Written by an Old-Timey Observer, who still reads the Constitution from a rickety porch with a view of common sense and knows snake oil when poured. Now, friends, I’ve been around long enough to see a man claim the moon was cheese and another try to sell the Brooklyn Bridge—but I ain’t never seen a…

A Tale of Stubborn Justice in the Silver State Now you must understand, dear reader, that once upon a spring morning, not too long past, the gentlepersons in starched shirts and wire-rimmed spectacles over at the Internal Revenue Service did something most unusual–they hitched their wagon to a posse of law officers from Immigration and…

Some folks in Nevada have taken to wringing their hands and writing letters since the federal government—under the careful broom of efficiency—decided to sweep away a few dusty grants that had long overstayed their welcome. The noise began after nearly fifty workers, hired with temporary dollars from the American Rescue Plan, became unemployed when the…

Some days ago—never mind how long precisely—having little else to do on a dreary Sunday eve and finding my spirit weary from the endless scroll of screens, I thought I would bathe—take to the tub and scrub away the world. If they but knew it, almost all souls in their time, when the weight of…

Written by an Ornery Observer of the American Fandango, from the dusty corner of a Nevada saloon, where the whiskey’s warm and the truth is optional. Now, friends, sit back and gather ’round, for here’s a tale that may twist your whiskers and boil your grits. It concerns a tribe of office-holders—attorneys general, governors, and…

If you ever doubted that the spirit of the Old West still lingers like a sunburn in July, look no further than the Bureau of Land Management, which has once again saddled up for a grand endeavor—this time to round up some 518 free-roaming horses out yonder, some forty miles east of Carson City. And…

A Cautionary Tale of Political Resurrection Written by a weary Nevadan, armed with a pen, a memory, and a deep mistrust of any man who says, “I’m just thinking about it.” Now it came to pass in the year of our Lord two-thousand and twenty-six — or thereabouts, for memory is a slippery fellow and…

Well, I woke up this morning and found the world had turned itself clean upside down, again, like a cat chasin’ its tail. The Food and Drug Administration, that grand fortress of red tape and rubber stamps, has made a proclamation as bold as a rooster at sunrise–they say we don’t have to torment animals…

Now, I ain’t no economist—I tried figurin’ interest once and broke into a cold sweat—but even a Nevada gambler with one eye and half-a-wit can see somethin’ ain’t right when a dozen eggs cost more’n a haircut, a cigar, and a seat at the county fair. This past month, the price of the humble breakfast…

In the high and drafty rafters of the U.S. Senate, four curious creatures emerged this week—creatures who call themselves Republicans–though you’d need a microscope and a strong sense of humor to find any actual evidence of it. They are Lisa Murkowski (Alaska, or perhaps somewhere left of San Francisco), John Curtis (Utah, but spiritually Vermont),…