Book I: Chapter 20
I pouted for a couple days — tinkering around in the garage working on my… project.
As I told you before, I’m currently living in upstate Pennsylvania – in a town called Williamsport to be exact.
Now if you’re wondering what there is to do in Williamsport, let me answer you – not much. I migrated here over fifty years ago because I wanted to live in a secluded town where I wouldn’t be bothered. For the most part, that’s still the case.
The city (if you can call it that) is located in the northern part of Pennsylvania, a little east of center. When I moved here back in the 1950’s it was still a pretty small town, but since then it has grown to about 30,000 or so – some of that started with an influx of supposedly rehabbing criminals that were shipped from Philly in the last couple decades of the twentieth century and then even more came after the various Covid Health Rezoning and Racial Equity Redistribution Plans that started back in 2021 and 2022. To encourage Williamsport to accept these fine new citizens, the state paid the city a bunch of money for so-called sustainable community projects; it wasn’t a fair exchange. This place used to be a decent country village with respectable people who lived in harmony with police and other first-responders, but that all went to pot when they let the BLM and Antifa agitators take over.
These ‘peaceful’ protesters (as the #FakeNews always called them) were naught but goons too stupid to realize they were being used as pawns to support the higher agenda of The Great Reset. The new regime was never going to give BLM and Antifa the equality they claimed to be fighting for, but most of the protestors didn’t care about that anyway – instead, because they were allowed to do what they loved best (loot, pillage, and spout their madness at all hours of the night), they happily played the part assigned to them – spreading terror as part of the 2020 Election-Steal campaign in order to try to make our people vote against President Trump.
The hard-working, blue-collar people of this area knew Trump wasn’t really responsible for the anarchy and thus we voted in droves to reelect President Trump and his ‘law and order’ policies. Unfortunately, like people in other other swing states, we learned too late that our votes didn’t really matter. President Trump was never going to be re-elected, no matter how many votes he got because a cabal of well-funded powerful organizations from around the world had worked together behind the scenes to decide the matter beforehand.
In PA we witnessed the stolen election first hand. On election day, President Trump was the clear winner by an overwhelming majority – just like he was in Michigan, Georgia, and other swing states. After watching President Trump wipe the floor with Biden on Election Night, I went to bed certain of Trump’s relection. Oh how foolish I was. Like many others I watched in horror as the fine folks in Philly and Harrisburg assured their overlords not to worry about the overwhelming support for Trump in rural communities like Williamsport, and true to their word the cabal and their agents ‘found’ all the mail-in votes and computerized ballot dumps they needed to steal the state of PA for their candidate instead – taking as many days as they needed to change the result in their favor – just like their partners did in other swing states.
And that, my friends, is how you steal an election in the twenty-first century.
Unfortunately they left the ‘peaceful’ protesters to continue to plague us. Worse yet they also defunded the police and other social services. As a result, the Antifa goons have pretty much taken over the city proper and they’ve continued to cause havoc as part of the new socialist government’s agenda to keep the people cowering in fear and begging for martial law to protect them. Williamsport, as it once was, is now a thing of the past – like so many other towns across The New CCP America.
I’d prefer to think of happier times instead.
Hey, did you know that in the late 1800s Williamsport was actually known as The Lumber Capital of the World? Or that Williamsport once had more millionaires per-capita than anywhere in the United States at the time?
I doubt you know any of this or even care. In fact, if you’ve heard of this town at all, it’s likely because it was the birthplace of Little League baseball and it’s the home of the Little League World Series…
I guess I should say it USED to be the home of the LLWS – like so many things Covid cancelled that event (in the name of public safety, of course). There was talk about it trying to make a comeback in 2022, but with youth sports destroyed by the pandemic Health Regulations (especially in uber-socialist states like PA) and with domestic and international air travel so severely limited by vaccine passports and the like, The Little League World Series never really had a chance.
It pains me to remember what once was and what the plandemic’s public health policies stole from us.
Seeing a baseball game in person is one of the things I miss most.
I love baseball and while I never played (the game didn’t even exist when I was in my youth), for whatever reason I could never get enough of watching this pastime. Sure my favorite team is the Phillies, but being that they are three-plus hours away by car, and given all the Covid Health Regulations you have to comply with to see a live game, I don’t have the option anymore.
Prior to Covid, if I wanted to see some live ball, I had a couple options – I used to be able to drive into town and watch the local minor league affiliate of the Phillies called the Williamsport Crosscutters, or I could have gone to any number of local Little League games and see the sport in its purest form.
All of that is gone now – again in the name of public health.
While the government still allowed for professional sports (they were after all the modern day opiate of the people), everything below that level has pretty much become relics of a bygone era. I still remember the time when nobody cared about viruses or ever considered snitching on their neighbor for not wearing a mask. I remember life before mandatory vaccines or Freedom Passes. I even remember the pre-Covid age of neighborhood cookouts and fun. And little league baseball was a big part of that.
Believe it or not, I wasn’t always a crotchedy old man. I even used to volunteer as a coach at the Brandon Little League that played in a local park across the street from my friend Frank Stoppa’s house (yes it’s true – I really did have friends in my life). I enjoyed my time as a little league coach and I was a stalwart at the Brandon Little League for over two decades. Unfortunately, in the late 80’s, I started to feel under-appreciated by some of the parents, and later on I started to get questioned as to why an old geezer like me was so interested in helping out with young boys and girls who were not related to me. Eventually it just wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. (Gee whiz, it’s not like I was recruiting some kid to be my catamite. I simply loved the game – is that such a crime?).
As for my friend Frankie, he was quite a pal. With a shock of black hair ever-filled with Brylcreem, he was a greasy-haired Italian-Pollock who was one of the few people in the world I’ve ever met who truly got it.
It was Frankie who introduced me to my faithful friends Jim and Jack (Reeves and Daniels that is), as well as to such beer classics as PBR, Genesee, and Yuengling. And it was Frankie who also turned me on to country music. Many a night it was that the two of us would put away a case of beer or a few fifths of whiskey listening to Jim Reeves, Conway Twitty, or Hank Williams.
Yes, Frankie understood that life was pretty much pointless unless you could find some way to enjoy it.
He was quite a character – as gregarious as I am quiet – and for over forty years we made quite a team. Unfortunately for me, Frank passed away back in 2009 and things haven’t been the same since.
He was my last real friend. He knew my secrets – and he took them to the grave. Funny enough, I was there at his funeral mass when his grandson gave what I consider the most fitting eulogy of all time – not only was the talk filled with humorous stories about Frankie’s life, but at the very end, (right there in a Catholic Church mind you), his grandson cracked open a can of Pabst and sent Frankie off with a toast of ‘one for the road!’ I can’t imagine the balls it took for his grandson to stand up in a catholic church and make a toast with a beer can. I heard after the fact that the priest was none too happy about it.
And yet, I don’t have such a luxury — I’ll never get a eulogy like that because I’m stuck here. Despite the fact that I still enjoy my baseball, and my booze, and my music, I’d gladly give it all away if I could only die like my friend Frankie.
I’m just oh so tired of being alive. Can you understand that? I doubt it.
There’s a section of King Solomon’s Book of Ecclesiastes (Chapter 12) which comes close to what I’m feeling. Let me read it to you,
“…The years approach when you will say, ‘I find no pleasure in them.’ When the sun and the moon and the stars grow dark. When old men rise up at the sound of birds, but all their songs grow faint. When even the grasshopper drags himself along — for desire is no longer stirred. Then shall the dust shall return to the ground it came from, and the spirit to the God who gave it. [But for me] Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless!”
If you open your Bible and read that book, you’ll notice that I did NOT add that last section about Life being “meaningless” – Solomon himself wrote those words and he was supposed to be the wisest man who ever lived so if you got a problem, take it up with him. In any case, his words sure as hell apply to me.
But, what more can I do?
I can’t die, and yet I don’t want to keep on living. And so, I am forced to suffer a meaningless existence – unless I can figure out a way to change my fate. Covid couldn’t kill me, neither could the mRNA vaccines that killed so many others. But not to worry, because that’s what my Project is all about.
I’d love to finally tell you about something IMPORTANT – like my Project – but alas, right now I’m supposed to talk about my visions… again.