The Old Blog in the Desert

Morgan sat in his dimly lit room, the walls adorned with posters from a time of blue skies and thriving forests, shimmering with hope and possibility. Outside, the sky was a dull gray, smothered by a thick blanket of smog and the distant echoes of sirens.

He sighed, staring at his phone, his heart heavy with the weight of a life that felt increasingly suffocating. The decision to leave had been brewing for months, ever since the last green park in the city became a concrete plaza.

With trembling fingers, Morgan dialed the delivery helpline.

“Good afternoon, delivery helpline; how may I assist you?” a cheerful voice chimed.

“I’d like to book a delivery, please.”

“For yourself or someone else?”

“It’s for me,” he replied, attempting to steady his voice. The sensation of entrapment had become too intense to ignore.

“Have you used our service before?”

“Yes.”

“And when would you like your delivery to arrive?”

“Within the next hour, please.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” he said, urgency bubbling to the surface.

“Please hold while I check the availability of your driver.”

As he waited, Morgan gazed at the world he felt alienated from. The air was thick with pollution, a constant reminder of the disregard for the planet. His chest tightened, and he longed for a place to breathe freely and live without the persistent shadow of decay.

After several minutes, the operator returned. “Good news! Your driver is available and will arrive at ten past eight. Please ensure you have the correct payment. We no longer accept American Express.”

“Thank you,” he replied, a wave of relief washing over him.

At ten past eight, a soft chime signaled his driver’s arrival. Morgan opened the door to find a woman standing there, her smile warm and disarmingly familiar.

“Hello, Morgan, I’m Clara, your driver. You might not remember me, but I was the one who brought you into this world. Mine was the first face you saw, and my hands were the first to hold you.”

He blinked in surprise, a memory surfacing from the depths of his mind. “Hello, Clara. It’s nice to meet you again.”

“My goodness, you certainly made your presence known when I delivered you! You screamed the hospital down. Had enough of this place already?”

“Yes,” he admitted, the words carrying the heaviness of his heart. “It’s hard to breathe here. They’re destroying this planet. It’s time for me to move on.”

Clara nodded, her expression softening with understanding. “I understand. We’ve all felt that way at some point. But where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere far away, where the air is clean and the skies are blue. Please take me to my next destination. I hope your hands are warm this time.”

Nevada Attorney General Aaron Ford is drawing sharp criticism for his recent statements targeting a potential second Trump administration, with opponents accusing him of engaging in divisive and racially charged rhetoric. In a post-election message, Ford vowed to act as a “bulwark” against policies he described as unconstitutional or harmful to Nevada residents, citing concerns over immigration reform and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs.

While Ford’s statements may resonate with Democratic activists, critics argue that his approach fosters unnecessary division in an already polarized political environment. Ford has painted broad strokes about the potential impacts of Trump’s policies, accusing the former president of vilifying communities and promising to fight any perceived overreach. However, detractors claim these warnings are speculative and undermine trust in bipartisan governance by preemptively casting Trump’s administration as harmful without evidence.

Ford’s insistence on framing immigration enforcement and opposition to DEI as racially motivated has also drawn backlash. DEI programs, which have been increasingly scrutinized for promoting exclusionary policies, remain a contentious issue. Ford’s characterization of opposition to these initiatives as “malicious” or “disingenuous” has sparked accusations that he is unfairly demonizing critics, some of whom have raised legitimate legal and ethical concerns about such programs.

“There’s a fine line between advocating for equality and vilifying those who hold different views,” said a Nevada resident and legal analyst who asked to remain anonymous. “By framing dissent as inherently racist or malicious, Ford risks alienating large swaths of Nevadans who may share different perspectives on governance and public policy.”

In his statement, Ford also emphasized Nevada’s diversity, declaring that “there is no one way to be a Nevadan,” however, his rhetoric excludes or diminishes voices that don’t align with his political agenda. Some perceive his focus on immigration reform and DEI as an attempt to divide communities along ideological and racial lines instead of seeking unifying solutions.

Ford’s messaging also reflects a broader trend among Democratic attorneys general, who have signaled readiness to challenge Trump’s policies in court. While such legal battles are not new, the overtly combative tone taken by Ford and others has raised concerns about whether these efforts prioritize partisan politics over genuine governance.

During Trump’s first term, Democratic attorneys general launched more than 130 lawsuits against the administration, many of which were ideological opposition rather than legal.

The Attorney General’s Office has defended Ford’s comments as a reflection of his commitment to protecting all Nevada residents. However, by emphasizing hypothetical scenarios and stoking fear of policies that have yet to materialize, Ford risks exacerbating divisions within the state and undermining his credibility as a public servant.

Once upon a time in the whimsical land of Quibblewinks where the sky was perpetually painted in shades of cotton candy and the trees whispered secrets to the wind, there lived a curious creature named Fiddlybop who had the legs of a rabbit, the wings of a butterfly, and the eyes of an owl, and every morning Fiddlybop would flutter down to the Sparkle Pond to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the shimmering water, which legend had it could show not only your present self but also glimpses of your future adventures and past lives, and on one particularly breezy day, Fiddlybop decided to embark on an epic journey to find the fabled Golden Blossom that was said to grant wishes to whoever found it, so he packed his bag with snizzleberries, moonbeams, and a map that he bought from a traveling minstrel who played the lute like no other and sang songs of distant lands and brave heroes, and off he went, hopping and fluttering through the Wibblewobble Woods where the trees bent and swayed in time with the music of the forest, and as he ventured deeper, he encountered all sorts of fantastical creatures including the giggling pixies who loved to play tricks and the solemn stone giants who moved only when no one was looking, and they shared stories of old, tales of bravery and trickery that filled Fiddlybop’s heart with wonder and determination, and though the path was fraught with challenges like crossing the River of Whimsy on a bridge made of bubbles and climbing the Misty Mountains where the fog played tricks on your senses, Fiddlybop pressed on, his heart set on finding the Golden Blossom, and it was on the seventh day of his journey when he finally reached the Enchanted Valley where the Golden Blossom was said to bloom, and there, in the center of the valley, surrounded by a field of glowing flowers, stood the most beautiful, radiant Golden Blossom, its petals shimmering like liquid gold under the light of the twin suns, and as Fiddlybop approached, his heart pounding with excitement, he heard a gentle voice whisper, “Your journey has been long and your heart is pure, speak your wish and it shall be granted,” so Fiddlybop, with a heart full of hope and dreams, wished for peace and happiness for all the creatures of Quibblewinks, and in a burst of golden light, his wish was granted, and from that day on, Quibblewinks flourished with joy and harmony, and Fiddlybop became a legend, his story told and retold by the firelight, inspiring countless others to embark on their own journeys of discovery and kindness, and so the land of Quibblewinks thrived, a testament to the power of a single wish and the courage of a small but determined heart, and as the seasons changed in Quibblewinks, the flowers bloomed brighter and the sun shone warmer, attracting visitors from far and wide who came to hear the tale of Fiddlybop and the Golden Blossom, and among them was a young dreamer named Tilly, who, inspired by Fiddlybop’s courage, decided to set out on her own adventure to discover her true self and perhaps even find a wish of her own, so she packed her little satchel with sweet honey, a compass that always pointed towards her heart’s desire, and a small notebook where she sketched her dreams, and with a heart full of curiosity and excitement, she ventured into the Whispering Meadows where the flowers sang soft melodies and the butterflies danced in the gentle breeze, and along her journey, she met a wise old turtle named Sir Hootington who had seen many things in his long life and shared tales of wisdom and kindness that encouraged Tilly to believe in herself, and as they traveled together, they crossed the Rainbow Bridge that arched over the Lake of Reflections, where Tilly learned to listen to her heart and discovered the importance of friendship and believing in the impossible, and it was there that she made a wish for the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead, and with a sparkle of magic in the air, she felt a warm glow envelop her, filling her with confidence and determination, and so Tilly and Sir Hootington continued on their journey, facing curious creatures like the mischievous moon rabbits who loved to play hide-and-seek and the majestic cloud lions who roamed the skies, always ready to lend a paw or a wing when needed, and each day brought new adventures, teaching Tilly valuable lessons about kindness, bravery, and the beauty of the world around her, and after many days of travel, they finally arrived at the Crystal Caverns where it was said that the legendary Shimmering Star could grant a wish as well, but to reach it, Tilly had to solve a riddle posed by the ancient guardian of the cave, a shimmering dragon named Zorath who watched over the caverns with wise eyes, and with a deep breath, Tilly recalled all the lessons she had learned and answered the riddle with courage, proving her worth and heart, and Zorath, impressed by her spirit, allowed her to pass, leading her to the heart of the cavern where the Shimmering Star pulsed with radiant light, and with newfound wisdom and confidence, Tilly stood before the star and wished not for herself, but for the happiness and prosperity of all the creatures in Quibblewinks, just like Fiddlybop, and as the star granted her wish, a wave of joy spread through the land, connecting the hearts of all who lived there, and as Tilly returned home, she knew that she too would become a part of the legacy of Quibblewinks, sharing her story of adventure and kindness, inspiring others to follow their dreams, and in this way, the magic of Fiddlybop’s wish continued to flourish, weaving through the lives of many, reminding them that the true power of a wish lies not just in the granting, but in the love and hope that it brings, ensuring that the whimsical land of Quibblewinks would always be a place where dreams come alive and the spirit of adventure thrived, forever echoing the words of Fiddlybop and Tilly, “Believe in the magic within you and the world around you, for every heart can make a wish and every wish can change the world,” and as Tilly settled back into her home in Quibblewinks, she was welcomed with open arms by her friends and family, who listened eagerly to her tales of adventure and the lessons learned from Sir Hootington and Zorath, and inspired by her journey, the creatures of Quibblewinks began to come together, forming a community of dreamers and doers, sharing their hopes and aspirations while nurturing each other’s dreams, and among them was a clever fox named Wizzle who had always been a bit of a trickster but felt a longing to be part of something greater, and hearing Tilly’s story sparked a fire within him, prompting him to organize a grand festival celebrating wishes and dreams where everyone could share their stories and the magic of their hearts, and so the Great Quibblewink Festival was born, filled with laughter and music, where stalls brimmed with delightful treats like rainbow cupcakes and fizzy drinks that tickled the tongue, and under twinkling lanterns, the creatures danced and sang, sharing their wishes in the air, and with each story told, the bonds of friendship grew stronger, connecting every heart to the shared magic that flowed through Quibblewinks, and amidst the festivities, Tilly, Fiddlybop, and Wizzle decided to create a special corner called the Wish Garden, where anyone could write down their wishes on colorful ribbons and tie them to the branches of the ancient Dream Tree, a magnificent tree that had stood for centuries, believed to hold the dreams of all who had passed beneath its boughs, and as the ribbons danced in the gentle breeze, the tree shimmered with an ethereal glow, whispering encouragement to all who dared to dream, and the festival became an annual tradition, where new adventures were sparked, friendships were forged, and the spirit of giving flourished, as everyone learned that the best wishes were those made for others, and over the years, tales of Fiddlybop, Tilly, and Wizzle spread far beyond Quibblewinks, inspiring creatures from neighboring lands to embark on their own journeys of kindness, compassion, and adventure, and soon, Quibblewinks became a beacon of hope and joy, attracting travelers who sought not only the legendary Golden Blossom but also the heartwarming spirit that dwelled within its enchanting borders, and as the years turned into decades, the legends of Quibblewinks continued to grow, with Fiddlybop watching over the land from his special spot near the Sparkle Pond, always ready to share wisdom with those who came seeking, and Tilly becoming a wise storyteller, passing on the tales of bravery and kindness to the next generation, and Wizzle transforming from a mischievous trickster to a beloved leader of the festival, guiding each celebration with joy and enthusiasm, and together, they taught everyone that the magic of Quibblewinks thrived in the unity of its creatures, the love they shared, and the dreams they dared to chase, ensuring that the spirit of adventure, friendship, and the power of wishes would echo through the land for generations to come, forever reminding all who entered its whimsical embrace that within every heart lies the potential to dream big, share kindness, and create a world filled with magic and wonder, a true testament to the everlasting power of hope and the belief that every wish, no matter how small, could change the course of one’s life and the lives of many.

There is no more solemn a sound than a neighbor’s rooster heralding the dawn of a celestial upheaval. That was when My Cousin Elmo stumbled into my study, clutching a newspaper and muttering about Pluto “reigning” and Aquarians rising from their watery depths. Or something of that sort.

“Tom,” he panted–for that is what he calls me when he’s not calling me a fool), “have you heard the news? Pluto is in Aquarius! The Golden Age begins!”

Elmo is a man of many peculiarities, but the most notable is his unique ability to declare each Tuesday the beginning of a Golden Age. But this time, he seemed unusually sincere.

I took the paper from him and read aloud: “The 20-year reign of Pluto in Aquarius begins today, ushering in the Golden Age. The last time this happened was during the French Revolution.”

“Well, El,” I said, folding the paper neatly, “if you’re implying that Pluto—a frozen rock the size of an ambitious potato—is capable of fomenting revolutions and birthing Golden Ages, then I must insist on being paid for my time.”

But Elmo was undeterred. “Don’t you see, Tom? This means transformation! Rebirth! Progress!”

“Progress?” I scoffed. “The last time Pluto stirred Aquarius, they guillotined half of France and invented powdered wigs so large they required scaffolding. If that’s progress, count me out.”

Elmo, bless him, ignored me entirely, already lost in visions of a utopia where robots fetched slippers and every man, woman, and Aquarian owned a flying wagon.

The days that followed were a spectacle of celestial hysteria. The astrologers, who previously couldn’t agree on whether Venus in retrograde meant ruin or romance, suddenly aligned, like the planets themselves. They proclaimed the dawn of a new era: an age where humanity would transcend greed, embrace innovation, and recycle with religious fervor.

People prepared for this Golden Age in earnest. Blacksmiths abandoned their forges to dabble in artificial intelligence. Farmers replanted their fields with quinoa, the alleged grain of the future. Even my Aunt Clementine—who once mistook a telephone pole for a prophet—declared her intent to “streamline society” by sorting her knitting needles by planetary influence.

Meanwhile, I looked into this Pluto business. I consulted books, maps, and a parrot at the general store–the parrot was far more informative than the books. I came away knowing Pluto moves so slowly that it has seen civilizations rise, fall, and invent karaoke without blinking. That it happens to be in Aquarius now is less a sign of destiny and more a sign that even celestial bodies occasionally need a change of scenery.

By the end of the first week of Pluto’s “reign,” the cracks in the Golden Age began to show. The farmers lamented that quinoa tasted like soybeans. The blacksmiths’ attempts at robotics yielded nothing but smoking piles of metal, and Aunt Clementine accidentally invented a sweater so itchy it sparked a small revolution at the knitting circle.

Elmo returned to my study, disheveled and disillusioned. “Tom,” he said mournfully, “I don’t understand. The astrologers promised transformation, rebirth, progress!”

“Ah, El,” I replied, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Transformation is a fickle thing. It doesn’t come from planets or potatoes in space. It comes from people doing their best to make sense of the messes they create.” I looked around my study with a guilty eye.

“But the Golden Age…”

“Golden Ages,” I said with a chuckle, “are like Aunt Clementine’s sweaters—nice in theory, but prone to unraveling.”

And so, the world returned to its usual state of hopeful chaos. The astrologers revised their predictions, the farmers returned to their corn, and Pluto carried on its icy way, indifferent to the human melodrama it had sparked.

As for me, I learned a valuable lesson–if you want to survive a Golden Age, keep your head low, your wits sharp, and your skepticism sharper because while the stars may guide us–it’s usually off a cliff.

(to the tune of “Jingle Bells”)

[Verse 1]
Turkey in the oven,
Potatoes on the stove,
Family’s coming over,
And they’re bringing casseroles!
The table’s set with care,
With sides of every kind,
But Grandma brought her fruitcake,
Which we’ll pretend to find!

[Chorus]
Oh, turkey time, gravy’s fine,
Pass the mashed potatoes,
Green beans, pies, and sweet surprise—
Let’s wear our stretchy clothes!
Oh, turkey time, pumpkin pie,
Let’s all go back for more,
We’ll nap all day, then feast away—
And hit the leftovers!

[Verse 2]
Uncle Bob’s asleep now,
The kids have formed a band,
Aunt Betty brought her Jell-O mold,
But no one understands.
The football’s on the screen,
Our bellies round and tight,
We made it through the meal once more—
Leftovers start tonight!

[Chorus]
Oh, turkey time, gravy’s fine,
Pass the mashed potatoes,
Green beans, pies, and sweet surprise—
Let’s wear our stretchy clothes!
Oh, turkey time, pumpkin pie,
Let’s all go back for more,
We’ll nap all day, then feast away—
And hit the leftovers!

‘Twas gleamish in the land of Flimflam,
Where shimmer-shadows swayed,
And there did bound the Zogblot proud,
Through gumdrop groves, he strayed.

With a teapot head all polished bright,
And feet like a duck’s bold flippers,
His kangaroo body sprung with glee,
Past giggleberry drippers.

In leaps, he went to the Wobble Tree,
Where squeaky bananas grew,
With giggling jam, he gobbled them down—
A feast for one so true.

On a dappled Tuesday rife with cheer,
The Great Puddle called his name—
A lake of swirling lemonade,
With marshmallows aflame.

There sung a choir of jellybeans,
Their voices sharp and shrill,
While Zogblot watched in dazzled awe,
As the world grew stranger still.

From peppermint ’neath the towering sprout,
Popped Squibber, all agog,
With three keen eyes and a twitching tail
That played tunes fit for a fog.

“Come, friend!” cried Squibber, “Let us play!”
And Wibble-Wobble commenced;
One-footed hops, with pineapples tossed—
The challenge grew intense!

They danced and twirled ’neath silver moons,
As bowler-snails drew near,
Sir Slimebottom with riddles grand
To test their cunning cheer:

“Why does the rainbow snatch a hat,
To wear at night’s first glance?”
“To twirl and whirl in glee unfurled
At the grand spaghetti dance!”

Oh, Zogblot’s laugh rang out in peals,
And Squibber’s tail played true,
As laughter drifted down the moors,
Where dreams in wobbles flew.

Then dawn brought songbirds Tickle-Tockle,
With chirps, hoots, twills, and trills,
And Candyfloss Flowers swayed in bloom
O’er sugar-sprinkled hills.

When a portal shimmered forth anew,
With colors wild and strange,
Zogblot leapt in—his heart ablaze
For sights beyond his range.

The Land of Wubblewinks unfurled,
With cloud beds soft and sweet,
And gumdrop leaves in whisper-trees
Where rainbow sparkles meet.

There buzzed the Wubblewinks in flight,
With faces bright and fair,
They twirled him round to Queen Luminara,
Of wings beyond compare.

A Festival of Whimsy grand
Filled skies with gleam and light,
Where fizzy drinks sent hearts aloft,
And shoes turned colors bright.

In parades, he rode on llamas bold,
With stardust like a crown,
Confetti spun like comet tails,
Through blue and purple down.

At last, the portals called him back,
To Flimflam’s hills once more,
With marshmallow turtle and crown of stars
He danced through the evening’s door.

’Twas gleamish in the land of Flimflam,
And magic filled the air,
For in his heart, Zogblot did know,
Such wonders hid everywhere.

A recent cybersecurity advisory report has sparked renewed discussions about election security, with Nevada—particularly Washoe County—emerging as a focal point in the debate over the future of voting systems. The report, published by multiple government agencies and highlighted by the FBI, raises concerns about vulnerabilities in digital systems connected to networks, urging improvements to safeguard the integrity of elections.

Washoe County, Nevada’s second-most populated county, has been at the forefront of implementing measures to ensure secure and transparent elections. During the 2024 election cycle, the county only cured 85 percent of mail-in ballots flagged for signature issues, one of the highest rates in the state.

Statewide, about 9,000 mail-in ballots and possibly as high as 15,000 remained uncured by the deadline, leaving them uncounted. While Washoe County cured most of its flagged ballots, critics argue that the broader numbers reveal systemic vulnerabilities in election processes.

The issue has reignited calls for abandoning electronic voting systems in favor of manual precinct-level voting and hand-counting ballots. Proponents of this approach claim it eliminates risks posed by potential hacking and software errors.

Clark County, which accounted for 7,500 uncured ballots, has drawn scrutiny over its lower cure rate compared to counties like Washoe and Nye.

While the cybersecurity report does not allege specific breaches or manipulation of Nevada’s election systems, it highlights the risks posed by outdated software, supply chain vulnerabilities, and zero-day exploits. Election officials in Washoe County and across the state have emphasized their commitment to safeguarding elections, implementing risk-limiting audits, and maintaining secure paper trails to verify results.

The debate over election security remains heated in Nevada, where discussions often center on balancing the efficiency of electronic systems with the perceived reliability of manual processes. Washoe County’s efforts to address ballot issues and secure its systems offer a model for other regions, but the broader challenges of voter confidence and technological vulnerabilities persist.

As Nevada continues to play a pivotal role in national elections, officials in Washoe and across the state will face increasing scrutiny over how they protect the integrity of the voting process. With the spotlight on election security, the push for transparency and improved safeguards will intensify ahead of future election cycles.

Approximately 9,000 mail-in ballots in Nevada will remain uncounted after voters miss the Tuesday, November 12, deadline to resolve signature issues. Election officials reported that while over 23,000 ballots statewide were successfully “cured” before the deadline—representing 72 percent of those requiring corrections—meaning thousands remain disqualified.

Clark County, Nevada’s most populated region, accounted for the most uncured ballots, with about 7,500 remaining. Signature errors, such as missing signatures on return envelopes or discrepancies with voter registration records, were the primary reasons for curing. Election officials attempt to notify affected voters and provide opportunities to fix the errors.

Among the uncured ballots, more than half belonged to voters registered as nonpartisan or members of minor political parties, totaling about 5,144 ballots. Democrats had 1,782 ballots rejected, while Republicans had 2,263 ballots left uncounted.

Nye County demonstrated the highest success rate in curing ballots, resolving 96 percent of outstanding issues, equating to approximately 1,600 ballots. Washoe County followed with an 85 percent success rate, curing around 6,000 ballots. Clark County, however, managed to cure only about 66 percent of them, which would amount to approximately 15,000 uncured votes when correctly calculated.

Fresh allegations of voter fraud have surfaced in Nevada, centered on a proposed constitutional amendment that passed with significant opposition from Republican voters. Critics allege the results were manipulated during the vote-counting process, citing unusual statistical trends in reported data from Washoe County.

The ballot measure, which grants expanded abortion rights up to nine months, has drawn sharp criticism from Republican, pro-life, and conservative organizations. These groups argue that the data behind the vote count, not when cast, reveals discrepancies indicating possible manipulation. According to detractors, Republican “no” votes initially showed overwhelming support at 70 percent but declined to 49 percent when tabulated.

In contrast, Democratic support for the measure remained consistently low throughout the counting process, ranging between five and ten percent. Analysts challenging the results have described this trend as statistically improbable, claiming it exceeds a 100-sigma threshold—a concept denoting extreme improbability in mathematical terms.

Critics have called for immediate action, arguing that if the results are allowed to stand, the amendment will become law, enshrining expanded abortion access into the state constitution. Voting activists urged the GOP, RNC, and pro-life organizations to contest the election, saying that constitutional amendments differ from individual races, making them available to a challenge by anyone.

The controversy has reignited debates about election integrity in Nevada, with some calling for sweeping reforms, including banning electronic vote tabulation systems. Advocates for manual voting methods argue that only hand-counted ballots can ensure transparent and verifiable election outcomes.

Nevada Secretary of State Cisco Aguilar has not yet commented on these new claims, but election officials have previously stood by the state voting processes.

Some people carve up their skin to feel something.
Me? I drown myself in whiskey–straight from the bottle.
Burn it down, scrape it raw.
That’s how it goes.

People slice each other open when they hurt.
I take the hit myself, keep the mess on the inside.
Better me than them.

Said I was too outré, like a foreign language
They didn’t care to learn.
Said I didn’t fit in their soft little world.

Like I’m supposed to care.
Take rejection on the chin–do not flinch, do not blink.
Stiff upper lip and all that shit. I was raised on it,
learned young to spit at the closed door–laugh it off.

But hell, that drive home, pulled over, wiped my eyes,
choked down the loss like smoke in a burning room.
Don’t tell me I got over it. Don’t tell me I found peace.
I still slice myself on whiskey, mean and unforgiving,
and drain the bottle till I feel nothing sharp enough to bleed.