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Greg Maresca | Remnant Columnist

Ever since Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro put the kibosh on his campaign promise that would have assisted students shackled in poorly performing public schools with $100 million in Lifeline scholarships, plenty of ink has been spilled arguing his budget flip-flop. 

Leading up to Independence Day, the fireworks were much louder than usual. Perhaps you heard? The source of the elevated spectacle were the heads of Marxist Democrats bursting in air, giving proof their hypocrisy is still there.

Every now and then whether by design or not, the nonstop 24-hour news cycle covers a story like no other – a literal dam break of reporting.

The signs were large, glowing, and clear: Avoid Philadelphia. 

They appeared after a bridge collapsed along the Interstate 95 corridor that runs through the City of Brotherly Love. In essence, the message has a much more sublime meaning that could be a metaphor for urban life in America. With diminishing populations, increasing crime, and crumbling infrastructure taking place daily, what more do you need?

Canada is our chief trading partner and without fail their leading import in 2023 will be that smokey haze that descended upon a chunk of the nation like a three-day fog thanks to colossal forest fires. It was a perspective event underscoring that despite all our technological advancements, Mother Nature rules.  

Another great exodus from the American metropolis is on. 

The Los Angeles Dodgers are making plenty of news, none of which is for their play on the baseball diamond. Rather, the Dodgers have sold their souls to the whims of the woke. Headlines resulted after the Dodgers announced they would be honoring the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence at their annual Gay Pride Night on June 16th.

On January 24, 2022, less than a month after Robert “Jazz” Jasinski, celebrated his 60th birthday, his six-decade run on this third post from the sun came to an abrupt and unexpected close. It would not be until May 23, 2023, that his cremains would be finally interred to their ultimate resting place in Arlington National Cemetery.

Public transportation in the city of New York – surface and especially subterranean – has never had a sterling reputation.  The recent coverage surrounding the death of homeless and mentally ailing Jordan Neely, who was threatening riders saying, “he had little to live for” on a Manhattan subway train underscored this longtime sordid rep.

For my first 17 years, a hat was, well, a hat. It wasn’t until I stepped off the bus in the wee hours of a humid June morning and landed on those celebrated yellow footprints of Parris Island that I quickly learned what I once called a hat was now a cover.