Category: random

During the 1860s, Genoa was a town where silver and gold fever ran high.
To outsmart potential robbers, a paymaster hit upon an unconventional method of transporting a payroll shipment: conceal the gold coins within a regular nail keg and arrange for it to be sent with delivery, hoping to avoid arousing suspicion.

Unfortunately, news of this unique strategy reached the ears of the wrong individuals.

One day, robbers held up the stagecoach carrying the nail keg filled with gold coins. The thieves quickly escape, leaving behind a stunned group of stagecoach passengers and a mystery that would remain unsolved for years.

It wasn’t until years later, when a dying miner’s conscience got the better of him, that the truth behind the robbery began to emerge. In a confession from his deathbed, the miner revealed that the stolen loot, totaling a considerable $20,000 in twenty-dollar gold coins, had been buried near a pine tree close to the spot where the scene of the robbery.

Word of the hidden treasure spread like wildfire, capturing the imaginations of countless treasure hunters eager to claim the elusive fortune. Residents and fortune-seekers alike flocked to the hills surrounding Genoa, digging up trees for the lost gold coins. However, their efforts proved fruitless, as the treasure remained stubbornly hidden.

Years passed, and the tale of the buried treasure became a legend, discussed around campfires and whispered in saloons. Yet, the elusive gold coins continued to evade discovery.

It wasn’t until an avalanche struck the area in 1882 that the first signs of the lost treasure emerged.

In the wake of the avalanche, a few lucky individuals stumbled upon gold coins in various locations around Genoa. These chance discoveries sparked renewed hope among treasure hunters, who redoubled their efforts to unravel the secrets hidden within the Genoa Hills.

To this day, despite the occasional discovery of lone gold coin, much of the stolen $20,000 in twenty-dollar gold pieces remains concealed, awaiting the touch of an intrepid explorer. While the exact location of the buried treasure remains a mystery, enthusiasts and adventurers alike are encouraged to approach such tales with a measured sense of skepticism.

The forest was waking up, and so was Alan Marshall. The wild noises had become his alarm clock, and he rolled over in his sleeping bag and sat up.

Once out of the bag, he unzipped his tent and crawled out. Standing up, he stretched, then grabbed his washcloth for a quick dip in the fridged water of the nearby creek.

Alan was homeless, having been honorably discharged from the U.S. Marine Corps less than five months before. He was now using his skills, which did not translate to civilian life, to survive, living off the land.

Chased from every empty doorway in town, moved from every park bench, and disallowed to sit in the bus stop shelter to avoid the rain, he had resorted to the Redwood Curtain, high above the coastal city he had come home to. Homelessness, unhoused, living in the street, had no meaning to him as he started down the familiar trail as the sun busted through the treetops behind him.

Still drenched in shadow, he did not see the body as it lay across the path. He tripped over it and fell forward, landing on the ground with his arms and hands, stopping him from hitting face first. The body jumped to life, growing into an elderly Native American man who had been fast asleep.

“Muencherh,” the man said with an intonation of amazement.

“Sorry, dude,” Alan said as he stood up, wiping mud from the knees of his jeans. “I didn’t see you. You okay?”

The man smiled broadly and repeated the word “Muencherh.”

“Okay,” Alan said, unsure of what to do next.

He had seen the embers of a campfire the man had started at the base of the tree and knew the man had been there all night. Still unsure of the situation, Alan returned to the trail, proceeding to the creek.

As he dragged the clothe across his neck, he thought about the man. He mentally noted that the man wore very little clothing and no shoes, his gray hair was straight and clean, and he was not afraid of Alan or mad at being rudely awakened.

“And what the hell does Muencherh mean I wonder?” Alan asked as he wrung his washcloth out and headed back towards his camp.

When he reached the spot where the man should have been, he was gone, and where he had been laying, the earth was undisturbed. He touched the base of the tree, where the fire glowed, less than ten minutes before, only to discover the place to be cold.

Alan had seen some strange things in Okinawa and Kadena, not to mention Camp Hanson, Foster, and Futenma. Being alone and unable to learn if anyone else had experienced what he had, he retreated to his tent to lay down, drifting into sleep again, waking after the sun had completely risen.

Crawling from his tent again, he sat near its open flap and stared down the trail that led to the creek. He hoped to see the man once more, but he never reappeared.

By that night, Alan was uncertain if he had experienced tripping over the man or if it had all been a dream. While a small campfire heated dinner, he recalled the muddy knees of his jeans.

Alan Marshall moved campsites the following morning.

A pastor found a pink envelope containing ten one-hundred dollar bills in the collection basket. It went on for weeks.

One Sunday, he watched as the offering was collected and saw an older woman put the distinctive pink envelope in the basket.

“I saw that you put a pink envelope in the collection,” he said.

“I did,” she said.

“Not to be nosy, but can you afford that?”

“My son sends me ten-thousand dollars every week from Nevada.”

“What’s he do for a living?”

“He’s a practicing feline veterinarian with three cathouses, two in Lyon County and one in Storey County.”

In the 19th century, dentistry in the U.S. was an unconventional affair, often entrusted to a peculiar breed known as barber surgeons.

These individuals were skilled in wielding a straight-edge razor but also dental care. Their treatments, regrettably, veered towards causing more harm than healing, and their strange advice to patients bordered on the bizarre, including the using the bill of an osprey to pick at the gums.

Despite these unorthodox beginnings, the 1800s saw remarkable advancements in dentistry that laid the foundation for modern dental practices, elevating the field to new heights of professionalism and patient care.

Auguste Taveau introduced a groundbreaking innovation in 1816, the first dental fillings. His amalgam, consisting of silver coins mixed with mercury, provided a viable solution for treating dental decay and restoring teeth. It marked a significant shift from the age-old practices of extracting damaged teeth.

In 1839, Charles Goodyear’s discovery of vulcanized rubber revolutionized the field of denture construction. Before this breakthrough, gold was the primary material used for denture bases, making them prohibitively expensive for ordinary people. With the advent of vulcanized rubber, dentures became more affordable and accessible, dramatically improving the lives of those with missing teeth.

In 1840, Horace Wells demonstrated nitrous oxide, or laughing gas, for sedation during dental treatments. This breakthrough provided patients with much-needed comfort and helped reduce anxiety associated with dental visits. Around the same time, Thomas Morton showcased the use of ether anesthesia for surgical procedures.

In 1866, Lucy Hobbs shattered gender barriers in dentistry by becoming the first female to earn a DDS degree after graduating from the Ohio College of Dental Surgery. Her achievement opened doors for more women to pursue careers in dentistry.

In 1871, James Beal Morrison patented the first mechanized dental drill. Although it was slow and laborious, this invention marked the beginning of more efficient and precise dental drilling techniques, easing the process of cavity preparation and dental restorations.

In the 1870s, the introduction of baked porcelain inlays became a significant advancement in restorative dentistry. Inlays offered a more durable and aesthetically pleasing alternative to traditional fillings, improving patient outcomes further.

In the 1890s, Willoughby Miller described the microbial basis of dental cavities. His research increased awareness about cavity prevention, prompting the introduction of oral health products for home use.

In 1895, Edmund Kells created a machine adapting the X-ray for dentistry. He also introduced a suction apparatus used by dentists and surgeons, hired the first female dental assistant, and was the first to use electricity in his offices.

Finally, in 1896, Washington Wentworth Sheffield invented the toothpaste tube, a seemingly simple but transformative innovation. The toothpaste tube made dental hygiene products more accessible and convenient for everyday use, encouraging better oral care practices.

The milestones of 19th-century dentistry were vital stepping stones that brought the profession from the hands of barber surgeons to the domain of today’s dental practitioners.

When I listen to talk radio, I hear how President Joe Biden is evil because he is doing this or that. All he can do is follow the “script” after being sufficiently medicated to appear less cognitively impaired in public.

The problem is that Biden does not know what he is doing or saying because he has dementia. That is someone else, not him.

And while not defending anything he had done in the past, such as lying, plagiarizing, bullying, and setting up shell companies for him and his family to benefit from selling his influence, the record should reflect that he has no idea he is lying. All of these things happened when he was vice president.

So when he claims Hunter is a good kid or that as vice president, he did nothing wrong or instructed to incorrectly claim easy-to-prove facts like reducing the national deficit, it is because of his dementia. What sort of dementia Biden has is up to a doctor to diagnose, so all anyone else can do is point to how he behaves publicly.

Noticeable actions by Biden include inappropriate social behavior like sniffing girls’ and women’s hair, lack of motor skills, stiff or slow movements, hallucination, social tact, agitation, frustration, anger, and compulsive behavior, including repeated lying, difficulty reading, speaking, and general confusion. And with some forms of dementia, whatever common behaviors in the sufferer’s life before the onset are amplified after the disease takes hold of the mind and body.

So, when someone says he’s a so-and-so for doing such-and-such, they are incorrect because Biden has no control over his actions and is an elder abused puppet standing in for whoever holds the marionette’s strings.

Laying in bed on Saturday morning, I turned on my radio to my favorite classic rock station. As I listened to the music, I slipped into and out of sleep several times.

However, I must have dropped off into REM sleep because I started dreaming about an A-10 Wart Hog firing at an enemy position to my right front. The aircraft has a distinctive sound when the pilot lets the 30mm gun mounted in the nose blaze.

Bbbbbrrrrpppfff…Bbbbbrrrrpppfff…Bbbbbrrrrpppfff.

In my dream, which quickly became a night terror because we were “danger close,” and the bullets ripped through the ground nearest us. The pounding of the weapon becomes a staccato tattoo that leaves a frightening yet exciting impression in the memory.

Suddenly, the aircraft peeled off and flew away, and I woke up to the sound of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly. It was certainly anything but “In the Garden of Eden.”

I got up to shower but could not empty my mind of the song or the dream. I finally had to go online and listen to the entire 22-minute gallon of Red Mountain wine-fueled tune out of my head.

And there it was, the drum solo midway through and the bane of my night terror. It sounded enough line an A-10 in a firefight that now, even without sleeping or dreaming, I hear the Warthog at work.

I shared this with a fellow veteran in Virginia City via social media, but I never heard back because perhaps, like me, it was too “danger close” for him.

Many people are upset at being compared to Germans supporting the rise of Nazism when laid out next to COVID and how the military, political, corporate, educational, and media complex, not to mention the individual, dealt with the “unclean,” during the pandemic of 2019.

So, let us recapitulate the history of COVID and its Holocaustic resemblance.

A fifth of the population was labeled as “unclean,” barred from most public spaces, including theatres, restaurants, movies, pubs, clubs, swimming pools, sporting events, concerts, conventions, etc. People had to carry a digital mark so authorities could confirm they weren’t unclean to get into a public place.

They were fired and barred from most jobs: education, healthcare, courts, all public sector work, union jobs, and private employers. Fired, they were denied employment insurance because of being unclean.

They could not travel on trains, planes, and chartered boats. They had no legal means of leaving the country. Even if they wanted to, they could not escape the country that hated them.

It became illegal to socialize with them. They were not allowed to attend weddings or funerals or visit sick relatives or friends in hospital. Special laws were made for them, subjecting them to house arrest if they were around anyone who had recently had a positive PCR test.

They had to continue to cover their faces in public even after “universal masking” ended. And it became socially acceptable to wish death upon them in social media and major news organizations.

Public health figures and other politicians gave press conferences, shaming and insulting those who refused the COVID shot and all its booster. The public developed negative opinions of them and relished calling them names.

News media regularly ran polls asking if they should be arrested or fined. Public figures spoke openly about withholding healthcare. Indeed, some were removed from organ transplant lists, condemning them to death.

There were no end dates for these measures. Instead, it was called the “new normal.” And criticizing data found to be questionable made the person asking a social pariah and likely cost friendships, family relations, and jobs.

The lesson of the Holocaust and COVID isn’t that the Nazis or people of the 21st Century are uniquely gullible or evil, but that most people adopt the dominant group ideology based on fear and give over to wanton irrationality or brutal inhumanity.

As in certain cults or gangs, the brutality or irrationality of the acts or beliefs required to signal group inclusion further entrenches people into the ideology rather than repel them.

So, yes, if you’re a typical person, it is overwhelmingly likely that you would have been a Nazi had you been born in Nazi Germany. And if you cheered for the lockdowns and mandates, forced children to wear masks in class, and pushed an ineffective vaccine and its boosters, you are no better than a natural-born Nazi.

Live with it.

The legacy media is attempting to create a false narrative ahead of the 2024 elections. The media portrays racism as solely being on the right side of the political spectrum, suggesting that whites are against minorities and that the country should resist them.

Media intends to create fear and division by using race to distract from more pressing concerns, and while some hold racist beliefs, they are a small minority. Most people do not wake up with a desire to harm others based on their race and instead wish only to provide for their families, pay their bills, care for themselves, and contribute to society.

The proof comes as the legacy media calls a Mexican cartel member a “white supremacist” but cannot be bothered to report two stories about black men executing white men, shooting them in the head. It doesn’t fit their narrative or the Communist agenda overtaking the nation.

“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:25 (KJV)

A member of the church, who previously had been attending services regularly, stopped going. After a few weeks, the pastor decided to visit him.

It was a chilly evening. The pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his pastor’s visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace, and waited.

The pastor made himself at home but said nothing. In the silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs.

After some minutes, the pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a burning ember, and placed it on the hearth, then he sat back in his chair, still silent.

The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember’s flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow, and then its fire was no more. Soon it was cold and dead.

The pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave.

He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember, and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately it began to glow like the coals around it.

As the pastor reached for the doorknob, his host said, “Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I’ll see you in church next Sunday.”

Working on my truck has never been fun for me. What should take 20 minutes to do ended up being over an hour, and that was to change the battery.

With me was my little partner, my six-gallon wet/dry shop vac. It was having problems; unplugging from the wall and plugging up its hose, so we had to have a little sit-down.

“You know acting like this won’t get you in the movies,” I said.

I could see his frustration as I stretched out his hose.

“What do you think he’d say if he saw you being this way?” I asked.

Again a heave came from his hose.

“No, he would be serious until some comedic relief was needed,” I explained.

Another whisper of air found its way from his hose as I removed what was clogging his throat.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Think like a hero, like R2-D2, so we can get this job done, okay?”

Finally, with a belch, his hose cleared, and we returned to changing the battery.

Wrapping up his cord, placing his hose in its carrier, and rolling him to where I keep him, I smiled, “May the fourth be with.”

The little guy became so excited that he sprayed liquid from his wet/dry canister across the garage floor. You will never see a happier shop vac than mine.