Screw it, I'm done.

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The abject silliness and spineless maneuverings that passes as intelligent management of the republic by our elected officials teamed with the craven little cowards claiming to be journalists these days but do little to hide the fact they are wholly owned little bitches of the rich and powerful has overwhelmed me again. When Jon Stewart, an admitted entertainer out for nothing but laughs, on a consistent basis has a far greater journalistic impact than the real news outlets anyone with a couple of working synapses should at least worry a little. Stewart is the only person on television that has explained the current plutocratic system that owns and runs this country plain enough that even a few teabaggers just might have a chance to understand how we are being fucked without the benefit of vasaline to make it easier or a kiss to say thank you after. I really need some time away.
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Global Warming Game Over

For me the basic element in science is doubt, all evidence for a theory has to be placed on the table and tested time and time again by qualified independent researchers. This is especially important given that there has been a lot of gnashing of teeth on the conservative news outlets about a possible "climategate" in which thousands of evil commie scientists are working night and day to perpetuate an international hoax to sabotage all the honest and hardworking American capitalists and destroy the American economy.

Now I have no problem with real and honest doubt and debate about a very complex and difficult subject such as the theory that human activity is altering the Earth's climate. Although I do find it funny that the morning morons on Fox and Friends seem to be able to boil such a complex subject conveniently down to propagandist allegations. Then again the fat afternoon drug-addicted radio talker does break away from his ultimately self-serving and narcissistic rants as well to do his share to poo-poo the basic theory. Don't know about anyone else but myself but for some reason neither the morning morons or the oxycontin hero of the radio waves nor any of their media kinfolk impress me very much with their scientific credentials.

Yeah, they can drag out a few scientists whose bottom line usually has them receiving a paycheck from some oil company or other special interest looking to protect themselves from the tree huggers. Then you have occasional fruit cake out to challenge scientific dogma. Believe me, I'm righteously cool with that but you have to be careful or pretty soon you will be denying hard proof facts like that HIV causes AIDs and that there might be a scientific basis to astrology like Nobel winner Kary Mullis.

Now comes the much tortured point to my little rant and it involves methane. Frozen in the arctic tundra and the seafloor of the Arctic ocean are vast amounts methane which everyone with IQ points in the double digits knows would be a stark and global nightmare if it was released into the atmosphere.

The scary thing is that sections of this uber-greenhouse gas are showing signs of instability:

"...research results, published in the March 5 edition of the journal Science, show that the permafrost under the East Siberian Arctic Shelf, long thought to be an impermeable barrier sealing in methane, is perforated and is leaking large amounts of methane into the atmosphere. Release of even a fraction of the methane stored in the shelf could trigger abrupt climate warming."

Here is the meat of the article:

"Methane is a greenhouse gas more than 30 times more potent than carbon dioxide. It is released from previously frozen soils in two ways. When the organic material -- which contains carbon -- stored in permafrost thaws, it begins to decompose and, under oxygen-free conditions, gradually release methane. Methane can also be stored in the seabed as methane gas or methane hydrates and then released as subsea permafrost thaws. These releases can be larger and more abrupt than those that result from decomposition.

The East Siberian Arctic Shelf is a methane-rich area that encompasses more than 2 million square kilometers of seafloor in the Arctic Ocean. It is more than three times as large as the nearby Siberian wetlands, which have been considered the primary Northern Hemisphere source of atmospheric methane. Shakhova's research results show that the East Siberian Arctic Shelf is already a significant methane source: 7 teragrams yearly, which is equal to the amount of methane emitted from the rest of the ocean. A teragram is equal to about 1.1 million tons."

These findings were further confirmed when Shakhova and her colleagues sampled methane levels at higher elevations. Methane levels throughout the Arctic are usually 8 to 10 percent higher than the global baseline. When they flew over the shelf, they found methane at levels another 5 to 10 percent higher than the already elevated arctic levels.

The East Siberian Arctic Shelf, in addition to holding large stores of frozen methane, is more of a concern because it is so shallow. In deep water, methane gas oxidizes into carbon dioxide before it reaches the surface. In the shallows of the East Siberian Arctic Shelf, methane simply doesn't have enough time to oxidize, which means more of it escapes into the atmosphere. That, combined with the sheer amount of methane in the region, could add a previously uncalculated variable to climate models.

"The release to the atmosphere of only one percent of the methane assumed to be stored in shallow hydrate deposits might alter the current atmospheric burden of methane up to 3 to 4 times," Shakhova said. "The climatic consequences of this are hard to predict."

Now we are dealing with some serious shit here and even the strongest opponents of humans being the cause of global warming will grudgingly admit at times that the climate is changing, its just that we are not the cause. My issue is that while these people can drag out a few scientific bitches and the oddballs believing in Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, and Area 51 aliens the vast majority of the respected scientific community believes that we have a huge problem that will ultimately engulf everyone on the planet. Lets just hope we get serious about it before we start seeing plumes of methane being released from the tundra and the ocean floor, cause when it happens its game over for everyone including the morning morons and Oxycontin wonder.

Tropical Dan's Restaurant

Updated Author's note: Slight recovered from a painful weekend I found where I got the idea for this story. Check out "One-minute Writer" for the Saturday prompt and for other excellent prompts. No, I don't normally comment there because I can't limit either my writing or my mouth to short pieces. Brevity may be the soul of wit but I am often accused running a shortage of common sense and active wits.

Yes, "Tropical Dan's" is a real restaurant located in Cocoa Beach although the real name is completely different, after this weekend I don't need anymore hassles. Finally, excuse the typos but I'm just too damn tired. If I get motivated I may correct them at work tonight.


Strictly speaking, from my point of view I was in my element and enjoying myself immensely sipping a cold margarita while sitting on the patio deck of an ocean front restaurant in Cocoa Beach, Florida at the end of a long drive and a vacation about to begin. Neither Dragonwife nor my son, Darth Spoilboy, could say the same with the former restlessly sitting in silence and the latter at least momentarily placated by his Nintendo Gameboy. The issue not only causing Dragonwife’s restlessness but a few other people sitting around us some discomfort was a local lady enjoying herself far too much.

We had arrived that afternoon in the Cocoa Beach area as insurance to avoid any possible chance of missing our cruise ship that would leave the next morning for a weeklong trip around the eastern Caribbean. It was late September of 2001 and Dragonwife was having a hard time figuring out what she wanted for dinner as we drove into town. We were surprised to find many of the local restaurant’s closed for the season and she was ambivalent at best about the ubiquitous national chains that we frequented far too much back home. Spoilboy being six years-old at the time preferred the Burger Clown and his chicken nuggets but while I would have been okay with the boring national chain restaurants, I steadfastly refused stopping at any of the national burger joints.

For a couple of hours we drove around Cocoa Beach looking for a local eatery that would somehow appeal to Dragonwife but not have a wait time longer than fifteen minutes. Since we were not the only offseason tourists looking for dinner by a long shot any place we stopped had a wait of at least thirty to forty-five minutes. The funny thing about her not wanting to wait was that if you counted the time we spent driving around looking for another open restaurant that somehow interested her we could have been seated and served at least a couple of times.

Spoilboy was a little easier to satisfy being that if forced he would give up his nuggets for macaroni and cheese that just about every restaurant has on the kid’s menu. Which was fine but I could not help but think that the only thing separating the box version of macaroni and cheese made at home and the restaurant version was the addition by the chef of a small sprig of parsley and charging six dollars for a cup full of the stuff making the scam a marvel of capitalism.

The answer to our searching was spotting a sign for “Tropical Dan’s Restaurant” advertising fresh caught seafood, steaks, salads, and a healthy kid’s menu. Dragonwife being on a fresh and healthy eating kick along with a supposedly healthy kids menu pleased her immensely, that was until we pulled into the parking lot. Tropical Dan’s Restaurant was definitely a locally owned eating establishment that even to my eyes had reached its peak about the same time Neil, Buzz, and Michael lifted off for the moon from nearby Cape Canaveral.

The building itself was extremely weathered and faded by the Florida sun and whatever storms must have pushed ashore since the days of Apollo. Mounted on the outside wall next the entrance facing the parking lot was an old stuffed life-sized marlin whose lifeless glass eye almost seemed to be saying if you didn’t like the joint we could kiss its fishy ass. Surrounding the marlin were several other smaller sport fish seemingly caught in a very old net that was literally falling apart. What sold me on the place as we left the car was the miniature surfboard hanging over the front door being rode by a large parrot in tropical shorts and wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

It looked slightly sleazy, dirty, and about to fall apart and I loved the place without setting one foot inside. Of course, Dragonwife suddenly developed a taste for some chicken entrée at one of the national chains but since I had the keys to the locked car and with some old guy carrying on a conversation with a nearby trash can she followed Spoilboy and me inside.

Inside it was dark and cool with absolutely no waiting except I must admit the hostess was a little rude spending several minutes talking on the phone while we stood in front of her. What mollified any anger I might have had was seeing the snap shots on the wall of her with several astronauts including a few I recognized like Sally Ride, Stormy Musgrave, and I swear a recent one with John Glenn.

“Good evening, how many for dinner tonight?” The hostess coolly asked after finally hanging up the phone. I will never be accused of an over abundance of charm but after a few questions from me about the pictures of her with the astronauts we were no longer simple lowlife tourists out to talk trash about their restaurant but respected customers. Thankfully Dragonwife didn’t blurt anything out to change that assumption but I knew she was thinking it.

“Since it’s such a nice evening can I recommend the patio deck next the beach? It’s just a little stuffy in here this evening,” She said escorting us through the dining area.

Taking our seats outside the ocean breeze and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore Dragonwife began to unwind and relax because of the surroundings and was pleasantly surprised by the items on the menu that at least on paper agreed with her exacting palate. Too bad it didn’t last for very long.

Within minutes of our being seated two more families joined us outside and almost at once three waitresses swarmed out to take the drink orders from each table. It was then that we learned that Tropical Dan’s Restaurant was less a local version of TGIFridays or Applebee’s but a slightly more risqué version of Hooters. Each of the waitresses now outside taking orders wore something that was more than a bikini bottom and less than actual shorts. All three of the waitresses wore matching t-shirts that had a pair of drunken parrots on the back, one having passed out on the floor and the other still clutching a mug of beer with a huge shit eating grin on its face. The fact that the t-shirts the waitresses were wearing were three sizes too small and in no way made it anywhere near their belly buttons was something happily noticed by every male sitting outside.

The lady customers on the other hand, including my wife, could be heard mumbling comments of shock and disgust. What their exact issues were I just don’t know since my attention was riveted elsewhere. Still though my family was already committed and we ordered our food with each person enjoying their own aspects of the surroundings as we waited.

The food turned out, even to Dragonwife, to be outstanding. She ordered the broiled salmon with steamed vegetables and I ordered something called Crab Cake Benedict with asparagus that to this day I would drive all the way back down to Coco Beach for just to turn back around and drive home again if I had the time and money.

The fun really started halfway through our meal when the tiki bar attached to the deck opened with the bartender starting a CD playing mild reggae and steel drum music. A cluster of locals came off the beach in various states of dress from golf casual to couples wearing respectable bathing suits surrounding the small bar. It was a good-natured crowd talking and having a few drinks and I believe everything would have stayed cool had one last addition to the group not arrived.

The crowd around the bar greeted the newcomer as “Janice” in a boisterous manner as she walked up the small set of steps from the beach and Dragonwife immediately chuckled at the sight of her.

“She has been rode hard and put up wet, “Dragonwife leaned over and said to me watching Janice join the bar crowd. “

While my wife was somewhat amused one of the ladies at a neighboring table looked shocked apparently having her moral balance upset by Janice's appearance. “She really shouldn’t be out in public dressed like that.” She said loud enough that those at the tiki bar might hear which they appeared to have not heard or more than likely just ignored.

Janice in truth was a sight and the best one word description of her would have been rough. She was blond but it was clear that wasn’t her natural color and that the sun had long since permanently frazzled the actual substance of her hair and despite any honest attempt to style, would never obey any effort at organization for long. Her skin was a dark brown much like old leather proclaiming years of living in the sun and her face held a matching set of elaborate wrinkles but despite it all, hints of an attractive, younger face were still discernable. What really got everyone’s attention was the swimsuit Janice was wearing. It was a midnight black thong bikini with a matching top that was just as small made from material that had to be ultra strong to contain what bodily parts it did cover. The “curious” thing was that the attributes the thong exposed below and the bikini top barely covered above were both far younger looking that the rest of her body and face would suggest.

The commotion she caused with her arrival soon settled down and the collection of tourists at the tables went back to their meals. Except that Janice soon became the life of the party and things only got wilder with her deciding to remove her bikini top.

Even Dragonwife started to get restless as Janice began to introduce herself to all the people on the patio deck paying special attention to the lady who spoke aloud about her choice of beachwear. I think Dragonwife was worried about how Spoilboy would react to Janice parading around but my son had been first preoccupied with his fried shrimp dinner then his Nintendo Gameboy we had thought to bring from the car as we came in.

Janice did finally stop at our table and spent a minute or two engaging in small talk. It was clear that Janice had crossed some line and the hostess was talking with two guys who soon came up and escorted her off the premises, but not before she noticed my son.

“Now who is this handsome young man?” She said stroking Spoilboy’s head and playing with his hair. That finally pulled my son away from his game and he looked up first at Janice, stared at her like he was confused, and then looked over at me.

“Look dad, tits!” He said sounding only slightly amazed at seeing such items not belonging to a family member for the first time. “Are they real?’ he asked a second later like they might be some figment of his imagination arriving far too early. The scowl I received from Dragonwife was a quick and silent reminder that she often disapproved of the speech I used around our son.

"No honey,” Janice said as the bouncers finally grabbed her by the elbows pulling her away, “they cost me a bundle.”

Far from being disturbed by Janice’s attention or her engineered assets Spoilboy was largely unimpressed and never mentioned the incident again.

All things considered it was quite a start to a very memorable trip.

The Good, the Bad, and the Naked Ugly

It’s easy to forget at times but the little moments are really the best part of life. This was something that I had forgotten over the last couple of weeks dealing with the normal array of shit that often has me questioning the validity of God’s plan for the universe and the cosmic joke that can be my life. 

You may ask what had gotten Beach Bum waxing philosophically again risking a Zeus-like lightning bolt from the Big Guy upstairs tired of the constant whining coming from one petty human and the questioning his omnipotent authority. The Big Guy upstairs has a whole host of problems from the easy to the impossible. His concerns range from answering the prayers of species on a planet about to be wiped out by a comet looking to be the cue ball to their planet being the eight-ball into the corner pocket to fighting off American bankers so evil and voracious that they have scared the shit out of the devil.

My concerns are sub-atomic stuff in the greater scope of existence but they none the less I found a few this past weekend testing the limits of my warm and fuzzy feelings for humanity.

Proving that nothing occurs in a vacuum and explaining why Joe “You Lie” Wilson is the congressman for this area Dragonwife accidentally let it slip Saturday that the slimy low-life neighbor living across the street called the sheriff on us about a year ago. The problem was that we had bought a new car outright and had donated the old and tired Corolla to charity. I had transferred the tag to the new car leaving the old car sitting in the yard waiting for the people to come take it away. This find example of the area, instead of manning up and coming to talk to me about it, called the sheriff forcing them to come to the house and ask about the car and what we were going to do about it.

Dragonwife was home at the time and very calmly and professionally explained the situation. Now the deputy sheriff didn’t care she was already pissed because our fine neighbor cussed out whomever he talked with on the phone promising to use his friendly relations with the high and mighty of the county to ruin her day if a deputy did not come out and force us to do something with the old car. Once the deputy had her information, she drove away and the old Corolla sat in the yard for at least a few more days until the tow truck working for the charity came and took the car away.

Wisely, Dragonwife kept this information from me. See me and that sorry fucker had words about three years ago that came very close to blows and him threatening me with all sorts of wrath from his mighty friends.

Upon learning about this stuff Saturday, I was torn two ways. One I was pissed as if it had occurred just then. Two, I was smart enough, for a change, not to go ambush the bastard over something that had happened a year ago. Especially since another neighbor I was friends with came by my house a few months after that asking me strange questions I thought at the time whether or not I was still pissed at the guy. It was easy to figure out my friend was probing for information but I thought it was over the original incident.

That day became even more warm and fuzzy when I learned that the credit card that we had just paid off a month ago had well over a thousand dollars back on it. After cleaning up the iced tea that I had coughed all over my son and a few of his friends watching them play Mass Effect 2. My young Sith Lords helped me to sit down because I was dizzy over the knowledge that the almost eleven hundred dollars earning interest for the big corporate fat cats so they could have an even bigger bonus next year bought replacement ceiling fans for the perfectly functioning ones still attached to the ceiling. Other home improvement items were also bought and I was assured we saved a bunch of money on them as well. After that, the room began spinning and I blacked out.

So I was actually happy Sunday night returning to work. I was comforted by the general mayhem and even hearing a guy being wheeled into the Emergency Room on a stretcher with a six-inch butcher knife sticking from his skull claiming that all he did was sleep with his mother-in-law reassured me everything was going to be okay.

But after returning home this morning it was then I that I knew God still had me in his thoughts. I went straight to the shower stripping down to the birthday suit wanting to get cleaned up and then catch a little of the comedy we call human civilization on one of the news channels. I had already jumped into the shower when I realized all my manly man soap had been used. The other options sitting on the small shelf in the shower stall would leave me smelling all rose peddle soft and lavender sweet and I just wasn’t in the mood.

Knowing my son, Darth Spoilboy, being in the early stages of hormone-induced girl chasing had a huge collection of assorted manly man soaps and shampoos I turned off the water and still buck naked jumped out of the shower to walk across the house to the bathroom he uses. In doing so, I had to pass the foyer in clear view of the front door, which has two small windows mounted on either side.

Passing by the front door, I noticed movement coming from one of the small windows next it. Frozen in shock were two missionary types, they could have been Jehovah Witnesses or Mormons. Both were skinny white dudes wearing 1950’s short sleeve shirts and razor thin black ties. Adding to the effect was the official NASA pocket protector each had inserted in their shirt pockets. The words, “Jesus Saves” blared out in gold lettering on the pocket protector.

From the look on their faces I figure they had been about to knock on the door and try to share with me assurance that I would see paradise if I joined their faith. The circumstances just struck me so damn funny God had to have arranged it. A second or two either way and I would have missed them or heard them knock and went straight into super ninja mode with me hiding until they left my doorstep.

For a split second, the theme song from “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” played in my head with Clint squaring off against armed bad guys in a dusty old west town. So I grabbed my package like the weapon it is and turned into the foyer to go open the door. I don’t know why but I must have spooked the dudes because they were on the other side of the neighborhood and still running when I saw then again after opening the door.

The cool thing is that I figure I won’t be bothered by those guys or their buddies anytime soon. Its these small moments in life that bring order and cosmic balance to my mind.

When the center cannot hold

***Author's note: This is a prequel to the story After the house of cards had fallen. The characters are completely different but it is set in the same universe.***


Lieutenant Jason Hall unconsciously clutched the hand guards around the barrel of his rifle tighter in despair as he saw the individual faces of the people along the side of the road he was passing by. Most of the dispossessed Americans he passed as they headed northwest along Route 60 had lost and fearful looks as the scattered bands fled the outlying suburbs of Glendale and Phoenix, Arizona for the relatively safer FEMA camps closer to Wickenburg. He and his undermanned platoon mounted in three armored humvees were at that moment heading in the same direction but would soon be heading west to a secured airbase to drop off a very important passenger.

Uneasy about the stream of refugees walking beside the road Lieutenant Hall grabbed and keyed the microphone off the radio mounted next him. “Road Warrior Two and Three,” he said, “keep watch on any people in distress. I don’t care if our special guest misses his presidentially ordered flight to Washington; I’m not leaving anyone to die on the side of the road.”

“Roger that One,” Sergeant First Class Nate Rhett, Hall’s platoon sergeant said radioing back promptly from the last vehicle in the small convoy.

“Sir, with all due respect my biggest desire is to get this little creep as far away from me as possible as soon as possible, but will do LT.” Corporal Valero radioed back from the middle vehicle carrying their guest vehicle. Valero, nervous about his comment, looked over his shoulder at the young man positioned in a special seat haphazardly mounted between the two rear seats of his humvee. Despite wearing full body armor and Kevlar helmet making him look like a soldier Valero sneered at the pudgy sleeping figure in disgust. The two privates sitting in the seats on either side of the sleeping civilian nodded their heads in quiet agreement.

Back in Hall’s vehicle, Private Morris asked the unspoken question that was on everyone’s mind. “Lieutenant, if shithead is so important why didn’t they just send a helicopter to pick his ass up back at the firebase or even at the mansion he and his friends were holding up in?”

Hall wondered that as well at first but the answer he got from the base commander before heading out on the mission was so disturbing he hadn’t wanted to think about it again, still though the private deserved the answer. “All available aviation assets are being used in the northeast deploying private security contractors to augment troops trying to quell the uprising. Shit has gotten so bad that the lack of money and shortages in supplies has grounded the Air Force and the just about all the navy has been recalled to port. We are so short in manpower that airmen and sailors have been assigned ground duties like us.”

Morris leaned back in shock. “Private security contractors? You mean the president actually went out and hired mercenaries’ to occupy part of the United States?”

Hall knew that the private was from Maine, which was part of the Group of Thirteen states that refused to recognize the legitimacy of the 2024 election results and because of that was receiving special attention from the president for challenging her power.

As the lieutenant and the soldiers of his small platoon watched for people in dire need of help it was easy to see that most of the civilians heading toward the FEMA camps had long since realized that their privileged position in the world had ended. Until restoration of some form of order to the country, allowing commerce to move unmolested again basic items like food and gas would be rare or nonexistent. Still though, West would occasionally see one of the refugees look his way with eyes outraged that he or she now had to walk like some homeless person they use to ridicule.

The lieutenant observed the hungry and bedraggled people stumble under the weight of hopefully just essential items carried in backpacks or shoulder bags marching toward the camps. However, countless items like laptops, bulky electronics, and even small kitchen appliances littered the road redundant to the newly emerging reality of an America tearing itself apart.

Former suburbanites hanging onto the fading middle class lifestyle, the disruption in the flow of fuel and food to the area stores caused by the civil unrest that had erupted after the 2024 election had quickly shattered their much-practiced sense of entitlement teaching some valuable lessons in the space of a year.

These lessons started on Election Day when the media that night announced the victory of the daughter of a former Vice President to the Presidency of the United States over the senator from, and former governor of, the state of Massachusetts; the second African-American nominated for the highest office of the land by a major party.

The huge national maps used by the networks to signify which states the candidates had won were overwhelmingly colored red causing several of the commentators to remark this was the biggest upset since Truman had defeated Dewey almost a century before. The surprised looks on their faces was caused by most national polls that even up to the start of voting suggested that the actual outcome was going to be the reverse of the huge red maps that hung above them.

During the campaign, the senator from Massachusetts had pulled together the fractious elements of his party and forged another alliance with the disenfranchised poor and minorities promising that nothing would stop them from restoring the promise of America to all her people. As much as the other party tried to destroy the man and his family, they could find nothing on him. The senator was even able to turn the tables on their attempts to discredit him to his advantage.

The senator’s party demoralized and in disarray long before the disaster of the 2012 election, began to rally with huge crowds swamping his events and drawing large numbers of independents upset with how the other side had over the intervening years had brought disaster to the country both domestically and overseas.

The day after the election the nation held its breath in surprise and dismay as the apparent victor spoke of continuing the country’s traditions and upholding cherished values. The apparent loser did his best calm his restless followers speaking of American unity and fairness of the democratic process. His words soon came back to haunt him and the nation as both unity and the fairness of the democratic process proved to be complete illusions.

The situation began to unravel when a video recorded from a cell phone and posted on the internet showed touch screen computer at a polling place that refused to register a vote for the senator from Massachusetts. Repeated attempts to clear the screen and start again only brought the same result with finally even the paper printout used in case of a recount showing a vote for the daughter of the former Vice President. The country adopted such voting computers nationwide after the 2014 midterms in an attempt to streamline and quicken the voting process. That one video started an avalanche of similar complaints that escalated as people who were standing in extremely long lines complained that as the mandatory federal poll closing time hit their time zone denied them a chance to vote.

Accusations and arguments quickly became fights, which grew into riots all across the country with the National Guard called out to restore order. In thirteen northeastern and Midwest states where the daughter of the former vice president won very surprising and lopsided victories the governors of those states signed a joint petition urging an independent investigation of the election in a hope to stem the violence. When the outgoing president refused and the new president-elect commented that this was just a ploy to steal her victory those governors, which eventually came to be called the “Group of Thirteen”, launched their own investigations. Huge and glaring irregularities soon became apparent but the big break came when an employee of the company that manufactured the voting computers found himself caught on video bragging about writing programming code for the computers in certain states to alter election results.

Law enforcement agents in several states seized suspected computers, in some cases detaining federal employees, and found the alleged programming code inside the computers. For anyone even remotely clear headed it was obvious that the 2024 election had been blatantly stolen.

Renewed rioting erupted and this time the National Guard in many areas was overwhelmed and in some cases joined the rioting. With National Guard troops ineffective at best active army troops were then deployed into the cities in an attempt to stop the violence but their numbers were far too small and the destruction and rage far too great for them to be successful.

Believing that her legitimacy was being challenged the new president declared martial law, mainly in the Group of Thirteen states and ordered dawn to dusk curfews and shoot to kill orders given to the troops. Protesters in those states refused to obey the curfew. Scenes of civilians dying in the streets soon played all across the nation on television screens until national security concerns shut down most of the satellite feeds. For many minorities they saw the election fix and the troops opening fire mainly in their neighborhoods as the final insults to their dignity and citizenship. Community organizers in defiance of martial law took the protests to the peaceful suburbs and the violence soon followed. Accusations went back and forth as to who fired the first shots in the suburbs, whether it was protesters, attacking the predominately-white homeowners or the opposite didn’t matter.

Troops did their best to contain the violence in the urban areas but with anarchy spreading beyond the city limits the new president decided to remove the federalized National Guard and active duty forces from more "reliable regions" and use them where the government had lost control. With travel unsafe commerce began to fail with store shelves and gas stations running empty. The spiral out of control continued to accelerate as those relatively peaceful sections of the country cut off from federal forces found themselves fighting increasingly desperate fellow citizens with some groups out to defend their way of life at all costs or some who were out to settle ancient scores. But lost amid all the fighting was that most were just struggling to survive.

As blood flowed in the streets only a very few understood that the bonds of kinship and trust that were the true foundations of a country were dissolving with the very meaning of the United States of America quickly becoming a memory.

“I hate that fat bastard,” the young private said out loud knocking the lieutenant out of his reflection.

Hall did as well, the easy mission described to him by the colonel commanding the firebase outside Phoenix had long since worn thin first having to rescue then transport the spoiled son of a United States senator. This mission was suppose to be a reward for intercepting a truck load of enhanced RPG’s and assault rifles that an egotistical and deranged blowhard of a Latin American dictator had begun smuggling into the United States now that ethnic and class warfare had erupted. Previous shipments had made parts of the Southwest stretching from San Diego to Brownsville absolute war zones. In the space of a few months the street gangs that use to be confined to the troubled inner cities had exploded outward into the suburbs becoming excellent guerrilla fighters even engaging in firefights with army troops.

The basic plan had been simple, taking relatively secure roads Hall’s platoon was to drive to the desert estate of the senior United States Senator from the state of Connecticut and her big corporate CEO husband just south of Apache Junction and rescue their son who had been holding up there since the violence in the country had gone from bad to Hell on earth.

The trip down was without incident and the small convoy arrived at the main house not to find college kids cringing in fear from the violence suffering from the lack of food or water but young adults whose only reason for asking for rescue was because the estate’s backup generator had ran out of fuel. The trouble began as the collection of children of the rich and famous gathered outside the main house realizing that the three small humvees had nothing in the way to fuel or supplies to allow them to continue their party.

The addition of the senator’s son, who came stumbling outside minutes later still drunk, only made matters worse when it was explained to him that this was a rescue mission. The pudgy, spoiled product of America’s elite became irate and refused to leave upon learning that there would be no limousines for him to ride back to civilization much less for his friends. Having close to a small riot on his hands and given their collective social standing among the powerful Hall radioed back to the firebase as to whether he needed more vehicles for the extra people. Coming straight down from the fortress that Washington DC had become Hall was told to grab the senator’s son and leave the rest behind.

With .50 caliber machine guns mounted on two of the humvees and an automatic grenade launcher mounted on the other the senator’s son accepted his rescue while his friends retreated inside the mansion pleading for some sort of help to get the generator going.

Given the suffering Hall had seen since the country began to tear itself apart, he left the group behind with a clear conscious. The trip to the secured airbase became a living Hell with several encounters with armed roving bands giving strong evidence that the situation was continuing to deteriorate. All the while their civilian passenger taunted them saying how they would pay for leaving his friends behind once he talked with his powerful mother and father who was personal friends with the president. His arrogance and condescension seemed to know no bounds, especially since he was surrounded by men with loaded automatic weapons.

As the collection of FEMA camps outside Wickenburg appeared Route 60 turned west and the final leg of their journey brought a small lift in the morale to the group. Even with the likelihood of being reassigned into the chaotic streets of Phoenix at least they would be actively engaged and not babysitting a pathetic individual.

The flat terrain they had been traveling on was slowly giving way to rolling hills, low ridgelines, and numerous washouts, all perfect places for an ambush. “Road warriors,” Hall said over the radio, “watch the ridgeline on our right. It’s close enough to be a perfect hiding place. Warrior Three make sure the .50 gunner is covering our rear. ”

The words hadn’t been out of Hall’s mouth for a second when the convoy’s first sign of trouble was the glint of metal along the same ridgeline that had first raised the hairs on the back of the lieutenant’s neck. For those looking in the right direction they would have saw the smoke trails of three RPG’s heading for the convoy. The trailing humvee carrying the platoon sergeant and three other soldiers went up in a ball of flame with the RPG scoring a direct hit. The burning vehicle spun around and flipped off the road coming to rest in a gully.

“Warrior Three is gone!” someone screamed over the radio.

By instinct, the drivers in the two remaining humvees floored their vehicles while the gunners opened up with the .50 caliber and the automatic grenade launcher raking the ridgeline giving the convoy a few seconds before the attackers could get off the next volley of RPG’s.

“Keep hitting that ridge, we are still in range for those rockets, and as soon as we pass that next washout turn southwest off the road. We are screwed if we can’t lose these guys among the hills!” Hall screamed over the radio.

“What if there is a second ambush waiting out there?” Hall’s driver, Private First Class Ross, asked as he struggled to control both his fear and the humvee.

“We have no choice; we have no support and no other options.” He said angling his rifle out the window to fire off a few rounds just to burn off frustration over this mission, the loss of his men in the rear humvee, and the fucking situation in general.

Hall knew it was a good idea until the first mortar round impacted in front of his humvee sending a wave of shrapnel into the front window creating a chaotic spider web of cracks that made it impossible for Private Ross to see anything. The shit really hit the fan as the second and third mortar rounds impacted in front of his vehicle and beside the second.




Hours later Lieutenant Hall and the last survivor of his platoon, the young Private Morris, are hiding in an abandoned farmhouse miles off the main road they had been traveling. While no other ambushes awaited the two remaining vehicles in Hall’s platoon as they tried to escape off the main road the guerrillas had three of their own humvees and gave chase. The lieutenant didn’t have much time to wonder if the humvees had been captured off other soldiers or were they the latest evidence that desertion rates in the army were escalating with the deserters often joining the guerillas.

A vicious game of hide and seek among the hills and gullies started that cost Hall his men just to protect the worthless slug cowering in the corner of the darken room they were all hiding in. The guerillas had more than likely given up after losing two of their humvees but by that time Hall and Morris were on foot dragging their charge who had lost all his arrogance and soiled himself several times as the small group sought some sort of refuge.

Out of the wreckage of the last two vehicles the surviving soldiers had pulled out a man-portable radio and called for help. Despite the overwhelming desire of Fortress Washington to have the senator’s son safely delivered to the secured airbase it was still over two hours away and the base had nothing at that time that could be sent to retrieve the civilian and the two soldiers. Orders were given for them to find a hiding place and await rescue sometime the next day.

Finding the deserted farmhouse was viewed as a blessing by all three. A well provided water for drinking, there was a small stash of canned goods for food, and the biggest prize of all was a hand-cranked emergency radio. Drinking canteens filled with cold well water and eating cold beans they tuned into a BBC news shortwave broadcast.

“…..leader of the South Carolina militias captured the state house in Columbia today and declared himself provisional governor. Fighting continued in the southern part of the state but General Jacobs said he was confident that order could be restored to the entire state within a few weeks. Jacobs went on to call for joint meetings with other militias in nearby states that had suffered from the pullout of federal forces. Militia forces in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi quickly responded favorably to the idea.

In Utah, state leaders defended their decision to seal the borders to the rest of the nation and begin sending away refugees. The governor and Mormon Church leaders could not be reached and were reported to be in secret conference in the state capital. No word was given over the subject of their closed meeting.

Finally, the US president made a brief appearance today leaving her undisclosed location and arriving in Fortress Washington. The president announced that she had received the support of the senior senator from the state of Connecticut for her policy of hiring foreign military contractors to assist American troops and American military contractors in quelling the uprising that has been going on in the Group of Thirteen States. The senior senator, not a member of the president’s political party, called on her state to accept the election results so Connecticut could lead the nation back to peace…”

Private Morris could not take his eyes off the grown child of the senator and after turning down the volume of the radio found his hands reaching for his rifle. “Lieutenant, when did they say we could expect a pick up?” He asked feeling strangely numb but certain.

Lieutenant Hall looked over at the private and carefully made him lower his weapon back down. “Sometime tomorrow afternoon Morris,” he said. It was then that all the images that had collected in Hall’s mind began to play out. The bloodshed and the suffering of the many while the rich continued to live their lives untouched and the powerful still played their games. In spite of himself Hall felt his hand reaching for his sidearm, part of his mind knew what he was about to do was cold-blooded murder but he knew enough of history to understand for decades craven little cowards like the civilian they rescued, even now whimpering in the corner had played games with the country oblivious to the effects. For so long they were protected by money and power and now with both spent the bills were coming due, but the innocent were having to pay the price for their greed and arrogance.

No one heard the single shot that rang out in the night and the next afternoon when a corporate helicopter carrying private military contractors landed close to the farmhouse, a search inside found nothing except fresh blood covering a wall in one of the bedrooms. After an investigation of the surrounding area several burned and damaged humvees were found along with the bodies of several soldiers and suspected guerrillas. The body of a civilian, determined to be the missing senator's son, was found next one of the burned out humvees dead from a single shot to the head. Nothing and no one else was found and due to the deteriorating situation in the state orders came down from Fortress Washington that all further searches were to be abandoned.

Tremble in fear for I now have writing goals

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The writing class I am taking has been a real catalyst in focusing my concentration and sharpening my skills as a writer. Hey, don’t laugh I mean it. My instructor, Professor Ann has used her considerable talents as an educator and writer and has taken the quivering gray mass that exists between my ears and managed to massage some information into it. She has actually taught me how to deal with the most irritating of things in English grammar called “passive voice” which my inability to comprehend sent every English teacher I had in high school to college into a tizzy of frustration.

I’m sure the rumors that Professor Ann will take a yearlong sabbatical after this class are completely unconnected to her exhaustion at teaching me. The most recent assignment for me was a bombshell since I never really thought much in the way of my long-term goals as a writer.

Being honest here but the first time I read the assignment the voices in my head cried out in unison “TOTAL WORLD DOMINATION” as my goal using armies of cybernetic zombie chickens that even now live under my house awaiting orders to bring all the nations of the world to their knees. The voices in my head are a droll bunch and since that goal was unconnected to writing, I ignored them and they settled for pizza, beer, and a good movie on DVD this Friday night. On a less maniacal note my far-fetched but highly desirable writing goals are far easier on the environment, trust me cybernetic zombie chickens can make quite the mess.

The beginning steps of my ultimate goal would have my blog recognized by the true leader of America and a good portion of the Western world, Oprah Winfield. She would have one of her shows totally devoted to the wit and wisdom that I put forth on my blog when my muse strikes and my kids let me have the computer for longer than a few minutes. They both have Facebook pages and dear old dad has been bodily threaten over their need to tell their sixty jillion close personal friends what they are thinking. It’s gotten so bad my uppity crumb snatchers are even stealing the Chips Ahoy cookies as they update their statuses.

The next step as my fame grew would be a multi-million dollar contract with a publishing house to turn my various forms of posted pomposity into semi-intelligent stories that would climb the best selling charts all across the nation. Stephen King, Jimmy Buffett, and I would then pal around and make fun of Dean Koontz and his toupee that I swear he must have stolen from William Shatner. I understand the reason Koontz’s golden retrievers are so well behaved is that they are terrified of his toupee, which gives them commands in frequencies too high for humans to hear.

After that, I would tour the country signing autographs with a small entourage of say two-hundred. A staff of twenty would be devoted just to removing all the green colored peanut M&M’s from the candy bowls in my swanky suites and making my aluminum foil hats to protect my inspired ideas from evil leprechauns. By this time, politicians of all strips would be beating down my doors for me to show the least little approval of them and their policies. The price of my support would be their acceptance of wearing clown clothes, including those huge clown shoes, and clown makeup at all times while serving as elected officials. The second thing would be them voting ladies beach volleyball as the national spectators sport.

As the years continued to roll on, I would tire of this lifestyle and move to attain my final goal. I would purchase an old beach house that I have stayed at on the mainland side of Pawleys Island situated right on the marsh. It is there that I would retire doing my own impersonation of my hero Mickey Spillane and spend my days writing and without having to share the internet or the Chips Ahoy cookies with my kids. Oh yeah, I would spend some of my riches to house my army of cybernetic zombie chickens close by, you never know when we might have to repel an alien invasion.

Snow in South Carolina

Leaving work Friday morning I passed a buddy who suggested that I immediately go to the grocery store and pick up enough milk and bread to last through the weekend. That the expected storm moving into our area was going to hammer us a lot earlier than people thought. When I asked my friend how he knew this he said that his grandmother had called before he had left for work saying her arthritis was acting up far worse than normal.

The weather report I had seen the night before said we would only get half an inch to an inch of snow. The highly paid weatherman I watch at that time in his nice suit and smiling a few thousands dollars of serious dental work assured us that the snow would only start late into the night. Can anyone guess who I believed of the two?

Miss Wiggles had a school play Friday morning so I really didn't have enough time to stop, pick up what might be needed, and then get cleaned up in time to make her play so I just drove straight home. Not long later as I walked into the school the sky was cloudy but there nothing to suggest the snow would arrive early like my buddy's grandmother claimed. But the play hadn't been going for five minutes when the intercom broke in saying that the school would be closing a couple of hours early to get the kids home before things got bad. Many of the parents groaned probably figuring the same thing I did as I walked into the school.

By the time Dragonwife and I got to the grocery store the place was a madhouse with everyone rushing to grab what they needed and get home before the kids and the snow which even the weather people were now saying would arrive far sooner.

Sure enough, the snow started about 3:30pm and didn't let up until early Saturday morning. The picture above was taken at 4:00pm with the ground already covered. I wish I had gone outside and walked around enjoying the only part of snow I really like but after Wiggles school play we had to rush around getting the house ready for the Chinese New Year party the next day. So I was completely crapped out by the time the snow was coming down.




The next morning the same weatherman who had claimed we wouldn't get very much in the way of accumulation was now smiling about the four to eight inches of snow on the ground. This storm turned out to be the worst "blizzard" for South Carolina since 1973. Now in truth the expected half an inch to inch of snow would have sent the state into a major spasm had it occurred during a regular workday but with it being a Saturday much of the disruption, even with the far greater amount of snow predicted to having fallen, was blunted.










That morning Miss Wiggles and I slipped outside to enjoy the snow before the crazy rush of getting everything ready for her Chinese New Year party. Matters were complicated even more when Dragonwife got a phone call from the parents of one of Wiggles classmates saying that the birthday party for their child was still on for that day. The party was at a "nearby" skating rink and guess who got to drive Wiggles to the party? For me the fun part was following the direction whose most detailed part was that I had to "turn left after the sign with the cow on it."

When she and I got back we went straight into DEFCON one for her party with her guests arriving right after she changed in her Chinese dress. Sorry, I got only a couple of pictures since I was literally pushed into kitchen duty cooking up the dumplings and getting the rest of the food ready as Dragonwife and a few moms kept the kids busy with crafts and storytelling.






This picture was taken right after the previous one above but just out of sight Darth Spoilboy and a couple of his friends had loaded up on snowballs and mere seconds after Wiggles snapped this photo I was brutally attacked. The attack was so savage I was left on the ground and by the time I recovered my attackers were back inside laughing their sorry asses off.

Its Sunday now and most of the snow from Friday has melted. Rather large patches of white can still be found but the roads are clear and its pretty much business as usual for us here now. While we missed the usual snow spasm that afflicts South Carolina when a few flakes hit the ground the last weather report I listened to mention another storm heading our way. The smiling weather guys are all hedging their bets on this one saying it will most likely just be a cold rain but possibly mixed with some snow or sleet. If we do get more in the way of snow and ice with being the start of a work week this state will seriously have a rough couple of days.