Ethan Carver rode into the nameless town as the sun dipped below the jagged ridges, the sky awash in fiery hues. Dust clung to his duster, and his horse’s breath came heavy, nostrils flaring from the hard ride. The town was little more than a cluster of buildings huddled against the basin, the wooden fronts…

Reporting from the Outskirts of Reason Matrimony is a sacred bond best entered into with clear eyes, full hearts, and a lawyer on retainer. But the folks at The Little Vegas Chapel—bless their entrepreneurial spirits—have taken it one parsec further with what they call Star Wars-themed weddings. Come May the 4th–a date chosen less for…

By Yours Truly, a Traveler of Truth and Occasional User of Government Cheese Now, I’ve seen some tall tales in my day, but that spun about Kilmar Abrego Garcia—deemed innocent by folks sipping coffee in Washington and a terrorist by those who’ve had the misfortune of housing him in El Salvador—takes the ribbon at the…

By someone who’s witnessed more than one kind of government stampede. Now then, gather ’round and let me spin you a yarn of modern America, where the gears of government grind not toward sense–but ceremony—and where, twenty years after a great howl went up in Congress, we still find ourselves fussing over a gold star…

Penned by a fellow who ate government cheese, tasted powdered milk, and lived to tell the tale while still believing in hard truths. Now, let me start by telling you somethin’ true, which is rarer these days than hen’s teeth and less welcome at a cocktail party than a skunk in a silk hat. I…

Written by a most unremarkable but attentive observer of Men and Follies, from the comfort of a rocking chair with a jug of sweet tea and a wary eye on the headlines. Now it comes to pass in the Year of Our Lord Twenty-Twenty-Five—or thereabouts, for I never did put much stock in exactitudes—that a…

In the shadow of the rugged peaks near the old mining town of Seven Troughs, Pershing County, Nevada, lingers a tale as old as the wind that carved the canyons. If the four riders—hard men with a taste for the wild unknown—had ever caught wind of it or reckoned what dark truth fueled its whispers,…

Now, I ain’t one to meddle in courtroom affairs, nor do I make a habit of wagging my finger at fellas from other lands. But there comes a time when common sense, like a rooster on Sunday morning, starts crowing loud enough to wake even the sleepiest soul in the valley. It’s a tale not…

Trade War Turns into Staredown From the desk of a humble observer–who once traded marbles for firecrackers and lived to nearly regret it. Now, I ain’t one to say I told you so, but if you take a mule and slap it every morning ‘cause you say it’s stealing corn, sooner or later, that mule’s…

Allows Trump’s Migrant Plan March On In a curious age where the loudest voice in the room often wins the argument, it is rare and commendable to see the Law–yes, that old mule–bray with clarity. And bray it did, when U.S. District Judge Trevor McFadden, a man of the robe and, it would seem, the…