Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Picture this: the world’s largest office building, full of America’s best and brightest, all dressed alike (but slightly different camouflage patterns) and all supposedly fighting the same enemy. Except the enemy wasn’t foreign. It was our brother
Leave it to bored NCOs in Iraq — a handful of clever sergeants with too much time and just enough sarcasm managed to send the entire U.S. Army chasing its own tail with two little words: Warrior Companion.
China struts around with its Red Army. Washington struts around with the most expensive military on the planet—a force that burns through billions on drag shows at bases and PowerPoints about pronouns.
READER: I want to propose to my girlfriend, but I can’t seem to find the words, I am not a writer. Do you have any advice for me?
SEAN: ChatGPT.
How I ended up walking into a sliding glass door in a supermarket is pretty simple. I got a text from my wife. I looked at my phone to read the message and, WHAM! Goodbye nasal cartilage.
Welcome to Virginia’s I-66 Express Lanes—America’s first state-sanctioned, algorithm-driven wallet vacuum. You thought price gouging was illegal? Ha! Not if you slap a “traffic congestion management” label on it and let a computer do the dirty work.
John Parillo discourses on the compromise between direct democracy and states’ power via the House of Representatives and the Senate.
Hillman, MI — The skies above Michigan this week resembled the inside of a Waffle House kitchen at 2 a.m., thanks to yet another aromatic delivery of Canadian wildfire smoke, generously exported from our friendly neighbors to the north.
It was the third time my flight had been delayed on the same day. I was alone. I had been trapped inside the Fayetteville airport since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution.
Ah, the good old days when privacy was a thing, and our phones were just for making calls and playing pranks on old people… “Hello Ma’am, is your refrigerator running?”
With apologies to Jeff Foxworthy, the celebrated comedian best known for his iconic: “You might be a Redneck if (and other topics) …” Here is my version that is devoted to those claiming Italian ancestry who participated in the annual San Marziale festivities at Holy Angels Church in Kulpmont, Pennsylvania last Sunday.
Alone, with a hot cup of nature’s stimulant, perusing the news releases of the day. Paper gold trading sideways (as always). Silver stuck in mid-twenties. Crypto trolls extolling the get-rich-quick virtues of their particular version of blockchain tokens. Joey Robinette mumbling something about vaccines and you know, the other latest thing he can’t remember…..
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.