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  • Cheap Tomatoes...

  • I Just Sent...

  • Barracuda...

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  • Okay, Im Officially Sick Of This Bullshit...

  • Go Ahead...Punk...

  • Have I Found...

  • The Perfect Date...

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  • If You Can Feed A Snake A Rat...

  • Watch And Learn...

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        Monday, April 30, 2007

    Log Size...

    Are they insane? The people who run my Statcounter keep asking me if I want to 'increase my Log size'. Crikey, if they got any bigger, I'd have no asshole left at all. Just stupid, and damned impertinent of them as well.

    Nattie shat her twin this morning. Goodness, if the Logs got any bigger around here, I'd have to buy my own truck.


    Hey, Folks...

    Piss in these every chance you get, won't you? And you ladies, drop your used pads and tampons in there.

    Me, I'll drop in strips of bacon, and then piss on them.

    Fuck Islam, and fuck Mohammud, piss be on his beard, and may he lick the sole of my shoe, and fuck Allah, piss be on her unholy name.


    Fuk Da Po-leece...

    These people died because the first cop to encounter this asshole didn't kill him dead dead dead on the spot. I'd bet good money that surveillance video shows him firing wildly at the car (endangering bystanders) to cover his own fat ass while he took cover.

    And I bet all the video at the mall shows all the arriving cops tippy-toeing and pussy-footing around before they finally got up the guts (and numbers) to feel that they could go confront him.

    Look to protecting your own ass, because nobody out there has your back. But they do have chalk to outline where you fell.


    My New Boots Are Broken!

    I am bereft. Disconsolate.

    They felt great in the store, but as I walked around the mall with the family, I began to feel as if I had a rock in them. I finally had to stop and check, and sure enough, it appears that the shank in the sole of the right boot has sprung up through the leather, to torment me.


    Fukkity fuk. I have to take them back in tomorrow, and see my status as 'well-paying customer' drop to 'fucking pain in the ass that we'll still try to smile at as we fuck him over in every way possible'.

    Or at least that's my fear. I do not seek repair. I seek replacement. The worst case scenario is that I walk out of the store with my money back, and no boots.


    At least I know my exact size, now, and can go get them somewhere else. Probly order them straight from Red Wing. Probably get my old damn broke boots back.


    I am depressed. Maybe I'll just buy the shotgun...


    The Definition Of Conflicted...

    On the one hand, she's really hot. On the other hand...





    I Could Live..., if it wasn't for all of the Libtard loonies.


    When Ham Sandwiches Run Amok...

    [NOTE: I did not write this, but got it in email. I am familiar enough with the story. so I decided to run this. It tickles me.]

    Generally speaking, ham sandwiches are quiet and unassuming and don't really seem to have much of an opinion on any given subject.

    Indeed, a ham sandwich can be a welcome friend, it can be a traveling companion, eventually, it can even be lunch, but there is no recorded incident in which a ham sandwich has ever exhibited any malevolence.

    The last time a ham sandwich gave society a major problem was the Mama Cass Affair. When Cass Elliot (Mama Cass of the Mamas and the Papas -- in case you were out of town for the 70's) died in 1974, her death was popularly ascribed to having choked to death on a ham sandwich.

    The ham sandwich was innocent. There was a ham sandwich and a Coke found by her bedside, but the sandwich was untouched. The coroner eventually ruled that Cass Elliot died of a heart attack brought on by obesity.

    Blaming the ham sandwich was a bad beef. . .

    Actually, the only thing a ham sandwich has ever been guilty of, in my experience, was bad judgment. Who can forget the time that a ham sandwich incorrectly assumed two packages would not get mailed unless somebody took them to the Post Office? Or how humiliated that same ham sandwich was when the Post Office Lady picked the packages up?

    (Come to think of it, that particular ham sandwich had a Jewish accent. Hmmmm)
    Now, sadly, another ham sandwich is back in the news. This time, however, it isn't charged with murder, or parodied in a TV commercial for its bad judgment.

    In this latest incident, the ham sandwich is charged with committing a hate crime.
    Once again, however, it appears that the ham sandwich is getting a bum wrap. Allow me to explain. . .

    A middle school student in Lewiston, Maine is being investigated by police for a possible hate crime because he placed a bag containing a ham sandwich on a cafeteria table where Muslim students from Somalia were eating their lunch.

    Why Muslims students from Somalia were in a middle school in Maine eating lunch is grist for a different mill. Don't they have cafeterias in Somalia? But I digress.

    Anyway, the school superintended took prompt action, ordering the student who brought the ham sandwich to school suspended, and promising more disciplinary action, should the investigation prove the ham sandwich was guilty as charged.

    "Placing ham where Muslim students were eating as an awful thing," said Stephen Wessler, the executive director of the Center for Prevention of Hate Violence. "It's extraordinarily hurtful and degrading. They probably felt like they were back in Mogadishu starving and being shot at."

    (Images of ham sandwiches running amok with high-powered automatic weapons flash across my mind at this point. No wonder Clinton pulled us out of Somalia in the 1990's.)

    Continued Wessler, "No child, Muslim or normal, should have to endure touching a ham sandwich."

    But wait! Isn't there some other rule about not touching somebody else's lunch in a cafeteria?
    Evidently, THAT'S kosher -- provided one isn't actually IN Somalia, where touching somebody else's lunch can be a capital crime punishable by death -- depending on how well-armed the owner of that lunch is at the time.

    And what does the guy mean by, "No child, Muslim or NORMAL?" Surely Stephen Wessler, as executive director of the Center for the Prevention of Hate Violence, wasn't suggesting that Muslim children aren't 'normal', was he?

    Wessler continued, "Incidents like this that involve degrading language or conduct are often said by the perpetrator as a joke. But unfortunately we don't live in a world where young children try to be funny, we live in a society in which these types of actions always escalate into violence against minorities."
    "If people think insulting Muslims with ham is okay, more degrading acts will follow. The Jews had to go through the same thing when the Nazis would force-feed them bacon; do we really want our schools to become concentration camps?"

    To which I reply with a hearty, "Heck, NO!" I can see Wessler's point. First, some kid brings a ham sandwich to school . . . and the next thing you know, Jewish kids in middle schools all over America will be forced by Nazis to eat bacon.

    A joke??? I'm not laughing. And neither is the Executive Director of the Ham Sandwich Anti-Defamation League.

    According to Porky Pig, "H--h-ham s-s-sandwiches are r-r-r-routinely t-t-t-t-targeted f-f-for m-m-m-m-m-m-mal-l-l-l-icous p-pprosecution. How mmmmany t-t-times have you heard that a prosecutor c--c-can g-get a g-g-g-grand jury to indict a h-h-h-ham s-s-s-sandwich?"

    The middle school principle, Leon Levesque, assured Somali parents throughout Maine, "the incident does not reflect the moral values of the school staff and students. We need to take a look at this and review how a careless act is degrading and causes hurt to other people. All our students should feel welcome in our schools, knowing that they are safe from attacks with ham, bacon, porkchops, or any other delicious meat that comes from pigs."

    You probably think that I'm making this up. (Ok. I admit I made up the Porky Pig quote.) But the story was reported by both Boston. com and the Lewiston Sun-Journal -- it's on the level.

    According to the Sun-Journal, its been a rough week for Somalis in Maine:

    "A lot of anger and hate has been flying around," said Steve Wessler of the Center for the Prevention of Hate Violence. In the days after last Thursday's report of a hate incident at Lewiston Middle School involving a ham steak left at a lunch table to insult Somali students, a

    Sun Journal newspaper forum was so filled with hostility it was shut down.

    Wessler said he received hate e-mail and two phone messages in which a man threatened to commit violence against him. The poor guy. What should be done? That is the question that has Pine Tree Staters all a'twitter.

    Noted the Sun-Journal; "For years, Catholics suffered prejudice before being accepted." (But, as everybody knows, it is harder to use a ham sandwich to commit a hate crime against a Catholic. He would be just as likely to eat the weapon, destroying the evidence in the process.)

    But change is in the works. Last year, a local man named Brent Matthews rolled a pig's head into a local mosque. Last Saturday, perhaps driven to despair by angry falafels, Matthews committed suicide in the local Marsden's parking lot.

    As one local, Edward Boucher, told the paper, "Eventually these things work themselves out."
    "But does it make it right?" the Sun-Journal quoted Zamzam Mohamud, 32, the mother of one traumatized victim. "Then does it just keep going? Where does it stop? There isn't much of a community if we don't make a change."

    And THAT is where the laughter stops.

    America's reputation was built around the concept of the Great American Melting Pot. In happier times, new immigrants would come to America to become Americans. The idea was to melt all the various cultures of all the various immigrants into a single, uniquely American culture.

    Under that concept, Americans were not required to adopt the culture of its immigrants, but rather, immigrants were expected to adopt the culture of America. What made it a 'community' was that immigrants made 'the change' to conform to the existing culture.

    The concept of 'multiculturalism' -- the Holy Grail of the liberal Left -- insists that immigrants refuse to assimilate into American culture, forcing immigrants into cultural 'ghettos' where liberal politicians can pander to concentrated special interest lobbies.

    One can't win in Florida without the Cuban vote. One can't win in Texas or California without the Mexican vote. One can't win in the Northeast without the black vote, or in New York without the Jewish vote. And one can't win in certain parts of Michigan without the Muslim vote.

    So a liberal need only pander to the demands of the various concentrations of minorities to win public office -- from which he can strengthen his base by bashing America as a whole as a collection of hateful xenophobes.

    One can't engage in class warfare without some underprivileged class to champion. And the best way to ensure that is to keep immigrants concentrated in ethnic ghettos as exiles from their home countries, rather than as immigrants to the New World.

    Zamzan Mahamud's solution was quoteworthy because her solution fits the liberal agenda -- that America that must change its culture to conform to that of its immigrants.
    Since America is made up of immigrants from every country in the world, there will always be more changes to demand, more immigrant groups to pander to, and more elections to be won.

    Today, the ham sandwich. Tomorrow, Sharia law. Eventually, pictures of Osama bin Laden festooning American cities and towns.

    Sound far-fetched? No more so than the fear of Nazis force-feeding bacon to Jewish kids in American concentration camps -- cleverly disguised as middle-schools.

    When a ham sandwich is a hate crime, NOTHING is too far-fetched.

    Jack Kinsella - Omega Letter Editor


    Cheap Tomatoes...

    From a California school teacher - - -

    "As you listen to the news about the student protests over illegal immigration, there are some things that you should be aware of. I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title 1 school, meaning that its students average lower socioeconomic and income levels.

    Most of the schools you are hearing about, South Gate High, Bell Gardens, Huntington Park, etc., where these students are protesting, are also Title 1 schools. Title 1 schools are on the free breakfast and free lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking a glass of milk and roll -- but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make a Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)

    I estimate that well over 50% of these students are obese or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more DO have cell phones. The school also provides day care centers for the unwed teenage mothers (some as young as 13) so they can attend class without the inconvenience of having to arrange for babysitters or having family watch their kids. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)

    I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department or risk losing funding for the upcoming year even though there was little need for anything; my budget was already substantial. I ended up buying new computers for the computer learning center, half of which, one month later, have been carved with graffiti by the appreciative students who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)

    I have had to intervene several times for young and substitute teachers whose classes consist of many illegal immigrant students here in the country less then 3 months who raised so much hell with the female teachers, calling them 'Putas' (whores) and throwing things that the teachers were in tears. Free medical, free education, free food, day care etc., etc., etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled to not only be in this country but to demand rights, privileges and entitlements?

    To those who want to point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society because they LIKE their gardener and housekeeper and they like to pay less for tomatoes: spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the TRUE costs. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases etc., etc, etc. For me, I'll pay more for tomatoes.

    We need to wake up. The guest worker program will be a disaster because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think they will voluntarily leave and return? There are many hardworking Hispanic/American citizens that contribute to our country and many that I consider my true friends. We should encourage and accept those Hispanics who have done it the right and legal way.

    It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third-world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by 15 and that refuses to assimilate, and an American culture that has become so weak and worried about "politically correct" that we don't have the will to do anything about it.

    If this makes your blood boil, as it did mine, forward this to everyone you know.

    CHEAP LABOR? Isn't that what the whole immigration issue is about? Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage. Consumers don't want expensive produce. Government will tell you Americans don't want the jobs. But the bottom line is cheap labor.

    The phrase "cheap labor" is a myth, a farce, and a lie. There is no such thing as "cheap labor." Take, for example, an illegal alien with a wife and five children. He takes a job for $5.00 or $6.00/hour. At that wage, with six dependents, he pays no income tax, yet at the end of the year, if he files an Income Tax Return, he gets an "earned income credit" of up to $3,200 free. He qualifies for Section 8 housing and subsidized rent. He qualifies for food stamps. He qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care. His children get free breakfasts and lunches at school. He requires bilingual teachers and books. He qualifies for relief from high energy bills. If they are or become, aged, blind or disabled, they qualify for SSI. Once qualified for SSI they can qualify for Medicare. All of this is at taxpayer's expense. He doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance. Taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins and printed material. He and his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits. Working Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his. The American taxpayer's also pay for increased crime, graffiti and trash clean-up.

    Cheap labor? YEAH RIGHT!

    Wake up people!


    I Just Sent...

    ...this to everybody in my family.

    Makes sense to me.

    Via Vox Day.

        Sunday, April 29, 2007


    ...this song blew me back so hard into the seat of my pick-up the first time I heard it, I had to pull over and let it finish. Then the radio station (FM) played it three more times, and paralyzed me.

    I rushed to Tower Records, and thumbed through the albums, and was stunned to find out I was sleeping with Ann Wilson. Pre-Lard. Actually, just her twin. I dumped her for some dumb reason, and she attempted suicide, and I went in to the ER and made fun of her for being a failure.

    Then I went to Safeway, and had her husband (the manager) cash my paycheck.

    Silly silly fools...

    Oh...burn on, Barracuda...


    I Wonder...

    ...if this truck driver's name has lots of vowels in it?

    Kinda shoots holes in all of the 9/11 nutjob conspiracy theories, too, don't it?


    Okay, Im Officially Sick Of This Bullshit...

    I just called my disabled son an idiot. Well, I yelled it, and took the Lord's name in vain, too. And I'll likely do it again. He did an idiotic thing, I'd warned him a million times, and I'm sick of it.

    But that is not the point of this post. Or maybe it is. I hate Alec Baldwin's fucking yellow commie guts, but dammit, I saw nothing wrong in his taped phone call other than that has-been cunt-bag of an ex wife of his released it to the press. What a whore.

    If you don't verbally blister your kid up against the wall every so often, leaving a burnt print around them, well, you're not human, a parent, or a normal human parent. And don't suck up after, even if you feel guilty about it.

    Baldwin's recording to her made ME mad at the little bitch. It told the whole story, and because he's a cunt, he's running around sucking up and apologizing now. Limp-dick.

    I might have had a little respect for him if he would have turned into the camera on Oprah's show, pointed his finger, and said "Look, Ireland, you little bitch, if you ever want anything from me again, if you ever want to SEE me again, you had best come crawling to me on your knees, begging for forgiveness, because until you do, you are dead to me..." then pull his mike off, give Oprah the finger, and stalk off.

    If your kid isn't flinching when you go to scratch your head, you ain't doing it right.


    Nat was toodling around on Johnny's tard-trike just now (yes, the same one she broke her arm on) and I had the joyful luck to observe her bonk into one of the neighbour's cars with it. I had just had Johnny open the door so I could yell to the wife (who I have out mowing the yard) to waylay two skate-punks who were about to scale the fence to get to their own apartment complex (the wife stopped them cold), so...

    I hollered to the wife to take Nat over to the gal whose car (the tire) Nat had hit and have her apologize. Which Nat did, with much drama. And we grounded her off bikes the rest of the day.

    That's how it's done.


    Go Ahead...Punk...

    ...waste my day.


    Have I Found...

    ...a good Muslim?

    Alarming read.


    The Perfect Date...

    Thanks to a couple of my lovely readers, the wife and I were gifted with the perfect date last night. We got the kids to bed, and she used this to open a cheap bottle of lovely Merlot. She was so delighted with it that she squealed. One tool cuts and removes the foil, and then the decanter effortlessly pulls the cork. An open bottle of wine in less than five seconds. Remarkable implement.

    The instructions in the box say it will open even these new artificial corks. Whatever. It is a fantastic way to get to your vino.

    And then we settled in to watch 'Casino Royale', the new Bond DVD. Damn that's a good movie. We had both seen it already in the theatre, but not together. Dating together for us is an extremely difficult proposition. Between Johnny being kinda 'special needs', and not being able to afford a decent (is there such a thing?) babysitter, we probably have only gone someplace together alone twice in the last five years. Maybe three times. But I doubt it.

    The DVD came with a bonus feature disk that I can't wait to get to. And I think that foot chase scene, start to finish, is the most exciting piece of film I've ever seen. I never get tired of watching it.

    It was a heavenly evening, and then I had to go and spoil it by eating one of the wife's Dove Dark Chocolate's, which wired me for sound, so that I finally (at 1:30am!) had to take a codeine so I could get to sleep. So now my skull feels like it is packed with steel wool.

    Oh well, a little wine should wash that right out, eh?


    Shrimps Have Antennae!

    Who knew?

    Ladyfish was biting them off, that's why. And why she is in the Prison Bowl. Sulking.

    Apparently she has a thing about appendages, which is also likely why Gary the Snail died. She was biting his eye-stalks, I bet. In the end, he just huddled in his shell until he passed on to the Great Escargot In The Sky.

    So I saw Shrimpy the other day, toodling along happily, sucking up bottom filth, and I said Sonofabitch! What the fuck is that! And then it hit me: this is normal. What they're supposed to look like. Ladybitch had just been snapping off his aerials. Man, those things are long. He looks like the roof of the Chinese embassy.

    Oooo! And the wife has found this cool new food for the fish. Well, it's still blood worms, but they're frozen into little ice cubes that look like red raspberries. She breaks one off, and then holds it in the water at the top of the tank until the ice starts to melt, and then the blood worms start to tumble out and down, and the frog and the fish go batshit, chasing them around, and stuffing themselves like Oprah at a Krispy Kreme shop.

    Then she gives the last pinch of it over into the Prison Bowl, and Ladyfish gets her exercise for the day.

    I think I wanna get one of those black Goldfish (Koi?) next. Those look cool. Like an ambulatory turd.

        Saturday, April 28, 2007

    I'm Not Worthy...

    First off, though I would be (and, indeed am) honored to be on certain blogrolls, in the end, I could really give a shit, and have actively taken steps to warn some to not put me on theirs.

    That said, I see people who have blogrolls, and I am surprised that I am not on it, for some reason.

    Take the Day By Day cartoon site, for instance. I run the cartoon here at the top for me, so I can see it every day. For my convenience. I understand that he is (or is desperately trying to become) a commercial entity, and I know that my blog is...well, not for everybody.

    But he has Aaron's Rantblog in his blogroll, and Aaron has an animated .gif of Mohammad fucking a pig as the first thing you see when you open up his site! And (as far as I know) he doesn't even blog anymore.
    Again, let me reiterate, I'm not whining here. I could care less if everyone who links me deleted me tomorrow. You either come here, or you don't. And my blogroll is for my convenience.

    I don't get it. It's getting almost so that I'm afraid of commenting anywhere, for fear of attracting what I have come to think of as 'the sippy-cup users' here in my comments.

    I attracted some of my bestest and most favoritist commenters/readers from SteveH, but he turned out to be a self-important compulsive blowhard, and worse, a hypocrite. It always stuck in my craw that he mocked Pamela from Atlas Shrugs for filming a VLOG in her bikini WHILE SHE WAS ON VACATION AT THE BEACH!, WITH HER KIDS!, but he sucks up to SondraK and Moxie, one of whom has a picture of her nearly bare ass in a thong, and the other whose blog's theme photo is a pair of hooker boots, and who has posted pictures of herself semi-clad IN HER OWN BED IN HER OWN APARTMENT!

    And Ann Coulter makes him so sick with her 'faggot' joke re John Edwards that he has to go throw her books in the garbage, but his best friend since college Aaron shows ole Mo ass-fucking a pig. Like I said. Hypocrite. I still drop by his blog, though less and less as he pimps crap I don't care about and never will. Someone bought me his Nigerian Spammer book, and it arrived about the time he started calling me a Nazi Skinhead faggot on his blog (he has since deleted all of those posts) but instead of throwing his pamphlet away, I just kicked it back under my reading chair so I didn't have to see it.


    I was BMOC in high school, so I never had to deal with that cliquey shit. And I won't deal with it now. Ellison used to comment here and link to me, but he has deleted my link on his blogroll (always a wise choice) and darkens my lintel no more. There may be an untold story there. I dunno. Velociman honors me with the occasional visit, and rarer comment. I suspect that in the real world, we'd get on well. Or die in each others embrace in a dark room, each of our Bowie's in the others heart.

    Oh well, shit happens, and I try to get as little of it on me as possible.

    I wish a good life to you all, and for any surprises to be good ones.


    If You Can Feed A Snake A Rat...

    ...why can't you feed it a puppy?

    I honestly don't get it. If I want to buy a prize Lhasa Apso and barbecue it, why can't I? And the poor bastard is being charged with neglect for the snake, and people chop them up with hoes every damn day. Why is he being charged? Because he paid for the snake? What if I buy a live pig for butchery?

    Sonofabitch, I swear, this country grew a vagina, and now it is growing ovaries and a uterus, and turning into a bigger cunt every damn day.


    Watch And Learn...


    Note the stance, the elbow positioning, and how loosely he holds his hands. He never crosses his feet up, but moves like a swordsman. Note the circular way he retreats and counters.




    The bucks will help toward the repair bill for my baby. Won't help with the Beavertail safety, but it sure will nice to be able to point that gun at somebody again and not worry about unzipping them from belt buckle to throat, with maybe a couple in the ceiling.

    A mag full of Glazers going off full-auto would sound a lot like an A-10 Warthog on a gun run, I think. I am beginning to reconsider using them. Talking to the gunsmith, he told me he'd seen a Glock .45 completely blown up by one. I hate Glocks, but I hear they're pretty damn tough. Wow.

    He speaks highly of Hydroshoks, and I've got several mags full of those for all my autos. Crap, I just remembered, I've got Glazers loaded in my .25. Maybe if it was a Bauer, it'd be okay, but it's just a dang Raven. I bought it because it was $75, and stainless. Hate to get that slide back in my face.

    It's hard to find Norma Cupronickels anymore, but if I can, I think I'll switch to those. Damn if that .25 isn't a noisy sonofabitch. Sounds like a cannon. I keep five or so mags in a shirt pocket, and if any fool makes me open fire, the whole neighborhood will think a platoon opened up.

    I've practiced rapid magazine changes (no fair looking!) and I keep a handful of those little mags in one hand, and drop the empty into it and slip a full one in with that same hand. Dropping mags on the ground is for soldiers and cops, i.e., people who get their mags bought for them.
    I'll be damned if I'm gonna let a $50 mag hit the ground, bumper or not.

    You bent the lip on it or let sand get into it, and yer fucked for a reload. I keep a Crown Royal velvet bag of loose rounds with me so I can reload my mags if need be. Fifty rounds or so. I always envision the 'zombie attack' scenario, and plan for it. I'll be gravely disappointed if some idiot makes me shoot him only once. That Mozambique Drill stuff is all well and good, but juries tend to frown on it, and I'm too pretty (and old) for prison.

    Oh, train in it, to be sure, but set your phaser on 'civilian' most of the time. More than one opponent? Set it to 'combat' and have at it. Your attacker(s) don't have guns? So? Shoot em, and get the heck out of there.

    I always worry about getting my gun taken away and used on me or mine. I've drawn plenty of times. Just shown it, or pulled it and held it ready down behind my leg. So far, every shithead(s) have backed off. If they don't, and they show no weapon, I plan on shooting them in one of their hips. And then running away.

    I was waiting for my girlfriend one time, at a Greyhound bus station in Sacramento, and this maniac came out of nowhere and grabbed me. Now, I was about 16 or 17, strong, already an accomplished fighter, and weighed about 175 at the time. This guy was barefoot, and shirtless, and just wearing hospital pants. He looked like Jesus, if Jesus was cranked on meth and acid, and frothing at the beard, with eyes rolling like a cow in a lightning storm.

    As I said, he rushed up and grabbed me by my biceps, lifted me up to his face level (he looked eight feet tall to me, but he was probably only about six foot eight) and babbled all sorts of apocalyptic shit to me while shaking me like a baby.

    He is who I think of every time I go on point, when my Spidey Sense buzzes. Time both shrinks and expands in those moments, so actually, you have a lot of time to send that nerve impulse down to your trigger finger. And none at all. This is why training is important, because thinking=disaster.

    Hate to sound all Zen, but there you go. I am primed to hold one hand out and stop a charge, and draw and fire from the waist with the other. Reach to your belly with your firing hand, like you are trying to stick your thumb into your belly button. With your hand flat against your belly, sweep back to your waist to where your pistol is, stepping back with your gunside foot as you thrust your opposite palm towards your opponent. I don't use a snapped holster (I'll do no running) but if you do, use the thumb to unsnap, close the hand over the gun like you are pulling a book off a shelf, draw, let your fingers take their place, turn the gun slightly so the muzzle blast doesn't disembowel you, and fire.

    Repeat as necessary.

    This only covers one way to draw when carrying. A lot depends on where you carry (purse, fanny pack, etc) the time of year (dictating clothing) and your body type (are you a huge fatty? Or rail skinny? Both have issues). I have been known to transfer my pistol into a shopping bag at the mall. Be careful showing your gun in the bathroom, as there are cameras everywhere these days. I usually do it in the garden department, or the seasonal aisle. Nobody shoplifts squirtguns and kiddie pools.

    Hope this helps, your mileage may vary. And you gun-totin broads? Gonna have to lose those long nails, especially the fake ones.



    ...of wisdom.


    My Favorite Color...


    A Good...

    Read it.

        Friday, April 27, 2007

    Oh Boy, Gamers...

    Check this out! May 1st, baby!

    And of course, it's *ahem* on my wish list.



    You go, Joe!

    I'd vote for him for Prez based on this speech alone. Too bad no Jew (or for that matter Black, or Woman) will ever have a chance at the Presidency of this country.

    I bet the Demiet Cong are sorry they lost one of their Few Good Men.


    Going To War...

    Ninny-nannies and nitwits are fond of pointing to the lessened pool of candidates accepting military recruitment. What they completely fail to point out, in a blatant lie by omission, is that every person who does volunteer or reenlist, does so with open eyes and the utter assurance that they are guaranteed to be going into a military that is at war.

    You can call a spade a dandelion, but that will not change the dent in your skull when I hit you with it.

    We are at war. They started it. We have no choice but to finish it, or perish. I have many many problems with how the war is being prosecuted, but all of my complaints cannot mask the pure and simple fact that we are very much in another world war.

    Are corporations benefiting and manipulating things? Of course. They always have. So what. Still a war.

    Will it stop just because the Democrats somehow secure our surrender? No. The enemy has been implacable for hundreds of years, and oil has become the new bowstring they needed to restring their old war bows with, and they will use it to put an arrow straight into the heart of Western Civilization, like it or not. Believe it or not.

    You can cite history to me all day long, and it's all bullshit, in the end. There have never been times like these. Weapons like these. And the billions of insane people willing to use them. Show me a 'moderate Muslim', and I'll show you someone who is in more danger than you are of losing their head. Literally. But they'll get around to you sooner or later.

    I used to think that this war was all a plot by our Overseers to keep us distracted, to usher in Globalism. And then I realized that the Muslim world, too, has its own Overseers, and they are as cunning as they are insane, and totally opposed to the Western Overseers, in a kind of cosmic yin and yang way.

    One more note re history: Our professional officer corps is steeped in it. All of the old wars, the old battles, the decisions the old warhorses made. And then the Iraqi insurgency came along and slapped them in the nose like a puppy who was taught all the wrong tricks.

    They reeled for a while, and people died, and then they dug in, and found a new war horse, with new tactics to fit old warfare with modern weapons. And it appears, by all accounts that count, to be working.

    Support the troops. Support the war. Or just shut the fuck up, because you're the enemy.



    The Most Beautiful Woman...

    ...I think I've seen all year.


    My Baby's In The Hospital...

    Frankly, I think I'd rather leave a kid of mine in the hospital, than leave one of my guns at the gunsmiths for repair.

    My 1911 .45 is sick. She spits up. I only want to fire one round, and sometimes she spits up a couple, or even three or four. Sometimes a whole mag. Got me in trouble once at an indoor range where they didn't allow Class 3. I think it's the sear, but I'll let a pro take care of it.
    Also, she pinches me. Something's going on with the slide, and the web between my thumb and first finger pays dearly for it.

    Sigh. I hate to leave her, but I must. Be gentle, Mister Gunsmith, be gentle.


    Is there anything better than shooting the shit with men in a gun-shop? It's the equivalent of the beauty shop for women, I think. It's my happy place, even though I can ill afford to go there any more.

    Dammit! He wants $50 for a drop in Beavertail grip safety. Okay, that's fair, but just dang. Couldn't he sense the 'poor waves' wafting off of me? I guess I'll have to deal with the pinching.

    I stymied him with my problem, and he gave the right answer: 'I'll have to take it apart and look into it.' Yep. He's a real gunsmith. I used to use a 'gunsmith' who had been an armorer in the Army. That's it. And some book larnin. What a hack. Half blind on a good day; I quit him, and I guess everybody else did, too, cuz he went under.

    My new gunsmith shuddered when I mentioned his name, got a faraway look in his eyes, and muttered something like 'if you only knew how much of his awful hack-work I have had to fix up...'

    I told him I thought it might be the sear, and he said yep, but it could be the disconnecter, too, and I left my baby behind for maybe two weeks or more. He's popular. And I'm keeping a small sack handy to breath into, whenever I look to the spot where she was and now is not.

    I am bereft. My Delta Elite looks lonely, too. She misses her little sister.


    My First Grandchild...

    Nope, I don't know what it is, either. Looks human, though, and that's a good start.

    My daughter couldn't tell the sex, and being that she was in a VA Hospital, the tech was a retard. Took 24 pics, printed out 3, ran out of paper, said 'oh well!' with that bright, vacant retard smile, so I'll have to live in suspense for a couple more weeks.

    Hey, do me a favor and pray for she and her husband that they can break their lease and get on base (officer) housing. He's in the field all the time with the Stryker Brigade, and she has found that she has moved into a nest of meth heads.

    Also, she's due in late October, and they need to move right away, before she gets too fat and preggers to want to, and/or he gets deployed to Iraq.

    Oh well, God's Will be done.

        Thursday, April 26, 2007


    ...on the Rags.

    Folks, we can do this all damn day.

    Except Congress is going to regulate speech, or so I hear.


    Dogs Eat Their Own Shit...

    And that's really all you need to know.

    Even the best of dogs is just a nasty fucker, using its tongue for toilet paper, and waiting for you to leave the infant alone so as to have a snack.

    I am not averse to work animals, and like any good servant, they can occasionally be let into the house for a visit, and perhaps some scraps. But then it's back out to the doghouse or barn for you, bucko.

    A dog in your bed? Abomination. Can I come over and shit your bed for you? Let that furry fuck in your bed after coming in from outside (assuming it doesn't just shit on your floor) and that is what you have just done.

    Heck, dogs aren't picky. I didn't mean to imply that. They'll eat anybodies shit. When they're not rolling in it. Oh, yeah, yeah, you've got just the most perfectest dog ever, or had one, and I'm just being Doggist.
    Well let me just say, all this holds true for cats, too. Though I've never seen one geek a turd or roll in it.

    If I had a piece of property, I'd have dogs and cats, but you people who have them in apartments are just idiots. It's bad enough having a kid in an apartment. And have you ever seen a dog go after a shit-filled diaper? Gack! There is a horrifying image you'll never ever get out of your mind again.

    And I really hate all you apartment dwelling dog and cat owners, who think it is somehow your right to let your animal go out and shit up the whole world. We've got a cat owner around here somewhere who thinks it's her (and I'm positive it's a her, who else could be so nasty?) right to just dump her catbox straight into the dumpster! Nasty bitch, if I ever catch her at it I'm likely to club her to death and flip her up into her own cats shit. Bitch.

    And I don't care if you clean up after your dog after walkies. You pig. Wherever they shit will be forever after known as 'the place where your fucking dog shit!' You complain about the homeless shitting in the streets, and I have to see your dog all humped up and pinching a loaf. Frankly, I don't see the difference, except we are currently not allowed to leash the homeless.

    And do you carry a roll of paper towels with you to sop up all the piss your spastic-bladdered hound squirted in about four hundred different places, including the box I just got my paper from?

    I can't cut my kids loose in a park before checking for dogshit, and then, small running kids look like prey to these retarded hippy-dogs of yours, so... well, I don't carry a pistol just for humans, asshole. Think about that next time you slip your dog off the leash. Oh, and then please come running up to me screaming how horrible I am after I shoot your animal in the face for knocking my kid on their ass.



    This post is in no way meant to besmirch Dachshunds, which are fine, noble animals, nor meant to encourage you to get rid of your pets. In the imminent collapse of Civilization As We Know It, I will need to feed my family. Hey, fatten up your kids while you're at it, too, why dontcha?

    I'm gonna be particularly fond of Mexican food...



    ...but true.


    Why I Don't... on your ads.

    Odds are, I don't even see them, anyway. I've got my anti-adware cinched down so tight, that it is almost a surprise when I spot an ad. If I'm interested in something I see, I Google the URL, and go look at it.

    Folks who are investing in the internet as some sort of 'New Frontier' for advertising are going to be gravely disappointed, I think. Advertising is likely dead. Who reads or watches them? I fast forward through them on TV, turn them down on the radio, and don't go into the theatre until the movie starts.

    If a CD or DVD of a movie has ads on it that won't let you zip through them (Disney is terrible for that) I just take it upstairs, rip the movie onto a CD or DVD, and there you go.

    I haven't hardly read a magazine in years, but when I did/do, I rip the ads out like a maniac. I keep a razor knife in my reading areas for the purpose. You'd be surprised at how skimpy a magazine is when you're done doing that.

    I do all this for two reasons: First and foremost, it plays hobb with my ADD. I see everything, and it makes me crazy.

    Second, it's like you're busy doing something you enjoy, and some dirty hobo comes up and spare-changes you. Fuck off and leave me alone, asshole. If I wanted to shop, I'd be shopping, not reading, fucker, go away. Unless you are showing your tits. Then, I'll linger for a bit. Let that be a lesson to you, advertisers: be funny as fuck, or show tits. Otherwise, leave me the fuck alone.

    And I'm so sick of those fucking turtles I could die.


    Nothing You See... real.

    Turn away, it disappears, then reappears when you look back. Sleep alone, and it all goes away, and your soul goes somewhere else for a while.

    Souls are little pieces of God, and His gift to us is His gift of Creation, albeit on a smaller scale. If Humanity were to disappear, this plane of existence would blink out instantly, unless God wanted to keep the empty stage as a souvenir.

    Prove me wrong.


    Black & White...


    Links Not Broken...

    You are.

    I got an email saying certain links were broken. I went and checked, but they work fine for me. A couple loaded slow, but...

    I use Firefox, for what it's worth. And would you believe I have some sort of painful pimple or boil on one of my most important typing fingers? Hurts like a mother. I think I need to go find a pin.


    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!

        Wednesday, April 25, 2007

    Blonde Joke...

    A blind man wanders into an all girls biker bar by mistake.

    He finds his way to a bar stool and orders some coffee.

    After sitting there for awhile, he yells to the server, "Hey, you wanna hear a blond joke?"
    The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.
    In a very Deep, husky voice the woman next to him says,

    "Before you tell that joke, sir, I think it is only fair, given that you're blind, that you should know five things:

    1. The bartender is a blond girl with a baseball bat.

    2. The bouncer is a blond girl.

    3. I'm a 6 foot tall, 175 lb. blond woman with a Black belt in karate
    4. The woman sitting next to me is blond and a professional weightlifter.

    5. The lady to your right is blond and a professional wrestler.

    Now, think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that joke?"

    The blind man thinks for a second, shakes his head,and mutters,

    "No... Not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."


    The Myth Of 'Democracy'...

    Shee'yeah, it has ever existed, anywhere. Never mind all of the ignoramuses who have no idea what a 'Representative Republic' is, let alone who on this planet is one.
    Will ya'll just quit with all this 'bringing Democracy to Iraq' bullshit? Those fuckers don't even have plumbing. Hardly. And they wipe their asses like Sheryl Crow, if that.

    They hit themselves in the head with swords to commemorate religious events, for pity's sake. They cut the best part of a woman off. Fuck, they don't eat pork! How fucked up is that?
    Sorry, Jews, but you're kinda dorky, too. Accept Jesus as your personal Saviour, and you, too, can have Pepperoni pizza.

    Face it, we went to Iraq because, mightily pissed off, the nation's Representatives stood as one and said to, after 9/11, and we did it to flatten some motherfuckers, to put a big fat shoe print in the Middle East, and to grab and secure as much oil and pathways to it that we could.

    The Rags were itching for a fight, and they got one. All other considerations are window dressing. Until Islam is beaten into the 'Submission' they so crave, the world will not be a safe place to bring children into.

    Democracy is a smokescreen, a construct of our Overseers, to counter Socialism/Communism/Islam/Environmentalism. And all the 'isms' are included under that banner (yes, especially Catholicism!) which marches steadily onward into the Dark Future of Globalism. Should Nationalism prevail, Evil will lose.

    Still, Democracy, though a chimera, offers hope to those who would retain their individuality... their own minds. The United States has been infiltrated, and rocked badly. We sink low in the water, and the lower decks are flooding. The pumps labor valiantly, but one by one, they fail.

    Kelo came sluicing in, a Fell Torpedo, and hammered us amidships, and every American, even if they are ignorant of it, is weakened by the destruction of everybody's private property rights. Could it be reversed? Possibly, but with a national spirit rotted and weakened by millions of infants sacrificed to Moloch, and our women...our mothers, and future mothers blinded by the viscous caul of 'Choice', I fear not.

    Yamamoto called us a 'sleeping giant', but now I fear that the giant has IVs in its arms, dripping morphia, and other slow poisons. And there is more than one white-coated, masked figure, there in the shadows, armed with Trephinators and scalpels and bone saws, ready to cut us up while 'life' still reads on the monitor, as blood spatters on the ceiling, until finally, the line goes flat.

    And we are done.


    Palestinian Pacifism...

    These animals just crack me up.


    Nose Art...

    The good kind, not that nasty nose jewelry hippy bitches wear.

    Can you imagine that kind of art being done now, in our emasculated, feminized military?


    In Case You Missed It...

    Sci Fi appears to be running a marathon of all of 'The Lost Room' episodes today. I really enjoyed that show. I wish they'd make a series out of it.



    ...Gregg Beck.

    What a joy to run across as I do my morning blog reads.

        Tuesday, April 24, 2007

    Ask Heloise...

    You know those hand sanitizers? The squirt bottles of the stuff? We have one at every sink in the house. Handwashing mandatory (to the elbows) upon returning home.

    Anyway, that stuff is mostly alcohol, and cleans eyeglasses like a mother. Just squirt a pinch on your thumb, run your glasses under water and do the lenses, and dang, but they do sparkle.


    Sorry, God...

    I have been a dick. And I apologize here in front of everybody for whining on the first post of today.

    I am so blessed, and have enjoyed so many miracles, but I let my human weakness overcome me, and acted like an ungrateful little bitch.

    Again, sorry, God. Can't say it won't happen again, but I am truly repentant. And so blessed.

    And, thanks.


    In Case You've Never Seen One...

    ...go here to see a fine representative sample of a Black Widow.

    I've killed zillions of them. One time, at this place where I lived that had a mailbox I didn't use because I had a PO Box, I opened the mailbox and this big bitch with a body the size of a golf ball came running out at me. I whacked her with a stick, and ran her over with the mower and turned her to goo. Scared the shit out of me.

    I figured out that she had gotten into the mailbox through about a one inch hole in the bottom, and then had fed, and grown, and just been stuck in there for who knows how long. The mailbox was a cave of webbing, a masterpiece of engineering. Bugs could get in, but they weren't getting out.
    And I'm not kidding, she attacked me. That is a characteristic of Widows. They are very aggressive.

    Another tell-tale way to know you've encountered a Widow web, is that it is like wire, not all gauzy like most spider webbing. I mean, it's like fine aluminum wire, and almost feels like it is cutting you. And you better back away and get a flashlight and something to whack with.

    And when their egg sacks hatch, the little fuckers go everywhere, and they're poisonous, too. A Widow sting is like a rattlesnake bite, and causes necropsy of the surrounding flesh, and paralyzes the Central Nervous System, causing difficulty breathing. And the mean motherfuckers will keep stinging until you squish em.

    My maternal grandfather was a Norse immigrant, and he did every shitty job they gave immigrants in those days, and one of them was as an Exterminator. Which meant he crawled under houses and sprayed toxic chemicals from a Flit Gun. He said that as the Widows died, they would drop down and try to sting him. Sometimes, they got him. And he showed me the big black spots on his arms where the flesh had healed eventually, but not quite right.

    He said you got used to it.


    Armed Resistence...

    Some things you should know.


    Shocking Bestiality...

    Oh my gosh, don't look...


    Click On It, Dummy...


    A Good History Link...

    ...for Homeschoolers.

    And perhaps for you historically illiterate muthafukkas out there, as well.


    Drop Some Acid...

    ...and then go look at these photos.


    One Of My Favorite Creatures...


    Well, Isn't This...

    ...just fucking peachy.

    If they can do it there, they can do it anywhere. Really glad I don't live in a city.

    Smallpox. Leave it to the Neandermuzzies to want to take us back to the good old days.


    I'm Extra Grouchy Today...

    Look out.

    And it doesn't help when I turn on the radio, hoping for Rush's dulcet tones, and he's got some fuckhead sitting in for him who in five minutes praised (the thankfully dead) David Halberstam, supported the idea of Global Warming, and announced he was going to have that goofy looking dyke Suze Orman on as a guest next to teach us all Liberalnomics.
    I couldn't turn the radio off fast enough.

    And I've got my Dearest Wendy, in my comments, supporting the American Jurisprudence System, and juries. Ugh. See? Libertarians can't think straight. And OJ thanks them for it.

    At least I have picking up my new boots to look forward to. They're supposed to be in today, but probably won't make it in til tomorrow, if the way this day is going is any indication. And yesterday. I got my new Birthday Muzzle Brake (for my other Ruger 10/22) in the mail, and I didn't have the right size Allen Wrench to switch them around. So I call the wife, who I know to be in a hardware store, and she picks me up a set (for $2.89!) and the size I need isn't in it.

    Not an auspicious start to a week.

    And my hair and skin are crawling, as I sense the approach of the full moon. Never a good time for me, and I sense that we are closer to the moon now than usual, though I haven't checked.
    Not a good time to be an American Infantryman.

    Speaking of, I have been thinking that since the Libtards want Iraq to be Viet Nam so badly, we should start calling all the terrorists 'Charley'. Resurrect all of the old slang and verbiage.

    It's almost 10am, and Nat just woke up. She has developed a croupy cough, and we have been slamming it with codeine at night so we can all get some sleep so she can rest easily. She's laying there right now, in the darkish gloom of her room, and says she just wants to rest a little until her headache goes away. They hustled the wife at the store yesterday into buying them a big bag of 'Cocoa-Roos', and Johnny is happily munching away on a big bowl of it. I usually cut that kinda stuff with Kix or Cheerios, but today I'm letting him mainline it.

    Nat is absolute proof that TV affects and changes children's behavior. She's always wanting to recycle, now, and eat healthy foods. Damn that Sportacus. So she picks out foods that at least 'look' healthy. Like Frosted Mini-Wheats. Hey, wheat, right? And frost. Frost can't help but be good for you.

    Funny, as I'm writing along here, I find that I have less of the grouch. I pour it out here, and give it to you. Yer welcome.

    Fuck, I am hungry. I just know I'll go downstairs and have a bowl of Cocoa Poison, and give myself a ringing headache. We had tacos last night, and I have been farting like a flatulent cow. C'mere, Algore, pull my finger. I got yer carbon offshit right here, buddy.

    And what is this propensity Americans have to pay attention to idiots? I mean, normal people hate clowns, and the only thing separating Sheryl Crow and Rosie O'Dumbell from a regular clown is the make-up and the little car.
    And that's what I see when I look at the whole panoply of politicians and celebrities, a bunch of sad clowns, honking their horns and noses for attention, stumbling around like idiots, getting into everything, and scarring children for life.

    Well, Nat just got up, and dressed herself as the boy 'Johnsons', one of her many personalities. She just told me she, I mean, 'he', is from California, and it's still dark down there, so all the bad guys are still asleep. And Johnsons is shoveling in Cocoa-Roos like there's no tomorrow.

    Ah well, night will come soon enough, and bring with it the blissful narcotic of other people's artificial lives.

    Send in the clowns...


    Oh, the little old lady the wife is taking care of? Her son is a lawyer, and handles all of her finances. He comes to town once a month to pay bills and write checks. I told you the wife (with my help) came up with some feeding ideas for the old woman, and they literally saved her life. She went from dead in days, to gaining weight, and showing interest in her life. She took the wife's hand in one of hers the other day, and the wife's boss's hand in her other, and told them "Never has anybody in my entire life treated me as sweetly and wonderfully as you two do..."

    So, the son comes down yesterday, and is bitching about how much the food costs have risen. The old lady gets Meals on Wheels three lunches a week. He canceled them.

    Don't you just love people?

        Monday, April 23, 2007

    David Halberstam Is Dead...

    Good riddance to bad rubbish.


    Your Daughters Are...





    The only good thing about it, is that under each marker will be a dead Wiccan/Satanist.

    I will bury no kin of mine in a plot befouled by such imagery (including all of those other stupid cults... I did not know about those).

    Tremble, America. God removes the hand of His protection soon, I think.


    I Larfed...



    Let Them Eat...


    Don't miss the fascinating links at the bottom. You poor dial-up sad-sacks? Don't even try it.


    Do Ya Wanna Read...

    ...the Devil's Bible?


    I Think God Made This Ass Personally...

    She's not the wife, but that (oh, and the love, yeah, the love...) is why I married her.



    Check out my statcounter (the one with the numbers) and look at yesterday. Hardly any visitors, and over 3,500 page views. Bizarre.

    I see my archives are being seriously plumbed, too. I've gone back and followed to see where they are reading. I stopped on September 2004, and read for a bit. The blog was barely two years old. I noted that many of my posts had dozens of comments back then, sometimes over 50 comments. I went in to read them, and most of them are from people who don't like me anymore, and who took their commenters (from their blogs) with them when they left.

    Oh well.

    I really liked Army of Mom. Her friend, not so much, after a while. Res Ispa I liked okay at first, but his shit didn't stink, and whatever he said was unquestionably right, and you were an idiot, and that wore thin pretty quick, and I ended up banning him for calling me a liar.

    I might not always tell the truth, here, but I never lie.

    I miss Manda. She shitcanned her blog. It was a simple diary, and she writes with power, but evil outside forces shut her down, so there you go.

    I can't say I'm sorry to see most of the old timey commenters gone. We had some yuks and chuckles, and I don't mind that a bit, really. And if you think I'm dead wrong on something, prove it. I'll listen. If I just hurt your feelings, tough. Get new feelings.

    I'm working on an adoption post in my head, bumping it around, pondering, and I'm damn sure gonna hurt some feelings there. Probably lose readers. Like I always do if I say something nice about any part of the government.

    Oh well.

    I can't miss you if yer still here. I tell the wife that all the time, as she's about to leave for somewhere. She hates that. Heh...

    To any new readers, and/or lurkers, don't mistake my bluntness for hostility. You'll know when I get hostile. Trust me. If I think something you say is bullshit, I'll call it, but I didn't just say 'I hate you, get lost'. If I mean that, I'll say it.
    And just because I think you're wrong on one thing, doesn't (necessarily...depends upon what that thing is) mean I think you're wrong on everything. Necessarily.


    Have A Nice Day.

        Sunday, April 22, 2007

    Pathfinder (A Review)...

    Let me begin by saying this is perhaps the best example of why A) injuns are wussies, and B) adoption is generally a bad idea.

    So, Viking raiding party comes to America's shores in the 1400's(?) and all mysteriously die (after wreaking much havoc) leaving behind one of their own, a young boy, and I think we all could write this entire movie from here.

    Except you can't. At least I couldn't. I was pleasantly surprised at every turn, all the way to the end. I had written the formulaic ending to it already, in my head, and I was gloriously disappointed.

    Go see this movie. No kids under twelve, I'd think. Continuous graphic violence all the way through, so much so as to shame '300', 'Grindhouse', and 'Apocalypto' should all three movies have been combined.

    This movie is filmed so coldly that it made my nipples bunch like tiny fists (go see it... you'll see why). Absolutely incredible cinematography, and the list of stunt players takes minutes to scroll past in the end.

    Some of the best sound effects I've ever heard. You can tell the difference between the indians stone-tipped arrows, and the Viking's iron tipped ones, and even in the most rollicking of battles, the steel of the swords sings, and you can hear the arrows pass by to far targets, or thunk home into someone's skull.

    Do NOT read any retarded review of this film. Go see it, cold, and judge for yourself. I hate fucking Russel Means, and he was incredible in this.
    I thought the previews had ruined it for me, but I went anyway, because of the promised 'strong, constant violence'.

    Boy, am I glad I went. If you've seen it, please have some respect, and don't post spoilers in the comments.

    Call in sick Monday, and go see this movie.

    I would...


    Why We May Be... trouble.

    Gosh, I'd love to go there with about a million bucks.

    Via SondraK.


    The more I think about it, I bet we could solve a lot of problems by closely observing that bazaar, and pick a peak time when the population of gun makers and dealers is highest, and then just Daisy Cutter and Bunker Buster and cluster-bomb the shit out of the place until it is nothing but a gravel pit. Do that heroin dealer's place, too.

    Then sew mines from the air, thick.

        Saturday, April 21, 2007

    Good Times...

    Have you ever had any? I'm not talking about a fleeting moment, an orgasm, or a good meal. No, I'm pondering the times that lasted for days and days and days, and when they finally slipped away, you mourned the loss, and were fairly certain that you just may never be happy again.

    The times at the lake cabin, where the fire whispered softly in its place, and every so often, snapped a spark out onto the hearth that made the dog jump, and everybody looked up from their books or puzzles and smiled, and then went back into reverie.

    Or the long slow rides on your fat-tired bicycle, listening to the rubber grind through the scut on the asphalt, the singing of the spokes, the whicker of the chain. Birds came and landed on barbed wire fences to look at you. To sing hello.

    In school, in a warmish room, reading your favorite new paperback hidden inside your Geography book, torn carefully apart into half-chapters, so you could hide it from the teacher. Sneaking a look at Sylvia's full breasts, there, just a crescent of them showing under her armpit, then catching her eye catching you, looking, she smiling... and knowing you had three more weeks of this until summer.

    Grabbing the pedestal mount of your .50 cal in one gloved hand and swinging the gun around and up to cover the roofline, listening to it grate and squeak in the collected grit of the day, the air so hot in your lungs that you actually wonder if you could die from just breathing. Dry up like the shed skin of some lizard, and just be plucked out of the turret by the next hot breeze... still, your dry, burning eyes scan frantically for threats, and your thumbs settle on the butterfly triggers and...

    Why, now, that's someone else's childhood indeed, isn't it. The last of it, anyway. The times when they'd otherwise be lounging on beaches, or at the lake with friends. Our children are collecting an entirely new set of memories, aren't they. And I fear that they will curse those of us who don't share theirs. That they'll feel alienated and alone.

    And there will be hundreds of thousands of them, thinking that the false face of us our craven media and politicians, the traitorous weevils within our midst, will be all they have to judge us by.
    To be judged thus, by those who have gone and done and sacrificed and given so much for...well, for me, is actually more than I can bear.

    When they come back, feed them new memories. Good memories. Good times. They'll never lose the vivid constructs of memory from their time in hell, but a loving, caring American public can give them new pictures to look at. To treasure.

    You can't rely on government to do it, but we all can do it one individual at a time, if need be.
    The fight is still on, and will be on for a long time from the looks of things. But it is never too early to let the healing begin.

    But there can come a time when it is too late. A generation hangs in the balance.



    And on a lighter note...


    Still Don't Hate...

    ...faggots? Faggot?

    The young professional is the first to speak out about "bug chasing", a behaviour in the gay community in which men seek to become infected with HIV.

    Just glad they don't seem keen on Smallpox.

    If Johnny (or Nat or the wife) contract HIV from tainted blood, or an infected caregiver, I will...

    Well, you really, really have no idea what I'm capable of.


    A Sad Day...

    RIP, Blue Angel.

    And wouldn't it be interesting to find out he was shot down?


    A Slightly Different...


    I hope you watch it til the very end, because I have a gift for you.

    When I inevitably end up needing a cane, mine will have a sword in it. My fingerless mittens will have ground glass glued across the knuckles, and if my knuckles swell with arthritis, I'll cut the fronts of my trigger guards off.

    And I shall take walks through bad neighborhoods.


    I'm All For...



    It cannot be mandatory. Choice only. It must accept the ID's of multiple choosers. It must have a special key-hole that will allow a key to be inserted to completely deactivate it, and return the gun to regular use, should the device fail.

    I would love to not worry about the kids not getting to the guns. Be able to leave them out in plain sight. Have them be useless to an intruder. And be able to return them to their original configuration with a few turns of some screws.

    Until then, fuck that.


    Peter Franklin Paul...

    ...had better not go near any parks for, like, ever.

    Who wants to bet he shows up dead, anyway?


    Mohammad Alavi...

    Why is any motherfucker with a name like that, allowed anywhere near a place like this?

    This nation's death will be ruled a suicide.


    A good point.


    Michelle Malkin Kicks Ass..., and here.

    She does fantastic work, and anybody who points a disparaging finger at her, should look at how many fingers are pointing back at them.

    Media whore? Then Jesus and all of his Apostles and Disciples and adherents are Media Whores, spreading His word around the way they do. Those whores.

    I fear that Ms Malkin will be proven sadly prescient, when We The People are regretting the decision of our Overlords to not intern the Islamic filth that crawl among us.

    Either the Religion of Peace will prevail, or the Religion of Pieces will.

    There is no third way.


    Wherein I Am Vindicated (I Think)...

    The Inkjet Investigation.

    The repair people I've known at HP describe most third party and/or refilled cartridge failures as 'catastrophic'. As in, damaging the printer so as to make it unusable.

    I have never had a failure of an authorized product.


    I Had The Strangest Dream Last Night...

    I've seen pictures of Rob Smith, and heard clips of him singing, but I've never heard him speak. I heard him speak last night.
    Maybe he was on my mind because it still kinda weirds me out to be getting hits from a dead man's blog. I dunno. I don't think about him, and I haven't been back to his blog since about a month after he died.

    Anyway, I was doing something in the kitchen of a house I've never been in before, and the front door opened and a group of bloggers practically fell into the house. Wendy was in the lead... frankly, there were more women than men in the group, and Rob brought up the rear. There were hugs and handshakes all around, and Rob told me that he was pleased to finally meet me.

    There was tons of food, and beer on ice. The theme was Mexican food, and I was appalled at how much of it there was. Rob set to making some sort of specialty of his, I forget what, because even now the rising sun burns away the mist of the dream, but he was in the way, and kinda bossy, and he made a mess of it. Then he went into the living room, and guitars were brought out, and he and others sang, and the atmosphere was one of convivial contentment.

    For some reason, I seemed to stay mostly in the kitchen, helping the wife prepare food and serve it, snacking on this or that, and taking the occasional cold pull on a beer. I stepped out onto the patio, and SondraK was down underneath it, and she turned her back to me, bent over and pulled up her dress and showed her fine ass to me, and bade me come down to her.

    I hissed something along the lines of 'Are you fucking crazy? The wife's right over there!' and I stepped back inside, feeling horny, and guilty, and frustrated. Rob was in the kitchen, and he asked me if I had a spare room he could go lay down in, because he wasn't feeling well. As a matter of fact, he looked like shit, and frail. I offered him my arm and he took it, and I helped him back to the spare bedroom, and he fell into the bed and closed his eyes.

    I remember how soft the flannel of his oft-washed shirt felt, and how hard his bony ribs felt through it. I remember thinking to myself, in the dream, 'he's not got long...'

    Ahhhh, the humours of sleep.

    Whatever concoction he'd put in the convection oven ended up burning, and was inedible. I spent the rest of the dream cleaning it up, while people bitched at me from the living room to leave it and come join them. I didn't.

    And I never saw him again.

        Friday, April 20, 2007

    Feel Free To Stay Away, Sweetie...

    Okay, you don't like me. I get that. Or worse, you 'love my writing', but you disagree with everything I write.

    Excuse me, while I ponder the stupidity of that.

    Oh, and go away.

    Or stay, and shut up. Or yap, and get banned and/or deleted. I've been in a fairly good mood lately, but I am starting to get that whole 'bloggervasion' feeling, like folks are beginning to show up who mistake me for someone who gives a shit.

    I tolerate Spacebunny because... okay, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because she knows and is right about everything. She is the wooden training sword to my steel Katana, and I enjoy leaving her milkshake out in the yard, as a cautionary tale to others who might not be tall enough to ride this ride.
    I feel another pro Drug War post coming on. That's always fun.

    LL? Dat po chile ain't right in da head, but I love her.

    Except for the fact that it would be a big pain in my lazy ass, I would LOVE to introduce comment registration here, and charge a yakking fee (except for LL and Sparrow and Jean and a few others) just for absolute low-down lowbrow yuks.

    Okay, ya got me. I'm grouchy.

    Is it unfair to mock people who have no idea they're being mocked? Insert 'I don't care!' statement here. Fuck, I deliver Psychic Wedgies all the time, and most folks just wander around with their underwear up over their head, oblivious. Where's the fun in that?

    Oh well. The minds of most folks can't be changed. Like one of these new 'solid-state' electronic devices that tells you, right up front, 'There is not one fucking thing that you are authorized to mess with in this device, thus, the fact that there is not one fucking screw in the entire item, so just mail it the fuck back...'

    An open mind lets anything in. A closed mind died stillborn in the womb, and calcified a long time ago. Looks cool in a bottle of formaldehyde, but even the medical students say 'Ewwww!'


    And this rant (because she tends to paranoia) in no way reflects anything SB has written this month. Nor is it (completely) directed at her.

    See what I have to deal with? I am about to beat Deguello...


    Why Yes, As A Matter Of Fact...

    ...we are fools.


    Coming... a uterus near you...

    But it can't happen here, right?

    And, hey! Buy Chinese!


    The Face Of...


    It may seem like I'm going off on an anti-black rant, lately, but I'm not. You show me a story where some white bitch cuts the baby out of the mother's belly, then drowns that mother's other children in their mother's bloody bath water, and I'll put it up.

    Or give me a tale of several white men kidnapping and castrating a black man, then raping and pissing on and cutting the tit off of his black girlfriend and pouring acid in the wound before finally killing her.

    I'm waiting...


    Well Now, This Is...


    Tell me again how there were no WMD's in Iraq? The only thing certain in all this is that no American news organization will ever report it.


    Down With The Sickness...

    Marines, doing what Marines do.

    Via (who else) Pat Dollard.


    This Is...


    And the writer is dead on with that post. I am seriously beginning to reconsider that whole 'not being a racist' thing I've got going (usual disclaimer for ragheads and indians applies). I mean, if I am to be targeted simply because of the color of my skin, considering the type of person I am, would it not make sense for me to preemptively execute any group of blacks who appear to be approaching me?

    I'm certainly capable of it. Do we really want to live like that?

    The whole concept of 'being a minority' means there are 'less of you than us'. Do you minorities, whoever you are, really want to get that ball rolling?

    I hope not.

        Thursday, April 19, 2007

    Hey, What Color... this guy?

    You'd think that after 19 hours we'd get a pretty detailed description, no?

    Oh well, at least she got a cool candlelight vigil. Cuz, you know, those are so helpful. Guess no one thought that, since she had been set on fire, it might have been a little tasteless to wave a bunch of fire around in her honor?

    Maybe they could have blown bubbles. But hey, at least one of her fellow students is 'looking around and walking a little faster' at night.

    You go, Sister. Fight the Powah. 'Course, it might be nice to know...






    ...Lesbian Seagull...

    There's just so much wrong with this story, I don't know where to begin.

    All I know for sure is that, if I'm ever guilty as sin, I want her jury.


    An Attempt... Lileks to capture the essence of the sociopath. An Excerpt:

    There is nothing to learn from listening to the killer. From looking at him or reading his writings or poking through his background or sticking mikes in the face of anyone who saw him across a cafeteria. Maybe it’s just me, but when I first heard of the case I thought: sociopath. A modern word for the man without a soul, the man who either had it stolen by deed or smothered in the womb. I think you can make a sociopath, if you hurt them early enough in a way they can never get their hands around. Others are simply bad seeds from the womb on up, I suspect. No matter what you do, you get a vacant Narcissus with an infinite supply of masks, a clever manniken [sic] who cannot apprehend the humanity of others. He could only feel empathy for the object in the mirror, and it’s hardly surprising this example spent his last hours posing for the camera. It was the only thing that understood him, and accepted him for the glorious, tragic creature he knew he was.

    It is always interesting to hear someone attempt to describe you. He comes close, but though I am fastidious with my appearance, I rarely look in a mirror, and I assiduously avoid being photographed. Even here, I talk about my life, and the people in it, but do I go on about myself? Me me me? I'd like to think not, except as it applies to a subject that interests me, and my perspective of it.

    Truthfully, I do not get 'sociopath' vibes from our little mass murderer. I just get the 'complete loon' vibe. They say 'it takes one to know one', and I don't recognize him. He's just a pouty little murderous baby, who would have been better off 23 years ago having a coat hanger scraped around inside his rotten little skull. Should I ever find I had spawned such rot, I would kill myself in shame, not require hospitalization because of 'collapsing in grief' like his foul progenitors are alleged to have done.

    Oh well, I'd like to think I'm getting better as I age. Though there are some parts that I wish to retain. Recognizing them in me, as bad as they are, they give me, shall we say, 'special abilities' in surviving this rotten world.

    And a sociopath wants nothing more than to survive. If he had been one, he would have surrendered after making a circus happen in his honor, not have shot himself in the face.


    What Would I Say... a loved one of a VT victim if they blew through here and read my earlier post on my general non-feeling for any of the victims?

    Well, first I think I'd say 'shut the fuck up, you don't get extra pity-points'. Then I'd tell them to go through my archives and read my years of rants against the gulags of public education, and against a nanny-state that leaves them killing grounds for any migrating loon that flies by.

    I have not been gifted with any particular well of courage, but if a shooter drops me, it is going to be at his or her feet, as I will have charged them with my last breath, not huddled in a blubbering heap.

    People who shoot at me really piss me off. I dusted an entire duck blind behind me with birdshot one time for pinking me with pellets on the opening day of duck season. Stupid drunken black assholes, city boys from Oakland, who had no idea how to hunt. Just lucky I didn't slip in some of my Double O and leave their blind an abattoir.

    I guess I must have missed those classes on 'sensitivity'. Oh wait, we didn't have any. And nobody shot up schools, either.

    Did we use drugs? Fuck yeah we did! And we got over it, mostly, too. But the first time I took a Paxil, I knew something was terribly wrong. All of the Sci Fi writer's Somatic nightmares came home to roost, and I knew a demon was loose in my head. The rest of the scrip crumbles to decay in the back of a dresser drawer, and I sneer at it occasionally as I get something else out.

    The doctor had assumed I must be depressed, because during our first visit, I had told him of the trials of Johnny's recent birth. He made an assumption, and drugged me. When I asked what they were for, he told me they would help my blood pressure. I changed docs. Duh.

    When my Ex screamed at me over the phone to get my ass down to California and come pick up the son who would become my youngest Marine, I hit the road. She had custody, was violating it herself...yippee! As he loaded his stuff into my car, I noted that he looked kinda like a zombie, and attributed it to the stress of exposure to my ex. She has a corrosive effect on the human psyche, Teflon, case-hardened steel, and Kevlar.

    She came at me with big bottles of pills, and a stack of scrips, and written instructions for when I was supposed to medicate him. Paxil, and Ritalin. I nodded at the pauses, and escaped as fast as I could. As we drove along, I asked him about the pills. He said the school doctor said he had to take them to stay in school, and that he hated them, and that they made him feel 'stupid', and not himself.

    I asked him if he wanted to stop taking them, and he gratefully said yes. I said, okay, but you have to make me a deal: if you act like an idiot when you're not taking them, I get to beat your ass, and you can't complain, okay? He agreed without hesitation.

    And damn if that Ritalin isn't the bestest, cleanest speed I have ever taken. I was really sad when the scrips finally ran out.

    The Paxil? Oh, that got dumped out on the road somewhere. And if you know someone on it, or any of the other variants, Prozac and the like, I would steer way the fuck clear of them.

    Just a thought...


    Good News...

    Maybe we can turn this crazy country around.


    On The Imminence Of Vigilantism...

    As Americans are routinely treated with vivid evidence that not only is their government unable to protect them, but quite often with the cold reality that it is their government itself who is killing them, or stealing their property, I believe that we are going to see more and more instances of individual vigilantism.

    Got a stalker? Odds are you will survive better if you kill them with a preemptive act of self defense. Drug house on your street? Insert gasoline bomb here.

    Most of early California law enforcement was performed by 'Vigilance Committees' in the early days. Groups of men who would come together in a time of need, solve the problem with bullets and rope, and then go back to their role in the community. The Mormon communities in Utah worked much the same way. A community would have one known gunfighter, and bad man, and he would do the bidding of the Elders.

    The police make money in my community by writing traffic tickets, not by solving crimes and/or dealing with dangerous criminals. So everyone drives the speed limit, and has Renter's Insurance.
    Allowing the police to profit from property seizures and from the income infractions generate is an abomination.

    And I could walk out of my front door right now, and go shoot at least three drug dealers (who generate tremendous amounts of crimes for the purchase of their product) in the face, and all I'd get for my troubles is an ignominious death in a hail of police gunfire.

    Give me a city bus and a bucket full of handcuffs and my own weapons, and I'd fill that bus with illegal aliens in an hour. See: 'ignominious death in a hail of police gunfire'.

    Have I mentioned lately how screwed we are as a country?


    Think YOU'RE Having A Bad Day?


    Network Nitwittery...

    Well, I see NBC is continuing to lead the Old Media's downwardly spiraling charge into unfettered idiocy and complete irrelevance.

    A mass murderer sends you his taped manifesto? Well, by all means, copy that sucker before you notify the police, and then play it non-stop ad nauseum, because you need to make sure the next copycat killer takes good notes.

    Oh, and then invite the families of the dead on to provide commentary for the video..."How does this make you feel?" To their credit, apparently the families told NBC to go fuck themselves. Now, let's see if they can resist The Oprah.

    And what's this I hear about a group of college students who are saying we should forgive this killer loon because, hey, anybody can have one bad day, y'know?

    I love my country, I just hate nearly everybody in it.


    More douchebaggery. And it's rich that a limp-wristed know-nothing poor-thinking twat like her would dare to even attempt to match wits with Mark Steyn. She is a dying firefly to his roaring flame.


    Still more asswittery. I honestly thought I was reading a parody right up until the final paragraph. It offends me on a deep, personal level, that these two idiots (above) are breathing my air.

        Wednesday, April 18, 2007

    The Last Death Spasms Of A Fine Birthday...

    Monday afternoon my little family and my parents and my Sis went to a Chinese place we relish, and ate until rice poured out of our asses like maggots from a...

    Wait, that's not very appetizing. Okay... overs! Thanks to (some) of you, we went out and fed like royalty, ordered what we wanted, and many styrofoam boxes were taken home by all.

    And then I got this weird form of crazy shits... farts, actually, that felt just like farts, until you looked into your underwear and found that you'd just blown a Hubba-Bubba Bubble Yum! bubble into your shorts, and if you were careful, you could blow another one out over the bowl that was greenishly iridescent and glistening, like a snot bubble from a tubercular immigrant's nose as they...

    Okay, still not heavy on the appetizing, here, but it was really really good chow, even though our various gasses and extrudants are toxic beyond belief. Yes, we have finished the leftovers...they are that good. And Nat shat a log today that you could have press-ganged a drunken Englishman upside his head with, and it also had what appeared to be the rare 'two perfect tapered ends' configuration.

    I had no micrometer handy, but we both marveled at the pestle as it swirled in the bowl, before the stench drove us from the lavatorium. Fucking Chinese. WMD comes on steaming platters, and is transported in plain, white styrofoam boxes.

    Today, I ordered my Birthday Boots:

    Dirty details here.

    I'm considering removing that gay-ass ad from the heel, if for no other reason than to not have it show up at my trial in an autopsy photo, clonked indelibly into the side of some miscreants head. And no, you don't kick that high. Kicking is for when they are down, no matter what other homosexuals tell you.

    When they say 'you fight like a girl', or call you a 'dirty fighter', that means 'you kicked their ass'.



    But, all in all it was a great day. I didn't use my AK.