Audio Book #34 Now Available – Love That Number…

Another great one, this time back to the category of Police Officer Mental Health. I’m proud to announce Mental Health Fight Of The Heroes In Blue: How To Mentally Survive Working as a Police Officer  by Scott Medlin

Once a job of serving their community by providing safety, police officers could rest relatively easy knowing their efforts were worth the sacrifice. However, over the past decade, the trade-offs between the rewards and risks of policing have increasingly sloped toward the latter. Today, officers are routinely being confronted with more pressure and scrutiny because of unfortunate bad actions by a few of their own. Then they still encounter constant threats of danger, and continued exposure to the darkest corners of society. It is no surprise that policing remains one of the most stressful occupations on the planet – stress that dramatically increases suicide risk among this population. There currently exists very little avenues police can turn towards for help with such a unique problem. This is detrimental because of not only the suicide risk, but it affects an officer’s capability of being the upstanding hero the citizens want.

This book was written by a police officer who, speaking from personal experience, and sourcing the help of trusted experts, walks anyone through the steps law enforcement officers can take to be shielded from having mental breakdowns and God forbid, become a suicide statistic.

Within this resource are five key methodologies proven to increase mental clarity as a police officer:

1. Acknowledging and counteracting the “warrior socialization” of police officers. You’re not a tough person – you’re a person.

2. Realizing the truth about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and how to overcome it.

3. Uncovering the secret system of your mind that can make or break your mental health as a police officer.

4. Unraveling and addressing the numerous and often surprising contributors to on-the-job stress.

5. Introducing habits and strategies for developing the strongest defense against the traumas and other stressors involved with policing.

Aside From The Peoples Show Trial, What’s Going On?

Recently, the former republic known as the United States of America, descended into third-world/banana republic status when the political party in power changed a number of laws so that it could legally persecute – er, prosecute – an ex-president. Only with the chicanery of changing the existing laws to allow the now-expired statute of limitations (It’s not a “statue” no matter how many times liberals use that word.) to be suspended was the prosecution even able to bring the case.

Fortunately for the prosecution, this paper-thin excuse for a criminal charge was thickened when the loving flour of judicial misconduct was added to the gravy. The lumps were still present, but the judge managed to flatten them enough with denial of witness testimony and bizarre jury instructions so that a jury chosen from a district that voted 95% against the former president could achieve their objective and convict him on the charges of  – what? 

The actual charges are still unknown, but the judge did assure us that if they found him guilty of any crime among the 34 brought to trial, it would elevate them to felony level, and thus allow the left and the press (but I repeat myself) to call him a convicted felon for the next five months leading up to the election. 

That, in a nutshell is what just happened. 

Now, if you read my blog, I’m guessing you know how I feel about prosecuting presidents for anything less than the murder of a bus load of nuns, using a spoon, on live television during prime time. It’s not done. Much as I loathe Obama and Clinton, and have some serious reservations about Bush, I think it’s horrible policy to prosecute your political opponents in this manner. 

For one thing, it’s really hard to do the job of president if your every action (like using drones to kill United States citizens) is subject to criminal charges. Not just bad form, but awful in every way.

Our judicial system is one of the few things that separated us from the rest of the world. It has never been perfect, and has been used to persecute people, and groups of people, on occasion. I do have to say that in my lifetime, at least the first 50 years of it, things got markedly better every year. We eliminated, as a nation, some of the worst blights upon the legal system.

However, in the past 15 years, we have seen a steady stream of vindictive prosecutions meant to “get even” for some perceived offense. Instead of bringing people to trial based on a crime, their identification as the wrongdoer, and sufficient evidence to prove the offense, we’ve been on a wild toboggan ride into the trees at the bottom of the hill in pursuit of “getting people” we don’t like. 

If you know me, you know that I don’t roll that way. If you did the crime you should only be prosecuted if they can prove it in court. Instead, and this has long been the case in federal court, prosecutors are not proving guilt, but instead making the defendant prove their innocence at the cost of their families, jobs, and wealth. This is the worst of all possible plans in my opinion. 

If you are one of the ones gleefully laughing at Donald Trump for his conviction, I’d ask you to think hard about this: if they can change the laws to retroactively go after a billionaire former president, and screw him to the wall, what chance do you have if they target you.

I hope this conviction gets tossed. I hope we never prosecute another former president for anything short of the pile of dead nuns scenario.  

Coast To Coast, A Trip For The Ghost

This year we visit some more recent history in our Memorial Day essay. Enjoy the day, but remember the reason. They deserve it.

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“You know, Espinoza, that even for a Lance Corporal “Coast to coast, a trip for the ghost” is pretty lame. Seriously, can’t you do any better?”

Espinoza glanced up from the piece of pie he was inhaling, wiped his mouth and said, “All due respect, Staff Sergeant, but for a Marine that’s about as good as it’s going to get. You’re the big-deal sky-trooper, can’t you come up with your own?”

Staff Sergeant Hoover slapped his hand on the table. “You guys knock it off. We get one day a year to visit and check on our families. I’m not going to send it with all of you bickering. We bought it together, and we’re tied for eternity as a result. I fully expect everyone, boot and staff NCO to behave like adults. This day is about us, and seeing our loved ones. Don’t make me sweat box you for the next 364 days. You know I’ll smoke the grinder with your butts.”

A murmured “Aye, Staff Sergeant” came from the other 12.

Ever since the jihadist blew them up in Kabul, this unlikely group of Marines, a Sailor  and a Soldier had embarked on a trip through eternity as a unit. Most days it was pretty good as they shared a common purpose as they had in life. But days like this, where they refreshed the constantly dimming link with the living, were tough for all of them. Girlfriends, boyfriends, and family members all continued on in life, but they were frozen in youth – and each other’s company.

Lance Corporal Espinoza wiped the pie off of his chin and checked his uniform. Today was a day to be STRAC and present well. “Sorry, Staff Sergeant. I apologize to our resident sky-trooper.”

That earned him a love tap from Knauss, but it was good natured. “You’re forgiven, retard.”

And just like that, all was well with the group. 

They’d covered the Eastern Seaboard first this morning, and followed the dawn across their nation. A little hopping around in the central part of the continent and then a swing south to Texas before hitting California where most of the families remained.

Every stop was a mixed blessing. Children had grown, loved ones sickened and died, and the sense of sadness, and honor, around the pictures on mantles and coffee tables was a bit overwhelming. 

Each family seemed to sense them, and for days they’d find things slightly out of place, including chunks of pie and candy jars gone missing. Here and there a beer vanished, but for the most part their visits were marked by household pets wagging their tails and curling around legs. They knew even if the humans did not.

At sunset, peering out at the Pacific from Oceanside, California, they sat on the beach and thought about what they were missing in their absence from the land of the living. Each looked at the others surrounding them, and decided that if forever was going to be spent with those with them at their time of death, they’d gotten the best unit ever. 

As the green flash blipped on the horizon, the 13 stood as one and marched into Heaven for another year. Next Memorial Day, they had decided, they’d do it again. And again. And again. For they had given their all to the nation they served and would forever be bound to their comrades fallen in battle.

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Please enjoy your time with family this weekend. Remember those who have fallen in service to all of us. They stand guard in the heavens. Honor them on earth.


Well, He’s Orange.

That’s the dominating thing that most opponents of Donald Trump come up with when you ask them to name a specific infraction he committed that would require jail. Even some very well educated associates of mine were unaware of just what Trump said on January 6th (the day of the no-freaking-insurrection) before the crowd left for the capitol and during the trespassing (which really is the hub of the thing. 

None of them that I’ve talked with knew about his plea on Twitter to leave peacefully and protest peacefully. The sheeple were all told that he did nothing, and so did not check out the tweet which was quickly taken down as Twitter squashed his speech.

Nor, in any case, can they name the police officers killed by the mob. Oh, there were none. One officer died of unrelated causes within the following days. But surely one protestor died at the hands of a Capitol police officer who shot her through the glass as she (unarmed) was in an adjacent corridor. He never stood trial. Ashli Babbitt never drew another breath. She was a failed person in many ways, but she didn’t deserve to be shot for her actions that day – or any other day.

Now, under the thumb of a biased judge, who’s immediate family members have worked for Trump’s political opposition, Trump is under a gag order while the witnesses in the trial are free to say anything they want about Trump. The trial has been specifically timed to mess with Trump’s run for president. The case is non-existent. Not even wafer-thin, it is nothing but vapor.

So for those of you who hate Trump with every fiber of your being, ask yourselves this: What would I do if the government prosecuted me/tried me in civil court for a string of things that either are past the statute of limitations, or are only viable because they passed a special law targeting me and making the statutes change? How would you fight the enormous force of the government? You wouldn’t. Any prudent lawyer would urge you to plead to the charges, or take some sort of deal. 

Trump isn’t caving. Because he understands the fundamental injustice here, and he’s got the money to fight it. But it doesn’t make what they are doing to him right anymore than if they came after you.

And, frankly, if they crush Donald Trump you’re next. 

There Were No Bitter Herbs In This Private Seder.

Shana sat in the corner and tugged at the chain that held her to the pipe. No change from the past 198 days. It held her tight, and the skin was raw around her ankle. 

Her captors hadn’t noticed her markings on the wall in each place they’d moved her. Some places were in civilians homes, some in the tunnels. She’d even spent a week in that damned hospital.

Tonight as the sun went down she knew it was Pesach. Her heart cried out to the Lord, her G*d. She was truly his child. Adoni was there, with her in the darkness.

It was the only way she’d made it through the casual torture, the multiple gang rapes and the beatings. She knew her face would never again be lovely to see, but her soul  was more glorious each day. Yaweh was loving in that regard. 

But with the darkness came the hunger, and the expectation of another vicious beating at the hands of the Hamas psychopaths who held her. They treated her worse than she had her dog. A beloved dog that they’d gutted in front of her while they killed her mother and father with a wire around their necks. 

She closed her eyes and began to pray. A prayer of acceptance and quiet. And out of the darkness there appeared a flickering light. She knew it was Adoni. 

She heard his voice, “Thousands of years ago, your family left Egypt and wandered the desert. I am here to protect you in this next journey as I promised.”

She wept as the chain at her ankle fell away. She was lifted in the air and carried toward heaven, her mind traveling in front of her to the stars.

“Rav Samal Rishon, I’ve got her. We need a stretcher, she’s unconcious.”

“Got it, Rav Turai. You guys help him. Medic up!”

They carried her from the tunnel, past the dead terrorist scum who had kept her in captivity. Adoni had sent his angels on this Passover to free another slave from captivity. 

Tradition moved forward. No lintels needed to be marked: the angels of death could find the Hebrews in the mix and they were safe from danger.

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Remember the hostages in Gaza. God Bless Israel.