BaneRants  

You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::






::Menu::

View My Stats




eXTReMe Tracker


Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam


This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable



Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License
.

RSS FEED

email me






::Links::


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)


Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


BaneRants
(Wordpress)

Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity

Baldilocks

Vox Day

Velociman

Pondering...

Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major

Northwoods
Woman


Kolyada.com

Olbermmeinfuhrer

DaddyBlogger



::Previous::


::Past::
  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012







  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

    This page is powered by Blogger.


        Tuesday, May 31, 2005

    I'd Call Them Animals...

    ...but even animals don't act like this.

    LAHORE: Three men gang-raped a newly married woman with the consent of her in-laws in what police described as an act of revenge.

    Whenever I am tempted to welcome these people into my Family of Man, I read bullshit like this. And it is a common story for these 'people'.

    These 'people' are a danger to themselves and others. And now they are getting cozy with Red China.

    Oh, joy.


    .




       

    Home Grown Muslims...

    Come home to roost.

    The son of a former Malcolm X aide was nabbed yesterday, along with a Florida doctor, in a plot to start an Al Qaeda training camp in the U.S. - even scouting out a Long Island warehouse for a terror school, officials said last night.

    How many more, you ask?

    Good question.


    .




       

    Traitors!

    Why, "who?" you might ask...

    Well, The New York Times, of course.

    Just business as usual.


    .




       

    New Blog...

    To me, anyway.

    I don't know who he is, but he hates liberals, and links to me, so there you go.

    Enjoy.


    .




       

    If You Home School...

    ...you need this.

    If you're not home-schooling, you should be. And you'll need this. This is an answer to prayer, and it's designers are athiests. Go figure.

    I am dread serious. Homeshoolers should jump on this like Michael Moore on a Twinkie. Like Paris Hilton on a strange penis.

    Along with sliced bread, and the 24 pack of beer, this program/system looks like a gift from God.

    Check it out.


    .




        Monday, May 30, 2005

    In Memorium...

    This video puts me in the right mood for the day. Thanks, Bastard.

    Big, 16 meg download. Deal. Or not.

    Words are too cheap an offering to honor the men and women who serve this country, now and ever.

    Most cannot even imagine, even if they bother to try. Go, live a week without food, or water. Then, have someone hit you in the face with a bat, and then kill your child in front of you so the blood spatters in your face.

    Well, that's a start, anyway...

    God Bless our men and women, then, and now.

    Update:

    Go here, and here. Read, and throw around some love.


    .




        Sunday, May 29, 2005

    The War On Drugs...

    Let me just say, right up front, that I am all, and enthusiastically, for it.

    Another blogger may or may not have taken me on and chided me a bit for my stance, so I may or may not be responding to them, but I am definitely responding to some of my commenters of late, who seem to think that because we're gonna do it, we might as well just legalize it and have fun.

    Does anyone else see, well, the stupidity of that idea? Heck, those darn pesky muslims are just gonna keep blowin shit up, so let's set up bomb stands and sell them and tax them and make the rags buy permits.

    Well?

    Let me also say, up front, that I think that laws on pot should be separate from laws on hard narcotics, and that 'Dry' counties, alcohol-wise, are the stupidest most annoying fucking idea on the planet next to boy bands and Liberalism.

    Pot is a drug. Alcohol is a chemical. BIG fucking difference. Can I drink a beer and have it show up on any kind of test a week later? Will it affect my behavior permanently? Think about that.

    Comparing alcohol and caffeine and nicotine to marijuana and cocaine and heroin is so painfully stupid it...well, causes me pain.

    Wanna argue from the point of view of medical costs to society? Well, you better throw hamburgers and cheese sticks in that mix, too, and that snowball will only get bigger as it rolls on down hill.

    Don't go there.

    It is being said by the pro-drug whiners that "People are going to do it anyway..." That apparently it is human nature for everybody to crave heroin and stay up nights dreaming of new ways to ram a spike into their arm.

    Well, maybe not yet, anyway, but if you introduce public acceptance of drugs like they've done with sex, you'll soon have classes where after they teach little Johnny how to put a condom on a banana, he'll be taught how to fix himself with a load of smack so he can lay back and really relax after rolling off his ho.

    Oh, fuck you, are you going to try to tell me that sex isn't hugely prevalent today in our society as a result of so-called 'Health Class'? We've got little boys raping little girls IN CLASS MOTHERFUCKERS!!

    I had to hear about how to jack off from an older boy, and had never even imagined the possibility before. Now we've got 7th graders sucking dick in the hallways of schools.

    Now, let's give those same kids a Drug Education.

    Dumb shits.

    Right now, this Drug War, however fucked up and ill run it may be, is like a scrawny old man, leaning as hard as he can on the brake lever of a runaway train. Sparks are shooting out and steel is screaming against steel, but he is doing his best to keep the train's sway to a minimum, so it doesn't leave the track and kill all of the fitfully sleeping passengers and send them screaming out into a flaming nightmare.

    And you people want to kick him off that handle, and watch it snap back in ways you cannot even imagine.

    You wanna know something? The 'Drug Trade' is primarily a US and World Government construct. It is and always has been a way to get money 'off the books', to finance things they don't care to bother going to the cardboard cutouts we call politicians for permission to do.

    And yes, it is also to keep the darkies in their place, and the White Trash, too.

    Those powerful, evil men know damn well what the sheeple will do if offered unfettered access to recreational chemicals; and to stave off that nightmare, like any good animal breeder taking care of their stock, they put in a little safeguard called the War On Drugs.

    As an aside, I do not see one textbook company advertising on the sides of racing cars. Enjoy your beer, along with your subjugation, Jethro.

    Hasn't anybody noticed how popular marijuana is with the so-called 'creative set'? Why is that, do you suppose? To keep minds that otherwise might be occupied with revolution, pliant and docile? I wonder if Rousseau smoked dope? If not, I wonder how France and America would look today if he had?

    Trust me when I tell you, that I probably smoked more pot than most of you have ever seen. I was also a violent, dangerous criminal under the influence of it, too, along with my violent, dangerous companions...another myth shot to shit, eh?

    The best day of my life was when I had quit for a couple of weeks, and the fog finally lifted off my brain. I was so happy to have reality back, I literally almost fainted. It was like rising from the bottom of the pool, and sitting up on the edge, in the sun.

    And I'll match IQ's for pink slips with anybody here, and I'm here to tell ya, they don't call it 'dope' for nothing. Stupid in a can. Instant retardation, that stays around longer than you want it to.

    If you partake, God Bless you, maybe you are the one in a million it doesn't effect. So then, why are you risking arrest and PCP and paraquat poisoning to smoke it? Hmmmmm...

    I have used and abused every drug there is, and sold them, too. Trafficked. Shot, been shot at. Never been arrested, always feared it.

    And that's what I want...the fear, from both sides of the transaction.

    Cops? There have been crooked cops since there have been cops. Remember the Sheriff of Nottingham? Hello?

    You say the Drug War causes governmental abuses? Hello! When did that shit start! Knock me over with a feather!

    Schmucks...

    There's an old line involving babies and omellettes and bathwater and eggs, but I'm too tired of this dumb shit to deal with it any more tonight.

    I just wonder why it is that otherwise Good Americans get so overwrought when the subject of drugs comes up, and they begin to protest so much.

    Too much, methinks.


    .




       

    PreNaptual Agreement…

    I just had an egg sandwich, and a glass of red wine, and now I go to sleep, perchance to fart.

    I fertilized the yard yesterday, loading up the hopper with a mix of fertilizer, weed killer, and grass seed.

    The little feathered mooches are going ape-shit today. Good. I hate Starlings and Grackles with a passion. Flying rats.

    I shall enjoy their death throes.

    Nat got a bag of hand-me-downs today at church from a girl who has grown bigger, and who likes Nat. The bag includes several pairs of leotards and tutus, and Nat could not be more excited.

    Currently, she is pirouetting around like an Afghan on goof-balls…thud/screech! thud/screech! Johnny, wisely, has taken cover. Ooops! She caught him, and now he is be-tutu’d as well, and looking glum. She is insisting they play ‘married’, but he is fighting to retain his stethoscope and play doctor.

    I sternly inform them that ‘boys do not wear tutus!’ and he gives me a ‘Thanks Dad’ look. Nat pouts, and plots. There will be retribution.

    I should have insured her life. Pirouetting, on the stairs, is not conducive to a long one.

    thud/screech!thudthudthud…

    “HA! I told you so!”

    Dad!

    Well, I did.


    .




       

    Oh My God!

    That is my first utterance of His name on this blog I have ever used as an exclamative. I try very hard to not curse using any of God's names, but...

    Read this, and tell me how I could not?

    Just, oh my God, indeed. If the article is true, and I have no reason to believe it is not, we are waaayyy past approaching the edge of the precipice...we have gone over, and are flailing towards the rocks below.

    I really want to thank ajw308 for this dangerous increase in my blood pressure.

    It's half past gun-time, people.


    .




       

    Whadda Ya Think?

    Read this, then watch this...

    Hmmmmm....

    Update:

    Signs and Wonders?


    .




        Saturday, May 28, 2005

    Yay!

    I hope they burn this motherfucker down.

    Fat chance.


    .




       

    Gotta Love Our Military...

    Go here for a good chuckle.

    If I was over there, and we had a bad officer and/or commander, I'd make up a fake sign and put it outside his billet that said "Car-bomb Parking."


    .




        Thursday, May 26, 2005

    What Is Porn?



    I have never posted any porn on this blog, and I probably never will. Unless it is really funny. And tragic. Which is also funny.

    Oh, I'm sorry, is a beautiful naked woman porn to you? Sorry, I can't help that, any more than I can help the guy who goes over to your blog and sees the pics you've posted of your kids and sees porn.

    Eye of the beholder, and all that.

    Some Supreme Court justice once declared porn to be "I'll know it when I see it." Wise words, I think.

    Oh, is it porn when it sexually stimulates you sexually? Well, in the wise words of Eddie Murphy, "My dick get hard when the wind blows!"

    So, has standing in a breeze become a sin for me? Golly, I hope not.

    I know that I have lost readers due to my admiration for the human female form, and my penchant to post examples thereof that I find exquisite. Shall I therefore shun photos of Prime Rib and Pistachio Ice Cream, simply because they make my mouth water, and someone has declared gluttony to be a sin?

    God placed us in the Garden, naked. Sin brought shame, or so we are told. I have a few issues of my own about being told that I need to live my life around the moral codes of nomadic tribesmen...I believe in the Ten Commandments, and that they were writ by God Himself, and I do not see the word 'titties' anywhere on them, nor whether I should enjoy them or not.

    Oh, you are welcome to run amok in the comments with your ideas about this and that, but let's get back to porn, shall we?

    God placed us in the Garden, naked. But not with a banana in our asses, and a gag-ball in our mouth. No, I'm pretty sure that's porn. It fits every definition I have formed of porn. I shall not engage in or condone such behavior, and find such repugnant, even when I am in the privacy of my own hand.

    I don't post porn here, simply because I think it is wrong to do so. Have I consumed porn? Sure. If you say that you haven't, I will assume that you are either lying, or impotent. Does me having done something make it right? No, it makes me human.

    And that means, fallen, weak, and sinful.

    Do you have a weakness? Does the sight of a slinky female body cause you to stagger backward to the crumbling, fiery lips of Hell? Then get rid of your computer, pussy. Shitcan your TV. Move out of human civilization where you have no chance of seeing salacious billboards, and into the desert, where you can wear animal skins and eat locusts....

    Wait a minute, does that rock formation look like two big tits? AAAARRRGGGHHHH!!! And that cloud formation looks like Tammy Faye Baker ramming a cucumber up her ass! Help meeeeee!!!

    See?

    I sin every day, and twice on Sundays. I don't get too bent about it, because I am born again and saved, and Jesus let Himself get fucked up pretty bad and killed, just for me. Oh, and for you, if you want.

    That's the beauty of it. There's not a damn thing you can do to save yourself. It's been done already. If you are too stupid to take advantage of it, that's not my fault, it's yours.

    If some guy was handing out $100 dollar bills down the street, and you were too lazy to get your ass off the couch and go get some, that's on you, baby.

    So, I am going to post pictures of beautiful women, and try to keep my shit together in one sack, and not hurt anybody or get too out of hand, and whatever God has in store for me at the end of all this, I'm gonna get a piece of, because I followed the formula and said the words and I believe, and if they can let a sonofabitching bastard like me in, anybody can join.

    This day, you shall be with me, in Paradise...

    Sounds like a promise to me.


    .




       

    Ancient History...

    I note a lot of you seem to be mining my archives, which makes me happy.

    Unless you are working on a court case against me, in which case, say your prayers.

    Whatever.

    Anyway, if you care to make a comment for one reason or another on an old post, I will see it. Haloscan doesn't care if it's three years ago. I may respond, or not. I may even move it up front as a repost and let others savor our repartee, who knows.

    This isn't a request, I'm just sayin.

    Again, thanks for reading me. I haven't had comments for all that long, and for a long time, I didn't figure anyone was even reading this.

    And it shows. Sorry.

    Oh well, carry on.


    .




       

    Perfection...



    But wait! There's more!

    .




       

    Use The Farce, Lucas...

    Now, I'm not going to disparage others who have besmirched Mister Lucas and his movie, here. Everybody is permitted their opinion, even if it is misguided and utterly wrong.

    I have seen it twice, now. Once under a considerable burden of alcohol and physical duress, and yesterday, relatively sober, and stress free.

    I love this movie.

    Lucas is a great (if somewhat pedantic) writer.

    He writes the inevitable, and makes it fresh and exciting, and took me back nearly thirty years.

    It is easily the best movie of the franchise.

    It is the only one of the bunch that I will bother to buy. I want to see the decapitations and amputations in glorious slo-mo.

    Annoyances? To be sure. But I didn't see the enormous plot holes that the Fan-Boi were chortling about, and I could easily accept the 'lava' scenes because, hey, it's a fucking alien planet, okay? It could have all been neon strawberry syrup from The Big Rock Candy Mountain, okay? Dorks...

    Folks, if you have read and enjoyed the Bible, and it's other Testaments, The Lord of the Rings books, you should have no problem with this movie. On the other hand, if your pocket protector digs into the top roll of the Cheeto-induced fat of your belly, then maybe you should stick with watching Komodo Dragon Porn on the Discovery channel.

    Go crazy in the comments, if you wish, the spoiler ban is no longer in effect. If you haven't seen this movie by now, just go soak a wooden clothes pin in gasoline, attach it to your Joy Buzzer, and light it. Feel The Burn.

    Dork.

    This is a Theatre Movie. Find a theatre that George extorted last time into putting in a kick-ass sound system so that now the ads sound really great.

    I may go see it again, just to enjoy it some more.

    Have I mentioned that I saw Star Wars twenty-five times in July of 1977? A buddy and me sat on a large ice-chest full of beer for hours, in a line that wrapped around the block several times. We sold beers that were going for a dollar a can in the bar for five dollars, and paid for our beer and our pot and our tickets and our gas and our hot-dogs and maybe a few tabs of acid that way. And got killer tans.

    It took us an average of two to three shows to get to where we knew we were the next to go in.

    For eight dollars, we would fill a six ounce Dixie Cup with ice cold bourbon to go with your beer.

    Gosh darn the Pusher.

    Well, Johnny and the wife are headed up to Portland to get him poked and prodded, and Nat and I are pondering the walk to the Shit-N-Git to purchase her a popsicle. I insist we walk through the field, wherein reside cougars and poisonous reptiles, and perhaps a troll, or two.

    She is dubious, but it is hot.

    I await her decision...


    .




       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship.

    Of course, whupping on Bill Moyers is kinda like smothering an old lady who has Alzheimer's with a throw pillow...not very honorable, but somehow enjoyable, and a little exciting.


    .




        Wednesday, May 25, 2005

    Reminiscing...

    Something happened to me yesterday that reminded me that the statute of limitations has run out on something I did someplace else several years ago.

    Yesterday, this little college-age bitch launched out of a side street at me in her little red car and I had to swerve to miss her. I was in the center of three lanes on a one way street, and she had apparently decided that she needed my lane more than I did, and attempted to meld with me as she turned into my lane.

    For a brief, glorious moment, her passenger side door handle was right beside me, so I reached out and opened it and pulled away. I watched her frantically pulling over in my rear view mirror to close it, and to keep another car from picking it off. The traffic was light, and she was an asshole, so I was happy. Doubt she got my plate, either.

    Several years ago, the girl involved wasn't so lucky. Same thing happened. She made eye contact with me as her door opened, and the look of startled horror was priceless. But that time, I held onto the edge of the door, pulled away and slung her door forward as I accelerated.

    The mass and the forward motion and my temper caused the door to slam forward into her right front fender, and end up hanging there on one, bent hinge.

    She should have chased me, but she couldn't pull over fast enough, and I never heard about it. If she reported it, it didn't make it to the paper.

    She'd nearly wrecked me, and she learned a lesson she'll never forget. So did that little gal yesterday, I'll wager.

    I am mellowing in my old age.


    .




       

    So True...




    .




       

    On Judges...

    Fukkem.

    There is no more single destructive force at work in America today, and now we get three more of them. Yay. And that asshole Bush picked them.

    The only good that can come from this is that the voters will see how these idiot politicians cavort naked and fling shit like monkeys and wipe their asses with the Constitution and hopefully every damn incumbent in the country gets voted out.

    Every damn one.

    I would vote for a black, Communist homosexual leper before I ever vote for one more single incumbent. Seriously.

    Politicians like to whine and lie and blame other politicians for their shit, but if you are in a cloakroom with John McCain or Teddy Kennedy (and no, I don't see any difference between them) and you do not take the opportunity to stab them in the neck, I blame you.

    Fucker.

    We are far past the point where any revolution could succeed. I know that. But at least we could show them that we're on to their shit, and we're not going to play any more.

    Daffy Duck For President!

    And fuck a Liberaltardian Presidential Candidate up the ass with a frozen prairie dog. Anybody who wants to be or is already a politician (spit) should not be allowed to have the job. They are all rotten to the core. Some are just better at hiding it than others.

    Fukkem.


    .




       

    Test...

    Shit be messin up an shit...

    Jus tessin...


    .




        Tuesday, May 24, 2005

    One Lazy Summers Day...

    Or maybe it was the Fall. I forget. Doesn't matter.

    Friday afternoon, in the military, at the barracks. We were dead bored, and most of us had been drinking since lunch. 5:30 was coming up, and we were due to be released for the weekend, which meant formation time.

    There was nobody around, for one reason or the other, of any rank to take charge. And we were infantry. Nobody fucks with infantry, much. They were (rightly) afraid of us, kept us segregated, up on our hill at Fort Ord, and today, we were adrift, without any real leadership.

    We'd done all of our FTX's for awhile, those who could get it were on leave, and we were just like a gun someone had left carelessly out on the table.

    Of course, the leave takers were the officers, and the NCO's, E-6's and above. Several of us had been given temporary rank, as they often did, so we could boss around the little kids. The eighteen and nineteen year olds. I was twenty-six when I joined up, so I was the Old Man, as old or older than many of our officers and NCO's.

    That day, I was wearing Staff Sergeants stripes on my collar and cap, and I was in the ranking Platoon Leaders spot, which meant that I was the Company Commander.

    And not one of us with a higher actual rank of E-4. DoD (Department of Defense) was holding their promotions close to the vest, being very stingy, and since we had all joined on the same day and in the same unit, we all became promotable at the same time. Stupid way to run an airline, but there it was.

    So, I sent a runner through the building and had him tell all the other Platoon and Squad leaders to form up out on the deck. I heard thundering throughout the building right quick...everybody who could wanted to un-ass that AO and get the fuck out of Dodge.

    I stepped out onto the top steps and the other Platoon leaders called their units to attention. Heady stuff. They were just playing along, but we all knew the drill, so it was easy.

    I took my position and checked my watch and at the right moment while the music played and they were lowering the flag in front of Base Headquarters we turned in that direction and we all saluted and then came back to attention and I turned to face the assembled Company.

    Companeee!

    "Pahtooon!"

    Bring your units to the position of Fuck Off!

    There was general startlement, but they were used to my lunacy...

    "Pahtoon, Fuck...Off!"

    And they did.


    .




       

    Blahg...

    Man, I have such a bad case of Don'tgiveashititis it is unbelievable.

    I could blog on the spate of cougar sightings and attacks around here, and finding two hides in the tall grass around my house, within sight of where my kids play, but I don't give a shit.

    I could blog on the finale of 24 last night, but I don't give a shit.

    I think I'll go take a nap.

    Do you give a shit?

    Didn't think so.


    .




        Monday, May 23, 2005

    My Darling Terminatrix...

    Gosh, this new chick on 24 is rocking my world. Oh, sure, she's evil, but so, so hot.

    I'm in love.


    .




       

    You Give A Toothless Tiger Teeth...

    ...and sooner or later it will bite you in the ass.

    And so it begins.


    .




       

    This One's Going Around...










    Your Political Profile



    Overall: 85% Conservative, 15% Liberal

    Social Issues: 100% Conservative, 0% Liberal

    Personal Responsibility: 75% Conservative, 25% Liberal

    Fiscal Issues: 100% Conservative, 0% Liberal

    Ethics: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

    Defense and Crime: 100% Conservative, 0% Liberal






        Sunday, May 22, 2005

    Drumline...

    I must confess to holding a secret contempt for guys who went into band, until I saw this movie on cable last night.

    Now, apparently, I see that you must be black. You must also be very talented and dedicated. And have rythm. I did see one or two token whites, to be fair. They were the dorks. The Stepinfetchit's. I was reminded of Planet of the Apes, where the few whites left were subservient to the apes. Hey, can I say that? In America today? I think I just did.

    Damn good movie, though. I kept almost not watching it, and then it would pull me back in. The drumming and such looked awesome, but what do I know. I like the bagpipes.

    Odd seeing Orlando Jones play a straight (as in 'non-comedy') part. He's a very good actor. Hello, Hollywood, I'd like to see him in more parts like this, okay? Thanks.

    The movie shows that, when left to themselves, black people are every bit as capable of being dicks to each other as anybody else is of any other color. Yay, black people!

    Funny, I always thought it was my fault. Go figure.

    Anyway, an enjoyable movie, somewhat predictable, but really good insight into that world. It had to be real...a real competition, I mean. Nobody could afford that many real instruments and uniforms on anything less than a Star Wars budget.

    Lots of pomp, circumstance, and some really great acting from a young, vibrant and (mostly) black cast of three dimensional characters.

    Worth a view, and I'm glad I saw it.


    .




       

    You Have Just Got...

    ...to see this.

    Except for you, Wes...sorry.

    This is what the internet is for.


    .




       

    Wherein I Seize Lycan's Penis...

    ...here. Read, then read the comments. You'll understand.

    Had to be done. Perhaps he'll just get probation, and have to read manly things like Doc Savage, and Sgt. Rock comics.

    Here is the whole blog...well, the tip of the blog. I just put the tip in. If you want more, you'll have to grasp it yourself.

    Enjoy.


    .




        Saturday, May 21, 2005

    I Wonder If Acidman...

    ...would tap this?



    I got bit through the boot by a twenty foot boa, once. Had to pull the damn teeth out of my boot (and foot) before I could pull the boot off. The teeth were the size of damn rose thorns.

    Still, the idea of beheading that snake, and doing those jungle queens on the fecund jungle floor as it's body squirms and squirts warm blood all over us while we frolic, does hold some appeal.


    .




       

    Because...

    ...she tickles me.

    And because I can.

    And because she kinda hits the nail on the head, nay, punches in its very soft spot.

    And, because who, after all, man or woman, wouldn't love to cuddle and worship and nurture this little goddess.

    Raymi is the hope, and the future, and the failure, and the fragility of humanity.

    And she is much, much stronger than she knows.


    .




       

    Happy Saturday Night!

    Here is me and Al's idea of a party...

    Thanks, Al!


    .




       

    Fuck...


    Your English Skills:

    Punctuation: 100%
    Vocabulary: 100%
    Spelling: 40%
    Grammar: 20%



    Does Your English Cut the Mustard?
    .




       

    I See London, I See France...

    ...I see Saddam's underpants.

    Coulda gone the rest of my life without that image, but, there it is. And I'd bet my life that it was engineered as an American Psyop.

    Just think about it. He has got to be one of the most watched figures in history, and they're gonna let photos of the old devil be taken, let alone taken out, and especially after Abu AssGarrab Prison? Which I also believe to have been a Psyop?

    Don't try to tell me these events have done us harm, strategically. I don't buy it. What, we're worried Arabs might begin to hate us? Surprise! You're a boob!

    No, our officials posture and beat their chests in public, and traitorous Democrats do what traitorous Democrats always do, namely besmirch and destroy America at every chance they get.

    But, privately, in the bowels and dark caverns of the Pentagrammagon, sharp-minded sociopaths are calculating and scheming on how to best fuck with the primitive minds of the Islamic religious fanatics who fear and hate women and progress so much.

    I could have planned operations such as these. And it would be me, giggling like a school girl as I watched my plans come to fruition, instead of just admiring their work from a distance.

    You go, guys. You may serve in secret, but you serve, and I thank you for it.

    Carry on...and keep up the good work.


    .




       

    Wherein Bane Misuses The Force...

    It is a bad idea for me to get pissed off, and nobody knows that any better than me.

    My temper is a thing of cold fire, and dread, focused rage, and I am fully conscious and aware and focused like a killing laser beam until it, whatever it is, is over.

    I know this, and have worked my entire adult life to control it, and to avoid situations as best I can where a Bad Thing can happen. Which is why I am heart sick today, and full of self-loathing for some of the events of yesterday.

    I headed out yesterday afternoon to see Star Wars, but I swung by a little bar that I have chosen as my quiet place to have an occasional beer and a shot.

    I never go there in the evenings, so I have no idea what that scene is like, but in the afternoon, on a weekday, it is quiet, the way I like it. They have lady bartenders, not attractive enough to tempt me, and not too repulsive to put me off my feed. I tip nicely, and consistently, and am rewarded quite often with extra drinks. I am polite, funny, and attractive, and the lady bartenders treat me like a king. I rarely go there more than once a week, if that, but I have always had a mellow time, until yesterday.

    There was a large, aggressive black guy in there, playing at Keno, and losing consistently. I could tell he was a black man, because he announced several times that he was one. It was how he referred to himself. Loudly. A black third person, i.e., “The black guy would like another drink!”
    And he would butt into my conversation with the bartender and he was obnoxious, without being threatening enough to engage any of my defenses. I chose to ignore him. Thirty years ago, I would have broken his leg and left him in a crying heap.

    So, the chemistry was already set for me to spiral into that place I try to avoid. An obnoxious customer, a lady bartender giving me comped whiskey, an empty stomach.

    By the time I have to leave, I am feeling positively Asgardian. Or maybe Cimmerian.

    One time, decades ago, I was shooting pool with my friend, hustling some other guys. We paid the rent on our trailer, that way. Fresh out of High School, drinking in bars, with fake ID's. It was heaven.

    My girlfriend was bartending, which meant I drank mostly free. She was a gorgeous redhead who used her delicious cleavage to mine for tips, quite successfully. She had just put two glass mugs of beer on the bar in front of where I was standing, and I was looking lustfully into her beautiful green eyes, when I noticed her eyes flick from mine to above my shoulder somewhere.

    And that's all I remember. My next memory is of me, standing outside in the cold parking lot, my breath afog, and two bloody mugs of beer, one in each hand. I was soaked in blood up to my wrists, and there was hair matted into the blood on the mugs.

    Horrified, I overhanded the mugs up and into a deep thicket of blackberry vines at the edge of the parking lot, ran to my car, and raced home.

    I came out of the shower, where I'd washed copious quantities of blood off of me, none of it mine. I had not received a scratch, and apparently, the mugs had saved my knuckles their usual bruising and battering.

    I came into the living room to see my roommate Bob, nursing a beer, some battered ribs, and giving me a peculiar look. You see, though we were friends, I 'knew' Bob could kick my ass. He was bigger and stronger than me, and very aggressive. But now, he had a look on his face somewhere between awe, and fear.

    Long story short, one of the guys we were fleecing had come up and slugged me in the back of the head. His friends made a coordinated attack on Bob at the same time. Bob said he saw me splash the beers into the face of the guy who hit me, and then slam his head good with the mugs til he went down. Then I tore into the group on Bob.

    We won.

    There's other details, but the gist, the kernel of the story is my blackout. I had nearly killed men, and I had no conscious memory of it, and that scared me. I resolved to do my best to never let that happen again.

    Which brings us back to yesterday.

    As I drove back to the theatre, Loki opened the skies, and rain poured out like Mother Nature's water had burst. Thankfully, I had purchased my ticket previously, so I just parked, loped across the full parking lot through the deluge, and was able to get into the theatre only slightly soaked.

    I had missed most of the ads, thank God, and all of the stadium seating was full, so I sat in about the third row from the front, where I had plenty of elbow room.

    Right away, my ears noticed two guys, in the row behind me, just to my right, just talking away like they were at home, or in the park. Full-voiced talking, and commentary on every scene of the previews. I was annoyed, but I told myself that they would stop once the movie started.

    Guess what.

    They blabbered on through the first two minutes of the movie. I turned around to look at them, they looked at me, then went back to talking. I could see the whites of the eyes of people around them, like cows in a storm, angry, but not knowing what to do.

    So, take equal part of irritation, mix generously with equal parts of whiskey, and fearless badass, and you get me, turning to them and asking quite loudly "Are you guys planning on talking through the entire fucking movie?"

    The guy closest to me said something, and postured aggressively. I don't remember what he said. I don't remember exactly how he moved, or what he did.

    All I know is that suddenly, I was in the seat beside him, and that they were both cringing away from me. Somehow, I'd gotten my glasses off and buttoned into my shirt pocket, and I had every intent of doing some real damage, right then and there.

    Another blackout.

    I grabbed the reigns of that black stallion and jerked back, hard. I had every plane and angle and approach vector and bone and organ of theirs that I fully planned to rearrange as quickly and painfully as I knew how dialed in to the targeting computer and all systems were go and I figured I probably wouldn't even need to use the knife and the struggle to stop that was more than I could bear and then the guy closest to me said "What are you gonna do to us, man?" and his voice had just the right amount of quaver and fear in it and is that urine I smell? and I heard the turbines in my brain slowing from crash speed to combat maintenance patrol speed and I let out a breath and sat down beside him and said "I'm just gonna sit here in case either one of you decides to talk again during this movie."

    I pretended that I was watching the movie, figuring he doesn't have a clue how good my peripheral vision is, and settle back in the chair, waiting for him to swing. The guy to his right starts to whisper something and my neighbor makes frantic shushing noises with his hands at him. I crack all of the knuckles of both hands.

    "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to make you mad."

    His voice is quivering. The primary emotion I sense is fear, which is good. I also sense impotent rage and anger, and that is not good...a lethal combination, in fact, and not to me.

    I need to diffuse him, somehow, so I don't have to kill them. It has come to me that this movie is not worth that, and that it is not their fault that society has deteriorated to such an extent that self-important little snots feel that they have a right to ruin hundreds of dollars worth of other people's good time so they can have their conversation.

    Mongo not kill. Mongo make nice. Step away from the Cimmerian.

    People who are this afraid can become dangerous. We are at the point that, since I have scared them this bad, I should be kicking their ass. Instead, I opt to give him some dignity back. Not too much, as I don't want them to feel safe enough to reengage their mouths.

    I whisper to him "Look, dude, I'm sorry I cussed you...I saw the first Star Wars in 1977, twenty-five times in the first month...I'm just a huge fan, and your talking bugged me..."

    His tiny reptile brain chews at these bits of irrelevant informations...

    I shrink my physical signature...I cut an imposing figure, especially when pissed, so now, I slump in my seat and pull as far away from him as I can get, and continue to watch both him and the film. My body is wound like the ropes of a trebuchet, and I will elbow him so hard in the chest he will cough blood onto the screen if he moves wrong.

    We sit like this for ten minutes or so. He keeps acting like he wants to say something. I know that it is unhealthy for me to maintain this state of readiness for too long. I'm an old man, and various organs and glands are dumping and producing and dumping and reproducing all sorts of chemicals and whatnot into my system. Add alcohol, and the old ticker becomes problematic.

    For the record, with the generous pours my Lady had given me, and the over half pint of bourbon I had chugged in the car on the way over, I was so damn sober it was scary.

    Finally, I got up, and went to stand in the ramp area that went to the inside exit, alongside of the stadium seating. The place is well designed, I could see the entire screen, the row where the two guys were, and remain hidden myself. I watched. My ex-neighbor got up, and headed back my way.

    I dunno if he had to pee, or wanted to look for me, or what. I slouched against the wall, looked as harmless as I could, and waited.

    When he saw me, I thought he was going to shit, or run. Instead, he paused for a heartbeat, and stopped beside me and started apologizing again.

    I held up my hand and he stopped talking. Then I held out my hand and he took it, albeit somewhat hesitatingly. I shook his hand and said "Dude, I have no problem with you...enjoy the movie, and have a great life...we're cool."

    He actually seemed relieved. It was a good, manly handshake, and I felt no bad vibes from it. He went past me to the restrooms, and then again as he took his seat. I watched the movie for another bit, ten minutes or so, and then I saw their heads go together, and they both stood up to come back.

    Uh oh.

    Whatever they were selling, I didn't want any. So, I Ninja'd back out the door, and Ninja'd in through the other door, and resumed watching the movie. After a while, my ex neighbor came back and resumed his seat. His companion, I had read as the squirrelly one. He had crazy, darting eyes. He was built like a wrestler, and was an unknown quantity. The door opened behind me, and here he came. I gave every appearance of not seeing him. If he wants to go, let's go. He saw me at some point, and missed a step, and then began to walk slowly past me. I finally turned to him at the spot where a normal person would notice you, and raised an eyebrow at him. A question mark that said "Well?" He continued past, and resumed his seat.

    As his back was to me, I slipped unnoticed into a group of little kids and their mother who were coming back from the bathroom, and slipped down to the front and sat in the front row for the rest of the movie.

    I never did hear them talking again. When the movie ended, I slipped out a side exit and went home.

    How was the movie? I dunno. I think I'll have to go see it again in a week or so, to make that judgment.

    All I'll say is that there were no surprises in it for me, and I found that disappointing.

    We're still on No Spoiler Lock Down, kiddies. Lotsa folks ain't seen it yet.


    .




        Friday, May 20, 2005

    Mysterious Ways...

    Our phone rang last night...well, more accurately, this morning.

    At 2am.

    Now, I don't have any friends, and the wife's friends are churchers, so I figure it's one of my drunken off-spring. I check caller ID. Never heard of him. Don't answer. Fall back in bed with a sigh.

    The wife, as is her wont, staggers up to pee, and then checks on the kids, per usual. She cries out my name in that tone, the one that has you leaping into your boots and running for the pole.

    I stagger up and rush into the kids room.

    Bitch never turns on the light. I always have to. I hate that shit...what are you, a fucking bat? An owl?

    Nattie is laying face down in a puddle of her own vomit. Waffles, I believe. Juice. Milk. Nasty.

    We wake her up and transport her into the tub. She gives us Nattie Natter, and a little guff, but she is disgusted and glad to be shed of whatever is ailing her, and her chunky, funky night clothes.

    As I am rolling up her covers...all of them, including her pillow, and her 'Bed Baby', which took a direct hit, I marvel.

    What would have happened if that phone had not rung?

    Thanks God.

    Again.


    .




       

    Once More, Into The Breach...

    ...dear friends.

    I go, to brave crowds of besnotted nerds, and expose myself to nose-vermin and nerd-speak.

    Yes...Star Wars.

    I can't bring up any of you sunsabitches blogs without seeing a reference to it and having to turn away with a howl, so I may as well get it over with.

    I think I'll sit(h) in the very front row, so the speakers will help to drown out any yammer from the hoi-poloi. I'm thinking, too, that perhaps a full pint is in order, rather than my usual half pint that I lave my lobes with to sedate me and improve the experience and keep me from killing that fat guy behind be who is chewing through a wash tub full of popcorn and sounding like an epileptic goat with a sinus infection.

    Have I ever told you about the time I sat in the very front row to see the premiere of Billy Jack, and then I got surrounded by three or four full rows of real live, actual indians?

    Imagine my joy.

    Surreal does not quite describe the experience adequately. I had six bullets, and six beers.

    Guess which ones I used.


    .




        Thursday, May 19, 2005

    Mind Hunters...

    I saw this yesterday. It had all the signs of a potential disaster, but it has Val Kilmer, Christian Slater, and LL Cool J in it, all of whom I really like, and Patricia Velasquez, of whom just typing her name makes my good right hand clench and a naughty wet spot to stain my panties (in the front, sicko!). So I resolved to give it a try.

    Damn but I am glad I did.

    The director directed Die Hard 2, Deep Blue Sea, and The Long Kiss Goodnight (among others), which are three of my favorite movies of all time. Deep Blue Sea had Thomas Jayne in it (who would later become the Punisher) and that movie actually made me pee a little in one spot, and then again a couple years later when I was watching it again and had forgotten about that part.

    Fuck I hate sharks.

    Anyway, another sign of a potential disaster is that this movie was made in 2003, but only recently released. 'The Darkness' was that way, and they could have kept it buried, and done no harm to film-dome.

    Before we go any further, please just ignore that link I posted up there. Go see it first, and then come back here and follow it. There are too many spoilers, and I am very glad I missed any previews for this.

    Long story short, there are more twists and turns in this movie than there are in Michael Moore's hopefully cancerous large (and I do mean LARGE) intestine.

    This movie holds you up against the wall and punches you, and then punches you some more, and then, when someone tells this movie that you've had enough, this movie snarls at them "I'll tell them when they've had enough!" and punches you some more.

    Fuck, I was exhausted by the end.

    A+ for directing, A for acting, and Double Extra Secret A+ for writing. There are scenes in this movie that I have never seen before, and that's saying something. I quit counting at 4,000 movies, and that was a long time ago.

    Those scenes are interspersed cleverly with scenes you have seen before, seen so many times that they are familiar...kind of a 'horror movie comfort zone', if you will. And then the Drill Sergeant of Originality comes in and kicks your bunk over while you were having such a nice dream and your face hits the floor, hard, and then you jump to attention, scared shitless and reminded that you have never been here before, motherfucker!

    Go see it. In the theatre. Quick. No telling how long it will last out there. This one is not a 'wait for the DVD', unless you have a big-ass screen and a kick ass sound system.

    I will not tolerate spoilers on this, if you have already seen it. I will send you into the outer darkness. Do not test me.

    I am worked up about this movie, it is that good.

    I can't even tell you why, because that would spoil it for you.

    Just...go.


    .




       

    Hey, I put My Condoms On...

    ...one dick at a time, just like you do.

    No need to worship me. Awww, shucks, what am I saying? You love me! You adore me! You really do!

    Well, at least the five of you that sent me money this week. You may sit at my right hand.

    Some of you did so anonymously, and the rest of you got personalized emails suitable for framing.

    Thanks again, folks. I thank you, my liver thanks you, and I will be able to review 'Mind Hunters' and 'Star Whores' this week.

    Well, 'Mind Hunters', anyway...I ain't gonna brave the crowds without a good snoot-full of whiskey and a bear fogger.


    .




       

    Self Aware...

    Nat has discovered she has bones. This creeps her out, somewhat.

    I found her in bed, sitting up, turning her wrist around and around, feeling the inner workings of her Ulna and Radius with her other hand. She looked concerned.

    "Daddy, have you ever felt anything moving around in your arm?"

    Yes, honey, those are your bones...

    "Well, when I wiggle my hand around, they roll around in there and that feels funny..."

    Sweetie, they're supposed to do that...here, feel my arm...see?

    "Babies can't squeeze their bones, can they Daddy..."

    No, honey, they're not as smart as you...

    "I like babies, I would like to take care of one..."

    And put ketchup on it...

    (drops eyebrows into assault configuration) ..."...No and pat it on the head softly and put it in a baby bed..."

    ...and eat it...

    "NO!"

    I thought babies were yummy...

    "Dad!" (rolls head to the side in a gesture familiar to all men, and unique to the female of the species)..."Babies are NOT for eating...don't be so silly."


    I am caught out by Spock-alie. Damn your logic, Spock!

    Update:

    She just ran in and woke her mother from her nap by making the most wonderful and prodigious fart sound on her mom's bare belly. Then she flounced in to report on her success, and to let me know (breathlessly) that "...the sun is going to go down and then up in fifty hours!"

    Make a note of it.


    .




       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!

    I am sorry, Goddess, I have been busy. I'm out the door to the dentist, but I must post this, unread as it is.

    I love you.


    .




        Wednesday, May 18, 2005

    So Many People To Kill...

    ...so little time.

    This article is why you should stray outside your normal range of blogs you read.

    I am so enraged by this, I want to kill the next tree-fucker I see.

    Literally.


    .




       

    Going To The Dogs...

    I read this post by Shorty (Will) a while back, referencing this story. I held off on commenting on it, partly because my opinion of Pitbulls is well known to old-time readers, and also because I like Shorty.

    Then I read this story today.

    Let me reiterate: I will shoot through you, to hit your Pitbull. I hope the police come to your house and kill it in your living room. In front of your kids.

    No, that's not enough. I think Pitbull owners and their kids should be exterminated in camps. How do you like that? If you are a Pitbull owner, there is something drastically wrong with your brain, and I've seen your type enough times to know it's genetic, whether you're black, or white. Let's get those genes outta the pool.

    Ask any cop which breed of dog he hates and fears the most. Ask them how many calls they've been on involving Pitbulls in some way.

    News stories about kid-killing Pitbulls aren't common because they get printed, they get printed because they are common.

    And I'm not talking biting, here. Every dog is a potential biter. It's what they do. No, I'm talking about sustained, killing attacks, sometimes in packs, and if you survive, it is just by dumb luck.

    I think if your dog does harm, that you should be held accountable as if you did it yourself (your kids, too, but that's another post). Seriously. I don't care if it's a dug up garden, a plop of shit on someone else's porch, or a bite, I think whatever applicable penal code violation you would be charged with if you yourself did it should apply in full force to you, the person who chose to keep that animal around. That goes for any pet, but we're talking dogs, here.

    I love Rottweilers and Dobermans, and have owned several. Used to breed them and train them. I know what I'm doing. And I'd no more have one around my kids than I'd leave my .45 loaded and cocked on the coffee table in the living room.

    I don't have any more to say on this subject, really, except that I keep a Ruger 9mm downstairs for my wife to use. It is loaded with 16 rounds of Federal Hydrashok, and has two spare magazines with it. She is trained to fire and reload until she runs empty, and if that is at you and your dog because you blundered into the wrong yard and one of my kids got bit, so be it.

    You've been warned.


    .




        Tuesday, May 17, 2005

    Hmmmm...













    Your Deadly Sins



    Greed: 40%

    Lust: 20%

    Sloth: 20%

    Wrath: 20%

    Envy: 0%

    Gluttony: 0%

    Pride: 0%

    Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

    You will die loved and feared by many. And you'll be buried in a tomb.



    Stolen from Acidman...


    .




       

    Way...

    ...cool.


    .




       

    Another...

    ...good read.

    Wes, this blog looks to be right up your alley. You too, Fly.


    .




       

    HA!

    Told ya so!


    .




       

    Have You Ever Noticed...

    ...how it is always these Moveable Type bungholes whining about how much spam they get?

    Oh, other non-Blogger types, too, but MT seems to be the worst. Ha! In your face!

    I've had like two commercial comment spammers try their shit with me in two years, and I banned them in Haloscan. And I haven't had any since. Don't try to tell me it is the success of the blogger that draws it, either, cuz I've seen Zero Comment bloggers who use MT crying about it, too.

    And furthermore, Nat came up to my wife and I a little bit ago, naked except for a pink Barbie halter top.

    She struck her 'Super Hero Pose', the one where she does this sort of epee lunge, with one fist held out at you, and the other cocked back behind her head, and announced:

    "Don't mess with me, or I will throw you into the PINK SWAMP!"

    My wife and I clapped both hands over our mouths in mock horror, while trying to stifle hysterics. Nat was waggling both eyebrows up and down and pursing her lips, like a chimp, so stifling wasn't easy.

    Satisfied that she had us shuddering in fear, she turned on her heel and marched away, little buns jiggling fiercely, swinging her arms like a stormtrooper.

    One day, I hope to live in a 'clam-free' zone.


    .




       

    You Owe It...

    ...to yourself.

    You really do...

    Update:

    But wait, there's more!

    (Warning, site rotten with pop-ups and cookie monsters...adjust your shields accordingly...I thought it was worth it)


    .




       

    It's...

    ...coming...


    .




       

    A New WND Columnist...

    ...is born. Again. Born again?

    This column made me happy, a rare thing indeed.


    Update:

    ZZTop brings up some troubling questions on this man and his movement. It seems ZZ has mined this vein before me, but I fear he may have not gone deep enough, or down the correct shaft...though his links are compelling, they appear incomplete.

    Those of you inclined to religion and revival and research would do well to look into this.

    If any of you blog on this, please notify me so that I may link to it.

    For some reason, this feels important to me.

    It should be noted that I have heard various religionists throw around the phrase 'New Age' as an insult to denigrate another religious group who may be nothing of the sort. 'New Ager', like 'Nazi', has been over-used and has thus lost much of it's sting.

    To be clear, I hate the New Age movement, and especially the 'Christian' New Age movement. Also, I believe in God giving certain men and women the ability to prophesy, heal, and raise from the dead.

    But! Like Thomas, I want to put my hand into the wound.

    Let's see how this turns out.


    .




       

    On Uzbekistan...

    ...and why I do not give a shit how many 'civilians' their government guns down...

    Where's the consistency? Well, you'll find it here. But not anywhere else, apparently, especially at Instapundit, who appears to be trying to whip up a frenzy against Uzbekistan's admittedly brutal and dictatorial government.

    Go around yourself, read all the news and blog stories on what is going on there. Police and military, gunning down men, women, and children.

    Indiscriminately? Heck no! It's pest control! The people they are gunning down are Muslims, who have shown a repeated proclivity in Uzbekistan and elsewhere, to gather in large bunches, take over government buildings, free Muslim prisoners, murder government employees, and torch buildings.

    All Muslims are warriors for Mohamud and Allah, simply by virtue of being Muslims. They are notorious for bringing their children deliberately into harms way, including having them conceal weapons and ammunition on their persons.

    The Uzbekistani forces, knowing this, and seeing this crowd activity for what it is a part of, namely, a revolutionary putsch, responded quite reasonably by stacking up these Muslim bastards like cordwood.

    Man, woman, and child.

    Goody goody.

    Israel: take note. This is how it's done. You cannot keep a poisonous snake in your yard and try to coexist with it. Sooner or later, one of you must die.

    Go, read the reports, especially the lying whining Muslim's version of it. They admit themselves that they had gathered in force to force a court to overturn it's rulings and free Muslim prisoners. In the last several months, this has always been a precursor to Muslim revolutionary violence.

    The Uzbekistani government, apparently eschewing suicide for survival, nipped it in the bud with a hail of gunfire. No News-puke I have read as yet has attempted to speak to the Uzbekistani authorities, preferring, as usual, to go get a one-sided version from the whining, lying Muslim perpetrators.

    You might not like the government you have, or that someone else has, but I tell you that no matter how bad they may be, they are preferable to the horror of a Mullahcracy and the evils of Sharia Law.

    It is telling that Muslims across the globe, especially in Indonesia, are demonstrating as one against what is happening to their co-terrorists in Uzbekistan. You prick one Muslim, and they all bleed. Muslims desire hegemony, and are loyal only to themselves and their vile religion.

    Making any other judgment, be you a Westerner, just bares your neck to their knife.

    No, shoot first, and ask questions later. Actually, as far as Islam is concerned, we have all of the evidence we need.

    No question.


    .




        Monday, May 16, 2005

    It's Baaaa-aaack!

    Or: Bane takes a shower...

    Remember, those of you who have been here awhile, the 'Countdown Timer' I had on my chest?

    It was a perfect pink circle, smooth, that eventually began to disappear in segmented, perfect wedges?

    Well, I can't remember exactly when it was fully gone, but it's been awhile...before Johnny's surgery, I think.

    It's back. Just noticed it a couple of days ago. I'm pretty sure it's in the same spot, too. No, it hasn't starting counting down, yet.

    I'd take a picture of my broad, hairy chest and post it, but I fear that the massive surge in labialistic convulsage would cause a seismic alarm that would end up sending those poor little tsunami victims scurrying for the treetops again.

    So, Johnny's anap, the wife is off with the Natinator, fetching me the Elixer of Life (cheap jug wine), it is a cloudy afternoon, and what better time to cleanse this gorgeous, deteriorating yet still manly body. I hit the shower...

    I have, of late, been concerned with various 'problem skin' areas, two of which are my perfectly sculpted ears. They are afflicted with The Crud, and I blame it on the recent assault on my system by both pus and pussicillin.

    Those of you who have ever lived with, or in fact have actually been a woman, know that her primary shower is a bewildering mass of jugs and bottles and pots and potions, none of which you can read in the fucking shower without your close-up glasses with fogged up eyeballs.

    I noted in the corner, as the warm waters soothed me, a small tower of such, barely two tiers high, set at a respectful distance from the others, which were just splayed around willy-nilly, with no regard for arrangement, and in fact, mixed up with children's tub toys in various tubs and buckets.

    Ah, but these three must contain the secret to immortality. I'd best not masturbate with any, ere I attain a boner of such prodigious proportions, that it would never die.

    Actually, the stuff in the blue tub, while smelling minty fresh, burns like shit. Take my advice. Don't go there.

    Mostly undaunted, and glad she wasn't there to hear my girlish screams, I moved on to more promising unguents.

    My penis whimpered in the corner of the shower, quivering like an abused poodle, so I set about the business of seeing what magic this Oil of Olay bottle could release, if rubbed properly.

    Into my ears, pervert. With a washcloth. 'What is the proper amount of Lady-Grease?' you may ask.

    Well, I'll tell you, some amount smaller than a fifty cent piece. I wiped half of what was in my left palm onto the rag draped over my right, and squooshed into my right ear, briskly around the outer portions, and then repeated this activity for my left ear.

    Hmmm, smells nice...silky...I felt all Ferenghi all of a sudden...wish the wife was here...oh well, time to rinse...

    Some fucking Ninja somehow got into the tub, and augered two Tampons straight into my earholes. Suddenly, all sound became like I was in a real good limo in a rainstorm, or like I had my earplugs in at the range, while a light rain pattered down on my poncho.

    Don't panic! It's alllllrrrriiiggghhhtttt... What? Huh?

    Begin to rinse frantically, ears foaming like Cujo chewing Alka-Setzer, blast that water into my earholes...

    Fuck! Now I can't hear, and bubbles and ear-cum are blowing through my tubes into my mouth and I'm fucking deaf! and this shit just keeps getting bigger and slicker and...

    I don't know how you broads do it.

    I feel so violated...


    .




       

    The End Of The Trek...

    Lileks sums up my take on the whole Star Trek phenomena (and it's end this last Friday) for me quite well, I think.

    I am still in a state of disbelief that it's over, and that no other network has snapped it up.

    It is odd how Lileks and I could probably not be more polar opposites, and yet he writes exactly what I would write if I could write that well.

    I have oft said that I am the 'Anti-Lileks', but he and I have so many parallels that it's kinda creepy.

    I think I'll go downstairs and play with Nat, now...

    ...wait a minute...


    .




       

    Holy Crap!



    Click On It...

    How'd you like to walk into this shitter when you're loaded? Maybe on shrooms or acid?

    Hoo Boy!


    .




       

    Just Another Example...

    ...of MSM propaganda and perfidy.

    Drudge has been touting this story at the top of the fold for days, now. Just one more reason not to trust the little fag any further than you can throw him.

    A close examination of the story shows that it is just a rehash of previous stories about the same old traitors. And yet the papers and Drudge try to portray this as a burgeoning, festering, continuous problem.

    Using the same old tired cast of spineless traitors.

    Don't wanna fight? I can dig it. Don't join up. Had enough? Seen too much? It's all volunteer, baby. I've seen plenty of guys quit. It's not as easy as in the civilian world, but it can be done.

    But, when you allow yourself to be used, and your traitorous bile to be publicised by the America-haters and boll-weevils on the Left and in the Press, fuck you. I hope they hang you.

    Just like they can turn one death in Iraq into a hundred deaths an hour, just by trumpeting it every five minutes, all day every day, they can turn two or three effiminate burnouts into a wave of desertions.

    From this story, and others like it, it is easy to extrapolate the Lefts true desires.


    .




        Sunday, May 15, 2005

    Button Up...

    ...your overcoat...

    Cuz baby, it's gonna get COLD outside...


    .




       

    Whack A Mole...

    This clever little story jogged a memory right out of me. I nearly posted it in his comments, but I realized that blog is far too sensitive and refined for the likes of me. I just peer in through the window, like secretly watching Hobbits.

    Anyway, I have snuffed many a yard-vermin in my time, and it is usually not funny. I had this device that was spring loaded, and had a trip plate where you put the bait, and when a mole or gopher would stumble into it, a giant spring would smash down a steel plate upon which a dozen or so 20 penny nails had been welded.

    The furry creatures always looked immensely discomfitted when I removed them from the bloody crater. You could hear that sucker go off from inside the house, with the TV playing loud.
    But, the memory as what got jogged, was of a time when I was in the military, and living with my now ex-wife and my first three boys on-base, in military housing.

    I had been out 'in the field', playing Army, for over a month, so upon returning, my priorities had been to start getting drunk, clean up, get drunker, take a shit, drink more, shag the old lady, sleep, eat, shag again and get drunker, pass out, and then get up on the first Saturday morning to myself in quite a while, cook breakfast for everybody, and go out and do the yard, which had quite gone to shit in my absence.

    I spent the rest of the morning mowing and drinking beer and trimming and weeding and raking, and I could not help but notice that one or more cocksuckers of the burrowing variety had invaded the subsoil in my back yard.

    Veritable fucking engineers they were, what with tunnels and mounds running everywhere. I chopped the mounds down with the mower, and then stomped everything in, hoping to squish them, and finished the yard.

    I took a shower to wash off the dirt and grass, then sat in my tighty-whities at the kitchen table, looking out into my yard, drinking beer, and cleaning my gear, so as to be inspection ready for Monday morning.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement in the yard. When I looked, what should I see but a mound of dirt arising, the defiant rodent putting his perfidy in my very face!

    I knew that he would have scuttled by the time I ran over there, with his keen hearing and all, so I slid my bayonet out of the scabbard and ran out onto the cement back porch and leaped the intervening distance and punched the blade down into the still pooching mound as I belly-flopped onto the grass.

    I stabbed over and over, screaming incoherently, until I saw blood on the blade, then I dug in and grabbed it out and turned back to the house in dirty, bloody triumph.

    That's when I noticed that my neighbor on the terrace above and abutting my yard was having a barbecue, with about twenty of his friends and their wives and girlfriends. They were all staring at me, there in my muddy underwear, knife in one hand, bloody chunk of meat and fur in the other.

    My kids came to the back door, and just stood there solemnly. I think they were too young to remember this, now. 3 & 4. I hope.

    Keeping my dignity, I walked calmly over to the trash can and dropped my opponent in, and turned and went into the house.

    My wife just shook her head and turned away.

    Chastened, I returned to cleaning my gear.


    .




       

    Repeat, Over...

    The guys who made this video, have now made this video.

    If you haven't seen them yet, or read every damn entry in this blog, you are a communist or a muslim. Or a communist muslim.

    Plenty of muslims were harmed or killed during the making of this movie.

    Fuckin A!!!


    .




       

    Terror Central...

    I've had my suspicions for quite a while, now, that things are not as they seem with all of this War on Terror nonsense.

    Specifically here, on the Home Front.

    I mean, are we under attack, or not? Is there a threat, or not?

    Everytime an incident occurs, it doesn't take three minutes before some Officious Spokesperson comes running out, waving their hands, and telling us there's "nothing to see here, move along!"

    The clods of earth are still dropping to the ground from the explosion, and some talking head is assuring us that "Terrorism is not a factor..." and that it is not even suspected. Wow, I didn't know forensic science had gotten that good. Or maybe they have a crack staff of psychics on the payroll.

    We hear, here and there, tales of 'Middle Eastern Men' up to odd mischiefs, here and there, and then the story fades like smoke. I myself posted one a few days ago.

    Which brings us around to my point: Michelle Malkin has a drum she beats...immigration. I think she does a stellar job, she's a big name who gets on TV and is widely read, and she had the sense to start another blog dedicated to the subject, where competent writers from around the country contribute tales of immigration outrages from around the country.

    If there is something like that for local tales of terror, please direct me to it.

    I don't think there is, and I think there needs to be. I'm too lazy to do it, plus I'm hardly even a blip on the screen in blogdom, if even that.

    No, some big-time blogger needs to announce a site where bloggers and other internetworked-Americans can post instances that sure as heck look like potential terrorism and/or threats to them.

    Say, a cop is involved with a crime, and the FBI tells him to shut up about the terrorist angle so as to not rile up the sheeple. That cop should be able to, anonymously if he or she wishes, supply a link to the mundane news report of the incident, and then supply the TRUE story behind the cover up.

    And then every blogger who cares to and can should link the piss out of that site, and make sure they keep an eye out for stories from their own area.

    Everybody has a brother or a cousin or a mom or whatever that works as a cop or a nurse or a doctor or a fireman or whatever, and these people tell their stories to their family and close friends, believe you me.

    We need to listen, and to chronicle, and to have a safe place to present them. If it looks to be just conjecture, say so, but we need those eyeballs out there doing the job our government is to powerless and clumsy and stupid and uncaring to do.

    I don't really know how to go about doing this, but I hope and pray that there is somebody who does. It would need to be kept in a regularly backed up database, in case it needs to be transferred to another server due to legal and government and terrorist interference.

    I don't have that kind of money or power or juice or ability to do it, but I sure would contribute what I can.

    If enough people start seeing more and more stories, centered around the same places, submitted by different people, about Middle Eastern men in rowboats in the places we use for drinking water, or around schools, or power plants, or in malls, maybe we could get some action done to prevent what we have been assured by those charged with protecting us is inevitable.

    Conversely, if all we hear are crickets chirping, we can tell our overlords to blow us and fuck off with their manufactured terror bullshit designed to keep us in line by using our own fears against us.

    Win, win.

    Anybody?


    .




       

    Oh, This Is Rich!

    This story just tickles me to no end, on so many levels.

    Vice-ente Fox pulls off the mask in front of everybody, and shows who and what he is, and Jesse Jackson (et al) just mush-mouths and mumbles a few stock platitudes.

    And I'm betting Fox News is the only one pushing this story, too.

    Can you just imagine if it had been Bush or Cheney who said what Vice-ente said?

    Oh Lordy.


    .




       

    I Hope And Pray...

    ...that when American troops finally capture this asshole, that they film one of them sawing the cocksucker's head off with a bayonet while he screams.

    Better yet, let one of the Iraqi soldiers do it.

    And then film everybody pissing on his head, and wiping their boots in his dead face.


    .




        Saturday, May 14, 2005

    Starship Troopers 2...

    Now, before you start getting all retarded about how Heinlein was The Messiah and Verhoeven fucked everything up, just remember, I don't give a shit. I liked the book a lot, but the movie blew my socks off, and is one of the few I bother to own and watch routinely.

    I loved it, and amazingly, I may love its sequel even more. Straight to video? Yes, and I don't care.

    Six million dollar budget? Yes, and I don't care. This is how you make movies. It is tight, and well acted, and horrifying, and yes, sexy:



    Would you buy that for a dollar? And she's in ST2 NAKED!!!

    Let me repeat:



    NAKED!!!

    Aside from that, it's got Richard Burgi, one of my favorite actors, and who I wish someone would wake the fuck up and cast as The Punisher quick, while he's still a badass.

    This movie is not for the squeamish, and wears its R proudly. My wife squinted through portions of it, but she stayed up late to finish it, and agreed with me that it is very, very good.

    That director is someone to keep an eye on. If he can do this with a cast of virtual unknowns, and only $6 million dollars, imagine what he could do with big-name stars and a huge budget.

    Go rent this movie, and while you are at it, rent Night of the Comet, my favorite movie of all time.

    Enjoy!


    .




        Friday, May 13, 2005

    Base Closings...

    Several people have asked me if I intend to comment on this.

    Not really, no. All I can say is that so many of these bases are/were pure pork for some Congressman or Senator or other, who gives a fuck? Closem. Yet some of the closures appear very problematic to me, especially the shipyards and B-1 bases.

    I dunno. The Pentagon has a ratio of highly educated, patriotic professionals, to a ratio of incompetent, bureaucratic hacks.

    I do not know what that ratio is, but you can always trust The Government to be The Government.

    Which means we could just be taking another flying fuck at ourselves.

    Or not.

    I just don't know.

    Update:

    Hmmmm...


    .




       

    Ha Ha, Beanie Weenies!

    Cry...let me see those tears.


    .




       

    My Pet Ragheads...

    Since I seem to have attracted a couple of (no doubt faux) ragheads, buzzing around in my comments like shit flies, I figure I'll post this to show them how even our women can kick their asses.

    I think the Pentagon should make up an all-female Special Forces unit, composed entirely of big, Amazon women. Call them 'The Menstruators', and train them to catch and molest Arab terrorist males (and isn't that just about all of them?).

    You could tell who one of their victims was, when he staggers back into town in the morning, naked, his beard and crotch covered in menstrual blood. He would run, screaming incoherently, to the nearest butcher shop, grab a knife, and cut his own head off.

    I'd pay good money for a video of that.


    .




       

    Check This...

    ...shit out.

    If this doesn't piss you off, you just need to be pissed on.

    via MMalkin.


    .




       

    Gosh, What A Beauty...



    But wait! There's more!


    .




       

    Just Wondering...

    Do you suppose the Phlegmish painters used real phlegm?


    .




       

    Barney Is A Big Fat Purple Hippy...

    As I was passing through the living room I overheard Barney and his midget minions singing about brushing their teeth, and counseling their captive audience to never let the water run...

    I called bullshit on that noise right away, and announced to the room that what he was saying was stupid and wrong. Johnny was quietly dubious, but Nat attacked like any brainwashed liberal hippy would.

    He is not!

    Yes he is...he's just a big fat purple hippy...

    He is not! (general screeching)

    Yes he is...there's bazillions of gallons of water and I can let the water run all I want...

    You can not!

    Yes I can, and I can turn off TV's to shut up big fat lying dirty hippies, too...

    No!

    Wanna see?

    No.

    Good.

    And then I went up and rubbed my butt on Barney's face, to their mutual horror.

    That's how you win an argument with a Liberal.


    .




        Thursday, May 12, 2005

    New (To Me) Blog...

    And worth a look.

    This is how you do it folks. Network, network, network. Have something to say, and say it like you believe it. It's nice if you really believe it, too.

    Just out of curiousity, what is your most favorite blog, folks? Besides me, I mean.

    Most favoritist. The one you check first when you turn your PC on.

    Drudge? Vox? Hot Gerbil Buttsex? Be honest.

    Okay, I'll go first...give me a second...

    Okay, I'm back. It's me. I check me first. Trying to remember just what the fuck it was that I said. Then, depending on my mood, it's:

    Vox Populi...

    Velociworld...

    Hog On Ice...

    Perpetual Shorty...

    Inblognito...

    Howls From The Edge...

    Nothing To Say...

    Gut Rumbles...

    Grouchy Old Cripple...

    Armor Geddon...

    I Don't Believe It...

    Twenty Major...

    Scottish Tanker Hooligans...

    If you're not on the list, I either forgot you, or I think you suck. Or you post so seldom, that I only check you every few days. Or once or twice a month. Armor Geddon was like that, but it looks like he's back in the saddle, so HURRAY!

    Or because you are small and/or new, and need to comment here and there more, and get my and others attention, and MAKE us come by to soak our biscuits in your rich, buttery goodness.

    Feed us til we fart. Or starve us, and make us want more. Whatever.

    Everybody is your potential reader.

    If anybody cares to get in a scuffle over this, don't, or I'll fuck you in the neck with a burning Barbie Doll.

    Don't test me.


    .




       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!

    The subject for today: Liberals are such big fat stinky liars!

    That's always true, and never gets old.


    .




       

    Fuck Mohamud, Fuck Allah, Fuck Islam...

    ...and Fuck the Koran.

    How about that, ragheads? I wipe my ass with the Koran. Seriously. This article alone made me piss on my last copy and set it on fire with lighter fluid and then piss it out.

    Man, I hate you fuckers.

    Update:

    I figger I might as well put this here, just in case I can piss off the islamo-nazis even more.

    Saw 'Kingdom of Heaven' today. Go see it. I liked it as much or more than I liked 'Gladiator'.

    'Must See', on the big screen. And it confirmed to me what I've known all along...one Crusader is worth 50 ragheads. Yep. It's that simple. Then, and now.

    No spoilers, but if somebody can explain the last five minutes to me, I'd appreciate an email.

    Those of you who have noted my long term animus against Orlando Bloom, well, he redeemed himself. He is a man, now, nay, a veritable stud. Of course, I identified heavily with his character.

    Oddly, I forgave Liam Neeson for the perfidy of 'Kinsey', as well. This portrayal of his was his penance. He was wonderful. Absolutely. Best ever, including Rob Roy, which I loved.

    And did I mention the piles of dead ragheads?

    It showed the Catholic Church to be the cravenly vile institution it was and is, too. Bonus.

    If I had any complaint at all, it is the usual one about movies that contain sword/spear/trebuchet play. If you are gonna make a damn R rated movie, I want blood and guts, not stylized spatters of non-commital fluids, or was that dirt?

    If you can't handle it, go get Mel Gibson to show you how, pussy.

    Just, damn.

    Oh, well...go see it. Truly a great, epic film. And maybe one day I'll get to see a battlefield strewn with intestines, and so sopped with blood the players sink up to their calves in red muck, and they lose a sandal as their foot pulls out with a sucking sound.

    Sigh.


    .




       

    Ha! See, I Told Ya So...





    This blogger has Pat Buchenwald nailed cold.

    Couldn't have said it better myself.


    .




        Wednesday, May 11, 2005

    Pet Peeve...

    ...one of many...

    I was just over at Kim du Toit's worthy blog, and I note that he has a very beautiful woman pimping T-shirts for him, and carrying several very beautiful guns.

    Here lies the Peeve: she has her trigger finger very prominently displayed outside of the trigger guard, and I just know this has been drilled into her as a good idea, when in fact, it is a terrible idea.

    I have trained all of my life to keep my finger in the trigger guard, with the back of the finger against the front part of the guard. If you have been trained to religiously keep your finger out and stiff like that, and we are creeping down the same hallway towards each other, and spot each other at the same time, I am going to kill you.

    It's that simple. You sacrificed one of your moments because instructors think about liability and court rooms when they train you now, and that moment you sacrificed became your last.

    Safety? Phaugh! Gunfighters have cut off their trigger guards, wired their triggers back, filed their springs, all in the effort to get that heartbeat of edge. You are either a gunfighter, or a...

    ...gun holder. And any holster can do that quite well. Better yet, a nice gun safe.

    If the firearm I have chosen to wield has a safety, I turn it off as soon as I feel a need to swing into battery. As soon as I remove it from it's case or holster or my pants or whatever. My finger is in the trigger guard, pressed against the front of the guard, and ready to twitch back and caress it in a nanosecond.

    The only exception I can think of, is when you are doing entry with a team, and you are bumping and thumping around, perhaps armed with an MP5 or something.

    Your mileage, of course, may vary.

    I have also spent countless hours, reading or watching television, my weapons loaded with snap caps, with my finger on the trigger, training my finger to caress the triggers of various weapons to see where they set off, to make my finger and my reflexes know just how much it takes to set that weapon off. You should never be startled by your own gun.

    This is also why you should go to ranges that rent guns you are unfamiliar with, to get an idea how they work.

    Borrow guns from friends. Shoot them. Clean them. The guns, I mean.

    You say you don't feel confident handling a firearm this way? Too bad. Maybe you should buy a nice baseball bat. Or stick to target shooting. That is a nice, enjoyable hobby.

    If you ever think you might have to point one of these Death Engines at another mammal, you had better fucking well be aware that it is all over in seconds, it's loud, and there's blood.

    Ideally theirs. Though you may have caught a bullet, too.

    Take a nice sharp ice pick, and run it through the pad of your off-hand's pinkie finger. Oh come on, little girls do it all the time when they get their ears pierced. It'll heal.

    If you can't take that, you sure as fuck don't want to get shot. Stabbed, either.

    Until you've looked across a short lunges worth of distance, into the eyes of a man or woman who is just not impressed with your gun or your knife or your Mace, you can talk all the nonsense you want about 'safety' and honor and fairness and liability and not hitting, let alone stabbing or shooting a girl...

    Me? I'm going home after. If that means shooting an eight year old girl in the face. And the rest of my family are going home, too.

    I have seen grown men, some veterans of combat zones, drop their gun and run; in one case, dropping to the floor into a shrieking ball, when faced with possible imminent death.

    I didn't mean to go off on a rant, here. Seeing that kinda crap just twists my shorts.

    Be careful out there.


    .




       

    The Facts Of The Case Are These...

    ...and they are indisputable...

    This is a factual reporting of what I saw at the K-Mart in my town today.

    I had just dropped off the wife to see 'Hung Fu Hustle', and the kids were hungry and I wanted to kill some time, so we went to K-Mart. They have a very nice, low cost snack bar there that sells a nice Little Caeser's pepperoni pizza for $5. The kids don't like pepperoni all that much, so I get double...score!

    While we were eating, I noticed a Soviet T-55 tank pull up outside, and five Taliban jumped off and entered the store.

    Okay, sorry, I said factual. What I mean is, five men of Middle Eastern appearance, wearing clothing common to Pakistanis or Afghans, entered the store. They filtered in in groups of two, and one by himself. When I say clothing, I mean tribal clothing. Long robes ending at the knee, loose pants, that modified turban-looking hat thingy. Even the ones wearing 'western' garb, looked like they had purchased it in a bazaar in some desert hell-hole. One had a full beard, and looked like Mullah's-R-Us, the rest had moustache and beard combos, and one was very clean shaven.

    The kids and I finished our meal, and I began to saunter around, letting the kids look at stuff and pinball around, while I looked for these men. We stayed in the store the entire length of the movie, and only left to go pick up my wife. The Middle Eastern appearing men left a few minutes before we did.

    I saw the men do all of these things, many of them several times:

    Walk the inside perimeter of the store, both slow and fast, at a very measured pace...a stride, if you will. All of the men did this at least once.

    When I have seen that sort of behavior before, it was me doing it, in the military. We learned what our pace was, in inches, and then would practice 'mapping' a potential target by pacing it off and keeping notes of distances in our heads to give people who would be firing mortars later their targets, or to decide how much explosives we would need for a given area or target. This is the sort of behavior it appeared to me that I was seeing today.

    I watched them take up places in various open areas of the store, sometimes at opposite ends of the store, and signal to each other with hand and arm and head signals (i.e., jutting their chins or making elaborate eye movements to indicate a direction to look).

    These open areas appeared to be chosen by the ability to view much of a large area of the store, while being protected from the view of others, especially anyone who might be outside. I stood in each of these areas myself.

    I watched four of them shield the fifth with their bodies, while he very furtively rummaged around in the toy bins, either looking for something, or placing something. They did not go back into the toy section afterwards, so neither did I.

    I watched a couple of them go into the restroom, and come out too quickly to have done anything but look around.

    They would alternately move quickly and furtively, and then saunter around, just taking it all in.

    They moved mostly singly, and in pairs. I am very good at this, and had the cover of my children, and they noticed me, but did not appear to give me more than a casual glance.

    They met once and spoke very briefly with a K-Mart employee of Middle Eastern looking appearance, and then they and the employee appeared to me to conciously avoid each other for the rest of the 90 or so minutes I observed them.

    They left, singly, and by twos, at staggered intervals, over a period of about five minutes. They loitered off in different directions, but as the last of them came out, they coalesced into a group again, well out of sight of the K-Mart. I saw them, because I loitered to the front of the store and kept an eye on them, leaving when the last one left.

    None of them went through the checkout stands, and no one purchased anything.

    They crossed the street and went into the Big 5 Sporting Goods store, which sells guns and has a large stock of ammunition out in the open. K-Mart (here, anyway) no longer sells firearms.

    I lost sight of them as they exited Big 5, because I had to pick up my wife. I told her about it while I drove back and parked in the Bi-Mart parking lot where they couldn't see me.

    I watched them walk several blocks, and one man would peel off from the group at a time and enter businesses along the route, though none of them stayed inside longer than a minute.

    Whether they were headed for a parked vehicle, or lived in some nearby apartments, I do not know. Got bored. Left.

    Our town has a large mosque, and a lot of Middle Easterners attend the University here.

    I do not know what these men were on about. Maybe they were just playing 'Let's Freak Out Some Americans!'

    Whatever. It worked.


    .