Glenn Beck: Caller busted for 'unlawfully using' trash can?



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GLENN: Now, let me give this to you. This is from the City of Charleston, and I want to show it to the camera on Insider Extreme so you can see this, and I want to bring Gary in from Charleston. Gary.

CALLER: Good morning, Glenn.

GLENN: How are you, sir?

CALLER: I'm doing well, how are you?

GLENN: Very well. Hang on just a second. Hey, Dom, I wouldn't take Camera 4.

STU: You might want to take the one in the front of the paper.

GLENN: You might want to take Camera, 2. Which, remember, we say that, you know, we're going to hold stuff up and then you would just take it from Camera 2? There you go.

STU: Well, is there something on the back of the paper we need to know about?

GLENN: No, there's nothing on the back of the paper you need to know about. So here it is. This is an official notice from the town of Charleston. Gary, tell me what this is.

CALLER: Well, the garbage police are onto me. I — about two weeks ago I was anticipating a delivery from our local UPS driver. I noticed the driver was several blocks away. So I walked down the street, got the package from the driver and proceeded back to my office. On the way back, I opened the envelope, took the contents out and dropped the envelope in the trash can as I was walking into my office. Two days later I get this notice in the mail, or three days later I get the notice in the mail that I have unlawfully used city maintained baskets and —

GLENN: Unlawfully, unlawfully used — and I'm showing — I'm now showing the basket here. They took a picture of it.

CALLER: Yes, yes.

GLENN: And is this your —

CALLER: Somebody actually took a picture of it.

GLENN: Is this your trash in the trash can?

CALLER: Just the envelope. You know, at first I was puzzled. I didn't — because I went, what?

GLENN: There's the envelope there, I think.

CALLER: And then I had to kind of retrace my steps several days and I get back to, you know, thinking, oh, that's that UPS envelope.

CALLER: Well, they caught you dead to rights. They have you.

GLENN: They have the photographic proof.

PAT: Right there.

GLENN: You criminal! All right. So now what is the problem? You threw an envelope in a trash can.

CALLER: Right. Right. Well, in Charleston we have some pretty strict guidelines on using trash.

GLENN: Apparently.

CALLER: And that's not actually a trash can. That is a refuse receptacle, if I'm — if I remember correct, correctly.

GLENN: A — hang on. This is not — what's happened to us? This is not a trash can; this is a refuse receptacle?

CALLER: According to, if I get this right —

PAT: Anyone can see that.

CALLER: A local TV station came out and interviewed me and did a story. They got comments from somebody with the city talking about this.

PAT: How stupid do you have to be to confuse a trash can with a refuse receptacle? Wow.

GLENN: What is the difference between trash and refuse?

CALLER: I don't know.

GLENN: Stu, could you please look that up?

CALLER: I guess we could take a class.

GLENN: So what is it — so they are fining you for this?

CALLER: No, they didn't fine me. They just, according to the thing, the notice, I was directed to rectify the problem ASAP which kind of is a little bit of a paradox because they have already emptied the can.

GLENN: So did you have to go to the trash — I'm sorry, the refuse dump and go find the envelope?

CALLER: Go through the hundreds of pounds of garbage? I don't know.

GLENN: It says here you have — let's see. This is to notify you, an official inspection of the premises at blah, blah blah King Street has been made by a representative of the Department of Public Service. The following conditions were found existing and which are a violation of ordinance of the City of Charleston, South Carolina, 1447(g), unlawful use of city maintained baskets. You are hereby given official notice to rectify the above stated conditions in an approved manner within a period of ASAP days from date. Environmental services division, department of public service, A. Green. Can we get A. Green on the phone?

CALLER: Oh. I don't know. I don't know.

STU: Who is — do you know what A. Green's first name is?

GLENN: Is it Al Green? I loved Al Green.

STU: Wait, is it Alvin? Isn't that the guy running in South Carolina for the Senate?

GLENN: See if you can get A. Green.

STU: It's not that A. Green, is it?

GLENN: See if you can get A. Green on the phone because I'd like to know what the violation is. This is pretty intense garbage — I'm sorry, this is intense refuse.

STU: Yeah. Well, it's pretty clear here, Glenn. I think any, as Pat pointed out, any idiot would know the difference here. Waste is defined as rubbish, trash, refuse, garbage or junk. And trash — and refuse is defined as rubbish, trash, refuse, garbage or junk.

PAT: Oh, it's clear, a clearly defined difference. I mean —

GLENN: Well, they are in a different order.

STU: They are completely different.

PAT: Yeah.

CALLER: This actually gets a little bit better. Because after the story ran, I guess the following Monday or something, Tuesday, I had left town for a shoot and —

GLENN: Are you with the minute men?

CALLER: I'm a photographer, excuse me. I left town and somebody came into the office and I get this e mail from one of my office mates and it says, so the garbage police were in today. This irate woman comes in and explains that she was by earlier and there was a trash bag in the trash can and that she retrieved the trash bag from the can and opened the bag and emptied the contents into the trash can. But now there was an envelope on top of that trash in the can and she want — let's see. And she walks into the office to use us of setting her up. So she takes —

GLENN: Setting her up for what?

CALLER: She takes them out —

GLENN: I don't even understand this. We're living in a parallel world. Somehow or another we've all been transformed and transported into some sort of parallel universe. I don't even understand this. What is her problem?

CALLER: She takes them out and points at the envelope in the can and he's like, that's not even our address. And evidently then she kind of fumes off. But —

GLENN: But wait. What is the problem about —

CALLER: I think they picked the wrong person.

GLENN: What is — do you have serial letter thrower awayers there? I mean —

CALLER: I don't know. We can't get somebody to dust our car for prints when we get the windows broken into our car, but...

GLENN: All right, all right. Here's the thing. Stu, see if you can get ahold of Al Green. It may be Alvin, it may be Arnold, I don't know. I'm hoping that it's Al Green that answers the phone.

PAT: Might be the singer. Might be the Stay Together guy. You never know.

GLENN: Could be.

CALLER: I always stay within 10 feet of that can now. It scares me.

GLENN: Let me tell you something. I don't think it could be Al Green because if it's Let's Stay Together, that's not what the garbage people are saying.

PAT: No. That's true.

GLENN: Envelopes cannot stay together with the trash.

PAT: No.

GLENN: No. Or the refuse. I'm not really even sure how it's worked out. But we'll — hang on just a second, Gary. We're going to try to get a hold of your trash collectors or your refuse receptacle emptiers, whoever the hell, knows what the hell is going on in South Carolina coming up in just a second.

On Wednesday's TV show, Glenn Beck sat down with radio show host, author, political commentator, and film critic, Michael Medved.

Michael had an interesting prediction for the 2020 election outcome: a brokered convention by the DNC will usher in former First Lady Michelle Obama to run against President Donald Trump.

Watch the video below to hear why he's making this surprising forecast:

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On Thursday's "Glenn Beck Radio Program," BlazeTV's White House correspondent Jon Miller described the current situation in Virginia after Gov. Ralph Northam (D) declared a state of emergency and banned people carrying guns at Capitol Square just days before a pro-Second-Amendment rally scheduled on Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Jon told Glenn that Gov. Northam and the Virginia Legislature are "trying to deprive the people of their Second Amendment rights" but the citizens of Virginia are "rising up" to defend their constitutional rights.

"I do think this is the flashpoint," Jon said. "They [Virginia lawmakers] are saying, 'You cannot exercise your rights ... and instead of trying to de-escalate the situation, we are putting pressure. We're trying to escalate it and we're trying to enrage the citizenry even more'."

Glenn noted how Gov. Northam initially blamed the threat of violence from Antifa for his decision to ban weapons but quickly changed his narrative to blame "white supremacists" to vilify the people who are standing up for the Second Amendment and the Constitution.

"What he's doing is, he's making all all the law-abiding citizens of Virginia into white supremacists," Glenn said.

"Sadly, that's exactly right," Jon replied. "And I think he knows exactly what he's doing."

Watch the video to catch more of the conversation below:

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Ryan: Trump Louisiana Finale

Photo by Jim Dale

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

At the end of Trump rallies, I would throw on my Carhartt jacket, sneak out of the press area, then blend in with everyone as they left, filing out through swinging doors.

Often, someone held the door open for me. Just 30 minutes earlier, the same person had most likely had most likely hissed at me for being a journalist. And now they were Sunday smiles and "Oh, yes, thank you, sir" like some redneck concierge.

People flooded out of the arena with the stupidity of a fire drill mishap, desperate to survive.

The air smacked you as soon as you crossed the threshold, back into Louisiana. And the lawn was a wasteland of camping chairs and coolers and shopping bags and to-go containers and soda cans and articles of clothing and even a few tents.

In Monroe, in the dark, the Trump supporters bobbled over mounds of waste like elephants trying to tiptoe. And the trash was as neutral to them as concrete or grass. They plodded over it because it, an object, had somehow gotten in their way.

It did not matter that they were responsible for this wreckage.Out in the sharp-edged moonlight, rally-goers hooted and yapped and boogied and danced, and the bbq food truck was all smoke and paper plates.

They were even more pumped than they had been before the rally, like 6,000 eight year olds who'd been chugging Mountain Dew for hours. Which made Donald Trump the father, the trooper, God of the Underworld, Mr. Elite, Sheriff on high horse, the AR-15 sticker of the family.

Ritualistic mayhem, all at once. And, there in Louisiana, Trump's supporters had gotten a taste of it. They were all so happy. It bordered on rage.

Still, I could not imagine their view of America. Worse, after a day of strange hostilities, I did not care.

My highest priority, my job as a reporter, was to care. To understand them and the world that they inhabit. But I did not give a damn and I never wanted to come back.

Worst of all, I would be back. In less than a week.

Was this how dogs felt on the 4th of July? Hunched in a corner while everyone else gets drunk and launches wailing light into the sky? configurations of blue and red and white.

It was 10:00 p.m. and we'd been traveling since 11:00 a.m., and we still had 5 hours to go and all I wanted was a home, my home, any home, just not here, in the cold sweat of this nowhere. Grey-mangled sky. No evidence of planes or satellites or any proof of modern-day. Just century-old bridges that trains shuffled over one clack at a time.

And casinos, all spangles and neon like the 1960s in Las Vegas. Kitchy and dumb, too tacky for lighthearted gambling. And only in the nicer cities, like Shreveport, which is not nice at all.

And swamp. Black water that rarely shimmered. Inhabited by gadflies and leeches and not one single fish that was pretty.

Full of alligators, and other killing types. The storks gnawing on frogs, the vultures never hungry. The coyotes with nobody to stop them and so much land to themselves. The roaches in the wild, like tiny wildebeests.

Then, the occasional deer carcass on the side of the road, eyes splayed as if distracted, tongue out, relaxed but empty. The diseased willows like skeletons in hairnets. The owls that never quit staring. A million facets of wilderness that would outlive us all.

Because Nature has poise. It thrives and is original.

Because silence is impossible. Even in an anechoic chamber, perfectly soundproofed, you can hear your own heartbeat, steady as a drum. A never-ending war.

I put "Headache" by Grouper on repeat as we glided west. We were deadlocked to asphalt, rubber over tarface.

And I thought about lines from a Rita Dove poem titled "I have been a stranger in a strange land"

He was off cataloging the universe, probably,
pretending he could organize
what was clearly someone else's chaos.

Wasn't that exactly what I was doing? Looking for an impossible answer, examining every single accident, eager for meaning? telling myself, "If it happens and matters the next year, in America, I want to be there, or to know what it means. I owe it to whoever cares to listen."

Humans are collectors and I had gone overboard.

Because maybe this wasn't even my home. These landmarks, what did they mean? Was I obvious here? When I smiled, did I trick them into believing that I felt some vague sense of approval? Or did my expressions betray me?

Out in all that garbage-streaked emptiness — despite the occasional burst of passing halogen — I couldn't tell if everything we encountered was haunted or just old, derelict, broken, useless. One never-ending landfill.

Around those parts, they'd made everything into junk. Homes. Roads. Glass. Nature. Life itself, they made into junk.

I cringed as we passed yet another deer carcass mounded on the side of the road.

As written in Job 35:11,

Who teaches us more than the beasts of the earth and makes us wiser than the birds in the sky?

Nobody. Look at nature and you feel something powerful. Look at an animal, in all of its untamable majesty, and you capture a deep love, all swept up in the power of creation. But, here, all I saw were poor creatures who people had slammed into and kept driving. Driving to where? For what reason? What exactly was so important that they left a trail of dead animals behind them?

So I crossed myself dolorously and said an "Our Father" and recited a stanza from Charles Bukowski's "The Laughing Heart"

you can't beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.

Out here, nothing but darkness. Needing some light, by God. Give me something better than a Moon that hides like an underfed coward.

Jade told me about some of the more traumatic things she'd seen while working at the State Fair.

"Bro, they pull roaches out of the iced lemonade jugs and act like nothing happened."

"All right but what about the corn dogs?"

"You do not want to know, little bro."

She looked around in the quiet. "Back in the day, the Louisiana Congress refused to raise the drinking age from 18 to 21," she said. "They didn't want to lose all that drunk gambler money. So the federal government cut off funding to highways."

We glided through moon-pale landscape for an hour before I realized what she had meant. That there weren't any light poles or billboards along the road. Nothing to guide us or distract us. Just us, alone. And it felt like outer space had collapsed, swallowed us like jellybeans.

Like two teenagers playing a prank on the universe.

In the cozy Subaru Crosstrek, in the old wild night, brimming with the uncertainty of life and the nonchalance of failure, we paraded ourselves back to Dallas. Alive in the river silence that follows us everywhere.

New installments come Mondays and Thursdays. Next, the Iowa caucuses. Check out my Twitter. Email me at kryan@blazemedia.com

The Iowa primary is just around the corner, and concerns of election interference from the last presidential election still loom. Back in 2016, The Associated Press found that a majority of U.S. elections systems still use Windows 7 as an operating system, making them highly susceptible to bugs and errors. And last year, a Mississippi voter tried multiple times to vote for the candidate of his choice, but the system continuously switched his vote to the other candidate. It's pretty clear: America's voting systems desperately need an update.

That's where blockchain voting comes in.

Blockchain voting is a record-keeping system that's 100% verifiable and nearly impossible to hack. Blockchain, the newest innovation in cybersecurity, is set to grow into a $20 billion industry by 2025. Its genius is in its decentralized nature, distributing information throughout a network of computers, requiring would-be hackers to infiltrate a much larger system. Infiltrating multiple access points spread across many computers requires a significant amount of computing power, which often costs more than hackers expect to get in return.

Blockchain voting wouldn't allow for many weak spots. For instance, Voatz, arguably the leading mobile voting platform, requires a person to take a picture of their government-issued ID and a picture of themselves before voting (a feature, of course, not present in vote-by-mail, where the only form of identity verification is a handwritten signature, which is easily forgeable). Voters select their choices and hit submit. They then receive an immediate receipt of their choices via email, another security feature not present in vote-by-mail, or even in-person voting. And because the system operates on blockchain technology, it's nearly impossible to tamper with.

Votes are then tabulated, and the election results are published, providing a paper trail, which is a top priority for elections security experts.

The benefits of blockchain voting can't be dismissed. Folks can cast their vote from the comfort of their homes, offices, etc., vastly increasing the number of people who can participate in the electoral process. Two to three-hour lines at polling places, which often deter voters, would become significantly diminished.

Even outside of the voting increase, the upsides are manifold. Thanks to the photo identification requirements, voter fraud—whether real or merely suspected—would be eliminated. The environment would win, too, since we'd no longer be wasting paper on mail-in ballots. Moreover, the financial burden on election offices would be alleviated, because there's decreased staff time spent on the election, saving the taxpayer money.

From Oregon to West Virginia, elections offices have already implemented blockchain voting, and the results have been highly positive. For example, the city of Denver utilized mobile voting for overseas voters in their 2019 municipal elections. The system was secure and free of technical errors, and participants reported that it was very user-friendly. Utah County used the same system for their 2019 primary and general elections. An independent audit revealed that every vote that was cast on the app was counted and counted correctly. These successful test cases are laying the groundwork for even larger expansions of the program in 2020.

With this vital switch, our elections become significantly more secure, accurate, and efficient. But right now, our election infrastructure is a sitting duck for manipulation. Our current lack of election integrity undermines the results of both local and national elections, fans the flames of partisanship, and zaps voter confidence in the democratic system. While there's never a silver bullet or quick fix to those kinds of things, blockchain voting would push us much closer to a solution than anything else.

Chris Harelson is the Executive Director at Prosperity Council and a Young Voices contributor.