Allow me to unleash a reality check that’s long overdue, because about every week now for the last three years, ever since President Spanky rode down that Escalator of Doom in June of ’15, I’ve been ranting, raging and raving non-stop in This Space. And, as we’ve all now seen, with good fucking reason. I mean, fercrissakes—Scott Pruitt? This guy is the Lebron James of graft, like a Gotham City commissioner on the take in a Batman movie. Quite possibly the second most detestable human being currently residing in D.C. (and at a very suspicious monthly rate!).

But the point I want to make, before I go off on yet another spittle-spewing rant—so easy to do!—is that life here in Nevada is still really good. It just is. I gotta admit, I’m having a swell time, and I thought I would throw that out there this week, because it’s real, and it should be said on occasion.

Living in America is still pretty doggone OK, all things considered. The house is paid off, as is the truck, my health is hanging in there, and my entitlements (yay SS! yay Medicare!) are doing exactly what they’re supposed to, so, hey, what’s not to like? I live in an astoundingly wealthy country, filled with staggering abundance—remember the time Mikhail Gorbachev, the last likable Russian, walked into an American supermarket and began to cry at the sight of what we all take for granted?—a country populated with loads and loads of decent, reasonable, friendly people (even, I begrudgingly admit, some Trump supporters!). And let us not forget that our country is a wondrous little patch of an astoundingly fabulous planet, which is still never-ending in its ability to impress and dazzle in a myriad of ways, even as we continue to make ever larger and more ominous messes that are, without a doubt, the responsibility of one species and only one, and that species is, of course—wait. OK, hold on.

So, life is still pretty darn pleasant, at least for an old white guy with a functioning Visa card. For all our shortcomings, problems, and difficulties, it’s journalistically honest to report that, most of the time, people are nice, stuff works, and things happen the way they should. Most of the time.

And that’s when I woke up and remembered that just two years ago, I literally never pondered the possibility that the POTUS was being blackmailed by his extramarital mistresses. Or Russian dictators, for that matter. Take it from your correspondent, vape ’n’ vino is very helpful.

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