If you know me, you know this. I live for cameras. Big ones, small ones, hidden ones. They’re expensive, unforgiving, and absolutely essential to doing this job right. Use them correctly, and you’re a star. Use them wrong, or worse, not at all and you’re just another hack with a license. Let me hit you with two hard truths: 1. The best camera is the one in your hand. 2. The worst photo is the one you didn’t take. You’ve got a miracle of technology sitting in your pocket—your smartphone. But like most people, you barely use it. And when you do, you shoot vertical video like a teenage TikTok addict. Knock it off. We live in a widescreen world. Your phone shoots 16:9 for a reason. Want your footage to look professional, not pathetic? Turn that damn phone sideways. No one needs ten feet of floor and a ceiling fan in the shot. Legal Landmines Before you start playing James Bond, don’t be a dumbass. Never, ever record in places where there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy. Bathro...

When the Volstead Act was finally repealed, Americans were told that the nightmare was over and liquor could once again flow from taps across the land.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...