It's NOT healthcare, it's GREEDCARE that Kills

The year is 1873. Your wife tires easily and reads too much. The doctor prescribes the rest cure: six weeks flat in bed, no books, no visitors, fed on milk, forbidden to sit up without his permission. The man who devised it is the most famous nerve specialist in America, and the women come out of it quieter, which is taken as the cure.

The year is 1915. The hospital has a new way of delivering your child. Morphine, then scopolamine, and the mother wakes two days later with a baby she cannot remember having. They call it twilight sleep. The women are strapped into padded cots so they do not hurt themselves while they scream, and the straps are the modern part. The babies arrive blue and slow to breathe.

The year is 1945. The truck comes down your street fogging DDT, and the children run behind it in the white cloud because the man on the back says it is harmless. At the beach it is sprayed over the bathers on their towels. It goes on the cattle, over the barn, and across the kitchen table.

The year is 1948. Your son has trouble with his ears. The doctor slides a rod tipped with radium up each nostril and holds it there for the best part of ten minutes, and you bring him back three more times. Hundreds of thousands of American children get the same treatment. The cancers arrive in their fifties.

The year is 1962. The health visitor tells you breastfeeding is old-fashioned and the formula is scientific. By 1972 fewer than one American baby in four is breastfed at all. The formula is skimmed milk and sugar, with the milk fat taken out and vegetable oil put in.

The year is 1971. The family planning clinic fits a small plastic crab called the Dalkon Shield. Its tail is a bundle of fibres that wicks bacteria up into the womb. 2.8 million are fitted in America before it is withdrawn, and the company goes bankrupt under the claims. It had been sold as safe and superior.

The year is 1983. The doctor says your arteries are the butter's fault. The dripping tin goes in the bin, the yolks go to the dog, the margarine goes in the fridge, and you have the heart attack anyway, on skimmed milk, having done everything right.

The year is 2001. Your 15-year-old is low, and the doctor prescribes Paxil, because the trial in the journal says it is effective and well tolerated in adolescents. The raw data, reanalysed 14 years later, shows more suicidal thinking on the drug than on the sugar pill. The company pays $3 billion to settle. Nobody rings the house.

The year is 2009. The government has spent around £500 million stockpiling Tamiflu for the pandemic, on the strength of the manufacturer's trials. When the trials are finally prised loose five years later, the drug shortens flu by about half a day and nothing shows it keeps anyone out of hospital. The stockpile goes out of date in a warehouse.

The year is 2026. The doctor has ten minutes and a screen. The number is high, so the tablet is for life. The weight is high, so the injection is for life. The meat is bad for the planet and the oil is good for the heart, and the person in the chair is as certain as everyone who ever sat in it.

Every one of those was settled, by a committee, in a journal, with a doubter somewhere being laughed at. The rest cure, the straps, the fog, the rod, the formula, the crab, the margarine, the trial, the stockpile. All of it certain, all of it printed, all of it done to somebody who had asked for help.

You were never the one who was wrong. You were the one it was done to, and the only person in the story who did as they were told every single time.

The apology comes a generation late, in a footnote, addressed to nobody.

The next one is being drafted now.

If you have a pulse and vote..........................

Listen to ELON MUSK.

Vote accordingly.

"My biggest concern is that if there is a clean sweep by Democrats of the House, Senate and Presidency in 2028, they will:

1. Make DC and Puerto Rico states to gain a strong majority in the Senate.

2. Open the borders and legalize everyone living in America illegally to cement a permanent majority.

3. Increase the size of the Supreme Court to gain an immediate majority. This would result in America becoming a permanent one-party state and the end of democracy in any meaningful sense of the word. All that is needed to ensure this doesn’t happen is 51 Republican senators in 2029.

That is why you should vote for Republican senators this election. Other reasons are irrelevant compared to this one."

NEVADA 2026

Where were you 14 years ago?  In the spring of 2012 I decided I would make an attempt to hunt mule deer in Nevada.   I didn't make the decision lightly, I knew it would take years to draw a tag to hunt as a non-resident.  Years cost money, more every year, no guarantees.   For grins, I threw my youngest son's name in the draw as well.   He was 15 at the time and figured some day he would be able to help the cause and get me to where I needed to be to get on a big mule deer.   Time flies doesn't it?  Think about 14 years ago and how much has changed in your life.  Where were you in the game of life back then?   I was a dreamer then.   I still dream.   Big dreams.    There are plenty of hunts I apply for every year, maybe next year I will get lucky.  You can't hunt if you don't apply and you can't kill big deer if there aren't big deer to kill.  So, don't ever quit is a good mantra to live by.  Speaking of luck,  I have a friend in Montana who drew a tag after 44 years of applying this year to harvest a Big Horn sheep.   That's luck, perseverance, and never quit all wrapped in one.

Here's how lucky we were.  Right from the Nevada regs.   I had applied as a party application so we would draw as a team.  Team Parisian!   Party of 2.

According to the 2026-2027 Nevada Big Game Seasons and quotas published on eRegulations (sourced from NDOW/approved Commission Regulation 26-11 data):

• 221-223 Early: Oct 5 – Oct 20 → Resident quota 75; Nonresident quota 5
• 221-223 Late: Oct 21 – Nov 5 → Resident quota 5; Nonresident quota 1

These are the standard (non-guided) nonresident any-legal-weapon tags for antlered mule deer (Hunt 1332).

Separate restricted nonresident guided ALW tags (which require a licensed Nevada guide) were set at 4 for Early and 1 for Late in the same units.

So to talk about luck in being 2 of the 4 hunters who drew tags in the non-resident guided, (requiring a licensed Nevada guide) we were 50% of the lucky ones. Talk about a reason to go to Las Vegas!

In the spring of 2026 we were notified of our success and I quickly got on the phone to the outfitter I had named as the outfitter/guide we would hire for the hunt. That outfitter is Greg Krogh. He came highly recommended by many in the Mule Deer Forums in the MONSTERMULEYS.COM web site.

I still haven't met Greg Krogh in person and probably never will.

I will say this about Greg, he is one of the best mule deer hunters on the planet.

His crew hunts the Book Cliffs, the Kaibab Plateau, the Arizona Strip, the Paunsaugunt Plateau, Mexico, the greatest names in North America that harbor big antlers on mule deer.  I can't think of a better team of guides that work together, setting aside ego's and tips, that are more dedicated, capable, and have the ability to put hunters on big deer.   It was an absolute pleasure to hunt with the M.R.O. guides.  World class effort, desire, and ability are in short supply everywhere.  These guys were a hell of a team and I don't say that lightly. 

You can read about Greg Krogh on Instagram, he owns Mongollon Rim Outfitters.

My love for hunting muleys began long ago. In the fall of 1968 in the Badlands of North Dakota, specifically south of Lost Bridge, off the Ft. Berthold Indian Reservation, where we lived in Mandaree, I harvested my first mule deer.  Remember it like yesterday.  Saw some deer at the top of the breaks, north of Killdeer, North Dakota, off the road. Back then the deer season started at noon on a Friday. We spotted a few deer feeding midday and it was game on. I was excited with a lever action, .30-.30, no scope, and it took 5 shots to tip over a yearling mule deer doe. I remember well, how difficult it was to drag that small deer up out of that canyon. That was a long time ago, being 72 years young today, and a vast number of mule deer harvested since then. It got in my blood early.

It's still there.

I've had some luck over the years for sure. Luck is where hard work meets opportunity. You have to make it count. I have put some great antlers on the wall and made some shots that even I have been impressed with. I always felt I owed it to the resource to be a good marksman. Why cripple an animal and have it crawl off and die a miserable death? I never took shots at distance, never stupid shots I didn't think would be lethal, and always believed in safety first, not taking shots on the skyline that many who hunt mule deer do.

I hit the gym in spring and summer, having a setback on Fathers Day. Busted up my wrist cutting a large tree. You can read about that debacle here:

Fathers Day 2026 Debacle

I took my time getting to Nevada. I drove. Three days to nowhere!

Before I left Montana my wife and I spent some time having fun. From the One & Only in Moonlight Basin to the Yellowstone River it was great weather. She doesn't hunt but enjoys wild game and can catch fish with the best of them. Here are some highlights.

She loves hats. She looks good in hats. She loves to buy hats!

At the world famous, PRIMAL, in Bozeman!  Owned and operated by my pal, Cam Holt.  Cam and Trevor Luce own the Rosebud204 property on the Yellowstone River, west of the Ghost Ranch, that adjoins the famous, Bukoskey Farms.  PRIMAL, coming to a city near you before you know it.

Her Dad taught her to fish long ago. She hasn't forgotten how to get it done!

Most people who visit the Great State of Nevada never get outside of Reno or Las Vegas. The bulk of Nevada’s population is concentrated in those two metro areas; the rest of the state is sparsely settled. In fact, if Reno and Las Vegas populations were removed, Nevada would be the least populated state in America, including Alaska! There is alot of state to visit! 

We were hunting in a unit that is a migration route for mule deer from the mountains in summer to the desert in winter.  The unit is huge, probably 100 miles long and 40 miles wide, with very few hunters.  Very few walk, most road hunt. We spent the vast majority of time in the optics, glassing for bigger bucks among the hundreds of deer that were on the move.  They were around the 8,000 foot level in elevation.   I don't live at that elevation.  I trained and trained some more but to little avail simply because  oxygen doesn't fill my lungs like it does at a  mile lower elevation where I reside.

The week started with some nasty weather.   We had lightening, fog, thunder, ice crystals, wind, cold, sleet, rain, and snow flurries.   Wild times on the mountain!

I killed this buck early in the week.  Spotted deer a couple miles away and went after him but unfortunately we weren't alone.   An outfitter and client were on mules they had hobbled and were making their way into the same group of deer we were after.   They were down wind of the deer maybe 500 to 700 yards when they fired a shot and the deer herd bolted into the wind and came over the ridge.    I settle in to the shooting sticks, and downed him at around the 417 yard mark on the run.   The sound of the bullet was solid and it took a bit to get to the buck.   He was a bit mobile and I put another round in him to make sure he wasn't going anywhere.  Unfortunately my bullet hit the base of his right antler and blew it off, hence the black tape on the right antler base.

On the sixth day of the hunt my son connected on a solid buck with a 560 yard shot.   We had spotted him lay down on a ridge in the tall sage and had to wait a bit for him to stand up and reposition himself as the sun moved.

This is the last buck I killed on the fourth shot at over 400 yards on the dead run in Colorado.   I've had success at over 400 yards but don't shoot further.   That's me, I know my limitations.

It was a great week in Nevada.    At 72 my legs don't move like they did.  My lungs don't operate as effective as they once did.   I have more hunts in me, it's drawing the tags that are the $64 question.    

Maybe the mule deer Gods are still waiting for me in camp.

God willing I just need to stay on the right road to get there!

There are so many people to thank for getting me to this point as a mule deer hunter.  I had so many great hunters, landowners, friends, tribal council members, acquaintances and clients over the years that gave my sons and myself support, permission, horses, intel, and lodging.   In no particular order I want to acknowledge many of them and my apologies to those who I have forgotten.   First and foremost, my Dad, Douglas Parisian.   He's the only guy (and probably the only father) who bitched his kid out for missing a deer.   Probably why I am a good rifle shot!  Growing up on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation it was a long way to town (32 miles in three directions) and venison went a long way.  Dad was a great marksman and as Federal Firearms Instructor he qualified people I have ran into since.  

The admiration I have for the late Robert Yellow Tail, former Chairman of the Crow Tribe in Montana in providing the opportunity to hunt high in the Big Horn mountains on the Crow reservation long before snow machines and roads ran the deer herd down and big bucks non-existent is second to none!  Robert and my Dad were close friends and the amazing trips on horseback high in the mountains seeing magnificent muleys bailing out of Wyoming in the winter snow is forever etched in my memory.

The late Tracy Torstenson, the policeman in NewTown, North Dakota who let me use a .243 rifle with a scope when I was in the 8th grade to hunt spring beaver on Lake Sacajawea.   I have been a .243 shooter ever since.  Greatest all-around caliber on the planet! 

The names of Brice Lay, Jim Lomax, Martin Geiser, Manny Hall, Reuben Poole, the Osmotherly Ranch in the Southern Black Hills, my horse, Ginger, who got me home in the black of night on more than one occasion, Creel Poole,  Raymond Adams,  Morris Jennaway and family,  Scott Walker and his wife, Kim,  Mel Metzger and his wife, Judy, proprietors of the Melstone Bar & Cafe now operated by his son, Rich and wife, Sylvia,  Robert Safranek, Terry Wilson, Lindsey Channel, one of the premier outfitters in Montana, Trevor Davenport, David Vaisman and his wife, Margarite, Mark McKnight,  Tommy Hougen and his wife, Helen, Gene Garber, Garber Land & Livestock, Ismay, MT,  Tommy's son, Alan Hougen and his wife, Mikell, Donald John Cameron and his wife, Alice, Dale Shoup,  Boots Kope and June Nygren, former proprietors, who fed us the finest beans and burgers at the Jersey Lilly Bar and Cafe, in Ingomar, Montana,  David Paul Amberg, Jim Hubbard, who didn't give up on me in winds gusting to 55 m.p.h. and I couldn't hit a barn,  Ron Branch,  Brian Rogan, the Sun Coulee Ranch and last but not least, my wife, Pam.    She was always supportive to get our sons the memories of hunting in Montana and her encouragement, support and love is what made it all possible.  She is a great chef in the kitchen in preparing wild table fare and without her I wouldn't have the family experiences and memories that have gotten me here. 

It's been a hell of a hunt so far, let's keep hammering.

ILHAN OMAR

There are a few things in life you should know with 100% certainty:

• Your name. 

• Your birthday. 

• Whether you married your brother.

WAKE - UP from Nassim Nicholas Taleb

 Wake up. Every profession deemed white-collar, the middle class dream, is about to be decimated by AI, at a much faster pace than anticipated, with monstrous social consequences.

TRUTH

Elon Musk

Education Testing in Minnesota

 

Fauci Laughed All the Way to the Bank

No vax for HIV after 40 years of research. 

No vax for cancer after more than 100 years of research.

No vax for the common cold since 1600 BCE. 

Yet a virus mysteriously appears and within 12 months a 'vax' is found by 4 pharma companies all within 1 week.