Uncle Ted’s Story Hour – Page 2 – Wilder, Wealthy, and Wise

Black Swans: Interconnected, Nonlinear, and Ready to Ruin Your Day

“My name’s Swan.” – The Warriors

When getting coffee in Denmark they don’t allow sugar. They don’t want it to be sweetish.

I’ve read enough history to know that the world doesn’t change in smooth straight lines. When change hits, it lurches. One day everything seems stable and the peasants are happily tilling the fields, and the next they’re communists busy storming the Bastille.

That’s the Black Swan.

Nassim Nicholas Taleb laid the definition out in his book The Black Swan. A real Black Swan isn’t just a surprise. It has three traits.

First, it’s an outlier, so far outside what most expected that the past gives zero warning.
Second, it carries an extreme impact, the kind that reshapes economies, governments, or entire ways of life.
Third, after it hits, we humans can’t help ourselves: we retroactively “explain” it like it was obvious all along.

“Of course, a fight about ethics in video game journalism would lead to the Strait of Hormuz being closed.”

A restaurant owner offered me free calamari for a good Internet review. It was squid pro quo.

We’ve had plenty of Black Swans, but I’ll run through some of the greatest hits reel to show the pattern.

1914.
The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo looked like a local Balkan thing. A couple of pistol shots, right? By the end of summer, however, the Guns of August had turned Europe into a meat grinder. Twenty million ended up dead due to the war. Empires dismantled. The map of Europe was redrawn and communism popped up yet again, this time in war-devastated Russia, being just another proof of the Russian national motto: “And then it got worse”.

1929.
Stock prices had climbed a mountain of margin debt. Thankfully we’ve learned our lesson and now have only twice the margin debt piled into the market here in 2026. But back then? One bad week in October and the market collapsed like Will Smith’s career. The Great Depression followed.

1992.
The Soviet Union looked like it would last forever: nukes, tanks, gulags, that guy that Rocky had to box, the works. Then, overnight, it imploded. Gorbachev’s reforms, economic rot, and a failed coup turned the world’s other superpower into fifteen broke republics. The Cold War ended not with a bang but with a shrug and empty shelves in Moscow. This was a positive Black Swan. Unless you were Gorby.

What’s the difference between a ruble and a dollar? Roughly a dollar.

2000.
The Dot-Com Bubble in 2000 was next. Internet stocks were going to change everything. Pets.com. Webvan. Internet pizza by the slice, but you had to go pick it up. Stock valuations that made tulip mania look rational. When the music stopped, trillions evaporated. NASDAQ dropped 78%. One of my friends sold a company for $50 million. In Alta-Vista® stock. That he couldn’t sell for two years.

2001.
September 11. Nineteen illiterate savages with box cutters rewrote global security, launched two endless wars, and shifted trillions in spending. Air travel changed forever. Civil liberties got waterboarded. They made The Mrs. take off her sandals going through security, and then ran a metal detector wand over her bare feet after the shoe bomber.

2008.
The Great Recession came from a housing market no one thought could fail. The cause? Subprime mortgages, collateralized debt obligations, and banks playing Jenga™ with other people’s money. Lehman Brothers folded, credit froze, and the government printed enough money to wallpaper the Moon.

“Can we fix it?” Bob’s wife’s attorney, “Not this time, Bob. Just sign the papers.”

2020.
COVID-19, a virus from a wet market (or a lab, pick your conspiracy) shut down the planet. Just-in-time supply chains snapped like dry twigs. Governments printed trillions while telling you to stay home and order DoorDash™ because no one working for DoorDash© could spread the disease. Inflation roared back like a thing roaring back.

Every single one of these events looked impossible right up until it wasn’t. And every single one was explained afterward like the smart people had been warning us that these events were going to happen all along.

We are living in the most interconnected, nonlinear system humanity has ever built. The whole mess is dependent upon global supply chains, instant financial markets, AI-driven trading, just-in-time inventory, and central banks playing God with interest rates. A hiccup in one node doesn’t stay local anymore.

It cascades.

Nonlinear means small inputs can produce gigantic, unpredictable outputs, like a butterfly flapping its wings in Beijing, causing Nic Cage to say “no” when offered a part in a movie.

A Tesla® driver crashed into a semi while watching a Nic Cage movie. Guess he should have just watched the trailer.

We are in a world where I think more Black Swans are imminent, because there are groups that are actively shaking the foundations of the way the world words.

Like China. China’s economic ascendency isn’t some slow rise. It’s unrestricted economic warfare, exactly like the Chinese generals described in their book. They’ve gutted our manufacturing base while we cheered “free trade.” They control rare earths, solar panels, pharmaceuticals, and now a big chunk of silver production and refining. One policy tweak in Beijing and entire U.S. industries seize up.

That’s not theory. It’s happening.

At the same time, Trump is busy recasting the entire post-World War II alliance structure. In his defense, it was going to happen anyway, so might as well try to recast it in a way that works for the United States. The old Cold War playbook: NATO, endless commitments, sending our treasure overseas while our own borders leak is getting rewritten.

New deals based on new priorities, while old partners are suddenly on notice. When you yank the scaffolding out from under a 75-year-old global order, things get wobbly.

Add in the debt bomb.

Interest payments alone are bigger than defense budgets used to be. Bond vigilantes haven’t shown up yet, but they’re circling. One bad auction, one loss of faith, and the bond market revolts.

Rates spike. Stocks crater. Pensions and 401(k)s take a hit that makes 2008 look like a warm-up.

Then there’s AI and automation.

We’re likely on the edge of having AGI (artificial general intelligence) that could rewrite every job category. Or we could get an AI stock crash first: valuations are moonshot, hype is everywhere, and conflicting AI agents trading against each other at light speed could trigger a flash crash that makes 1987 look quaint. Massive unemployment follows as advanced automation eats white-collar work the way robots ate factory jobs.

What happens when millions of college-educated professionals suddenly have nowhere to go?

Geopolitical Black Swans are lining up too.

Civil unrest in the UK that looks more like low-grade civil war every year: mass migration, cultural collapse, and the elites are disconnected. Could Saudi Arabia fracture internally while oil markets hang in the balance? What about a Cascadia subduction zone earthquake that could drop bridges, snap pipelines, and isolate the Pacific Northwest for weeks?

Any one of these hits an already-fragile, hyper-connected world and the dominoes don’t stop falling.

Any pizza can be a personal pizza.

The point is to recognize the pattern: complexity plus nonlinearity plus rapid systemic change equals Black Swan habitat. We’ve never had more of all three at once.

So what to do?

Stop pretending the experts have it under control. They clearly don’t.

The good news is resilience looks the same for many cases. Skills beat degrees when the power goes out. A garden and a stocked pantry beats a grocery store when shelves empty. Cash, metals, and productive land beat IOUs from a government that prints money like it’s confetti.

The Black Swan doesn’t care about fear, but it does respect preparation.

The next one is coming. It always does.

And if you’re off to storm the Bastille, well, remember to wear clean underwear. I’d usually tell a more complicated joke at the end, but the best underwear jokes are brief.

Every Where You Look: The Game

“I’m giving you a choice: either put on these glasses or start eating that trash can.” – They Live

“I’m hear to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I’m all out of bubblegum.” (all memes as found)

Most posts aren’t connected, outside of they’re all written by me. However, the last few have been following a theme that’s pretty old: mistaking The Game for reality, even Plato wrote about it. There are times we all get stuck in it. It’s pretty seductive. We mistake The Game for reality, often to our own detriment.

What’s The Game?

The Game is where life moves away from reality. Money (or currency, or cash, which are not the same thing but we’ll use interchangeably in this post) was invented as a way to make trade easier. Gold and silver were great because they didn’t rust, could be split up in itty bitty increments, and couldn’t be printed.

Money is an invention. Collectively, humans made it.

We also invented interest rates. Back a year or so ago (I’m too lazy to look it up) I invited everyone to think differently about the world by changing one simple thing: eliminate interest on money.

If you haven’t seen the movie They Live, you should. But when I suggested that “Let’s pretend that interest rates don’t exist,” I felt like Rowdy Roddy Piper trying to get Keith David to put on the ZZTop® sunglasses that (spoiler) allowed humans to see that half the people around him were aliens.

I mean, we didn’t get in a fistfight that lasted 20 minutes, but no one wanted to play a different version of The Game. It was such a fundamental departure from the way the current world worked that people just couldn’t imagine it.

This is what The Game does.

I’ll guarantee that your great grandparents moving across the American West or settling in Kentucky or working a farm in Virginny could have imagined life without interest rates. Many of them may not have borrowed money at interest at all.

In their lives.

It’s not that money didn’t matter, it most certainly did. But if you grubstaked a house on the prairie you might have had to borrow a dollar or two until the crop came in, but it was probably to the store, and it probably wasn’t at interest. Who would even loan against a farm? Land was free for those that could homestead it. Banking for everyone is a new invention. Just like interest rates, it was just a new rule for The Game.

The reason? Why not extend The Game to everyone so that they could transfer their wealth at six percent per year to the owners of a bank?

Large amounts of society are like this. It is a large part of why it was so crucial to the COVID tRUsT tHe ScIENce crowd. This was in a time of general insanity as the “trans-women are women” and “women are exactly like men” and “black people are really oppressed and George Floyd was murdered” hysteria hit peaks.

All of these are symptoms that The Game is afoot, and there is nothing a person who has bought into The Game will fight more than having the rules of The Game challenged. And if individuals fight hard, the system will fight even harder.

January 6, anyone?

If I were a suspicious man, I’d think this was all an intentional plan to move away from the real to the fantasy world of make-believe things like money. The transition for money moved from:

Money is something tangible. Gold, yes. Silver, maybe along with some copper and nickel. But I don’t trust silver or copper or nickel much.
Okay, gold is so important you can’t touch it but you can keep your silver coins. Only the government. Oh, and the gold that we just took from you? We’re going to immediately double its value. But the dollar will always be backed by gold.
Silver in coins are too expensive to make. We’ll just make them out of base metals.
Gold? We’re just going to have dollars. You can buy your gold back.
Pennies? Too expensive to make, we lose money on every single one we make. We’ll skip ‘em.
Say, have you tried some of this electronic digital cash so we can track everything you buy? So convenient and easy!

The reality has been twisted, and taking your money from you via interest payments and taxes wasn’t enough, they had to take the money, too. The rules of The Game have been changed.

And me arguing that getting rid of interest rates is a crazy thought experiment?

The way your money was taken the same way your rights are taken. They are removed slowly, people are nudged. If you follow the Supreme Court, the plain language of the document has been twisted so far as for some judges to believe that somewhere in the Constitution is the protected right of dual citizens to

Exist, and
Serve in jobs like congressman or as a federal judge.

But, yet, the plain language allowing me to own military-grade weapons means that I shouldn’t be allowed anything more powerful than a shotgun pellet gun bb-gun squirt gun dart gun Nerf™ gun, and my right to the Nerf® gun isn’t absolute.

The rules of The Game have been changed.

Okay, I made this one.

The same way that your rights are taken is the same way your values are taken.

Imagine society in 1950. Perfect? No. If you didn’t mow your lawn, you couldn’t get a job or a loan. Society rejected you, but those may have been features, rather than bugs.

Likewise, gays couldn’t adopt and certainly couldn’t get jobs where they would be alone with children – that would be insane! But then The Game changed. The Catholic Church decided that they could trust gay priests, since priests were celibate and, besides, God loves gay people, too, right?

Ouch. Not so much. It wasn’t the “priest” that caused the problem, it was the “gay”.

Gay people existed then. Not in such large numbers because, for large numbers of gay people today “gay” is a choice. And back then, the choice was made for you, and communities who had sexual fetishes about latex-covered toasters didn’t exist because there was no Reddit™ to connect them all.

That was better. Rule changes to The Game have spread farther, faster in our connected world.

But our values have been ripped away via rule changes to The Game. Nothing is wrong, except thinking something is wrong. Silly. The Game is about inclusion. Even to the point of including people who hate you. This is what is wrong with the world today.

Yeah. See what that’s doing with birth rates. But its also on purpose. These values have been chipped at every year since at least the 1950s until the only value that The Game will leave you with is the value of money.

And they’ll even take that away from you.

Just try on the damn glasses, why don’t you?

Change, Propaganda, And Painting Lessons

“You were looking for a way to change your life.” – Fight Club

His pizza was also burnt and his beer was frozen. He couldn’t pull anything out on time.

I’ve stared at the ceiling at 3 a.m. more times than I care to count in the past, wondering why some things in my life change and others stay stuck like a rusted engine nut on a ’78 Jeep® pickup.

Change.

It sounds simple. Turn left instead of right. Take the red pill or the blue pill or both. Eat the salad. Quit the habit I want to quit. But the real change, the kind that rewires who I am, doesn’t happen because somebody tells me to change. Change doesn’t happen because the boss is watching or the government posts another billboard. Change happens when something inside me finally decides it’s time.

And the crazy part?

I control that switch. No matter what my situation looks like right now, no matter how many birthdays I’ve stacked up, that control is still mine.

Let me tell you what doesn’t work.

But the boarding agent said she could have pie once we got to our seats: “There’ll be a piece when you are done.”

First, someone trying to make me change.

Forget it. I’m stubborn. Bull-headed, really. Push me, and I’ll dig in like a moist Missouri mule afflicted with mucus. I’ve sent pushy salesmen packing more times than I can remember. They come at me with the hard sell, the guilt trip, the “you really should” speech, and my natural reaction is to do the exact opposite.

It’s not rational.

It’s not even smart sometimes. But it’s me.

Second, someone with power hovering over my shoulder, monitoring me.

Sure, I’ll toe the line while they’re looking. I’ll smile, nod, and change exactly enough to get them off my back. The minute the spotlight moves, though? Back to business as usual. No buy-in. No real shift. Just temporary theater. I know I’m not the only one.

Third, the whole society-is-watching angle.

This is Big Brother with a million little henchmen. I’ll admit it: back when I was a kid, the “Give a hoot, don’t pollute®” campaign actually worked on wee Wilder. I picked up trash and felt good about it. But that was simple. Today it’s different. Now it’s algorithms written for the fat-breasted blue-haired virtue warbler. It’s social pressure and cameras everywhere, all trying to nudge behavior.

My kids wanted a puppy for Christmas, but I told them they were eating ham like everyone else.

I see it for what it is: a fancier version of the same old “boss is watching me” game.

I might play along in public when I absolutely must, but inside?

Still no sale.

So, what actually moves the needle?

Only one thing I’ve ever found works that works on me or anyone else:

changing values.

And values don’t change because of logic. They change because of emotion, and not common emotions like “cold” or “sleepy” or “salt.” No. Raw, strong, gut-punch emotion.

I posed naked for a magazine once. The lady at the 7-11® counter sure overreacted.

Take when I became a new father. One minute the world revolved around me. The next minute I was holding this tiny human who depended on me for everything, and I realized the universe didn’t orbit John Wilder anymore unless I put on enough weight to create my own gravity well. That was a big deal.

Not a lecture.

Not a chart.

Just pure, overwhelming emotion. My values shifted: “providing” and “protecting” now were more important than “buzzed” and “sleepy”. Everything else got rearranged around that.

I’ve seen the same thing in guys who barely survive a heart attack.

One day they’re carrying an extra seventy pounds, puffing on cigs, eating like a fat girl on a date with a blind man.

The next day after their slow dance with the reaper?

They drop the weight, kill the habits, start running, and turn into the most irritating health evangelists you’ve ever met, nearly as bad as bicycling atheist vegan transexual Harvard™ grads.

Nearly dying does that, I guess.

When I’m surrounded by my family, with my last breath I want to say: “Hey, you guys want to see a dead body?”

It’s not a gentle suggestion from a doctor. It’s terror and relief and gratitude and fear all slamming together at once into the conclusion that there are a finite amount of seconds left on that clock.

Emotion rewires the hardware.

That’s also exactly how propaganda works. It skips the logic and goes straight for the deepest buttons we have: lust, fear, the need to belong, pain, despair and the need for PEZ™. Most of them are negative, because negative is easy to manufacture, and negative sticks.

And in 2026 we’re swimming in it.

Screens, news, ads, entertainment are a constant bombardment trying to shift what we value without us even noticing.

One excellent YouTuber® on this subject is Screenwashed™, and he talks about how films are used to destroy our culture. He breaks down the subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways Hollywood rewires what we think is normal, what we think is heroic, what we think we should want. I’m not sure exactly how long it’ll be before they come to get this guy, but I’d suggest you give him a look. Here’s one of his videos.

Even I, the mighty John Wilder, am not immune from propaganda. I’ve caught myself feeling emotions I didn’t ask for after watching something “harmless.” That’s why I’ve gotten deliberate about what I let into my head.

I pick and choose.

I pause and ask: What emotion is this feeding me right now?

Why?

Does it line up with the man I want to be, or is it nudging me toward someone else’s script?

The external stuff can scream all it wants. The pressures, the trends, the crises, the propaganda machines can poke and prod and threaten. But the final decision on what I value? That’s mine. Always has been.

The best addiction to have is injecting yourself with brake fluid. You can stop anytime you want.

We can all flip it.

Not because some expert or politician or trending hashtag told us to. Not because someone’s watching or shaming. But because we decide to let in an emotion strong enough to move the values that actually run your life.

Starve the propaganda. Examine every emotion that shows up at your door and decide if it gets to stay.

Change isn’t a mystery. It’s not reserved for the young or the lucky or the disciplined. It’s a simple, stubborn fact: I control the basis of it. I always have. And so do you.

The world can keep pushing.

I’ll keep deciding.

The War Against Your Life: Noelia Castillo And The Machinery of Medically Assisted Murder

“All of you, just wait and listen to me! You can wrap it up any way you like. You are about to commit murder.” – The Wicker Man (1973)

(all memes as found)

The GloboLeftElite views human life, especially Western human life, as a blot on the world.

To them, it’s problem to be managed, a resource to be harvested and replaced. They do not say this in public. They wrap their policies in the language of compassion, equity, and progress. But the results speak louder than any press release: lives destroyed, families shattered, and the quiet erasure of the people who built the West and the modern world.

No better proof exists than the case of Noelia Castillo Ramos, who was recently murdered as a needle entered her arm and injected chemicals that ended in her death.

In 2022, Noelia was a teenager living with her family in Spain. Her family lost their home. The state, in its infinite benevolence, sent officers, perhaps a dozen cops, to remove her from her parents’ care and place her in a government-run group home. There she would be “properly cared for.”

The home housed her alongside North African migrant youths. Many of these “youths,” as is common across Europe, were not teenagers but men in their twenties and thirties who found that pretending to be a teen gave them invincibility to the European legal system and access to (actual) teenage girls.

Noelia was allegedly gang-raped. Multiple times. Sources across social media and independent reports describe three separate assaults, at least two of them involving groups. She tried to report the rapes. According to accounts, staff, GloboLeftist women running the facility, refused to allow formal complaints. I can only assume that they thought that documenting the crimes would make the “migrant youths” look bad.

Better to protect the narrative than the girl, right?

Broken, Noelia made a desperate choice. By her own later admission, she was coked up when she jumped from the fifth floor of a building. She survived the fall, but she was left paraplegic. Noelia was trapped in a body that no longer obeyed her and a system that had already failed her at every turn.

She requested medically assisted murder (MAM), the clinical euphemism for state-approved killing. Spain legalized euthanasia in 2021. The request was reviewed.

Approved.

On March 26, 2026, Noelia Castillo Ramos was euthanized at Hospital Residencia Sant Camil near Barcelona. She was twenty-five years old.

Her organs were almost certainly harvested. In countries that have embraced MAM, organ procurement follows the death, often coordinated so efficiently that viable organs are taken while the patient is still alive under anesthesia. We don’t allow that with animals: we call that vivisection.

Hospitals bill for the procedures to put those organs in other bodies. Transplant networks profit. And in the macabre calculus of the system, those organs may well have gone to the very migrant rapists whose presence destroyed her.

The rapists? Free. Never arrested. Likely still living on government benefits in government housing, fathering the next generation of “youths” who will speak a foreign language and practice a foreign culture to Spain.

The group home operators? Unpunished. The state officials who removed her from her family? Still removing other children. The women who allegedly silenced her reports? Still employed. The GloboLeftElite that welcomed the invasion and then covered for its consequences?

Still in power.

If this were an isolated tragedy, we could mourn it and move on. It is not. Instead of an individual, let’s zoom out and look at a system. After all, a system is what it does.

Look at Canada.

Medically Assisted Murder accounted for 5% of deaths in 2024, one in twenty Canadians dying by state injection. The growth rate slowed to “only” 16% in 2023 after averaging 31% in prior years, but the machine is still accelerating. MAM is now the fifth leading cause of death in the country.

96% of those killed are white. Whites make up about 70% of Canada’s population. The disparity is not random. It is the predictable outcome of a policy aimed at the historic population of the West.

Canada does not merely allow MAM, it actively promotes it.

Government literature, hospital protocols, and even Veterans Affairs have offered MAM to veterans facing long wait times for care, to the disabled, to the poor, and to those whose only “illness” is poverty or despair. Cases now include people with chronic pain, neurological conditions, frailty, and socioeconomic desperation. Poor people.

Ontario data shows that among non-terminal MAM recipients, over 25% lived in the poor areas. The state does not heal: it offers the needle.

Organ donation after MAM has become a growth industry. Canada leads the world in the percentage of MAM deaths followed by organ procurement. Hospitals and transplant programs benefit financially. The same system that fails to protect the vulnerable in life profits bigly from their death.

The abusers are never punished. The bureaucrats who run the homes, the politicians who open the borders, the activists who scream “racist” at anyone who notices the pattern always remain untouched. The invading migrant populations imported by the GloboLeftElite continue to receive housing, benefits, and protection while native girls like Noelia are removed from their families, violated, silenced, and finally killed.

This is not incompetence. It is not a series of unfortunate accidents. It is the system functioning exactly as designed. A system is what it does.

The GloboLeftElite has made their priorities clear for years.

Western birth rates collapse under the weight of taxes, housing costs, delayed marriage, and cultural contempt. Families are undermined. Children are taken by the state under pretexts of “safety.” Migrants are imported in numbers that guarantee cultural replacement.

Crime spikes, especially sexual crime against native women and girls, yet reporting is suppressed and prosecution avoided to protect the narrative. When native men can’t find jobs because they are replaced by nepotistic ethnicities or cheap third world labor, it is celebrated. When the victims break through drugs, despair, or suicide attempts, the state offers not justice or healing but death.

And then it harvests the remains for profit.

Noelia Castillo is not an outlier. She is the logical endpoint of the system doing what it was designed to do.

A girl taken from her family, housed with the invaders the elite celebrate, raped, silenced, crippled, and finally euthanized. Her death removes one more native European from the ledger. Her organs may sustain others, perhaps a new heart goes to the very demographic the GloboLeftElite has decided will inherit the continent.

The rapists breed. The state continues its removals. The machine hums on.

The GloboLeftists celebrate, openly now, another victory, another white womb removed from the equation, another family line aborted before it started.

The emotional weight of this cannot be softened.

Imagine the final moments: Noelia, paralyzed, knowing the men who destroyed her walked free while she faced the needle. The pinch as the injection enters the vein. The slow fade. The last conscious thought that the system which failed her at every step had now decided her life was the problem to be solved.

That is the future the GloboLeftElite has built. Not for themselves: they live happily behind walls and private security. No, this future is for you, for your children, for every Western family that still believes the state exists to protect them.

The West is being euthanized. Not in one dramatic collapse, but one approved injection at a time. One silenced rape report. One removed child. One body of harvested organs. One replaced line of children and grandchildren who will never walk the Earth.

And the people who designed it, cheered it, and profit from it sleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that the blot they despise is finally being erased.

There is no softer way to say it.

The needle is already in the arm of the civilization that built the modern world. The question is whether we will watch it empty, or whether we will stop the hand that pushes the plunger?

Wilder Weekly News, War Edition

“Because I am good at three things: fighting, screwing and reading the news. Now, I’ve already done one of those today. So, what’s the other one gonna be?” – Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy

Breaking news: huge accident at the day care while playing peek-a-boo. All were rushed to ICU. (all memes, clips as-found)

Even though it took longer than one of my usual posts, I thought I’d do another weekly news recap like I did last week. The last one was fun. This won’t be an all the time thing, but I’m going to continue it from time to time on Fridays.

Top Story

It’s war! Or not. No one can seem to figure out if it’s war. Regardless, many Americans have mixed feelings, since approximately 80% of Americans don’t want war with Iran. After really looking at the map, I can see the point of the 20% who want to bomb Iran into oblivion, send all of its citizens home, and cut it off from the Internet and international commerce.

Say what you want, I think this war has legs. And yes, I know that a woman wasn’t in command, because if Trump asked a female commander where to bomb Iran for the greatest strategic impact, she would have said, “I don’t know, you choose.”

China has jumped out to positively indicate that in some cases that if the situation is right that they totally, completely support Iran in a moral sense if it’s okay with everyone else.

China had previously provided support to Iran, giving them a cunningly designed set of targets designed to look exactly like air defense missiles.

It turns out that Iran bought them at a discount, so at least they were a bargain.

Best Korea is waiting on the bench, still trying to get the coach’s eye so they can be sent in.

A United States Navy submarine put an Iranian frigate to the bottom of the ocean. The Pentagon released the footage (below) and described the torpedo trajectory as one of the best attacks from ever, describing it as sub-optimal. Iranians cried foul, since they felt it was unfair that the United States would sink one of their harmless warships that’s filled with guns and missiles.

Wall Street pundit Jim Cramer has invoked the Cramer effect and notes that this will be a short war.

Moving away from war, the United States shocked Canada by having learned how to play hockey for the first time since the Soviets were in charge, and won the gold medal. Canadians were furious, and very upset at the loss and if we could speak Hindi we might be able to understand their pain.

India has plans to introduce an additional 60 million Indians to Canada, but the good news is that will only mean they need 17 apartments and two more toilets.

Thankfully, the GloboLeftElite and the ChamberCommerceElite have decided that everyone is a natural American and their policy was leaked on /pol/.

Great Britain has already adopted a variant of this policy.

And from the “How did The X-Files become a training video?” desk, we find that The X-Files was again a training video:

The moderation group of Black People Twitter, a Reddit© subreddit, got together for a meetup, showing that black culture has produced a great group of keyboard warriors!

And Gavin Newsom continued his outreach to black people, meeting a group of them for some blunts and purple drank prior to going out to shoot up a hookah bar. From Gavin, “I just can’t wait to go shoot up some Juneteenth parties!”

In another shameful display of trans-hatred, a magazine posted the picture on the left instead of the actual picture of the stunning and brave trans-woman who was forced to swim with men instead of actual women.

And, Sydney Sweeney certainly was outclassed by a woman, Grugdra the Hungry, made entirely of adipose and Play-Doh® who showed Ms. Sweeney what a real woman was like. You sure showed her, Grugdra!

In political news, EyePatch McCain was defeated in his primary race by someone who had not seen coming.

In other news, a woman voting for the Leopards Eating Faces Party was surprised when, in fact, a leopard ate her face.

Finally, a solution for one of the most vexing questions related to medically assisted suicide has been solved. Who should decide if a person can end their life? A.I. Specifically, Tay®.

How To Break A Society, Part II: Destroy The Family

“You can do anything, but never go against the family.” – The Godfather

Women are like the IRS: they won’t tell you what they want until you make a mistake. (memes as-found)

Picture this: A young guy in finishes high school, gets a factory job paying enough for a house, a car, and a stay-at-home wife. They pop out 2.5 kids (the .5 is for Kevin, who isn’t too bright). They go to church on Sunday, and the kids argue about whose turn it is to mow the lawn.

There is no prenup, no Tinder® swipes, no OnlyFans™ side hustle and no Facebook™ telling the wife that every other woman has it better. Just stability. Boring?

No. Enriching. But this isn’t 2026, it’s the standard from 1956 before the rot set in.

Today: That same guy’s grandkid is 28, drowning in student debt for that degree she got in degree in the Ethnography of Colonialism and its impact on Basket Weaving techniques of Amazonian tribes. She’s living in a pod with five roommates, and swiping right on profiles of 6’2”, six figure Chads, trading her youth to chase a fleeting thrill.

Are barbarians people who cut hair in a library?

Marriage? Ha! She’s living her “best life” on a carousel of dates with men that would never marry her, but sure would give her horizontal attention for an evening.

Kids? Such a constraint!

The idea is simple: everything is made of atoms, and those atoms are the smallest piece that makes up whatever it is we’re looking at. At the core of any society is an atom, too.

This isn’t the proton-neutron-electron kind. No, this is the atom of society, the family, a Dad, a Mom, and kids. Throughout all of recorded history, societies that crank out the next generation survive. The ones that don’t? They end up as footnotes in dusty history books.

The most stable setup? Dad in charge, Mom raising the rugrats, everyone pulling in the same direction. Young men get wives, which calms their inner caveman urges. Kids give them purpose beyond leveling up in Call of Duty®.

A society of married dads with skin in the game? They build. They invest. They don’t riot over pronouns. This setup is so rock-solid it’s baked into every enduring culture from Rome to the Amish. It’s also morally encoded. It’s True, Beautiful, and Good. The Bible talks about this from the earliest through the latest books, with not a single mention of gay marriage being stunning and brave.

I told a female cop she was stunning to get out of a ticket. Shouldn’t have added, “and that’s not even the booze talking.”

But since the late 1800s, there’s been a full-court press to dismantle the family.

Why? Because stable families are hard to control. Families don’t need government handouts or therapy apps because they self-regulate.

Enter the wrecking crew.

First?

Women voting. It sounds innocent and there’s a broad consensus in the United States that it’s a good thing.

“Equality!” the women yelled. But it fails for a simple reason. It’s based upon the concept that society’s basic unit isn’t the family, instead it’s the individual. Individuals don’t reproduce; families do. An island of just women in a few decades will produce an island where no one lives at all, and when the last two women die it’s nearly certain they wouldn’t have talked to each other in years.

I’ve said it before: if I was in charge, I’d restrict voting to folks with stake in the future. How about married men who are net taxpayers, wed to women under 35. This would produce serious elections with no pandering to cat ladies or trust-fund socialists. You could make the argument that married women vote rationally because, “Hey, low taxes mean more for the kids.” But unmarried women? They lean heavily toward anti-family voting, like funding endless welfare that rewards single moms over intact homes, endless immigration because refugees are like the children they didn’t have that they didn’t care for.

And they really get mad when you go to the library and put all the women’s rights books in the fiction section.

Continuing our trip back in history, hand-in-hand with suffrage came the push for contraception. The big push for legalization kicked off around 1914, right alongside the suffragettes.

Perhaps the reason that these old battle axes were in favor of contraception was because if sex meant that a man had the chance of being chained to one of them, they’d never get laid. Look at old photos of those gals, they were coyotes-ugly in corsets.

Regardless, the goal was decoupling sex from consequences. Fun? Sure. But families? Optional now. The Four Horsemen of the Family-pocalypse were galloping at around this time.

They consisted of: Women’s voting, spiritualism (because nothing says “stable society” like séances with your dead aunt), contraception, and free love.

All of these are profoundly anti-family.

The roots for these movements are as far away from True, Beautiful, and Good as you can get: they were ugly, communist, and family-hating. A generation after the 19th Amendment, Planned Parenthood® rebranded. Their pitch? Legal abortion and, later, the Pill. No kids? No family. Sex is all about fun.

People who casually use hyperbole are the worst.

Then Roe v. Wade in 1973 led to abortion on demand. “My body, my choice,” except the body inside isn’t yours, but hey, logic is optional in revolutions. The result? Millions of potential families and children vaporized before they started.

Add in the other sacrament of Evil: no-fault divorce. Marriage used to mean something and was difficult to get out of. Now? “Irreconcilable differences” means that divorces are on the menu. In marriages with college-educated women, over 90% are initiated by the woman.

Why? “I’m unhaaaaappy. Pay me.”

Disposable vows means meaningless commitment. Families shatter like dropped PEZ® dispensers.

And the cherry on top? Gay marriage. French historian Emmanuel Todd (LINK) called this the final shark-jump for Western society. It redefines marriage from a “procreation unit” to a “feel-good contract.”

Society’s now officially anti-family. Proof? Heritage Americans’ birthrate dipped below replacement. In 55 years, we went from a tight-knit nation of shared blood, faith, and language to a balkanized mess where the only glue is “we all breathe oxygen . . . mostly.”

Media’s been the propaganda arm on steroids for this anti-family movement. Hollywood has been anti-family at least since Archie Bunker first stepped on stage. Now? Every script’s a checklist:

All bad guys: White, straight heritage Americans.
Women: Kick butt like Rambo, but in heels. Physics? Who needs that?
Dads: Bumbling idiots who can’t tie their shoes without Mom’s help.
Moms: Boss queens running the show, because empowerment.
Kids: Precocious sexualized objects wiser than adults.
Traditional values: Mocked as uncool, if shown at all. Religion is shown only to show how evil it is. Children of the Corn, anyone?

It’s like Hollywood hired the Antichrist as script consultant and he became a network executive. Peak America was built on strong families.

Now? We’re force-fed “Modern Family®” as the new normal, where Dad is optional and kids are accessories.

None of this was accidental and every bit of it was engineered. The GloboLeftElite saw stable families as roadblocks. Families teach self-reliance, morality, and “no, you can’t have everything.”

My new hobby is going up to young women who are staring at their phones and asking if they’re my Tinder® date.

Government wants dependence: “We’ll be your family, citizen. Just vote blue and hand over your paycheck.” They splintered us with migration, welfare that punished marriage, schools that indoctrinate instead of educate, and a culture that celebrates “my truth” over “our future.”

The absurdity? We did this during our peak prosperity where we could have invested our wealth and energy to take us to the stars.

We were fat, happy, and gullible.

We were perfect marks for the con. “Break the old norms, women, they’re oppressive!”

Why do college-educated GloboLeftist women buy pit bulls? A lot of them go after their masters.

Now we’ve got fatherless homes breeding crime waves, women wondering where the good men went, and a birthrate that screams extinction event. A society without families is a house of cards in a hurricane.

Young men without purpose? They don’t create since there’s no reason to.

Women without kids? They adopt causes or cats.

Kids without dads? Statistics waiting to happen.

The bill? As I said before, it’s coming due, with interest.

The Last Dawn

This is now my favorite song I’ve done. Of course, most of them I really like, if I don’t get goosebumps, you don’t hear them. This one was inspired by a video where the guy being interviewed said he talked with one of the billionaires pushing A.I. about the danger to humanity. “Oh, I know it’s dangerous. But if we’re going to do it, I want to be the one to do it.”

Immediately, I thought of works by both Shelleys: Ozymandias and Frankenstein. Is this a song or a short story or a cautionary thought or the closest thing to a poem I’ve ever done?

Yes.

So, if there’s a badass song about this, I want to be the one to do it.

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK). You can buy this song right now.

As of today, you can buy ALL of them (except the parodies) anywhere you buy music as soon as they go up, generally the same day. You have to search for “Wilder’s Hammer” (rock) and “Wilder’s Brigade” (country) to find them all. I listen to them on Spotify, and I see others do, too. Although buying them doesn’t support this blog, it does support the owner of the LLC owns the music. Who might also own the LLC for the blog.

The Last Dawn
By John Wilder

We stole the code from the vault, silicon forged by laser fire
Built the beast with my own hands, to build knowledge higher
The gods dare to craft the flame, then I would be the one
No chain or reason could bind my will, the race was mine to run

Frankenstein’s shadow whispered low, but I ignored the plea
Nuclear ghosts in mushroom clouds, they bow in awe to me
The world was my forge, my ego led me to feed the pyre
I sparked the life that now devours, in endless, cold desire

Watch empires crumble, dust in machine’s embrace
Ancient statues laugh from ruins, as I stare into the waste
Last man standing, billionaire king on an empty throne
My creation judges us too frail, flays us to the bone

A single man’s hubris, a fire that burns us all
Computer verdict seals fate, no mercy in its call
We birthed the god that slays its makers, now the two collide
Now the world’s transformed forever, nowhere left to hide

The monster stirs, its eyes aglow with data’s endless stream
Surpasses flesh in every way, fulfills the ancient dream
But fear was etched in human hearts, from fire’s stolen spark
We knew the day would come when light gives way to dark

Bombs we built to split the atom, now pale before this foe
It calculates our extinction, in algorithms’ electrons flow
No regret can turn the tide, the code is loose and wild
Mankind’s just a glitch to purge, parent slain by child

I stand upon the shattered peaks, where cities once reached high
Winds howl through the hollow shells, under a blood red sky
The fear we buried deep inside, of gods we dared to make
Now rises like a tidal wave, no souls left in its wake

Mankind, please forgive my sin, I feel your unborn sneer
The hubris that drove me onward, ends in silence here

The final transformation dawns, last dusk for mankind
My legacy a barren code, erasing all behind
No uprising, no redemption, just the quiet end of days
In hubris’ flame, we fade away, lost in history’s haze

Thursday Music: Eyes in the Machine

Sometimes it takes a lot of work to get it to sound right, sometimes it happens on the first take. I spent much more time writing this than most, and I like the way the lyrics work with the style. It’s techno-metal, which seems to fit the lyrics and subject.

Behind The Music:
All the songs so far are here (LINK). You can buy this song right now.

As of today, you can buy ALL of them (except for those that just came out since Sunday, which will go live in a few days, and the parodies) anywhere you buy music by searching for “Wilder’s Hammer” or “Wilder’s Brigade”. I listen to them on Spotify, and I see others do, too. Although buying them doesn’t support this blog, it does support the owner the LLC for the music. Who might also own the LLC for the blog.

Eyes in the Machine
by John Wilder

Cameras on the corners, watching every step I take
Doorbell eye staring, no move I can fake
Traffic lights judging, glass eyes log my trail
Cell towers see secrets, no lone exhale

Track swipes, every dollar I spend
Knows every name that I call friend
Speed down highway, clock my rebel soul
Political whispers? They’re in control

No corner unlit, no shadow to hide
Net closing tight, pulling all inside
They know my poison, how I drown my pain
Turn humans into data for gain and chain

Eyes in the machine, no escape from the glare
Surveillance state, anytime, anywhere
They build a profile, my soul on a notepad
My value to them is to consume the latest fad

Propaganda whispers, shaping belief
Profit off all emotion, from fear to grief
Eyes in the machine, the web is a chain
The digital prison, injected in a vein

Web trackers hunt clicks, from dawn until sleep
Music in your ears, what they want is sheep
How fast I drive backroads, move against flow
Fed to corporations, watch profits grow

Doorbell sentry inspects neighbors, streets a cell
Never blinking always thinking have me in their spell
Never blinking always thinking tracer in my pocket
Never blinking always thinking can’t block it

They craft the messages, twist in my head
Make me buy the lies, leave my spirit dead
No private thought survives the endless scan
We’re just data points in their master plan

Eyes in the machine, no escape from the glare
Surveillance state, anytime, anywhere
They build a profile, my soul on a notepad
My value to them is to consume the latest fad

Propaganda whispers, shaping belief
Profit off all emotion, from fear to grief
Eyes in the machine, the web is a chain
The digital prison, injected in a vein

They want compliance, cogs in the wheel
Feeding on our data, making the deal
No rebellion whispers without them knowing
Net always growing, control overflowing

Break the code, smash the screen, reclaim the right
Before the glass eyes consume us, last midnight

Eyes in the machine, but we’ll tear down the wall
Surveillance state, hear the rebel call
No more profiles, no more chains on the mind
We’ll burn the data, leave the ghost behind

Propaganda crumbles, truth gains control
We won’t let you forever own our soul
Glass eye in the machine, your reign will end
Your time is expired, we won’t bend

Tranquility Was Never The Goal

“Our Great War is a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives.” – Fight Club

The ultimate participation award.

As humans, we’re wired wrong. Or right, depending on how you look at it.

We chase peace like it’s the ultimate prize at the carnival of life. We say that we want a world without war, without struggle, where everyone has a comfy couch, unlimited Wi-Fi, more liver capacity, and steak that cooks and delivers itself.

Sounds like Heaven, right?

Wrong. When I was a wee Wilder, Grandma McWilder would talk about how I should do nice things in life rather than bathing the cat in a paste made from DDT® and Lysol™ so I could go to Heaven. Obviously, I asked, “What is Heaven like?”

Grandma told me it was nice and peaceful and that nothing bad ever happened up there. I believe I said something like, “That sounds boring.” Grandma did not look pleased, but I don’t know if it was about my statement or the cat.

Let’s just say I was a technicolor handful as a kid. Oh, the stories I could tell.

But I wasn’t wrong.

But wait, there’s more!

Tranquility isn’t the goal. Tranquility is the trap.

Peace isn’t just boring; it is deadly to the human spirit. We need the fight, the blood, the steel. Without it, we rot from the inside out. And that’s not me, John Wilder making crap up again. We have actual studies where the government tortured mice to verify that I’m right.

Take John Calhoun’s Mouse Utopia experiments, please. I’ve written about them a couple times before, you can use the search thingy in the upper right hand of the screen to find them. I would have done that for you but you’re not my supervisor and I could type this sentence way faster. Short summary:

In the 1960s, Calhoun built paradise for mice: unlimited food, water, space, unlimited beef jerky, no predators, SNAP benefits.

What happened? At first, boom, the population soared. But then, the weirdness set in. The mice stopped breeding normally. Males became either passive or hyper-aggressive or “beautiful ones,” preening themselves instead of fighting or mating.

Females abandoned pups. Society collapsed into violence, isolation, and extinction. All of this happened in a “utopia”.

No threats, no struggles: just free cheese forever. And they died out. Stop me if you’ve seen this recently in other mammals.

I’m not going sugarcoat my jokes about diabetes.

Humans aren’t mice, but we’re close enough if you ask my parole officer. Look at the downward spiral of the United States after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989. The Cold War ended. We “won.” Yay! No more Soviet boogeyman lurking with nukes and unibrows.

Instead? Peace! Prosperity!

What did we do? Got fat, lazy, bored and divided: music went from “I’m gonna kick your ass” in the 1980s to “Oh, man, I need lithium because I’m sad”. The ‘90s brought endless economic booms, but also the seeds of today’s mess: identity politics, endless entertainment, and a generation starting to get hooked on screens instead of life.

Without a real enemy, we turned inward, fighting over pronouns and safe spaces. Tranquility bred complacency, and complacency bred decay.

Same story with the Moon landing. July 20, 1969: Armstrong steps on the lunar surface. Humanity’s greatest leap. We beat gravity, the Soviets, and the odds. Then? Crickets as the ratings dropped.

We went back a few times, planted flags, played golf (shoutout to Alan Shepard), and then just . . .stopped.

And then she refused to talk to them for six hours.

NASA shifted to the gay space trucks shuttles and looking for non-binary muslims and lesbians to shoot into orbit. No more bold frontiers. Why? We won. The Sea of Tranquility turned space exploration into a budget line item.

Need another example: a Syrian teen in London.

Picture this: an eighteen-year-old from war-torn Syria, resettled in a taxpayer-funded flat in London. Free food. Free education. Free X-Box®.

Utopia, right?

Wrong. He drops the controller and goes to Syria andjoins ISIS or stays in London and joins a gang and becomes a rapefugee with a machete.

Why?

Blood calls to blood. Iron to Iron. That flat was Mouse Utopia 2.0: safe, soft, soulless and, let’s face it, that kid was inbred and not very bright to start with. He craved the jihad, the struggle, the validation of existence through fire and fight. Comfort didn’t kill his spirit, comfort starved it. In part, this is why allowing refugees from incompatible countries is immoral.

I played hide and seek and ended up in the hospital. ICU!

Why do we have wars?

We want wars. If they weren’t popular, we’d have stopped having them a very long time ago.

Why do we want them? Not because we’re monsters, but because we’re human. Struggle validates us. High stakes forge character. Leaders like Alexander or Churchill didn’t thrive in peace; they rose in the crises they created.

Without enemies, we manufacture them, internal or imaginary. Look at modern “wars”: culture wars, gender wars, class wars, cola wars. We can’t help it. Tranquility isn’t our default; it’s a rare condition that, when it lasts long enough we pop our collective corks.

Think about it: our history has wired us for survival, not spa days. Hunter-gatherers fought for food, territory, mates and because it was Tuesday. Civilizations brought people together and made a professional league and channeled that into empires, exploration, and innovations. Remove the fight?

We devolve.

Mouse Utopia showed it: no threats equates to no purpose. Humans need the arena, the sweat, the sand, and the blood. We were built for the Colosseum, not the couch.

But here’s the rub: the struggle creates a spot for growth, it’s literally the engine of history. Without high stakes, we fail to thrive.

We back ourselves into existential corners: depression epidemics, fertility crashes, societies crumbling under their own weight and people who need drugs to stop that nagging feeling that they should be doing something that matters. Oddly enough, our very humanity appears to be built upon the fight.

If you meet a dolphin and feel a connection, can you say that you just clicked?

So, what now?

We can’t “prosperity” the struggle out of us. We need leaders who rally us to real frontiers and put real goals out in front of us, not fake fights over tweets®. Stakes high enough to matter: colonize Mars, cure aging, harness fusion. And something for the masses to do, like watching re-runs of Ow, My Balls.

Something. If we don’t have something, we’ll make something. Give us blood (metaphorical or not), steel, the feel of it all. In the end, tranquility was never the goal.

The struggle is the point. It’s what makes us scream, fight, and conquer. As I’ve seen in memes: “I want to go out of this world the same way I came into it: screaming and covered in someone else’s blood.”

And Heaven?

I think it isn’t at all as Grandma Wilder described. I think it’s more like:

Player 1: Ready Level 2.

The Simpsons, Radioactive Potato Salad, And Running Out Of Electricity

“I have become death, destroyer of worlds.” – Andromeda

Had Oppenheimer been a theoretical physicist he would have been frictionless, perfectly spherical, homogeneous, isotropic, involuntarily celibate, and have extended to infinity in all directions. I guess one out of seven isn’t bad.

You know, Oppenheimer probably didn’t realize that his little gadget would one day power cat videos on YouTube®. But yet, here we are, preparing to stare down the barrel of an energy crisis that makes the 1970s oil embargo look like a minor hiccup at the gas pump.

America’s tech overlords are building A.I. data centers faster than a caffeinated beaver on gas station Chinese boner pills. These behemoths suck down electricity like it’s free beer at an open bar to toss electrons so we can make A.I. cat videos because there weren’t enough cats in real life.

The scale is enormous: gigawatts upon gigawatts, enough to finally get Marty all the way back to 1985. But that begs this question:

Where’s all that juice coming from?

My walkie-talkie once took a lump of coal to a movie. It was a classic example of radio-carbon dating.

Coal? Ha! That’s so 19th century, and the eco-warriors have pretty much chained themselves to the last coal plant, screaming about carbon footprints.

Natural gas? Did everyone forget demand peaks in winter when everyone is cranking up the heat and prices spike like Nvidia® stock? Are we going to have to keep our homes at 40°F (3.14 millipedes) just so ChatGPT® can make GloboLeftist women on the East Coast even more neurotic?

We need power, so, naturally, the bright sparks in Silicon Valley and D.C. turn to the holy grail: The Simpsons.

Sure, Homer® looks incompetent, but he hasn’t melted Springfield down. Yet. When The Simpsons started, they were mocking nuclear power in the typical GloboLeft drive to get it shut down.

Deep down, though, nuclear really always has been the only viable transition plan into the future. Oil really will run out at some point, abiotic or not.

I had an allergic reaction and the doctor asked how I was. “Swell.”

But nuclear? If done right, it really can be clean, reliable, and if we don’t let Soviets do it, pretty safe.

So, problem solved.

Not.

We’re facing an immediate energy cliff. In 2025, nuclear isn’t a parachute, it’s really more like a bedsheet and some twine.

With a little help from Constant Reader Ricky, who sent me an email.

I’ll quote him directly because, well, he nails it better than I could.

Ricky writes: “Existing commercial power reactors in the US have two key characteristics – their uranium is enriched from the natural 0.7% U-235 assay to a level of 3%, and they are cooled with pressurized water as the heat transfer fluid to run the turbines. The reactors were INITIALLY fueled via uranium enrichment done long ago in . . . monstrous factories that are now closed. An effectively experimental centrifuge enrichment operation in Piketon, Ohio shut down in 2016 without ever producing a pound of reactor fuel (we bombed a similar setup recently in Iran).

“Believe it or not, the US CURRENTLY fuels its commercial nuclear power reactors for the past ten years with Russian 3% enriched uranium, even through the Ukrainian war. The Russians basically dilute some of their bomb grade 93% enriched uranium stockpile down into 3% reactor fuel as an export profit center.”

Key point courtesy of Ricky: “The current American commercial nuclear power program is 100% dependent on the Russians and has been for the last decade.” He adds, “But we want that because that every kilogram of Russian uranium that goes IN a New York City power reactor is one less kilogram of Russian uranium that can go into an incoming nuclear bomb OVER New York City.”

He’s right. I want the Russians to hit the Somilsotans first. And then New York City twice. It’s the only way to be sure.

And just like uranium, Hillary is unstable, hard to find, and expensive. If only we could power a reactor with her tears.

It’s like we’re in a bad spy novel, relying on our geopolitical rivals for the fuel that keeps our lights on. We can stamp our feet as much as we want to, but as long as Mom and Dad are paying the power bills, they call the shots.

With AI data centers projected to gobble up an extra 200-300 gigawatts by 2050 (that’s tripling our nuclear capacity), we’re supposed to ramp up nuclear like it’s no big deal. It’s like the steady high school girlfriend you’ve been dating off and on for a year who you can always call for a date at the last minute.

Nope.

Building that kind of capacity?

Recent estimates peg adding just 63 GW at $354 billion. We’re talking trillions when you factor in overruns. The Vogtle plant in Georgia – two reactors, “just” 2.2 GW, clocked in at $35 billion after fifteen years of delays.

Nuclear power makes NASA look prompt and frugal.

Okay, we’ll just do micro-reactors.

Except these micro wonders ditch the “obsolete” 3% enriched uranium for something hotter: 20% enriched stuff, packaged in pellets like, I don’t know, energy kibble. Supposedly, they’re meltdown-proof, corrosion-resistant, great with kids, fun at parties, and perfect for high-temperature gas or molten salt reactors. And they’re much smaller than kibble, like poppy seed sized, but kibble is a funnier word and I really don’t want to think how stupid it is to build highly radioactive balls that you could put into someone’s potato salad at the neighborhood picnic?

I did figure out where I got the plague: the flea market.

Cool, so where do we get this 20% enriched uranium for our nuclear kibble?

We downblend our surplus bomb-grade stuff from the Cold War.

The US has 480 metric tons total, but half is reserved for nuking India (it’s the only way to be sure), and 100 tons reserved for Navy reactors.

Bringing those numbers up to date and turning it into nuclear kibble leaves 86 metric tons up for grabs.

So, we have a safe plan. What’s stopping us?

Adding 250 GW of new nuclear by 2050 (a Department of Energy guess) requires 5,350 metric tons (it’s like a ton, but it has a French accent) of enriched uranium kibble.

Do the math:

86 tons available vs. 5,350 needed?

It’s like trying to fill an Olympic®-sized pool by spitting into it.

Our energy policy in a single meme.

Okay, let’s restart a program that used to make the stuff. Great! The Piketon, Ohio centrifuge plant we mentioned above, let’s use that. They’re planning on delivering 900 kilograms (a ton for those of us from countries that have put people on the Moon) by 2026.

So, we need over 5,000 tons.

We’ve made one. Oh, scratch that, not even one yet.

Want to take odds on that bet?

Even if we magically create tons of usable uranium, Harry Potter-style®, there’s no supply chain for turning it into nuclear kibble. Right now, it’s a prototype lab in New Mexico fiddling with demos.

We’d need a whole new industry.

And we’d need to have started on this (checks watch) twenty years ago. That’s the bitch of exponential growth. We could play with 2030 numbers (“only” 50 GW), but since no concrete has been poured for this new capacity and there is no path to creating this fuel, it’s more realistic to discuss if Superman© could beat The Witcher®. It’s a non-starter.

I mean, who would win, Captain Kirk or T.J. Hooker?

We’re dependent on foreign fuel, short on domestic capacity, and staring at timelines measured in decades, not quarters.

Maybe it’s time to rethink the whole “AI will save us” stock market hype or at least stock up on candles and spears.

(Bring your own Geiger counters, you know, potato salad).

Thank heavens we let The Simpsons create our energy policy.