Emails from Friends
I need guidance on how to respond to these angry emailers. So, I turn to my dog, Marigold. Marigold is the most non-judgemental soul I know. I read emails aloud to her, then base my responses on her reactions.
Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
I need guidance on how to respond to these angry emailers. So, I turn to my dog, Marigold. Marigold is the most non-judgemental soul I know. I read emails aloud to her, then base my responses on her reactions.
Let’s face it—if you think water is safe, congratulations, you’re probably not living in the first century. Wells and cisterns looked innocent, but sip a cup and you might as well have been drinking a smoothie of bacteria, dirt, and whatever poor soul didn’t wash their hands yesterday. People back then didn’t know about germs—they just knew that gulping down that “clear” liquid was a roll of the dice with your intestines.
Remember the Yugo? That tiny, boxy, bargain-bin miracle that proudly declared, “Yes, I’m new, but no, I won’t last the winter”? For a brief, shining, oil-leaking moment in the mid-1980s, America fell in love with the world’s cheapest new car.
The Islamic State didn’t cruise into Mosul in Teslas. They rolled in behind a Toyota Hilux convoy that looked like a Jiffy Lube parade gone wrong — turbo-diesel workhorses loaded with heavy machine guns and rocket pods.
Wake up. Get dressed. Remove phone from nightstand charger, put phone in pocket. Your phone dings. The phone is already notifying you about your highly sophisticated security cameras, which have just picked up movement by the neighborhood cats.
Forget iPads, TikTok, and whatever overpriced “educational STEM toy” parents are guilt-tripped into buying today. For three generations of American kids, nothing screamed freedom, danger, and backyard glory like the Daisy Red Ryder BB gun.
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.
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.
Once again, Don Surber is back with his weekly highlights and acerbic wit, lampooning various and sundry leftists.
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?”
Make sure you put your cup down and swallow your coffee before reading don Surber’s latest weekly highlights and humor.
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.
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.
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.