In a grand tour of child-rearing ingenuity, two aspiring candidates for the Worst Parents of the Year got arrested after officers discovered their domestic arrangements could double as a cautionary tale.
One Mr. Dontre Durel Calhoun, aged 31, and his equally responsible counterpart, Ms. Jasmine Delgado, aged 24, found themselves in the tender embrace of the Carson City Sheriff’s Office after law enforcement stumbled upon the sort of living conditions that make Dickensian orphanages look downright cozy.
The saga began with an old-fashioned domestic dispute—three people in a one-bedroom apartment engaging in that timeless art of yelling at one another. Deputies arrived to restore order and–as fate would have it, were granted permission to search for a lost phone.
Instead, they found a two-year-old child in a playpen, blissfully unaware that her world consisted of a marijuana bong, a set of kitchen knives teetering precariously overhead, and a backpack full of mystery goodies—later revealed to contain enough dispensary bags to make a seasoned hippie weep with joy.
The playpen, a veritable wonderland of neglect, contained an old sweatshirt, stale food crumbs, and a sippy cup filled with curdled milk—perfect for a growing child with a taste for gastrointestinal distress. Meanwhile, the rest of the apartment appeared to have been decorated in the ever-popular “Disaster Chic” style, featuring piles of trash, dirty dishes, and enough scattered clothing to outfit a small village.
Not to be outdone, the resident furniture arrangement included an air mattress bravely holding the doorway hostage and a crockpot—yes, a crockpot—perched on a microwave just 14 inches from the child’s grasp. As any seasoned parent will tell you, nothing spices up childcare like a boiling pot of stew within arm’s reach of a toddler.
Further investigation turned up an impressive liquor cabinet under the bed, consisting of vodka bottles, an empty Buzzball container, an ashtray of cigarette butts, and a delightful Sunkist cocktail laced with alcohol—because nothing screams “child-friendly” like a liquor drink within crawling distance.
Ever the gallant gentleman, Calhoun claimed ownership of these items and even admitted purchasing the vodka. His chivalry, however, did not extend to keeping the place fit for human habitation.
With the curdled milk, alcohol buffet, hot crockpot hazard, and the aura of wretchedness well-documented, deputies did the only sensible thing and hauled both esteemed guardians off to jail on felony child endangerment charges. Their bail, set at $40,000 apiece, is a small price for their contribution to the “What Not to Do” chapter of Parenting 101.
The Division of Child and Family Services swooped in to rescue the young girl from this carnival of chaos, later releasing her into the custody of her godmother, presumably someone with a better understanding of the concept of basic hygiene and safety.
And so concludes yet another thrilling installment of “What on Earth Were They Thinking?”—a tale of woe, wretchedness, and one exceedingly fortunate child who now has a chance at a better life, thanks to the fine folks at law enforcement and good old-fashioned common sense.
Ever the overachiever in affairs of fortune and folly, Nevada continues to boast the highest unemployment rate in the nation, proudly standing at a resolute 5.8 percent. While other states may scramble for second place, the Silver State remains firm, unwavering in its commitment to economic unpredictability.
The February jobs report, freshly dispensed by the Nevada Department of Employment, Training, and Rehabilitation (DETR), announced a statewide job loss of 1,600, with the Las Vegas metro area alone bidding farewell to 3,600 positions. A silver lining? January’s numbers were even worse, with Sin City shedding 7,500 jobs, suggesting that perhaps we are not careening toward catastrophe but merely stumbling in a controlled fashion.
Up north, Reno stumbled upon a lucky horseshoe, gaining 500 jobs, while Carson City, ever faithful to its quiet traditions, lost 200. The shifting of fortunes is not yet explainable. However, one suspects Reno’s newfound prosperity involves a boom in artisanal coffee shops or an influx of Californians looking for cheaper rent.
DETR’s chief economist, David Schmidt, assures us that things are going as expected. “The unemployment rate remains steady, and trends in hourly wage growth remain strong, reflecting ongoing demand for workers in the state.”
That demand, however, appears to be of the wishful-thinking variety in certain quarters.
Federal tumult in Washington has yet to make a discernible dent in Nevada’s labor landscape. Patience remains advised as there’s still time for the government to lend a helping hand in worsening the situation.
Layoffs in the National Park Service and General Services Administration have been small thus far, but uncertainty surrounding federal grants and programs leaves the door open for future misfortune. The Reno-Sparks area alone has already seen a decline of 100 federal jobs, which will no doubt be a blow to those who once found comfort in the steady hum of bureaucracy.
Meanwhile, initial unemployment claims fell by 16 percent from January to February, indicating either an improving job market or a growing resignation among the unemployed. In total, 10,748 filed claims in February, down slightly from a year ago.
Schmidt, maintaining his steady-handed optimism, describes the situation as a “rebalancing” following the state’s rapid post-COVID expansion.
“Annual employment growth fell to 0.4 percent in Nevada, led by declines in the logistics, information, and professional and business services industries,” he noted.
These industries enjoyed such prosperity in recent years that they’ve decided to take a well-earned nap.
The labor force did, however, grow by 3,318 in February, with 3,658 new workers finding employment and 340 others vanishing from the ranks of the unemployed. Whether those 340 have secured new jobs or stopped looking remains an open question.
Nevada, for now, retains its dubious crown as the nation’s leader in unemployment. But with trends shifting and numbers jostling about like dice on a craps table, only time will tell if the state continues to hold its title—or if another contender will rise to snatch the prize of economic uncertainty.
In a display of government ingenuity that would make even P.T. Barnum tip his hat, the U.S. Bureau of Land Management has cooked up a plan to sell off 5,500 acres of good, wholesome Nevada dirt, scattered across 66 plots like a miser tossing breadcrumbs to the pigeons. The lucky recipients of this grand proposition are the fine folks of Lincoln County, whose towns—Alamo, Caliente, Crestline, Hiko, Panaca, Pioche, Mt. Wilson, and the ever-mysterious Rachel—have been hand-selected to receive the privilege of watching their backyards become real estate listings.
The noble endeavor is all part of the Lincoln County Conservation, Recreation, and Development Act of 2004, a law which, if its title is any indication, must surely mean that selling off public lands to the highest bidder is an act of conservation, recreation, and development all rolled into one. Among the prized parcels up for grabs are tracts of land along the Extraterrestrial Highway, where would-be buyers can rub elbows with conspiracy theorists and little green men, and plots near the Crestline landfill, which offers breathtaking views of discarded washing machines and the occasional windblown grocery bag.
The fine citizens of Lincoln County, whose allegiances lean more toward Utah than the distant glitz of Las Vegas, have reacted with all the enthusiasm of a cat introduced to a bathtub. Officially, the BLM’s social media post has generated a modest trickle of interest—three comments by the following day, suggesting the public is either stunned into silence or too busy digesting their supper to type.
Unofficially, however, the wailing and gnashing of teeth elsewhere on social media sets a different story.
“You’re selling freedom!” cries one impassioned voice, a sentiment that, while poetic, gives Uncle Sam a little too much credit for his skill in merchandising.
Others see the gleam of a burgeoning tax base, envisioning paved roads, fresh schoolhouses, and maybe even a second gas station. And then there is the eternal chorus of citizens who are against anything the BLM does on principle, be it land sales, map-making, or breathing in an official capacity.
Whether this grand scheme ends in prosperity, ruin, or a high-stakes poker game between a real estate developer and a local rancher remains to be seen. Either way, the Great American Land Sale rolls on, and Lincoln County is next in line at the auction block.
Appointment Sets the Stage for a Political Tempest
In a move as subtle as a brass band at a funeral, President Trump has appointed Republican firebrand Sigal Chattah as interim U.S. Attorney for the District of Nevada, setting off a political ruckus louder than a prizefight in a saloon. Chattah, a Las Vegas attorney with a penchant for courtroom brawls and a history of setting Democratic tempers ablaze, now finds herself at the helm of federal prosecutions in the Silver State—at least for the next 120 days or until the U.S. Senate gets around to throwing a bucket of water on the whole affair.
Chattah, whose legal career has been one lawsuit after another, assured the public it is her honor to “administrate justice equally” and root out corruption as her critics claim she is more likely to plant a political flag than a badge of impartiality. Nevada’s Democratic senators, Catherine Cortez Masto and Jacky Rosen, responded to the appointment with all the enthusiasm of a man finding a scorpion in his boot, branding Chattah an “election denier” with a “history of racist remarks” and pledging to fight her confirmation as though it were a duel at dawn.
One of Chattah’s past statements includes hanging her Democratic opponent, Aaron Ford. It is the “racist” comment Masoto Cortez and Rosen speak of, referring to the fact that Ford is a Black man–which also suggests it is a sexist remark, too.
However, Nevada Republicans have hailed her appointment as a victory for law and order in the tradition of shaking up the establishment. Nevada GOP Chairman Michael McDonald declared that under Chattah’s watch, “it will be a bad day to be a bad guy,” which, given the political climate, might include anyone who holds socialist views.
The White House has yet to formally comment on Chattah’s appointment, perhaps too occupied with the uproar in the Senate or simply enjoying the show. Meanwhile, Trump’s administration, never one to shy away from an old-fashioned political scrap, has employed similar tactics elsewhere, appointing Alina Habba, his former personal attorney, as the interim U.S. Attorney in New Jersey.
With the fate of her confirmation still in the air and Nevada’s political landscape more divided than a gambler’s last dollar, one thing’s known–the next few months will be anything but dull.
A searing sun glared down upon the boundless wastes of Tau Ceti IV, a barren tapestry of rock and dust unbroken by any hint of vitality. The only sound was the ceaseless murmur of shifting sands, a dry whisper in the void.
A figure clad in a silver space suit trudged through the dunes, boots sinking into the relentless terrain. The figure faltered, dropped to its knees, and with unsteady hands, unfastened the helmet. The faceplate lifted, revealing Jonas Carver—eyes hollow, breath ragged.
Within the sterile expanse of Pathfinder 7 two hours prior, a lone hibernation pod thrummed in a vast chamber. A sharp hiss pierced the silence as pressurized air escaped, and the pod’s lid glided open with mechanical grace.
Inside lay Jonas Carver, his chest rising as awareness returned. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the stark artificial glow.
With a grunt, he sat up, swung his legs over the side, and promptly crumpled to the floor. Moments later, he rose steadier and shuffled to a chessboard in the corner. He lifted a black rook and paused before setting it down with purpose.
“Jonas Carver, Pathfinder 7, mission log,” he rasped, voice rough but resolute. “Luyten 726-8C was a wash, like the three before it. Nitrogen levels spiked—inhale too long, and you’d be dizzy before you’re dead. Another cosmic letdown joins the parade of disappointments, bleeding our time and resources. On the upside, I nearly landed without painting the cockpit green. Improvement, I guess. Tau Ceti, I’m oh-for-four—don’t fail me now.” He smirked faintly. “Hey, Cal, ping my wife, will you? Cal? …Cal?”
Far across the void, another voice logged its defeat. “Mira Tanek, Pathfinder 12, mission report. Wolf 1061D’s a bust—methane saturation at eighty parts per million. We’ve been at this too long. What if this is all there is? Just… vast, hollow nothing.”
Yet hope endured. “Lorin Carver, Pathfinder 4, mission log. Two down, three to go. A new world’s out there, and we’ll claim it. Course locked for Proxima Centauri B—ETA eight months. Ever the dreamer.”
Jonas spoke as soon as the report finished, a private report to his wife, Lorin, “Recording in progress. Hey, love, it’s me. We’re just a few thousand light-years apart now—strange to think about, huh? Saw your report; you’re zero-for-two. I’m zero-for-four, so you’re outpacing me twofold. Your stats look strong—these next three’ll pass quickly. I’m minutes from Tau Ceti, so I’d better prep. Miss you. Talk soon.”
The message chimed: Sending to Pathfinder 04.
“Cal? …Not you too.”
Pathfinder 7’s doors parted with a soft whoosh. “Good morning, Jonas,” intoned Cal, the ship’s AI, its voice a steady anchor amid the storm of Jonas’s mind.
“Morning, tin man. Where’d you vanish to? Thought you’d bailed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t grasp ‘bailed,’ Jonas.”
“Forget it.”
“My memory banks don’t allow forgetting, Jonas. Your rook was pinned last I checked.”
“Why’d you go silent earlier?”
“A circuit fault in the command module. Resolved when you restarted my systems.”
“Convenient. Send Lorin that message, yeah?”
“Processing now, Jonas. You’ve got one incoming. I’m syncing status reports as we speak.”
“That glitch fry your wiring?”
“Reports are current post-reboot. The fault blocked incoming comms—started nine months back.”
“Nine months? These logs are relics!”
“Accurate, Jonas. Updating now—give it a few minutes.”
The bridge called. Jonas stepped in as Cal announced, “Reports syncing. One new message from Pathfinder 4. Tau Ceti landing in five.”
Jonas nodded, peering through the viewport as Lorin’s voice broke through. “Hey, you’re likely nearing Tau Ceti now—can’t believe it. I’m proud of us, and how far we’ve pushed. I’m on Proxima B—stunning, right? It’s almost Earth reborn. Except it’s not. Too tight to its star—six hundred degrees Fahrenheit daily. An atmosphere so close to ours, yet I can’t step out. Wondering why I’m still here? We lost Tanek last month. Yesterday, Korrin, Vey, and Salvo dropped off too.”
“No way,” Jonas muttered. “Cal, refresh Salvo’s page.”
“Refreshed, Jonas.”
“Again.”
“Reports are still updating, Jonas. Hear this next part carefully.”
Lorin’s tone sharpened. “My Cal unit was dark after reanimation. There’s a glitch in the EM Drive—circuit failure cuts comms and thruster restart. Jonas, if it hits you, you’re grounded too. I’ve got four, maybe five days before Proxima’s heat cracks the hull.”
“When was that sent?” Jonas’s voice broke.
“Thirty-one days ago, Jonas,” Cal replied.
Jonas staggered through Tau Ceti’s sands, the sun an unyielding overseer. He sank to his knees, unlatched his helmet, and let it tumble away.
His voice, calm now, pierced the wind. “To anyone who hears this, this is Jonas Carver, Pathfinder 7, Eden Initiative. Attached are coordinates for Tau Ceti IV—our new haven. Temperatures not too fierce nor too frigid, an atmosphere perfectly balanced for life. The trek may take months, perhaps years. I’ll be here.”
23andMe, the widely known DNA testing company, has found itself in a financial pickle and declared bankruptcy. In response, attorneys general across the land are waving red flags, urging folks to delete their genetic data before it ends up in the hands of someone with fewer scruples than a coyote in a henhouse.
Nevada’s own AG, Aaron Ford, is among them, calling on Nevadans to exercise a little frontier wisdom and wipe their information from the company’s records. And before anyone faints from alarm, it must be said the bankruptcy itself has not compromised private genetic data—at least not yet.
The concern is that 23andMe, now desperate to find a buyer, holds an Aladdin’s cave of genetic secrets, and whoever comes by with a bag of gold may very well end up owning it all. The company insists it remains committed to customer privacy and that any buyer must adhere to the law, but AG Ford ain’t feeling charitable enough to take them at their word.
As such, his office issued an alert advising Nevadans to consider deleting their genetic information before it ends up traded like poker chips at a saloon.
“I urge Nevadans to access their accounts on 23andMe’s website and consider deleting their shared genetic data in order to ensure their privacy,” said Ford, like a preacher pounding the pulpit. “23andMe has indicated they will continue to honor such actions, and users should make use of this option as soon as possible.”
For its part, 23andMe insists all is well. In an open letter to customers, the company declared that data remains protected, access is unchanged, and business is continuing as usual—hardly the sort of thing one expects to hear from an outfit in dire financial straits.
But if history has taught us anything, a company in a bad way tends to make promises as solid as a sandcastle at high tide.
For those wary of their DNA becoming a bargaining chip in corporate dealings–you can cut ties. You can log in, fiddle with some settings, and request your DNA sample get destroyed or your account permanently deleted.
Ford also points out that destroying your sample prevents it from being used in research, a wise move for those who don’t fancy their genetic blueprint lingering in limbo. Meanwhile, the AG’s office is keeping a sharp eye on 23andMe’s handling of consumer data as the bankruptcy process unfolds, prepared to step in if necessary.
Until then, Nevadans might do well to take a lesson from the Old West—when in doubt, don’t leave your valuables lying around for the wrong folks to find.
The hometown crowd arrived expecting a battle, but they left in disappointment as the Yerington Lions took a rare fall, dropping a 6-2 contest to the visiting West Wendover squad.
It marked the first time this season that the Lions had let their faithful supporters down on their turf. With the loss, Yerington’s record slipped to a still-impressive 8-2, while West Wendover continued its hot streak, winning seven of its last nine to climb to 9-4 on the season.
But the Lions didn’t lick their wounds for long. In their next outing, they roared back with a 9-4 victory over Pershing County, proving that one setback wasn’t about to slow them down.
The Churchill County Greenwave rolled into town Tuesday with five straight wins under their belt, and they left with a sixth, edging out the Fernley Vaqueros 11-9 in a game that kept fans on the edge of their seats. The victory was Churchill County’s seventh consecutive triumph over Fernley.
Spencer Pryor put up a valiant effort for the Vaqueros, going 2-for-4 at the plate and scoring a run, while Alex Welsh chipped in with a 1-for-2 performance and another run. Despite coming up short, Fernley continued to show discipline at the plate, recording only one strikeout—an area in which they’ve steadily improved over the past three games.
Churchill’s Anthony Juarez turned heads with a standout performance, launching a home run and racking up a career-high three RBI. Anthony Gonzalez also made his presence felt, going 2-for-5 with two runs and a stolen base. The Greenwave have been putting up impressive numbers at the plate, averaging nearly 11 hits per game over their last 15 contests.
Fernley now finds itself in the depths of a four-game losing streak, their record slipping to 3-10-1. Meanwhile, Churchill County is riding high, having won seven of their last eight matchups, bringing their tally to 9-4-1 for the season.
The Lowry Lady Buckaroos rode into their clash with South Tahoe with three straight victories in their saddlebag and left with a fourth. Outgunned from the start, Tahoe found themselves staring down the barrel of a 14-1 drubbing.
For Lowry, it was just another day at the corral—this marks their seventh win of the season by seven runs or more.
Leading the charge was Isabel Upton, who turned in a performance worthy of the record books. She cracked three hits in three trips to the plate, setting a new personal best, and tacked on a pair of runs for good measure. Not far behind was Crisslyn Rodriguez, flashing her brand of firepower with a 2-for-3 outing, one triple, an RBI, and two runs scored.
Lowry found their way aboard, finishing the game with a commanding on-base percentage of .514. Meanwhile, South Tahoe could only muster a .348, proving that when it comes to getting on and making it count, the Buckaroos beat the Vikings in every department.
The latest triumph pushes Lowry’s record to a sparkling 11-3, with their last four victories coming on the road. Over that stretch, they’ve been swinging like they mean it, averaging 12.3 runs per contest.
South Tahoe, meanwhile, finds themselves in a dry spell, dropping their fourth straight to slip to a 2-11 mark on the season. The Vikings showed some early fight, even managing to snag a lead, but their edge was short-lived against the relentless Buckaroos.
South Tahoe did have a few bright spots, with four players notching hits. Campbell Mathews stood out, going 2-for-3 and driving in the team’s lone run.
As Lowry gallops toward the heart of their season, they’ve shown they can handle the dust and the distance. If they keep swinging like this, there’s no telling how far the trail might take them.
Sixty-two years ago, on November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was killed by an assassin’s bullet in Dallas, becoming one of the most pivotal and controversial moments in U.S. history. Kennedy’s relationship with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) had already been strained, particularly after the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961.
Furious with the agency, its director Alan Dulles, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the State Department, and even himself, Kennedy replaced Dulles with John McCone, a respected Republican and Cold War hardliner. However, Kennedy later grew frustrated with McCone, finding him disloyal.
A 1961 memo from advisor Arthur Schlesinger, addressed to Kennedy, urged a reorganization of the CIA, cautioning that another high-profile failure could severely undermine public confidence in U.S. policy due to the significant autonomy the agency had enjoyed. The popular notion—that Kennedy wanted to “splinter the CIA into a thousand pieces” and dismantle it entirely—remains debated, as he refrained from restructuring it despite such advice. Over time, Kennedy came to value certain CIA products, like the President’s Daily Brief (then known as the President’s Intelligence Checklist), some of which from the days surrounding the assassination have now been declassified.
On the day of the assassination, Kennedy’s motorcade wound through Dallas when three shots rang out from the Texas School Book Depository. The Warren Commission, tasked with investigating Kennedy’s death, claimed that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone–the first shot missed by 65 yards, the second—the “magic bullet”—pierced Kennedy’s back, angling up and exited his throat, then making a right angle turn that struck Governor John Connally, and the third landed a fatal headshot from 100 yards.
President Lyndon B. Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, denied CIA involvement. However, the commission was kept in the dark about the CIA’s knowledge—receiving, in the words of one member, “almost nothing” of substance from the agency.
Oswald, widely regarded as the lone gunman, is a central figure in the story. Documents later released provide a detailed account of his activities in the months leading up to the assassination.
These files chronicle a trip to Mexico, his subsequent return to the United States, and evaluations of his affiliations with foreign entities. One striking document includes an assessment from a KGB official who asserted that Oswald was never an agent under Soviet control.
The official remarked on Oswald’s poor marksmanship, based on observations of his target practice during his time in the USSR, where the KGB kept a close watch on him. The records suggest that the Soviets concluded his erratic personality made him difficult, if not impossible, to direct or manage.
Oswald, the lone gunman firing from the Texas School Book Depository—crumbles under a truth too deliberate to ignore–there are no coincidences. Recently released documents, paired with historical records, expose a chilling pattern–the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) didn’t just watch Oswald—it armed him with a rifle and full metal jacket (FMJ) bullets unavailable to the public, through a fronted gun store, as part of a design stretching back to America’s earliest aid agencies. The Warren Commission missed or buried it, but the dots connect themselves.
Oswald’s weapon—a 6.5mm Mannlicher-Carcano rifle, serial number C2766—entered his hands via a mail-order purchase from Klein’s Sporting Goods in Chicago, placed March 27, 1963, under the alias “A. Hidell.” The Warren Commission (Exhibit CE 773) tracked it from Klein’s to Oswald’s Dallas P.O. Box 2915, sourced from Crescent Firearms, Inc., a New York surplus dealer.
A clean transaction, they said—until you peel the layers. Klein’s wasn’t just a retailer. Crescent was part of the shadowy arms trade, a world the CIA swam in during the Cold War.
Think Interarmco, a known agency-linked dealer arming Bay of Pigs exiles in 1961—the same year Kennedy clashed with the CIA over that fiasco. Klein was a cutout, a front for funneling weapons to operatives or patsies.
Oswald’s rifle arriving via Klein’s wasn’t chance. The CIA had decades of using fronts to mask operations. The Mutual Security Agency (MSA), operating from 1951–1953, blended economic and military aid—$7.5 billion in 1952 alone—into anti-Soviet ops, per National Archives Record Group 469.
A 1953–1954 World Bank folder shows MSA correspondence with murky “special projects,” echoing CIA coups like Guatemala’s in 1954. When the MSA folded, the International Cooperation Administration (ICA) took over in 1955, doling out aid to Laos and Jordan—places a 1957 New York Times report ties to CIA stability efforts.
Kennedy axed the ICA in 1961, replacing it with USAID, but the pattern held–the Church Committee (1975) caught CIA officers in USAID running Vietnam “pacification” funds to militias.
But it’s the bullets that tell the real story. Oswald fired FMJ 6.5x52mm Carcano rounds—lead core, copper-jacketed—confirmed by ballistics in CE 399, the “magic bullet.”
FMJ penetrates clean, unlike soft lead rounds that deform. The Warren Report claims surplus Carcano ammo—two million rounds—flooded the U.S. market post-WWII, sold by Klein’s and others.
But here’s the catch–that flood was soft lead, not FMJ.
Surplus ads in American Rifleman (1962–1963) list Carcano ammo at 7–10 cents a round—cheap, mixed lots, often unjacketed or soft-point, per dealers like Samco. FMJ existed—Western Cartridge made millions for the Greek military—but none for civilian use.
Oswald’s FMJ rounds–recovered from Kennedy’s limo and Connally’s stretcher, were pristine military-grade, not the surplus slush. If soft lead dominated the market, where’d he get FMJ?
Not Dallas shops—FBI checks found no Carcano FMJ sales to him. Klein’s order doesn’t itemize ammo type, yet he had it by November 22.
Enter the CIA. The Church Committee exposed agency ammo caches for covert ops—Operation Mongoose against Castro used restricted lots.
A 1963 FBI memo (HSCA files) notes Carcano ammo in Greece, a CIA hub; they bought an FMJ batch there, keeping it off public shelves. The Kennedy files mention of a Mexican president informant (1970s) shows CIA reach in ammo-rich regions—USAID was there too, laundering funds per a 1971 Washington Post scoop.
Oswald’s FMJ had to come from the CIA or Klein’s as their front because the public couldn’t touch it. No coincidence–the agency that watched him in Mexico City armed him, too.
It wasn’t random—it was deliberate. The CIA’s playbook, honed through MSA, ICA, and USAID, used fronts to hide intent. MSA’s “special projects” blurred aid and ops.
The ICA’s Jordan aid masked CIA moves. USAID’s Vietnam and Laos fronts perfected it. Klein’s, supplying Oswald’s rifle and FMJ ammo, is the follow-up link—a gun store echoing decades of agency craft.
Kennedy’s friction with the CIA seals it. Post-Bay of Pigs (1961), he ousted Director Allen Dulles, swapped ICA for USAID, and eyed agency reform—a 1961 memo (Kennedy files) warned of CIA autonomy. His push threatened their shadow empire—aid fronts, arms deals, all of it.
Oswald, a known quantity–the KGB watched him, deeming him erratic–gets a CIA-sourced rifle and FMJ bullets via Klein’s. He fires—or takes the fall—while the agency’s tracks vanish in pre-1992 document purges.
The Warren Commission, fed “almost nothing” by the CIA, buys the lone-gunman tale, ignoring Klein’s ties and ammo oddity. The 1979 HSCA saw conspiracy but missed this—too late, too scrubbed.
But bullets don’t lie: soft lead flooded markets, FMJ stayed with the CIA. Oswald’s stash points to Klein’s, and Klein’s points to Langley.
The Kennedy files hint, but don’t confess. Yet the pattern holds–MSA to ICA to USAID to Klein’s–a thread of control Kennedy tried to cut.
One question lingers–who pulled the trigger? The Warren Commission crowned Oswald the lone gunman, firing three shots from the Texas School Book Depository.
Yet, beneath this tidy tale lies a truth too orchestrated for chance—there are no coincidences. The documents and historical records reveal a Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) design so intricate that the triggerman—or triggermen—remains a shadow, lost to destroyed files and official silence. The evidence points to a conspiracy, but the shooter’s identity stays maddeningly out of reach.
The official narrative begins with Oswald’s 6.5mm Mannlicher-Carcano rifle, serial number #C2766, ordered from Klein’s Sporting Goods in Chicago under the alias “A. Hidell.” The Warren Report traces it–shipped via Crescent Firearms to Oswald’s Dallas P.O. Box 2915, found on the Depository’s sixth-floor post-assassination.
Three shots—missed, the “magic bullet” through Kennedy and Connally, and a fatal headshot—seal him as the killer. But the rifle’s origin cracks the story open.
Tied to Crescent’s Firearms, Klein’s was a CIA front like Interarmco, which armed Bay of Pigs exiles in 1961—the year Kennedy clashed with the agency.
Oswald’s ammo—full metal jacket (FMJ) 6.5x52mm rounds—deepens the plot. The Warren Report claims surplus Carcano ammo flooded markets, yet that flood was soft lead, not FMJ.
Military-grade FMJ, per ballistics, stayed scarce—hoarded by the CIA for ops like Mongoose, per the 1975 Church Committee. If Klein’s supplied Oswald’s FMJ, he’s no lone buyer—he’s a piece in a CIA game.
The Warren Commission’s lone-gunman script falters under scrutiny. The 1979 House Select Committee on Assassinations (HSCA) found a “high probability” of a fourth shot—from the grassy knoll—based on acoustic evidence.
Witnesses saw smoke, Zapruder’s film hints at a frontal hit, and Kennedy’s head snaps back, defying a solo Depository shooter. Oswald’s poor marksmanship, noted by a KGB official in the Kennedy files, and the rifle’s bolt-action pace—three shots in 6–8 seconds—stretch belief.
If a second gunman fired, who was he?
The files offer no name. CIA counterintelligence chief James Angleton looms large, shaping the agency’s response, but he’s no triggerman.
The agency’s Mexican president informant shows their reach, yet no shooter emerges. The Warren Commission got “almost nothing” from the CIA, and pre-1992 record purges—thousands destroyed before the JFK Records Act—hide the trail.
Oswald screams patsy, tracked in Mexico City, armed via Klein’s, and is left to take the fall. A second shooter, grassy knoll or elsewhere, fits a design—but the face stays blank.
This triggerman void isn’t random—it’s deliberate, echoing the CIA’s front playbook. The Mutual Security Agency (MSA), 1951–1953, blended $7.5 billion in aid with “special projects,” per National Archives Record Group 469.
A 1953–1954 World Bank folder hints at covert ties, like the CIA’s 1954 Guatemala coup. The International Cooperation Administration (ICA), 1955–1961, funneled aid to Jordan—tied to CIA stability ops in a 1957 New York Times report—until Kennedy swapped it for USAID in 1961.
USAID, meant to be clean, became a CIA tool: the Church Committee caught operatives funding Vietnam militias, and a 1971 Washington Post scoop revealed Laos arms deals.
Kennedy’s push to curb CIA power—post-Bay of Pigs, ICA’s end, a 1961 reform memo—threatened this machine. His death, with no clear triggerman, protected it.
Coincidence? Not a chance.
So where’s the shooter? Oswald’s role wavers—shooter, patsy, or both.
His CIA-sourced FMJ–not surplus soft lead–and agency surveillance in Mexico suggest orchestration. The grassy knoll’s fourth shot points to a team—CIA operative, Cuban exile, Mafia hitman?—but no file names them.
Angleton’s crew, anti-Castro factions, or a hired gun could’ve fired, vanishing post-hit as records burned. The Warren Commission, rushed by LBJ and starved by CIA silence, pinned it on Oswald, ignoring Klein’s ties and ammo oddity.
No lot numbers tie Oswald’s FMJ to a CIA cache, and memos don’t name the killer. The design’s genius lies in its gaps–Oswald framed, the factual shooter—or shooters—erased, the CIA untouchable.
Another figure emerging in the aftermath was Gary Underhill, a former intelligence operative with ties to the CIA. Underhill became convinced that the CIA was behind Kennedy’s assassination. He abruptly left Washington, shared his suspicions with close confidants, and then died just months later in 1964 from a gunshot wound officially deemed self-inflicted.
The CIA’s operations during the Kennedy era extended far beyond the assassination. The agency sometimes disguised its operatives as State Department employees for secret missions abroad.
One document identifies Manuel Machado Losas, a treasurer of the Mexican revolutionary movement and a known associate of Cuban leader Fidel Castro, as a CIA asset. The files also reveal that the agency’s primary informant in Mexico from the mid-to-late 1970s was the Mexican president—a remarkably high-placed source.
These operations highlight the CIA’s extraordinary power and minimal oversight during the early 1960s, operating almost as a government unto itself. Key figures like James Angleton, a name well-known to assassination scholars, played a significant role in shaping the agency’s response to the event.
Nearly three decades later, in 1992, under President George H.W. Bush, the JFK Assassination Records Act was created in response to public demand spurred by Oliver Stone’s film JFK. The act defined assassination-related records expansively, encompassing not only the event itself but also U.S. covert actions abroad that might involve assassination plots. Evidence suggests the intentional destruction of some documents in the intervening years between the assassination and the passage of this legislation.
Fast-forward to a massive release of information under a directive from President Donald Trump, carried out by the National Archives and totaling 63,000 pages collected from various government agencies. This release, which includes files on operations in Vietnam, Indonesia, and various African nations, builds on the 1992 act.
While some documents contained redactions that obscured key details, most previously withheld content has been unredacted. Among the operational details uncovered are the identities of foreign nationals, Americans, businesses, and even newspapers that collaborated with the CIA.
However, certain government entities, particularly the CIA, have historically resisted efforts to disclose sensitive portions of these records.
Last week, the Trump administration released a trove of documents that some claim dismantled the narrative of Oswald as a lone gunman, exposing the CIA as the orchestrator of Kennedy’s death. These files weave a thread of intelligence overreach, political vendettas, and calculated deception, with some drawing parallels to the July 13, 2024, attempt on former President Donald Trump’s life in Butler, Pennsylvania.
In that incident, Trump was grazed in the ear by a bullet from Thomas Matthew Crooks during a rally, an attempt now tied to the CIA through encrypted accounts and a building housing an FBI office. Whether these twin assaults on American leaders, separated by decades, are definitively connected remains a matter of intense debate–but the dots are there.
Despite the scale of this release, the process of unveiling the truth about the Kennedy assassination remains fraught with challenges. The documents paint a picture of a CIA with vast influence, operating in a world of covert actions and paramilitary warfare—an unchecked force that Kennedy once sought to rein in.
Finally, there is a thread linking America’s foreign aid agencies to the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), a deliberate design and one that spans decades and implicates the deaths of a president.
The documents, combined with archived records, reveal a chilling pattern–the CIA has systematically exploited the Mutual Security Agency (MSA), the International Cooperation Administration (ICA), and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) as fronts for laundering money and advancing covert agendas, from the Cold War’s dawn to today.
The story begins with the Mutual Security Agency (MSA), established in 1951 under President Harry S. Truman, to funnel economic and military aid to anti-Soviet allies. Held in the National Archives Record Group 469, the MSA’s files—some digitized, like a 1953–1954 correspondence folder from the World Bank—detail billions disbursed to nations like Korea and Greece. But beneath the surface, whispers persist.
The CIA, under Allen Dulles’ rising influence, had a knack for turning aid into weapons. In Guatemala, just as the MSA wound down in 1953, the agency orchestrated a coup using economic aid as cover—a playbook hinting at MSA funds greasing covert wheels. Papers from W. Averell Harriman, MSA Director and a Truman confidant, housed at the Truman Library, mention “special projects” with State and intelligence officials.
Coincidence? Hardly. The MSA’s abolition in 1953—replaced by the Foreign Operations Administration—came as Dulles took the CIA’s helm, suggesting a shift to tighter control over aid’s darker uses.
Enter the International Cooperation Administration (ICA), launched in 1955 under Eisenhower. Tasked with economic and technical assistance, the ICA picked up where the MSA left off, channeling aid to Cold War hotspots like Laos and Iran.
The 63,000 pages don’t name the ICA explicitly but paint a CIA unbound—disguising operatives as State Department staff and recruiting assets like Manuel Machado Losas, a Castro ally. A 1957 New York Times report ties ICA aid to Jordan with CIA-backed stability efforts—another dot in the pattern.
President John F. Kennedy, burned by the CIA’s Bay of Pigs fiasco in 1961, grew wary of such entanglements. That year, he axed the ICA, replacing it with USAID via the Foreign Assistance Act.
Was he cutting off a CIA lifeline? The timing—and his assassination two years later—suggests no accident.
Starting November 3, 1961, the USAID era was to be a fresh beginning—development over espionage. Yet the CIA adapted seamlessly.
The Church Committee’s 1975 report (Volume 1, page 147) exposes CIA officers posing as USAID staff in Vietnam, funneling “Rural Development” funds to militias and propaganda. A 1971 Washington Post scoop revealed USAID aid in Laos arming CIA-backed Hmong fighters.
The Kennedy files add a twist: by the mid-1970s, the Mexican president was a CIA informant, coinciding with USAID’s Latin American footprint. A 2014 Associated Press story even caught USAID running a Cuban social media scheme—ZunZuneo—as CIA cover. Kennedy’s dream of a clean agency died with him; USAID became the CIA’s new laundering hub.
It isn’t random chance—it’s a continuum. The MSA laid the groundwork, blending military and economic aid into CIA ops.
The ICA refined it, blurring lines Kennedy tried to erase. USAID perfected it, outlasting its founder’s vision.
The Kennedy files hint at destroyed records pre-1992, shielding the complete truth, but the pattern screams intent, aid as a Trojan horse for intelligence overreach.
Did Kennedy’s push to dismantle this machine—starting with the ICA—seal his fate in Dallas? Sixty-two years later, the dots connect themselves.
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