Biden to address nation’s Tater tot shortage

With emergency shipments of baby formula making their way to the United States, the Biden administration is now turning its attention to the country’s looming Tater tot crisis.

The Tater tot shortage came about after the Biden administration closed the nation’s only Tater tot factory located in an undisclosed, underground location in Idaho. 

The process for manufacturing tater tots has been a closely guarded national secret ever since their invention in 1953.  No other country in the world is capable of fabricating the unique extruded potato cylinders.

Countries like Israel, Russia and China have all claimed to be in possession of Tater tot technology, but so far have been unable to produce a viable Tater tot.  Most of the “tots” produced by these nations appear to more closely resemble irregularly shaped “bites.”  

The manufacture of Tater tots is a highly specialized process.  Located beneath vast potato fields, the Idaho facility sucks the potatoes from below into its underground operation, working around the need to transport potatoes into the factory and possibly reveal its whereabouts.

The Biden administration has yet to come up with an alternative plan for manufacturing Tater tots.  However, mega billionaire Elon Musk has publicly stated that he could have a working Tater tot facility up and running on Mars in less than 72 hours.

Boy found in suitcase remains unidentified

A month after his discovery, the deceased body of a boy discovered in a wooded area in a remote part of southern Indiana has yet to be identified.  The child is described as black, approximately five years old and about four feet tall with a slight build and short hair.  He was discovered inside a suitcase discarded about 80 feet off the roadway in the 7000 block of East Holder Road in New Pekin, Indiana.  A man out hunting mushrooms on Saturday, April 16 came across the suitcase around 7:30 p.m.  The suitcase bears a graphic that reads “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada.”  Autopsy results could not determine the cause of death, but police believe the boy had been deceased less than a week.   

Despite widespread media attention in the days following the discovery, no one able to identify the child has come forward.

“For some reason, nobody’s noticing that he’s missing.  It could be someone not from this country.  Very possible.  We’re not precluding anything like that in the investigation,”  Indiana State Police Sgt. Carey Huls told WAVE.  “We have to ask ourselves, how can a young boy go missing and nobody know that he’s missing?  It’s very troubling and something our detectives are working around the clock to find answers for.”    

As time goes on and no one comes forward, it seems increasingly likely that the person responsible for caring for the child could also bear some responsibility for his death.

“He was in someone’s custody and care for his daily needs….Somebody was taking care of this little boy.” Huls stated at a press conference in April.  “Someone somewhere knows something.”

Whoever was responsible for caring for this child, it appears they have yet to report him missing to any law enforcement agency nationwide.

“If it’s a child on a missing children’s list anywhere in America, that’s already been looked into,” Huls stated in a recent case update.  “They’re not finding any matches there.”

Jeff Meredith, the mushroom hunter who discovered the body, took WHAS to the spot where he made the discovery.  “I decided to cross over (the road) and mushroom hunt on this side here.”  It was then that he spotted the brightly colored suitcase about 80 feet off the road.  

According to WHAS, Meredith “immediately thought to call the police. But, he hesitated. He thought if they came all the way out there and it turned out to just be a suitcase he’d feel like a fool.”

So he opened the suitcase and discovered the lifeless body of the boy inside.  “When I first saw that little feller, immediately, I felt that he was telling me ‘Help me, I need help.”

Whoever is responsible for placing the boy’s body in those woods, it seems strange they would drive out to this remote area near the dead end of a country road, walk a short distance into the woods and leave the brightly colored case where it is fairly easy to spot.  They could have buried it or covered it with brush.  They could have thrown it in a ravine somewhere or a body of water.  Why go to the trouble of driving out to the middle of nowhere and then leave the body where it could be easily discovered?  People live on that road.  Most likely, the case containing the body was out there only a few days before discovery.  

Investigators are frustrated that all of the 500 calls into their national tip line have resulted in dead ends.  Most of the calls alert the ISP to missing children they’re already aware of, or offer recommendations on how to investigate.  As Huls told WAVE, “We don’t want those tips about, ‘Have you thought about using this or trying this?  We want firsthand knowledge.  Somebody knows this young man, somebody has knowledge (if) he’s not home, he’s not where he’s supposed to be, he’s not in school, and that’s the information we’re really looking for.” 

“Time is something we don’t want to fight too long with obviously,” Huls recently told WLKY. “We would’ve liked to, and thought we would, have more answers.”

“Somebody out there has first-hand knowledge,” Huls said. “Not something they have looked up on the internet. We mean first-hand knowledge. Everyone wants answers. Everyone wants to bring justice and a voice to this little guy.”

The Indiana State Police have set up a national tip line to help identify the boy. The number people can call is 1-888-437-6432.

Guided by raindrops

It’s raining and it has cooled off considerably and we’re standing outside the Fountain Square venue for this evening’s Guided By Voices concert.  The show has been postponed for one hour to allow for the foul weather to pass, but there are people out here hungry for rock and roll and lacking sense enough to come in out of the rain.  The stage is covered and the band is performing a soundcheck.  A few of us hearty souls are milling about in the alley, peering over the chain link fence, getting soaking-ass wet, and listening to the band warm up.  They run through Game Of Pricks.  They play a few bars of Good Times, Bad Times by Led Zeppelin.  Hanging on the fence nearby is a young gentleman who drove up from Nashville.  We learn that in addition to being a Guided By Voices fan, the 22-year-old is extremely passionate about Ween and has the band’s logo tattooed on his shoulder.  Just when you’re ready to write off this younger generation, you meet a promising young guy like this with a Ween tattoo and a Devo t-shirt and you realize the future is actually in quite capable hands.  Turns out he’s seen Ween over 40 times and frequently travels out of state to see similar nineties era rock bands.  One can’t help but be impressed by the youngster’s pluck and initiative.  As the hour approaches, the alley dwellers grow increasingly restless.  Any strum of a guitar or pounding of the bass drum coming from inside the venue is enough to send them scattering to and fro.  They can sense it is close to feeding time and they are ready to feast on rhythm, noise and feedback.

Eventually, others pour into the alley.  Something resembling a line begins to form and we are about six places from the front.  My friend is quite concerned with being first in the venue wearing a “Pollard throws no hitter” t-shirt, so he tells a guy in front of us to beat it to the back of the line and the guy complies.  The Ween kid continues to regale us with stories of recent adventures in rock and roll.  He tells us that at his last GBV show, Robert Pollard, the lead singer and creative force behind the band, halfway through the show, took several gulps from a bottle of tequila and then handed it to the Ween kid who was beckoning for the bottle from the front row.  The kid then took a long pull from the bottle and passed it along into the crowd where others also drank from it.  For reasons I can’t remember, I bring up the band, Mudhoney, and the kid tells us how he’d just the previous weekend, almost by accident, stumbled into a free Mudhoney concert in Nashville.  I continue to be highly impressed and a little envious of this young man.  He is basically living my dream.  So many these days complain about how hard it is to achieve success in this country.  However, this dude is living proof that you make your own good fortune, and that if you simply apply yourself and set short-term, attainable goals, people will freely shove bottles of tequila and premium quality cannabis in your face. 

The barbarians at the gates of rock and roll are beginning to protest quite loudly and forcefully, and it is unclear how much longer staff will be able to maintain peace.  Soon, however, the gates are thrown open and the barbarians present their photo identification and entry is actually quite calm and orderly.  Next, the barbarians pay $8.00 a can for locally brewed craft beer and take their places in front of the stage.  People are streaming in fast and we’re holding our positions in the front as space fills in around us.  The other guy with the “Pollard throws a no hitter” t-shirt comes ambling forward and my friend stops him and reminds him that he, my friend, was first inside the gates with the shirt.  The other guy seems a little confused and shame-faced, and for a minute it appears he might turn his shirt inside out, but he chooses to back away slowly into the crowd instead.  Pollard and his bandmates can be seen assembling offstage and the front row begins to call out to them.  Pollard gestures back with double alternating fist pumps and the front row knows its rock and roll time.  

GBV opens with a song from their new album.  The front row is pointing at Pollard and hurling his words back at him.  I know the lyrics to a lot of their songs, but not the entire catalog.  I begin to feel unworthy of my place near the front and slip back to the third row.  The band is quickly into Game Of Pricks.  Now the lid is blown off the whole affair and energy is released.  There is turbulence in the crowd.  Arms entangle and disentangle.  Feet leave the ground while hips and shoulders collide.  But patrons remain upright and voices howl in unison.  Between songs, Pollard talks about slowing it down for a few, “You can’t just beat them over the head with punk rock for 40 songs,” he says.  As the music mellows, the pungent odor of psychoactive compounds comes wafting rearward from the front row.  My buddy and the Ween kid are huffing away on their devices.  The only thing I recognize about this activity anymore is the aroma.  Everything else about the ritual has been updated for the new digital age.  Pollard fishes Lite beers out of a cooler onstage.  He is loosening up and beginning to perform some of his signature rock moves and poses.  Now in his 60s, he is still pretty flexible and light on his feet, routinely executing rock and roll high kicks where his foot reaches an altitude higher than his head.  Soon, they’re playing I Am A Scientist and the band really seems to be enjoying this one.  The bass features prominently, so he’s having a good time.  Gillard, the lead guitarist, is drawing some cool sounds from his guitar culminating with a burst of well-timed feedback as the song closes out.  I look to my left and Bobby Bare Jr. is strumming away while bobbing his head and turning in circles like a wind-up toy.  

As the set nears its end, the bottle of tequila comes out of the cooler.  Pollard walks to the front of the stage and takes several large gulps.  The Ween kid is reaching across the gap between the stage and the barricade for the bottle.  As if the kid has become a regular feature in this bit, Pollard heads straight over and thrusts the bottle towards him.  The kid grabs it and takes about four chugs before passing it to my friend who also takes a few.  Others nearby swig from the bottle, and then it’s like the crowd knows there’s a hardcore fan about fifteen feet away who really deserves a drink.  He’s been singing along word for word to every song all night long.   The crowd appreciates his hard work and dedication and rewards him with the remainder of the tequila.  As for myself, I’m feeling a bit ashamed that I’ve become too old and uptight to drink from a bottle that’s been swigged on by half a dozen complete strangers.  For the band’s “killer encore,” GBV performs Chasing Heather Crazy and Glad Girls, a couple of their more accessible rousing rockers.  A dude from deep within the bowels of the crowd comes forward for the encore.  I become aware of his presence because he’s holding onto my shoulder to keep from falling over.  Drunk as hell, he’s still trying to move to the music despite his obvious difficulties.  Under normal circumstances, I’d probably be a little annoyed.  But what the hell, we’re all having a good time here, so I’m happy to be of some assistance.

This is only the second live rock show I’ve been to since the onset of the pandemic.  For me, there is simply no substitute for live music, or for that matter, live theater, sports, church, etc.  You can’t gather on Zoom or a livestream and simulate the experience.  An event like this isn’t just the sum of the performers plus the audience.  The gathering itself becomes its own thing and the participants are carried along.  With music at the center, this particular gathering brings out some of the best features of its participants:  goodwill, respect, joy, friendship and camaraderie.  Maybe this sort of thing happens all the time online, but it hasn’t been my experience.  All I know is I could handle more of this in my life and maybe others could too.

Strange scenes in the alley

While cable television, Netflix and YouTube are all very well and good, sometimes the most compelling drama plays itself out in the alley next to my house.  A very popular pedestrian throughway, it terminates a few blocks west of my property where it runs into a brick wall that is attached to a popular national pharmacy chain.  Among the procession of shoppers, there are recurring characters that frequently shuffle by, like a gentleman who puffs on a cigarette with his right hand while carrying a case of Busch beer in his left.  By my estimation, this gentleman regularly “heads for the mountains” every couple of days or so.  Undistracted by the activities of the neighborhood, his stare is always fixed at a point far in the distance, like he’s sizing up some far away summit.   

One day, from my kitchen window, I see a man in the back alley engaged in a heated exchange with a stop sign.  Struggling to keep his feet underneath his swaying torso, the man is pointing at the sign and threatening to violently disassemble it.  This particular stop sign normally minds its own business, so it is unclear why the man has such a beef with it.  I’m busy working on the dishes and allow my attention to wander away from the tense standoff for a brief moment.  When I again look up, it seems that in the interim the stop sign has performed some lightning-fast Karate move, leaving the belligerent fellow laying face down in a heap in the alley.  

One drawback to viewing this live drama is that you cannot pause and rewind, so I’ll never know how that sign bully was brought to his knees by this normally docile stop sign.  Anyway, the man lay there incapacitated and munching on gravel for quite some time.  Still, from that unflattering position, he continued to curse loudly and issue violent threats.  However, it appeared his arms had stopped working, because he was unable to push himself up off the ground and back onto his feet.  After the thrashing he had just taken, I began to wonder whether he was in need of medical attention.  

Just then, a police cruiser turned into the alley and slowly crept up on the scene.  By now, three cars had driven around the dude without diverting his attention from the finer details of the asphalt on which his face now rested, but let a police car creep into the vicinity and old boy was on his feet faster than you can say “lickety-split.”  The amount of time it took for this guy to go from crumpled heap to bolt upright could be measured in nanoseconds.

There must remain in modern man some primitive holdover operating independent of our five senses that can intuitively perceive a threat and generate an instantaneous physical reaction.  Where it once may have perceived wild animals or enemy tribesmen, it now seems to zero in on law enforcement or killer clowns.  Whatever fight or flight evolutionary forces got this guy on his feet, they were also now enabling the man, who until moments earlier was arguing with signs and lampposts, to communicate coherently enough with law enforcement that they allowed him to go on his merry way.

The officers grilled him for quite some time and undoubtedly concluded that he was drunk as hell.  But since he wasn’t driving and he seemed more or less capable of walking, if not in a straight line in the general direction of his home, and since whatever grievance he had with the stop sign seemed to have resolved itself, the officers let him totter out of the alley a free man.   

Much respect, “dude in the alley,’” you may never win an Oscar or even a Daytime Emmy, but, when it mattered, you gave the performance of a lifetime.

Bystander performs daring keg stand rescue in pedal pub mishap

A quick-thinking good samaritan is recovering today after participating in a dramatic rescue of patrons trapped beneath an overturned pedal pub.  Robert Drake and two of his companions were watching the NBA playoffs at a local tavern when they heard cries for ‘help’ coming from the street outside.  They immediately ran to the scene where they discovered a number of individuals trapped beneath an overturned pedal pub.

“A bunch of people were trying to lift the wagon, but it was too heavy due to the full kegs of beer onboard,” recounted Drake.  “The tap was wedged against the street so my buddies held me upside down by the legs while I managed to get the tap in my mouth.  I was battling physics and the laws of gravity, but I managed to drain enough beer from the kegs that we were able to set the vehicle upright.”

Rescue personnel on the scene were in disbelief over the heroic efforts of Mr. Drake and his friends.  “Nothing in our training prepares us for an accident of this nature.  The gentlemen and his companions are to be commended for their bravery and ingenuity,” one rescuer commented.

Humbled by the attention, Drake admitted that he just did what anyone else in his position would have done.

“Although I flunked out of college, I actually had a fair amount of experience performing that particular maneuver.  My buddies probably struggled more than I did being that I’m about 75 pounds heavier than I was back in the day,” Drake said.  “Anyway, I don’t think I did anything that special.  I guess it’s just a situation where my instincts took over.  I feel like if it had been me trapped under that pedal pub, then someone else would have performed a lifesaving keg stand.  Needless to say, I yacked pretty hard once I was back on my feet again.”

Musk acquires Bullshit Mountain for $44 billion

Residents of Bullshit Mountain are fleeing in droves on news that tech multi-billionaire Elon Musk is purchasing the towering pile of crap that has fed and nurtured them for over a decade.  Musk is reportedly paying $44 billion for the social media platform which anyone with an ounce of sense knows is about $43.95 billion too much.

The most prominent natives of Bullshit Mountain, who contribute nearly 90% of the excrement that flows from its rivers and streams out into the rest of society, are concerned about what might happen to their precious dung heap now that the Tesla CEO and free speech promoter is about to seize control. 

Many prominent journalists, politicians, media and entertainment personalities have pledged to flee the platform in protest.  Apparently, this nurturing land of inclusion and unquestioning acceptance that they have so lovingly crafted over the years is now in jeopardy of turning into a psychically abusive hell-hole.  

Moreover, the political and intellectual elites who routinely mine truth from Bullshit Mountain are worried that the open inquiry and constructive debate they have so carefully cultivated will become irreparably harmed by Musk’s commitment to “free speech”.

As the old saying goes, “All politics and culture is downstream from Bullshit Mountain.”  Judging by the frantic behavior of its inhabitants, our golden age of truth and discourse may be coming to an end.

NYT: That trip to the restroom could be your last

In a Monday New York Times piece entitled Is COVID More Dangerous Than Driving? How Scientists Are Parsing COVID Risks, author Benjamin Mueller attempts to bring some much needed perspective to the amount of risk Americans face from COVID in our new post-pandemalyptic landscape.  The article concedes that doctors, scientists and public health officials haven’t been doing a proper job explaining risk to the rest of us dull-witted folks, so they’re going to lay down the facts in a way that even we can understand.

According to the piece, “an average unvaccinated person 65 and older is roughly as likely to die from an omicron infection as someone is to die from using heroin for 18 months.”  I’ve long suspected that my ten month heroin addiction was mere child’s play compared to the ravages of Omicron, but finally I’ve had it confirmed for me by a real life health official.  Thankfully, I’ve been vaccinated, so there is the peace of mind that comes with that protection, as well as the comfort of knowing I can ride the white horse for another seven months.

A University of Georgia mathematics professor was consulted to provide some overdue insight on how to understand percentages.  The professor provided a useful example for overcoming her elderly mother-in-law’s difficulty grasping ten percent, explaining,  “imagine if, once out of every 10 times she used the restroom in a given day, she died.  ‘Oh, 10% is terrible,’ she recalled her mother-in-law saying.”  No doubt everyone’s felt the cold hand of death on their shoulder from time to time when the urgent need to use the restroom arises.  However, now the poor mother-in-law is trapped in a self-repeating cycle of alerting the grim reaper after every tenth flush of her toilet. 

Another sobering reminder of risk showed “that an average 40-year-old vaccinated over six months ago faced roughly the same chance of being hospitalized after an infection as someone did of dying in a car crash in the course of 170 cross-country road trips.”  Additionally, a “transplant recipient is twice as likely to die from COVID as someone is to die while scaling Mount Everest.”  Well, when these high-falutin, ivory tower eggheads put it like that, the whole picture comes into high res focus.  So, I guess you’re telling me that avoiding that second booster is akin to a daredevil motorcycle rider trying to jump 52 semis?  Got it.

Overdosing heroin junkie, lavatory death chamber, Neal Cassady frequency road tripping fatality, Everest mountain climbing casualty:  Whatever context they’re providing for establishing risk, it seems like the New York Times and their panel of expert consultants is basically just telling us to maintain the present course of being scared shitless all the time, which is pretty much the message they’ve been peddling all along.

When you’re broke, stoned and your only friends are FBI informants

If Americans thought the current epidemic of politically motivated kidnappings against government officials was going to end anytime soon, they can think again.  Last Friday, Justice Department attorneys failed to secure guilty verdicts against any of the four men accused of plotting to kidnap Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, who the alleged conspirators planned to either put on trial or abandon in a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan.  Prosecutors and journalists fear this could send the wrong message to political extremists, signaling that it’s okay to snatch governors and subject them to public show trials or maritime abandonment.  Elsewhere, average citizens are wondering when this country is finally going to get serious about halting the rash of abductions of senators, representatives, governors, mayors, cabinet holders and other high profile government officials.  

Of the four accused in the alleged plot, two were found not guilty, while the jury deadlocked on the other two, including the alleged ringleader Adam Fox.  People may remember that before rising to the status of one of the most feared domestic terrorists in the United States, Adam Fox was but a lowly, broke stoner who lived in the basement of a vacuum cleaner repair shop called the Vac Shack in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  With nothing but his trusty bong to keep him company, Fox dreamed of one day becoming the leader of an effort to overthrow the State of Michigan, which would have the domino effect of bringing down the entire United States government.  And he might have succeeded too, if not for a chance meeting with a guy by the name of Big Dan.

Despite Adam Fox’s indigent circumstances, Big Dan saw a lot of potential in the young man.  Once he peered behind the poverty and pot smoke, Big Dan could tell that Fox was a crazy motherfucker, full of scary dreams and violent boasting, he just lacked proper guidance and direction.  So Big Dan set about mentoring Fox, and with the help of his friends at the FBI, Big Dan worked tirelessly to make Adam Fox’s wildest, right-wing fantasies come true.  You see, Big Dan was working as a sort of talent facilitator for the FBI, driving a company car and earning in excess of $50,000.  As mentor, Big Dan offered Fox a free credit card with a $5000 limit.  He secured for Fox a position with the Wolverine Watchmen, a right-wing militia group that Dan once belonged to, and Fox quickly rose through its ranks.  Most importantly, though, Big Dan listened to Adam Fox, something few people had ever done.  Because Adam Fox talked a lot of shit – a lot of scary, violent shit.  But no one ever took him seriously until Big Dan and his FBI handlers.

Adam Fox, Big Dan and members of the Wolverine Watchmen held meet-ups, where Dan’s employer, the federal government, paid for transportation, food and lodging for all the participants.  When the group’s own resident bomb maker, Barry Croft aka Tri-Cornered Hat Dude, failed to successfully detonate any of his homemade explosives, Big Dan and the FBI hooked the group up with a bomb guy.  It seemed like everything was magically falling into place for this group of incompetent ne’er-do-wells.

Eventually, Big Dan received instructions to take it up a notch.  On August 28, 2020, Special Agent Henrik Impola texted Big Dan with “a few goals for today.”  Impola’s instructions included inviting the maximum number of participants to surveil the Michigan governor’s vacation home.  “I default to getting as many other guys as possible so whatever works to maximize attendance,” Impola wrote.  Big Dan pledged to make it happen, and so the plan was in place for FBI informant Big Dan to lead the team on a reconnaissance mission of the Michigan governor’s vacation home and surrounding area.

If you could point to one heroic figure in this whole affair, it would have to be FBI Special Agent Mary Jane.  As it turns out, Adam Fox and another alleged conspirator called Barricade smoked marijuana five times during the infamous recon mission to Governor Witmer’s lake cottage.  FBI photographs from that day show that the chief conspirator in one of the most daring domestic terrorism plots in United States history was so high that he used his hat to surveil the governor’s cottage from across the lake, rather than a pair of binoculars.  Whatever preparation and intelligence gathering Adam Fox and the rest of the alleged conspirators attempted to undertake, it all seemed for naught as it wafted away on plumes of marijuana smoke and gross incompetence. 

The nighttime recon mission didn’t fare much better.  Here’s how Buzzfeed News tells the story:

“In the government’s telling, the most critical moment in the alleged plot took place late on Sept. 12, 2020, when Fox, Croft, and others piled into three trucks and headed out to conduct nighttime surveillance of Whitmer’s lakeside cottage.

“It was not a great success. For one thing, their companions that night included two confidential informants and two undercover agents. Some 10 additional FBI agents followed them en route, and stationary cameras mounted at strategic spots tracked their progress. For another, despite all the careful planning, the men failed to find Whitmer’s house because they had been given the wrong address, and heavy rains made it impossible for them to spot one another from across the lake as they had hoped to do.”

If not for his righteously impaired judgment, a stone free Adam Fox might have been able to ascertain he was being set up.  “Whoa, that is some killer ganj, dude, because I’m seeing all kinds of super paranoid, fucked up shit.  Suspicious vehicles, surveillance cameras, strange looking men lurking in the shadows.  Holy shit!”  You have to wonder if the FBI’s plan was to ensnare the would be terrorists during that recon mission, but the agency was unable to do so because the group lacked the sophistication to locate their target.  Apparently, the group also lacked the sophistication to nail down a date for when they’d all be available to launch their expertly crafted plan.  

Nevertheless, the feds dramatic takedown came days later when Big Dan, Fox and others traveled to Ypsilanti to meet with the FBI’s approved bomb maker, Red.  With only $300 between them, the conspirators lacked the funds to obtain the $4000 device they sought, but they did have plenty of cash to go out for beer and hot wings after the meeting.  That bit of frivolity would have to wait, however, as the conspirators were arrested without incident and have been held in jail ever since.  That is until last Friday when Daniel Harris and Brandon Caserta were acquitted and set free.  

The public can rest easy, though, two of the group’s leaders are still behind bars.  Federal prosecutors have vowed to retry Fox and Croft.  Perhaps, prosecutors could have brought this case in for a successful landing if they hadn’t left some of their all-star agents sitting on the bench.  One of Big Dan’s handlers, Special Agent Jayson Chambers, didn’t testify because he had incorporated a private security firm and bragged about his credentials on the domestic terrorism front prior to the take down of the Apple Dumpling Gang.  Another of Big Dan’s handlers, Special Agent Henrik Impola, was not called upon to testify because he had been accused of perjury in a prior case.  Former FBI Special Agent Richard Trask, who also worked on the case, sat this one out because he faced charges stemming from an incident where he bounced his wife’s head off a nightstand when she failed to comply with his plan to join a Kalamazoo swingers party. 

As for Adam Fox, he probably wishes he’d kept his mouth shut and taken his dreams in another direction, like pursuing that business idea of crafting custom hookahs and bongs out of old vacuum cleaner parts.

A figure on a bridge

Recent revelations from the Kegan Kline interrogation transcript obtained by the Murder Sheet podcast provide a glimpse into the sinister world of internet child predators.  The lengthy police interview reveals how Kline, operating under the online profile anthony_shots, was able to connect with victims, obtain their trust and convince them to provide images, identities and private details of their lives.  There is even a bizarre portion of the interview where interrogators and Kline discuss a situation where he and another profile seem to be catfishing one another.  However, Kline admits to the police interrogator that he was aware at the time that he was probably interacting with someone more like himself rather than an underrage girl.    

For much of the interview, interrogators confront Kline with evidence that he was almost certainly not the only person with access to the anthony_shots profile.  Investigators zero in on Kegan Kline’s father, Tony Kline, as another individual who could have been logging into the account.  Their interest in Tony Kline could make him a potential suspect in the Delphi murders as well as in a disturbing peeping tom incident referenced in the transcript.  In both instances, the anthony_shots profile was in communication with the girls and had knowledge of their whereabouts prior to the incidents.             

The networking of catfishers along with the potential for multiple individuals to have access to a single profile illustrates how these online predators share their revolting plunder with one another.  It also begs the question, how widely disseminated were the images and interactions obtained by the anthony_shots profile?  Could others, besides the Klines, have obtained information on the victims prior to the incidents discussed in the interrogation?  What is the likelihood that a group could be sharing their twisted fantasies with one another, resulting in someone in their midst manifesting their vile yearnings in the real world?

Around the time investigators announced they were seeking information on the anthony_shots profile, in another part of the State of Indiana, a man named Trent Walker of Spencer County was revealed to have been the mastermind of an online group that preyed upon children.  According to a November 17, 2021 Department of Justice press release, Walker “was sentenced to 210 years in federal prison for sexually exploiting two young children and sharing the images and videos he created.”

The description of Walker’s crimes is beyond horrifying.  “Trent Walker, 36, began sexually abusing one of the victims when she was a toddler. The abuse continued over a six-year period and was sadistic in nature. During the sentencing hearing, Judge Richard L. Young, who presided, noted that Walker’s abuse of the child could fairly be described as torture. Walker also abused a six-year-old child for a several-month period. Both victims were in Walker’s care when he abused them.

“Walker created hundreds of images and videos of his sexual abuse of both victims, which he shared with an online group he ran. The group was dedicated to sadistically exploiting small children, some as young as infants. Walker served as the group’s moderator. He encouraged others to share sadistic abuse material, trained others how to conceal their identities online to avoid detection, and coached members of the group on how to abuse young children psychologically, physically, and sexually,” the press release states.

While Spencer County is hundreds of miles from Delphi, the case is instructive because it exposes not only the lone monster inhabiting a dark corner of an unsuspecting community, but also reveals with terrifying clarity how an individual bent on depravity and destruction is able to connect with, instruct and train a whole network of like-minded predators via the internet.  The online group to which Trent Walker served as moderator was “dedicated to sadistically exploiting small children.”  Walker “coached members of the group on how to abuse young children psychologically, physically, and sexually.”  The idea of a lone individual offender engaging in this type of behavior is chilling enough.  The reality that entire groups exist to promote and spread this evil is disturbing beyond comprehension.  

It’s been five years since the Delphi murders.  Five years ago a figure appeared on a bridge.  His blurred likeness was captured on video for all to see, and his words were recorded for the world to hear.  Yet no one, as far as we know, has been able to recognize and identify the individual.  Adding to the mystery, no one knows definitively how he got out on that bridge or how he fled the scene once he had completed his cruel handiwork.  He disappeared as mysteriously as he materialized, becoming a spirit in the wind, a demonic force evading capture.  Five years ago, on an abandoned railroad bridge 70 feet above a frigid creek, two innocent children of the Delphi community crossed paths with a figure from nowhere.  A sinister force partially molded in the depraved and disgusting hovels of the internet, emerging into the physical world to enact his sadistic nightmares.  No doubt he’ll be found lurking there in his dark sanctuary, concealed in some dread corner of the web.

At urging of Pfizer CEO, FDA close to authorizing vaccine “bumps”

On the heels of authorizing a fourth dose of vaccine for the over 50 crowd, the FDA is considering adding vaccine “bumps” to the current regimen of periodic boosting.   

When Pfizer CEO Albert Bourla approached the FDA about recommending another boost for individuals over 65, the regulatory body did him one better by expanding the pool to everyone over 50.

Sensing an opportunity to increase profits, Bourla has instructed researchers at the company to develop vaccine “bumps” to be administered periodically between boosts as a way of supplementing antibody protection.

“You know, it’s just like sometimes your antibodies start to feel a little low and your titer is down around 1:250, and you just need a little bump to maintain and get to feeling normal again.  That’s where we’re at, bro,” Bourla told FDA officials.  “So now when you go into a crowded restaurant and you’re worried about whether your antibody level is going to provide enough protection, you can slip into the restroom, give yourself a little bump of Pfizer vaccine and reemerge with the confidence that you can handle any situation.”

Needless to say, the FDA has been extremely impressed with Bourla’s proactive approach, planning to fasttrack the approval of vaccine bumps without requiring efficacy trials.       

Critics worry that self-administered vaccine jabs could be unnecessary and lead to unintended health consequences.  Bourla dismisses the concern.  “The public has this notion that I’m some kind of pusher man, that I like sticking needles in people’s arms.  Do I look like a common drug peddler?  Get real, man.”