, fans, there’s something to look forward to!”

Martin then laughed his jolly elfin laugh and jumped naked, except for his signature hat, into a swimming pool filled with $100 bills after a dinner of eating panda roasted over glowing Moon-rocks.

May, 2021

In a surprise session, the governments of 33 States serve notice to the United States that they are seceding from the Union. In the joint declaration to the Federal government via short phone call, the States note, “Listen, we tried to work this out. Don’t cry. Stop. It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve changed. I’m keeping the dog. And the nuclear weapons. And all the Tom Petty albums.”

Texas changes its Facebook™ profile to “single.” Canada is still required to keep Detroit and the Jacksonville Jaguars©, despite launching a surprise offensive on the Nordstrom™ outlet in St. Paul, Minnesota, which failed because they didn’t have actual money for parking meters. Who knew those meters would reject Canadian quarters?

I heard that Texas was voted “most likely to secede” in high school.

June, 2021

Elon Musk announces he has joined his consciousness with a machine, specifically a postal meter in the United States Post Office in Enid, Oklahoma (Zip Code 73701). Musk specifically chose this meter because he “want(ed) to not only dominate car production, and space flight, but also being able to know exactly what small objects weigh and calculate what the postage would cost to ship something far away. It’s not so easy to figure that out, you know.”

July, 2021

[REDACTED DUE TO NSC 1993-473-AB-01]

August, 2021

Practical immortality was announced jointly by the Bill Gates Foundation© and the World Economic Forum™. In a surprise, it involves subscribing to Microsoft™ Office© 365®, eating only food obtained from bugs, and living in a small pod as approved by the Facebook™/Google© Freedom For All™ coalition, and limiting stressors by avoiding unapproved news sources.

“With this new technology, most Americans can now expect to live meaningful, productive lives up to at least the age of 50, which is nearly immortal,” said Gates, while stroking a long-furred snow-white cat.

Bill Gates only wants one thing for giving us immortality, namely, to rename the Earth: “The Planet of the Apps.”

September, 2021

President-For-Life Kamala Harris indicated that rumors of her executing prisoners in her last remaining enclave of Beverly Hills were, “gross exaggerations. In most cases, they fought each other to the death for Chicken McNuggets®. We even gave some of the winners Hot Mustard™ sauce, which I believe is in line with the Geneva Convention.”

As troops loyal to the American United American States of America surrounded the Western White House, President-For-Life Harris said, “Guys, can’t you take a joke?”

October, 2021

The Federal Reserve® announced that the main Federal Reserve Bank™ headquarters in Washington, D.C. was robbed by George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and a long list of Hollywood B-list celebrities who were engaged in an overly complicated heist, with comic relief provided by Julia Roberts.

Fed© Chairman, Britney Spears, noted that, “We didn’t lose anything. We don’t have any actual money, silly, we just print it.”

November, 2021

Netflix® Health Advisor© and Minister Plenipotentiary Dr. “Fat Tony” Anthony Fauci stated flatly, “Listen, Harvard© has told us as early as 1968 that sugar is good for you. Eat all you can. And smoking isn’t that bad for you, especially if you smoke filtered cigarettes by a major manufacturer. Corn syrup? It should be called corn sugar! I bathe in it and rub it on my chest every day. So wholesome and healthy!”

When asked about why he said that masks against COVID firstly in February 2020, “wouldn’t help” and then later “should be mandatory,” Fauci said, “Oh my gosh, what is that over there? Look! A baby wolf!”

Dr. Fauci at a press conference: “Don’t worry. If I’m wrong, I’ll still have a job.”

December, 2021

Mopping up actions continue in the former “Socialist Republic of the West” and the collapsed “First New England Commune.” After determining that 93% of the residents couldn’t be poets, communist theorists, and crystal dolphin therapists due to the inability to feed themselves, the last snarky Twitter™ post went up on December 23, 2021, “Well, actually, not everyone celebrates Christmas, so by saying ‘Merry Christmas’ to me you aren’t being Christian at all, are you?”

As of December 25, 2021, peace and harmony prevail in the Reconstituted United States of America, though anyone with the word “studies” in their degree title is immediately sentenced to 7 years in the RUSA “Leisure Camps” where residents are “encouraged” to actually produce something.

See, I told you 2021 would be better!

“You’ll put your eye out.” – A Christmas Story

Nobody was too concerned with my eyes.  But do NOT make us have to pay for a neighbor’s window.

(This was first published in 2018, but I’ve made some slight edits.  Merry Christmas!)

I’m a believer in Christmas – it’s a time of redemption and rebirth that proves that miracles can happen.  People can escape their past, and become something more than they were before – they can become reborn.  We can become better.  The birth of Christ is an example that we can all be reborn and change our lives in a miraculous and meaningful way.

But, I’m not sure I can recall any particular Christmas miracles.

Oh, wait, here’s one.  It’s mostly true, as well as I can recall, and field-tested to read aloud to your family:

On Christmas Day when I was in second grade, the one thing I wanted more than anything else was . . . a BB-Gun.  No, this is not a remake of A Christmas Story, this is A Wilder Story.  And I was there for this one.

As I recall, this was the last Christmas when we opened Christmas presents on Christmas morning.  In all following years, my older brother John Wilder and I wheedled our parents into a Christmas Eve opening of everything but “Santa” gifts.  We were insufferable.  My brother (really) is also named John Wilder – my parents didn’t want to waste those extra birth announcements they had bought when they could just change the day and year, but that’s another story.

But that particular Christmas morning when I was in second grade I looked down on a real-life lever-action Daisy® BB gun.  It looked like a real rifle even though the wood parts were plastic.  I’d never shot a real rifle before, but I knew that all I wanted for Christmas was that BB gun.  And there it was, all mine, pristine in its oiled metal and plastic perfection.

It looked very real.  Mine was the one on the bottom.  It was actually mistaken for a real rifle several times.  Mainly by me, because everyone who was an adult could see it was just a BB gun.

“Take care of that, and it’ll last you a long time, Son,” Pop said as he handed me my first gun.  This was the first time he’d said that to me, and I nodded gravely, feeling the responsibility and pride deep inside me.  Pop would later repeat that phrase about boots I got in high school, a Buck© pocket knife I got in fifth grade, and my first car.

I still have the BB gun and the boots.  I lost the knife, probably at school.  It was expected when I was a kid that you had a knife with you if you were in fifth grade, because what if you had to gut a fish during English class?

But I was in second grade, and I had a BB gun.  My BB gun.

And I was ready to use it.  I was given a quick tutorial on how to load it, a list of all the things (mainly windows), people (mainly windows), places (our windows), and forbidden objects (neighbor’s windows) that I shouldn’t even think of aiming my BB gun at, let alone shoot.  I was trusted to take my new BB gun out on a Christmas morning expedition, because it was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that the worst punishment in the world would fall upon me if I shot something I shouldn’t.  I would lose (probably until I was 40) my BB gun, be grounded from TV until I had my own children and probably be branded as a BB abuser for the rest of my life in my Permanent Record.  (For kids:  Permanent Record is now called Snapchat©.)

With the earnestness only a second grader can muster, I put on my deep blue Sears™ parka (the ad said it was designed for pilots stationed in . . . the ARCTIC, you know, where we fought the Soviets to save Santa from becoming, I guess, more Red) with polyester fur trim, and a pocket for pens and pencils on the arm, because where else would you keep pens and pencils except your left arm?  I pulled on my black felt-lined snow boots and stiff green plastic gloves, and went outside.  It was cold, certainly below freezing, and probably hovering around zero in non-communist units.

Like a pocket knife, every boy had a parka like this.  Every boy. But does anyone know why pilots need parkas if they’re in heated jet airplanes??  Oh, yeah.  Soviets.  Image from E-Bay.

It had already snowed enough that the snow pile in our front yard was 10 feet (43 meters) deep, but we had a packed trail where our snowmobiles had gone onto the snow-packed country road and up into miles of forest roads that dated back to the old prospectors looking for gold.

My feet crunched in the snow as I walked due north onto the road, my breath puffing out as if from a small blue fake-fur-trimmed steam engine headed uphill.  I kept going.  What was I looking for?  I’m not sure – I don’t remember, exactly.  I guess, looking at stuff with a BB gun in my hand and shooting anything that wouldn’t get me in trouble with Ma Wilder at the rate of 6 BBs per step.  But I felt like a man, and what would a man with a rifle do?  Hunt.  Win World War II again.  Look for communists.  It’s hazy, but I know I had a purpose.

Snakes weren’t a possibility, since I knew snakes wintered in Florida with baseball players, Santa and Cubans.  Regardless, I wanted to shoot my BB gun, even if the opportunities to send Soviets back to Russia with a backside full of BBs was limited, at best.  I still don’t recall ever seeing a Soviet in the forest until I saw Red Dawn, and then my BB gun was at home.

I guess Europe decided to sit this one out.

I trundled up the road.  I think that’s probably the only time I’ve used the word “trundled” precisely since it implies I moved along slowly, noisily, and in a less than graceful manner.  All of those applied.  But I was ten feet tall with my BB gun, shooting aimed fire into snowbanks and sage brush alike.  About a half a mile from my house, more than three-quarters of the way to the Old Cemetery, I saw it.

The Bear.

Sitting motionless, huddled against the barbed wire fence, not 20’ away, was the bear.  It was a black bear.  I knew that grizzly bears had been killed nearby, but this was definitely a black bear, being black and all.  Ma Wilder had told me about them before going hiking and told me to never, ever get between a black bear cub and its mother – she said that was more dangerous than being between Beto O’Rourke and a microphone.

I didn’t know if this bear was cub-sized or mother-sized, but I already knew that this was something way out of my experience level – I mean I still wasn’t even coloring within the lines very well.  Communists?  Sure, I could take down a dozen of them since they were weak because they were Godless and fatherless and mainly starving when they weren’t swilling massive quantities of cheap Afghan vodka.

But bears?  Better call the reinforcements (spelled D-A-D) in.

Calling out an APB on a tiny blonde boy.  He looked tasty.

I backed away from the bear, keeping my eyes on it the whole time.  My BB gun was loaded, a precious brass sphere ready to explode outward on a column of pressurized air at the bear should it charge me.  I knew I was too slow to out-trundle the bear.  Even my candy-cane addled brain knew that the BB was scant protection against a bear, but if I was going to go down, I was going to go down fighting like a man, and not running away like a weak Soviet child would.  Even though it was nearly zero, I built up a sweat in my green turtle neck under my Air Force Pilot Parka®.

That green turtle-neck was really tight and made me look a lot like an actual turtle, so I only wore it three times.  Why?  A chubby kid covered in the smell of fear sweat and Nacho Cheese Doritos™ isn’t really a winner with the ladies despite whatever Bill Clinton might say.

An aside:  In the safe realm of 2018, I know that it seems insane to allow a second grader to hike up into the forested wilderness alone at temperatures near zero on Christmas morning armed with a weapon that’s patently illegal to arm a second grader with in New York City, and twenty other states that are, no doubt, now deeply under the influence of the Soviets.  Or, does it?   When I last had a second grader (Pugsley) he had a BB gun and trundled off into the backyard with a zillion BBs.  I can attest our backyard is now safely Soviet-free.  But back in the day?  We weren’t building weak Soviet children.  No!  We had backbones of steel and cheap Taiwanese Rambo® knives with compasses built into the handle.

So, yeah, not unusual.  I guess it was a crazy thing called freedom.  Anyway . . .

I got back to the house and threw open the door.  I stamped my snow-covered feet inside.  Yeah, I know, bad form.  But I was in a hurry, I had real news and information for the family.

My parents were lounging on the couch, enjoying a quiet coffee.

“A BEAR!”  I yelled.

“I swear, I saw it, a bear!  It was just right up the road, right where the hill starts.  A bear!  A black one!”

Ma looked at Pop, concerned.

Pop Wilder shook his head.  “Bears are hibernating.  None are up this time of year, not when it’s this cold.”

“No, it was there, right by the fence.”

Ma Wilder nudged him, seeing the absolute certainty on my face.  “We should take a look.”

There is a look a man gives a woman when he knows that he has lost the argument even before it started.  I know that look because I saw it then.  Pop sighed, got up, and got dressed.  Half an hour later, he and Ma and my brother were all dressed, and ready to go up the road.  I had my BB gun.  I hoped that the bear would still be there.

We walked.  I pointed, when the Bear came into sight, not 300 yards away.

“See, I told you.”

Ma Wilder looked concerned when she saw visual proof of my story.  I think she had put my bear story into the category of “addled ravings of an overly imaginative eight-year old that may or may not process reality like a normal human after he told me that he was worried that Grandma would turn into a zombie (Sleep Deprivation, Health, Zombies, and B-Movies).”

As for me, I was concerned that Pop hadn’t brought bazookas, howitzers, grenades, or maybe a battleship.  Nah, Pop Wilder could probably wrestle a dozen or so bears, if they came up to him one at a time, like in the Kung Fu movies.  We finally got up to the road where we were perpendicular to the black bear, still huddled up against the fence, not 30 feet (432 meters) away.  It hadn’t moved since I’d first seen it.  I felt . . .vindicated, even though I’d never heard the word.

“Hand me the BB gun,” said Pop Wilder.

I did.

Pop shot one BB into the bear, smoothly worked the lever like a cowboy in the Old West, and then shot another BB into the bear.

The bear was motionless.  It must be dead!  Pop Wilder killed it!  Pop handed the BB gun back to me.

He then walked back into the deep snow directly to the bear, reached out, and pulled up the black plastic sheeting that had blown into a ball up against the fence.

He handed me back the BB gun and handed my brother the black plastic sheet.  We walked home in silence.

So, there was that:  the Miracle of the Transubstantiation of the Bear – where a Christmas miracle transmuted a black bear into a sheet of black plastic.  Not sure of any other explanation.

But the real Christmas miracle, it’s below.  Merry Christmas to all.

“It’s just crazy, you know? Everyone’s affected by it. It’s like all the money just vanished.” – South Park

James Bond’s doorbell goes:  Dong, Ding Dong.

As I’ve mentioned before, Pa Wilder was a banker at a small-town bank that mainly served small farmers.  I can recall (in one of my earliest memories) that a savings account was opened for me.  This account was fairly small in the amount of money that was in it, but Pa made me go to the teller and deposit the money that I had earned.

I had earned the money in the most Wilder way possible:  by being five and being completely un-babysittable.  Ma Wilder needed to go in to help Pa out at the bank and train someone so she could stay home and keep the 3’10” (34 liter) rodeo clown she lived with (me) in line.  Apparently, I was against this plan, because I ran off at least two babysitters in as many days.

Even then, I was difficult to get along with.

At the time, Ma and Pa offered me $20 per week if I would just be good, come home from school and watch re-runs of Star Trek®, and not burn the house down in the three hours between when I got off the bus and when Ma Wilder got home.  Even as a kid that sounded like a good deal to me.  I could try to burn the house down after Ma got home just as easily as when she wasn’t there.  I call that a win-win.

When Ma and Pa paid up, I was owed the princely sum of $100.  Pa Wilder took me down to the bank, and they opened a savings account for me.  I received a savings “passbook,” which was a little book where the teller wrote down my deposit, and then wrote it down on a corresponding card that showed how much money I had in the bank and had my account number on it.

Of course, I then announced that I was moving out.  I figured I could live for quite a while on $100.  When Ma then described exactly how many loaves of bread that would buy, I did the math and decided I wouldn’t run away just yet.

But snakes can’t rob banks.  They’re unarmed.

The passbook was fascinating to me, though.

It, along with the little card showed how much money I had in the bank.  The bank would take all of the accounts and save all of the transactions at some frequency (I don’t know how often but I think it was monthly) on a computer in Capital City, which was hundreds of miles away.  So, the records were backed up, but the primary record was paper – the account card at the bank, and in my passbook – which had official meaning, Pa told me – it would be difficult to take money out without one, and they’d have to issue a new one if I lost mine.

I hadn’t thought about my first savings account in years – the passbook was a thing of the past before I was eight – replaced by computer statements sent out monthly, but it provided a view of another world.  I drained all of my money at age 13 to buy a motorcycle, so that account ceased to exist even before I got a Social Security Number.

Likewise, I hadn’t thought about that passbook until last Sunday, but oddly enough it was computers that brought it to mind.

My computer is so old, that when I upgraded memory they just added more beads.

On Sunday, it was announced that the Department of the Treasury was hacked (LINK).  A program made by the company SolarWinds® was allegedly hacked by the Russians.  But it wasn’t hacked on Sunday – it is possible the system had been hacked as far back as this spring, according to the news.  The same news that said that:

• Russians hacked the 2016 election,
• Hunter Biden’s story was nothing,
• Iraq had Weapons of Mass Destruction, and
• Pepsi® tastes better than Cokeâ„¢.

I am not sure I believe that they even know who did the hack, or when the hack was done.  Given that it’s only been a week, I’m pretty sure they have no idea what information is gone, or if any information has been changed.  That’s scary.

So, let’s call that dot number one.

I also read about dot number two on Sunday.  This particular dot was that the names of tens of thousands of Chinese Communist Party (CCP) members working in Western companies had “accidentally” made public.  Thousands of them work in the United States, and thousands more across the West.  As an example, 600 CCP members work across 19 branches of just two British banks, HSBC and Standard Chartered (LINK).

Of course, it’s not just banks, it’s Boeing® and Google™ and Facebook©, too.  But the banks caught my attention.

Was it always so lonely in the Empire?

Dot number three I’ve known about for several years:  the Chinese aren’t planning to re-fight World War II, or even any of the Gulf Wars.  They have seen the stunning power of the United States military, and understand the United States has spent trillions of dollars to defeat the Soviet Union in a war that never came.  Tanks?  The chances of tank warfare with the Chinese are slim.  The chances of them engaging the United States in a stand-up military conflict are likewise slim.

The Chinese are very smart, and have taken defeating the United States seriously – they have been thinking since (at least) the 1990s of ways to defeat America, in detail.  I’d read some of this strategy before, and it is probably worth a post on its own.

Here is the .pdf of Unrestricted Warfare, by Qiao Liang and Wang Xiangsui (LINK).  Thankfully, at least someone in the .mil part of the world has read this – here’s a link to an article about Unrestricted Warfare from the Army University Press (LINK).  H/T to Vox Day for reminding me of this information (LINK).

If I were going to fight the United States, I wouldn’t waste my time attempting to build billions of dollars of aircraft carrier and then spend decades trying to learn how to use them well.  I wouldn’t try to send millions of men in a mass-wave attack.  Where would I attack?

It’s too late for me, though, my Chinese vacuum has been gathering dirt on me for years.

Well, it’s obvious that the Chinese have tried to influence the politics of the United States – how many different politicians have been Fang-Fanged (LINK) by the Chinese has yet to be counted.  But there are lots – the Chinese have attempted to find younger, up and coming politicians and reach them early.  Again, a great strategy:  why fight if you already can influence the leadership of your enemy?

But perhaps, one day that’s not enough.  Perhaps one day, it’s required to neutralize the United States.

How would I do it in a single day?

If I were going to attack the United States, I would attack Bank of America© and all of the other large banks.  I would attack the Treasury.  I would attack the Federal Reserve™.

What would happen if, one day, all of the Bank of America® accounts read zero?  What would happen if the Fed® started spasming out trillions of perfectly legal electronic dollars to banks all across the world?  What would happen if the Treasury’s computer suddenly forgot who owned all of those electronic savings bonds in the Treasury Direct accounts?

What if every record of every transaction on the NASDAQ® disappeared overnight?

Chaos.

And only one color of dot.  I guess going first matters.

Three dots does not make a big dot-to-dot puzzle.  But if America was surprised by Pearl Harbor, how surprised would they be if every bank account in the country read zero one fine Monday morning?  I’m not saying it will happen – most internet hacks are the equivalent of defacing a poster on the outside of a movie theater.

But if it were to happen, would you think the system where the teller stamped your bank book and then updated the card that had your bank account information on it had some merit?

Sleep well tonight!

“Karma is a word, like love.  A way of saying ‘what I am here to do.’ I do not resent my karma – I’m grateful for it.” – The Matrix:  Revolutions

If Columbus had stopped to ask for directions, they might celebrate Thanksgiving in India, too.

2020 has been a very difficult year.  It’s not over, in fact just like a horror movie, you think it’s over, and then you look at your watch and realize there’s still 20 minutes left.  2020 might still have surprises left for us, and there are plenty of reasons to think that 2021 might be worse than 2020.

But the beauty of life is that life isn’t about avoiding difficult things.  Comfort is not really our friend.

Why?

The warm comfort of a bed is nice.  No sane person would disagree.  But the comfort of the warm bed is a trap.  Very few things in life are accomplished from the comfort of a warm bed.  Not to say zero things, but this is a family friendly blog.

What does create accomplishment is risk, change, and discomfort.  2020 has so far been the poster child for each of these things.  But now it’s time to take a pause and reflect.

And, yes, be grateful.

Lighthouse?  Have you ever tried to lift one?

Gratitude is the basis for a fulfilled life.  Practicing gratitude provides lower stress, better sleep, and generally better health.  It makes people around you happier, too, because who likes living around a tool?  Gratitude might seem like something that you’d do for other people, but it turns out the biggest beneficiary is . . . you.

So, in that spirit, following are some things I’m thankful for.  The order is sort of random.  In the comments, let me know what I missed.

I’m thankful for the country of my birth.  I was born in the United States when a vast majority of the world was under horrible oppression.  I remember hearing the stories on the news and asking Grandma McWilder why I was so lucky to be born in the United States when I was five or so.

I don’t recall being satisfied with her answer.  Regardless, I am still very thankful for the chicken and noodles that she made me – noodles made from scratch in the way only a Southern-born Grandma can.  You might like your grandma, but I assure you mine was the best one ever.

Oh, wait, that’s Queen Elizabeth II going to go see Princess Diana . . .

That easily brings me to my next gratitude.  I’m thankful for my family, past and present.  As long-time readers know, I’m adopted from within my family.  But what I haven’t mentioned before is that I was adopted by my family at the very last second possible.  I had just been placed with a new family, but my parents reeled me back in through a court battle to overturn the Electoral College pending adoption.

I’m thankful for that, too.

I even wrestled the kid who was adopted in my place when I was in high school (this is true) and beat him.  It was on points – he wasn’t bad, but I knew was going to win from the second we shook hands.  I didn’t find out that he was the replacement kid for me until later that year, after we had wrestled.

I always carried a piece of paper when wrestling, if my opponent turned out to be The Rock.

Obviously, his parents got the inferior model.  But don’t feel bad for him – his parents were millionaires several times over.  And, honestly, unless my parents were related to me by blood they would have put me (rightfully!) in a burlap bag weighted with several heavy lead weights and dropped me in a lake.

I was that bad.  Really, I was an awful child until about age 9.

My family has rough spots on it like every family.  Real families hardly ever resemble a 1950’s sitcom family.  But I have had The Boy come home after hearing some drama his friends were tied up in and say to me, “Pop, you have no idea how lucky I am.”

Yeah, The Boy, I really do understand.  I’m just as lucky as you.

I’m thankful for every gift I was given at birth by God.  Or, you might think genetics, but who brought those people together on that cold winter night in February, or that hot summer day in August, hmmm?  Oh, wait, we’re back to the “warm bed” argument.

One thing I really have learned in life is that the gifts you were born with aren’t gifts you can be proud of.  Should you be proud of your hair color?  Your height?  Of course not.  Those are things that you are born with.  Similarly, I’m not ashamed that my shiny head is used as a beacon by the ISS when they overfly my house.  I can’t control whether or not I have hair, so why be upset about it?

Okay, not at all true.  I can type well.

But you can feel some pride (remember, it’s rightfully a sin) at what you do with those gifts.  Be (a little) proud of that.  But if you were born smart, strong, and incredibly handsome like me?  Don’t be proud of that.

Be proud of what you can do with that.  Remember, potential without action is . . . failure.

I’m thankful for every experience I had in 2020 that made me stronger.  By definition, the parts to be thankful for are the tough parts, since eating Ding Dongs®, PEZ™, and Coors Light© on the couch isn’t a great path to achievement or enlightenment.

Even though it really, really sucks, the tough parts of life are what make us better – Nietzsche had that one figured out when he said that what doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.  Exercising every day is hard.  Even the act of exercising is hard – people get big muscles by constantly tearing (at a small level) the muscle fiber so it grows back stronger and better.

My feet and hands have callouses.  How do you get them?  Hard work.

Hard work leaves its mark on your body.  If it doesn’t break you?  It makes you stronger.  Ding Dongs™ never make you stronger.

What steps should you take before an explosion?  Large, quick ones.

COVID-19 gave me (and certainly some of you) plenty of times to get stronger.

• For a while, I worked from home. Then I had to fight my way through a zombie horde relax with my stockpile of toilet paper that I had in the basement from way before the ‘Rona.
• We reviewed our stockpile of storage food and bought just a little extra, always leaving things on the shelf for others.
• We watched as entire portions of the local, national, and international economy collapsed. We were forced to think in ways that were outside the box of our previous lives.
• Finally, we watched as cities burned in a way that’s never happened during my lifetime – exceeding the L.A. riots. Does this happen without the WuFlu?  Nearly certainly not.  Does it make us stronger and smarter?    It shows the truth of what Leftists want – destruction of our very country.

I’m thankful for the work I have had during my career.  During my career, I’ve had the ability to help individuals grow and serve entire communities.  That’s kind of cool.  Who knows what will happen next?  I don’t.  One of the biggest gifts a person can be given is the opportunity to help others on a big scale.  I’ve done that.

What’s next?  Who knows?

I don’t.  That’s because:

I’m thankful for the nearly limitless number of opportunities that exist in this world, even after COVID-19 if we are smart enough and quick enough and virtuous enough to grab them.  Ideas aren’t the currency of life – executing an idea is.  Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people have the same great idea at the same time.  After that?  You have to turn that idea into reality.

And most people don’t or can’t.  So, is opportunity out there?  Certainly, even if you’re 18 or 80, though your time horizons and the types of opportunities you can pursue differ.

Seriously, thank you.

I’m thankful for you.  Seriously.  I’m glad you keep coming back.  2021 will, in my estimation, give us more surprises than 2020 did.  I hope it gives you every experience that could help you be stronger, better, and more fit for the next world.

“Call it fate, call it luck, call it karma.  I believe everything happens for a reason.  I believe we were destined to get thrown out of this dump.” – Ghostbusters

If your wife insists you treat her like a queen, remember that allows you to behead her if the Pope doesn’t authorize an annulment.

Just a little bit before my time, a popular way to buy music was on a 45rpm record.  It was a little, circular YouTube® that you could put on a record player, for all you Zoomers out there.  These were small records that just contained a single song.  Generally, the best song was the “A” side.  On the back?  The record company generally put a song that they felt was inferior.  This was the “B” side.

The record company was generally right, but sometimes spectacularly wrong.  Queen’s “We Will Rock You” was the B-side to “We Are The Champions.”  But most of the time, the B-side really was an inferior song.  As time was precious and you can never tell when another one is going to bite the dust, why would you take time to listen to a song that wasn’t the best?

You wouldn’t.  Unless . . .

In the song, “Burning for You” by Blue Öyster Cult, one particular lyric is:

Time everlasting,
Time to play B-sides

Even though I owned a total of two 45’s in my life, I understood this when I first listened to the lyric on a dodgy cassette player that ate batteries like they were candy outside while stacking firewood.  Ben Franklin said it very well when he said:

“Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.”

Time is our most precious commodity.  But what if you had time to play the B-sides?

You’d have all the time in the world.

Our lives are built entirely built in how we spend our time.  It’s like the Native American story of the two wolves inside of each of us – one good and one evil.  Which one grows?  The one we feed.

And we feed our life through the choices we make which choices we feed with our time.

And both of the wolves are named Toby.

One of my choices on how to spend my time has been writing this blog.  It has been one of the most fulfilling things in my life in the three and a half years since I started it.  So, by feeding it, I change my future.  To some very small extent, I might even change the lives of the people who read it.

Doing this blog is an A-side.  And it’s one I plan on continuing, if not expanding.

But we all need time for B-sides.  Why?  Because exploring the undiscovered can only take place when we move off of the path that everyone else takes.  I like to think that this blog is somewhat unique – it’s not to everyone’s taste, certainly.

Nah, you can see that Racine eats a lot of carbs.

“Life is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel,” is a quote from dead French writing dude Jean Racine.  And he’s right.  I think that life is mostly amusing.

One of the biggest sources of amusement to me is the idea that we can plan our lives.  Of course, to a certain extent, we can.  But everywhere we see that there are unexpected things that show up.  That is, perhaps, one of the best things in life.  The Chinese farmer story (which I’ve used before) tells the tale.

I first heard this from a friend in 2002 or so . . . there were several of us that would get together to talk about ideas and concepts, and one of the participants told this story:

There is an old Chinese story about a farmer.  One night, there was a terrible storm.  The wind blew so hard, it opened up his corral, and his horses got out.

“Bad luck!” said his friends.

“Good luck, bad luck.  Who can say?” replied the farmer.

The next week, his horses, lonely for home, came back.  But while they were loose, they got in with a group of wild horses.  The wild horses came home with them.  The farmer now had twice as many horses.

A centaur got a cough and worried he had COVID-19, but the doctor told him only his legs were horse.

“Good luck!” said his friends.

“Good luck, bad luck.  Who can say?” replied the farmer.

A wild horse is good to no one, so the farmer’s son began to work on breaking the horses.  Most of them were no problem, but one particularly fierce horse bucked the farmer’s son off.  The farmer’s son broke his leg.

“Bad luck!” said his friends.

“Good luck, bad luck.  Who can say?” replied the farmer.

The next week, the Emperor, having decided to go off to war due to a very dangerous threat against the empire, marched with his troops through the farmer’s town.  They called up in a draft all of the able-bodied young men to accompany them to war.  The farmer’s son could not go – his leg was broken.

Good luck, bad luck?  Who can say?  Hopefully

Where do Vikings keep their children?  In the norse-ry.

One thing I do suggest is that, at least occasionally, you take the time to play at least some of the B-sides of your life.  You never know when life will throw a change at you, and your B-side becomes an A-side.

“Prentiss got caught stuffing the ballot boxes, so I won.  I am the sheriff!” – Soap

I was physically restrained and denied the right to vote once – and Pugsley would have made such a great 6^th grade treasurer.

Western Civilization is a work of genius.  Yes, there are flaws, and some of them may be fatal, but it has produced the greatest amount of achievement in human history.  Western Civilization has done things that no culture has in history.  It has gone from the farthest reaches of the Arctic, to the Antarctic, to the tallest mountain in the world and the lowest trench in the sea.  And don’t forget the Sports Illustrated® Swimsuit Edition™.

While other nations starved their own citizens on purpose, we gladly fed the world.

Were we perfect?  Certainly not.  I, for one, want to apologize to the world for The Brady Bunch, which I believe was in violation of the Geneva Convention.  But in most cases, we brought far more than we took.  When Western Civilization retreats, freedom dies and chaos reigns.

There are Four Boxes that keep Western Civilization safe – really four systems.  Remove them?  Freedom dies and chaos reigns.  I’ll note that Western Civilization is built on more than this – but these are four stabilizing features that help protect it.

The first box is the Soap Box.

Freedom of speech is stabilizing, within certain parameters.  If an insane person is allowed to speak, that’s a safety valve.  Bad ideas won’t gather much purchase:  they are drowned out by good ones.  Heck, even North Korea has freedom of speech.  They just won’t guarantee your safety after you speak, however.

Communists allow free speech – no one says otherwise, right?

But as I’ve documented at length in the Civil War 2.0 Weather Reports (LINK) censorship is a primary tool of the Left.  I’ve documented time after time how the Left is censoring ideas across the primary means of communication today – the Internet.

I know that many people have said (especially libertarians) that Twitter®, for instance, is owned by a private company so censorship is fine.  It’s not merit-based like it used to be.  Heck, at one point even Jesus only had 12 followers.

I can understand that, because once upon a time, I was a libertarian, too.  Heck, I’ve been registered as an independent until the last primary election.  Why did I change?

First, I’m older than 35.  Second?  So I could vote for myself.  Take that, Mrs. Svenson (my kindergarten teacher).

Twitter® used to advertise itself as the “Free speech wing of the Free Speech Party.”  Now, a better line would be the “Allowed speech wing of the Leftist Revolution.”  It’s true.  Place any idea on Twitter™ that’s out of the mainstream, even if backed up by data?

It will be suppressed.  And sure, you say, there are alternatives.  You could go on Gab©.

You may not know this, but Gab™ was cut off from its payment processors.  If you wanted to give money to Gab® via Visa©?  You can’t.  You can pay for porn with a Visa®.  But you can’t pay for Gab©.

See the problem?

Used with permission. 

When Alex Jones was banned from Twitter®, in rapid succession he was banned across nearly all social media in the same day.  He wasn’t a killer – killers can have Twitter™.  He wasn’t a foreign government who calls the USA “Great Satan” – they have an official account.

Nope, he was just a Texan who said things that scared people.

The ideas of the Left don’t hold up to history.  Their compassion is, mainly, a lie.  Should Twitter® be a public utility?  Maybe.  I hate to suggest that step, but perhaps the time has come.

Regardless – removing the Soap Box is dangerous.  Suppression of ideas will lead to suppression of people.  And suppression gives a validity to ideas that they might not have otherwise.

The Soap Box is the first safety valve.  If people cannot vent?  If they cannot share their opinions?  The system begins to fail.  The system is based on the idea that Truth can be debated, but Truth cannot be suppressed.  Heck, I’ve even seen politicians speaking the Truth – they were calling each other liars.

Our system now is dangerously pushing censorship.  And Leftists cheer it, as Leftists always do.

The second box is the Jury Box.

As members of Western Civilization, we give up some rights to play the game.  One of the most important rights we give up is personal vengeance.  In areas where personal vengeance is still the normal mode of operation, one killing follows another which follows another.  It’s like Chicago, but without the charm.

I guess I don’t understand court.  After they found me not guilty of bank robbery, my lawyer told me I shouldn’t have asked, “Does that mean I can keep the money?”

An article that opened my eyes to the importance of the justice system to Western Civilization is at this (LINK).  It’s by Jared Diamond, who is often wrong on things, but this is perhaps his strongest work.  It shows clearly what happens to a society that has no law.  But Diamond was talking about New Guinea, not San Francisco.

In the United States, we make fun of lawyers, because many of them are worthy of being made fun of. They charge thousands to write out your last wishes.  Did they never hear of free will?  But the justice system is crucially important:  first, it allows a push back against government.  Second, it provides a way that the guilty can be punished, so you and I don’t have to do the dirty work ourselves and create feuds that last generations.

So, yes.  The Jury Box is that important.

It has been subverted, however.  Prosecutors always charge people with amazing levels of crimes in order to achieve a plea bargain and have the ability to throw nearly infinite resources at prosecuting a man because they don’t like him.

“Show me the man and I’ll find you the crime.”  This is a quote by one of the most evil men to have ever had power in the world – Lavrentiy Beria, who was head of Stalin’s secret police.  It could almost be the motto of the Department of Justice in 2020.  The DOJ seems fixated on finding an unpopular person and then finding crimes.  Hillary Clinton admittedly committed multiple felonies with her email server even though she never confessed to the fashion police.  Green pantsuits?

No charges will ever be filed against Hillary, or almost any powerful person.  Governor Cuomo abused his power to force Coronavirus patients into nursing homes where they infected and killed thousands.  But heaven forbid that a businessman make a mistake in filing foreign taxes.

That’s one way to lose faith in the justice system.

George Soros hates Flat-Earthers.  They’re not globalists.

Another?  Buy your justice system.  George Soros has been spending tens of millions of dollars getting District Attorneys that he likes elected.  Nope, this isn’t a conspiracy theory – it is well documented by mainstream sources (LINK).

What happens when you own the District Attorneys in dozens of Leftist-controlled areas?  They decide who gets charged, and with what.  So, a Leftist college professor swings a bike lock which would be an assault with a deadly weapon for you and I?

Probation for three years.  If that had been someone from the Right?  Prison.  Certainly.

But who do you think funded the D.A. that let the bike lock professor off with probation?  Soros.  Here’s the link to the San Francisco Chronicle (LINK).  I don’t make this stuff up.

I’ll skip the activist judges that want to legislate and make new law from the bench – you can look them up.  They’re out there and ubiquitous enough that they’re a stereotype.

A justice system that doesn’t have the faith of the people undermines all of Western Civilization.

The third box is the Ballot Box.

At least 60,000,000 American citizens think the 2020 presidential election was stolen (so far – the results aren’t done yet).  Let that sink in.

And these 60,000,000 Americans aren’t foolish, stupid, or acting in bad faith.  They’re actually quite rational.  On the face of it, electoral fraud is nearly certain.

How can I make such a statement?

• The people who would have engaged in the fraud thinks Trump is “Literally exactly like a certain leader who led Germany from 1932-1945.” When faced with that?  In their minds, a little fraud is justified.  Motive is proved.
• The systems are set up that relies on trust at the lowest levels. Opportunity exists.  The people hired to run the system at the lowest levels are politically motivated.  The Means exists.
• On top of that, getting caught is difficult. Certain cities like Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee have been corrupt for decades.  Graveyard voting in Chicago has been a joke for decades.  Think Detroit is better?
• It doesn’t need to be widespread. It only takes four cities to rig a presidential election in 2020 – Atlanta, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee.
• The Mainstream Media is 100% compliant in covering it up. How many people do you think CNN® is sending to look into allegations of voter fraud?  Umm, zero.

As I said, election fraud is certain, the only question is the extent.  Was this election stolen?  Means, Motive, Opportunity plus cover-up?  Why wouldn’t it happen?  How many ballots could you fill out in four hours?

No, this doesn’t look unusual, or at least it wouldn’t look unusual in the Soviet Union. 

Were I Joe Biden, and there was a chance I was going to become president under a cloud, I would work with Trump to clear my name.  Fraud in Philadelphia?  Let’s find it.  Fraud in Milwaukee?  “I’m sure it’s malarkey, but let’s investigate it.”  If he wants to fix the country, he should jump in and fix this.

But it’s not happening.

And people who are certain that $200,000 in Facebook® ads in 2016 from Russia changed the election are certain that the election is clean this time.

Shocking.

A failed voting system is a cancer on the Republic.  The voting system is exactly the last system that can relieve pressure in politics.

That leaves only one box:

The Ammo Box.

The Founders wisely put free speech in the First Amendment.  They put in an above-average justice system.  They put in a voting system that minimized the spread of fraud – the Electoral College.

But they also put in place the Second Amendment, which had the purpose of being both a safety measure and a curb on government.  The safety measure is that a populace who is armed feels safer – they will be measured in a response.  The curb on government is the flip side of that coin:  if you were going to do something that would put a substantial portion of your population to think that armed insurrection was a better idea than doing what the government said?

The government loses.

And there are at least 300,000,000 firearms owned by American citizens.  My bet is closer to 500,000,000.  Want to talk about a successful government policy?

In this nation, the bulk of the American population is well-armed.  A portion of it, veterans, are very well trained, perhaps better trained than the current members of the military.  I know several people that compete regularly shooting things so far away that I can’t see them even if I’m wearing my glasses.

Understand that ending up at this stage is something that almost no one wants.  We want freedom, peace, sound money, strong justice systems, and voting systems with unquestionable integrity.

But there’s always another alternative:  the last of the Four Boxes.

Let’s hope we don’t have to go there.