Nothing Says Justice Like a Strongly Worded Letter
Well, folks, Nevada’s Attorney General, Aaron Ford, has mounted his high horse and galloped straight into the halls of justice—or at least into the business of writing indignant letters. This time, he and 19 of his fellow legal eagles have taken up their quills to demand that the Senate grill FBI Director nominee Kash Patel harder, lest the Bureau fall into the wrong hands (as if it ever strayed into the right ones).
With the noble determination of a man who just discovered his name misspelled on a coffee cup, Ford insists that the FBI must remain free from “political pressures or threats of retaliation.” It, of course, is a moving sentiment coming from a politician—an occupation not famous for its aversion to political maneuvering.
The letter from Ford and company expresses grave concern over rumors that Patel might be clearing house at the FBI. AHeads have already rolled, and the AGs suspect more might follow, perhaps with all the subtlety of a frontier saloon brawl.
They warn that firing thousands of FBI agents will have “disastrous effects on public safety” and leave America exposed to all manner of threats—fentanyl, cartels, terrorists, and, heaven forbid, crimes against American pocketbooks. One assumes this last concern arises from the recent national crisis of paying $12 for a fast-food combo meal.
Now, if you were to take all this at face value, you might believe the FBI to be a delicate institution, teetering on the brink of collapse, held together only by the unwavering courage of Aaron Ford and his merry band of AGs. But, as history suggests, the Bureau—an outfit known for surviving everything from Hoover’s secret files to the occasional overenthusiastic surveillance of about everyone—will probably endure.
Nonetheless, Ford and his colleagues from California to Vermont will not let that stop them from brandishing their legal swords to defend the agency. Because nothing reassures the American public quite like a group of attorneys demanding justice in the form of prolonged Senate hearings.
According to the latest scribblings from the Nevada Secretary of State’s Office, the fine citizens of the Silver State have ever so slightly tilted their collective hat toward the Republican Party—by a margin so slim it could fit between a prospector’s teeth.
The official tally stands at 618,539 Republicans, narrowly edging out the Democrats, who number 618,352. That’s a difference of precisely 187 souls, which in Nevada politics is about the same as a light breeze shifting the sand.
But before either party starts whooping and hollering, it’s worth noting that the true heavyweight in this political saloon remains the nonpartisan voter, who stands at a robust 696,319 strong. That’s right—the biggest group in the state consists of folks who’ve taken one hard look at both parties and declared, “No, thank you.”
Meanwhile, the remaining 157,000 voters remain scattered across various minor parties, including the Independent American Party, the Libertarians, and a few outfits so small they likely hold conventions in a corner booth at the local diner. So, while the two major parties squabble over who gets to wear the sheriff’s badge, the real power may rest with those who prefer to keep their six-shooters holstered and their options open.
If there’s one thing Nevada’s Attorney General Aaron Ford has mastered, it’s turning legal action into an art form—or at least a competitive sport.
Ford threw the legal gauntlet against then-President Donald Trump 33 times in his first two years. Thirty-three. That’s more battles than Nevada ghost towns, which is saying something.
While Trump was busy pitching border walls like they were limited-time offers on late-night infomercials, Ford was sharpening his lawyerly claws and making it his mission to clog federal courts with lawsuits with a higher word count than Tolstoy’s War and Peace.
Fast-forward to now, as Ford is gearing up for his next act: duking it out with a conservative Supreme Court while simultaneously moonlighting as a moral authority. He’s one of just two Democratic attorneys general working alongside Republican governors, which must make his office feel like Thanksgiving dinner where half the family insists on carving the turkey with a chainsaw.
But Ford is nothing if not bold. He’s willing to “collaborate” with Trump’s administration on issues like trafficking, though he’d probably still take the opportunity to staple a subpoena to Trump’s toupee for old time’s sake. “He has a penchant for violating the law,” Ford said of Trump, proving once again that the pot does love calling the kettle black.
Ford’s legal philosophy is simple: sue first, ask questions later.
Alongside his fellow Democratic attorneys general, he’s already gearing up for a potential Trump comeback as though the man were the political equivalent of Freddy Krueger—just with worse hair. The team’s current focus is on hot-button issues like abortion rights, immigration, and environmental regulations, so if Trump so much as jaywalks, you can bet Ford will have the paperwork ready before the ink dries on the sidewalk.
Take DACA, for example. Ford recently joined a motion to defend a Biden administration rule protecting Dreamers. Ford’s approach is straightforward: if you’re not dreaming Ford’s way, you’re probably getting a cease-and-desist letter in the mail.
In the end, Ford is less a defender of justice and more like that one neighbor who calls the HOA about your fence being an inch too high. Sure, he’s technically following the rules, but you can’t shake the feeling he’s just in it for the power trip.
Whether he’s suing Trump for his tweets, challenging the Supreme Court for existing, or crusading against policies that offend sensibilities, Ford is on a mission. And if that mission involves seeing his name in the headlines more often than the Nevada sun rises, that’s just a happy coincidence.
Having thrown my back out again, I was stuck in bed when my wife popped in with a snack—crackers with peanut butter and a classic mom move, “Don’t stay up too late!” she warned, pointing at me like the bedtime police.
I settled in, flicked on a movie about some giant, blood-sucking monster terrorizing a town, and immediately started regretting my life choices. My heart began racing faster than a caffeinated hamster when it started chomping on people.
Sensing my panic, my wife returned, shaking her head, turned off the TV, and tucked me in like I was five years old again. “No more scary stuff,” she said firmly before leaving the room.
A few hours later, I was deep in a dream about cookies–don’t judge–when I felt something biting my fingers. Not a nibble—actual biting.
My eyes snapped open, with my first thought being: the monster’s real.
I squeezed my eyes shut like that would somehow stop whatever was happening. But the biting didn’t stop. Instead, it started to feel a little slobbery.
Summoning all my courage, which isn’t much, I peeked under the bed. There, staring back at me with glowing, beady eyes, was a monster—but not the giant, terrifying kind.
Nope.
It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, with bat wings, pointy little fangs, and the most ridiculous overbite I’d ever seen. It was gnawing on my fingers like they were drumsticks at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
“Uh … hi?” I said.
The little thing froze mid-bite and looked at me like I was the weird one in this situation. Then, from somewhere in the darkness, a voice boomed:
“Hey! I told you no snacks before bedtime!”
The monster squeaked in terror, dropping my hand. It gave me one last guilty glance, then slunk back into the shadows under my bed, wings drooping like a kid caught breaking curfew.
I sat there, hand still slimy from the monster’s spit, wondering which was scarier: the fact a tiny vampire lives under my bed or the fact that it has a bedtime rule enforcer.
CARSON CITY – In a move both ambitious and ironic, Nevada lawmakers are pushing to teach students how to spot misinformation—while proving they might need a refresher course themselves.
Assemblymember Cecelia Gonzalez, championing the cause of news literacy, lamented that false information spreads like a Nevada brushfire, citing rumors of ICE raids that “aren’t actually happening.”
It would have been a good point—except for the small fact that ICE raids are happening, even in Reno. One might say the misinformation problem is closer to home than expected.
Gonzalez and fellow Assemblymember Erica Mosca are determined to work with the Nevada Department of Education to weave news literacy into the curriculum, though exactly how remains unclear. Will it be through legislation? Policy tweaks? Leaving teachers to figure it out in their spare time? The specifics are as hazy as a campaign promise.
This effort comes as Nevada grapples with its latest educational report card, which reveals that only 39% of Clark County School District students are proficient in English—just slightly ahead of a system where you hand them a book and hope for the best.
“In a time where misinformation rapidly spreads, this is something very critical to us,” Gonzalez stressed.
She was quick to assure that teachers—already overburdened—wouldn’t be tasked with yet another impossible job.
The News Literacy Project, a nonprofit with unshakable optimism, reports that only 20 percent of teens can correctly distinguish news from ads, opinions, and entertainment. There are some adults–mostly politicians–who struggle with that, as recent events suggest. Even more alarming, 80 percent of teens admit to seeing conspiracy theories on social media, and many actually believe them.
“News literacy is the ability to discern factual information from non-credible information,” explained Ebonee Otoo, a senior vice president at the News Literacy Project.
It’s a noble goal, assuming students can tear themselves away from viral cat videos long enough to learn it. Last year, the nonprofit armed nearly 600 Nevada educators with free news literacy resources, reaching 2,800 students—many of whom will no doubt put their skills to good use correcting their parents’ dubious Facebook posts.
If lawmakers succeed in making news literacy part of the curriculum, perhaps their next challenge will be even more pronounced: fact-checking themselves before making public statements.
In a move that shocked absolutely no one, U.S. Senator Jacky Rosen of Nevada declared the sky to be falling after former President Donald Trump—spurred on by policy adviser Elon Musk—announced plans to shutter USAID. According to Rosen, this act of bureaucratic demolition will result in nothing short of national security collapse, global chaos, and, quite possibly, locusts raining from the heavens.
“Make no mistake,” Rosen warned ominously, “ceding America’s global leadership is a gift to Vladimir Putin and the Chinese Communist Party.”
Because we all know, the only thing keeping world peace intact was a well-funded Washington agency handing out taxpayer dollars overseas. Forget the military, forget diplomacy—USAID is the lone force standing between America and the abyss.
Rosen also took issue with the legality of the move, insisting Trump can’t just go around dismantling agencies willy-nilly. She must have missed the last decade of political history, where presidents on both sides have treated constitutional limits like optional fine print.
But worry not—Rosen is ready to “work with her colleagues” (translation: send strongly worded letters) to stop this dastardly plot and ensure that USAID lives on to distribute funds and fight pandemics from its air-conditioned offices.
Meanwhile, Musk, seemingly delighted to be the puppet master of government policy, continues making announcements like a billionaire town crier as Trump revels in his favorite pastime—knocking over the carefully stacked Jenga tower of Washington bureaucracy to watch folks like Rosen panic.
As the 2025 Legislative Session kicks off, Governor Joe Lombardo has issued a noble call for bipartisanship—a time-honored tradition in American politics, wherein one side politely asks the other to stop fighting just long enough to pass the bills they like.
The 83rd session of the Nevada Legislature began on Feb. 3. It will last 120 days, during which lawmakers will argue, posture, make grand declarations about “the will of the people,” and, with any luck, actually govern. The Democrats have maintained their majority in both chambers but fell just short of the coveted “supermajority,” which would have allowed them to veto-proof their legislation and render Lombardo’s pen a mere decorative object.
Ever the optimist, Lombardo issued a statement urging legislators to abandon their partisan squabbling and focus on what unites us, a phrase that has had as much influence in politics as a librarian shushing a tornado.
“As the 2025 Legislative Session begins today, I’m hopeful that legislators will join me in setting aside partisan rhetoric,” Lombardo said, presumably while Democratic lawmakers chuckled under their breath. “Finding sensible solutions requires leadership, partnership, and bipartisanship.”
Indeed, the Governor has laid out a noble list of priorities, including lowering housing costs, expanding healthcare access, maximizing education investments, enforcing accountability, strengthening public safety, and building a stronger economy. It is a fine vision—that would be inspiring if not for the inconvenience of requiring Democrats and Republicans to work together without turning every minor disagreement into a dramatic showdown worthy of a courtroom drama.
As the session unfolds, Nevadans can look forward to plenty of spirited debates, a handful of actual compromises, and the annual spectacle of lawmakers congratulating themselves for doing what they were elected to do. Stay tuned.
Friends, neighbors, and sufferers of unexpected darkness gather close (if you can still read this by candlelight) for a tale of woe, wretchedness, and Wi-Fi withdrawal. More than 2,860 Lyon County residents have found themselves thrust back into the bygone days of yore—by which I mean the inconvenient era before Netflix.
The great calamity struck shortly after 11 a.m. on Monday when the first power outage hit unsuspecting residents in the 89043 and 89408 zip codes. Then, as if insult needed company, two more outages followed just after noon.
The cause of two of these blackouts remains a mystery, like the continued existence of reality television. NV Energy has determined that the culprits are downed poles or power lines.
Naturally, NV Energy’s best and brightest are working diligently to restore power, though they have remained coy about when that might happen. As of now, the official timeline for restoration ranges from “soon” to “someday” to “perhaps you should invest in a good book and a sturdy lantern.”
Rest assured, we will continue monitoring the situation, updating you as new information emerges—assuming, of course, that our power stays on long enough to do so. In the meantime, we advise residents to reflect upon simpler times when people entertained themselves by staring at walls and holding awkward conversations with family members.
Gather for the latest installment of “As the Pages Turn,” featuring an intrepid band of Lyon County residents scandalized by learning that books—those sneaky little devils—contain words. Some of these words–if arranged in an unfortunate sequence, might hint at things the average adult blushes to acknowledge, but which nature has already gone and made known to every barnyard critter in the county.
The trouble began when a concerned faction of citizens stormed the local library board, brandishing passages from books they declared unfit for the delicate eyes of young readers. According to Library Director Wynne Prindle, the initial group of about “seven or eight” rolled in, aghast that the library had failed to function as a moral monastery and was instead offering books—some of which, horror of horrors, contained passages that made people uncomfortable.
Upon encountering these literary horrors, Library Board President Deanne Davis confessed she had no idea such material existed in print. A fascinating revelation from a library official suggesting either a lifetime of very selective reading or a willful ignorance of certain sections of the bookstore. Regardless, Davis quickly determined that publishers had “taken out all the stops” in their race to corrupt the youth of Lyon County.
Predictably, there was a counterattack from those who still believe libraries should contain books and that readers should have some say in whether they read them. Librarians, who until now thought their job was helping folks find biographies of Abraham Lincoln and making sure the summer reading program didn’t devolve into chaos, suddenly found themselves branded as enablers of society’s moral decline.
“We take pride in what we do,” said Prindle, likely wondering at what point her career turned from community service into a high-stakes game of cultural dodgeball.
For those who believe in Democracy, the library provides a “Reconsideration of Materials” form, a charming bureaucratic device through which one can request the removal of a book without the need for pitchforks or torches. While six forms have been submitted, nary a book has been burned.
Silver City resident Erich Obermayer cut to the heart of the matter, suggesting this wasn’t about children or books but about power—one group’s determination to decide what everyone else can read. It is a comment that overlooked the most obvious question–can a non-adult get their hands and teeth on the edges of the jacket covers?
But fear not! The drama continues at the next Lyon County Commission meeting, where our valiant public officials will appoint a new trustee, thereby ensuring that the battle for the soul of the library rages on for another episode. Stay tuned—this one has all the makings of a real page-turner.
CARSON CITY, Nev. — In a stunning display of small-town pride, mild exasperation, and the ever-present need to remind the public that roads don’t pave themselves, five of Nevada’s county leaders assembled at Casino Fandango on Thursday to discuss the state of their domains. It was an event hosted by the Northern Nevada Development Authority, sponsored by local businesses, and attended by people who care about county governance or lost a bet and had to show up.
Lt. Gov. Anthony Stavros made a surprise appearance to remind everyone that county commissioners are the backbone of Nevada—though one suspects they already believed that themselves. He waxed nostalgic about his time on the Las Vegas City Council, perhaps to emphasize that while Vegas has its brand of chaos, rural counties have found their special flavor of governmental headaches, too.
Storey County: Where Industrial Parks Save Lives and You Can Borrow a Cup of Sugar Through Your Neighbor’s Window
Storey County Manager Austin Osborne wasted no time explaining that without the Tahoe-Reno Industrial Center (TRIC), the county would be little more than sagebrush and regret. With Tesla’s tax revenue rolling in at $15 million, Osborne painted a picture of a county that had just stumbled upon a silver mine but couldn’t afford new boots.
The budget, he explained, is a precarious $30 million, but that’s not enough to replace a $25 million jail, fix $20 million worth of roads, and ensure that residents have water that isn’t left over from the last century. However, Storey County is striding in affordability—by deregulating everything in sight.
“We allow tiny houses. We allow small houses. We allow zero setbacks,” Osborne said proudly. “In some cities, you can look through the windows and see your neighbors. In our county, you can climb through the window and shake hands.”
Douglas County: The ‘Just-Regulated-Enough’ Approach
Douglas County Manager Jenifer Davidson made it clear that while Douglas County is modernizing, it is not, in fact, Storey County.
“We’re not deregulating to the extent that Austin is. We do have minor setbacks. We’re not climbing through windows here,” she assured the audience, to laughter and perhaps mild disappointment.
Instead, Douglas County is focusing on updating its development code, streamlining its bureaucratic labyrinth, and finding $6 million yearly to prevent its roads from crumbling into historical artifacts. The county, like much of the nation, is also suffering from a crisis of confidence in government, which Davidson described as the “paradox of government”—a phrase that sounds both profound and like something you’d hear just before someone raises your taxes.
Lyon County: Libraries, Lawmen, and Lots of Land
Lyon County Manager Andrew Haskin took a moment to highlight the county’s vast expanse and the plucky determination of its public servants. For example, the Lyon County Library System has five branches and a staff smaller than most fast-food restaurants, yet it somehow served 200,000 visitors last year.
Meanwhile, the Lyon County Sheriff’s Office has 84 deputies patrolling an area roughly the size of Rhode Island. They’ve managed to reduce emergency response times in Fernley and Silver Springs by 76 percent—either by increasing efficiency or subtly redefining what constitutes an “emergency.”
Carson City: The Open Book with an Expensive Safety Net
Carson City Manager Nancy Paulson reminded attendees that keeping the capital city safe costs an eye-watering $58 million out of the city’s $92 million general fund. Fire, police, and courts ain’t cheap, but transparency is free—or at least, Carson City offers it at a discount.
“Carson City is literally an open book,” Paulson declared before explaining that citizens can view every financial transaction in real-time, which is either a triumph of governmental honesty or an open invitation for armchair auditors to start sweating over office supply expenditures.
She also mentioned upcoming projects, including 210 new apartments downtown and a $15 million federal grant to spruce up Mills Park, which she called “Carson’s Central Park”—a bold statement, considering Central Park has a zoo, and Carson City has…optimism.
Mineral County: Where Hope Gets Measured in Rodeos and Rainbows
Mineral County’s Kyle Isom radiated enthusiasm for the small but scrappy community of Hawthorne, which recently held its first rodeo in 30 years. If that wasn’t enough excitement, the town also secured a grant to transform an old dirt lot into what Isom poetically described as a “community living room”—which is either an endearing vision of civic togetherness or a sign that people are getting a little too comfortable outside.
To wrap up his presentation, Isom shared a photo of a rainbow, which he claimed encapsulated the spirit of Mineral County.
“It’s freedom,” he declared. “It’s hundreds of miles of OHV trails. It’s barefoot skiing on the lake, launching a boat…”
And with that, the event concluded, leaving attendees to reflect on the trials, triumphs, and general absurdity of county governance—where the problems are many, the solutions are complicated, and sometimes, all you can do is point to a rainbow and hope for the best.
The Old Blog in the Desert 