A Lively Account of Guns, Graft, and Gall

By Your most obedient and occasionally horrified servant, scribblin’ from the edge of perdition

If you’ll pardon an old feller a few lines of printed astonishment, let me tell you–the world’s gone clean slap-dab mad, and Nevada’s holdin’ the wheel.

One needn’t look farther than Carson City for proof, where a calm afternoon turned to a dusty gunfight right out of a dime novel. It began plain enough—as a deputy strolls over to a parked car in a casino lot, likely expecting no more trouble than a cigarette flicked the wrong way.

But lo! Inside that infernal metal carriage sat a gentleman, age thirty-five, with a stack of sins long enough to fill a preacher’s sermon—Arizona had his name in bold print for violating parole, aggravated assault, and such.

Our fugitive—like many fools before—chose to flee. And in that famous Nevada style, he didn’t just run–he also turned, displayed a pistol like he was auditioning for a tragedy–and met his end in a flurry of bullets.

No one else was hurt, save the cause of civil peace and maybe a few windows. Deputies, for their part, are now seated gently on administrative leave while the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office pieces together the ruin like hens scratching at dried corn husks.

Meanwhile, in that low-swinging basin of sin called Las Vegas, a man by the name of James Mosqueda—chemist, craftsman, and methamphetamine merchant—has been ushered into prison for a generous stretch of five years, with an encore of four more under the keen eye of the law.

Mr. Mosqueda, using a 3D printer, managed to build an arsenal of ghost guns and machine doodads, all without the courtesy of a license. Between September and November of ‘23, he hawked these wares like a snake-oil man at a traveling fair—multiple 9mm pistols, a .45, and enough meth to fuel a Nevada county fair.

Now, if that don’t frost your mustache, try this–Douglas Day, a seventy-two-year-old devil disguised as a kindly photographer, was plucked from his unholy darkroom on April 16th, charged with ten counts of child pornography. His enterprise, “Top Gun Images”—which sounds less like a family portrait shop and more like a bad joke—has been under the spyglass of lawmen for 17 months.

Turns out, this gray-haired ghoul had more than photos in his files. With a $2,000,000 bail tag, he won’t be snapping graduation pics.

And lastly, we turn to the fallen flower of Las Vegas politics–Michele Fiore, once a City Councilwoman, then a Justice of the Peace, now a cautionary tale told in whispers and frowns. In October of last year, she was convicted on six counts of wire fraud and one of conspiracy, having misdirected funds meant to honor dead police officers.

They say she could face up to 140 years in a federal dungeon, though she swears her lawyer was a nincompoop and is suing for a second spin of the legal wheel. The Elites call her a disgrace, while her fans call her a martyr.

So here we are, ladies and gents–bullets in the parking lot, untraceable weapons printed like newspapers, ancient perverts behind cameras, and public servants picking their teeth with the rule of law. Ain’t it grand?