Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
We’re living in an age where statements once considered common sense are now controversial. To say that men and women are biologically distinct, or that children shouldn’t be exposed to sexually charged material, or that free speech applies to everyone — these used to be unifying ideas. Today, they’re met with outrage, cancellation, or accusations of hate. What changed?
The reason Federal agents cover their faces during raids and arrests is don’t want to be “outed” and doxed by gang members and criminal aliens who, seeking retribution, might wish to attack them and their families.
My dogs sleep all day. It’s just what they do. Except when they’re busy chewing up my 48th pair of reading glasses. They sleep, sleep, sleep. And amazingly, after a full day of sleeping, they don’t feel guilty about it. Not even a little.
The Dogs of War Trophy is one of the most coveted team awards in American marksmanship, awarded to the top squad in the National Trophy Team Match held annually at Camp Perry, Ohio.
There are many things in this world I will just never understand. For example, how is it that I can’t seem to grow a simple patch of grass in my back yard no matter what I do?
The electricity went out. I don’t know why it happened. It wasn’t storming. The weather was nice. All I know is I was watching TV when the lamps suddenly flickered and died. And that was that.
Phone Calls: The Worst Kind of Ambush. Phone calls suck. There, I said it. They demand your full attention right now — as if you weren’t doing something important.
Fly fishing isn’t just a way to catch fish—it’s a deliberate dance, a poetic pursuit, and, as Norman Maclean wrote, “a religion, with a rod as the medium of conversion.”
You’re watching your fly or popper drift across glassy water. The tension builds. Then — WHAM! — the surface explodes. Water erupts. Line goes taut. Heart rate spikes. You’re instantly wide awake.
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.
The fish on the label looked like one I once tried to catch on the Two-Hearted River. I never caught it. I wrote about not catching it. They gave me a Pulitzer for that. Now it’s on a can. Fitting.
Waffle House. My waitress has a bunch of tattoos. The women customers in the booth behind mine are talking about it in voices loud enough to alter the migratory patterns of waterfowl.
I’ve been writing professionally for upwards of a decade. And suddenly, I don’t know why I’m doing it. What’s wrong with me?
For decades, Americans have been told to change their oil every 3,000 to 5,000 miles. It’s been drilled into us by quick-lube shops, service stations, and manufacturers.
A vociferous minority of foreign students, in cahoots with thousands of narcissistic and oblivious American students, continue to disrupt life on college campuses. We need to throw the bums out.
Let’s get one thing straight: Socks and Crocs aren’t a fashion mistake. They’re a freedom statement. And if that makes you uncomfortable, you might be part of the problem.
Take a stroll through any American city, and you’ll find him: the modern urban male. Dressed in soft fabrics, sipping plant-based lattes, paralyzed by indecision, terrified of offending anyone, and spiritually neutered.
When people imagine Hell, they often picture fire, demons, and eternal torment—but much of this imagery doesn’t come from the Bible. Instead, it comes from Dante Alighieri’s, “Inferno.”
The modern obsession with happiness—comfort, entertainment, ease—is not only misguided, it’s harmful. It’s a form of “infantile hedonism”: a worldview more suitable for children than for adults who wish to live meaningful lives.
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.