Tag: God

Frozen at Forty-Five

A drunk stranger, a thermos of coffee, and 115 miles an hour: what one second cost me.

My speedometer stopped at forty-five. Frozen there, like a clock that gave up mid-tick. The rest of the world had slowed too: glass tumbling past my face one shard at a time, the dashboard rising to meet me, the steering wheel folding into my chest. People say your life flashes before your eyes. Mine didn’t. Time simply stretched, and in that stretched second I understood I was about to die. I was wrong, but only barely, and only because I like coffee.

You’ve been in that lane. Maybe not drunk, maybe three drinks in and certain you were fine, or looking down at a text for what felt like half a second. Half a second is the whole story. That’s all the time it took to take the rest of my life apart.

That was thirty sevenyears ago. It made the front page of a small East Texas newspaper, and it earned me my fifteen minutes in the most austere way a man can get them.

Driving home tonight, I passed more than one driver weaving across lanes. Usually it’s texting or checking a missed call, and of course they’re convinced they can do it more safely than anyone else. Sometimes the weaving is simpler: they’re drunk or high. I know exactly where that road leads, because in 1992 it led straight into me.

A head-on collision at freeway speeds with an intoxicated eighty-year-old forced me to reinvent myself. I survived treatment at a small country hospital that doubled as an emergency vet clinic (joking . . . I think), and I was clearly destined for other things.

The broken bones and lacerations healed, but the scars remain just beneath the surface. Pain is a constant reminder of that day.

I still have my legs because I like coffee. Minutes before impact, I’d stopped for gas and filled a stainless steel thermos, setting it upright on the passenger seat. Cresting a hill, I found a Cadillac barreling toward me in my lane. My options were to swerve or brake. A red truck blocked the next lane, so in the split second it took to say “Oh, shit,” it was over. That fast. I’d locked the anti-lock brakes and bent the brake pedal. He never touched his.

The combined collision speed was 115 miles an hour. How they calculated that, I have no idea; my speedometer was frozen at forty-five.

That split second is etched into my brain, a permanent reminder of what happens when idiots drink and drive. Time fascinates me now, because I believe it isn’t linear but relative. During impact, the world became a high-speed film: glass tumbling frame by frame, left to right; the dash rising to meet me; the steering wheel crushing my face and chest. What I remember isn’t a bang. It was a long tearing, metal giving up all at once, and then the smell: gasoline, hot coolant, and my own blood. The thermos launched to the floor and wedged between the firewall and my seat frame. Full of liquid, its hydraulic resistance stopped the dash from severing my legs and likely kept the steering column from piercing my heart.

The other driver was pinned under his dash. He left in the first ambulance with a single cut on his forehead and was released that day. He wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt. I never learned what became of him. Since we shared the same insurer, I was “lucky” to be compensated. The claims adjuster was nasty on the phone. They wouldn’t replace my six-month-old truck, and they didn’t care that I was upside down on the loan. I understand adjusters work for the company, but I was surely not in “good hands.” If you’re lucky, insurance is money pissed away on something you’ll never need. Either way, they do whatever they can to avoid paying. Worth knowing: you get two years to file every claim. What surfaced in me after those two years was a diagnosis football players collect from the punishment of the game. I’m certain the insurers know that timeline as well as the doctors do. Two years, then it’s “piss off.” Some injuries take years to declare themselves, growing new bone that either steals your range of motion or hands you pain you never escape, until death.

As I said, my trip to the hospital began only after they’d removed the man responsible.

My vision faded as the pain in my chest intensified. Certain I was going to die, I made my peace with God, and strangely, I didn’t mind. There was a peace in it, as if the answer were finally at hand. God had other plans. Waiting for the end, I managed to unbuckle my seatbelt, but the pain remained.

With what vision I had left, I watched them pull the other driver onto a stretcher. A man came to my window. Talking hurt, and breath was scarce, so my answers were short. My face had met the steering wheel (or the wheel had met my face), so speaking clearly wasn’t an option anyway. Blood was leaving my body through every orifice, visible and not.

The engine and tires of my truck had come to rest beneath my seat. I heard the Jaws of Life popping the metal as they cut the door away, then sliced through what remained of my seatbelt. My vision was nearly gone, but I could still hear the equipment and the voices. People talk about the white light; mine faded from white sparkles to a blank white screen. “It’s a miracle he’s alive,” one responder said. They fitted a collar and pulled me out.

I wanted to say something, anything, to prove I was still a person and not a body they were working on. Nothing came out. My hands wouldn’t close. Somewhere behind the ringing a woman was crying, and I couldn’t tell whether it was for me or for him.

Once they laid me down, my sight returned. I saw the emergency vehicles and the wrecker driver gathering my belongings, scattered across the freeway. Steam rose from under my seat, where the engine now sat. The truck bed was warped and twisted by the force of the crash.

In the ambulance, the medic warned me the 18-gauge needle for the sugar water would hurt. Compared to everything else, it was a mosquito bite.

At the hospital, they were already working on the man who’d hit me, separated from me only by a curtain. He was old, drunk, and on medication. His wife had recently bought him this big old Cadillac after he’d totaled his last car, so he’d be protected if he crashed again. He bragged that she’d been right, since here he was.

Listening to him praise his classic Cadillac, what was left of my blood boiled. Bad enough they’d taken him first; now I had to share a room with him.

Then it was my turn to be treated like meat.

As they cut my clothes off, there was no shortage of spectators: doctors, nurses, a physician assistant (young, attractive, long curly brown hair), and a burly old cop who’d clearly never missed a meal.

The accident report was read aloud to everyone, including the note that my seatbelt was unbuckled. I tried to explain that I’d taken it off, but the cop was more interested in fault and writing a ticket than in me. He looked down as if to say, Sure, we’ve heard that one before. Arrogant son of a bitch. If he couldn’t read the evidence, he was a moron.

Then they cut off my shirt and revealed a wide purple stripe across my chest and belly, the mark of the belt. The cop put his ticket book away. I don’t mean to sound churlish; I count many police as friends. But thinking about him still makes me angry.

The doctor arrived in a black silk sports jacket with a yellow logo, on call from some sporting event and clearly unhappy about it. His bedside manner left much to be desired. There were two hospitals in town, one for the poor and one for people with means. I had insurance and means, and they’d brought me to the one in need of everything.

After examining my naked body in front of the crowd, the “doctor” flipped me over and stuffed a finger up my rear as the last insult. Broken bones, crushed chest, shattered face and legs, and without so much as an X-ray, he finished his exam like I was a slab of meat, scribbled orders, and left. A sonogram showed my heart was bruised. Then came X-ray, near the morgue. I could smell the dead, or maybe that was me.

Water-stained ceiling tiles told the story of the building’s finances. The X-ray machine wouldn’t stay put; its old, loose joints let the head slide every time she stepped back to trigger it. We shot several images before she finished. God knows how much extra radiation that museum piece gave me.

Back in the ER, the man’s wife arrived. “They said I was in the wrong lane,” he told her.

He got three stitches and was soon released. Before leaving, his wife came to me. I was covered head to toe in my own blood, my beard caked with it. She rubbed my forehead and apologized: “I knew better than to get him another car.” Then she added, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we have good insurance.”

Even in my state, I was too polite to tell her what she could do with her good insurance. First I had to survive the day, the night, and another day before I could think about any of that.

After hours in the ER, I was moved to the ICU. If you’ve never been hospitalized (and I hadn’t), it’s not an experience I’d recommend.

Because of the bruised heart and they didn’t know what drugs I was on, they decided I couldn’t have pain medication. A dentist checked the teeth that had gone through my face and stitched me up from the inside out, no anesthetic. Next came the doctor who set my broken nose, a man who reminded me of the professor from Back to the Future. He pressed with his thumb, couldn’t get it straight, then jammed enormous forceps up my nose and forced it into place. The pain was unbelievable, ending only with the final crunch of bone.

The monitor echoed the throbbing in my body. As long as it beeped, I knew I was alive.

The PA kept pressing me to admit what I was taking. “C’mon, we know you’re on something. We need to know.” “Really, I don’t do that. Never have.” She tried again and again; my answer never changed. I may be the only person on this planet who’s never touched the stuff, but I haven’t. “If we know what your on we can give you pain meds.” True story, they were bribing me with pain relief.

“We don’t know what you’re on, so we can’t give you pain medicine,” she said. What was I supposed to do, lie so they’d treat my pain? I am not making this shit up, it happened. Whoever this Andy person was, they were protecting him.

After the worst week of my life, the toxicology report came back: low potassium. “What are you doing to make your potassium low?” asked the doctor with the bad bedside manner. “Um . . . I don’t salt my food. I had the flue a few weeks ago…???” I never got so much as an aspirin.

The days and nights blurred. I couldn’t sleep. My nose, packed with cotton, throbbed for days. With broken ribs, even breathing hurt.

Every few hours someone jabbed me repeatedly for blood; whoever they were, they were bad at it. Still on saline, urinating was the only activity I could manage, and lifting the sheet was nearly impossible. More than once I needed help. Humbling doesn’t cover it.

By the third day, glass from the crash was still embedded in my hands, arm, and face. My beard remained a solid chunk of dried blood, and not one person offered to clean me up.They had extracted some of the glass but much like a splinter in your foot, the glass in my body was a constant reminder that I was still alive.

For entertainment, I discovered I could control my heartbeat through biofeedback, slowing it to an eerie crawl or speeding it up. I was wired to telemetry so someone, somewhere, could watch my rhythm; a camera on the ceiling watched too. One night I wanted a nurse and couldn’t get one, so I pulled off the leads. The monitor went silent, and nobody came for nearly fifteen minutes. If this was the ICU, I shuddered to imagine a regular room.

The next day I asked to be transferred to Houston. I knew Dr. DeBakey and many other quality doctors personally; he’d once told me to call, if I ever needed him. If something was wrong with my heart, I wanted him and his team, not these people.

Instead, they moved me to a private room in the hospital’s “best” wing, built with someone’s donation. There, with my family’s help, I got myself into the shower and stayed until every trace of dried blood was gone from my hair and skin. Then I dug my own tweezers out of my luggage and pulled the glass from my body myself.

Before releasing me, the doctor with the crappy attitude was noticeably kinder. Maybe he’d finally accepted I wasn’t on anything, or realized the wreck wasn’t my fault, or maybe he’d just gotten lucky the night before. Either way, I was glad to leave. Holding a pillow to my chest, an old friend drove me home, where I lost months of work, and eventually had to leave the job I loved, no longer able to do it.

I never did get Dr. DeBakey and his team. I’d spent years caring for the physicians of the Texas Medical Center, only to end up in a small East Texas hospital that was a joke by any standard.

Months of lost pay later, I got a call from MADD, Mothers Against Drunk Driving. I could barely afford it, but I sent them money anyway.

Thirty-seven years to date, I’m still teased about my driving. I’m defensive; I leave plenty of room, and I preach to anyone who’ll listen, watch the traffic at least fifteen cars ahead, and leave enough space to see it. People say I drive like a slow grandpa. “Slow” means the speed limit, give or take a mile or two for terrain.

Driving a big truck full of airbags is only part of my strategy. When I see people fiddling with phones behind the wheel, part of me wants to scream. And the cops? They’ve got radios, phones, laptops, and a dozen other distractions, right through school zones. Folks, they’re no different from you. Watch them drift as they mess with their gadgets. I’ve seen it, and I cringe.

Keep your distance: from big trucks, from cheerleader types who think a selfie in a school zone is smart. They do it, and it’s all over Facebook. Just the other day, a young woman picked up her child and tore out of the school at 40-plus in a 20 zone, texting as she passed me. “Where’s a cop when you need one?” I said, and right on cue, a motorcycle officer pulled onto her bumper. She drove a long way, still texting, before she noticed him. That ticket had to be pricey.

I wish I could say this was fiction. It isn’t. It happened. Some memories have surely faded, but most remain, including the pain. For thirty-seven years I’ve lived in unrelenting pain. I take nothing for it. I manage with exercise as best I can, because no medication would leave me mentally sharp. With opioids and such they work, then you need more, and more, and more, and soon enough you have all kinds of other problems like you can’t poop! No thank you. You would be shocked to learn how many people die on the toilet because they have a heart attack trying to poop.

I don’t know what became of the man who hit me. I finally read the police report in 2016 and learned the only charge against him was driving left of center. He and the cop who worked the scene went to the same church.

The cop came in, prayed with Andy, then crossed to my side of the curtain and watched them cut my clothes off. He had his ticket book open when someone told him my seatbelt hadn’t been on. I’d taken it off to see whether that would ease the pain. It didn’t; my sternum was cracked in two. When he saw the long purple bruise the belt had left, his face turned to disgust. He’d wanted to ticket me, to make me the villain instead of his church buddy Andy. On his way out, he told the attending to test my blood for anything and everything known to man. Some East Texas cops and sheriffs really do suck.

I do know that when you share an insurer, you lose. He’s surely gone by now, but there are plenty to take his place. There were no smartphones then; now everyone has one. Weed is legal in some states, and I fear those drivers will be impaired too. Even where it’s illegal, I’d bet one in three drivers is under some influence.

He got three stitches. I got thirty-seven years of pain, PTSD, and counting.

That’s the part I need you to sit with. The man who hit me felt almost nothing. He went home that afternoon, praised his Cadillac, and let his wife apologize on his behalf. The cost didn’t land on him. It landed on a stranger cresting a hill with a thermos on the seat beside him, and it has stayed with that stranger every day since.

So if you’ve ever done the arithmetic in a parking lot, counting drinks against miles and telling yourself you’re fine, understand what you’re actually wagering. Not your license. Not your record. Someone else’s life, spent on your behalf, without anyone asking them.

My speedometer stopped at forty-five. I’ve spent every year since trying to keep yours from doing the same. Hand someone else your keys. Take the defensive driving course. It’s the cheapest insurance you’ll ever buy

I’ve written a memoir. You can get your copy here. This story is in it in full, along with many others. the cover art is different with more stories than this version but the link will get you there.

Best,

Back in My Young Man’s Days: Have We Really Learned Anything?

There’s an old Max Bygraves song called “Back in My Young Man’s Days” that most of you have probably never heard of. Unless, of course, you happen to be an aficionado of Turner Classic Movies or music from that era. I am both, proudly, and perhaps a little wistfully. As I go about doing the things that men my age tend to do, my mind wanders. It wanders to the news of the day, to memories of the past, and sometimes, more often than I’d like, to the sting of death. And then I put on a song like “Back in My Young Man’s Days,” and I can’t help but ask myself a hard question:Have we learned nothing?

The Same Old Story, Just Louder Now

If the leaders, the megalomaniacs, the dullards, the people who don’t seem to mind putting your life on the line, had to face the same risks as the soldiers who die by the tens of thousands every time someone rattles a saber, one has to wonder how differently the world might look. Then I open up X or scroll through some other social media platform, and what do I see? You’ve seen it too. People behaving badly. Or as one influencer bluntly puts it, “chimping out.”

It makes me wonder: is there something in the water? Something in the food? Some invisible force driving us back to the basic animal instincts of lions and tigers and bears …Go ahead. Say it. Oh my.

Seriously though, if you’ve ever watched one of those nature documentaries where the narrator calmly describes the lions stalking their prey on the savannah, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

The Camera in Every Pocket

Then it dawns on me. Back in my young man’s days, nobody had a video camera in their pocket. Back in my young man’s days, we barely had a Kodak, and heaven forbid, a Polaroid was a luxury. So I have to ask: What if we had? Would we have seen the same carnage back then that we see today? Would Andy Griffith and “Leave It to Beaver” have been the anomaly, or would they have been the standard?

I suspect the truth is uncomfortable.

The Mob Was Always There

Back in my young man’s days, I saw the mob mentality firsthand. I saw boys trying to prove they were men by picking on the timid, the frail, and the girls. Nobody was immune to the red-headed bully who was feeling his oats, or, as I now suspect, feeling his hormones running amok as curly hairs sprouted in places they had never been before.The cruelty was there. The mob was there. We just didn’t have the receipts.

25,000 Mothers a Week

But some things do feel bigger now. Heavier. More absurd. Do you ever think about simpler times? Do you ever wonder how leaders like Putin and Zelensky can be okay with 25,000 young men being killed each week?

Twenty-five thousand.That means 25,000 young mothers each week who have to live with the reality that their baby is never coming home. That’s not a statistic. That’s an ocean of grief we can’t seem to stop refilling.

Food for Thought

Were your parents like the Beav’s?

Mine weren’t. But they were both there, and looking back, that mattered more than I understood at the time. Maybe we didn’t live in a simpler time. Maybe we just lived in a time with fewer cameras, fewer platforms, and fewer megaphones for our worst instincts. But the questions remain the same ones humanity has always wrestled with: Why do we hurt each other? Why do we send our sons to die? And why, with all our progress, do we keep circling back to the same sorrow?Food for thought.

What do you think? Do you find yourself longing for simpler times, or just quieter ones? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Echoes of Tomorrow

When the world teeters on the brink of nuclear annihilation, a retired Air Force general is given an impossible second chance: to rewrite history.Sent back in time to 1962 by mysterious alien beings, he wakes up trapped in the body of his ten-year-old self, armed with decades of knowledge but stripped of his power and authority. With the Cuban Missile Crisis looming, global tensions rising, and secrets hidden in the shadows of the past, he must navigate a world that sees him as a child while carrying the burden of preventing humanity’s self-destruction.As he re-encounters his family, a young JFK, and the love of his life before they’ve even met, he discovers that saving the future isn’t just about stopping a war. It’s about proving that humanity is worth saving. Along the way, secrets buried deep in Area 51, a chilling conspiracy within the U.S. government, and the cryptic motives of the alien beings reveal that the stakes are higher than he could have ever imagined.Echoes of Tomorrow is a sweeping tale of time travel, love, loss, and redemption. With the weight of the world on his young shoulders, one man must face the ultimate question: can the future truly be changed, or is humanity destined to repeat its greatest mistakes?This gripping journey will captivate fans of thought-provoking science fiction, historical intrigue, and heartfelt stories woven through time and the fragile threads of destiny.

Get your copy here…

Breaking Free from Echo Chambers

Could you picture yourself as a Star-Bellied Sneetch, looking down your nose at those without stars? Or maybe a North-Going Zax, stubbornly stuck in your tracks, refusing to budge an inch? Many of you are and much like that ostrich, your head is in the sand.

What happens when we live in bubbles? We become so sure of our ways that we can’t even glance at another point of view. Let’s dive into a Seussian tale of echo chambers, silly spats, and the surprising magic of opening our minds!

The Tale of the Elephants and Donkeys

On a hill, not so far, and a valley nearby,

Lived Elephants grand and Donkeys spry.

They lived in their herds, apart and aloof,

Each sure that the other was silly—”Goof-proof!”

The Elephants trumpeted, “We know what’s best!

Our views are the finest, far above the rest!”

The Donkeys brayed back, “Oh, what a joke!

Your big stomping feet just kick up more smoke!”

From morning till night, they argued and bickered,

Each pointing out why the other was fickle.

“Your ideas are small!” “Your plans are absurd!”

But neither side listened—oh, not a word!

They sat in their chambers, their echo-filled halls,

With mirrors that hung on the thickest of walls.

The mirrors told tales they already believed,

And voices repeated what they’d always conceived.

“Those Donkeys are wrong!” “Those Elephants, too!”

“They’ll ruin the world with the things that they do!”

And so they stayed stuck, in their separate domains,

Each calling the other mean names and refrains.

But one sunny day, a young calf and a foal,

Both curious creatures, with hearts that were whole,

Met on the path that split hill and the valley,

And decided to chat, take a walk, and to dally.

“Your ears are quite long!” said the calf with a grin.

“And your trunk is so strong!” said the foal, leaning in.

They laughed and they talked, they shared and they learned,

And found common ground where respect could be earned.

When they told their herds of the day they had shared,

The Elephants scoffed, and the Donkeys just stared.

“How could you listen? How could you see?

They’re so very wrong—they’re not like you and me!”

But the calf and the foal, undeterred by the chatter,

Said, “The world’s much too big for such silly clatter.

If we never look past our own little views,

We’ll miss all the colors, the reds, greens, and blues!”

And soon, one by one, others tried it as well,

And the chambers of echoes began to dispel.

The Elephants listened, the Donkeys did too,

And they learned there were more than just red and blue.

So remember this tale, of the calf and the foal,

Who broke through the walls and found something whole.

The world’s much too grand to stay stuck in one view,

So open your mind—and see something new!

Echoes of Silence

I have friends, once dear, now distant and cold,

For they believe my heart does not uphold

The banner they wave, the creed they proclaim,

And in their silence, they utter my blame.

Yet they assume, for I do not cry aloud,

Nor join the fray of the thundering crowd.

Hot topics rage, the media’s snare,

Dividing souls with cunning flair.

Oh, traveler, pause in the bustling air,

Look to the screens that flicker there.

Each tuned to a single, unyielding refrain,

For gold, not truth, does the channel sustain.

Orwell foresaw, with prophetic sight,

The shadowy hand that twists the light.

At the BBC, he learned the tale,

Of how the press can deceive and prevail.

Yet still, a whisper, a hope remains,

Though shackled minds wear heavy chains.

“The truth shall set you free,” it’s said,

Though lies may linger, and trust lies dead.

Take heart, dear soul, and heed this plea:

“Illigitimi non carborundum”—stay free.

For in the battle of thought and pen,

Courage shall guide both women and men.

And Finally…

No Toes McGrew

If rage should rise at whispers from the press,

Beware, for thou art caught in their caress.

A siren’s song, it lures thee to the fray,

To blind thy reason, steal thy peace away.

They sow division, conquer with their art,

And plant their thorns within the tender heart.

Oh, pause, dear soul, and see their cunning guise,

The painted veil that clouds thy seeking eyes.

Wise up! For folly waits with bated breath,

To guide thee down the thorny path to death.

Lest thou become, like poor McGrew of lore,

Who cried, “Ready, fire, aim!”—then was no more.

Hi everyone,

I wanted to take a moment to share a little update on where I am and what I’m working on. First off, if you’ve been enjoying my attempts at poetry, please let me know—I’d love to hear your thoughts! Poetry isn’t exactly my forte, but it’s been a fun and meaningful way to express myself lately.

As for my writing, The Big Beautiful Book of Stupid Shit is now marinating in the creative process. While that simmers, I’ve turned my attention back to a project I started five years ago—a book about magick. Now seems like a perfect time to revisit it. I’ve been needing an escape from the chaos and negativity that surrounds us.

To be honest, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the constant noise. It is the news, social media, or conversations. These conversations seem to divide us more than bring us together. I know I’m not alone in this. Still, sometimes it feels like the world is full of people suffering from, well… let’s call it “rectal cranial inversion.” It’s exhausting. Stepping away from the animus that seems to pervade everything has been a necessary breath of fresh air for me.

If you’ve ever felt the same way, you’re not alone. Sometimes we need to unplug, refocus, and channel our energy into creating something meaningful rather than engaging with negativity. I’m trying to find joy in the creative process. I want to remind myself why I love connecting with all of you.

Thank you for sticking with me, for supporting my work, and for being part of this journey. I truly appreciate you, and I’m excited to share more with you all soon.

Scott

The Power of Neighborly Love in Today’s World

Can we sit a spell and talk?

This post is quite different from my previous post about my latest novels.

I’ve been thinking a lot about family, friends, and the folks whom I care about, some of whom live a few doors down. For the last nine months, it seems like people are mad at things none of us can control, and that anger spills onto the people right beside them—at home, at school, and especially online.

I miss the days of front-porch talks after church, your great‑grandmother’s fried chicken and lemonade, and the squeals of kids on the swings and that dizzy old merry‑go‑round. I miss running through the sprinkler as a child and chasing fireflies with a mason jar after dark—when just holding someone’s hand could make your heart flutter. You might not be there yet with those feelings—and that’s okay. One day you’ll understand. For now, just know there was a sweetness to those simple moments.

I blame social media and information overload for much of this. There are those who wish to control the narrative by spreading evil, yes, evil, through ignorance, both spewed by them and by those who are unwilling to see the hate for what it is, propaganda.

These days, it feels like there’s a different kind of bug going around—not a sickness of the body, but of the heart. I see rooms full of people, all together, and yet most eyes are glued to a screen. The trouble isn’t just social media itself; it’s that anyone, no matter their maturity, can throw words into the wind. Some of those words can poison minds and hearts. There are folks who know how to push your buttons—fear, anger, outrage—because those spread fastest. Love doesn’t trend as easily, have you noticed?

It’s Sunday for me—a day to pause and remember what can get lost without a little refresher. I saw some posts today that weren’t thought through, and it nudged me to share this: in a world of fences, passwords, and polarized feeds, being a good neighbor is a quiet revolution. Jesus put it simply: love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:39). He also taught us to pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us” (Matthew 6:12). That gets real when your “neighbor” has hurt your feelings or crossed a line.

Why be neighborly—even to someone who offends you

It shows God’s heart: He is kind even to the ungrateful (Luke 6:35–36).

It breaks the get‑even cycle: overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21).

It frees your heart from bitterness (Ephesians 4:31–32).

It points people to the good news: like the Good Samaritan did (Luke 10:25–37).

It helps whole communities heal (Matthew 5:9).

What neighborly love is not

Not excusing harm. Wrong is still wrong (Isaiah 5:20).

Not boundary‑free. Guard your heart; rebuild trust slowly (Proverbs 4:23).

Not enabling. Restore gently, don’t permit harm (Galatians 6:1).

Not against justice. Accountability can be loving (Micah 6:8; Romans 13:1–4).

Not always reconciliation. Forgiveness takes one; reconciliation takes two (Romans 12:18).

A simple path for everyday misunderstandings

Start with your heart: pray for a clean heart and for the other person by name (Psalm 51:10; Matthew 5:44). Ask, “What’s my part?” (Matthew 7:3–5).

Choose a gentle tone: a soft answer turns away anger (Proverbs 15:1; James 1:19).

Talk privately and plainly. Example: “I want to be good neighbors. When the music’s loud after 10 p.m., I can’t sleep. Could we set quiet hours?”

Offer forgiveness: name the hurt and release the debt to God (Colossians 3:13). You may need to forgive more than once as feelings pop back up.

Seek solutions, not victory: small, practical compromises help everyone.

Ask for help if needed: bring one or two trusted people to mediate (Matthew 18:15–16).

Keep doing small kindnesses: a wave, a shared tomato, a hand with a bin (1 Peter 3:9).

Habits that grow a neighborly life

Pray for your street by name as you walk (Jeremiah 29:7).

Create regular touchpoints: porch time, a seasonal potluck, or a simple group chat for practical updates.

Be first to apologize: “I was short yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Serve together: pick up litter, organize a meal train, check on elders.

Keep short accounts: handle small irritations kindly and early (Ephesians 4:26–27).

Words you can borrow

To start: “I want a good relationship as neighbors. Could we talk about something on my mind?”

To share impact: “When X happens, Y is the impact for me. Can we find a solution that works for both of us?”

To forgive: “I was hurt by what happened. I choose to forgive you. Let’s move forward with clearer boundaries.”

To set a boundary: “I care about being good neighbors. I need X to feel safe. If X can’t happen, I’ll need to do Y.”

Scripture anchors

Love your neighbor: Matthew 22:37–39

Forgive as forgiven: Matthew 6:12; Ephesians 4:32; Colossians 3:13

Peacemaking and enemy‑love: Matthew 5:9, 38–44; Romans 12:17–21; 1 Peter 3:9

Gentle correction: Galatians 6:1; Matthew 18:15–17

Compassion in action: Luke 10:25–37

Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly: Micah 6:8

A short prayer Lord, make me a neighbor after Your heart. Give me courage to seek peace, grace to forgive, wisdom to set good boundaries, and love that overcomes evil with good. Make our street a place of safety, kindness, and hope. Amen.

A simple next step this week

Do one neighborly act: a hello at the mailbox, a thank‑you note, a bag of garden produce, or a text to set up a friendly chat.

Name one hurt you’re holding before God and choose to forgive. If it’s wise and safe, begin a gentle conversation.

Loving neighbors who trespass isn’t naïve—it’s following Jesus. It’s steady, courageous love that tells the truth, keeps boundaries, seeks justice, and keeps working for peace. And when your day comes to chase fireflies with someone who makes your heart flutter, I hope you’ll bring that same kind of love to your friendships and your neighborhood. I’m cheering you on.

Should we replace our concrete streets here on Earth with gold?

Further thoughts from last Sunday. Read the previous blog for context.

“And the twelve gates were twelve pearls, with each gate comprising a single pearl. The main street of the city was pure gold, as clear as glass.”

“And the streets of heaven are made of gold.”

His reason for making that analogy is that gold in heaven is nothing more than asphalt. That all the girls and women want to wear here on earth is asphalt. His quote, not mine.

First off, why pick on girls and women? Most people wear gold bands to signify a symbol of marriage. By demeaning gold, does he not also degrade the symbol of marriage? What is the wedding ring all about?

The choice of gold for wedding rings is deeply rooted in tradition and symbolism. Gold has been used for wedding rings for centuries and is valued for its enduring qualities, making it a fitting symbol for the enduring nature of marriage. Using gold in wedding rings symbolizes the precious and enduring nature of the commitment being made. It represents the purity, value, and timelessness of the love and bond shared between the couple. Gold is a noble metal that does not tarnish, corrode, or rust, which further emphasizes the enduring nature of marriage commitment.

Therefore, the choice of gold for wedding rings reflects the timeless and precious nature of the love and commitment shared between spouses.

***

If you read the previous blog, you know I am critical of this person as he is flawed on so many levels.

The lesson he was attempting to teach is that what we value here on earth is nothing when it comes to the rewards in heaven. He failed.

The phrase “Do not love the world or anything in the world” can be found in 1 John 2:15 in the Bible. It states, “Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.

This verse emphasizes the importance of prioritizing spiritual values over worldly desires and attachments.

He fundamentally criticized the message about heaven that the author of Revelations was trying to convey.

What was the Author of Revelations trying to say?

He describes the streets of the city as pure gold, like transparent glass

This depiction is part of the larger portrayal of the New Jerusalem, symbolizing the extraordinary beauty and richness of God’s dwelling place. Using precious materials like gold and pearls in the description signifies the unparalleled magnificence and perfection of the heavenly realm.

Let’s see what we can derive from scripture:

The Bible provides several vivid descriptions of Heaven, particularly in the Book of Revelation. According to Revelation chapters 21 and 22, Heaven, or the New Jerusalem, is depicted as a stunningly beautiful city coming down from God. It is described as having streets of gold, gates of pearl, and walls made of precious stones

Characteristics of Heaven

Heaven is described as a real place filled with real people, and the Bible sometimes compares it to a mansion with many rooms and sometimes to an enormous city teeming with people

The paradise of the Garden of Eden is restored, with the river of the water of life flowing freely and the tree of life available once again, yielding fruit monthly with leaves that heal the nations

Additionally, the pleasures of heaven are said to eclipse wildest imaginations, and it is a place where perfect friendships are enjoyed

Limitations of Description

Despite the eloquence in the description of heaven, the reality of heaven is beyond the ability of finite man to describe, as mentioned in 1 Corinthians 2:9

The descriptions of heaven in the Bible are often symbolic and open to interpretation, emphasizing the challenge of fully capturing its essence in human language

In summary, the Bible describes heaven as a place of stunning beauty, with streets of gold, gates of pearl, and walls made of precious stones. It is a place of restoration, perfect friendships, and pleasures that surpass human imagination. However, the limitations of human language and the symbolic nature of the descriptions remind us that the reality of heaven transcends our finite understanding.

I would like to talk briefly about the book of revelations.

The author of the Book of Revelation is traditionally identified as John the Apostle, who also authored the Gospel of John and three epistles. However, the precise identity of the author remains a point of academic debate. While second-century Christian writers such as Papias of Hierapolis, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Melito of Sardis, and Clement of Alexandria, as well as the author of the Muratorian fragment, identify John the Apostle as the author, modern scholarship generally takes a different view, with many considering that nothing can be known about the author except that he was a Christian prophet

The traditional paradigm holds that the apostle John wrote both the Gospel of John and Revelation, but modern scholarship has cast severe doubts on this traditional theory

The author of Revelation identifies himself as simply “John” in the text, but his precise identity remains a point of academic debate

I will end this epistle on this note: If putting forth stumbling blocks earns a one-way ticket to the place without air conditioning, this guy should be much more careful about his pontifications.

Just to be transparent, I mainly write science fiction. Moreover, I identify as someone who engages in deep thought. Throughout my career, I have consistently been able to think creatively, which has proven advantageous to both employers and customers.

Have a blessed day!

Kobayahsi Maru and Church

It’s disheartening to witness preachers embarrassing themselves and tarnishing the religion they claim to cherish.

My search for the perfect church will never be realized as people are far from perfect, and power corrupts.

That doesn’t stop me from searching.

Last Sunday, I tried a new church.

Sunday School held no surprises for me at this point in my life; there was nothing new under the SON…yes, I intended that pun.

While everyone was friendly enough, I thought this gathering was for people who were at the end of their lives and studying for the final. That was my first impression. It was a sad get-together with folks who were tired and looking for a little bit of juice to comfort them.

The preacher or leader of the service had several points that resonated with me. Then, he veered off course and immersed himself in politics.

I would have called him about it if I had been a member and not a visitor.

His idea of sin was interesting, flawed, and full of pride and boasting, which I found hard to understand.

“If your actions have the potential to be seen as sinful, don’t do them.”

Just imagine the expansive and inclusive mindset behind that statement.

If you heeded that advice, you would do ‘nothing.’

In Star Trek’s “The Wrath of Khan 1982” era, you have just been placed into the Kobayahsi Maru.

This film introduces the scenario as a training exercise for Starfleet cadets, designed to be unwinnable to test their character and decision-making under pressure. Anything you say or do, or choose not to do, can be interpreted as sinful by someone.

This type of statement divides Christians and is the reason we have so many different forms of Christianity today. How about we just stick to the Ten Commandments and leave it there?

Some denominations say drinking is a sin. But Jesus turned water into wine; was he sinful?

Some denominations say music is sinful, Psalm 150:1-6

This psalm is a comprehensive call to praise God with various musical instruments, including trumpets, harps, lyres, tambourines, strings, pipes, and cymbals

How do you explain this if music is sinful? Let me guess, it was before Jesus, so it doesn’t count. God was wrong, and Jesus was right. Yeah right.

What he failed to say correctly is to be careful that your actions do not lead those who are weak in faith astray.

Then, he went on to talk about boasting and how sinful it was. Shifting to politics, he attacked the 45^th President of the United States on his vernacular.

Preacher, dude, I am not voting for Trump as my spiritual leader or as a guide on how to live my life. I am hiring him to be my bulldog and to be the bulldog for the United States against those who seek to destroy her, to create an unrecognizable version of the country by re-introducing the 45 tenets of communism. Trump is like a honey badger. He doesn’t care. I will vote for the honey badger, and I hope others do. Wars are evil, and Trump is very much anti-war, which runs the askance of the military complex that benefits from wars. That is the deep state, and he is very much against the swamp. Do you think God would be against wars?

Talk about evil. Tens of thousands could die as long as those who design and make weapons profit, no problem. Those people keep the politicians in power, so what is a war on the other side of the world that most Americans can find on a map? Sad and evil.

America First!

The preacher’s ignorance and pride may jeopardize the acquisition of crucial votes, something we need as the Devil seems to be putting in extra effort to steer people away from Jesus and Trump.

Let me just say this preacher, guy. God used David, and David was far worse than Trump ever thought about being. Don’t you think God may have plans for Trump?

Back to the sin of boasting, I found it hilarious that this fellow went on about how evil boasting was and then used example after example of how he condemned sin by not engaging in activities that take advantage of disadvantaged people. He was boasting about how good he was. “Look at how great I am. I could have made money by doing this evil thing, but I didn’t.”

Here is the takeaway for people like this. You are held to a higher standard if you preach God’s word. That means that just possibly you shouldn’t be winging what you are saying, and when you say something like, I rarely talk politics, but… you should stop. We don’t care about how you feel. The phrase ‘Garbage in, Garbage out’ holds true. If you watch CNN, MSNBC, or even PBS, you will hate Trump, conservatives, and most probably Christians and Jews. You will be, in fact…of this world.

There is this thing called Neuro-Linguistic Programming or NLP that is used by the media, aka propagandists, to control the masses. I am almost certain preachers use it, too.

That’s why when you decide to go to church, you must understand what you believe and why you believe it and be prepared to walk away if what they say is trash.

Do you ever wonder what having one version of Christianity would be like? They will tell you with a straight face that the bible is the inerrant word (God-breathed) version from God’s lips to your ears.

Here is the major stumbling block…

There are more than 45,000 Christian denominations globally, and more than 200 distinct Christian denominations exist in the United States alone. Most of these denominations emerged after the Protestant Reformation in 1517. The Reformation was a significant movement against certain doctrines and practices of the Catholic Church, leading to the formation of various Protestant branches.

So, which one has the correct understanding of God’s Word?

If you want to learn some fascinating history, study the early church and discover how evil it was. That will blow your mind. Only then can you understand the reason for the Reformation.

Live Long and Prosper, or in the spirit of this epistle, Have a blessed Day!

-Scott

If Paul ran for office, would we vote for him? @realdonaldtrump

Political discourse in this country, as I suspect in many others, is rife with opinions, hate, and discontent. Some with a passing understanding of the facts speak out as those who are heavily vested in the process. Many, like Armchair quarterbacks in our lazy boys we scream at the TV or our friends on social media.

The disconnect is that depending on what part of the country you are in influences your opinions.

East and west coast alike are more liberal and have a definite liberal bias in the news, radio programs, and newspapers and of course the mega elite who live in the Ivory towers of Hollywood. We hold them up there; they are Gods don’t you know? Because they are either genetically gifted with looks, or symmetry and have learned to emote when they talk, we believe them to be as their characters on our favorite movie or TV show. They are so wise in that they must certainly know of what they speak!

download (3) — I am certain that she knows about all the issues… not!

Politicians wise to the ways of the world, hob knob with these Gods as they want to be accepted, so they will talk nicely about them. Comedians also take on the liberal biased as they too are influenced by some politicians who wield power and might; with their pen and phone.

Politicians will spend vast fortunes of their own money to get the vote of the people as once there; it can be a lifetime job where suddenly the rules and laws that the little people must deal with, do not apply to them.

hillary angry 4 — It does make a difference ….

Evangelicals are looking for Jesus to run for office. They might dispute that, but they are. The problem is, even if Jesus came back and ran, I doubt few would actually vote for him because he was the son of a Carpenter, and his mother became pregnant before she was legally married.

Twenty-Six Million evangelicals stayed home in 2012 because the idea of a Mormon in the White House was unfathomable. How did that work out for you?

51COkV-g4NL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_ — Wonder how many of these he sold?

Today we have “conservatives talk show host.” bashing Trump because of things that he did as a businessman. Some of their allegations are true, most are out of context or flat out falsehoods concocted by those that study and practice political science and social engineering.

A perfect example of that was the nude photo of Trump’s wife on the cover GQ magazine sent to all of the voters in Utah, telling them that this was their “first lady.” “Smarmy attacks like this “not to pick on the Mormons, will work because they will vote their conscience. They did, and the sycophantic lawyer won by a landslide! They were played like a Steinway! In her defense, she was a model back then and a damned fine one! She speaks five different languages and is a successful business person in her own right!

Now we are being played. We have Evangelical leaders listening to other leaders talking about things in Trump’s past that may or may not be true. They are telling their followers to vote their conscience after dissing Trump.

The last thing I read said that no matter who won, the world will still keep spinning, the country will still go on, not to worry, just vote for someone you will not feel badly about casting your vote for.

If I ever doubted that the devil was real, this is where I would have clear evidence that he is real and active.

If you vote for anyone other than Trump, you are voting for Hillary. Independents are there to funnel votes from Trump. Hillary is such a corrupt, candidate that she has to pander to those who are only looking out for what is in it for them. What is my vote worth to you?

She has peaked out, so her strategy must be to take votes away from Trump, anyway that she can.

garyjohnson-600x400 — Do you really think this guy has a chance in hell?

Established politicians know if Trump is elected that their gravy train of $600 hammers sold by their brother-in-laws is over. They would rather support the devil for their fortunes on earth than do what is right for the country!

Is Trump the perfect candidate?

“No.”

Is Hillary a better candidate? Only for the State Pen. She is, in fact, the first person to run for the office of president that could not pass a standard background check.

If Paul came and ran, would you vote for him knowing his baggage?

Wise up and do the right thing!

You’re a Doo-Doo Head!

If that sounds familiar to you, you are either young or have children who are maybe three????

Social media intrigues me, as I am a people person.

I watch trends, check out who is saying what and sometimes I chime in.

Today we don’t use sophisticated adjectives like “doo-doo head,” no we have evolved…

We label people things like Racist or Perverts.

People attack what they don’t understand, and they also attack when they have no real argument for “their point of view.”

Case in point.

A teenage boy decides that he wants to shower with the girls so for the day, week or what have you he defines himself as a girl. I watched the arguments for and against the transgendered debate and came to many conclusions.

People, who identify as a sex other than what they were born as have most probably been using the bathroom of choice for years.

Those who argue that they want to dress with the women or shower with them even though their plumbing is not a match, no dice!

Allow me to make a caveat to that, and it is this…

If a spa or other business wants to make accessible, “clothing optional facilities for anyone, and those that choose to do so are of an age that they are accountable for their actions,” then I would be ok with that.

http://hiddenbeachresort.tumblr.com/

Many countries other than the USA think nothing of nudity. This country, due to its Puritan heritage is still hung up on such things. It was not too long ago when there were police on the beaches measuring the length of a woman’s bathing costume to make sure that it was legal.

Fashion-Black-Modern-Bandage-Triangle-Bottom-Scrunch-bandage-Bikini-Set-Swimsuit-String-Micro-Brazilian-swimwears-047.jpg — We have come out of the dark ages some…

What is FREE THE NIPPLE?

Free the Nipple and other clothing free organizations have a way to go but on this transgendered topic, we must employ common sense.

I know too many while going to school who thought that they were “asexual or lesbian or gay.” After they had got out of school, into the “real world” they found that they were indeed, straight.

School children are getting too many mixed messages from places like social media, Hollywood, their peers and so forth. When gay is trendy, that should set off all sorts of red flags.

Which one of these do you think is based on ignorance?

The simple facts are folks, all fetuses “you” start out as a girl! It is not until later in the process that the hormones kick in, and your “true sex” is crafted. I chose the word crafted carefully as that is exactly how it works through a process of virilization. If you men out there ever thought past the end of your “self” and asked, why do men have tits? Well, now you know! You, we all, started life as a girl.

By the way, a fetus has a unique blood type, and heart beat about two weeks after conception, that happens to be my definition of life.

Not only is the body crafted differently, so is the wiring in the brain. There is indeed a difference between men and women and their wiring. It was and is supposed to be that way to compliment each other. It is almost as if it were “designed that way!”

Now, what happens if the hormones don’t work as they should?

Many different outcomes could be the result but, one might get a brain wired one way in a body “crafted” another way. Not rocket science but not “trendy” either.

Hollywood and others try to make this something that it is not, which further screws up the process.

So why the doo-doo head title?

I was trying to make this argument on a “friends” post about the transgendered movement when one of his liberal friends called me a pervert! Yes indeed, I made this simple argument saying that children in school need to use the locker room that matches their plumbing, so some young girls are not molested or traumatized by those among us who would use this as a means to a nefarious end. There are deviants among us who would think nothing of this.

Now, his words did not trouble me in the slightest. He, most probably a drunk, coward, or both chose to attack that which he did not agree with because he had no legitimate argument. Indeed, had he been in front of me I dare say he might have thought differently about his words. I am never surprised by the power of liquid courage, or anonymity.

When someone starts calling names or labeling you, they have nothing else, so they name call. If you ever follow any threads where someone possibly likes one candidate over another and instead of using logic, they name call or worse, it is because they cannot defend their position.

Young boys using young girls locker rooms and showers with them is indefensible!

On any of my blogs, I welcome civil discourse. When it stops, so do I. I have no time or patience for it.

http://www.menshealth.com/health/3-signs-you-started-as-a-girl

http://www.aanr.com/member-benefits/join-renew

Clothing Optional Resorts

-Best

Thinking outside the box, two cents at a time… 🙂

forum_2f455681_two_cents_small — My Two Cents

Billions @realdonaldtrump

bb85cfd1110a44959cf0ae2b2561fd1b-DEM2016Sanders-3987x2795-jpgAP-IMAGE-bb85cfd1110a44959cf0ae2b2561fd1b-DEM2016Sanders-3987x2795.jpg.2600x1462.wide.jpg — This guy thinks we need more taxes to pay for more entitlements.

This is too true to be funny.

The next time you hear a politician use the
Word ‘billion’ in a casual manner, think about
whether you want the ‘politicians’ spending
YOUR tax money.
A billion is a difficult number to comprehend,
But one advertising agency did a good job of
Putting that figure into some perspective in
One of its releases.

A.
A billion seconds ago it was 1959.

B.
A billion minutes ago Jesus was alive.

C.
A billion hours ago our ancestors were
living in the Stone Age.

D.
A billion days ago no-one walked on the earth on two feet.

E.
A billion dollars ago was only
8 hours and 20 minutes,
at the rate our government
is spending it.

While this thought is still fresh in our brain…
let’s take a look at New Orleans …
It’s amazing what you can learn with some simple division.

Louisiana Senator,
Mary Landrieu (D)
was asking Congress for
250 BILLION DOLLARS
To rebuild New Orleans . Interesting number…
What does it mean?

A.
Well .. If you are one of the 484,674 residents of New Orleans
(every man, woman and child)
You each get $516,528

B.
Or… If you have one of the 188,251 homes in
New Orleans , your home gets $1,329,787.

C.
Or… If you are a family of four…
Your family gets $2,066,012.

Washington , D.C

HELLO!
Are all your calculators broken??

Building Permit Tax
CDL License Tax
Cigarette Tax
Corporate Income Tax
Dog License Tax
Federal Income Tax (Fed)
Federal Unemployment Tax (FU TA)
Fishing License Tax
Food License Tax
Fuel Permit Tax
Gasoline Tax
Hunting License Tax
Inheritance Tax
Inventory Tax
IRS Interest Charges (tax on top of tax)
IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax)
Liquor Tax
Luxury Tax
Marriage License Tax
Medicare Tax
Property Tax
Real Estate Tax
Service charge Taxes
Social Security Tax
Road Usage Tax (Truckers)
Sales Taxes
Recreational Vehicle Tax
School Tax
State Income Tax
State Unemployment Tax (SUTA)
Telephone Federal Excise Tax
Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax
Telephone Federal, State and Local Surcharge Tax
Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax
Telephone Recurring and Non-recurring Charges Tax
Telephone State and Local Tax
Telephone Usage Charge Tax
Utility Tax
Vehicle License Registration Tax
Vehicle Sales Tax
Watercraft Registration Tax
Well Permit Tax
Workers Compensation Tax
(And to think, we left British Rule to avoid so many taxes)

STILL THINK THIS IS FUNNY?

Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago…
And our nation was the most prosperous in the world.

We had absolutely no national debt…
We had the largest middle class in the world…
And Mom stayed home to raise the kids.

What happened?
Can you spell

‘politicians’!

And I still have to
Press ‘1’
For English.

I hope this goes around the
U      S      A
At         least 100 times

What the heck has happened to our country?????

Mary Landrieu Takes Heat for Spending Public Money on Private Flights – ABC News

Politicians are tone death! @RealDonaldTrump

Politicians are tone death!

Whether you agree with Trump or not, he is where he is because of the established politicians.

Trump and for that matter, Sanders, are here, now, because of “politics as usual.”

From the onset, Trump was an anomaly that would never last.

His cavalier approach to politics brought scorn from all of the media as well as the “establishment.”

He was basically left alone until lots of donors lost millions on the “preferred candidate” who could not pull it off, not even with his mother telling us what a good boy he was…

Now that we have passed Super Tuesday, what are we seeing…?

Trump is ahead by a lot and…. The established candidates and establishment are spending millions of dollars on super-PACs, and, other under the table tactics, to take Trump down.

He signed this RNC, are you going to live up to your end of the bargain?

Attention Republicans!

This is why Trump is where he is…. We do not like your dirty underhanded ways.

If you had any doubts if Cruz or Rubio were part of the establishment, you now have your answers!

On top of this, we have the Social Engineers like Eric Ericson (self-avowed conservative) saying if Trump is the candidate he will not vote. Folks, that is just stupid on so many levels.

26 Million Evangelicals stayed home in 2012 as they could not deal with a Mormon in the White House!

“How did that work out for you?”

Either Eric Erickson is stupid or, he is a closet Democrat!

This is the time for the Republicans to unite behind the front-runner, and make sure that he has what he needs to beat Hillary. The Republicans are doing the Democrats job for them.

I would imagine that Hillary and her party are jubilant as they witness the self-destruction of the Republican “brand.”

Cronyism in politics is what it is, and Donald don’t play those games, so he must be stopped.

Everyone except Donald has his or her price; it is how business inside the Beltway works! Sad huh!?

The republicans say they are worried about control of the house and senate, as a Trump candidacy might jeopardize their chances.

“What difference does it make?”

You have had control of for several months and done exactly what with it?

Obama has gotten everything that he wanted, handed to him on a silver platter!

Either play ball with the new team, or ship out!

To quote the famous newscaster Howard Beale, we are mad as hell!

You folks have done this to yourself… Now let us shake up the team and see if we cannot turn the government back into an entity that is “of the people, by the people and for the people” and not for the elite political class looking out of their ivory towers shouting, “Let them eat cake!”

-Best