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Water Doesn’t Vote,

Water is a simple thing. It flows where it must, settles where it can, and never once has it needed a politician’s permission to exist. But in Nevada, where the land is dry and the deals are slick, some folks have decided that water’s value depends entirely on who’s pumping it.

Take Assembly Bill 109 (AB109), a bill meant to close a loophole that lets mining and geothermal companies pull groundwater without the usual permitting process. Now, if you’re a rancher or a farmer, you already know what happens when you sneeze near a water source—you get a stack of regulations dropped in your lap, along with a lecture about conservation.

But if you’re in the business of lithium mining, well, that’s different. Suddenly, the same lawmakers who preach about sustainability can’t roll out the red carpet fast enough.

The Biden administration, with full-throated support from Nevada’s Democratic leadership, had been pushing lithium mining under the banner of “green energy.” The same people who claim to be protecting the land are now cheering on a rush to tear it up—all because lithium makes electric vehicles and solar batteries, and that, they say, makes it worth the sacrifice.

Never mind that the mines need vast amounts of water. Forget that the aquifers won’t stay put once you start pulling them apart.

“Yes, you can return water to the source after it’s pumped,” says Kyle Roerink of the Great Basin Water Network. “But that pumping throws off aquifers. And it unstabilizes and unbalances aquifers.”

In other words, water is not an obedient servant—it won’t simply sit back where you put it, waiting for reuse. Once it’s disturbed, it goes where it pleases, and often it never returns at all.

Of course, the mining companies insist they are responsible stewards. Albemarle, which runs the nation’s only active lithium mine at Silver Peak, says it “carefully measures water withdrawals” to ensure “no adverse impacts.” It’s a comforting thought—if you’re the kind of person who believes a pickpocket is honest just because he counts the coins before he takes them.

Water doesn’t understand politics. It doesn’t know that some industries get a free pass while others get crushed under regulation.

It exists, or it doesn’t. And when it’s gone, all the “green energy” promises won’t bring it back.

So, push for lithium mines in the name of the future. But don’t pretend it’s about protecting the land. The water knows better.

A Generous Offer to Take More of Your Money

In unparalleled generosity, NV Energy has once again approached the Public Utilities Commission of Nevada (PUCN) with a humble request–permission to raise customers’ base rates by up to nine percent. The act of benevolence comes with a heartwarming promise that, despite the increase, customers “should expect to pay less” by the end of 2025.

How, you ask? Why, through the wondrous powers of corporate arithmetic, where up is down, more is less, and a rate hike is a blessing in disguise.

By their calculations, the average residential customer—using 1,151 kilowatt-hours per month—will see an increase of roughly $11. But fear not. NV Energy assures us that if we resist the temptation to use the electricity we are paying more for, we might end up paying less.

A brilliant strategy, indeed.

The company, with the purest of intentions, insists the hike is necessary to fund “investments” in infrastructure. The noble expenditures, including the Reid Gardner battery storage project, will allegedly bring long-term savings despite the immediate and short-term costs. NV Energy CEO Scott Cannon, ever the optimist, assures us that by spending more now, we’ll somehow spend less later—a theory that, coincidentally, never seems to apply to executive salaries or shareholder dividends.

But wait, there’s more.

NV Energy is also introducing three new policies to “help customers save money,” provided customers have patience enough to wait until at least 2026 for relief. Among these proposals–a discount for low-income households, a new billing structure that encourages customers to shift their energy usage, presumably to midnight or during work hours when they aren’t home, and a new solar billing system that NV Energy promises is fair—though notably, fairer for them than for the customers.

Of course, these visionary plans are pending approval from the regulatory body of the PUNC, which historically finds NV Energy’s financial woes more compelling than the plight of ordinary Nevadans just trying to keep the lights on. But take heart—NV Energy’s track record suggests that no matter what happens, they’ll find a way to ensure their bottom line remains bright, even if the rest of us are in the dark.

It is a well-established principle that if a man builds himself a fine house, stocks it with all manner of furniture, and then hires a burglar to stand watch at the door, he oughtn’t be too surprised when he wakes up one morning to find the whole place stripped bare. Yet, the fine gentlefolk of Nevada’s 2021 Democrat-led legislature managed to outdo even this level of folly, for they have not merely hired the burglar but dismissed the watchman altogether, leaving the state’s roads to the mercy of chance, recklessness, and the occasional guardrail.

The Nevada State Police, tasked with keeping the highways in a respectable state of order, are in such dire straits that they could hardly fill a single dance hall, let alone police an entire state. Where there ought to be 400 troopers, there is scarcely half that number.

In Reno, one finds just 25 troopers struggling to cover ground meant for 60. Carson City, which might reasonably expect 20, must make do with less than 10. And Las Vegas—where a surplus of vices demands a surplus of enforcement—has only 50 troopers where there should be 120. If a major crash occurs, as they often do, the entire force flocks to the scene like hens at feeding time, leaving the rest of the state as unguarded as a pig in a butcher’s shop.

One might ask how a state so bountiful in gambling revenue and political ambition could have created such a catastrophe. As it is in most cases, the answer lies in misplaced priorities and a curious disdain for those tasked with keeping order.

In the heady days of 2021, the Democratic majority in Carson City, in their zeal to prove themselves champions of progress, took to treating law enforcement not as the necessary bulwark against disorder but as an unfortunate relic of a bygone era. Their anti-policing rhetoric—so high-minded, so fashionable, and so utterly divorced from reality—laid the foundation for the crisis unfolding on Nevada’s roads.

Of course, as any honest person will tell you, a profession loses its appeal when underpaid and unwelcome. A state trooper in Nevada finds themselves in the unenviable position of making less money than his city-bound counterparts while being taxed at a rate that would make a gold miner weep.

With the state unwilling to pay its share of retirement contributions, troopers see nearly a third of their paychecks siphoned off before they can even buy a pound of bacon. And as the cost of living soars to heights previously reserved for eagles and the ambitions of officeholders, young troopers find themselves unable to afford so much as a patch of dirt in the state they are meant to protect.

The solution, if common sense were in fashion, would be a simple one–pay them what they are worth, restore respect to their station, and end the folly that has made a career in law enforcement a punishment rather than a profession. Whether the legislature will come to such a conclusion before the state’s highways descend into complete chaos remains to be seen.

But for now, any Nevadan venturing onto the roads would do well to keep a steady hand on the wheel, for if trouble comes calling, it may be a long wait before help arrives.

In these enlightened times, when civilization has reached such heights that folks have nothing better to do than pass judgment on perfect strangers, a poor soul in Lovelock finds herself not merely the victim of fate but also the subject of a public trial conducted by the Honorable High Court of Social Media, where the sentence is often death threats and a jury composed of those who have never so much as driven a wagon across a muddy street, let alone navigated a Nevada highway at dawn.

The unfortunate woman–whose name is withheld hereby out of mercy–not that it has stopped the righteous horde from sharpening their pitchforks–was making her way down Upper Valley Road when she ran into a woolly congregation of sheep. The collision was regrettable, fatal for 39 members of that noble order, and enough to summon the wrath of every armchair shepherd with an Internet connection.

Now, in any other part of the country, a motorist striking livestock might elicit some sympathy—perhaps a kind word, a neighborly shrug, or a lament for the unfortunate beasts. But no, the modern world demands a villain in every mishap, and this poor woman has been cast in the role, whether she auditioned or not.

Sheriff Jerry Allen, who likely has seen more than one steer lose a duel with a pickup truck, assures us that such accidents are a regular feature of rural life. Livestock, after all, have an ornery way of ignoring traffic laws. The good sheriff notes that neither speed, drink, nor the cursed cell phone played a role—only the unfortunate combination of a dim morning, a swift vehicle, and a considerable amount of mutton standing in the middle of the road.

Yet, the Court of Public Outrage will hear none of it. They demand justice, though what form it should take is unclear—perhaps a grand parade of sheep through the driver’s front yard as penance or an ironclad law requiring every ewe to carry a lantern and a bell. For now, the matter rests in the hands of the Pershing County District Attorney’s Office, which will decide if this beleaguered woman should face legal penalties, though the judgment of the masses is all but pre-rendered.

Sentenced to fear, shame, and the knowledge that one can make a mistake, one must never do so within sight of the all-seeing, all-condemning jury of the Internet.

And the Rest of Us from Deepfakes

Ever vigilant to defend truth, justice, and their political skins, the Nevada Legislature has set its sights on artificial intelligence—or at least the parts of it that might embarrass them. Four Assemblymembers have proposed AB 271, a bill regulating campaign materials that use computer-generated trickery, known as deepfakes.

Under the proposed law, any political video or audio utilizing artificial intelligence to portray a candidate in a less-than-flattering light must have a disclaimer—so people will know that their favorite officeholder never said or did anything ridiculous. The requirement kicks in within 90 days of an election, ensuring that only good, honest, old-fashioned mudslinging makes it into the final stretch.

While the bill curbs technological deception, it contains loopholes like news reports, commentary, satire, and parody. One might wonder how the average voter can distinguish between a deepfake and a good, hearty lampoon—especially when the behavior of certain politicians is often indistinguishable from satire.

A deepfake, as defined by the bill, is “synthetic media” intended to harm a candidate’s reputation by depicting them engaging in fictional misdeeds. It also requires campaign materials to disclose if they feature “materially deceptive” depictions, including adjustments to a candidate’s physical appearance. Whether this means an airbrushed campaign photo constitutes a criminal offense remains to be seen.

Violators of this statute could face a misdemeanor charge, while the wronged candidate would have the right to seek an injunction and damages. Meanwhile, at least twenty other states have passed similar laws, with some only allowing for civil penalties, proving once again that Nevada lawmakers are nothing if not bold in their pursuit of truth—or at least the illusion of it.

Lastly, in a flourish of wisdom, AB 271 would also prohibit using artificial intelligence in ballot processing or counting, extending its reach beyond campaign theatrics and into the sacred act of vote tallying. No longer will cold, unfeeling machines determine whose dubious promises win the day—that honor remains reserved for human error.

As of yet, there’s no hearing set. But rest assured, when that day comes, every word spoken will be 100 percent authentic, unfiltered, and free of artificial intelligence—just as nature intended.

No one tells you this. No one wants to admit it. Shit happens to your body as you grow old.

This afternoon, I sat outside, soaking up the sunlight like some dumb lizard, hoping for vitamin D to sink into my fat, white, pasty skin. At least the sun is free, even if everything else is subject to inflation.

I sat down on the cement, and right away, there was a little discomfort in my right armpit. No, not the kind of pain that sends you to the hospital, just an annoying, skin-pinching, hair-yanking sort of thing. It felt like my pit hairs had gotten caught in the fold between my arm and my pit, a new and exciting development in the ongoing disaster that is my body.

Ten minutes later, a fresh hell: a sudden, sharp tickling in the crotch. More specifically, the head of my cock. A sensation like tiny needles, like ants with razors for feet. I jumped up, trying to shake it off, and just like that—it was gone.

My dick, I mean.

The damned thing just sucked itself in like a scared turtle retreating into the fleshy folds of its miserable existence. So, it turns out that if I sit too long on a hard surface, things other than my ass start to go numb.

A new fucking trick for this old dog.

And what the fuck else is coming? What other lovely surprises does this traitorous sack of bones and meat have in store? How much more is there to discover? New pains, new indignities, new reasons to wish for a stroke in my sleep.

And where the hell are the self-help books for this? Those survival guides for old, fat bastards? Nowhere. Society’s moved on. Let the wreckage pile up. Let the useless ones rot.

Fine. But at least tell me if my balls are about to fall the fuck off.

I’ll gang tae the glen where the hill folk bide,
An’ carry a jar o’ their gleamin’ pride.
Beneath the pale moon where the heather lies,
I’ll drink till the morn wi’ the burnin’ skies.

When dawn’s light returns o’er the hills sae high,
My thirst will demand, “Aye, nae time tae lie!”
Back up tae the hills whaur the spirits cry,
For the bottle’s gone dry, an’ sae am I!

Rascals of Tahoe and a Case of Leniency

Now, dear reader, let us turn our attention to a tale of crime, justice, and a rather curious brand of leniency that has settled upon the shores of Lake Tahoe like an unwelcome fog. The principal character in this drama is one Edgar Ivan Trejo-Mendoza, a man with a knack for bad company and worse decisions, who now finds himself convicted and awaiting deportation after a grand multi-agency operation charmingly dubbed “Operation Bear Trap.”

Trejo-Mendoza’s luck ran out on February 8, when authorities plucked him from his roguish pursuits in Cool, Calif.—though one might argue a more fitting name for his hideaway would have been “Not-So-Cleverly-Disguised.” His arrest was the result of a multi-year investigation that sought to untangle the web of violent crime, illicit drug peddling, and gun-running in the Tahoe region.

Authorities wasted little time in compiling an impressive list of charges against him, including possession of a firearm while being legally barred from doing so, courtesy of a domestic violence restraining order, the unlawful sale of an assault weapon to a felon, illegal entry into the United States, and the ever-fashionable title of fugitive from justice.

Yet, dear reader, if you were expecting a tale of swift and resolute justice, you may wish to temper your expectations. On February 18, Trejo-Mendoza pleaded guilty to a single felony count—unlawful transfer of a firearm—in El Dorado County Superior Court. His punishment? Time served–a total of 17 days in the county jail–and a probationary pat on the head. No sooner had he stepped back into the fresh air of freedom than he found himself whisked away by the diligent hands of the FBI and ICE, who promptly set about the business of initiating deportation proceedings.

Now, lest you assume Trejo-Mendoza was a lone wolf in his misdeeds, allow me to introduce some of his charming compatriots—men whose dealings in machine guns, narcotics, and other unsavory enterprises have earned them sentences so light they might float away on the Tahoe breeze.

Among them is Carlos Alfredo Perez Guerra, convicted of possessing Child Sexual Abuse Material and a firearm, despite his felonious status, originally sentenced to four years but now enjoying the comforts of probation after a mere two. Oscar Arreola Nunez, a man with sixteen felony convictions under his belt, including selling machine guns and narcotics across from South Tahoe Middle School—presumably an effort in early career development. He received a seven-year sentence, though four got graciously suspended, and after serving a measly year and a half, he, too, waltzed into probation.

Then there’s Jose Medina Vazquez, a collector of felonies in the double digits, himself convicted of crimes including possession of a machine gun, felon in possession of a firearm, and narcotics distribution. His seven-year sentence should, by current trends, land him back in circulation by spring 2026. Bryan Antunez Gonzalez, convicted of carjacking and robbery, at least earned himself a six-year stint in prison before the promise of deportation upon release.

And let us not forget the four federal defendants swept up in Operation Bear Trap back in 2022, who are still awaiting trial for methamphetamine trafficking—presumably because justice must first take its afternoon tea.

In the face of such an impressive collection of lawbreakers, one might expect the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office to throw its hands up in despair.

Yet they assure us they remain steadfast in their mission to combat illegal firearm trafficking, gang activities, and violent crime. They have promised continued collaboration with federal agencies, including the FBI and ICE, to apprehend, prosecute, and, when necessary, deport those with a penchant for lawlessness.

The good folk who frequent the USA Parkway, a stretch of road that until recently enjoyed the freedom of being open in both directions, have been informed this liberty shall remain curtailed till June 27.

As one might expect, it was not a decision made by the weary travelers who must endure but the Nevada Department of Transportation (NDOT), which announced that a lane closure would commence Thursday.

The afflicted stretch lies just past the Storey County line, about three miles south of Google, though one suspects that Google, with its impressive mastery of things, knew about it before anyone else.

Storey County officials, presumably with a mix of regret and bureaucratic inevitability, relayed the news to the public, noting that businesses coming from the south to the industrial center might experience some degree of inconvenience, which, in government-speak, usually translates to “prepare for suffering.”

In a development entirely unrelated—except in the way that thunder is unrelated to lightning—Alphabet Inc.’s Google has announced a hearty $9.5 billion investment in U.S. offices and data centers this year, a sum that ought to buy a respectable number of cubicles, coffee machines, and motivational posters. Storey County, Nevada, is among the chosen recipients of this largesse, along with Nebraska and Virginia, two places that, like Nevada, seem to have the geographical good fortune of being large and mostly empty.

Having spent the past few years allowing its workforce to toil in their pajamas, Google has now decided that three days of office attendance per week is an essential component of civilization. Naturally, it has met the enthusiasm usually reserved for tax audits and dental surgery.

Whether employees will accept their return to the fluorescent-lit embrace of corporate life or take inspiration from their algorithms and re-route themselves to a more accommodating existence remains to be seen. Meanwhile, motorists using USA Parkway should prepare for the long, slow crawl of progress—or at least the long, slow crawl of traffic.

The Spring Mountain Eagles barely had time to dust themselves off after Thursday’s hard-fought playoff battle, but there’s no rest for the victorious. Having edged out Liberty Baptist Academy in a 58-53 thriller, the Eagles will take to the hardwood again, locking horns with the Virginia City Muckers at 8:00 p.m. Friday.

Riding the momentum of an 11-game winning streak, Spring Mountain aims to keep the fire burning. Virginia City, however, is not in the habit of extending courtesies to the opposition.

The Muckers steamrolled Eureka on Thursday, dispatching them with a 65-44 win. Such lopsided affairs have become routine for Virginia City, who have battered 16 teams this season by 21 points or more.

With the victory, the Muckers elevated their record to an imposing 23-3, boasting 19 consecutive road wins stretching back to last season. That success is due in no small part to their blistering offense, which has averaged 62.9 points per contest over that span.

Spring Mountain, now 15-6, knows firsthand the trouble Virginia City can bring. The last time these two squads met, in December of 2022, the Eagles found themselves on the wrong end of a 48-33 drubbing.

Whether history repeats itself or Spring Mountain seizes the chance for revenge remains to be seen.