BREAKING NEWS

**RONALD, WA **  3/28/26 Federal Authorities have declared a State of Emergency  across Washington, Oregon, and Idaho this morning following an unprecedented logistical collapse. The cause? A single man known only as **Jeremy B.**
What was initially reported as a regional supply chain hiccup has escalated into a total regional depletion. As of 6:00 AM PST, dairy aisles from Seattle to Boise sit eerily vacant. Experts confirm that the Pacific Northwest’s entire milk supply—totaling millions of gallons—has been consumed in its entirety by Jeremy B.
The Timeline of the Gulp:
Agriculture officials began noticing "concerning trends" late last night when several hundred tanker trucks were diverted to a single residential address.
 * **10:00 PM:** Local dairies report "sudden, localized vacuum-like demand."
 * **2:00 AM:** The strategic milk reserves in Tillamook are reported at 0%.
 * **4:30 AM:** Jeremy B. is spotted by a delivery drone, reportedly looking "unfathomable"

**PINE LOCH SUN, WA ** 4/25/26  In a bizarre twist to the ongoing regional milk crisis, officials have confirmed that while the Pacific Northwest remains completely depleted… one area appears to have a suspiciously stable supply: Upper Mountain in Pine Loch Sun.

Authorities are now investigating whether the so-called “Upper Mountain Elite” have become an unofficial epicenter of milk redistribution—or worse… the origin point.

At the center of the investigation remains the same individual: Jeremy B.  

Early theories suggest elevation may be playing a role:

• Lower Mountain: Completely dry. Not a drop of milk in sight. Residents reportedly “forced to drink water.” 
• Mid Mountain: Scattered sightings of empty jugs and “false hope.” 
• Upper Mountain: Reports of “suspiciously cold, fully stocked coolers.” 

One Lower Mountain resident stated:  “We haven’t seen milk in days… meanwhile those Upper Mountain guys are acting like nothing happened.”  

Investigators have pieced together a concerning pattern:

• 9:00 PM: Milk shipments vanish region-wide. 
• 11:30 PM: Tire tracks leading uphill spotted near Pine Loch Sun. 
• 1:00 AM: Drone footage captures a figure resembling Jeremy B. hauling multiple jugs… heading up mountain. 
• 3:15 AM: Lights spotted at several Upper Mountain properties despite power-saving advisories. 
• 6:00 AM: Anonymous tip claims: “Check the sheds… they know something.” 

The long-standing “Upper vs. Lower Mountain” rivalry has escalated dramatically:

• Lower Mountain residents demanding milk transparency reports 
• Upper Mountain residents responding with “no comment” and full coffee mugs 
• Group chats described as “increasingly hostile” 

One Upper Mountain resident was overheard saying:

“Better snow, better views… better milk.”

 ** UPPER VALLEY REGION ** 4/26/26 — Residents across the foothills are raising concerns after a local man, identified as Jeremy B., has reportedly attempted to establish and enforce the boundaries of what he calls a sovereign territory: “Upper Mountain.” Authorities and community members alike say the effort has been marked by confusion, inconsistency, and increasingly bizarre claims—many of which now appear tied to an alleged underground dairy operation.

According to multiple accounts, Jeremy B. began mapping out “Upper Mountain” earlier this year, posting hand-drawn boundary lines on trees, fences, and even public trail markers. While initially dismissed as eccentric behavior, tensions escalated when those boundaries began shifting—sometimes overnight.

“One day my backyard was in Upper Mountain, the next day it wasn’t,” said a local homeowner. “Then it was again—but only if I agreed not to ask questions about ‘deliveries.’ It didn’t make any sense.”

Residents report that the so-called borders seem to move without warning or logic, often coinciding with late-night vehicle traffic and unmarked coolers being transported along rural roads. Several witnesses claim Jeremy B. justified these changes as “necessary for sovereignty,” though critics argue the adjustments align more closely with efforts to obscure activity tied to what is now being described as a black market milk trade.

The alleged operation—rumored to involve unregulated dairy distribution, barter exchanges, and coded transactions—has drawn attention due to its unusual scale and secrecy. While details remain murky, sources suggest that “Upper Mountain” may serve less as a legitimate territorial claim and more as a flexible cover for routing these activities away from scrutiny.

“He talks about independence and jurisdiction,” said one resident who requested anonymity. “But every time someone gets close to understanding what’s actually going on, the borders change again. It’s like trying to pin down smoke.”

Complicating matters further is Jeremy B.’s apparent use of official-sounding language and documents, some of which mimic legal filings or land surveys but lack any recognized authority. Local officials confirm that no such sovereign designation exists and that all land in question remains under standard county jurisdiction.

“We’ve seen nothing that would validate these claims,” a county spokesperson said. “And shifting self-declared boundaries has no legal standing. We are, however, looking into reports of unauthorized commercial activity.”

Despite growing skepticism, a small number of individuals appear to support Jeremy B.’s efforts, citing ideals of independence and self-governance. Still, even some early supporters have expressed concern over the erratic nature of the boundary changes and the secrecy surrounding the alleged milk trade.

As investigations continue, residents are left navigating a strange new reality—one where property lines are disputed not by surveyors or courts, but by a man with a marker, a map, and a mission that remains as unclear as the borders he draws.

For now, “Upper Mountain” exists in a kind of limbo: not officially recognized, frequently redefined, and increasingly questioned by those living within—or just outside—its ever-moving edges.