Times have changed and this is such a bad idea that even the most brain dead of brain dead could see that stifling something kids have accepted as part of modern living is the adult equivalent of the disastrous prohibition laws of the 1930's.
Read more: Prohibition didn’t make Teetotallers: it made Smugglers and Moonshiners
Dusty Gulch Gazette
November 21, 2025 – Vol. 147, No. 312
By Jedediah "Dust" Harlan - Special Correspondent - American Bureau
HEADLINE: "CROW SHOT, CLOUDS CRASH - GULCH FOLKS FALL BACK ON OLD WAYS"
Rattlesnake-fast chaos, folks, and a crow that got more than it bargained for.
One scattergun blast, one tumbling rockslide, and suddenly the Gulch was cut off from every “digital dollar” and talkin’ box this side of the county line.
Starry sky above, dust in our teeth, and a whole heap of old-fashioned reckonin’ waiting to happen ....just like our grandpappies did when the banks went belly-up. Oh, and I think we might have grown up watching too many cartoons...
This is a parody written by two kids in America responding to the article published here yesterday about the Australian plan to censor the internet for under 16 year olds. Enjoy.
Read more: CROW SHOT, CLOUDS CRASH - GULCH FOLKS FALL BACK ON OLD WAYS
by Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble - Chief Correspondent for Ratty News - Aeronautical and Ornithological Division
It was a strange morning. The kind where even the crows paused mid-caw and the red dust seemed to shiver. Two weeks had passed since a ghostly cloud - ripped straight from the pages of Stephen King’s latest nightmare - had descended over Dusty Gulch, hanging low and twitching like it had secrets it really didn’t want to share.
One particular crow, Clive, had hovered over town nonstop since the ECloud’s arrival. His relentless caw-caw-cawing had driven one resident past the brink. Duncan “Crow-B-Gone” Thompson had reached breaking point.
And life was about to become very, very interesting for the residents of Dusty Gulch… all because of what happened 14 days earlier.
Read more: Bullet Pops Digital Duck Dream: Dusty Gulch Goes Back to Cash and Crows About it!
A green hill in the Irish Sea has stood for 1,045 years. It has seen plagues, wars, invasions, kings, and empires. It has survived every human folly.
It is called Tynwald Hill, and it is the world’s oldest continuous parliament.
Once, it was simple: laws read aloud in the open air, petitions handed in by anyone who cared to show up, and every free person on the island hearing and judging in the same wind.
A parliament of the people, by the people, under the sky.
In 979 AD, the Manx gathered on a four-tier mound built from the soil of every parish. Every free man and woman heard the laws.
They listened. They judged. They held leaders accountable with their voices alone.
Read more: Tynwald, the Isle of Man - The Hill That Refused to Go Indoors
There are many ships of the Royal Australian Navy that are dear to the hearts of us older Australians. The Scrap Iron Flotilla that ran the gauntlet ferrying men and materials between Tobruk and Egypt, The Canberra, sunk by friendly fire in the Solomons, the Hobart going down against overwhelming odds in Sunda Strait but none compare with the adulation reserved for HMAS Sydney.
Today marks the anniversary of the sinking of HMAS Sydney 2. Lost with all hands following a heroic mutually destructive battle with the German raider HSK Kormoran on the evening of November 19th 1941. R.I.P.
Since 1901 there have been FIVE fighting ships of the RAN bearing the name HMAS Sydney.
The second HMAS Sydney started life as the cruiser, HMS Phaeton until purchased by the Australian government in 1934 and re-named in memory of her predecessor. She remained in Australian waters until April 1940 when she left as part of an escort screen for a large Middle East bound convoy.
Read more: Lost With All Hands - HMAS Sydney 2 - 19 November 1941
In military history, there are countless tales of bravery, valour, and unwavering dedication from soldiers who fought on the front lines.
But what about those fearless felines who have prowled the battlefield, armed with their whiskers and lethal claws? These purrsistent warriors have played some truly remarkable roles throughout history, and it's high time we give them the recognition they deserve.
Sometimes I think that we underestimate the role that cats, dogs and other animal and feathered friends play in our lives and in our world.
So sit and enjoy a journey into the history of cats and how they have evolved into being lazy, domineering, pampered pets from their early incarnations as demi gods and deities. But when you think about it, nothing much has changed really....... they are still demi gods and worshipped deities...... But things were not always as they are.
They did actually earn their keep.
Read more: A History of Whiskered Warriors - Fearless Felines and Combat Cats
After the Great Green Reset wiped out civilisation back in the 2020s, the surviving humans on Earth had returned to caves - mostly because tents kept blowing away in the renewable-powered storms. And so, in the year 3399, the last thinkers on Earth gathered for the Annual General Meeting of the Great Cavern Roundtable (an actual, literal round table - thank the ancestors for inventing the wheel).
Many earthdwellers had moved to Mars on the Musk MAGA crafts captained by the legendary High Commander Trumpasaurus and Captain AD Vance. Mars was now a thriving planet and people ate good food, lived in wondrous things called " houses " and chatted all day long on a thing called Starlink, devoid of interference.
Unfortunately, Earth had banned access to the broadcasts and of those that remained, many people had been wiped out by a virus called " Wokeness. " The virus caused functioning brain cells to dissolve into a puddle of swamp slime and procreation was severely limited due to the number of people who didn't know what a woman was so they killed all the babies just in case they were female.
And so it was that the few remaining living creatures on Earth convened their annual general meeting to work out what should be on the agenda for the next year.
Read more: Year 3399: Cavemen Reject Wind Farms, Choose Coal, Whale Applauds
On the night of 30 October 1938, millions of Americans leaned close to their radios and felt the bottom drop out of their world. Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds broadcast - a fiction performed so convincingly it became a national panic - proved something unsettling: people don’t fear what they know; they fear what they never imagined.
That moment matters now, more than ever, because we are living through a new kind of broadcast.
Not just from a radio tower called MSM, but from political platforms and activist pulpits insisting society can simply “transition away” from oil and coal - painlessly, quickly, without consequence.
It sounds comforting. It sounds noble.
And it is just as fictional as Welles’ Martians. The difference is, this time, when the panic finally hits, no announcer will step forward to say:
“Don’t worry. It isn’t real.”
Every time I hear some politician, influencer, or green-tinged academic lecture me about “transitioning away” from oil and coal, I look around my house and wonder what planet they’re living on.
Not this one, clearly.
Because on this planet - the one with rain, dust, deadlines, tractors, hospitals, shipping lanes, and real people who need real electricity - oil and coal didn’t just keep the lights on.
They built the modern world from the ground up.
These weren’t “dirty fuels.”
They were civilisation’s skeleton and bloodstream.
Oil gave us mobility, global trade, aviation, pharmaceuticals, plastics, cheap goods, emergency services ... basically everything that lets the 21st century exist.
Coal forged the steel that holds up our bridges and skylines, powered the factories that created prosperity, and still keeps grids alive when the sun hides and the wind sulks.
And now, suddenly, the fuels that dragged humanity out of the dark ages are immoral, because a handful of activists discovered hashtags and politicians discovered votes.
Well, pull up a chair and grab a beer.
Let’s have a proper yarn about what oil and coal actually did - and what happens when a civilisation forgets the very things that built it.
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble
Chief Reporter, The Dusty Gulch Gazette
Dateline: Dusty Gulch, 11/11/2025 at 11 am. (give or take a kookaburra’s cackle)
It was meant to be morning of thanks and gratitude in Dusty Gulch history.
Three magnificent orange biplanes - piloted by the legendary Sky-High Ducks, captains of hope and joy - were scheduled to swoop low and shower us with glittering canisters of pure, concentrated patriotism.
Children had drawn welcome banners. The CWA had baked 4,672 lamingtons. Even the emus had polished their toenails.
But evil, as it so often does in the Gulch, wore a cheap suit and a cheaper grin.
Prentis Penjani - self-proclaimed “Entrepreneur of Everything” - slithered in, lay a wreath on the War Memorial wearing sunglasses mind you, and then headed into the Dusty Gulch Hardware Store during their Once-in-a-Lifetime Clearance Bonanza and bought every last drum of Midnight Onyx industrial dye.
What was he up to? Read on and find out. You will be shocked!
It was about 30 years ago when I was living in a tiny town in the Channel Country. I was married to the local copper. We had only arrived in the town of 30 residents a few weeks before..... we still didn't have a handle on how to " fit in " with this isolated and unusual community of people.
We were coasties: people who came from a far distant place that never knew about things like kangaroo shooters, feral pigs and opal mining. To make matters worse, we were Kiwis. Even though we had lived in Australia for many years and called it home, we were still met with some cautious suspicion from the locals.
In fact, in those days, I knew nothing about life in the Australian Outback. All I knew was that my husband was a policeman and he had applied to become an officer serving a remote community in one of the most extreme places in Australia. Where walking across the road could make you collapse from heatstroke.
I was in for a rude awakening. A baptism of fire. Literally. It was high summer, and the heat was extraordinary.
Read more: When Politics Syphons the Fuel Out of Australia – This Is the Story We Need Back
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