When the Volstead Act was finally repealed, Americans were told that the nightmare was over and liquor could once again flow from taps across the land. That’s the official story. The truth? The liquor never stopped flowing. The only thing that really changed was the sudden drop in gunfire between rival bootlegger gangs. With Prohibition’s end, the blood-soaked streets of Chicago and Kansas City quieted. Peace—however tenuous—returned. But Congress wasn’t satisfied. They were spooked by years of gangland carnage and wanted a silver bullet to make sure it never happened again. They knew they couldn’t outright ban guns. The Second Amendment was still standing in their way like a stone fortress. So they pulled a sneaky, unconstitutional end-run: The National Firearms Act of 1934. This wasn’t legislation. It was sabotage. They created a backdoor registration scheme, tied to a brutal $200 tax—a small fortune during the Great Depression—on items like machine guns, silencers, short-barreled...

I’ve spent decades around principled, conservative Americans who love the Constitution and cherish liberty. At some gatherings, people show films and clips tracing our nation’s founding, exposing early financial corruption, and detailing how control of our monetary system shifted from public to private hands. There’s some disturbing truth in that history, no question. But where the movement veers off the rails is in its legal fantasyland, a place no court in this country takes seriously. Despite the slick rhetoric and seductive promise of freedom from taxes, licenses, and legal responsibility, the cold truth is this: the courts have repeatedly shut down these theories. Every time. Let’s talk names. Winston Shrout, one of the movement’s more vocal figureheads, was convicted in 2017 of issuing fake financial instruments — worthless documents he claimed could discharge debts. He’s now doing ten years in federal prison. Heather Ann Tucci-Jarraf, a former attorney turned sovereign adher...

There’s no doubt anymore. Wednesday night’s bloodbath outside the Artis Lounge on Chicago Avenue wasn’t random. It was a hit. And the primary target appears to have been Mello Buckzz, real name Melanie Doyle, and her boyfriend Devonte Terrell Williamson, 23, who was among the four killed when gunmen opened fire into a crowd of mostly women. Eighteen people were shot. Four are dead. But this wasn’t just senseless violence. This was a music industry beef that ended the way too many of them do in blood. In Chicago’s underground rap scene, egos are bigger than the paychecks, and everyone with a SoundCloud link thinks they’re the next mogul. Look around and you’ll find promoters, producers, and self-declared A&Rs who model themselves after Suge Knight, and not in a good way. They want power. They want control. And sometimes, they want revenge. The rap world has long been haunted by the shadows of men like Suge, think of Irv Gotti, Birdman, Big Meech, and others who blurred the lines b...

Another bloodbath exploded in the heart of Chicago’s so-called “River North”,   not exactly a war-torn country, but you wouldn’t know it from the body count. Eighteen people shot. Four are dead. And once again, the media tiptoes around the real issue like it’s made of glass. This isn’t about skin color. It’s about a toxic, self-destructive culture that’s been coddled, glorified, and excused for far too long. Politicians won’t touch it. Journalists won’t name it. And until someone grows a spine and calls it what it is, we’ll just keep counting bodies. Here’s the scene: a group of mostly women was gathered outside the Artis Lounge at 311 W. Chicago Ave., fresh off a rapper party. Suddenly, a dark SUV rolls up. Gunmen open fire into the crowd like it’s open season. Screams, chaos, bodies hitting the pavement. Blood everywhere. Mello Buckzz,  real name Melanie Doyle was apparently the host of this glamorous disaster. Her boyfriend and best friend are among the dead. That doesn’...

Charles “Chuck” Leto, 55, isn’t rich. He doesn’t own a car, a house, or anything flashy. He’s a quiet, law-abiding Marine Corps veteran who rides a bicycle and takes the CTA from his modest home on the North Side to his seasonal lifeguard job at Douglass Park on the West Side. That’s right. He earns an honest living keeping people safe, not hurting anyone. But in the twisted landscape of Chicago, even that can get you thrown in a cage. Leto is white. And the several teens who tried to rob him were black. That racial dynamic matters because it’s the very element being used to twist the narrative into something it’s not,  a hate crime in reverse, where the guy who defends himself is branded the racist simply for surviving. Then there is an issue of fake news.  They reported that Marjay Dotson was shot in the back.  The truth? The police report I have in my possession says he was struck in his RIGHT FLANK.  Leto’s workplace is a decaying ghetto pool in the West Side w...

When it comes to illegal aliens, the media just can’t stop playing word games. Every few years they come up with a fresh coat of lipstick for the same pig. Anything to make the illegal seem noble. Back in the day, people called them what they were. “Wetbacks” was the term for those who swam the Rio Grande to sneak into the country. Crude? Maybe. Accurate? You bet. Then someone in a newsroom decided “illegal alien” was too honest, too harsh, too real. So they invented the term “undocumented immigrant.” As if the only issue here was a missing permission slip. Right. And a bank robber is just an “unlicensed withdrawal specialist.” Now, with ICE occasionally remembering how to do its job and picking these folks up, the media shifts gears again. Suddenly, they’re not lawbreakers, they’re “fathers” and “mothers.” Because if you give them a title from a Hallmark card, maybe everyone forgets they’re violating federal law. The propaganda machine never sleeps. Meanwhile, the Biden administra...

Since the 2024 election, the Democrat Party has transformed into a rudderless ghost ship, drifting in circles with no captain, no map, and definitely no clue. Picture the political version of the Lost Dutchman, except the crew is made up of virtue-signaling ideologues who just discovered that criminals don’t care about gun control. For years, they’ve preached that guns are the root of all evil. They pushed every law imaginable to make it harder for regular Americans to own firearms, all while living in gated communities and hiring private security. Guns were for the “uneducated,” they said, for the “paranoid,” for “Trump voters.” Now? They’re racing to gun stores like panicked shoppers at a fire sale. In deep blue states, these same liberals are suddenly discovering what a bureaucratic nightmare it actually is to buy a gun. They can’t believe they can’t just walk in, flash their ID, and walk out with a shiny new Sig Sauer. Welcome to the tangled mess of gun laws you cheered for. Wai...

A lot. In fact, more than most people realize. When someone is falsely accused of a crime, the system does not spring into action to protect them. Quite the opposite. It barrels forward like a runaway train, powered by the assumptions of guilt and the blind momentum of prosecution. At the start of a criminal case, the police take control. They gather the evidence, they write the reports, and they decide what to include and what to leave out. The law requires them to turn over any evidence that might help the defense. That’s what the Supreme Court said in Brady v. Maryland. But that ideal often goes straight into the shredder. Whether by incompetence, laziness, or outright dishonesty, crucial evidence that could prove a person’s innocence gets ignored or hidden. That’s how innocent people end up in prison. Or on death row. This is where the defense investigator enters the picture. It is our job to find what others failed to look for or deliberately avoided. We talk to witnesses the ...

It was October 19, 1970. I was just four months out of the Army and trying to settle back into my role with the Cook County Sheriff’s Police. I was in the old courthouse at 2600 South California Avenue, standing on the sixth floor when the peace shattered. Gunfire. Sharp, echoing cracks bouncing off every inch of the marble like the whole damn building was made of a snare drum. I drew my gun and bolted up the stairs to the seventh floor. As I turned the corner, a blast of marble debris smacked me across the face. For a second, I thought I’d been shot. I ducked back, heart pounding, just in time to hear a voice calmly say, “He’s finished now.” They weren’t kidding. About 19 rounds had been fired. Two uniformed officers and a plainclothes detective had emptied their six-shot revolvers into a well-dressed dead man—Gene Lewis, also known as “The Iceman.” He lay on the ground, stone cold and face up, still rocking an iridescent green suit, white shirt, and matching green tie. One handcuf...

. Criminal trials are supposed to be about justice. They’re meant to protect rights, uncover the truth, and apply the law. But in today’s world, they’re just another form of garbage entertainment for the lowest common denominator. Nancy Grace and those circus clowns at Court TV figured out how to get rich by turning real human tragedy into soap opera trash. They don’t care about justice. They care about ratings, outrage, and keeping the blood flowing for the camera. Then come the lawyers. Not the kind who care about their clients or the law. I’m talking about the fame-chasers. The ones who would rather be on camera than in a law library. Remember the Jodi Arias case? Both a prosecutor and a defense attorney ended up disgraced and disbarred. Why? Because when the lights go on, the dignity goes out. These trials become media events. Think O.J. Simpson, Scott Peterson, Phil Spector, and now Karen Read. People line up for hours just to sit in the gallery. Some bring snacks. Others just ...