Where Are the Chinese Food Commercials?

I’ve been alive almost 53 years.

I’ve seen commercials for everything. Pizza chains fighting like they’re in the octagon!

Burger joints slow-motion dripping cheese.

Red Lobster pushing their new boil like it’s the best thing you’ll have on your plate.

Sonic advertising to me for decades… even though the closest one is in another zip code, time zone, and possibly dimension.

If it’s edible, I’ve seen a commercial for it.

Except Chinese food.

Seriously. In nearly five and a half decades of life, I have never once seen a dramatic, cinematic, 4K, slow-motion General Tso’s chicken commercial.

No announcer saying,

“THIS SUNDAY… ORANGE CHICKEN.”

No hibachi chef flipping shrimp into a model’s mouth during the Super Bowl.

Nothing. And yet… Every town has at least one Chinese restaurant that has been there since Jimmy Carter took office.

They don’t advertise. They don’t rebrand. They don’t introduce a “NEW Buffalo Teriyaki Crunch Wrap.”

They just exist. And somehow, they are always busy.

Meanwhile, Pizza… Pizza chains behave like they’re running for office.

“$6.99! Limited time! Vote Pepperoni!”

Chinese restaurants? “Number 12. Ready in 15 minutes.”

That’s it. That’s the marketing campaign.

My Theory

Chinese food doesn’t chase you. It waits.

You don’t see a billboard and suddenly crave lo mein. It hits you randomly on a Tuesday night at 8:47 PM.

You’re tired. You don’t want to cook. You open the fridge. Nothing speaks to you.

And then it happens. You whisper it.

“Egg rolls.”

And five minutes later you’re ordering enough food to feed a family of six and pretending it’s “for tomorrow too.”

The Quiet Confidence of Fried Rice

Maybe that’s the secret. Some foods scream for attention. Others just quietly dominate.

No commercials. No jingles. No celebrity endorsements.

Just consistency, speed, and that little soy sauce packet you can never open cleanly.

And honestly? I kind of respect that.

The commercial should be thousands of spicy mustard packets multiplying quietly in junk drawers across America.

Just sitting there. Waiting.

Whispering….. “Hey… how’s some vegetable lo mein sound?”

Hangovers vs. Highs: Why Are We Getting This Backwards?

Imagine Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

Now imagine the streets filled not with people stumbling drunk, vomiting in gutters, urinating on sidewalks, and escalating arguments into fights, but with people who are high.

Not sober. Not perfect. Not saints. But high.

Would emergency rooms be as overloaded? Would arrests for assault spike the same way? Would police presence need to triple?

It’s a fair question.

Because the behavioral differences between alcohol and cannabis are not abstract. They’re observable. They’re measurable. And they’re happening in real time every weekend across America.

The Numbers

According to the CDC, excessive alcohol use contributes to more than 178,000 deaths per year in the United States.

Alcohol is linked to:

• Liver disease

• Several cancers

• Cardiovascular complications

• Motor vehicle fatalities

• Domestic violence

• Assault

• Alcohol poisoning

• Long-term dependency

From a physiological standpoint, alcohol is toxic. It is processed by the liver as a poison. There is no essential biological benefit to consuming it.

We consume it for culture. For ritual. For celebration. For escape.

Now contrast that with cannabis.

Cannabis has:

No known lethal overdose threshold. Lower documented addiction rates than alcohol. Established medical applications for seizure disorders, chronic pain, nausea, appetite stimulation, and certain anxiety-related conditions.

That does not mean cannabis is harmless. Impairment is real. Overuse exists. Dependency can occur.

But the scale and type of harm differ significantly.

And that difference matters.

Statistics vs. Real Life

Walk through any major nightlife district at 1:30 a.m.

You’ll see:

Slurred arguments turning hostile. Someone vomiting behind a dumpster. Police breaking up fights. An ambulance crew assisting someone unconscious. Someone urinating in public because inhibition disappeared.

That is normalized.

We shrug and say, “It’s just people having fun.”

Now ask yourself honestly:

How often do you see widespread aggression from cannabis use alone?

How often does someones high escalate into violence because they consumed too much?

The behavioral profile is not the same.

Alcohol lowers inhibition and increases impulsivity and aggression in many individuals.

Cannabis more commonly slows behavior, decreases reactivity, and alters perception inward rather than outward.

How often have you heard someone say,

“I get mean on whiskey,” or

“Tequila gets people pregnant”?

We’ve normalized the idea that certain alcohol triggers aggression, recklessness, and poor decisions. We joke about it as if it’s part of the charm.

Yet no one says,

“That strain makes me violent.”

The cultural expectation around alcohol includes volatility.

The cultural expectation around cannabis rarely does.

We openly acknowledge that alcohol changes personality, sometimes for the worse, and still defend it as harmless fun.

One substance amplifies intensity. The other dampens it.

Cultural Blind Spots

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If public health policy were built strictly on harm reduction data, alcohol would be regulated far more aggressively than it is today.

Instead, it is marketed, celebrated, and woven into identity.

Meanwhile, cannabis, particularly hemp-derived THC products, continues to face legislative pushback, including proposed bans despite federal legalization under the Farm Bill framework.

Why? Because culture moves slower than evidence. Because stigma lingers longer than statistics. Because industries with deep roots defend their territory.

The Enjoyment Argument

People drink because they enjoy it.

The buzz. The social lubrication. The temporary confidence.

But that enjoyment often comes with:

• Hangovers

• Anxiety the next morning

• Regret

• Physical illness

• Dehydration

• Long-term organ strain

Cannabis users often describe enjoyment differently:

• Relaxation

• Enhanced sensory perception

• Laughter

• Calm

• Appetite

• Sleep

One frequently ends in headache and nausea and the room spinning.

The other frequently ends in snacks and a nap.

That contrast isn’t moral. It’s experiential.

This Isn’t About Absolutes

Misuse of any substance is harmful.

Driving impaired, whether drunk or high, is irresponsible and dangerous.

Chronic overuse of anything can damage health. But policy should reflect proportional harm.

Right now, the substance associated with over 178,000 deaths annually remains fully normalized.

And the substance with no documented fatal overdose threshold continues to face federal illegality and proposed restrictions.

That inconsistency deserves examination.

Back to Mardi Gras

The point isn’t that cannabis would make festivals utopian.

The point is behavioral pattern.

If we are honest about what we witness… in cities, in hospitals, in courtrooms, and in our own communities, alcohol’s damage footprint is immense.

And yet it remains culturally protected.

It’s time to ask why.

Not emotionally.

Not ideologically.

But factually.

If the goal is public safety and public health, then regulation should reflect actual harm….. not inherited fear.

Being “Nice” Is the Most Expensive Mistake in Business

The biggest mistake you can make in business is being nice to employees.

Some people need discipline. Some people need to be fired. And pretending otherwise is how small businesses bleed out slowly.

Post-COVID didn’t just disrupt industries, it rewired work ethic. And small businesses are paying the price for government policies that rewarded not working while punishing those who kept showing up.

You can explain expectations until you’re blue in the face. You can train, retrain, document, demonstrate, and remind. And still…. people just won’t do what’s required. They’ll do the bare minimum and convince themselves that it’s “enough.”

Meanwhile, business owners are handcuffed.

• Food specials? Forget it — cooks “can’t handle” the extra.

• Drink specials? Forget it — servers don’t want to promote anything new.

• Responsibilities and accountability? Forget it — that’s suddenly “too much.”

We survived COVID. Despite shutdowns. Despite losing half our staff. Despite every attempt to pull the rug out from under us. We made it with what we had.

And now?

What we’re left with is an employee pool that’s lazy, disengaged, and painfully lackluster.

People love to say, “You can only go up from here.”

I disagree. When you’ve been stuck at the bottom long enough, sometimes the only way forward is to bail out and find a new starting point.

Between rising rent, food shortages, delivery delays, missed orders, and the added burden placed on owners because employees simply don’t care, it’s enough to make any sane person walk away.

But here I am. Circling the eddy. No paddle. Going down with the ship. Because that’s what captains do. Because we all know sanity isn’t my strong suit!

The ABC’s of Baseball… and Life

For years, my son played travel baseball.

And during a few of those seasons, our travels took us to Aberdeen, Maryland.

What started as another stop on the travel-ball map turned into something much bigger. Not only did we face some seriously competitive baseball, but we also met a lot of great people along the way. One person, in particular, left a lasting impression on me, Billy Ripken.

Yes, that Ripken. Brother of Cal. But Billy wasn’t there to talk about stats, trophies, or highlight reels. He talked about something far more important: how to approach the game.

Billy introduced the players to what he called the ABC’s of Baseball… a simple framework, but one packed with lessons that went way beyond the diamond.

The ABC’s of Baseball

A – Abner Doubleday. The beginning. The game wouldn’t exist without him (1839).

B – Bunting. (1st learn how to hit)

C – Compete. Compete with yourself. Compete with teammates. Compete against the other team.

D – Drills. Do them right.

E – Errors. Make fewer errors than the other team and most of the time, you’ll win.

F – First pitch strike. Be ahead in the count.

G – Get better every day. Compete. Improve.

H – Hit… then hit some more.

I – Instincts. Pay attention. Learn the game.

J – Jump to the next level. Compete and get better—opportunity follows.

K – K’s. Don’t strike out. Stop swinging and missing.

L – Little things. Handle the little things and the big things take care of themselves.

M – Mistakes. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Learn from it.

N – Numbers. Play the game and have fun—don’t obsess over stats.

O – Outs. Make the routine outs.

P – Perfect practice makes perfect. Practice like a moron, you’ll play like one.

Q – Quick first step.

R – Runs. Score them or drive them in.

S – Simple. Keep it simple.

T – Thanks. Be thankful. You’re not entitled. Thank your parents, coaches, teachers.

U – Underhand flip.

V – Versatility. Learn as many positions as possible.

W – Walks. Be ready to hit, but take the bad pitches.

X – X-Factor. Give 100% honest effort. Work hard. Be thankful.

Y – Yell. Be loud. Communicate. Help your teammates.

Z – Zzzzz’s. Don’t fall asleep. Pay attention. Know what’s going on every inning.

During those long drives between tournaments, I’d go over these ABC’s with my son. Over and over. At the time, I thought I was helping him become a better baseball player.

What I didn’t realize was that these “rules” were teaching him how to be a complete competitor, on and off the field.

Then baseball ended.

High school wrapped up. Uniforms were hung up. And suddenly, real life was standing on the mound.

Fastballs came in the form of responsibility. Curveballs showed up as setbacks. And there was no coach calling time-out anymore.

But here’s the thing…

Just because baseball ends doesn’t mean the ABC’s stop applying.

Take a second look at Billy Ripken’s ABC’s, but this time, step out of the batter’s box and into the workforce. Into school. Into adulthood. Into life.

Compete.

Get better every day.

Do the little things right.

Be versatile.

Communicate.

Be thankful.

Give honest effort.

Don’t make the same mistake twice.

That’s how you earn a promotion.

That’s how you level up in school.

That’s how you grow as a person.

I relate these ABC’s to my life every single day. And my hope in sharing this is simple: maybe you take something from it. Maybe you apply it yourself. Or maybe you pass it on to someone who needs it.

Because after all—

life and baseball really do go hand in hand.

The Restaurant You See vs. The Restaurant We Run

If you’ve never worked in a restaurant, I get it. From the outside, it looks simple.

You walk in. You order. You eat.

If something is unavailable, the conclusion is quick and confident: “Someone screwed up.”

But that assumption lives in the same fantasy land as thinking grocery stores magically refill themselves overnight and food appears because you wanted it.

Let me pull the curtain back a little. What Customers See

A menu.

A bar.

A kitchen.

A wait time.

If we sell out of something, especially wings, the reaction is often immediate and personal. Somehow, a business decision becomes a moral failure. Suddenly, we “suck.”

Restaurants are not vending machines. They are controlled chaos. Every single day involves:

Forecasting demand without a crystal ball. Ordering product days in advance. Managing limited cooler and freezer space. Balancing food waste vs. sell-outs. Staffing humans (not robots). Navigating deliveries that are late, short, or wrong. Following food safety laws that do not bend to feelings.

We don’t order infinite food because over-ordering doesn’t make customers happier, it puts restaurants out of business.

Let’s Talk Wings

Just Friday and Saturday this week we sold 840 pounds of wings.

That’s roughly 6700+ individual wings.

That’s not a “we forgot to order” problem. That’s a you all showed up hungry in unreasonable numbers situation.

Selling out isn’t failure. It’s demand outpacing expectation. And before anyone says, “Just make more”, that’s not how food, physics, or reality work.

Why “Just Make More” Isn’t a Thing.

Food takes time to prep. Deliveries don’t teleport. Staff doesn’t magically multiply. Kitchen space and equipment are limited. Health codes exist. Storage space is finite.

If restaurants stocked for maximum possible demand every single day, most would close within a month due to waste alone.

The Part No One Thinks About. When someone calls a restaurant and says “you suck,” they aren’t yelling at a corporation.

They’re yelling at: A server who had nothing to do with ordering. A cook who’s already working a double. A manager solving 20 problems at once. A team doing their best in a high-stress environment.

Restaurants are run by people. Real ones. Not punching bags for frustration.

A Little Perspective Goes a Long Way. You don’t need to work in a restaurant to enjoy one. But understanding the reality behind the scenes?

That makes you a better customer, and honestly, a better human.

If we sold out, it means you loved it. And if you loved it enough to be mad? We’ll take that as a compliment.

We’ll make more. You’ll be back. And next time, maybe lead with patience instead of insults.

The Book of Peter

Aitken Version

Chapter 1 – Of Smoke and Sense

And Peter did sit by the fire, and the fire did crackle approvingly. And he said unto them, “Relax. Not everything is a test.” For the earth brought forth many plants, and Peter noticed none of them asked permission. And lo, some burned sage, some burned bridges, and some burned a little something green and felt… calmer.

Chapter 2 – On Sin, Which Is Mostly Nonsense

And the people asked, “Is this sinful?” And Peter replied, “Does it make you cruel?” And they said, “No.” “Does it make you judge others loudly while knowing very little?” And they said, “Also no.” And Peter said, “Then congratulations. You are already ahead of most religions.”

Chapter 3 – The Herb, Explained Poorly by Authorities

And the elders warned, saying, “Beware the plant, for it brings laughter, appetite, and introspection.” And Peter raised an eyebrow and said, “You just described happiness with snacks.” And the people murmured, “This feels like a control issue.” And Peter nodded, for he had lived among humans.

Chapter 4 – Judgment, or the Lack Thereof

Judge not your neighbor’s bowl, for thou knowest not their anxiety. Nor their back pain. Nor the week they just survived. For every person carries a burden, and some prefer wine, and some prefer weed, And some raw-dog reality like lunatics.

Chapter 5 – Law, Order, and Vibes

And Peter spoke plainly, which annoyed many: “Laws change. Plants do not.” “Empires fall. Roots remain.” “If your morality requires cages, it is not morality, it is fear with a badge.”

Chapter 6 – Of Campfires and Gods

And Peter told them a story, as all beliefs are born from stories told near fire. Some spoke of gods. Some spoke of monsters. Some spoke of rules written by men who hated fun. And Peter said, “Believe what brings you peace, But do not demand my knees for your bedtime tale.”

Chapter 7 – The True Commandments (Revised)

Be kind.

Mind your business.

Don’t weaponize your beliefs.

Hydrate.

Share snacks.

If it harms none and helps some, maybe shut up and let people live.

Chapter 8 – The Closing Benediction

And the smoke rose into the night, and no one felt holier…. Only lighter. And Peter smiled and said, “If there is a god, I suspect they prefer joy over obedience.” And the fire popped, as if in agreement. And everyone slept well. Amen-ish.

A New Preacher in Town

“Every belief begins as a story. Some just forget their stories.”

There’s a new preacher in town. No pulpit. No collection plate. No threat of eternal punishment for questioning the storyline.

You’ll find Peter most nights on the corner of Brightway & Beaumont, spreading the good word and a few aromatic sensations, reminding passersby that morality doesn’t require fear, and happiness doesn’t need permission.

Peter doesn’t preach obedience. He preaches awareness.

See, religion, like most things, started as a campfire story. A way to explain the dark, the unknown, the things we couldn’t yet measure or understand. Some stories were comforting. Some were cautionary. Some were clearly invented by a guy who didn’t like women, fun, or plants.

And somewhere along the way, those stories stopped being metaphors and started being mandates.

That’s where Peter clears his throat.

According to the Aitken Version, marijuana is neither sinful nor immoral. It doesn’t make you cruel. It doesn’t make you violent. It doesn’t make you judgmental. In fact, if anything, it tends to do the opposite, lower the volume on ego and raise the volume on empathy.

Which is awkward… because empathy was supposed to be the point.

Peter doesn’t tell you what to believe. He just asks better questions:

Does this belief make you kinder? Does it help you live alongside others without needing to control them? Or does it just make you feel superior while doing absolutely nothing for the world?

Because if your faith requires laws, cages, or shame to function, Peter suggests that’s not holiness, it’s insecurity wearing a robe.

The Book of Peter doesn’t have commandments carved in stone. It has suggestions scribbled in the margins:

Be decent.

Mind your business.

Stop confusing discomfort with sin.

Let people live their damn lives.

Peter knows some people prefer wine. Some prefer weed. Some prefer neither and raw-dog reality like absolute psychopaths. All are welcome. None are judged.

So if you see smoke curling into the night air near Brightway & Beaumont, don’t panic. No souls are being corrupted. No morals are being lost. No gods are being challenged.

Just a pragmatic man and his dog sitting pondering a modern campfire, choosing joy over fear, curiosity over control, and kindness over dogma.

And if there is a god? Peter suspects they’re less offended than their fan club.

The Great Car Insurance Shell Game

Let’s talk about car insurance.

Not the idea of it, because yes, we all agree it’s necessary.

I’m talking about the financial hostage situation we politely call “coverage.”

For 2025, here’s what I paid with State Farm:

March: $650.78 June: $624.39 September: $779.73 December: $637.52

Total for the year: $2,692.42

That’s not Monopoly money.

That’s real, grown-ass, worked-for-this cash.

And what do I get for that?

Two vehicles fully covered. One vehicle liability only. One 18-year-old driver (Yes, I know—insurance companies clutch their pearls when you say that out loud.)

Now before the keyboard warriors warm up, let’s address the obvious.

Yes, younger drivers cost more.

I get it. Risk tables. Statistics. Actuarial science. Fine.

But here’s where it gets spicy….

Let’s Do the Long-Game Math

I’ve been insured for 15+ years.

One claim.

Not one per year.

Not one per vehicle.

One.

Now take that annual premium and stretch it over 15 years.

That’s just over $40,000 in car insurance alone. And suddenly you start asking uncomfortable questions:

Where exactly is all that money going? At what point does “risk” turn into profit padding? Is my premium fixing roads… or upgrading someone’s third vacation home?

Because when you’re paying over $2,600 a year, that’s about $224 a month, every month, whether anything happens or not.

That’s not “just in case” money. That’s rent payment energy. That’s vacation money. That’s new tires, groceries, or fixing literally anything that breaks money.

Here’s the illusion they sell us:

“You’re paying for peace of mind.”

Cool…. But peace of mind shouldn’t feel like financial anxiety with a logo on it.

And what really grinds my gears (pun fully intended) is this:

The safer and more responsible you are, the less you actually use the service, yet the bill never seems to reflect that loyalty.

No refunds for good behavior. No loyalty discount that actually feels loyal.

Just a cheerful reminder that rates “may increase due to market conditions.”

Ah yes. The Market.

The same mysterious creature blamed for everything from gas prices to why your fries cost six dollars now.

So… Is It Fair? Is $2,692.42 fair for:

Three vehicles. One young driver. A long, clean driving history.

Maybe. But fair doesn’t mean reasonable. And reasonable doesn’t mean justifiable when the math stops mathing.

At some point, consumers deserve transparency. At some point, loyalty should count.

At some point, we should stop pretending this isn’t a system built to quietly extract maximum dollars while smiling at you through a khaki-colored commercial.

Car insurance is supposed to protect us.

Not slowly bleed us dry while congratulating us for being responsible.

And when you step back and look at decades of payments versus actual claims…

Yeah. It makes you wonder.

Now Zoom Way Out… State Farm alone services roughly 96 million policies across America.

If someone like me pays about $40,000 over 15 years, that puts the industry conversation into perspective.

That’s trillions of dollars moving through the system.

Trillions. 3.4 trillion to be exact!

So the real question becomes:

How many yachts are the American people funding and why do my rates keep going up?

A Life Written in Screams: When Lyrics Say the Quiet Parts Out Loud

There are moments when music doesn’t just sound good, it knows things about you. The parts you don’t post.

The thoughts you don’t say out loud.

The version of you that exists somewhere between rage, regret, survival, and stubborn hope.

These lyrics didn’t come from one band, one album, or even one era. They came from the same place though: the human pressure cooker.

I push my fingers in my eyes

Because sometimes reality is too loud and the only way to cope is to shut it off… even if it hurts.

That’s the thread running through all of this. Pain isn’t avoided here. It’s examined, embraced, sometimes even preferred.

Pain without love… ’cause I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.

That line alone explains half the people walking around pretending they’re fine. Numbness is scarier than suffering. Pain reminds you that you’re still here. Still breathing. Still capable of reacting.

There’s anger in these words, but it’s not aimless. It’s earned.

If you feel so angry just get up, let’s start a riot.

That’s not chaos for chaos’ sake. That’s the sound of someone who’s been told to sit down, shut up, and accept less for too long. Rage becomes fuel when silence stops working.

And silence? It shows up everywhere.

The silence gets us nowhere, gets us nowhere way too fast.

Silence in relationships. Silence in institutions. Silence when you know something is wrong but speaking up feels like lighting a match in a gas station.

Then there’s the internal war, the one no one sees.

I am a world before I am a man.

I was a creature before I could stand.

That’s identity in fragments. The before-and-after of trauma. The idea that who you were shaped who you became, but didn’t get erased along the way.

You can hear the exhaustion too:

On this bed I lay, losing everything I can see… was it all too much?

That’s not weakness. That’s burnout. That’s someone who carried the weight, showed up, did the work, and still ended up asking if the cost was too high.

And then there’s betrayal. Not always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. Casual. Close.

You thought you were standing beside me… you were only in my way.

That line hurts because everyone’s lived it. The realization that proximity doesn’t equal loyalty. That some people aren’t allies, they’re obstacles with good PR.

Yet somehow, threaded through all of this noise, there’s persistence.

Who needs another mess? We could start over.

Not optimism. Not denial. Just defiance.

The refusal to be finished. The decision to keep going even when you don’t feel heroic doing it.

These lyrics don’t romanticize suffering, but they don’t sanitize it either. They sit with it. They acknowledge the ugliness, the anger, the contradictions.

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

Exactly. What if you can?

That darkness didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was forged. Survived. Learned from. This music doesn’t save you. It stands next to you while you save yourself.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

This Isn’t Law Enforcement — It’s a Failure of Training, Leadership, and Accountability

I spent years in law enforcement. I wore the badge. I trained. I learned restraint, discipline, and the absolute weight that comes with the authority to take someone’s freedom… and, in the most extreme circumstances, their life.

What happened in Minnesota sickens me. Not because policing is hard, it is.

Not because situations get tense, they do.

But because this is not how we were trained, and it is not what we were taught to do. The Use-of-Force Continuum Exists for a Reason

Every competent officer learns the use-of-force continuum early and revisits it often. It’s not a suggestion. It’s not optional. It exists to prevent unnecessary injury and death, for the public and for officers.

Verbal commands.

Control techniques.

Intermediate force.

Lethal force…. as an absolute last resort.

What we witnessed in Minnesota looks like that entire structure was tossed aside. Multiple agents. One man.

https://www.startribune.com/ice-raids-minnesota/601546426

Let me be crystal clear: If multiple properly trained officers cannot safely detain and handcuff a single individual, armed or not, something has already gone catastrophically wrong. Either the training failed, leadership failed, or the decision-making in that moment collapsed under fear and adrenaline.

And none of those justify a fatal outcome.

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2026/jan/24/minneapolis-shooting-federal-agents

Numbers Matter — And So Does Competence

Seven officers trying to detain one man should not result in a shooting. Period.

I don’t care how uncomfortable that truth makes people.

Numbers give officers control. They give options. They give time. They reduce risk, when used correctly. That’s basic tactics. That’s policing 101.

Instead, what appears to have happened was force layered on force, escalating chaos rather than controlling it. Strikes. Punches. A struggle. Then gunfire.

And that raises the most disturbing question of all: Why did one officer decide lethal force was necessary, when the others did not?

What did he see that six others supposedly didn’t?

Was he scared?

Was he poorly trained?

Was he overwhelmed?

Because from the outside looking in, this doesn’t look like a measured response to an imminent deadly threat. It looks like panic in uniform.

And panic has no place holding a firearm over someone’s life.

The “He Was Armed” Argument Isn’t a Free Pass

I don’t know if the man reached for his firearm. I want to believe he didn’t.

But here’s the reality former officers understand and armchair quarterbacks don’t: being armed is not the same as being a lethal threat.

Plenty of lawful gun owners interact with police every single day without being shot.

If a suspect is being actively restrained by multiple officers, that context matters. A lot. That’s where training, positioning, weapon retention, and communication are supposed to take over.

A man being physically subdued is not a “shoot first, sort it out later” scenario.

That’s not policing.

That’s not defense.

That’s a failure.

This Is Bigger Than One Incident

What makes this even more disturbing is the environment in which it’s happening.

Our own government has created chaos inside our borders through aggressive, poorly coordinated enforcement strategies that prioritize optics and speed over safety and restraint. The result? Fear. Distrust. And now, dead civilians.

There were, and still are, a thousand better ways to handle immigration enforcement. Smarter targeting. Better intelligence. Non-militarized operations. Clear coordination with local agencies.

Instead, what we’re seeing feels reactionary, heavy-handed, and reckless. And when federal agents start operating like an occupying force instead of public servants, something has gone terribly wrong.

This Disgraces the Badge

Let me say what too many won’t: This disgraces the badge.

Not every agent. Not every officer. But actions like this stain all of us who took the oath seriously. They undermine public trust. They endanger good officers. And they make every future encounter more volatile.

Law enforcement legitimacy is built on restraint, accountability, and professionalism…. not fear, domination, or unchecked force.

When lethal force becomes the shortcut instead of the last resort, we’re no better than the monsters we claim to be protecting people from.

I didn’t leave law enforcement to stay silent when I see it done wrong.

This wasn’t justice.

This wasn’t safety.

This wasn’t training in action.

This was a preventable tragedy and until we demand accountability, transparency, and better leadership, it won’t be the last. And that should terrify every single one of us!