The History: On September 29, 2020, in Westlake Village, a horrible and deadly accident happened. Its seriousness demanded a full and uncompromising investigation by police. Mark Iskander, 11, and Jacob Iskander, 8, were killed while crossing the street at night. They were not quietly walking shoulder-to-shoulder with their parents. They were on a skateboard and rollerblades, moving across a dark roadway under difficult conditions that mattered then and matter even more now. Rebecca Grossman, who, with her husband Peter Grossman, MD, was every bit of a wealthy philanthropist. She was administering the Grossman Burn Center, which has famously helped countless people suffering ghastly injuries return to normal lives. Rebecca Grossman had consumed alcohol, but she was not charged or convicted as a DUI driver. The prosecution’s speed theory rested heavily on reconstruction opinions and guesswork. Those are not fingerprints. They are educated conclusions built from assumptions, measureme...

Let me begin with the boring little detail that ruins everybody’s fun: there is no known ongoing police investigation. That means we are left with the usual American pastime, trying to separate actual facts from gossip, hysteria, and the kind of eyewitness drama normally reserved for UFO landings. The Blue Dog is a small but popular restaurant near Sepulveda and Ventura in Sherman Oaks. It serves very decent burgers, which I can say because I’ve eaten there several times and somehow managed to survive without becoming part of a national incident. Apparently, Britney Spears was there with her personal assistant and bodyguard. The story, as it has been served up, medium rare and heavily seasoned, is that Britney was telling a story, perhaps a little loudly, about a barking dog. At some point, she was also cutting her burger with a table knife. Yes, a table knife. At a restaurant. Near a burger.  Call the FBI!. Now, anyone familiar with the Blue Dog knows the tables are packed to...

Video journalism is no longer reserved for people with press badges, satellite trucks, makeup artists, and a producer whispering into their earpiece. Today, any American with a smartphone can livestream a newsworthy event on YouTube, Facebook, X, or any other platform that still allows ordinary people to show the public what is actually happening. And here is the beautiful part: you may already be standing exactly where the story is breaking. The so-called professional journalists are usually miles away, stuck in traffic, waiting for a crew, begging for permission, or trying to figure out how to politically sanitize the story before they even arrive. You are already there. You are already seeing it. You are already holding the camera.That matters. The legacy media is fading fast, and much of the wound is self-inflicted. They dove headfirst into political advocacy, woke storylines, selective outrage, and carefully manufactured narratives. Then they acted shocked when the public stop...

I made a special effort to study executed Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann. We share the same birthdate, March 19. That small coincidence made the study more personal, and far more disturbing. What I found was not a monster born with horns. Eichmann came from an ordinary family. His family moved from Germany to Austria, and like many Europeans of that period, they were battered by the Depression. He was not brilliant, not charismatic, and not especially impressive. He was a small man with a pronounced nose, and he reportedly had some familiarity with Yiddish and Hebrew from his work on Jewish affairs. Some people suspected he might be Jewish, but that was never established. Eichmann was an underachieving student who drifted through a series of jobs. He worked as a laborer, salesman, and clerk. He was the kind of man history usually forgets. Unfortunately, history did not forget him. As often happens in life, mediocre people sometimes find themselves lifted into powerful positions, ...

When I was a young policeman, cops carried revolvers. We did not have ballistic vests. We did not have high-capacity magazines hanging off our belts like Christmas ornaments. We had six rounds, training, nerve, and the serious expectation that every shot had better matter. The gun battle statistics in those days were clear. Most gunfights were over after two or three shots. Today, you walk into the aftermath of a shooting and the ground looks like somebody dumped a bucket of brass casings across the pavement. Shell casings everywhere. Rounds fired in every direction. A lot of noise, a lot of smoke, and sometimes very little evidence of actual marksmanship. It looks painfully obvious that we have moved from marksmanship to panic. From aimed fire to spray and pray. From controlled violence to ammunition being launched into Nowhereville with great enthusiasm and questionable results. Forgive me if I am not standing in absolute awe of today’s 9mm ammunition. Yes, modern 9mm ammunition...

At some point, an honest person has to ask the ugly question out loud: are these people acting on their own, or has something been done to them.   Because what we are watching no longer looks like ordinary politics. It looks like a slow-motion national nervous breakdown with campaign buttons. The Democrat Party has spent years marching people straight toward the cliff while calling it compassion, justice, equity, progress, or whatever fresh perfume they spray on disaster this week. The “mostly peaceful protests” burned cities, wrecked businesses, caused billions in damage, and left dead bodies in the street. But somehow, with a straight face and a camera light in their eyes, the media told us not to believe what we were watching. Then came the open-door insanity. Millions poured in from every broken corner of the world, including the insane, criminals, predators, and human wreckage that no sane country would invite into its living room. Americans paid the bill. Some paid with the...