In 1863, Samuel Wellington, a down-on-his-luck prospector with a knack for attracting trouble and known for his insatiable appetite for tall tales and misadventures, found himself in a most peculiar predicament.

One fateful afternoon, Samuel strolled into Virginia City’s Tahoe House saloon, seeking respite from the scorching sun and the weight of his empty pockets. He approached the barkeep and ordered a glass of beer, hoping to drown his worries in liquid courage.

As Samuel indulged in his libation, a well-dressed gentleman caught his eye. The man, who introduced himself as Mr. Bartholomew P. Winslow, seemed to exude an air of mystery and affluence.

Intrigued by his aura, Samuel started talking to him, eager to hear the man’s tale.

“Evenin’, stranger. What brings you to these parts?” Samuel inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Mr. Winslow, his mustache impeccably groomed, leaned in close, his voice carrying a note of intrigue, “Well, my good sir, I happen to possess knowledge of a hidden treasure. A pot of gold buried deep within these very hills of Virginia City.”

Samuel’s eyes widened with curiosity, “A hidden treasure, you say? Why, pray-tell, have I never heard of such a thing?”

Mr. Winslow chuckled softly, his eyes glinting mischievously, “Ah, my man, this secret is known to only a select few. But for a modest fee, I would be willing to share this treasure map with you.”

The prospect of wealth sparked Samuel’s imagination, and he couldn’t resist the allure of the treasure hunt, “I’m listening,” he said, leaning in closer.

Over a few more drinks, Mr. Winslow regaled Samuel with an incredible story of hidden riches — a stash of gold rumored to be buried deep in the hills of Virginia City. According to Winslow, it was known only to a select few, whispered secrets among the locals.

The prospect of wealth and adventure was too enticing for Samuel to resist.

“But why would you part with such valuable information?” Samuel asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Mr. Winslow leaned back in his chair, a twinkle in his eye, “Because, my dear friend, I find great pleasure in seeing others chase their dreams. And who knows, perhaps a partnership can be forged, should you find the treasure?”

Filled with general excitement, Samuel hastily counted his remaining coins and handed them to Mr. Winslow. In return, he received a goatskin with cryptic symbols and dotted lines that promised unimaginable wealth.

Days turned into weeks as Samuel tirelessly scoured the hills of Virginia City, following the clues on the map with unwavering determination. During his search, he encountered a fellow prospector, a cheerful man named Frank, who couldn’t resist poking fun at Samuel’s quest.

Frank chuckled, slapping Samuel on the back. “You’re chasing rainbows, my friend! The only gold you’ll find is in your dreams!”

But Samuel, undeterred, grinned and retorted, “Ah, but what if the rainbow leads to a pot of gold after all?”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Samuel unearthed a rusty old chest from the depths of the earth. His heart pounded with anticipation as he pried open the lid, his eyes gleaming with visions of gold and glory.

But instead of sparkling riches, all Samuel found was a note carefully placed atop a stack of worthless rocks. He unfolded the paper and read the words scrawled in elegant handwriting:

“Dear Seeker of Fortune, congratulations on your perseverance. Alas, the true treasure was the laughter and camaraderie you shared with fellow prospectors along the way. May this humble reminder bring a smile to your face and warm memories of your time in Virginia City.”

Samuel stood there, dumbfounded and speechless, a mixture of disappointment and amusement washing over him. The irony of his situation gave him pause, and then a chuckle escaped his lips.

As he returned to town, Samuel couldn’t help but reflect on his adventure and the unexpected lesson it had taught him. The true riches he had gained were not in gold but in the friends he had and the laughter they shared.

Plodding down from Sun Mountain and towards the center of Virginia City, Samuel tripped over a large rock. He fell head-over-heels, coming to rest on his back, as the impish boulder bounced off his head.

Picking it up in frustration, Samual started to hurl it, but then he noticed shiny speckles in the bit of stone.

“Could that be…is that…why yes!” he nearly shouted, adding, “It is color.”

Tommy and Adam, two lads full of energy, found themselves in the vast expanse of a countryside pasture. The sun beat down upon them with its relentless heat, casting long shadows across the rolling hills. In the distance, a majestic horse named Midnight grazed, seemingly unaware of the boys’ presence.

“Look at that beauty,” Tommy said, his eyes fixed on Midnight. “We should ride him, bareback.”

Adam, always eager to join in his older brother’s ventures, nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, no saddles. Just us and the horse. But are you sure it’s safe?”

Tommy grinned mischievously, “Don’t worry, Adam. We’ve done this before. Midnight knows us.”

The boys approached Midnight. The horse, accustomed to their youthful antics, remained calm and patient. The bareback adventure was about to begin.

Tommy swung hisself onto Midnight’s back, feeling the warmth of the horse’s hide beneath him. Adam hesitated momentarily, then mustered up his courage and joined his brother, their bodies clinging to the horse’s muscular frame.

“Are you ready, Adam?” Tommy asked, his voice filled with excitement.

Adam took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy. Let’s go.”

With a gentle nudge, Midnight set off, his powerful muscles propelling them forward. The boys held on tight, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic sound of hooves against the earth.

As they traversed the open pasture, the boys felt a sense of liberation, the wind caressing their faces. The tall grass brushed against their legs, leaving traces of nature’s touch.

The horse carried its riders through the landscape with noiseless determination. They approached a tranquil pond shimmering under the relentless sun.

His spirit aflame with audacity, Tommy urged Midnight into a swift gallop. Adam, his eyes bright with anticipation, followed close behind. The trio raced, their laughter merging with the wind as they neared the water’s edge.

Halting at the pond, the boys dismounted, their eyes fixed on the pristine surface. They shed their shoes, feeling the coolness of the water on their bare feet. Tommy splashed Adam, eliciting a squeal of surprise.

“Hey, no fair!” Adam exclaimed, splashing back at his brother. They engaged in a playful water fight, their laughter echoing through the peaceful surroundings.

Dragonflies danced overhead, their ethereal wings casting fleeting shadows on the water’s surface. The boys marveled at the beauty of nature’s delicate dance, their innocent minds captured at the moment.

Reluctantly, they emerged from the pond’s sanctuary, their clothes clinging to their damp skin and Midnight patiently waiting for their return. With a leap and a laugh, the boys mounted the horse once more, their bodies melding with its form.

As they continued to ride through the pasture, the sun cast an amber glow across the land. Shadows grew longer, embracing the trio in a serene embrace. Tommy and Adam relished in the simple pleasure of the ride, the unspoken bond between brothers unbreakable.

In the fading light, they journeyed on, the creek’s murmurs guiding them homeward. The air filled itself with the hum of nature’s symphony, a lullaby for weary souls. They rode in companionable silence, words unnecessary amidst the tranquility.

As the day close, Tommy and Adam dismounted one final time, bidding farewell to Midnight. With tired but contented hearts, they trudged back towards their humble abode, the day’s adventure etched in their memories.

“I can’t wait for our next ride, Tommy,” Adam said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

Tommy ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately. “Me neither, Adam. We’ll have more adventures together, I promise.”

And so, in the fading light of the day, Tommy and Adam sought solace in the simple joys, knowing that the pasture, the horse, and the memories they made would forever be etched in their hearts, marking a chapter of their lives with the beauty of untamed freedom.

In the shadow of my quiet room, I dwell,
A lonely nine-year-old, my story I will tell.
With innocence fading, my heart’s burdened weight,
I navigate this world, yearning for a playmate.

The outside echoes with laughter and cheer,
Children’s voices calling, but I am in here.
Their games of tag and hide-and-seek,
I watch from afar, my spirit feeling bleak.

A solitary figure lost without the crowd,
Longing for companionship, the silence is loud.
The nights are long, the days even more,
My heartache is unnoticed, unseen, and ignored.

Oh, how I crave a friend’s gentle embrace,
To chase away this loneliness, my soul to grace.
A confidant to share secrets, hopes, and dreams,
Someone to understand, or so it seems.

Through dusty pages, I escape to realms unknown,
With each turn, I find solace, a world of my own.
In stories of heroes and magical lands,
I find comfort, courage, and the heart’s helping hands.

But when the book closes, reality sets in,
A longing to belong, to find my kin.
A tender touch, a playful smile,
A connection spanning the longest mile.

The seasons change, as does my desire,
To break free from this solitude, to soar higher.
But the days go by, and the emptiness remains,
A constant reminder of disobedience bitter stains.

Yet, in the depths of my young, weary soul,
Hope flickers, a flame that refuses to be dull.
For tomorrow’s sunrise brings a chance anew,
To find a friend, someone fun, but then who?

So, I’ll keep searching with unwavering zeal,
For that one soul who understands how I feel.
In the vast tapestry of life, I know there’s a thread,
That will bind us together, where the lonely shed.

Until then, I will stand firm, with spirit unbowed,
For I am not alone in this solitary shroud.
In the universe’s vast expanse, stars will align,
I’ll find my place, where friendship will intertwine.

For I am a nine-year-old boy, brave and bold,
Navigating life’s journey with stories yet untold.
Though lonely at times, I will never lose sight,
That in this vast world, freedom finds its right.

In a bedroom, restricted, confined, and still,
This nine-year-old rests against his silly will.
Dreams of laughter, beyond his  bitter sight,
Await him beyond his realm and in the night.

Governor Joe Lombardo signed Senate Bill 163, a law that mandates all insurance companies, including Medicaid, cover affirming care for gender dysphoria and gender incongruence for minors and adults on Mon., Jun. 12.

The new law requires health insurance companies and Medicaid to cover treatment, including sex-change surgery, relating to gender dysphoria and gender incongruence for adults and minors (less than 18 years of age). It also prohibits “insurers from engaging in certain discrimination based on gender identity or expression.”

Under the law, “medical providers,” including speech-language pathologists and social workers, can prescribe gender-affirming care. A minor must also provide a written expression of the desire to undergo the treatment after only six months of showing a “strong desire” to be treated as the opposite gender assigned by birth.

Estimates at the time of passage showed the cost to Nevada taxpayers would be under $5 million. Those costs will increase as the price associated with gender-affirming care will be expansive due to the number of minors identifying as transgender, and the costs of treatment and surgery are continuous due to surgery-related complications. Additionally, it does not include a religious exemption for medical providers or small businesses that may have objections to providing treatment or insurance.

Considering this bill failed to get one Republican vote in the Senate or Assembly, it is unlikely that his Republican colleagues and their constituents, who now face higher insurance premiums and taxes, are pleased with how the Governor “gets shit done.”

The Elections Group (TEG,) contracted by the Washoe County Commission to help the Registrar of Voter’s Office, uses an audit function called Risk-Limiting Audits (RLAs).

TEG uses RLAs as a preferred method to demonstrate the fairness and integrity of elections, the same used in Colorado against Tina Peters in Fulton County, Georgia, to beat Herschel Walker and Pennsylvania to defeat Doug Mastriano, all registered Republicans.

Partisan actors can manipulate RLAs. Inaproperly used RLAs can find fraud or errors where none exist if auditors are biased or have a vested interest in the election’s outcome.

They only focus on auditing a small portion of the total ballots cast, which may not provide sufficient assurance of the overall accuracy of the election results. A larger sample size or a full recount is more effective in detecting potential errors or fraud.

RLAs rely on statistical methods and assumptions to determine the appropriate sample size and level of risk. These assumptions may introduce biases or uncertainties into the audit process, potentially leading to inaccurate or misleading results.

The system does not rely on paper ballots as a reference for comparison. In jurisdictions where electronic voting systems are prevalent, the absence of a reliable paper trail undermines the effectiveness of RLAs.

Finally, the system lacks standardized guidelines or procedures for conducting RLAs. Without consistent protocols, there can be variations in how RLAs are implemented across different jurisdictions, leading to inconsistent election results.

The only way around the RLAs is with paper ballots.

And as an aside, TEG nor its officers are registered with the Nevada Secretary of State’s Office as having a license to operate in Nevada, per Nevada Revised Statutes and which Washoe County requires.

According to the City of Reno and Washoe County, there are 604 homeless individuals officially living in the area, and over 120 million dollars are needed to house them.

The money is reportedly needed to care for these individuals, to keep them sheltered, warm, fed, clean and safe. However, at about 1:30 a.m. on Tue., Jun. 7, the body of a third alleged homeless person was discovered near the Truckee River, with the other three located in the water.

Just before 3 p.m. on Tue., May 23, Loren Nichols, 49, was found in the Truckee, then Marco Moran, 32, was found in the river at around 8:45 p.m. on Friday, Jun. 2. Then at around 10:30 a.m. on Sat., Jun. 3 a third body was removed from the river.

Sparks Police say only Moran’s death appears suspicious. The Washoe County Medical Examiner’s office is waiting for a toxicology report from an autopsy of his body.

It is an odd way to keep someone safe by being found drowned in a snow-run-off swollen icy-cold river. And further, no financial or security records are available from either Washoe or Reno.

“Satan did not go first to Job and say, ‘I am going to kill your children!’ No, he just did it, but only after he got permission from God” — Pastor JD Farag

“Yo, Jealous,” Satan hollered from down there, “Need to talk with you.”

“You know I don’t like that name,” God said.

“Yeah, but it makes me happy and I don’t get to say it much, ‘specially to your face,” Satan said.

“Whatever, dude,” God said. “What do you want?”

“I wanna start a plague?”

“Why?”

“For the fun of it.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that, Lucy.”

“No, there ain’t and damn it, don’t call me Lucy. At least not in public!”

“Who else is involved in this scheme?”

“The ususual, only I’ve invited that cat Mao to sit in.”

“Why him?”

“Stalin and Hitler recommended him. Besides, he had the groovy idea to start it in China.”

“If I say okay, it’ll be the same rules as before.”

“Naw, man. This one’s is different, I need just a few victims I mean, there were a few casualties the last time, man.”

“You’re trying to pull a fast one on me, I can tell.”

“No way, Jose-nose, you can even record what happens.”

“Oh, I’m going to do that.”

“Yeah, man, who’s it gonna be this time.”

“Some dip-shit believer that keeps asking me to make him into a famous writer or something.”

“Do I know dis cat?”

“Not that I know of, besides I ain’t tellin’ you, because you’ll figure out a way to screw with him.”

“Man! Ain’t ya never gonna trust me?”

“Not only no, but Hell no!”

“You still got that wicked sense of humor for an old dog, cuz.”

Interested in what Satan had planned, God gave his blessing.

“Okay, that’s enough, Lucifer,” God commanded.

“But I’m only gittin’ started, besides three seconds ain’t ‘nough time to have fun with you old fart,” Satan complained.

“Look, that is three times the amount I gave you last time.”

“Fine, fine. I wanna copy when it comes out.”

“Deal, now amskray, before I change my mind.”

God looked down on the would-be-famous writer and answered, “Now is your time.”

The man sat down and researched all he could on the plague that spread around the world. He wrote and wrote and wrote but was never satisfied with the results.

On the verge of giving up, he suddenly found his ‘voice’ and filed his story. No one read it because it was so full of facts and truths that it was confusing even to the editors.

“Too many moving parts,” they claimed.

Defeated, the writer yelled at God, “You told me to write it, and I did! Now, I’m being laughed at damn you!”

“Yo, dude, that cat down there’s mad at you,” Satan said. “Guess you didn’t keep your promise, huh?”

“Ah, shut up, Lucifer,” God responded.

“Ooo, touchy, touchy, ain’t we?” Satan teased.

God looked down and realized he had brought up a generation of morons, people too stupid to think for themselves and so gullible that they willingly infected themselves. He sighed in disgust.

“Pretty good trick, don’t ya think, Jealous?”

God now wished he’d never let Clemens play around with His bible.

“Quaints, my ass.”

After Satan had left, God looked down on the angry but hapless writer and saw that in his rage, he had written a nearly perfect encapsulation of what had transpired between Himself and Satan. And he did so in less than 600 words.

“Too bad no one will understand what been written,” God said.

It was nearing shift change at the Union Saloon, and Cee-Cee, Jim, and I were reviewing an article, “When Your Bartender Can’t Pour a Pilzner Properly.” Never having worked behind a bar, I had no idea there were rules one had to follow when serving a beer.

Jim and Cee-Cee were getting quite the hoot for the story. Soon Junior, Cee-Cee’s replacement for the night, joined in the laughter as Jim read aloud.

I only laughed because their laughter was so infectious.

Once Jim finished the article, and he and Cee-Cee, and Junior had stopped laughing, I had a sudden thought.

“You know,” I said, “The one thing they didn’t say in that list was drinking it.”

All three began laughing again. I couldn’t see what was so funny, and none of the trio would explain.

It was the day before her birthday, and Mary was getting dressed.

“I wish I were eight again,” I heard her say.

And thus, an idea was hatched in my brain. The following day, I got up early and made pancakes for her in the shape of puppy dogs, then we went to the local park where we played on the swings, followed by a movie, before ending her special day with a happy meal and soft cone ice cream. By day end, I believed I had done good.

Once home, she stretched out on the couch and smiled, “Thank you for the fun day. It was a wonderful surprise. But, if you don’t mind me asking, what brought all this on?”

“I heard what you said yesterday morning when you were getting dressed,” I answered.

Mary laughed.

“Whats so funny?” I asked.

“I was talking about my pant size,” Mary answered.

A female friend in the Virginia City area called because she created a problem for herself.

To hear her tell it, she used crystals and sage smoke to clear what she called a demon from her apartment. After placing the crystals in different rooms, she poured a thin line of salt across the window jams and the front doorstep.

Next, she took an abalone shell purchased somewhere on C Street and put the bundled sage in it. Then she lit it and walked from room to room, offering its smokey essence.

When the smoke became too much, she set it in her kitchen sink and went out for fresh air. Minutes later, she tried to enter her home but couldn’t.

“I think it worked too well,” I said.

“Meaning?” she asked.

“You’re blocked from your home.”

“But I was trying to get rid of…”

Silence.

“Shit! What should I do?”

“Go talk to Buffalo Mike or Crystalle at the Silverland to see if they can reverse it for you.”

“What if they can’t?”

“Go to St. Mary’s Church and get right with God.”

“That’ll kill me.”

“And so will tonight’s freezing temperatures.”

“Damn it. I should have talked to you beforehand.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You would’ve told me I was the demon.”

While we laughed at the time about it, as of now, I have yet to hear from her.