No one tells you this. No one wants to admit it. Shit happens to your body as you grow old.
This afternoon, I sat outside, soaking up the sunlight like some dumb lizard, hoping for vitamin D to sink into my fat, white, pasty skin. At least the sun is free, even if everything else is subject to inflation.
I sat down on the cement, and right away, there was a little discomfort in my right armpit. No, not the kind of pain that sends you to the hospital, just an annoying, skin-pinching, hair-yanking sort of thing. It felt like my pit hairs had gotten caught in the fold between my arm and my pit, a new and exciting development in the ongoing disaster that is my body.
Ten minutes later, a fresh hell: a sudden, sharp tickling in the crotch. More specifically, the head of my cock. A sensation like tiny needles, like ants with razors for feet. I jumped up, trying to shake it off, and just like that—it was gone.
My dick, I mean.
The damned thing just sucked itself in like a scared turtle retreating into the fleshy folds of its miserable existence. So, it turns out that if I sit too long on a hard surface, things other than my ass start to go numb.
A new fucking trick for this old dog.
And what the fuck else is coming? What other lovely surprises does this traitorous sack of bones and meat have in store? How much more is there to discover? New pains, new indignities, new reasons to wish for a stroke in my sleep.
And where the hell are the self-help books for this? Those survival guides for old, fat bastards? Nowhere. Society’s moved on. Let the wreckage pile up. Let the useless ones rot.
Fine. But at least tell me if my balls are about to fall the fuck off.
I’ll gang tae the glen where the hill folk bide,
An’ carry a jar o’ their gleamin’ pride.
Beneath the pale moon where the heather lies,
I’ll drink till the morn wi’ the burnin’ skies.
When dawn’s light returns o’er the hills sae high,
My thirst will demand, “Aye, nae time tae lie!”
Back up tae the hills whaur the spirits cry,
For the bottle’s gone dry, an’ sae am I!
Now, dear reader, let us turn our attention to a tale of crime, justice, and a rather curious brand of leniency that has settled upon the shores of Lake Tahoe like an unwelcome fog. The principal character in this drama is one Edgar Ivan Trejo-Mendoza, a man with a knack for bad company and worse decisions, who now finds himself convicted and awaiting deportation after a grand multi-agency operation charmingly dubbed “Operation Bear Trap.”
Trejo-Mendoza’s luck ran out on February 8, when authorities plucked him from his roguish pursuits in Cool, Calif.—though one might argue a more fitting name for his hideaway would have been “Not-So-Cleverly-Disguised.” His arrest was the result of a multi-year investigation that sought to untangle the web of violent crime, illicit drug peddling, and gun-running in the Tahoe region.
Authorities wasted little time in compiling an impressive list of charges against him, including possession of a firearm while being legally barred from doing so, courtesy of a domestic violence restraining order, the unlawful sale of an assault weapon to a felon, illegal entry into the United States, and the ever-fashionable title of fugitive from justice.
Yet, dear reader, if you were expecting a tale of swift and resolute justice, you may wish to temper your expectations. On February 18, Trejo-Mendoza pleaded guilty to a single felony count—unlawful transfer of a firearm—in El Dorado County Superior Court. His punishment? Time served–a total of 17 days in the county jail–and a probationary pat on the head. No sooner had he stepped back into the fresh air of freedom than he found himself whisked away by the diligent hands of the FBI and ICE, who promptly set about the business of initiating deportation proceedings.
Now, lest you assume Trejo-Mendoza was a lone wolf in his misdeeds, allow me to introduce some of his charming compatriots—men whose dealings in machine guns, narcotics, and other unsavory enterprises have earned them sentences so light they might float away on the Tahoe breeze.
Among them is Carlos Alfredo Perez Guerra, convicted of possessing Child Sexual Abuse Material and a firearm, despite his felonious status, originally sentenced to four years but now enjoying the comforts of probation after a mere two. Oscar Arreola Nunez, a man with sixteen felony convictions under his belt, including selling machine guns and narcotics across from South Tahoe Middle School—presumably an effort in early career development. He received a seven-year sentence, though four got graciously suspended, and after serving a measly year and a half, he, too, waltzed into probation.
Then there’s Jose Medina Vazquez, a collector of felonies in the double digits, himself convicted of crimes including possession of a machine gun, felon in possession of a firearm, and narcotics distribution. His seven-year sentence should, by current trends, land him back in circulation by spring 2026. Bryan Antunez Gonzalez, convicted of carjacking and robbery, at least earned himself a six-year stint in prison before the promise of deportation upon release.
And let us not forget the four federal defendants swept up in Operation Bear Trap back in 2022, who are still awaiting trial for methamphetamine trafficking—presumably because justice must first take its afternoon tea.
In the face of such an impressive collection of lawbreakers, one might expect the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office to throw its hands up in despair.
Yet they assure us they remain steadfast in their mission to combat illegal firearm trafficking, gang activities, and violent crime. They have promised continued collaboration with federal agencies, including the FBI and ICE, to apprehend, prosecute, and, when necessary, deport those with a penchant for lawlessness.
The good folk who frequent the USA Parkway, a stretch of road that until recently enjoyed the freedom of being open in both directions, have been informed this liberty shall remain curtailed till June 27.
As one might expect, it was not a decision made by the weary travelers who must endure but the Nevada Department of Transportation (NDOT), which announced that a lane closure would commence Thursday.
The afflicted stretch lies just past the Storey County line, about three miles south of Google, though one suspects that Google, with its impressive mastery of things, knew about it before anyone else.
Storey County officials, presumably with a mix of regret and bureaucratic inevitability, relayed the news to the public, noting that businesses coming from the south to the industrial center might experience some degree of inconvenience, which, in government-speak, usually translates to “prepare for suffering.”
In a development entirely unrelated—except in the way that thunder is unrelated to lightning—Alphabet Inc.’s Google has announced a hearty $9.5 billion investment in U.S. offices and data centers this year, a sum that ought to buy a respectable number of cubicles, coffee machines, and motivational posters. Storey County, Nevada, is among the chosen recipients of this largesse, along with Nebraska and Virginia, two places that, like Nevada, seem to have the geographical good fortune of being large and mostly empty.
Having spent the past few years allowing its workforce to toil in their pajamas, Google has now decided that three days of office attendance per week is an essential component of civilization. Naturally, it has met the enthusiasm usually reserved for tax audits and dental surgery.
Whether employees will accept their return to the fluorescent-lit embrace of corporate life or take inspiration from their algorithms and re-route themselves to a more accommodating existence remains to be seen. Meanwhile, motorists using USA Parkway should prepare for the long, slow crawl of progress—or at least the long, slow crawl of traffic.
The Spring Mountain Eagles barely had time to dust themselves off after Thursday’s hard-fought playoff battle, but there’s no rest for the victorious. Having edged out Liberty Baptist Academy in a 58-53 thriller, the Eagles will take to the hardwood again, locking horns with the Virginia City Muckers at 8:00 p.m. Friday.
Riding the momentum of an 11-game winning streak, Spring Mountain aims to keep the fire burning. Virginia City, however, is not in the habit of extending courtesies to the opposition.
The Muckers steamrolled Eureka on Thursday, dispatching them with a 65-44 win. Such lopsided affairs have become routine for Virginia City, who have battered 16 teams this season by 21 points or more.
With the victory, the Muckers elevated their record to an imposing 23-3, boasting 19 consecutive road wins stretching back to last season. That success is due in no small part to their blistering offense, which has averaged 62.9 points per contest over that span.
Spring Mountain, now 15-6, knows firsthand the trouble Virginia City can bring. The last time these two squads met, in December of 2022, the Eagles found themselves on the wrong end of a 48-33 drubbing.
Whether history repeats itself or Spring Mountain seizes the chance for revenge remains to be seen.
Experts Call It “A Common Shift,” Homebuyers Call It “A Racket”
The housing market has taken a winter nap, according to Sierra Nevada Realtors, who have now graciously lumped condos and townhomes in with regular houses—presumably so the numbers don’t look quite so pitiful. January saw 49 sales of existing homes, condos, and townhomes, which amounts to a 33.8 percent drop from the previous month—a number that would make any seller feel like they’d been kicked square in the front of their britches. Yet, strangely enough, this was still an improvement over last year because, much like a man drowning in a river who finally finds a floating log, sometimes even bad news looks like progress.
The median sale price in Carson City wobbled down to $550,000, a minuscule 0.7 percent drop from December, which might seem like a silver lining until one remembers that half a million dollars used to buy a mansion with a yard big enough to graze a horse, rather than a two-bedroom home with a yard just big enough to stand in and wonder where all the money went.
Lyon County saw 73 sales, with prices steady at $375,000, proving nothing else save the folks know how to hold a line. Over in Churchill County, 14 sales were recorded, with prices at $376,000, because one more thousand dollars makes all the difference. Douglas County wasn’t so lucky, with only 29 homes sold and prices jumping 9.2 percent over last month but tumbling 10.7 percent from last year, which is the kind of up-and-down excitement one usually expects from a bucking bronco, not a housing market.
Meanwhile, in Washoe County—excluding Incline Village–because everyone knows the real estate market is overpriced around Lake Tahoe—there were 516 new listings and 364 closed sales. The median price slid down to $525,000, a 3.7 percent dip from last month but a 2.9 percent rise from last year. Inventory is up 24.2 percent from last year.
All in all, the housing market remains about as predictable as a desert thunderstorm—which is to say, everybody claims to know what’s coming, but in the end, we all get wet and wonder what happened.
Every year, like a mule with a stubborn streak, Nevada lawmakers dust off the old dream of ridding the state of daylight saving time, and every year, the dream stumbles, wheezes, and collapses before reaching the finish line. They trot the same old tired horse out of the stable, check its teeth, threaten to reshoe it, and then—after much speechifying and hand-wringing—lock it back in the barn till the next session.
This time, the hopeful wranglers of common sense are Northern Nevada legislators Selena La Rue Hatch and Dr. Robin Titus, who have introduced two bills to keep Nevada on Pacific Standard Time year-round. These bright-eyed reformers will have their first crack at daylight saving’s hide come Monday morning at 8 o’clock, when the bills are scheduled for a hearing—an ironic hour, considering most folks at that time are still suffering the consequences of the last time the clocks got jerked around.
Now, federal law does allow states to exempt themselves from daylight saving time, and a few have done so—Arizona, for instance, had the good sense to opt out years ago, sparing itself the twice-yearly confusion of waking up to realize the government has stolen or gifted an hour without so much as a by-your-leave. Should Nevada’s bills survive the legislative gauntlet, the Silver State would finally break free from the madness and let its citizens go about their business without the government fiddling with the very passage of time.
But if history is any guide, the old nag of a proposal will get led behind the barn and shot once more, only to mysteriously resurrect itself next session, looking just as fresh and doomed as ever.
Congressional Republicans have turned their attention to Medicaid, and naturally, the folks in Nevada’s halls of power are wringing their hands and predicting doom. State officials warn that if the federal government stops doling out matching funds for low-income folks, the Silver State stands to lose a whopping $1.9 billion over the next two years—which, by politician math, means we might as well start digging mass graves now.
The expansion–originally dreamed up during President Obama’s administration, has since wrapped its comforting arms around 800,000 Nevadans—roughly one in four residents—and now, like any government giveaway, it has become something between a birthright and a sacred cow. State Senate Majority Leader Nicole Cannizzaro all but sounded the bugle for the death of public services, warning that if the feds tighten their purse strings, the state budget will have to follow suit, and dear reader, that is the one thing a politician loathes above all else.
But let’s not get carried away. These so-called cuts are not cuts at all. The Trump administration is simply shaking the dust and varmints out of the federal wallet, hoping to trim some of the waste fattening up on Medicaid dollars since the program’s expansion. It’s a bit like discovering your horse eats twice as much as it works—at some point, you have to ask whether you’re running a ranch or a charity for lazy livestock.
The House budget could lead to $880 billion in reductions, which Representative Steven Horsford says is a tragedy since his grandmother once faced trouble due to Medicaid cuts. An honest man might ask if it’s good governance to run the country based on one man’s grandmother, but honesty and Congress have rarely been seen in the same room together.
As it stands, the federal government currently covers 90 percent of Medicaid costs for the expansion population. A new plan would dial that back to around 60 percent—leaving Nevada with a tab of $6.7 billion over nine years. It’s the sort of arithmetic that sends state lawmakers into a cold sweat and suggests they might have to make tough choices instead of merely blaming Washington.
The Affordable Care Act allowed Nevada a chance to expand Medicaid, and for a while, the uninsured rate tumbled from 22 percent to 12 percent. But as anyone with a lick of sense knows, free things don’t stay free forever.
With budget hawks in Congress sharpening their knives and Nevada officials clutching their socks, the only certainty is that before the dust settles, there’ll be enough grandstanding to make the Fourth of July parade look humble.
Gather ‘round, you little buckaroos and pint-sized daredevils, for the 3rd Annual Mutton Bustin’ Jackpot is throwin’ open its gates, and if you’ve got the nerve to straddle a woolly tornado, now’s your chance. Dare To Be A Cowboy announced Thursday that the contest is officially taking sign-ups, and you’d best be quick as there are only 60 slots available, and every overenthusiastic parent with a pint-sized wrangler is already elbowing their way to the front of the line.
The grand spectacle of youthful determination–and occasional airborne dismounts–takes place at the Carson City Fairgrounds on May 10, where the brave and the wool-clad will have a chance to earn their spot riding in front of a sold-out Reno Rodeo crowd on June 22. That’s right—a child, a sheep, and the wild ambitions of rodeo glory colliding under the bright lights.
Naturally, there are rules to ensure safety and fairness, such as age and weight restrictions. After all, it is a test of grit, not an endurance challenge for an unsuspecting sheep. But for those who qualify, it’s an opportunity to build courage, confidence, and possibly a lifetime of fond rodeo memories—provided they don’t get bucked straight into the concession stand.
Now, while these young riders prepare for their moment in the spotlight, let’s turn our attention to an incident of mutton misfortune that unfolded near Lovelock earlier this week.
Authorities in Pershing County report that nearly 40 sheep met an untimely end early Tuesday morning when a vehicle plowed into the flock on Upper Valley Road. Unlike the young hopefuls at the Mutton Bustin’ Jackpot, these particular sheep were neither saddled nor seeking glory—just minding their business until an inattentive driver turned them into mutton cakes.
The Pershing County Sheriff’s Office quickly said that no humans were injured, nor were any dogs harmed—despite the Internet’s penchant for inventing tragedies to go with the actual ones. While impairment is not suspected, authorities believe driver inattention played a role, which is a gentle way of saying, “Somebody wasn’t watching the road and turned a quiet morning into a wool-filled catastrophe.”
So, to sum it up: some sheep will get ridden, some sheep will get mourned, and somewhere in between, there’s a lesson about paying attention—whether it’s keeping your balance in the rodeo arena or keeping your eyes on the road.
The Nevada Legislature, never one to let consistency get in the way of lawmaking, has introduced Senate Bill 217, which would enshrine in vitro fertilization (IVF) as a right under state law. That’s right, folks—the very same political outfit that declared abortion a sacred right has now taken up the banner of birth promotion, proving once and for all that if there’s a political principle at work here, it’s the principle of legislating by contradiction.
One moment, they insist unborn life is an inconvenience best removed, and the next, they declare that science must step in where nature hesitates, with government-mandated protections to ensure every desired baby gets its fair shot at existence—at least, the ones that make it past the petri dish stage. Talk about a two-headed clown.
IVF, as Yale Medicine explains, is a procedure where an egg meets a sperm in a laboratory dish, after which scientists play a game of “pick the winner.” But SB 217 doesn’t just expand access to IVF—it rewrites the very definition of human life to accommodate modern sensibilities.
Under this bill, a fertilized human embryo, in any stage before it takes up residence in a uterus, “is not an unborn child, a minor child, a person, a natural person, or any other term that connotes a human being.” In other words, the state now reserves the right to declare when life begins—not science, not common sense, and certainly not God.
Senate Majority Leader Nicole Cannizzaro, D-Las Vegas, proclaimed IVF procedures “deserve strong legal protections” as though the fate of fertilized embryos was the real issue rather than the inconvenient moral tightrope the legislature now walks. One day, it’s a clump of cells with no rights, and then it’s the miraculous outcome of medical science.
This flurry of lawmaking comes just one day after President Donald Trump signed an executive order expanding IVF rights. In true Trumpian fashion, his order laid out the stark reality—IVF treatments cost anywhere from $12,000 to $25,000 per cycle—a steep price for would-be parents, but an even steeper one when considering that as of March 2024, over one million frozen embryos sit in limbo across America, waiting to be selected, discarded, or donated.
According to the National Library of Medicine, from 2004 to 2019, fewer than 8,500 donated embryos resulted in live births—a stark reminder that for all the legislative fanfare, the fate of these embryos is often no different from those deemed inconvenient in the womb.
So, what have we learned? Life–in the eyes of a Nevada lawmaker–is a matter of convenience—to be discarded when unwanted, manufactured when desired, and redefined whenever politically expedient.
And the best part? You get to pay for it, one way or another.
The Old Blog in the Desert 