“If This Goes On—”: A Side-by-Side Look at Heinlein’s Warning and the United States Today

I've been working steadily on this article since mid-January. It has been harrowing, absolutely frightening, and just a little bit too close to reality these days for me..

I just reread Robert Heinlein’s “If This Goes On—” for the umpteenth time, and I can’t stop thinking about how quiet it is. Not the writing itself, but the way the collapse happens. No sirens. No big moment where everyone agrees something has gone wrong. Just a series of choices that all seem defensible at the time. That’s what got under my skin.

Power Without Oversight Is Not Law Enforcement

In a constitutional system, enforcement authority is granted with an explicit condition: it must be constrained, reviewable, and accountable. When any agency operates beyond meaningful oversight, power ceases to be lawful in practice even if it remains lawful in name.

This concern is not theoretical. Repeated audits, inspections, and independent reviews have documented systemic failures in immigration enforcement agencies to meet basic standards of transparency, accountability, and humane treatment. These findings come not from advocacy alone, but from inspectors general, federal courts, and oversight bodies tasked with evaluating compliance with the law.

When Democracy Requires More Than Words

Democracy doesn't collapse in a single moment. It erodes gradually, through delay, complacency, and the comforting illusion that someone else will intervene before lasting damage is done. By the time the threat feels undeniable, the tools meant to stop it are often weakened or already gone.

This is the danger of treating civic engagement as symbolic rather than functional. Voting, representation, and institutional balance are not gestures of identity or expressions of mood. They are mechanisms. When those mechanisms fail to operate as designed, democratic systems lose their ability to correct abuse, enforce accountability, and restrain the concentration of power.

The Holy Trinity: Why I Keep Buying These Same Three Records

 

Most six-year-olds in 1971 were vibrating to "The Wheels on the Bus" or whatever upbeat nonsense was playing on the radio, but not me. No, I was already deep in the trenches of acoustic melancholy. I was sitting there in my kindergarten class, probably staring at a pile of blocks, while the haunting melodies of Joni Mitchell’s Blue, the earthy warmth of Carole King’s Tapestry, and the gentle drawl of James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James played on a loop in my head. 

I’ve owned these albums on vinyl, 8-track, cassette, CD, and every digital format known to man; at this point, the only thing missing is a reel-to-reel copy, and frankly, my wallet is grateful for that one omission. 

And now, the albums.

41 Pounds of Irony (And Zero Regrets)

I’ve been dropping weight since November. Just grinding it out, watching the scale tick down from 374. I hit 333 and felt like I was finally getting a handle on my own skin.

Then, a few weeks ago, the doctors decided to drop the other shoe: COPD. They handed me a three to five year sentence like it was a piece of junk mail.

Talk about a cosmic joke. I quit smoking two years ago, and let me tell you, that was harder than fuck. If I’d gotten this diagnosis back then, I probably would’ve gone straight out and bought another pack just to spite the world. But I didn't. I stuck it out because I like not stinking of smoke, and I like not having one hand permanently occupied by a cigarette. Most of all, I like not having to haul my ass outside 40 to 60 times a day just to feed the beast.

I spent two years reclaiming my time and four months shedding 41 pounds of gravity, just to find out my lungs are trying to quit the team anyway.

I'll just leave this here...

 

Carpe the Fucking Diem

So my COPD is stage two moving into stage three.

What does this mean?

3-5 years remaining to me. 4-6 if I'm really lucky and extremely diligent.

I did this to myself. I knew I was risking an early death with my chain smoking. Now it's a reality, not just a risk.

A Scorched Earth Wake Up Call - Impeach Trump Now

There comes a point where outrage stops being a reaction and becomes a survival instinct. We passed that point years ago. We're living under a man who treats war like a toy. Iran, Venezuela, anywhere he can point a finger and pretend he's a strongman. It's reckless. It's cruel. It's the behavior of someone who should never have been allowed near power.

And here's what breaks me. Here's what turns anger into something volcanic. The deaths of girls in US bombings. My claim is simple. One hundred seventy five girls. Gone. Wiped out by the kind of military action Trump treats like a flex. Children who never had a chance. Families who will never recover. Futures erased because someone in Washington wanted to look tough on television.

Baby: The Other White Meat, OR Forget the Blood Libel; We’ve Got Baby Brisket

Look. Infamously, crazy fucks say Jews eat babies. This is a major lie, and everybody with a brain cell knows it. The REAL baby eaters are the atheists. They eat babies starting in the embryonic and fetal stages all the way through toddler stage.

As a baby eating atheist myself, I'd like you all to know my favorite baby meals. I am particularly fond of:

The Great Kitchen Standoff: A Bubbly Backwash Production

Left to right: Romeo, Connor, Cubby, Rocco. Cats in order: Not Bob, Mary Ann, Ada

I’m currently living in a low-budget nature documentary where the dogs are hairy potatoes and the cats are fuzzy dictators. Between Not Bob’s entitlement and Romeo’s vibrating tail, the kitchen has become a high-stakes war zone. Send help; or bacon.

I now present a world premier: The Great Kitchen Standoff: A Bubbly Backwash Production