Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
America: land of freedom, innovation, and baffling trailer ball sizes. We split the atom, landed on the moon, and built an internet where people argue about pineapple on pizza—but somehow, we still can’t agree on a standard trailer hitch ball.
I got into an argument at the supermarket. This is how volatile our world is right now. It was in the checkout line. My opponent was not only clueless, but pigheaded, refusing all logic. The fact that my opponent is only 9 is no excuse.
Sean receives lots of reader commentary. Often he responds to them in his uniquely pithy, yet humorous way.
I come from a long line of porch sitters. This is why I am always on my porch. In my neighborhood, I am affectionately known as “that weirdo freak who’s always on his porch.” This is usually said in a positive way.
Frankly I don’t know anything about the business of writing. And I’ll let you in on a secret, neither do the publishers, editors, marketing teams, or prof reeders. This is why the publishing industry has perhaps the highest turnover rate among employees except for, perhaps, the mafia.
Everything really is bigger in Texas. The sky. The hamburgers. And of course, the oversized tourist cowboy hats found in gas stations.
Once again, the acerbic wit of Don Surber brings you the events of the past week, with a little bit of humor.
I am in the lobby of my hotel, waking up. The coffee is lukewarm. The breakfast is freezer burnt. And the overhead music playing is “Highway to Hell.” You can’t get away from canned music. It’s everywhere.
In our postmodern culture, where individuality and self-expression reign supreme, history has become a neglected casualty. Take, for instance, the skyrocketing popularity of tattoos and piercings.
In the year 2050, in the glorious gray sprawl of the United Socialist States of America, meat was illegal, cows were extinct (except for the one in the Smithsonian), and the only thing anyone had ever eaten was Bugpaste™
Rocks. In. My. Garden. Those demon-possessed geological freeloaders are multiplying faster than a college feminist studies major’s pronouns.
News about Hunter Biden triggered a Saturday morning domestic debate in the Green household: Who was the most unfit person giving Gropey Joe policy advice – the First Stoner Son, or our first DEI VP?
Now that he isn’t passing maximum sentences on January 6 selfie photographers any longer, Obama Judge Jeb Boasberg has some spare time on his hands. Rather than take his wife Elizabeth (who may actually be a woman) on an ocean cruise, he decided to dabble in Article II of the Constitution – the part where the President is charged with enforcing laws … such as those for immigration.
Well, folks, it finally happened. Some mad scientist in his garage just cracked the code, and now lightsabers are real. You heard that right—Jedi-level plasma blades, humming and slicing through anything in their path, are now a reality.
Obama District Judge Paula Xinis is madder than Joe Biden after being asked an unscripted question. She directed the Trump administration to open a federal coyote ring, and get busy smuggling illegals into to the United States. The Donald has been less than enthusiastic with his compliance, and she is mightily offended by his lack of deference to her court.
I receive a lot of remarks in the form of emails, private messages, obscene hand gestures, etc. There’s no way I could answer all comments individually. So occasionally, I compile commonly asked questions and answer them in this column.
As a boy, I’d awake to find my mother already in the living room, snuggled beneath a lamp, where she’d been reading for hours. The cat in her lap would just stare at me with moral disapproval.
You slap the power button on TV. The old Zenith console warms up. The television is cased in a faux wooden cabinet, with warped oak-grain veneer from a bygone Dr. Pepper someone once placed atop the television, even though this someone’s mother told them to NEVER set ANYTHING atop the TV, not that we’re naming names here.
Once upon a time, in the blissful simplicity of Eden, God gave Adam a straightforward task: name the animals. And Adam, being a practical man (and let’s be honest, not yet bogged down by bureaucracy), did exactly that
Sean gets lots of letters asking some pretty interesting questions. Herein, he answers some…in his own special way.