Eureka

Easter 2025

I’ve had a lot of eureka moments of late.  Just this past week has brought to me a flurry of resolute realizations that led to one acronym.  Those four letters pretty much sum up the state of the United States of America during the past thirty years: 

RICO.

I’m now wondering how much of a RICO scam has been in-play in my home (though not my native) state.  My home state is California.  My native state is New Jersey.

It was never my intention to move from the smallest welfare state in the USA to the largest one.  Since there are at least a dozen other states in the Union that also mal-function on the clandestine embezzlement of taxpayer dollars, by the billions, I guess I could have done worse than choose the Golden State.

I try not to look back with regret at the choices I’ve made in my life.  When the consequences of those decisions hit me smack-dab in the face, however, I yield to a meticulous, sometimes painful, review of that part of the past.

One unavoidable problem with reviewing the past — from the standpoint of a far-removed present — is that you inevitably drag into that assessment knowledge, truths, and awarenesses that were not in your possession at the time of choosing that decisive moment.  That decisive moment wasn’t perceived as decisive and defining, with that no-turning-back factor built right into the determination.

The word “inevitable” is almost always used in hindsight.  (Unless it’s a descriptor for what the Brits call a stitch-up, in governance of the body politick.)

The hindsight of most Americans has been obscured, if not downright hidden, from our view, for the worst part of thirty years.  That vision is now the ever-widening, and deepening, perspective of We the People, the patriotic Americans who paid the freight of our own train to nowhere.

That sort of repulsive eureka takes some time to process.  How much time, I do not know, nor do I care to guess.

When a person is attempting to absorb the reality of a heinous betrayal, the timeline can be a great unknown.  It needs to be a great unknown.  From the first light bulb switching on the brain, there then occurs the illumination of many other light bulbs, not all with the same voltage or wattage or lumens.

That chain reaction is very much a Fibonacci sequence.

And it is inevitable.

The despicable discoveries of Federal Govt. zombie accounts, zombie agencies, zombie voters, in the aftermath of the Zombie “President” installed in 2021, are, in my opinion, profoundly historic in scope; sickness of mind, heart, and soul; and treason.  Decades have been dedicated to the propping up of “political” causes that, in reality, are Mafia-like boiler room operations in the name of Saving Democracy.

The Soviets could not have concocted a better way to corrupt America from within.  The purging of this putrid payola and perfidy is gonna take a while, years at a minimum.  The subsequent response by We the People, in emotional terms, will be enduring, as well it should be.

I try my best to count the living, and not the dead; but, evidently, the Guvmints of the U.S. — across a wide spectrum, count the dead more than the living!

The public parasites also count The Unborn, which is a tacit admission on their part that The Unborn are, indeed, endowed with human life, aka A Person.

On the foreign-affairs front, those democracies in Western Europe who had traditionally, culturally, and historically been allies of America, well, they’ve proven Adolf Hitler accurate in his contempt for them as “soft democracies”.  Those nations were not “soft” in 1940, when Herr Hitler sought to conquer them and militarily incorporate that vast living space into Hitler-Europe.  Those nations weren’t “soft” in the wake of WWII, as the Cold War loomed its ugly head.

Nope, the softness of those democracies of Western Europe evolved during the rotting of democracy and capitalism through the lazy and cynical embrace of socialism.  That debilitating crutch has proven itself to be the culprit behind the inability for millions of citizens, in that part of the world, to fulfill the potential given to them, at birth, by their Maker.

The invader hordes are now protected by the Government; the citizens are fined for uttering a word of protest about such treason, and the loving parent is jailed for prayer, or any other attempt to protect his child.

That stance does not consist of remaining neutral in the face of evil; it is appeasement of evil, which is tantamount to encouraging it.  Winston Churchill, as the First Lord of the British Admiralty uttered these words about the gathering storm of WWII in his speech of 20 January 1940, during the Phoney War.

That address was broadcast by a once-vital BBC Radio:

“Each one hopes that if he feeds the crocodile enough, the crocodile will eat him last. All of them hope that the storm will pass before their turn comes to be devoured. But I fear greatly that the storm will not pass. It will rage and it will roar ever more loudly, ever more widely.”

When Boris Johnson put Winston into a pine box, for Time-Out, during the fake-fomented riots of 2020 in England, I knew the goose was cooked in John Bull, or, to use an action message from the French Résistance:  the carrots are cooked.

I’d initially thought that the method of disciplining those old allies, who take $$$$$$$ from the USA, only to promptly spit on this great nation, was the good ole, tried-and-true, big stick of Teddy Roosevelt.  I’d figured the carrot-and-the-stick approach, which any sane and effective parent employs with her child, would be trotted out by our Heroic President and his Trusty-Brain Cabinet.

There hasn’t been much stick in the Tina Turner real-politick of the Trump Era.  Round One, from 2017-2020 introduced to The International Elites the option of doing it nice.  Round Two, with the Dementia Dummy planted, with his auto-pen, in his fake Oval Office, showed the spoiled brat trust-funders of Europe how it’s done rough.  Very rough.

The logical, and justified, consequences for screwing America came to visit those feckless fonctionnaires who choose to live in glass houses and leftist bubbles.

The current commoner policy of Common Sense about dollars and cents has revealed to me that the Carrot, in and of itself, suffices to get the job done.  The stick is implied, more than carried.

There’s the little baby carrot, much like those stubby things that I used to buy in a plastic bag from the grocery store.  I never truly liked them because the dinky peeled (shaved) carrots absorbed the odor of the plastic, thereby ruining the flavor of the veggie.  And it smelled, felt, and tasted spongy.

Then there’s the medium-sized carrot, which is a much more potent and persuasive inducement.  The super-sized carrot is reserved for those special fools at the bargaining table, the ones who think they hold all the cards when, in fact, they’ve arrived, empty-handed, and late, to the game.

Choice is always a wondrous proposition to offer to any freedom-loving person!

In fact, the natural human desire for freedom — to choose — anything, anytime, anywhere — has been demagogued and distorted into the cold, dead ground by the Leftist Opponents of Freedom who double- and triple-speak fluently.  It’s the only language those professional traitors know, the Tower of Babel Commie bilge that’s more than a century old!

Here, on the home front, in my neck of the woods in the Sierra Nevada, a region that I call the Appalachia of California, the coming Golden Age of America is but a dream for me.

I like to dream, though.  And I like to dream big.

I understand that the Golden State is in a state devoid of gold.  Methinks there’s been a secret tariff put on dreams and anything gilded imported into California from the rest of the world since the time of Moonbeam I.  An era which is, not coincidentally, when I moved to Sacramento, California from Washington, D.C.

Geezer Moonbeam, having then served as the Mayor of Oakland, was rested, re-tread, and ready for his last two 4-year-swills from the public till, from 2010-2017.  That’s when the SaveOurState posters and bumper stickers got peddled at an alarmingly fast rate. I consequently figured that change, real change, wasn’t coming anytime soon to California.  And it hasn’t!

I am therefore proud to say that I have more than survived Moonbeams 1 and 2.  I’ve prevailed over the liberal loonies who presently cannot afford to live in the state they helped bankrupt.

Recently, I purchased some ceramic eggs from an online small business.  I chose the gold ones and the brown ones, as a lark, thinking that the organic œufs cost more than the gold ones!

That financial chicken coop is changing fast!

I’m working hard at patience this year, more so than in previous years.  The Golden State’s got’s a non-blooming idiot “in charge”.  Gavin’s got the anti-Midas touch.  Wherever he goes, he attracts, collects, and hides debts and deaths.  I keep a very wide berth of him.

A large part of me, though, wonders just what the State of California has been up to during this thrill-ride reign of blunders and boners by Governor Gruesome.  I’ll bet dollars to donuts that Gavin doesn’t have a clue either!