The 2022 MRF Meeting of the Minds was held in downtown Des Moines this year… and as the hotel block quickly filled and spilled over into other hotels, we all knew that this was one that would go down in history.


This year as they hosted over 400 bikers from all over the country, Iowa once again held her own, with a whopping 278 new members in the total of 820 in new memberships nationwide, and our very own Christy Gunderson bringing home not only Recruiter of the Year but also the Deborah Butitta MRF State Rep of the Year.  Congrats to the fantastic team in Iowa who made this all happen, and a special shoutout to one of the hardest working women in the MRF. You deserved it, Christy.

While Iowa dominates across the board in biker rights, she also boasts of another type of legend, the true heroes, in our two wheeled world… the Veterans. Of all the great classes and useful info and exchanging of hugs and laughter and ideas… one somber and surreal moment will shine forever in all of our memories.


Slider took the podium, and my schedule said he was introducing a speech by his brother, “The Price of Freedom” by Charlie ‘Chopper’ Gilmore. I saw him struggle with emotion as he introduced Charlie.. the brotherly love was written on his face. I felt everyone in the room go still and silent at what Slider said was to come. I was in awe… in a trance… everyone was… as Chopper took the microphone and told his story, his truth, about Vietnam.

Charlie was a member of the 101 Screaming Eagles… a 1st Lieutenant and Infantry Platoon leader. He is also the Chaplain for the Sons of Silence Motorcycle Club. His words carried a lot of weight on a lot of levels in that room that day. Patriotism was tangent in that meeting hall… everyone’s chest puffed… tears welled in their eyes… it felt like America yawned and stretched and came out of hiding, for that brief moment in time.


There were two very interesting new things announced that I would like to mention. Both of these things are going to be free of dues or membership.. which is always good news… and both are the brainchildren of people who always have interesting things on the horizon.

First off, speaking of legends… Jim Barr of ABATE Long Island is going to be teaming up with Double D at the Motorcycle Profiling Project for an all new National Council of Independent Riders. This amazing new project is JUST now getting off the ground so Jim has promised us an indepth interview in the coming weeks with all the deets.. stay tuned…..

https://m.youtube.com/channel/UCidoMWOIxH7nYRaEoFAS-Og

The second cool thing I learned is, Clutch is creating a new TED talk style YouTube channel, called Clutch Explains It. I felt a little bit ridiculous trying to explain Clutch Explains It..  and so, I wrote Clutch, and here is how he explains it:


In days past, a phone call, an email, or even a newsletter was enough to inform the public. As those methods grey like the hair in our beards, new technologies emerge that, if used correctly,  far exceed the reach we once depended on. So, my goal is to take advantage of those social media platforms to better inform  and educate our community.

I am a researcher by nature but also by trade and am constantly collecting information that will make us smarter, healthier, and wealthier and if shared would help preserve a community and lifestyle constantly under attack. Each episode will not exceed 15 minutes and will be “single issue” episodes. They will be easily searchable and shareable. Imagine educational TED talks for the motorcycling community. This will not be about mechanics, Club protocol or another biker news channel.

There are guys that are in that lane and do it well. The channel will cover philosophy, medicine, legislation, science, and law and all will be tied into how it directly affects you the biker.  A channel for the thinking person. For those that have watched as others create YouTube channels to enrich themselves and roll their eyes at the possibility of another biker looking to cash in, I can assure you of two things.

I will never ask for a subscription to be a part of this opportunity, and if I mention a product or service, there will be full disclosure of any financial benefit to me.  I am already doing the research or have lived the experience. It does no good for the community if that education and experience dies with me.

As we say here in Texas, ‘together we win’.”

 – Clutch.


On Friday night, there was a casino night held to raise money for the MRF. They raised $1500. Part of that was done with a few of the biker men dressing up in drag….

Now I know we have always had a flare for the theatrical, be it pink tutus or blow up dolls… but this event took it one step further. It seems there were actual drag queens hired for the entertainment.

A lot of people were shocked, some didn’t mind, some didn’t like it….

It definitely made for some interesting anecdotes around the bar the next morning.

My friend & I attended with said its the dawning of a new day for the MRF.

I just hope Kurt Sutter doesn’t hear about it and decide to call himself a prophet.

In conclusion, the MOTM this year was overall a huge success… when you factor in the struggle of the current economy, the cost of travel, and lingering Covid repercussions, it was a very impressive feat to put on and pull off such a massive conference. When it comes to bikers… Iowa ABATE proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you build it, they will come.

I am a Biker and A Disabled Veteran. There are a lot of people who are as well, including Bandit, and most of us deal with the Veterans Administration for our medical treatment. This was promised to us when we enlisted and or drafted into the military.

 I have a close friend who is a Navy Veteran and he told me he was not allowed to sign up for VA because his wife makes too much money.

Some people say they are happy with the way they are treated, but most I have talked to are Not and the reasons vary.

Very High on the list is the amount of time they have to wait to get an appointment. Around 3 months in my area of Florida. There is a section of the ruling that says if they cannot see you within 30 days you can ask to see a doctor outside of the VA. Well that is another can of worms and leaves a lot to be desired as well.

The people who I have talked to running the treatment centers have told me they just do not have enough doctors and even if they could hire more, they have no space to put them. It is obvious that the answer is more facilities and or improve the system for them to see doctors outside the VA.

 Bikers are part of a brotherhood and do a lot of good for the community. The Veterans have a slogan Together Then, Together Again. There are numerous veteran groups, and clubs and clubs that have veterans in them. If these groups continue to work together things can be improves at the Veterans Administration.

 If you are a veteran, sign up for the VA even if you have outside medical insurance. The reason I ask this is that the more people who sign up the more money the VA can ask for.

 I was in that position for a good part of my life and did not sign up because I thought it would take treatment away from a fellow veteran who needed it. That is Not The Case and the Government Has Plenty Of Money To Improve Conditions At The VA.

 They show that to us every day by funding programs for people who are not citizens and or have not done anything to earn it.

 

Another Big Issue with the VA is their Disability Section. This is where Veterans apply to get compensated for disability they received while in the military and it goes from 10% to 100% depending on the amount of the disability. The best way that I can describe this agency is like doing business with a cheap insurance company after an accident.

This procedure has gotten so bad that there are lots of attorneys and other agencies advertising to help the veteran for a price and or a piece of their disability.

Luckily there are agencies like the Disabled American Veterans (DAV) who will do the paperwork Free Of Charge and Get Results.

https://www.dav.org/veterans/find-your-local-office/

 

Sometimes it becomes necessary to contact elected officials like our congressmen and women to get things done.

 

 

I and the other veterans in my area of Florida are very lucky to have Congressman Bill Posey. He advertises if a veteran is having a problem with a Government Agency to contact his office. I for one have done that numerous times over the years with good results, and so have the other veterans I have sent to him and the DAV.

Then there are things like being compensated for travel to the VA for treatment.

https://juliabrownley.house.gov/brownley-welch-introduce-legislation-to-update-travel-reimbursement-for-veterans/

I am requesting you contact your Federal Legislator and ask them to improve waiting times for Veterans to get Health Care, Disability Payments and Travel Pay plus any other issues that affects Veterans

By working together on this, We Can Make A Differerence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How stupid is Ocasio Cortez? Is that your question? You want to know how stupid she actually is? Well, I don’t think we have an actual GAUGE for stupidity on this planet, even with regard to American members of the House of Representatives. The stupidity gauge is, well, it’s a variable depending on, well, the stupid person himself, and of course the person declaring one or another person as stupid, or, the declarer, I guess it would be. And then we have Ocasio Cortez herself who is pushing and advancing and enlarging the boundaries of Stupid to where it is almost impossible to get an accurate measure of its dimensions.

Which brings me to her latest one man show of stupidity. I know what you’re saying. She’s not a man. Well, that’s you saying that. That’s not me saying that. She has everyone in Congress and the Senate and probably the Pentagon scared to death of her. If that ain’t being a man, I don’t know what is. I know what you’re saying. You’re saying that the only thing it proves is that everyone in DC EXCEPT her is a total douche.

You know, I would love to spar all day long with you on this matter but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to announce Ocasio’s most recent stellar performance of stupidity. And I am sure you would like me to get on with it. And I respect that. You deserve to be accommodated because you are deserving of that courtesy.

So, you may or may not know that the notorious and endless and everlasting mantra of “Roe Vee Wade” that every news fuck and journalist fuck and bureaucrat fuck has relentlessly been spitting out of their jaws for the past 50 years has been “overturned.” Even though nothing actually changed. Keep in mind Ocasio is the only actual topic here. Ocasio. Not whatever Roe Vee Wade even actually is. Ocasio is the focus. And the fact that she is as fucking stupid as a splotch of marmalade on the far side of Saturn. Which would explain why she made it into Congress.

So whatever Roe Vee Wade is got removed from Federal Authority and was transferred to the individual States to do with what they want. Whatever the fuck that even means.

It’s at this point Ocasio shows up. Blue in the face and her Leader-of-the-Squad ferocity in full distemper she calls out two recent additions to the Supreme Court and demands they be “impeached.” Whatever that even means. Her grounds for this are that they both committed perjury: they lied to the Senate during the idiotic interviews the Senate idiots conduct with the idiots who are vying for lifetime jobs on the Supreme Court.

TWO of these people on the Supreme Court told the Senate “under oath” that they would not “reverse” Roe Vee Wade. Well, turns out they did. They reversed Roe Vee Wade.

Ocasio is convinced this is perjury. There’s a reason she never made it through law school.

“Changing your mind down the road” is not perjury. It’s changing your mind down the road.

Even if you didn’t change your mind but followed through with a secret plan you had all along….it’s not perjury. You can’t commit perjury by lying about a future event involving your behavior. There no such fucking thing as that in any legal system in the galaxy. Perjury is lying under oath in a government clownhouse arena about a PAST event you did, or you knew about, or whatever. It’s not about changing your mind AFTER your day in court. That’s not perjury. That’s not ANYTHING.

In the whole legal library of legaleez no one has ever heard of this. It’s Ocasio Law. It’s her own law system. It’s her own legal arena of girlie make believe. Kinda like, how it is when you play with dolls. It’s make believe. It’s the Ocasio Legal System. She’s a fucking idiot!

And that’s basically what I wanted to present. Thank you. I’ll say hi to your mom next time she comes over if I’m home. Sometimes she just comes over. She has a key.

Thank you!
–J.J. Solari,
Researcher of Ocasiotometricotomiosis, or “Stupidity Science 101.”
Bikernet.com™

Bandit read her note again in a coffee shop at 1:00 in the morning. He hoped it wouldn’t happen, but he could feel it in her features and her comments. She was on the drift. Without her there was nothing except his favorite flannel and his leather saddlebags.

Maybe it had to do with motorcycles and how they made him feel. His chopper and a 4-inch barrel J.D. Crow engraved Colt Government Model pistol were all he needed, with his Ariat boots and his Buck pocket knife. When he got home from working the oil fields, he popped a Voodoo Ranger beer and met the icy envelope in the fridge. She could be cold.

He fired up his Knucklehead planted in an Irish Rich modified VL frame with an old rusting chrome XA springer front end and a 21-inch wheel guided him out of the city. He needed the desert, the solitary miles. His small Wassel peanut tank demanded visiting multiple truck stops for gas.

He cut the back way out of 29 Palms into Amboy. As he rode in the dark, he thought about their times together and he thought about the girl he gave up for her, his best friend. His mind swirled with thoughts of her misdeeds and his choices. His single headlight shined at the two broken lines on the narrow two-lane highway.

He wasn’t right all the time, but he made a decent life for her and her troubled daughter, but it was never enough. Wind whipped up the surrounding sand and he made his way into the gas stop. He slid to a stop and watched a couple of guys trying to jack a car from two old tourists.

His bike sang a loud song of violence, like pump shotguns rapid firing. He revved the engine and slammed on his rear disc brake and slide to an abrupt stop, the tire screaming against concrete. The thugs stood tall suddenly, and Bandit reached inside his vest, and they ran.

At 6’2” and wearing long-johns, Wranglers, tattered brown cowboy boots a sweatshirt, red and black plaid flannel and his stout leather vest showed all the roads he traveled for the last decade. Strong and padded, he didn’t look a fool and the druggies hit the road. He refueled and followed them into the night.

He could work and do anything from being a machinist to a plumber. He had to decide in the town of one gas station/hotel and a shoe box sized post office at 2:00 a.m. He could ride in the direction of Arizona, via Needles or west toward Barstow on the 15 and point toward Nevada.

His gas tank chose Barstow and off he went into the bleak night. He reached Barstow on reserve and was forced to refuel at the very fist opportunity. It was as if the old Harley-Davidson Knucklehead was happy with the cool night air and his high-bars loved the solitude. He refueled, checked his ride over and hit the road east toward Vegas. He knew folks there but didn’t want to have anything to do with the city, any city. He had the ride alone blues.

To the east the sky changed from jet black and started to glow crimson against the Mojave mountains. As soon as it crested the jagged hills the temps jolted upward, and it was already 90 degrees when he pulled into Baker a bleak desert town of 700 surrounded in every direction with desert.

As he slid to a stop beside the one of eight gas stations in town the blues crested in his soul. He wanted a drink bad. The town had four fast food joint, one Mad Greek Restaurant, one Chopper shop and just one Bar, the High Roller Tiki Bar and it was closed. Fortunately, all the gas stations sold Jack Daniels.

The one long-time breakfast joint with the tallest thermometer in the world struggled as long as it could and finally closed their doors.

As the sun blazed into the sky and bleached out all the paint on every building in Baker, Bandit sat on a cinderblock ledge, in a rare shady spot and drank Jack on the rocks while staring at his boots. In rode three club guys. Bandit didn’t recognize the patch. It looked Alien like the only jerky shop in the world right here in Baker. It wasn’t a traditional outlaw patch, more political.

All three dismounted from their flashy, blacked-out, late-model Dynas and strode into the station. They came out laughing, refueled and the big one with lots of hair and a full beard said to the others, “He knows who runs this town.”

They fired up their bikes and sped into the interior of the dusty town that didn’t spread more than a mile into the desert.

Bandit walked into the station and found the short Hispanic clerk with crimson cheeks from being slapped. “I could lose my job.”

“Sorry to hear about that,” Bandit said. “How long have they been around?”

“About a year,” the clerk muttered. “They’re taking over and it ain’t good.”

“When does the Greek open? I need a breakfast burrito,” Bandit inquired lost in his own pain. He bought another half-pint of Jack Daniels and stuffed it into his vest.

“Greek no make burritos, but my sister does,” the kid said and perked up. “Just ride up that street about three blocks on the right a pink house with green shutters. She’ll be making them now.”

“You got it,” Bandit said. “Just what I need.”

“Be careful,” Julio said. “Drinking whiskey and this sun don’t mix.”

Bandit nodded slipping on his jockey’s helmet and brown deerskin gloves and fired up the Knucklehead. He could tell as he straddled the beast that his balance was impaired, but once he got rolling the bike had a mind of its own. He could tell it wanted out of the sun and he found a modicum of shade under a canopy in front of Maria’s Burritos.

He climbed off the bike and looked up as Maria approached. A lovely mystic from a faraway dream, she looked at peace with the universe. Something to do with the vibrant hues on her burrito palace, her colorful Mexican dress and Bandit was done. She caught his gloved hand and wrapped his flannelled arm around her shoulder, kicked out his kickstand and drug his drunken-self inside her Cantina where he collapsed. Whiskey, desert sun, and no sleep for 24 hours took its toll.

He passed out on her bright red velvet couch. Three weeks later he was still sleeping on that rickety couch. Maria’s eyes made him stay, plus her sumptuous burritos didn’t hurt. Their old man was the town’s welder, fabricator and he had suddenly disappeared five years ago. A heavy drinker, he got his ass kicked out of Vegas and he didn’t have the funds to take his kids any farther than Baker.

Folks came to them for Maria’s burritos, chile rellenos, and tacos. Julio worked in the station, but his dad’s welding gear sat idle in the one swaying light bulb garage. The torches, MIG welder, bender and tool box collected dust. He had a sizeable welding table, two vices and folks continued to stop by when they needed something welded or repaired.

Able Bandit set to fixing metal tables for the kitchen, bad doors and gates around the digs. He taught Julio how to weld, bend iron and cut with the plasma cutter after the hose was repaired. They started to make extra money and folks came with broken equipment and gates. “We should equip an old truck with welding gear.” Bandit said to Julio. “We could make good money traveling around the area taking on jobs. You could quit working at the station.”

“That would be very cool,” Julio said.

“Save your paycheck for a couple of months,” Bandit said. “We’re doing okay without it. Then we’ll buy a truck and outfit it.”

“Could we build me a chopper,” Julio asked.

“We can do anything,” Bandit said. “I need to go to the bike shop for something. Wanna go, you can ride on the back of the Knuck?”

“I don’t think so,” Julio said. “Remember those guys?”

“Yeah,” Bandit said, remembering the day they met at the gas station. “I need something for my bike. I’ll go check it out.”

Bandit fired up his trusted friend and rode a couple of blocks toward the highway and around the dusty corner. Everything in Baker was worn. He could weld for the rest of his life and never repair all the rusty fences and gates in town. The shop, located in a galvanized tin building was near collapse. Two Dynas were parked out front sporting club decals. Bandit looked at the decal on the blacked out hot rod with foot-tall risers. He could tell serious funds went into this performance bike with high-dollar mag wheels, exhaust, billet air cleaner and lots of accessories.

He walked into the shop sporting a sand floor and a counter, with teetering wooden and glass tops that hadn’t been painted, varnished or even dusted in years. One parts catalog rested on the counter and a new copy of Cycle Source magazine. A rusting counter bell collected dust on the scratched glass top. Bandit hit it with the palm of his hand, “Service, goddammit,” he shouted, and dust scattered around the unused bell.

Suddenly the sounds in the back stopped and boots stomped against the hot asphalt floor toward the front. Three men burst through the door opening in the wall separating the front from the service area in the back. Bandit could see stacks of tires, old exhaust systems, air filters and bent fenders stacked against the wall.

“Who the fuck are you?” one skinny lanky rider reaching into his leather club vest.

“I’ll handle it,” a short white guy said stepping forward. “I’m Jake, can I help you?”

The last outlaw stood in the doorway with a long fixed-blade in one hand, picking his nails with the point of it and leaning against the doorway. “You don’t handle anything, anymore,” he grunted. “We run this shop.” It was the big guy from the gas station.

“I don’t give a fuck who does what,” Bandit said. I need a quart of 60 weight oil and a couple of Champion spark plugs. Think one of you badasses can handle that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jake said.

The two outlaws snarled at Bandit like a pair of over-amped pitbulls. The guy with the pig sticker played with it and said, “I don’t know who you are, but we run Baker. Don’t get in our way, muthafucker.”

Jake tried to remain calm, but the situation was written all over his face. He wasn’t happy, but he grabbed a quart of oil from the opened box behind the counter, a couple of Champion spark plugs from under the counter and ran it up on an old manual cash register.

“What are you riding,” Jake asked, handing Bandit his change.

“A ’44 Knucklehead,” Bandit said. “Thanks. I’ll be around,” he said and looked directly and the bad ass with the knife.

Just that statement reflected hope in Jake’s features. “Thanks,” he said.

Bandit walked out and fired up his Knuck and let it idle out front for long minutes while popping the quart of oil open and pouring it into his hand-built oil tank. He tossed the plugs in a saddlebag and rode around around the block in the opposite direction or toward the highway where he let the motorcycle feel some speed, as if he was headed out of town, but he wasn’t.

“That’s twice,” he thought to himself and weaved, idling his way back to Maria’s Mexican food joint. He could sense some chemistry there, but his blues hung on like an albatross around a sailor’s neck and she knew it. When Julio returned from work they went to the shop in back of the restaurant and tinkered with some projects and welding jobs. Bandit replaced the single bulb with a couple of brighter fluorescent units. The shop was beginning to take on a professional air.

“What’s with this club,” Bandit asked.

“No one stays around here long,” Julio said, “But these guys started showing up and taking over businesses. Doesn’t make any sense. Except for the fast-food joints and gas stations, nothing survives. If Maria and I could get out of here we would.”

?“Is there a boss?” Bandit asked. “And what’s with that patch?

“His name is Armand,” Julio said, “a little guy who shows up in a Mercedes limo with lots of big guys, but Rico is the boss of the club guys, the one with the beard. I don’t know where Armand comes from, and he doesn’t seem to care what happens in Baker.”

“There’s an answer,” Bandit said. “There always is.” They continued to grind on a neighbor’s gate and within a half hour repaired it. Julio returned it to its owner with an invoice for work completed. Bandit made a call to Vegas and the next day a short Italian guy showed up on a modified, super-fast FXR with a large duffel-bag over his shoulder. Maria watched as Bandit shook his hands and took the bag to the corner of the shop.

A week passed and Bandit was beginning to warm to Maria’s advances. She wanted a man to stay and make their lives complete. Bandit and Julio’s welding business took off and they were busy 8-hours a day with more fabricating and repairing gates, garage doors and automotive parts.

Friday morning came around and Maria toiled in the kitchen since 4:00 a.m. to meet the morning orders. A new shiny black pickup pulled up out front and a member of the Arat Brothers got out. Maria met him at the door with a large bag of burritos and containers of her special sauce.

“Thanks Maria, these are the best,” the young member said and gave her a sizeable tip.

“Thank you, senor,” Maria said and handed the young white guy wearing all black the hefty bag and bowed slightly.

“We heard Julio is fixing stuff and welding?” The young member asked.

“Yes, can we help you,” Maria said.

“Come out to the truck,” the member said and pointed in the bed. “We need these posts fixed for the airport.”

Maria stood on tip toes to look into the bed and Julio followed. He studied the damaged 6-inch galvanized post, which were old. “Sure, we can fix them,” he said. “When do you need them.?”

“How about 4:00 this afternoon?” This kid looked new to the gang. His patch was slick and flashy. Other than a long mustache he was clean shaven with short, cropped hair, as if recently out of the military.

“We can do it,” Julio said.

“They must be done by 4:00 or…” The kid said unloading two large crates of running lights from the back of the bed.

“No sweat, we will get it done,” Julio tried to assure the edgy kid.

“We will take care of you financially, if you can get them finished,” The kid said and crawled into the cab with supple leather interior.

Bandit and Julio hauled the crates into the back of the shop and went to work straightening, welding and in some cases rewiring each unit. The kid made a point to bring along a box of new LED bulbs.

At 3:45 the shiny black pickup screeched to a stop in front of Maria’s and this time two members jumped out of the cab, Rico and the kid. They stormed inside where Maria scurried around cleaning la cocina preparing for the following day.

The kid worked with Julio to load the truck. He paid Julio handsomely, but just as they climbed into the truck, Rico grabbed Maria. “I need a date for tonight,” he said pushing her into the cab.

Bandit stayed out of the picture, but when Julio hollered Maria’s name he darted out of the shop through the kitchen and into the yard. “Maria,” Julio hollered and ran into the street as pickup sped away.

“That’s three,” Bandit said.

“What do you mean,” Julio asked.

You’ll see,” Bandit said. “We’ve got work to do.”

Bandit fired up his Knucklehead and rode it around to the shop.

They took off his top motor-mount and welded extensions to stick out each side to just clear the sides of the engine. Bandit pull over the duffle-bag and removed two weapons with holsters. They made brackets so one holster for the 30-round AR-15 rested safely on the left and a Vietnam era M79 slipped into its holster on the right.

“Listen kid, I’m going after your sister,” Bandit said. “I won’t come back without her.”

“What can I do,” Julio said as the sun slipped to the west and the air cooled slightly.

“I need you to go to the Mad Greek restaurant. I have a hunch,” Bandit said, “and let me know when shit starts to happen.”

Julio jogged down the dusty lane as Bandit splashed water his face and suited up. He strapped 30-round clips in his vest and two extra grenades. He pulled on his riding boots and started to reach for a half-pint of Jack Daniels but tossed it against the wall. As the air cooled and Bandit paced, wondering what happened to Maria. He was beginning to itch. He wanted to do something, anything, even if it was wrong. He no longer gave a shit about anything except Maria. He needed to move and headed for the Knucklehead.

Firing it to life he backed it out of the shop, loaded for bear and as he aimed it toward the highway Julio came into view.

“There’s a dozen bikes, a Mercedes limo and a black van at the Mad Greek,” Julio said anxiously, stammering and pacing.

As Julio told the story, the Arat Brothers stormed the Mad Greek Restaurant under Rico’s leadership. He stood just inside the door and his soldiers surrounded him. The room went silent.

Bandit grabbed Julio’s shoulders. “We will handle this. Go back to the restaurant. Sneak in the back door and get the staff to leave and prop the back door open and then I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“Grab your shit and hit the road,” Rico announced to the patrons and snatched a guy out of his chair and pushed him toward the door. The brothers smacked him a few times before he bounced out the door. His wife screamed.

One armed citizen stood up and reached for his weapon. He was dead in a heatwave heartbeat and collapsed to the floor. Another big angry patron jumped to his feet. “This is bullshit,” he snapped. A waitress tried to bring them to-go containers, but one of the outlaws smacked her down.

Two brothers attacked the dissenter with ballpeen hammers. Soon the dining room emptied of all patrons. The brothers arranged the tables and the outlaws sat gleefully around the table and a short man in a black suit entered and sat at the head of the table. Rico stood at the other end.

“What the fuck?” Armand said. “I thought you had control of this town.”

“I do,” Rico snarled. He brought Maria in and sat her next to him, his trophy girl.

“Who the fuck is that?” Armand said. “This night is all about business.”

Rico’s hot-shit status waned, and Maria’s bruised arm didn’t help. “Let’s eat,” Rico announced as if the staff would jump to his demands. One waiter approached the table. He took drink orders and rapidly brought a large platter of beer bottles and cocktails.

Armand wasn’t happy about this situation at all. This wasn’t intended to be a party, nor did he like sitting with his back to the kitchen door. He motioned to his driver and got to his feet.

Rico looked across the table as the brothers collectively started to party and a lone Knucklehead chopper screamed into the kitchen and through the swinging doors into the dining room. Bandit slid to a stop and snatched the 30-round AR 15 from its cradle and let loose. Rico’s team scattered like rats on fire. Bandit dove behind the counter taking fire from several locations.

The counter splintered like dried out chopsticks and handgun fire took its toll, but Bandit held his ground and watched as Armand, dashed out the door with his driver and Rico drug Maria out the front door and into the van followed.

The boss in his slick black Armani suit barreled into the slick black Mercedes and Rico shoved Maria into the van as he jumped in and sped after the Mercedes.

The club soldiers were dead, wounded or running for their lives. Bandit scrambled to his feet and straddled the Knucklehead. He rode across the dining room and out into the street after the vehicles.

They barreled just a block and turned left or north through the town heading for the small rundown community airport only a couple of miles away.

Halfway there the Mercedes driver hit the brakes hard and drifted the long limo into a 45-degree angle and an abrupt stop, kicking up sand and dust in the open desert. The front limo-driver door burst open and so did the rear passenger door. As the van screeched to a sliding stop only a few feet behind the Mercedes the two men opened fire on the driver, shattering the windshield and killing Rico.

Armand, ran to the van’s passenger door, yanked it open and drug Maria out and shoved her into the Mercedes.

As the limo pulled away Bandit saw the lights and slowed, then slid to a stop. He dismounted and ran to the van’s passenger door dreading the worst. He yanked it open and discovered the blood splattered interior and the dead outlaw, but no Maria.

He ground his teeth and ran back to his chopper, idling as if waiting for its master to return. He mounted it and rode around the van and in the direction of the airport and the long limo. He didn’t know what his next move would or could possibly be. The M79 was loaded with a high explosive round, the AR-15 slung over his shoulder and his .45 automatic was in his belt, but he couldn’t end this without Maria.

As he approached the airport, he could see a plane approaching, but there were no runway lights. In desperation the limo driver drove to the end of the runway and began to flash his lights. Bandit slid off the road, stashed his motorcycle behind a semi, pulled the AR and took out the headlights.

The driver jumped out of the limo and opened up on Bandit in the ditch, but light waned, and airports lights were minimal. Out of ammo Bandit tossed the AR in the gulley and pulled the .45. With one round he knocked down the big burly driver, but the plane was fast approaching.

Bandit ran along the dusty gulley beside the runway in the dark, waiting for Armand to make a move. Bandit signaled to Julio to flash on the runway lights. They blinked and went out.

Armand scrambled out of the Mercedes with Maria, pointing his 9mm at her head. “Lights or die,” he screamed in the night.

“Set the girl free or no lights,” Bandit hollered and with the .45 fired, and clipped roof of the Mercedes next to Armand’s shoulder. Armand ducked and let the girl go. Maria ran for the rickety wooden control tower and Julio turned on the lights. Armand dropped his weapon in the sand and by the time he reached it Maria was out of harm’s way running with her brother to safety behind a hanger in the distance.

The Cessna approached and Armand didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. He fired his pistol wildly in the air to warn off the plane, but it touched down and he ran for the driver’s seat in the Mercedes. Bandit returned to his idling Knucklehead and drew the grenade launcher firing a single round aimed at the spot where the plane would turn to taxi off the runway. It blew out a sizeable pothole in the tarmac and destroyed the front right tire as it dropped in the pothole and flashing authorities and sirens screamed onto the air field.

Bandit turn off his lights and rumbled out of the area, picking up Maria and Julio, who sat on his gas tank while Maria held tight to his back. They idled quietly around the outskirts of town and back to Maria’s kitchen.

As they rolled to a stop in the shop behind the kitchen, Maria didn’t want to let go. “How about one of your special burrito’s tonight,” Bandit said and kissed her deeply. “I think we all deserve a margarita tonight.”

Julio moved to the makeshift bar and started to make the drinks. “Maybe we should call this Bandit’s Cantina.”

 
The ‘first fold’ of our flag is a symbol of life.
 
The ‘second fold’ is a symbol of our belief in eternal life.
 
The ‘third fold’ is made in honor and remembrance of the veterans departing our ranks who gave a portion of their lives for the defense of our country to attain peace throughout the world.
 
The ‘fourth fold’ represents our weaker nature, for as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of peace as well as in time of war for His divine guidance.
 
The ‘fifth fold’ is a tribute to our country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, “Our Country, in dealing with other countries may she always be right; but it is still our country, right or wrong.”
 
The ‘sixth fold’ is for where our hearts lie.  It is with our heart that we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.
 
The ‘seventh fold’ is a tribute to our Armed Forces, for it is through the Armed Forces that we protect our country and our flag against all her enemies, whether they are found within or without the boundaries of our Republic.
 
The ‘eighth fold’ is a tribute to the one who entered into the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day, and to honor mother, for whom it flies on Mother’s Day.
 
The ‘ninth fold’ is a tribute to womanhood; for it has been through their faith, their love, loyalty and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great has been molded.
 
The ‘tenth fold’ is a tribute to the father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since they were first born.

The ‘eleventh fold’, in the eyes of a Hebrew citizen represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon, and glorifies in their eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
 
The ‘twelfth fold’, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit.
 
When the flag is completely folded, the stars are uppermost reminding us of our nation’s motto, “In God We Trust”.  After the flag is completely folded and tucked in, it takes on the appearance of a cocked hat, ever reminding us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, and the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, who were followed by their comrades and shipmates in the Armed Forces of the United States, preserving for us the rights, privileges, and freedoms we enjoy today.
 
The next time you see a flag ceremony honoring someone that has served our country, either in the Armed Forces or in our civilian services such as the Police Force or Fire Department, keep in mind all the important reasons behind each and every movement. They have paid the ultimate sacrifice for all of us by honoring our flag and our Country.

—From Paulette Korte

 

I notice none of you editors and hacks at this glorified real-estate flyer you call a newspaper are having any kind of problem with Gavin Newsom’s multi-billion dollar “plan” to alter the climate I GUESS only within the borders of California. Like anyone can fucking do that.

Since you failed novelists and sub par essayists are not ripping Newsom a brand new alimentary canal nor reaming his fundament conduit with your Pulitzer Prize-losing prose I can only assume that you, like him, are convinced “climate” obeys geographical boundaries and that the climate in California extends from ground level upwards in a straight, California-shaped, ascending rectangle, all the way to the stratosphere….and never moves to the left or the right to go somewhere else.

 

Apaches just perform a dance routine when they want to influence meteorology. I’m guessing that Newsom….. like all of you hacks and bosses-of-hacks, are tone-deaf and devoid of rhythmic responses to tempo and all move on the dance floor like migrating elk bracing against an icy windstorm in January in deep snow…..is not capable of performing an Apache rain dance. Hence the 40 billion to…I dunno, a DIFFERENT Indian tribe?

I’m a member of the Screen Actors Guild and you hacks know WE’RE all idiots, we’re even dumber than you hacks, we need other people to write our dialogue, While you, all being failed novelists, you can at least put your own sentences together. Newsom can’t even do that, at least not sentences anyone can make any sense out of. Everything he says and does is idiotic. Even you have to be able to see that. You all went to school. Newsom went to PROBABLY hunter Biden’s house to have a fellow idiot to play Donkey Kong with. That was his school: Hunter Biden’s house. No wonder he’s a fuckhead.

Is there some reason the lot of you never ask that idiot tooth-filled rictus, Grinning Gavin, how it is he comes to the knowledge without evidence, tests, proof, theories, conjectures, guesses, intuitions, ouija boards, tea leaves, sorcerers, prophets, seers, wizards or the application of gerbils rectally, how it is someone who can’t formulate a coherent sentence about ANYTHING…..1: knows how to alter the climate of a planet and 2: knows his plan, whatever the fuck it even is, will work.

 

I’m guessing no. Because that would be actually productive rather than annoying. Which is all you journalists ever create: annoyance. It’s like it’s in your fucking DNA.

 

Director Randall Wilson recently won a Director’s Choice Award for his movie, Ride Free Or Die. The movie is available on Amazon, and is described there as ‘an insider’s look into the political world of motorcycle clubs. The clubs are fighting for their constitutional rights against what they perceive as law enforcement profiling and harassment. The documentary features Mongols MC, Outsiders MC, Devils Diciples MC, Sin City Deciples, Ironworkers MC, ATF agents, and motorcycle clubs from all over America.’

 Now, a lot of people have made a lot of documentaries about biker profiling, 1%ers, and the ATF. But, there is something different about this one… along with the interviews with several people and patches we all recognize.. it also has coverage of the Waco Biker Tragedy, including interviews with Waco Bikers Paul Landers and Sandra Lynch. 

One of the biggest instances of biker profiling occurred on May 17, 2015 at a Twin Peaks restaurant in Waco, Texas. Nine lives were lost and 170 people were incarcerated with million dollar bonds. Not a single person was charged. 

Link to where to buy Ride Free or Die:
https://www.amazon.com/Ride-Free-Die-Hessian-Spike/dp/B07WW8S4PF/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=327T2YSSFOD7V&keywords=ride+free+or+die&qid=1655702922&sprefix=ride+free+or+die%2Caps%2C107&sr=8-1

The movie has good reviews out so far, and so all I am going to say is, watch the dadgum movie. Its worth it. Every biker in America needs to know what happened that day in Waco.

 Reviews for Ride Free or Die:
https://coloradoridernews.com/ride-free-or-die-movie-review/

I would like to also give a shoutout right here to the Motorcycle Profiling Project and Double D for all of their continued hard work in biker profiling:

A link to the Motorcycle Profiling Project:
https://www.motorcycleprofilingproject.com/

What I am about to write, is gonna be a little more personal than a review. I am going to discuss, the Waco biker tragedy. You see, I have been trying to write an article revisiting my experience covering the Waco bikers for Bandit and bikernet for at least six months.. This movie by Randall Wilson, has inspired me to try once again… to force myself to remember some things I usually try to forget.

When most people hear ‘Waco’.. they think of David Koresh and Branch Davidians. When I hear Waco, I think of a bright Sunday afternoon in Texas.. a Twin Peaks restaurant with a parking lot full of shiny Harleys.. a day that the clink of dishes and hum of Harleys and muted laughter became a hail of gunfire. A beautiful day, that quickly became a nightmare, and American blood was spilled, right on that heart of Texas.  I think of a day that changed so many lives irrevocably, a day that the majority of American citizens never even knew the truth about what really happened.. a day when one of the worse mass violations of constitutional liberties ever occurred in American history… when 9 people died and 170 people went to jail.. a day when American citizens were found guilty until proven innocent.. when they truly learned what it means, to Ride Free or Die. 

A fusion center is an information sharing center, many of which were jointly created between 2003 and 2007 under the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and the Office of Justice Programs in the U.S. Department of Justice.

No one will ever be able to define how many lives were destroyed that day. All of those 170 people had families who suffered from financial, emotional, and mental anguish. Those of us who were not there that day, but who came in later and tried to help them.. journalists, lawyers, other bikers.. well it changed us too. We witnessed first hand a crack in the foundation of America’s justice system, and our Constitutional rights and civil liberties. People lost their homes, their jobs, their wives, their pride, their rides, and their lives that day.  There were women, veterans, preachers, people from all races and walks of life arrested en masse just for being at a CoC meeting. The First Amendment, Second Amendment, Fourteenth Amendment.. all flew out the window like a fart in the wind.

According to records released to the AP following a public information request for 911 calls, Officer Brandon Blasingame reported “shots fired,” to a dispatcher at 12:26 p.m.
“Two shot behind Twin Peaks,” Blasingame reported two minutes later.

“They have an AR-15,” he said in the next dispatch. It was unclear who he meant had the rifle, and if it was something he saw or was told.

The chronology ends at 12:31 p.m. and police have refused to release the rest of the report, saying it could compromise the investigation. Blasingame did not respond to requests for comment.

Speaking of Uvalde.. did you hear about the Bandidos passing a hat at a drag race on Memorial Day and raising $20,000 for the victim’s families? 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EPj09dA-Pk0&feature=youtu.be

I was in the Don Carlos restaurant next door to Twin Peak the entire time, from the first bullet shot until the police said it was safe to leave. As me and a friend started to exit the building two swat style cops snuck up from behind shouting get down throwing us to the ground. I had turned my hoodie inside out during the event due to watching what happened to others outside by police, I didn’t want to get caught up or shot in the situation as you could imagine.

-Eye Witness Testimony from a Waco Biker

The Bandidos always have maintained their innocence in the Twin Peaks tragedy.. and I for one, believe them. If they WERE wanting to pick a fight, they wouldn’t have done it at a COC meeting where there was dozens of Mom and Pop club members and innocent people having lunch. They released a statement shortly after the 2015 incident through biker attorney Stephen Stubbs, with their official statement on the whole ordeal.
The Bandido statement:

1) The Bandidos were at the Twin Peaks restaurant to attend an organized political meeting and nothing else. A regional meeting for the Texas Confederation of Clubs and Independents (a bona fide political organization centered on Constitutional rights) was scheduled, and a prominent member of the Bandidos was the key-note speaker at the meeting. This Bandido key-note speaker was to report on the National Coalition of Motorcyclist event that occurred weeks earlier. Because COCI members from across the state were expected to attend this special meeting, it was purposefully scheduled in Waco, TX, a central city between Austin and Dallas.

2) The Bandidos have no knowledge of any other meeting. The Bandidos are aware that members of other motorcycle clubs are claiming that there were plans to meet with the Bandidos in Waco, TX on May 17, 2015. This claim is not true.

3) All weapons in possession of members the Bandidos were legally owned and carried.

4) Members of the Bandidos were not aggressors, did not start the altercation, did not strike first, were not the first to pull weapons, and were not the first to use weapons. The majority of the Bandidos took cover, and all involvement in the altercation by members of the Bandidos was in self-defense. Texas law allows people to defend themselves with the same amount of force that is exerted against them, and a few members of the Bandidos acted in accordance with these laws. In fact, members of the Bandidos involved in the incident did not even have time or opportunity to get off of their motorcycles before police came in.

We pulled up in the shopping center from the service road from I-35 and saw police vehicles. I know some have said that they did not notice many marked vehicles, and perhaps they entered from another area where they weren’t prevalent, but we saw at least 8-10 marked police SUV’s and the armored vehicle parked in the shopping center parking lot.

When we pulled into the Twin Peaks parking area, we looked for a spot to park and noticed a couple of Cossacks standing at the corner of the building towards where Don Carlos and the rest of the shopping center was.There was no parking available, so we ended up parking in the shopping center’s general parking area, between an area where many police cars were located.

When getting out of the car, I saw a line of about 8-10 bikes pulling into the parking lot from the same entrance that we had pulled into. We let them pass before crossing the driveway and made our way up the sidewalk between Don Carlos and Twin Peaks. When getting to where the sidewalk stopped and walking in the median between the two parking lots, I noticed the bikes had stopped in the middle of the drive, and there was a large group of Cossacks and others wearing their black and yellow patches, lined up at the edge of the parking area, blocking the parking spaces.

Not exactly sure what was happening, I continued to walk forward, and noted that the Cossacks were lined up and bunched up, and were about 3-4 people deep. There may have been 50 or more there.

The next thing I saw was shoving and punches started, with most Bandidos still on their bikes and the bikes still running. I noticed brass knuckles on at least one of the Cossacks up front. At least 6 immediately behind them started swinging some type of stick or expandable batons. And in the very back, I saw at least one Cossack, a bigger guy with short dark hair, holding a pistol of some type.

About that time, I heard two shots, and initially I thought they were the type you see on movies, where someone is trying to break up a fight by shooting into the air, but the report from the shot was short, like it was fired into someone.

I looked around to see who had shot, and then shooting started from inside the group and from behind me somewhere. I took cover behind one of the vehicles in the Don Carlos parking area, looking towards Twin Peaks to see if anyone was following to shoot. The bigger, dark haired Cossack with dark hair was running back and forth from the door to Twin Peaks and back towards the crowd.

I could not tell if he was firing his pistol due to all the shots ringing out at that point, but he had it pointed out towards the group. At that point, a group of police officers came up from the parking area with M4s or similar rifles with what looked like a suppressors on them, yelling at everyone to get on the ground. I complied, got prone on the ground, and they made their way forward.

Shots were coming from the front of Don Carlos also, so I tried to turn my body in a way I could see if anyone was coming from that area as well. Eventually the shooting stopped. The police came, frisked me, taking my knife and throwing it in a pile of other knives on the curb beside Don Carlos. I do not know how many knives and such were there, but they were all thrown in a pile, so cross contamination of evidence is extremely possible.

After being frisked, we were told to go sit in the parking area with our groups. We were then frisked again, placed in flex cuffs, loaded into vans, and transported to the Convention Center. One at a time, we were taken back to give a “witness statement.” We were then put back in the room and waited for information.

We were then all taken into another room in small groups, information was gathered on booking forms, and then we were taken to Mclennan County Jail and placed in holding cells. This happened around 4:00 a.m. They fingerprinted us, photographed us, and changed us into jumpsuits, without ever telling us what we were being arrested or detained for.

Then they moved us over to the Detention Center and put us into holding cells again. One at a time, they called us out and had us stand in front of this guy who they said was a magistrate, who told us we were under arrest for Conspiracy to Engage in Organized Criminal Activity, a First Degree Felony, and my bond was $1 million.

I asked why I was under arrest and why my bond was so high if I did nothing, no one could say I did do anything, and I had never been arrested, and he said that we could address that later. The time from when I was detained at the scene until I was told I was under arrest was around 18-20 hours.

At the scene, as well as at the convention center, I noticed officers wearing Mclennan County sheriff’s department identifiers, DPS uniforms, DEA jackets, ATF jackets, and of course Waco PD uniforms. There may have been others, but those I witnessed with my own eyes. Some were in plain clothes, with ballistic vests with the identifiers.

I had a pistol in my car. If I were going to cause a conflict, or if I were going somewhere knowing that it would be a dangerous situation, I would have carried my pistol with me. Why would I have left it in my car? It was a setup, but it surely was not one by Red and Gold. 

-Eye Witness Testimony from a Waco Biker

Special thanks to the Bandido Nation for allowing me to write this. Love and Respect…. 
-Amy Irene White, the Wicked Bitch

The Wicked Bitch

It was Marilyn Stemp with the world-famous Flying Piston Benefit Breakfast. I have been invited to modify a Strider balance bike, the kind that young kids can push with their feet and learn to balance. I don’t have actual builder talent but what an opportunity to hang out with famous builders like Arlen Fatland, Rodney Smith, Zach Ness, Cabana Dan, Pat Patterson, Chris Callen and Billy Lane, And maybe I’ll learn how to pronounce Cabana Dan’s last name. And the food is really good. Sooo…

However, the bike isn’t exactly finished when the phone rings.

Marilyn Stemp: “Is your bike done?”

Me, as in, Greg (aka Edge): “We are have having a problem with speed wobbles when the bike gets over 35 mph.”

Marilyn Stemp (exasperated sigh): “You have a three-year-old pushing the bike over 35 mph?”

Me: “Ahhh… yeah. The kid should be a great soccer player in the distant future. Like… when he turns five.”

Me (pause): “I am calling the guys at Suspension Technologies in Largo, FL. They are the best with handling issues. This should only set me back a week, 10 days tops. I am worried about the safety of the children.”

Marilyn Stemp: “F-#k! the kids, ship the bike Tuesday.”

The photo shoot with my two grandsons’, Wilder and Finn, was a hoot but eventually we got there. Special thanks to Prince Jeff Najar for the opportunity to work with the Flying Piston Benefit.

Despite India having to import 86% of its crude oil, a new petrol engine motorcycle has been launched by TVS Motor.

It may not be as simple as it may appear. Most fuel serves transport, such as commercial vehicles and the popular commuter buses in cities (municipal & State transport).

TVS Ronin Features:
https://www.rushlane.com/tvs-ronin-225cc-launched-3-variants-20-ps-20-nm-120-kmph-top-speed-12441985.html

TVS owns the legendary British brand Norton motorcycles. They set up a Research (R&D) and Manufacturing unit in England itself with HQ of Norton set up in England. Norton is best associated with the legendary Isle of Man races.

The boss of Jaguar-LandRover, Sir Ralf Speth, left that role and as chosen by TVS, was appointed Chairman of the new Norton motorcycle company.

Other References:
BMW G310 production milestone (click here)

Major automotive brands may not entirely believe all-electric will be a reality in a couple of years as demanded as an “Emergency” of Climate mandates.

This week, CTO of India’s Tata Motors (of MNC Tata Group) stated: “Net zero emission for CVs is at a nascent stage, says Rajendra Petkar.”

Refer at Economic Times link (click here)

They are a few norm numbers behind so that all companies here, including foreign ones, don’t get stuck. It would set back the industry and employment dependent on manufacturing, selling and commuting on two & four wheelers. Not to mention large commercial vehicles for essential goods & passenger transport, including within the city.

It is not really developing nations’ vehicles that consume most fuel on a monthly or annual basis. Sales figures also dependent on enforcing new Emission Norms matching the EU norms. Each State has autonomy (similar to USA) to decide their administration and efficiency apart from local infrastructure. These cannot be enforced pan-nation (unless you want the authoritative governments globally, about whom you may or may not be aware of).

Another good rule to measure is: How many miles / Kms is an average citizen going to travel / commute in a developing nation in a year ?

It is used to push EVs into cities (Tier-I, Tier-II & even Tier-III cities and some towns).

That’s just the 2-wheeler and 4-wheeler makers.

Would you really want competent students to quit their ambition to pursue more challenging medical exams & Medical Degrees, and aim for high-paying any-all Engineering jobs after all of us enduring this pandemic? (not to mention any possible w-r)

Then there is financing such education as new Engineering Colleges cannot grow overnight with qualified Professors, etc. Hike in fees is inveitable with such a surge in demand. Only losers are entire families & future generations.

As per investigations, most fires in electric scooters are due to customers not following manufacturer’s / seller’s guidelines on charging and plugging sockets. These may include: bad quality electricity connections or poor wiring at owner’s end or unsuitable voltage boards the consumer has used.

Reliable sources said that the EV makers have been given time till July end to respond in detail to the notices.”

Refer Economic Times News Source by clicking here.

Personal Views:
I believe, the more balanced progress in clearly improving Democracy in defined Constitutional Democratic nations is good for developed Western nations as well. The boom in entrepreneurship in India through new companies providing services & products for the local market is what is creating wealth. Not some outsourced work.

E.g.Many years ago, two employees of Amazon in USA quit their jobs there to start Flipkart.com in India. Amazon India only arrived in 2014 and when they became popular, Walmart USA bought out Flipkart.com to compete in India.

Uber was popular in India until Covid, when people decided to switch to buying affordable 2 or 4 wheelers for avoiding public transport. This created unexpected surge in demand from the industry who never saw that coming. It also more than doubled the prices of used vehicles.

Online purchase of groceries was never popular due to the popular local “Bazaar” system of buying them. Amazon India struggled to launch & supply their “Amazon Fresh” during Covid restrictions. Existing grocery websites and many food-delivery startups became huge – offering door-to-door delivery employment to adults who are less-qualified for office jobs.

So, no sooner does the question get asked here on this channel you are reading, “Just how stupid IS Ocasio?” Bless her goddamn heart she ups and gets right to work to provide some more fodder for perusal of her potential stupidity levels. Perusal means to look-over and maybe use this perusingness to help get closer to an answer. The answer being the one to the question, “Just how stupid IS Ocasio?”

It turns out there’s a video backing-this-up, this further enquiry I am making into discovering the answer to, “Just how stupid IS Ocasio” and whether or not it is included in this report is anyone’s guess. I have provided it, but remember, this is Bikernet. It’s not NASA. It’s Bikernet.com.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epwUTVUwB7A

She apparently does not want this to happen. Judging from her tone of mild-but-increasing hysteria.

Ocasio is demurely, which means very ladylike and a bit fetching, which means hot, she’s standing calmly there but you can tell she has been down this road before with such people at her rallies and you can see her thinking, “This raving nightmare is one of my own creations. I had better be nice and maybe even parental.”

Meanwhile Olga from Kiev is removing her outer shroud to reveal an expertly created message on a t-shirt that says in very readable lettering “Save The Planet. Eat the Children.”

I am not making this up.

This is when Ocasio’s Stupid Circuit gets ignited. You can see the subtle movement of micro muscles in her very attractive face make new connections with nerve endings beneath the skin and Ocasio’s expression turns from one of polite boredom to one of “concerning” as the hacks at the New York Times might say. They may have even invented this word as a condition or entity or state of being rather than what it used to be, namely a “bridge” word connecting two aspects of one sentence, unlike how it is now used, which is as a warning that all of the universe is in immediate danger. So, in other words Ocasio’s expression and hot-body language took on the aspect of Concerning. The situation was now Concerning.

Olga has by now made it clear to everyone in the room, all five people who turned out to see Ocasio in person and from two feet away – Olga has made it clear that she is advocating cannibalism. Not just on embryos and fetuses, no, but on full-on kids in the first and second grades. Ones with bicycles and their own cell phones. She wants to eat them. As plates of food. Because, “We are not doing enough.” “We only have two months!” And her solution to enabling mankind to survive…is to – basically – eradicate mankind. I mean let’s face it, if you eat all the children…who are THEY gonna eat when they reach adulthood? There won’t BE anybody to eat. In fact, they won’t be here either. They will have been eaten by us. In these next two months.

Ocasio however was manifesting something akin to thought. She almost went into a state of quiet paralysis. Because if it WAS actually thought….this would have been her first experience at it. Her body and nervous system would have shifted into their first experience of thought-mode. They would have been not just rusty but totally inexperienced. You could see her tinkering with her first infantile experience with Wonder and Curiosity and thinking….”Would this actually work? Would devouring the young actually work to bring to a halt to whatever it is I think is going on? Is it possible this is a good idea?”

Meanwhile Moldavia Yovayetski is getting some traction with her plan to save the earth by killing its inhabitants. She’s upping her hysteria level to approaching-asteroid level and she is making it very clear that there is only one solution that will save the only people worth saving – the people already a lot closer to death than the children are – and that is, not just killing the children but putting them in our mouth, chewing them up, swallowing them, and shitting them out our bungholes. THIS will alter global annual average temperatures.

Meanwhile Ocasio is now almost rendered into time-stop mode. Her hybridized brain, half moron, half supermoron, is quietly vibrating inside her head while outside Ocasio is standing quietly and listening to a crazed potential mass murderer of an entire global generation insist that butchering and then shaking and baking earth’s children is not only a good idea, it’s behind schedule.

You are SO far from realizing what was actually going on in Ocasio’s head at this juncture. And, excuse me, I didn’t mean to suggest that something was actually going on in her head. There wasn’t. But outside her head, on her face, there was a conversation going on to anyone paying attention to her and not to the lunatic opting for changing the definition of “childrens’ lunches” from one FOR children to one consisting OF children, and that conversation was Ocasio wondering with whatever serves her for contemplation….. “Is this a good idea?”

“She’s here, at my rally, so that means of course she’s super intelligent….and everyone in the room is looking at her quietly as though she is a spokesman for this notion. Is it possible I am the only one here out of the loop? I must listen some more. I must remain silent and focused on her words. Perhaps this woman is a rising star in the Democratic Party. Perhaps I could put her on my staff. When I am President, I can perhaps make her vice president. I must listen. This is a new idea. It could have merit. If nothing else eating children would get us closer to net zero, whatever that even means, than not eating them because they would never be driving a car or turning on an air conditioner. They would be fertilizing plants: making oxygen. For the next generation of children. That we would eat. I must listen.”

Meanwhile one of the staffers of the near-empty assembly closet approached the now-in-high-gear serial killer and wanted to pull her away from everyone but Alexia Dyslexia Illich Tonsillik was having none of it. A guard was also closing in. Her mike was taken from her and Ocasio then proceeded to explain calmly and measuredly that for one thing, relax everyone, we have more than two months….

“….We have more than two months,” Ocasio then reiterated to her audience who I am sure she was convinced was now wondering if it was true that they only had two months to live unless they ate the children. Ocasio calmly and repeatedly reassured all 50 overweight and mostly female people that the two-month prognosis was in fact inaccurate and off by several years. The implication being that only the lunatic’s calendar was wrong. Not the calamity caused by not obeying Ocasio’s list of edicts. THAT was accurate.

Is there a lesson to be learned here? Yes. That no matter how stupid you might think Ocasio is….you are wrong. She is stupider.