Corruption Galore! King of Davos Shown the Door! Jimmy Hoffa Lore! Prescott & More!

By Robert Eringer

“Billionaire David Geffen's 'darkest secrets' revealed in jaw-dropping divorce filing by boytoy ex” (Daily Mail)

Two words suffice: gold digger.

“Bryan Kohberger has odd black heart drawing in front of him at sentencing” hearing (NY Post)

The statement he chose not to verbalize.

ChatGPT: Kohberger’s drawing is a cold, symbolic act of self-expression intended to signal: “I feel nothing. I am other. I am the absence of what you value most.”

“FBI Deputy Director Dan Bongino shocked to his core over FBI’s recent corruption discoveries” (NY Post)

Lemme guess: Clinton Foundation shenanigans? Biden Family “biz” in Ukraine and China? Cali’s boondoggle train to nowheresville? Epstein concealment payoffs? Failed Pentagon audits? USAID giveaways and outright corruption?

Roderick Watson, a USAID contracting officer, pleaded guilty to steering 14 federal contracts worth $550 million toward consulting firms Apprio and Vistant in return for over $1 million in bribes—cash, luxury suites, laptops, mortgage down payments, and jobs for relatives. The scheme exploited SBA’s 8(a) program and relied on shell companies and falsified documents.

Just the tip of this proverbial iceberg.

“The dizzying fall of the King of Davos” (The Telegraph)

Klaus Schwab, longtime face and founder of the World Economic Forum (WEF), was majestically ousted after more than five decades at the helm.

A series of whistleblower complaints, leaked audits, and internal investigations exposed him for misusing WEF funds, engaging in inappropriate behavior with staff, and manipulating data for political ends. Schwab's efforts to suppress the probe backfired spectacularly, ending with his resignation in disgrace.

Schwab positioned Davos as the enlightened capital of elite solutions to global problems. Turns out, he spent millions on villas, massages, and ego-boosting stunts—including a doomed Nobel Peace Prize campaign.

The “King of Davos” has been dethroned, and the golden halo around the World Economic Forum has melted into scandal. What began as a platform for global cooperation now stands accused of hypocrisy, elitism, and manipulative empire-building.

No Longer King of the Mountain

Schwab’s fall confirms what many critics suspected: Davos was not about solving problems. It was about preserving privilege.

Shame on globalists, whose interests are purely personal.

“Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance remains among America’s most infamous, unsolved mysteries — but there’s a new theory” (NY Post)

Jimmy Hoffa’s exit in 1975 remains one of America's enduring mysteries. A new theory—advocated by Hoffa historian Scott Burnstein, former mobster Nove Tocco, and ex‐prosecutor Richard Convertino—suggests that Detroit mobster Anthony "Tony Pal" Palazzolo put Hoffa through a sausage grinder, then incinerated his remains at a mob-linked waste facility in Hamtramck, Michigan.

As usual, we turn to Deep Tonsils for the skinny…

Hoffa Hotline leads to Detroit Mob.

The “silly season” is now upon us. Which means light news and regurgitation.

Thus, I have space to reflect and ruminate my experience with a place the Daily Mail this week highlights:

“Red state metropolis with small-town vibe receives huge population influx”

January 2021.

My “suite” in the Grand Historic Hotel on Whiskey Row is a tiny room with wattage so dim, I could barely find a book, let alone read it.

Interrupting my search, a loud voice from the street below is either my welcome to Prescott or a message from the universe to never return: A young male is hollering at someone still inside a bar, “You shouldn’t be serving those people, they’re stupid!” Pause. “I could mess you up!”

And it’s only 6:03 p.m.

Downstairs in the Palace Saloon, Wyatt Earp’s pre-Tombstone tipple, the original bar still stands, saved by patrons during a fire a century ago. They carried out whiskey and drank while watching their second home burn to the ground.

Later, the goofiest night’s “sleep” of my life: The Courthouse clock across the street chimes every thirty minutes all night long, lest anyone forget what time it is. Add Whiskey Row drunks who argue, fistfight, and throttle up their hogs for a blurry, helmet-free ride home.

Come morn, Prescott Valley: Strip malls and urban sprawl are spread like a virus—Costco, Home Depot, plus your entire history of fast-food.

Prescott’s motto: “Everyone’s hometown.” Newbies come for whiteness, Second Amendment enthusiasm—and a belief that the Second Civil War will start somewhere between a Walmart and a Waffle House.

I call it Trikeville, for its swarms of back-wheel bandits—tattooed, bearded (females, too)—revving their motorized tricycles in a nonstop contest of aural dominance.

Looking for gas, I discover that every station demands pre-payment, inside. This is a town short on trust, long on suspicion.

After a second night above Whiskey Row, I scribble: A big rant hill of fiery Solenopsis invicta—tricyclists, creepy-crawlers and worms. Just before six am, garbage collectors launch their daily shock-and-awe campaign, invading what little slumber remains.

I’d been dreaming the word bintin—previously unknown to me.

Definition: “A hard lifestyle that warrants struggle.”

Prescott.

“Trump reduces Russia deadline to end Ukraine invasion to ‘10 to 12 days’ from original 50” (NY Post)

Breaking: The silly season just got less silly as Trump says, “no reason to wait that long” and warns Mad Vlad Putin high noon has already breached the horizon arriving around August 8th.

Adds Trump, “I think I already know the answer to what’s going to happen.”

(As in, Putin never had any intention of ending his brutal aggression against Ukraine.)

Ya think?

“Scientists Discover ‘Sixth Sense’ In The Gut That Controls How Much We Eat” (Studyfinds)

But of course: ever heard of gut instinct?

Your gut isn’t just reacting—it’s leading. Your microbiome communicates with your brain five seconds before you even register hunger.

Translation: your bacteria are calling the shots.

And that’s gotta be an issue for most Americans, because if bad bacteria outweighs good bacteria, your gut is demanding Doritos.

The good news for Montecitans: The Gut Doctor is coming to town.

That’s right—Dr. Steven Gundry, bestselling author, and guru of gut health, is setting up shop on Coast Village Road from which to dispense wisdom, supplements, and skepticism about lectins.

I picked up a copy of Gut Check at the iconic Square Bookstore in Oxford, Mississippi 16 months ago—and ever since, my microbiome has been filling my brain with requests for leafy greens and olive oil.

“This Former CIA Agent Explains the Best Way to Get People to Reveal Their Secrets” (Inc.)

A slow week’s revue.

But…

And so should you.

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