Wednesday, November 25, 2020



The young man set the AR-15 on the bench with a smirk. Every round had “pinged” the target down range as the bump-stock helped to quickly empty the 30 round MAGAzine. Gramps had always treasured this gun and since it had been given to him as a gift, he too treasured it. As he glanced down at it, each little telltale sign of use never betrayed how well it worked and had been maintained. Even the laser engraved MAGA on the side was still very legible.

The year was 2035. The young man had recently turned 16. The AR was the best gift he ever received, other than in the backseat of his car with Sidney but that’s another story.

 In the distance there were reports from more shooters enjoying the beautiful blue November sky. There was a slight chill in the air, it was calm and peaceful. The American flag hung proudly on the pole. The worn Trump flag hung below it.

He took off his earmuffs and turned to see the smile on his Grandfather’s face and then glanced down at the .45 that always sat on his hip.

Gramps was greying and looking older but strong and fit for a man in his mid 70s. The old man smiled at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “The ol’ girl still shoots as sweet as ever, huh?” Don looked at him for a quick moment, smiled and gave him a hug. For a moment Gramps had dust in his eyes which he didn’t hide.

Don gave him a punch to the shoulder, forgetting the bullet wound. Gramps winced and punched him back. They laughed.

“Tell me the story again Gramps!”

“Come on, you’ve heard it a hundred times! Plus your Grandmother is gonna be on my ass if we don’t get back in time for you to carve the turkey. We are having more than 10 people AGAIN this year!” They laughed again. Gramps always said that same thing every Thanksgiving for as long as the boy could remember.

“Alright, one more time and that’s it. The short version.” They both envisioned Gramps nose growing like Pinocchio at that statement. Gramps loved to tell his story.

They gathered the gear and the old man stopped to look at the bottom of one of the shells. 45 Auto was stamped. 45, he smiled. Donald Trump 45th President.

As they walked the leaf lined trail back to the house he told the story. Don had heard it many times but it never got old.

The four years of leading up to 2020.

How it seemed that Trump was alone but kept fighting.

How the left, which is now a shadow of itself fought him every way they could.

The names of Clinton and Soros and Biden and Harris of Mueller and Acosta and Facebook and Twitter of Epstein and Ginsberg and..

Gramps always “sang” that like Santa calling his reindeer. Although Gramps listed way more “reindeer.”

There were names like “occastional cortex” “pelousy” “cuck shumer” and some guy name “moose” that was a First lady and married to President “bathhouse barry”. Don knew their real names and crimes from school.

The story went on.

The left tried to crush the economy and Trump's popularity with the virus but the ground swell of the Trump Train, “Choo Choo!” Gramps said loudly, was amazing. There were huge rallies and car parades and boat parades.  You could feel the energy. Things were going well for most Americans leading into 2020.


There was the “kung flu”. The masks. The mandates. The Jawhorenalists, The Governors. “Flatten the curve”.

 The fraudulent election.

 The division of friend, family and country.

 The lawsuits.

The Supreme Court Battle.

Neither of them realizing they had stopped to sit on then bench by the trail.

 Gramps turned to Don with a serious look.

“They all paid for that.” He said quietly. “We, The People, Won.”

 “Even though It didn’t end there, we ended it.”

“They didn’t accept what was obvious to normal everyday people.”

 At this point Don spoke. “ Even in history class they teach a whole semester of the pervasive corruption, collusion and the fraud of that election. The class even teaches about the lies of so many of the so called leaders during 2020.” he paused, “How could people not see it?”

Gramps shrugged, “They watched what once was the Lame Stream Media, the fifth column." he paused "or, maybe it was something in the soy?”  They both laughed and laughed.

The story continued, the riots, the burning of cities, the killing of each side's perceived enemies.

There were thousands of  heroes, unnamed,  that battled against the domestic enemies of the Constitution. "WE outnumbered THEM"

It was ugly. 

The arrests were happening almost daily. Media executives, Hollyweirdos ( as Gramps called them). Politicians on both sides of the supposed “aisle” that really wasn’t there. Martial Law. The trials and executions.

The executions.

That’s when, as Gramps said, “ Shit got real for them”

The mood changed more upbeat.

As 2021 went on things got better and by 2022 most had returned to normal life.

Sure there was the occasional issue but it was dealt with swiftly by authorities.


“Life is like a box of chocolates “ Gramps said, “You never know what you’re gonna get”

"By the way, remind me again how many kids are named Don in your school?"

"Too many, Gramps, too many."

They stood from the bench and headed up to the house.

Gram was standing sternly on the porch. Gramps was late again.

She was always stern with a twinkle in her eye.

Don ran up and gave her a hug.

She admonished Gramps. Then they hugged and kissed.

Gramps put his arm around her waist and they walked into the house.









  1. We can only hope that it will turn out this way

  2. Hope, wishing and a lot prayer isn't going to make it happen.

    It's going to take blood, sweat and tears and even then the outcome is uncertain.


  3. Fiction is certainly a good read. However, the best fiction usually has no basis in reality because reality is hard to ignore while you're reading fiction.
    While I love to read both, fact of the matter is that I simply don't have enough time left on this planet to wait out to see how the game gets played out.

  4. Overlooking all of the grim realities that are necessary for this story to become true, it warms the heart to think that it might yet be.

  5. I desire to tell that same story to my grandkids. God willing it shall be.That story will be a first in the history books. May it never have to repeat.

  6. We simply cannot have such a thoroughly corrupt "person" occupying the Office of the Presidency. He is so incredibly corrupt it would be incredibly damaging to The Republic, that if he served even ONE DAY we would come to great harm! I cannot emphasize that enough.

    And the slimebags he is surrounding himself with now reminds me of the Cher song, "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves".

    Please, God, let it not be so, I beseech Thee! We may have to open the fourth box, I pray we don't.

  7. "I was a freshman at a small southwestern college. I never thought these letters were real until a few days ago, I had an experience that changed my mind. I just had to share it with you..."

  8. We Can only hope. Have a Happy Thanksgiving Irish!! From a fellow New Hampshireite.

  9. Your lips to God's ear, big guy. Thanks for the positive thought.
    Worst case, we survived jimmy peanut, slick, & bath house barry, we can survive heelsup & the pedo.
    Happy Thanksgiving, and God Bless.

    1. What we can't survive is the corruption attempting to place them there.
      This is our hill to die on. If you can't see that, then you'll never fight for anything until the midnight knock comes to your own door.

  10. Unfortunately, if such a story would be possible three elections from now it would contain bloodshed and a great deal of loss. Our American commies are not of the finest mettle, but they are roughly half of us. Half of them will need to die and they will kill a crapload of us. I am old and can, perhaps, take 2 or 3 with me. Maybe only 1. The fight is on you young guys. I stood the wall, and manned the watch, a long time ago. God bless you. I've worked a long time, and hard, to enjoy my old age and now I'm here, but I see my country going t shit. I took the oath to defend her, but my abilities to do so suck...

    1. I am with you Knucklehead. I've got maybe 15 years left, I am fat and slow. But I think I can get 3 of them before they get me.

    2. I'm right there with you knucklehead. Been almost 40 years since I walked the wall. But it's better to shoot and run away to live to shoot another day.

    3. The Commies are only 30% of the population. They talk a big game in the media, and screech loudly everywhere they can. Also, we don't have to kill half of them. We need to eliminate ALL of them. If they walk south to Mexico, fine. If not...

  11. I would call that a PERFECT Thanksgiving day story. Let us hope and pray that it comes to fruition.

  12. Replies
    1. Yes, she was named after Sidney Powell. I'll edit it. Thanks.

  13. No better story could be told. Happy Thanksgiving to all.

  14. God bless you & yours in these interesting times!

    I'm thinking the death toll required for this kind of change would probably be in the range of 10 million, the majority of which will be from the coasts. Once the dying starts, the weakest of them will give it up, & try to hide their involvement. It would most likely be over in a very few weeks. If it goes on to the 70 million mark or higher, it will take us generations to recover. Remember, only three days food & water available if the trucks stop rollin'.


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