A Once great country

This used to be a country built on hope.
For decades the United States stood near the top on nearly every social measure—health, education, opportunity, decency. That feels like ancient history now. Today, many Americans find themselves embarrassed by what we’ve become. Under Trump, the national ride has plunged straight into the gutter.

We no longer lift up the tired, the poor, or the hungry. Instead, we applaud as Trump builds a gilded castle for himself and fortifies the estates of the already wealthy. Health care? That’s now a privilege for those who can afford survival. Education has been twisted into a factory for indoctrination. Christianity—once a moral compass—has been repurposed into a shrine for Trump and the almighty dollar.

We’re watching a man turn lying and theft into competitive sports, a kind of moral Olympics where the record book is written in corruption. And the truly frightening part? Millions cheer him on.

The sickness isn’t just national—it’s seeped into the local bloodstream. Small-town politics now mimic the same authoritarian swagger. Fueled by right-wing disinformation, the Tea Party faithful elevate local leaders who copy Trump’s tactics with enthusiasm. The result is a disastrous trio of mini-dictators convinced that democracy is optional, truth is negotiable, and power is the only scripture worth reading.

What have we become—and more importantly, how far are we willing to fall?

None are so blind as those who will not see

Every day, Donald Trump shovels out fresh proof that he is exactly what he’s always been—a liar, a thief, a dictator-in-waiting, and a world-class con man. And every day, the country reacts with the same stunned silence you’d expect if he’d simply announced the weather. The MAGA crowd nods along as if this is all perfectly normal—just another day in the land of alternative facts and perpetual grievance.

Sure, America has survived crooks and political lowlifes before. But at least the old-school scoundrels had the decency to pretend they weren’t crooks. They worked in the shadows. They whispered. They denied everything. They felt shame—or at least understood they should.

Not Trump.

Trump celebrates his corruption the way a high-school bully celebrates stealing someone’s lunch money—loudly, proudly, and in front of the whole cafeteria. And somehow, unbelievably, this particular bully was elected class president. Twice.

How did we get here?
Trump didn’t erode decency; he power-washed it off the nation with a blast of scandals so constant no one could sandbag the flood fast enough. Outrage fatigue became a political strategy, and it worked.

And now the latest trick: a plan to seize control of elections by “nationalizing” them—code for “rigging the system so he never loses again.” He’s already used the Constitution for toilet paper, kindling, and a Kleenex when he needs to blow his nose.

So the real question isn’t what Trump is doing.

It’s: Who still cares—and why aren’t the rest screaming?

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If you’d like, I can make a darker version, a more humorous version, or one styled specifically for your National Association for the Advancement of Humanity blog voice.

Rodents of Unusual Stupidity

R.O.U.S. — Rodents of Unusual Stupidity

If you remember The Princess Bride, you’ll recall the R.O.U.S.—Rodents of Unusual Size—creatures so absurd you laughed, right up until they tried to eat the hero.

Now imagine one of those rodents as president.
Then imagine another one—Stephen Miller—scurrying behind him, helping gnaw through the walls of democracy.
And if that isn’t enough R.O.U.S. infestation, just look to Payson where we have our own Three Stooges version: Otto, Bell, and Ferris—Rodents of Unusual Stupidity.

What has this country come to when our so-called “leaders” wake up every morning with the same three goals:
destroy the country, steal the cheese, and dismantle freedom as quickly as their tiny paws allow?

Here in Payson, the rodents have built quite the nest.
A full colony gathers at the Tea Party—sniffing out conspiracy crumbs, squeaking lies to each other, and mistaking paranoia for patriotism. Their head rodent? A sexual abuser, con man, and professional liar. Truly the full rodent résumé.

And what do rodents do when left unchecked?
They chew through the East Wing of the White House.
They scamper toward the Kennedy Center with matches.
And here at home, our local rodents have shredded any hope of a new swimming pool or a town that moves forward instead of backwards into the basement.

Like all invasive species, there’s only one solution:
Trap them, relocate them, and disinfect the nest before the whole house collapses.

My Older Brother Tom passed away yesterday

Here’s a polished, more vivid version for your Kadizzle blog—kept personal, warm, and written in your trademark storyteller voice.

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Remembering Tom

Tom was the second oldest in a family of nine. Kadizzle came in at number seven, which put a good stretch of years between us. I used to joke that Tom was the only one out of nine who never finished college—but he was also the one who built a thriving business from nothing. Mountaineer Excavating rose out of Tom’s stubborn determination and long days servicing the coal mines in the Ohio Valley. Today his son Kevin, armed with an engineering degree, runs the company, shifting its focus to the region’s natural-gas boom. The legacy Tom started keeps rolling on.

Tom’s generosity was legendary. He didn’t just help the community—he helped all of us siblings in ways too many to count. When I was a broke college kid, Tom simply handed me a car. That was just Tom.

I remember the early days when he was driving his own rig, hauling steel and frozen goods across steep mountain terrain. I went along on several trips. One run I’ll never forget—though I somehow managed to sleep through the exciting part.

Tom’s truck lost its brakes barreling down a mountain grade. I was in the sleeper, dead to the world. By the time I woke up, we were gliding into a small town at the bottom. Half asleep, I said, “Tom… that’s a red light, and you’re going right through it.”

Tom, calm as a man ordering a cheeseburger, just said, “I know. I don’t have any brakes.”

That was Tom. Unshakeable. Capable. Quietly steering disaster into something manageable.

The stories about him are endless. I could write pages and still barely scratch the surface. Tom was unique—he played the hand he was dealt and played it well. And it worked.

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