Category: random

Imagine creating a ‘Shark Free Zone’ at your favorite beach then being surprised when you’re attacked by a shark.

It’s April Fool’s Day and CNN is telling the truth.

President Donald Trump is in trouble after forwarding the nomination of William Barr to the Senate of Confirmation. He is Deep State and will end up stabbing Trump in the back politically as the ceaseless attacks on the 45th president continue.

The Senate Judiciary Committee hearings for Attorney General nominee William Barr have centered on his views concerning Special Counsel Robert Mueller. However, there has been little discussion about his extensive legal efforts to secure blanket immunity for federal agents involved in the fatal shootings of American citizens.

During the hearings, Barr was to disclose his past work, including pro bono activities aimed at serving the disadvantaged. The most significant beneficiaries of his legal assistance were not the typical underprivileged individuals but an FBI agent implicated in the 1992 Ruby Ridge incident.

Barr spent two weeks organizing support from former Attorneys General and others to defend an FBI sniper charged with criminal offenses in connection with the event. In his response to the Judiciary Committee, Barr detailed his involvement in framing legal arguments for the agent’s defense presented in district court and on appeal to the Ninth Circuit.

His advocacy for the FBI agent, already represented by a federally-funded law firm, helped mitigate one of the most significant scandals during his first tenure as Attorney General from 1991 to 1993. Both the U.S. Marshals Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, agencies overseen by Barr, were found to have engaged in misconduct during the Ruby Ridge standoff—a controversy that, according to a 1995 Senate Judiciary Committee report, “helped to weaken the bond of trust that must exist between ordinary Americans and our law enforcement agencies.”

The Ruby Ridge incident involved Randy Weaver, an outspoken white separatist living in northern Idaho. After being entrapped by an undercover federal agent, Weaver’s land was trespassed by U.S. marshals, leading to the fatal shooting of his 14-year-old son, Sammy.

The following day, FBI sniper Lon Horiuchi killed Vicki Weaver as she stood in the doorway of their cabin, holding their baby. Despite being unarmed and posing no immediate threat, Vicki was shot without warning, a violation of the legal standard for the use of deadly force.

Randy Weaver was acquitted on nearly all charges following the incident by an Idaho jury. A federal judge later condemned the Justice Department and FBI for concealing evidence and showing “a callous disregard for the rights of the defendants and the interests of justice.”

An internal Justice Department investigation produced a 542-page report documenting federal misconduct and recommended criminal charges against those involved.

Despite Barr’s claims that he was not directly involved in the Ruby Ridge operation, reports later revealed that top officials within the Bush Justice Department, including Barr, were in communication about the situation in the hours leading up to Vicki Weaver’s death. In 1995, then-FBI Director Louis Freeh announced mild disciplinary actions for those involved, including Larry Potts, the official who had approved the “shoot without provocation” orders. Barr, however, publicly defended Potts, praising his judgment and abilities.

The Justice Department eventually paid $3 million to settle a wrongful death lawsuit filed by the Weaver family.

But when Boundary County, Idaho, sought to hold Horiuchi criminally accountable, Barr intervened once again, leading efforts to secure immunity for the sniper. Barr argued that holding federal agents liable for such actions would cripple the Justice Department and its ability to respond to crises like hostage situations and terrorist threats.

Although the Justice Department initially succeeded in having the charges dismissed, a court decision reversed the dismissal. The court condemned the FBI’s actions, warning against the establishment of a “007 standard for the use of deadly force” by federal agents.

As the Senate continues to deliberate on Barr’s nomination, crucial questions remain unanswered: Does Barr still support the “wartime rules” that absolve federal agents of accountability in the deaths of American citizens? Does he believe that “illegal government killings” are inherently contradictory? And most importantly, how does Barr reconcile these actions with a “government under the law”?

Is no one listening?

“Wow! Great shot!” exclaimed Rob. “If that old tree were a bear, you’d have killed it deader than it already is.”

“Thanks,” Arnie smiled. “Enough of this target practicing though. I’m ready for the real deal.”

“Yeah, let’s go get ourselves a bear.”

The two men stood, slinging their rifles over their shoulders before starting to walk away.

“Did you hear that?”

“No. Hear what?”

“That wailing sound.”

“No.”

“There it is again.”

“Holy shit!”

“Run!”

But it was too late – the tree fell on them. The coroner would later list the two hunter’s cause of death as an ‘accident.’

We came to her drum beat,
A noisy syncopated pounding.
Linen needs changing.

Famished from my lengthy hike across the Moorlands, I was happy to stumble upon the small inn and stop an hour for a bite to eat and a pint of ale. It was my first time backpacking the length of Great Britain and I was eager to enjoy every experience the country had to offer.

After studying the menu board above the bar, I asked the pretty, little waitress for a tongue sandwich and a Guinness. She smiled without showing her teeth, nodded and disappeared through the side-doors into the kitchen area.

The barkeeper, a hard-looking older gent with a scruffy white beard, brought me my drink without a word. Shortly afterwards the same petite waitress returned with my order, placing it in front of me.

Thanking her, I took a bite of my sandwich and decided that aside from it’s unappealing name, a tongue sandwich and a Guinness were a good epicurean match. Then I thought, “Folks sure don’t talk much in these parts.”

“Look,” Terrence said to his mother, “A story in grandpa’s handwriting!”

“Oh, my!” she responded as Terrence sat down at the nearby desk and started reading, while his mother continued to organize boxes filled with her dead father’s things.

It was a story about a husband murdering his wife because she was too nice, then burying her in their garden beneath the apple tree. He loved to give apples from the tree to his grandson, enjoying the thought that the child was eating his grandmother.

Terrence looked out the window at the tree full of apples and suddenly felt ill.

We kids called her Grandma because none of us knew her real name. On most summer days she’d spread a colorful blanket out on the grass in the shade of a redwood tree and weave her baskets as well as her tales.

As children, we dared not join her on her blanket, because to do so would’ve been rude, so we each took a seat on the hard ground around her. One story we liked was also the one she told often — about how the first falling star came into being in the Universe. 

Great Mother had learned that one of her youngsters, a young star, had lain with New Moon. Called before the entire constellation, the young star found herself being questioned.

Great Mother asked Star if she had gone with New Moon willingly? Star nodded, “Yes, Mother.”

“Surely, you know the punishment for such an offense?” Great Mother asked Star.

Star answered, “Yes, I do, Mother.”

With a heaviness in her heart, Great Mother opened a hole the night and as Star readied herself to jump through it, she proclaimed, “I will aways love New Moon with all of my heart.”

Star, then disappeared through the hole her Great Mother had made, being banned from the sky forever. Meanwhile, far below, a little girl watching with delight, made a wish as she spotted the falling Star.

“Happy birthday!”

“Thank you. One more till 60! How’d that happen?

“It doesn’t seem real, does it? Weren’t we jus’ 12 and 13 last year?”

“I know huh? Swatting down termites under the street lights.”

“Then ducking from the bats.”

“Those were the best of times.”

Lengthy silence…

“Well, happy birthday. Have a wonderful day.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

My hobo-camp had been set-up in a cluster of trees and brush between the Interstate and the frontage road. I intended to stay put for couple of days to give my tired ‘dogs’ a chance to recuperate.

Comfortable and secluded, save for the sound of vehicles racing by, I spread out on my sleeping bag and fell asleep for the night. As a rule, I had become an early riser, going to bed before the sun had even set.

The following morning I awoke half-an-hour before my usual time, hearing a rumbling of at least two machines making sounds I was not familiar with. I slipped to the edge of the grove and peaked out towards the sounds direction and watched as two very large John Deere 9600 Combines drove in tandem from one end of the field across from me to a point that nearly placed them out of sight.

As the sun came up and I finished my bowl of rice and beans, I continued to watch the precision at which the two operators displayed as they chewed up what had been a golden field of wheat. I was as if I were watching a pair of male sage-grouse dance, performing for some yet-unseen female of the species.

Forgetting myself and entranced, I moved out of my position of concealment and crossed the frontage road to continue walking. Soon a truck came driving up, and I figured that by its speed of less than five miles an hour, I’d over stayed my ‘welcome.’

Instead, the man hollered, “You looking for work or simply gawking?”

“I’ll take some work,” I answered.

“Then come on.”

I jumped in the bed of the truck as he turned sharp off the frontage and down a gravel roadway towards two large grain silos and various other buildings including a farm-house. He pulled up in front of the largest building and got out, with me trailing behind.

“Dennis,” he directed to a guy standing by a desk, “Get this fella a respirator and some coveralls. I’m putting him to work.”

“Dennis will take care of you,” the man said. “I’ll be back in a few minute and then I’ll show you what needs doing.”

When the man, I later came to know as Mr. Riley, said work, I had no idea he meant hard-work. He had me in a large contraption which ‘strains’ the wheat grains and moves them to the silo, where the grain’s stored.

As I worked, I learned that the grain came with dust, lots of it. The dust is so fine that it permeated my clothing, thus the coveralls, which didn’t stop it from happening, but rather helped to cut down on amount that filled my pockets and every hook-and-cranny of my jeans, shirt, boots and under clothing and was a danger to a person’s lungs, therefore the need of a respirator.

Every grain is important, so Mr. Riley also had me inside the bed’s emptied columbines ‘vacuuming’ up any and all loose or errant grain. Later, I spent a couple of hours raking and packing down grain the silos

After two days, my body hurt all over. But he and Mrs. Riley fed me and gave place in the barn with a bed to sleep in while I was there. I stayed for the week, which is roughly how long it took to get the crop in from the field.

Near the end of the fourth work day, Mr. Riley offered me the chance to climb in the cab of one of the combines and learn how to drive the beast. In a nutshell — it’s how I’d imagine driving a Mars-rover across that most alien of sandscapes and for a few minutes, I forgot I was but an Earthling.

Having long retrieved my gear from the cluster of trees, I had everything packed up and ready to hit the road that Sunday morning as soon as the sun rose. Having said my goodbye’s the night before and finding a one-hundred dollar bill in my boot, I slurped down a warm cup off coffee, before setting-off across the now-bare fields towards my next destination – whatever and where ever that might be.

As I passed one of the combines, I noticed the sky to the east beginning to pink-up. Dropping my pack, I quickly climbed up the back of the vehicle and plopped my butt atop the cab, dangling my legs over the massive windshield.

From there I watched as the sun went from a sliver over the distant landscape to a full ball in the sky. As I watched, I couldn’t help but marvel at the idea that it was Sunday – a day I didn’t usually travel on – and that I’d jus’ watched a Kansas sunrise while sitting on top of a John Deere 9600 Combine.

“How may people can honestly say they’ve done this before?” I asked myself as felt the sun warming my tanned face.