Appointed as the Fire Chief for the City of Sparks on November 28, 2022, Mark Smith found himself out of a job just a week into his tenure.

Sparks City Manager Neil Krutz, citing alleged pending criminal charges against Smith, abruptly terminated him despite Smith’s protestations of innocence. However, investigations into the matter, including a wrongful termination lawsuit initiated by Smith, revealed the disturbing truth.

Smith’s termination was not a result of any wrongdoing on his part but rather a calculated maneuver orchestrated by Krutz and other city officials to install a less-qualified candidate favored by political allies.
The crux of the conspiracy lay in the clandestine dealings between Krutz and his ally, Walt White, who initially declined the Fire Chief position only to resurface when Smith’s appointment was imminent.

Leveraging a supposed investigation by the Attorney General’s office from 2021, Krutz concocted a pretext to oust Smith and pave the way for White’s ascension. Yet, the tangled web of deceit unraveled as legal proceedings unfolded.

After the AG’s office, headed by Aaron Ford, four charges, all incorrect and later dismissed, were levied against Smith in a deal that still appears to look like a case of C-Y-A between Ford’s office and Krutz’s office.

According to court documents, Smith’s termination came about on false pretenses, with Krutz even resorting to defamatory tactics such as releasing a misleading video on YouTube.

Krutz survived a termination vote by the Sparks City Council on Monday, May 8. Despite attempts to cover his tracks, his tenure ended ignominiously with his termination for cause on Tuesday, September 5.

In the twilight of their years, the Boomers stand,
A generation shaped by time’s firm hand,
They watched their predecessors slowly fade,
As life’s unending march could not be stayed.

The Greatest Generation, brave and strong,
Whose battles fought, whose songs of life were sung,
Now aged and weary, they began to pass,
Leaving the Boomers in reflection’s glass.

They saw their parents, once so full of vim,
Grow frail and fragile as the light grew dim,
The torch of life passed on from hand to hand,
As Boomers watched and tried to understand.

The stories told of hardships long ago,
Of wars and struggles, love’s enduring flow,
These tales they heard around the family table,
With reverence, their elders’ lives they’d label.

The silent strength of those who came before,
Instilled in them a sense of something more,
A duty to remember, to pass along,
The wisdom of the past, in life’s grand song.

They witnessed the decline, the fading light,
Of those who faced the world’s relentless fight,
Their parents’ faces etched with lines of age,
Their stories living on from page to page.

Yet in the midst of loss, a bond was formed,
A generation’s legacy transformed,
As Boomers held their elders close and near,
Their love and gratitude so crystal clear.

For time, it marches on, it does not wait,
And in the cycle of life, we find our fate,
The Boomers now the elders of their kin,
Passing on the torch of life, and with a grin.

They’ve learned from those who came before, no doubt,
The lessons of resilience, without a pout,
With gratitude and love, they stand tall,
A bridge between the past and future’s call.

So, in this long and winding journey’s sweep,
The Baby Boomers, vigilance they keep,
For as they watch the generation wane,
They carry forward memories, love, and pain.

In tribute to the ones who blazed the trail,
Whose stories and whose strength will never fail,
The Boomers honor, cherish, and convey,
The legacy of life in their own way.

In the twilight of their years, the Boomers sigh,
As time’s relentless river rushes by,
Their generation’s torch begins to sway,
As they prepare to gracefully fade away.

With memories of youth, they look behind,
To days of protest, love, and ties that bind,
The music played, the dreams they once held dear,
Now whispers in the wind, fading, unclear.

Their hair turns silver, lines etch on their face,
They’ve run their race, they’ve found their special place,
In history’s book, their chapter starts to close,
As life’s grand symphony in twilight slows.

They raised their children, built their careers,
Fought for change, and conquered their own fears,
But now the time has come to say goodbye,
To gaze upon the vast and endless sky.

Their legacy remains, in stories told,
In lessons learned, in love that still unfolds,
Though Boomers may soon start to slip away,
Their influence in hearts will always stay.

In the twilight of their years, they’ll find peace,
As life’s great cycle gently finds release,
The Boomers, like the sun, will softly set,
But in our memories, they linger yet.

For the sake of condensing the notation, we are going to assign the four letters, A,B,C and D to
each precinct’s Early and Mail-in Vote totals for Berkbigler and Hill.
Let A = Berkbigler’s Early Vote at a precinct.
Let B = Hill’s Early Vote at the same precinct.
Let C = Berkbigler’s Mail Vote at the same precinct.
Let D = Hill’s Mail Vote at the same precinct.
Let K=A+B+C+D, which is the sum of all four above votes.
Let G =A/(A+D); g = , which is the percentage of votes that belong to Berkbigler A

A+D

amongst the sum of Berkbgiler’s Early Vote and Hill’s Mail-in Vote at the same precinct.
Let H=C/(C+B); h = , which is the percentage of votes that belong to Berkbigler amongst C

C+B

the sum of Berkbgiler’s Mail Vote and Hill’s Early Vote at the same precinct.
Let Alpha=(A+C)/(A+B+C+D); α = , which is the percentage of all voters that voted A+C

A+B+C+D

for Berkbigler Early or by Mail.
Let Lambda=(A+D)/(A+B+C+D), λ = , which is the percentage of all voters that A+D

A+B+C+D

either voted for Berkbigler Early or for Hill by Mail. Observe that (1 − λ) =
C+B
A+B+C+D
There is a universal tautology concerning those four numbers, A,B,C and D, and those four rations, G,H, Alpha and Lambda. This tautology says:

Alpha=G(Lambda)+(1-Lambda)H; α = gλ + (1 − λ)h
Proof: Q.E.D A+C
A+B+C+D =
A
( A+D )
A+D
( A+B+C+D ) +
C+B
( A+B+C+D )
C
( C+B ) =
A+C
A+B+C+D

So why is this tautology α = gλ + (1 − λ)h important? Because it tells us that we cannot
solve for α , which is Berkbigler’s total share of the vote, knowing only g and h . In a fair
election, we need to know all three variables g, h AND λ in order to solve for α .
However, in Washoe County, we can solve for α with no knowledge of λ at any precinct, using only g and h and the same formula with an R

2 = 0. 994
α = 0. 059785 + 0. 422213h + 1. 535061g

2 − 1. 211691g
3

Suppose you are blindfolded. You don’t know A,B,C or D in a precinct, but I do. However, I provide to you the g and h percentage and the total sum of ballots cast, K.
So, if I tell you that g = 30%, this means that A and (A + D) are in a 3 to 10 ratio. There is no way for you to resolve the individual value of A or D from this information. It could be , or
3
10

or , etc. 21
70
300
1000

Knowledge of g does not impart knowledge of A, D or (A + D), therefore you remain
blindfolded even after I tell you g.

Now I tell you h = 54%, this means that C and (C + B) are in a 54:100 ratio. Again, there is now way to determine the individual values of C, B or (C + B) from this information.
And without Lambda, you cannot know α, which is Berkbigler’s total percentage of the ballots.

Allow me to give you an example.
In Precinct One:
g = , from which we know , since .
A
A+D = 30% =
30
100 D = 70 100 − 30 = 70
h = , from which we know , since .
C
C+B = 54% =
54
100 B = 46 100 − 54 = 46

λ = .
A+D
A+B+C+D = 50% =
30+70
200

α =
A+C
A+B+C+D = 42% =
30+54
200 = gλ + (1 − λ)h = (30%)(50%) + (50%)(54%)

In Precinct Two:
g = , from which we know , since .
A
A+D = 30% =
300
1000 D = 700 1000 − 309 = 70
h = , from which we know 184, since .
C
C+B = 54% =
216
400

400 − 216 = 184

λ = .
A+D
A+B+C+D = 71. 4285% =
1000
1400

α =
A+C
A+B+C+D = 36. 857142% =
516
1400 = gλ + (1 − λ)h = (30%)(71. 42%) + (28. 57%)(54%)

Notice that in both precincts, g = 30% and h = 54%; however both precincts have a different value for α. In Precinct One α = 42% and Precinct Two α = 36. 85%. Hence, you cannot solve for α knowing only g and h.

Thus, the fact that we can solve for α, without λ, knowing only g and h, in every precinct, with the equation…
α = 0. 059785 + 0. 422213h + 1. 535061g ,
2 − 1. 211691g
3

…means that the election is rigged by definition, since it violates the universal tautology of α = gλ + (1 − λ)h = , which says that A+C

A+B+C+D =
A
( A+D )
A+D
( A+B+C+D ) +
C+B
( A+B+C+D )
C
( C+B )
the fractions and alone ( and alone), cannot solve for .

A
( A+D )
C
( C+B ) g h α

Q.E.D.
Here is an example using Precinct Reno-Verdi 1033. Remember that this is blindfold. I have all the information in the table below; however, I will only provide g, h and K, where K is the
total ballots cast.
g = and K=180+164+150+382=876 180
180+382 = 0. 32028; h =
150
150+164 = 0. 47770

λ =
180+382
876 = 0. 64155
R_0 Pname R A B C D
P# Precinct Registered

Berkbigler
Early Hill Early

Berkbigler
MiV Hill MiV

30
RENO-VERDI
1033 1085 180 164 150 382

Now I provide those the values g = 0. 32028; h = 0. 47770 and K=876

We first calculate α = 0. 059785 + 0. 422213h + 1. 535061g

2 − 1. 211691g
3

g
2 = (0. 32028)(0. 32028) = 0. 1025792784
g
3 = (0. 32028)(0. 32028)(0. 32028) = 0. 032854091285952
α = 0. 059785 + 0. 422213(0. 4777) + 1. 535061(0. 10258) − 1. 211691(0. 032854)
α = 0. 059785 + 0. 20169 + 0. 15746 − 0. 039809
α = 0. 379126

We now multiply α and K to get Berkbigler’s Total Vote.

1. 379126(876) = 332. 11, rounded to the nearest integer is 332.

Observer that A + C = 180 + 150 = 330, which was the actual total vote for Berkbigler,
a residual difference of only two votes.

You just predicted Berkbigler’s total vote with a blindfold, knowing only g, h and K. Notice that you did this without knowing λ = 0. 64155 !!!

Remember Alpha is the Sum of Berkbigler’s Early Vote and Berkbigler’s Mail-In Vote divided by the sum of all 4 categories.

You just solved the impossible and were only off by 2 votes!

If the math is still difficult for you, grab your high school student or his teacher and show them this. They should quickly be able to see that every precinct has a predictable outcome, and you can solve it impossibly only knowing a few of the needed variables to being able to solve it.

Thus proving Berkbigler won, not Hill.

For anyone thinking this is solvable because the person has all the data, that’s simple to remedy, Just give the user g, h and K and they will be able to do the impossible and predict each precinct without knowing alpha!

Remember Alpha is the Sum of Berkbiglers Early Vote and Berkbiglers Mail-In Vote
divided by the sum of all 4 categories. This proves that the election was predetermined and no matter how many votes Berkbigler received, Hill would always win.

 

Saeculum
Prophets
Indulged

High
Old Prophets die
Nomads enter elderhood
Heroes enter midlife
Artists enter young adulthood
Prophets are born
Institutions strong
Individualism is weak
Society is confident collectively
Conformity
Turned

Twenty to 22 years
Nomads
Under-protected

Awakening
Old Nomads die
Heroes enter elderhood
Artists enter midlife
Prophets enter young adulthood
Child Nomads born
Institutions attacked
Tired of social discipline
Personal authenticity
Consciousness
Turned

Generational archetypes
Heroes
Protected

Unraveling
Old Heroes die
Artists enter elderhood
Prophets enter midlife
Nomads enter young adulthood
Child Heroes born
Institutions are weak
Individualism is strong
Culture Wars
Splitting national consensus
Turned

Eighty to 90 years
Artists
Overprotected

Crisis
Old Artists die
Prophets enter elderhood
Nomads enter midlife
Heroes enter young adulthood
Child Artist is born
Institutional life torn
Civic authority revives
Community purpose
Founding moments
Turned

Oh look
Something else
That could never happen
Happened
If you believe
In merit
You are a racist
Is the most racist
Statement ever heard
Whatever you do
Do not cover the cameras with foam
Or otherwise, make them
Utterly inoperable
How will the government
Possibly Spy on you without them?
You are a bad man
Disguised as someone caring
You are missing
A few letters there
Alphabet boy
Always solving
The wrong problem
There is literally
Nothing
Too petty for
To extend their reach over
Forbid
Ban
Terrorize
Compel
The most incompetent leader
The Western world
A threat to freedom
And prosperity alike
Do not apologize
Do not apologize
Tell them to go to hell
Easy fix
Ban all straws
Sincerely
Fear-mongering climate tyrants
It is the same old
Economic-class warmongering
Same old
Same old
Since 1960
The green agenda
Will doom the poor
And the planet
Not that it cares
You can be
Certain
They are plotting this
It is terrible
What was done to you
Will not be wearing one again
Period
Not because of the health risk
However
Because of the Tyranny risk
Read this and think
Seriously
Think
How about
Take a long walk
Buddy
Off a very short pier
And no
That is not incitement to suicide
It is the use of an anachronistic
Cliche
To indicate my displeasure
Ironically
You know
A joke
Of the sort you could once tell
In a free country
Without having a passel of
Malicious low-rent power-mad
Tyrant wannabes
Up your keester
If you don’t understand any of this
Let me know
It can be explained further
Oh look
Something else
That could never happen
Happened

Watercolor and ink, 8 x 11 inches

There is a reason why Sam Clemens is glaring while holding a royal flush on a banner that hangs outside the Virginia City saloon that bears his nom de plume, which began in the early Spring of 1864, shortly after one in the morning during a friendly game of poker.

“Sorry, gents, I’m calling it a night,” A. J. Simmons, Speaker of the Nevada Territory Legislature, said, “It’s nearing the Devil Hour, and besides I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

Simmons scraped together the small winnings he had amassed during the poker game, stood up, pocketed the money, and headed out the front door and into the dark.

“Think I’ll do the same,” said state legislator William H. Clagett, “Like they say, never play cards after two o’clock because it’s the Devils game.”

He did the same as Simmons and staggered to the door, exiting into nighttime. That left Sam Clemens and three other nabobs at the table still playing.

Three more drinks, a quick hand of poker, and an hour later, Clemens folded. He stretched and yawned, then quietly picked up the few coins he had left and walked to the backdoor of the saloon.

“Your’e headed the wrong way, Sam,” one of the men still at the table shouted.

“Not if I want to fool those two Fallen Angels,” he laughed.

Outside, the air was chilled even though the spring runoff had started. Somewhere in the distance, Clemens could hear the water streaming from Sun Mountain through the mud-laced streets as he headed for his room at the International Hotel.

Behind him, he heard the sound of a footfall.

“Right on schedule,” he chuckled, “Those two scallywags thinking they’re going put the fright in me.”

Clemens slowed, hoping to allow them to catch up to him, but they slowed too. Then he quickened his pace and soon found they hurried theirs as well.

Trying not to get his only pair of spats wet, he skipped over the nearly four-foot wide gash of water, the heel of his left foot touching the edge of the flow. There, Clemens turned around, planning to catch Simmons and Clagett sneaking up on him.

Now that he was no longer walking, he could hear more clearly what he had missed minutes before. It was not the sound of men in boots or even spats but the clatter of goat hooves on rocks.

Clemens’s blood ran cold, and the hairs on his neck rose as a chill raced up his spine. As he started to turn, he saw a figure looming out of the darkness and come to a standstill on the far side of the stream he had jumped a minute or two before.

“You know I can’t cross water,” the gruff voice growled. “So you got lucky this…”

Clemens did not wait for the figure to finish speaking as he dashed up C Street and into the hotel lobby.

Later that morning, he posted a short letter home to his mother, detailing his experience and promising he would never play cards again after two in the morning.

While delivering newspapers in the north end of Virginia City, I returned to my wife’s car and found it ticketed for a parking violation, a $295 fine.

To say that I am not angry about this would be a lie. Honesty, I am more than angry, but I don’t know a word for that amount of anger.

The sign near where I park each Friday says “For Deliveries Only,” which incidentally also reads “$68 fine” for a parking violation. I was out delivering, yet cited anyway.

The real rub is people speeding up and down the street, traveling faster than the post 20 miles per hour. It seems time would be better spent on stopping them than worrying over parking, which has always been and always will be in short supply.

The twist is that Mary is the one who actually received the citation, as her name appears first on the vehicle registration. However, she was not in Virginia City but at work in Spanish Springs, 35 miles away, when the ticket got tucked under the windshield wiper.

So now, I am trying to find a way to get this citation voided because I did not break the law, and neither did Mary. And that is the third thing that pisses me off about this effing mess.

I hate begging to have the right thing done.

My clothes are old and worn threadbare
Stained from sweat, but they’re clean
My hands are dirty, workin’ hard for my share
My hands are dirty, but my heart is humble
The common man for whom they don’t care.

Welcome to this shit show, welcome to this shit show
Tickets ain’t free, hell, tickets ain’t cheap,
Believe you me
Takes half your wages, leaves you half your dough
Believe you me
So welcome to your shit show, this is our shit show.

You roll outta bed, pull on your old work boots
Fight the effin’ traffic on pothole-littered streets
Ain’t nothin’ out here free
Bust your ass eight hours, maybe wearin’ suits
Ain’t nothin’ out here free
Destroyin’ the family tree, choppin’ at the roots.

Home used to be your little sanctuary, sanctuary
A place to turn in, to turn off, relax-a-while
So keep eye-balling the tiny screen
Ain’t nothing like it had been, just as effin’ scary
So keep eye-balling the tiny screen
Believing all the bad news lyin’ they can carry.

Your hideaway, unmasked, to drink yourself sick
Forget about your trouble and your strife
Or so the old song goes
While watching the world pass or an old flick
Or so the old song goes
Followin’ the jackboot thug, a sorry-ass bootlick.

My clothes are old and worn threadbare
Stained from sweat, but they’re clean
My hands are dirty, workin’ hard for my share
My hands are dirty, but my heart is humble
The common man for whom they don’t care.

Welcome to this shit show, welcome to this shit show
Tickets ain’t free, hell, tickets ain’t cheap,
Believe you me
Taking half your wages, leaving half your dough
Believe you me
So welcome to your shit show, this, our shit show.

Cities filled with folk, young, old, recreatin’
No fishin’, campin’, hikin’, jus’ the odd zombie
Pass the point, no return
Injection points overflowin’, chill pills sedatin’
Pass the point, no return
Society burnin’, wonderin’ why we’re waitin’.

Lost in hopelessness, off to bed, half-dead
If we gotta a bed, a tent, a rough dirt patch,
A thankless life indeed
Knowing half the nations went blood red
A thankless life indeed
Yeah, screw you, I said what I said, what I said.

My clothes are old and worn threadbare
Stained from grease, but they’re clean
My hands are dirty, workin’ hard for my share
My hands are dirty, but my heart is humble
The common man for whom they don’t care

Welcome to this shit show, welcome to this shit show
Tickets ain’t free, hell, tickets ain’t cheap,
Believe you me
Takin’ half your wages, leavin’ half your dough
Believe you me
So welcome to your shit show, this, our shit show.

We are not for sale, gimme free stuff, needles,
No, I want my life and security back,
I know you do too
Get the party animals out, with all their evils
I know you do too
They’re as good as maggot worms and weevils.

Lemme die on my own terms, a natural-born soul,
From dust to dust, like it or not
That’s how it ought to be
Not a living dead-dead man, a new world tool
That’s how it should be
Not a teet-suckin’, dole-livin’ confused fool.

Welcome to this shit show, welcome to this shit show
Tickets ain’t free, hell, tickets ain’t cheap,
Believe you me
Taking half your wages, leaving half your dough
Believe you me
So welcome to your shit show, this is our shit show.

My clothes are old and worn threadbare
Stained in blood, but they’re clean
My hands are dirty, workin’ hard for my share
My hands are dirty, but my heart is humble
The common man for whom they don’t care.

It is fun to see “big guys” in journalism start to discover how we “little guys” are treated. The Las Vegas Review-Journal complained in their Saturday, August 19 issue:

“In May, the Las Vegas Review-Journal requested five months of calendars from the governor, secretary of state, attorney general, treasurer, and controller. Attorney General Aaron Ford’s staff repeatedly pushed back the release of records, while the other agencies released the calendars within a few weeks.”

They have an advantage because of their size and reach, which is far greater and more intimidating than anything I can produce.

“When the newspaper informed the attorney general’s staff on Monday that it planned to publish a column about the delays, the office released the records the following day. The request also included visitor logs, but the attorney general was the only office that maintained the logs, which were released with the calendars.”

Maybe this will change things, but having been burned by Ford and other politico-type staff, I have grown cynical and doubt that it will do anything for this “small guy.”