I also did a quick tour of EVERGREEN "hospital " during "lockdown". Since i am an RN the nurses there told me the place was empty and they were being FURLOUGHED! now i know about ALL the false flags...oklahoma city, sandy hook, 9/11 and the hoax "anthrax" bull after.. etc. It's becoming a WILD RIDE!
Sep 17, 2023·edited Sep 17, 2023Liked by Mike Huggins
yes our hospital sent us home for months summer/fall 2020 (we were told to "use our PTO"), no patients, no pandemic, a BIG FAT LIE. I tried so hard to tell everyone, only my immediate family could understand.
Don’t forget our other state FF’s—Marysville Fuckchuck High School shooting, Greenwood explosion, Aurora Bridge crash using Amphibios duck-duck destroys bus and more.
We were hoping you'd go on a shooting spree or assassinate the governor but sadly you left us disappointed. You probably feel superior, being able to show such constraint and humanity. We obviously didn't try hard enough, but there's always next time.
If they’re willing to return me to my pre-damaged condition as I was prior with back pay, + damage compensation I will consider it. They’ll never do it.
The sign posted on the door to the bus about masks - WHAT FEDERAL LAW? There was never a federal law. Who gave them permission to post that lie on the bus?
I would have screamed it and printed it out for every passenger. And that's why I don't work jobs cause I'd be dead already. Poverty attempts to do me in, but I rather don't mind all that much dancing this dance. It's honest, at least.
Get it all together, put it together...I volunteer as a fabulous "editor"...actually, stage director, and this is real life drama....you'll make bank with a book. Make it cartoon style. Like that one that popped up somewhere...you?...DC Noir.
Real people who lived real lives write the very best of books.
Good morning, Mike,, :) I like your reference to the Bible.. :) as a Christian,, love Corinthians: you left out the most important part of that verse; No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.: and you are doing that now! like you said: mission from God! 20 years safe driving..wow. I would comment further but won't.. your selection of OH WELL by Tom Petty .. including the words are PURRRFEKT.. :) did i mention ever that I knew his first cousin, met him several times.. Tom Petty's cousin, Buddy very strange dude, AF vet. apparently his family is brilliant in their very own way.. :) just like you are.
Nothing like sharing a Bible Verse on Sunday morning.. and OH BTW: you have every right to vent. Let me share a thought w/ you: sort of homespun wisdom from the archives of Bible lore: when ONE DOOR CLOSES another one OPENs. I love the OH WELL:. a well worn and applicable phrase that even ChatGPT doesn't get.. hugs to you and family. Thanks for all your service. I don't' know how you did it! I too have worked extensively w/ the public in medicine.. and also used ALL KINDs of public transportation. Yeah, many of my friends did die in 2017 and 2011.. they were both lucky which means blessed. Rave on,, my friend.. you deserve too, take care, Isabell
Thanks Isabell. After posting the article I met up with a subscriber for a beer. Our server had an interesting tattoo. I asked her about it she said it’s called TEMPTATION. Universe messing with me.
Beware Of Low-Pressure Open Door Policies Paul Berge
Two controversial physics notions: 1) It’s alleged that a rolling stone gathers no moss, but Keith Richards blunts that theory, and B) in aviation an open hangar door creates a low-pressure zone into which anything loose on the airfield flows with shameless disregard for adult principles. I know; I was sucked into my hangar 40 years ago and can’t escape.
In a dystopian past, I encountered an airport manager who insisted that hangars existed solely to store aircraft; anything else was contraband. In this prosaically administered world behind chain link and concertina wire, hangar tenants—TSA-vetted and tagged—should remove their aircraft from storage, fly, then upon return, shove the airplane back inside the vault, sealed from view until the next flight. It’s a safe and sterile environment, but I couldn’t live that way, so I found a Midwest grass strip, where hangars store more than aircraft. They hold memories, dreams, some failures, plus dead mice, rusted cylinders, and unlabeled spray paint cans that lost their squirt years ago.My hangar door is a 40-foot-wide Hello. From there I can channel Walt Whitman (1818-1892) and “sound my barbaric yawp over the hangar roofs of the world.” Such yawping is quite civil when accomplished from a lawn chair beneath my Aeronca Champ’s wing. Occasionally, in what Whitman called “the last scud of day,” after a summer flight to nowhere, there might be a single-malt introduced. Depends on the company.
When the door opens all are welcome, including barn swallows who chase the mower down the runway to feed on bugs who thought they’d found the ideal home in the grass. Also in search of idyllic digs are the gypsy pilots who spot our runway and land just to see what’s inside the open hangars. It’s a trap. I’ve caught many who’ve dropped in for a few minutes, only to depart hours later after leaving calling cards that I staple to the back wall. Rarely do transients return, but their cards remain to fade and curl in the dust of Time that floats through the open door coating us all.Helmut (not his real name) was a Swiss pilot. He’d been touring the Midwest by bus—everything about that has Rick Steves reaching for his bong—when as they approached our airport, he spotted my friend, Bill, landing his Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser (like a Cub only more so). Bill had been on a mission checking local airfields for signs of life, spotted my open hangar, and landed.
As Bill took a seat atop an overturned oil bucket, Helmut approached from the parking lot where the tour bus now sat, holding confused Swiss tourists wondering why they were in a cornfield and why Helmut, 28, was walking with zombie determination toward an open hangar. To Helmut it was clear. He’d been touring for a week, visiting one Amish general store after another, sampling Iowa’s extensive array of dried carp-on-a-stick and the worst wines this side of North Korean vineyards. Dreading another Cracker Barrel buffet, Helmut spotted the Super Cruiser on base turning final in a forward slip and shouted for the driver to stop.Helmut’s “Sorry to intrude,” in Oxonian English, prompted Bill to respond, “Hell, that don’t sound like no southern Iowa accent,” and offered a seat on another upturned bucket and a warm Dr. Pepper. Helmut accepted one but declined the latter and quickly established his airport bona fides as a pilot held hostage by non-pilots. We saw his fellow travelers slipping from the bus as the tour guide nervously corralled them back.Helmut said he’d never flown a taildragger, and since we had two on standby we rolled mine out, guided a stunned Helmut into the front seat and clamped a David Clark across his head. I climbed into the back as Bill called from the propeller: “Switch off?” I replied “Off,” and as Bill pulled the prop through four blades to prime the engine, Helmut adjusted the headset so we could speak though the intercom, which translates any language into pilot talk when accompanied by hand gestures.“Brakes, contact!”
Bill gave the prop an easy snap then climbed into his airplane while the Continental warmed up. After a rolling control check and runup I waved to Bill, who’d followed us on the back-taxi down the runway. As we lined up for departure, Helmut asked where the control tower was. “Des Moines,” I answered, “but that’s a long ways off,” and opened the throttle. Champs and Super Cruisers don’t use much runway, even on warm days, still we were low as our shadows flashed across the Swiss tourists and their flummoxed guide. Helmut waved. The gravity-impaired below waved back, “Godspeed, Helmut!” (Viel Glück, Helmut!)
We broke the language barrier when Helmut turned with a shake of his head as though groping for the appropriate language to express how mind-expanding a summer flight in an old airplane across endless corn and soybeans can be to first-timers. He transitioned well to stick and rudder and expressed the usual embarrassment at his uncoordinated turns. After talking him through the landing, we headed to the hangar where the tour bus waited to return the escaped inmate to reality’s asylum.
“What do I owe you?” Helmut asked while opening his wallet, and I replied with uncouth chauvinism, “Oh, nothing.” Adding, “Flying’s free in America.” I think I got that from West Side Story. Still, Helmut pressed a 10-franc note into my hand in lieu of a calling card and reboarded the tour bus, never to return. Well, I guess he returned to Switzerland but not, as far as I know, to Iowa, where flying really is free … to those who can afford it.
At today’s exchange rate, ten francs gets $11.67 USD, enough for three gallons of mogas in the Champ. I laminated the Swiss ten-spot and tacked it to the hangar wall amid the calling cards of other gypsy pilots who’d been lured into the low pressure from open hangars, and there, to borrow from Whitman’s hangar neighbor, Henry Longfellow (1807-82):“I will keep you forever,Yes, forever and a day,till crumble to ruin And moulder in dust away!”
And you are still alive - to rant and rave - ain't it great?
I love these personal life stories, when people share their life experiences, especially from great writers like you. I must do more of it...you've inspired me! You always do.
You are a freaking warrior - little wonder I resonate so much with your awesomeness!
I've never forgotten the day my friend said to me..."YOu know what books I like the best? Autobiographies." I knew she was right. It's true. Real people tell the real stories, and "truth is stranger than fiction".
From "Do it! Please!" my mind jumps immediately to ...oh, to have a site for women's intertwined stories. To weave our stories withint one another's stories when the threads run well together, and see/show the weaving of the world.
I wish you had made that announcement!!!! BEST RANT EVER! What a freak show colossal loss to our modern day world throwing us back in time so a few psychopaths could make some money and enjoy a S**T show.
Man....you really should have. 😏
As always, just adore reading your stack. 🙂
Thanks Sue.
I also did a quick tour of EVERGREEN "hospital " during "lockdown". Since i am an RN the nurses there told me the place was empty and they were being FURLOUGHED! now i know about ALL the false flags...oklahoma city, sandy hook, 9/11 and the hoax "anthrax" bull after.. etc. It's becoming a WILD RIDE!
yes our hospital sent us home for months summer/fall 2020 (we were told to "use our PTO"), no patients, no pandemic, a BIG FAT LIE. I tried so hard to tell everyone, only my immediate family could understand.
Did you record any of it?
Did you take any video?
Don’t forget our other state FF’s—Marysville Fuckchuck High School shooting, Greenwood explosion, Aurora Bridge crash using Amphibios duck-duck destroys bus and more.
The professionals have left the building. That was wrong, what they did to you. Now, they suffer from their ignorance and gullability.
We were hoping you'd go on a shooting spree or assassinate the governor but sadly you left us disappointed. You probably feel superior, being able to show such constraint and humanity. We obviously didn't try hard enough, but there's always next time.
Signed
The Globalists.
Ha…ha….I know you’ll try me again G.
Looking forward to it!
The Globalists.
Me too.
I love your writing and might steal your idea for the ghost garden for my BRIER WA backyard!❤️
Send me pics if you do. Very cool.
if they give you your job back with all back pay, will you go back?
If they’re willing to return me to my pre-damaged condition as I was prior with back pay, + damage compensation I will consider it. They’ll never do it.
The sign posted on the door to the bus about masks - WHAT FEDERAL LAW? There was never a federal law. Who gave them permission to post that lie on the bus?
I pointed out their lie but they refuse to change it. I never enforced the mask because I didn’t wear one.
At least you documented their tyranny.
I would have screamed it and printed it out for every passenger. And that's why I don't work jobs cause I'd be dead already. Poverty attempts to do me in, but I rather don't mind all that much dancing this dance. It's honest, at least.
Get it all together, put it together...I volunteer as a fabulous "editor"...actually, stage director, and this is real life drama....you'll make bank with a book. Make it cartoon style. Like that one that popped up somewhere...you?...DC Noir.
Real people who lived real lives write the very best of books.
I agree, and he needs no "ghost" writer.
dude...pure brilliance!
Should have gone for it. What were they going to do? Fire you?😂
however...it was an exceedingly socially-dangerous time. Denying this is just absurd, more denial. This is a violent society. Prove me wrong, please.
Golden opportunity gone.
Good morning, Mike,, :) I like your reference to the Bible.. :) as a Christian,, love Corinthians: you left out the most important part of that verse; No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.: and you are doing that now! like you said: mission from God! 20 years safe driving..wow. I would comment further but won't.. your selection of OH WELL by Tom Petty .. including the words are PURRRFEKT.. :) did i mention ever that I knew his first cousin, met him several times.. Tom Petty's cousin, Buddy very strange dude, AF vet. apparently his family is brilliant in their very own way.. :) just like you are.
Nothing like sharing a Bible Verse on Sunday morning.. and OH BTW: you have every right to vent. Let me share a thought w/ you: sort of homespun wisdom from the archives of Bible lore: when ONE DOOR CLOSES another one OPENs. I love the OH WELL:. a well worn and applicable phrase that even ChatGPT doesn't get.. hugs to you and family. Thanks for all your service. I don't' know how you did it! I too have worked extensively w/ the public in medicine.. and also used ALL KINDs of public transportation. Yeah, many of my friends did die in 2017 and 2011.. they were both lucky which means blessed. Rave on,, my friend.. you deserve too, take care, Isabell
Thanks Isabell. After posting the article I met up with a subscriber for a beer. Our server had an interesting tattoo. I asked her about it she said it’s called TEMPTATION. Universe messing with me.
here's a met up with a stranger & opening doors meditation- https://www.avweb.com/insider/beware-of-low-pressure-open-door-policies/
Beware Of Low-Pressure Open Door Policies Paul Berge
Two controversial physics notions: 1) It’s alleged that a rolling stone gathers no moss, but Keith Richards blunts that theory, and B) in aviation an open hangar door creates a low-pressure zone into which anything loose on the airfield flows with shameless disregard for adult principles. I know; I was sucked into my hangar 40 years ago and can’t escape.
In a dystopian past, I encountered an airport manager who insisted that hangars existed solely to store aircraft; anything else was contraband. In this prosaically administered world behind chain link and concertina wire, hangar tenants—TSA-vetted and tagged—should remove their aircraft from storage, fly, then upon return, shove the airplane back inside the vault, sealed from view until the next flight. It’s a safe and sterile environment, but I couldn’t live that way, so I found a Midwest grass strip, where hangars store more than aircraft. They hold memories, dreams, some failures, plus dead mice, rusted cylinders, and unlabeled spray paint cans that lost their squirt years ago.My hangar door is a 40-foot-wide Hello. From there I can channel Walt Whitman (1818-1892) and “sound my barbaric yawp over the hangar roofs of the world.” Such yawping is quite civil when accomplished from a lawn chair beneath my Aeronca Champ’s wing. Occasionally, in what Whitman called “the last scud of day,” after a summer flight to nowhere, there might be a single-malt introduced. Depends on the company.
When the door opens all are welcome, including barn swallows who chase the mower down the runway to feed on bugs who thought they’d found the ideal home in the grass. Also in search of idyllic digs are the gypsy pilots who spot our runway and land just to see what’s inside the open hangars. It’s a trap. I’ve caught many who’ve dropped in for a few minutes, only to depart hours later after leaving calling cards that I staple to the back wall. Rarely do transients return, but their cards remain to fade and curl in the dust of Time that floats through the open door coating us all.Helmut (not his real name) was a Swiss pilot. He’d been touring the Midwest by bus—everything about that has Rick Steves reaching for his bong—when as they approached our airport, he spotted my friend, Bill, landing his Piper PA-12 Super Cruiser (like a Cub only more so). Bill had been on a mission checking local airfields for signs of life, spotted my open hangar, and landed.
As Bill took a seat atop an overturned oil bucket, Helmut approached from the parking lot where the tour bus now sat, holding confused Swiss tourists wondering why they were in a cornfield and why Helmut, 28, was walking with zombie determination toward an open hangar. To Helmut it was clear. He’d been touring for a week, visiting one Amish general store after another, sampling Iowa’s extensive array of dried carp-on-a-stick and the worst wines this side of North Korean vineyards. Dreading another Cracker Barrel buffet, Helmut spotted the Super Cruiser on base turning final in a forward slip and shouted for the driver to stop.Helmut’s “Sorry to intrude,” in Oxonian English, prompted Bill to respond, “Hell, that don’t sound like no southern Iowa accent,” and offered a seat on another upturned bucket and a warm Dr. Pepper. Helmut accepted one but declined the latter and quickly established his airport bona fides as a pilot held hostage by non-pilots. We saw his fellow travelers slipping from the bus as the tour guide nervously corralled them back.Helmut said he’d never flown a taildragger, and since we had two on standby we rolled mine out, guided a stunned Helmut into the front seat and clamped a David Clark across his head. I climbed into the back as Bill called from the propeller: “Switch off?” I replied “Off,” and as Bill pulled the prop through four blades to prime the engine, Helmut adjusted the headset so we could speak though the intercom, which translates any language into pilot talk when accompanied by hand gestures.“Brakes, contact!”
Bill gave the prop an easy snap then climbed into his airplane while the Continental warmed up. After a rolling control check and runup I waved to Bill, who’d followed us on the back-taxi down the runway. As we lined up for departure, Helmut asked where the control tower was. “Des Moines,” I answered, “but that’s a long ways off,” and opened the throttle. Champs and Super Cruisers don’t use much runway, even on warm days, still we were low as our shadows flashed across the Swiss tourists and their flummoxed guide. Helmut waved. The gravity-impaired below waved back, “Godspeed, Helmut!” (Viel Glück, Helmut!)
We broke the language barrier when Helmut turned with a shake of his head as though groping for the appropriate language to express how mind-expanding a summer flight in an old airplane across endless corn and soybeans can be to first-timers. He transitioned well to stick and rudder and expressed the usual embarrassment at his uncoordinated turns. After talking him through the landing, we headed to the hangar where the tour bus waited to return the escaped inmate to reality’s asylum.
“What do I owe you?” Helmut asked while opening his wallet, and I replied with uncouth chauvinism, “Oh, nothing.” Adding, “Flying’s free in America.” I think I got that from West Side Story. Still, Helmut pressed a 10-franc note into my hand in lieu of a calling card and reboarded the tour bus, never to return. Well, I guess he returned to Switzerland but not, as far as I know, to Iowa, where flying really is free … to those who can afford it.
At today’s exchange rate, ten francs gets $11.67 USD, enough for three gallons of mogas in the Champ. I laminated the Swiss ten-spot and tacked it to the hangar wall amid the calling cards of other gypsy pilots who’d been lured into the low pressure from open hangars, and there, to borrow from Whitman’s hangar neighbor, Henry Longfellow (1807-82):“I will keep you forever,Yes, forever and a day,till crumble to ruin And moulder in dust away!”
Gotta cull the good guys.
Obedience above ability.
Quit ranting, you fucking genius. Start writing....big time.
And you are still alive - to rant and rave - ain't it great?
I love these personal life stories, when people share their life experiences, especially from great writers like you. I must do more of it...you've inspired me! You always do.
You are a freaking warrior - little wonder I resonate so much with your awesomeness!
I've never forgotten the day my friend said to me..."YOu know what books I like the best? Autobiographies." I knew she was right. It's true. Real people tell the real stories, and "truth is stranger than fiction".
I certainly have a lot of strange I could write about.
don't consider yourself unique there!! go ahead, open it up, you'll hear strange....
I have some amazing stories/experiences...I'm going to put my big girl panties on and write about them!!! You are right, they are the best!
From "Do it! Please!" my mind jumps immediately to ...oh, to have a site for women's intertwined stories. To weave our stories withint one another's stories when the threads run well together, and see/show the weaving of the world.
I wish you had made that announcement!!!! BEST RANT EVER! What a freak show colossal loss to our modern day world throwing us back in time so a few psychopaths could make some money and enjoy a S**T show.
He just did. Right place, right time. We're not "in charge", no ONE is. Much to the dismay of all the petty kings and queens.