Mad Jack's Shack

ex luce ad tenebras

Restaurant Review: The Grass Skirt Tiki Room

Grass Skirt Tiki Room

Grass Skirt Tiki Room
105 N Grant Ave. Columbus, OH 43215
(At the corner of Long and Grant)
(614) 429-3650
Grass Skirt Tiki Room
Grass Skirt Email

Mon: 11am – 10pm
Tue–Thr: 11am – 11pm
Fri-Sat: 11am – 12am

Tiki Room Décor

Last Saturday (6/15/2019), I, Big Mike, and California Dave had dinner at The Grass Skirt Tiki Room.  Being in pain, I had a Pain Killer, a Tiki Room drink that guaranteed to improve you, your attitude, and everything around you.  Lacking my refined taste in Tiki drinks, my compatriots had Navy Grog.  Well, Big Mike was driving and California Dave was on some kind of antihistamine decongestants, so they decided to drink lightly.

We, all of us, have been here several times before, and the Grass Skirt has been our default choice when we feel like a strong drink and a light meal.  The ambience is quiet, with Martin Denny playing in the background, and there's an outdoor patio which is attractive. 

I'll give the food at the Grass Skirt three stars, but it can go to four depending on what you order.  I can vouch for the coconut shrimp and the best coast quesadilla as excellent appetizers.  If you aren't all that hungry, you can easily make a meal of this as the portions are generous.  For dinner, anything with the Jamaican jerk chicken in it is good, as are the crab cakes.  Actually, I think the crab cakes are a little better than you'll find in most restaurants in Columbus, but that's just my opinion.  We had the jerk chicken tacos, which made for an excellent meal.

Pain Killer and Two Navy Grog

The Grass Skirt is a Tiki bar.  Don't order the beer, as you can get that anywhere.  Cocktails here are strong, and consist of a good selection of traditional Tiki bar cocktails, including one or two dry ice production numbers. I can recommend the Pain Killer, Navy Grog, and the Mai Tai as being well above average.

The service is good, and is reliable.  Our poor waitress had been working seven days straight, twelve hours a day, but she was attentive to us.  I'd say that the place is a bit understaffed.

Sadly, what started out as a nice, relaxing dinner was ruined.

The calamity of the Grass Skirt, and the reason I may not be back is the drunken crowd of twenty-something women who dropped in like a plague of squealing, screaming pigs headed for the sausage factory, and the refusal of the management to tell them to quiet down - which they could have done.  As we left, we found the source of the problem.

Pedal Wagon
I suppose if you're barely legal drinking age and have a few bucks to burn, the Pedal Wagon sounds like a good time.  People get on the damned thing and go beerily peddling around town, stopping here and there to have a drink and make their presence know to everyone, before continuing on their way.  The noise abates when they have to go uphill, or when one of the cute little lovelies has a bit too much party time! and hurls.  We kind of hope the wagon stops in time to let her off so she can hurl into the gutter, but I'm betting that's not always the case.  Of course, frat boys never do this kind of thing, being experienced drinkers and all... except when they do, and end up lying in the gutter waiting for the meat wagon to arrive and treat them for alcohol poisoning.  We had two of these show up at the same time.

As I said before, the Grass Skirt has a nice ambience about it.  Martin Denny plays in the background, the lighting is subdued, and the acoustics are good.  When you add drunken men, the noise level doubles.  Conversation is possible, but you have to listen.  When drunk women get involved, the noise level squares.  Conversation becomes impossible, you can't hear your server and she can't hear you.  Instead of a quiet, refined dining room, you suddenly find yourself in the primate house at feeding time.  Then three of the females let fly with the drunken mating call - WHOOOOOO!

About half our evening was ruined, and the management could not possibly care less.

I think it's going to be a long while before we ever return to the Grass Skirt.

In summary:
Overall rating: 6, complete with drunken women.


David versus Goliath - Oberlin College

I picked up on A win for the little guys... thanks to the Old NFO, and while I was out drinking last night I heard that Oberlin got their Liberal philosophy shoved sideways up their collective fundament with a bucket of sand to make it fit better.  After that, they got the crap slapped out of them.

For anyone not familiar with this situation, here's a quick summary:

In the Liberal small town of Oberlin is a gigantic Liberal university, and a family owned bakery.  Both have been in business for a long time, and the bakery had a contract with the university to supply them with fresh bread.

The bakery also sells wine and related items.  One night three black college students came in to "buy" (wink-wink nudge-nudge) some wine from the white clerk.  Two tried to distract the clerk while one shoplifted the wine.  The clerk objected and gave chase to the thief, a fight ensued, and the cops came and broke the whole thing up.  The kids were arrested, and - several college instructors got wind of what happened and organized a protest and a boycott, along with the requisite SJW slanderous and libelous components.

The store people didn't take this one lying down.  While the owners lost business and had to fire employees due to the harm the SJWs at Oberlin caused, they got hold of their attorney and sued.

Ha-Ha-Ha, the folks at Oberlin laughed.  They'll never win because we're clearly in the right, they're racist, and we know this as a great truth.

It was trial by jury, and at the end of the day Oberlin lost.  Then Oberlin was fined $11 million, and awarded an additional $33 million in punitive damages.

But here comes the funny part, courtesy of AP, no less.

The story: Market Awarded $44M in Racism Dispute with Oberlin College.

A jury in Lorain County awarded David Gibson, son Allyn Gibson and Gibson’s Bakery, of Oberlin, $33 million in punitive damages Thursday. That comes on top of an award a day earlier of $11 million in compensatory damages.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have spoken,” Oberlin College attorney Rachelle Zidar told the jury Thursday before the larger award was announced, according to the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram . “You have sent a profound message. We have heard you. Believe me when I say, ‘Colleges across the country have heard you.’”

Oberlin College spokesman Scott Wargo declined to comment after the award was announced.

Yeah, Rachelle baby.  They spoke up alright, and now the Oberlin College official spokesman hasn't got a thing he's willing to say in public.

Oberlin has the funds to pay this off, but collecting is going to require some real strong arm tactics.  So to speak.

A few heads are going to roll over this one, but the icing on the cake is that this case sets a precedent - SJWs always lie, and always double down, but now when they do this and their quarry can show damages... the penalty is going to put a few SJWs out of business.

I just love this shit.  Ladies and  Gentlemen, you have spoken...  and We, the delusional SJWs at Oberlin College, as well as Liberal colleges all across the U.S. of A. have heard you.  We'll get this fixed right away!


Just listen to those crickets.


Dinner and Drinking

I have nothing profound to write about today, although news is plentiful if an idle person decides to look.  One story I enjoyed is available at the Antique Naval Flight Officer's blog, where our noble host celebrates a significant victory of a small but honest and trustworthy family owned business over the evil group of POS (perpetually offended snowflakes) that run Oberlin University, and who whipped the student body into a self-righteous knickers-twisted fury, when... go read it for yourself.

I had dinner at Big Mike's last night. We enjoyed a steak dinner with trimmings, and cocktails, and cognac. Big Mike knows how to pour a drink, let me tell you.

The Good Beginning
This is a nice red wine, which was served with dinner.  The cocktail of the evening was something I'd never had before, but I intend to have again.  Here it is:

Bitters and Smoke
1.00 oz. blanco tequila
1.00 oz. Cynar
0.50 oz. Fernet-Branca
0.50 oz. mezcal

Method: stirred with ice; strained

Glass: chilled cocktail
If you decide to make this, the best results are to allow it to sit for five minutes or so.  This will let the bitterness of the mezcal get tempered by the other ingredients and the ice water.

Waiting for the Steaks
Mike was originally going to fire up the grill, but the weather wouldn't cooperate.  So the steaks were done in the old cast iron skillet with a splatter screen on top.

Greens, Slightly Scorched
These, believe it or else, are the green portion of the dinner.  The greens were scorched in the toaster oven, and yes it was actually done that way on purpose.  They were delicious.

Sautéed Mushrooms
My favorite, next to the dead animal itself, are the mushrooms.  Something about mushrooms really sets off the taste of the steak.

Steak, Medium Rare, with Mushrooms
Perfectly done!  This is a good cut of beef, high quality, and was not overcooked.  This is a perfect dinner.

We finished off with coffee and VSOP cognac.  I've noticed that in the liquor store down the street from me, they keep the cognac locked up with an anti-theft device on the bottle.  I guess that cognac is a very popular item with certain people, and they'll steal it.  Two or three create a distraction at the register with the accomplice walks out the door with a few bottles, then runs like hell away.

I can believe it.  I had someone try to steal my liquor in the checkout line at the local Kroger's.  Both the cashier and I caught him; he dropped the bottle and hurried away.

As I write this, it is now 2:55 PM and I'm still feeling like five miles of bad road, thanks to the aftereffects of Big Mike's hospitality.


Kicking the Habit

Loyal Reader: Hey there, Mad Jack!  How are you?  It's almost 1:30 PM and you don't have a cocktail sitting next to the keyboard.  Are you sure you're feeling alright?

Well, since you asked... I don't sleep nights.  Stress and anxiety, probably self-induced, keep me awake. I tend to wake up once or twice every night, and when morning finally rolls around I'm too tired to get anything done, and too wide awake to sleep.

I've been treating this condition with Lorazepam, one to two milligrams.  This works well enough so that I can fall asleep and remain comatose until morning, when my cat Danté wakes me up - usually about sunrise.  Better living through chemistry, right?

Time passes, and early this week the little white pills ran out along with the refills on my prescription.  The office staff for my doctor tell me that the doctor won't refill the prescription unless I visit the office, which costs me $75 per visit.  Last time this happened the doctor told me that he could have done this over the phone, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it for a few minutes.  So, I've been calling his office once per day since last Monday (6/3/2019).  So far, he hasn't returned any of my phone calls, but that doesn't mean much as he may not be getting the messages.

The fly in the ointment here is Mount Carmel Medical Group.  This, by the way, is the very same Mount Carmel Medical Group that, up until very recently, employed Dr. William Husel, who has been indicted on 25 counts of murder via alleged Fentanyl overdose.  Dr. Husel pled not guilty and is out on bond.  Nice, huh?

The staff doesn't work for the doctor; they work for Mount Carmel Medical Group, and the Medical Group doesn't make any money off phone calls.  As of late this morning, I gather that the good doctor has promised to call me today for sure.  We'll see what happens.  Meantime, I'm probably suffering withdrawal symptoms (I feel like a worn out piece of outdoor carpet) and I'm not getting a full night's sleep.

So there you have it.  Aren't you glad you asked?


Hat Tip to Fred Reed

Here's a tip of the old fedora and a hoist of the early, early afternoon bourbon glass to that bellicose bellyacher, superior sorehead, that lovable old curmudgeon, Fred Reed.  Fred moved his blog from wherever it was to The Unz Review, where his work can be found at Fred Reed. The man himself can be found somewhere in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico.  Fred claims the relocation was necessary for financial reasons, and who am I to argue?  Me, I think Fred may be bringing in a few extra bucks, which is always nice.

I like reading Fred's articles, which I believe reflect whatever occurs to Fred that afternoon.  Should I ever win the lottery, I plan to take a trip to Mexico, find Fred, and buy him a drink.


Kermit Gosnell Employees and Associates Sentencing

Having read the book, Gosnell: The Untold Story of America's Most Prolific Serial Killer Kindle Edition by Ann McElhinney and Phelim McAleer , and seen the film Gosnell: The Trial of America's Biggest Serial Killer (2018), I can tell you that the entire case is horrific.  In my opinion the book and the film should not be available to anyone under 25; the things that are shown and described really did happen.

I have two questions about the entire Gosnell case - only two:

Here's what I was able to discover, and it wasn't easy to find.

My comments are at the end of blog post and are not fit for anyone who is easily offended or has a thin skin.

The criminals:

Kermit Barron Gosnell: Owner of the Women’s Medical Society, an abortion clinic and pill mill, is very likely the most prolific serial killer of the 20th century. He killed literally hundreds of babies that were born alive at his clinic, and who were then killed by him.  His sentence: three life sentences without possibility of parole, served consecutively.

Pearl Gosnell, Wife of Kermit Gosnell: 7-23 months in prison. She assisted Kermit for years in performing late terms abortions.

Eileen O'Neal, Employee: 6-23 months of house arrest, 2 years of probation, and 100 hours of community service.

Steven Massof, Employee: Steven Massof pleaded guilty to two counts of Third Degree Murder for killing babies that had been born alive at Gosnell's Women's Medical Society.  He agreed to cooperate with the prosecution in exchange for sentencing leniency and testified against Gosnell at his trial.  He received a sentence of 6-12 years in prison. He is currently incarcerated at the State Correctional Institution in Somerset, Pennsylvania.

Sherry West, Employee: 5-10 years in prison.

Elizabeth "Liz" Hampton, Pearl's foster sister: 1 year probation.

Kareema Cross, Employee: 2 1/2 years in prison.

Adrienne Moton, Employee: Time served (28 months) and 3 years of probation.

Tina Baldwin, Employee: 30 months of probation.

Lynda Williams, Employee: 5 to 10 years.

Latosha Lewis: Unknown.  Lewis testified against Gosnell, and did so enthusiastically.  She got a pass on any crimes she committed while working for Gosnell, but was arrested on Federal drug charges.  In the most recent news I was able to find, Lewis faces something on the order of 80 years in prison.  I doubt she'll do more than a day.

During trial, Steven Massof admitted to killing several hundred babies just after they were born.  Gosnell taught Massof his own preferred method, and Massof proved to be an eager student.

All of these people knew what was going on at that abattoir.  Every single one of them knew, and they did nothing to stop it.  What each of them deserves is death by firing squad.

I, by the way, own a suitable rifle and would volunteer, if the opportunity presented itself.

This is our screwed up justice system in action.  A serial killer is discovered, more by accident than on purpose, and is alive and well.  His assistants served minimal jail sentences and a few are now out on the street.

A case like this one makes me hate the world in general.  Abortion clinics should be inspected on a regular basis, and the inspections should be unannounced, surprise inspections.  The inspectors should be accompanied by U.S. Marshals and medical personnel with experience.

Because, you see, Gosnell operated for years without any hindrance at all.

How many more abortion doctors like Kermit Gosnell are out there right now?  No one knows, and no one is looking for them.  I would venture to say that anyone who doesn't believe the evil one exists need look no further than the Gosnell case.


RFI: System Software Question

I'm running Windoze 7.

Edit: Problem solved thanks to Merlin, who suggested:

You could always zip the entire directory structure, then unzip to a location without restoring the paths. This would essentially flatten your entire directory structure to a single level.

Just why a man of such brilliance and good taste would be hanging out here will remain one of life's little mysteries. 

My thanks to everyone else for their help, as it is truly appreciated.

I have a directory e:\foo, and under that I have many subdirectories:


and under those, many other subdirectories:


and at the end of each tree there may be a file:


I want a utility to navigate the tree, and when it finds a file I want it to copy that file to a single directory, such as:


thus putting all the files in one place and eliminating this tree.  I've looked and haven't found anything except sites offering free spyware.

Is there such a utility anywhere?


Joke Time - Moms Then, Moms Now

I got this pic from someplace or other, but it inspired me to a certain degree.

Then and Now
Keep reading, as it amuses you to do so.

Moms Then: Say that again and I'll wash your mouth out with soap!
Moms Now: That word is inappropriate.
Kids Then: Yes ma'am.
Kids Now: Mister Fathead, my assistant school shrink, said it's okay because it's part of self-expression an' shit.

Moms Then: You'll eat what I make whether you like it or not. There are starving children in this world.
Moms Now: Good job trying one bite of the dinner I made. Now you can have Mac & Cheese.
Kids Then: So wrap up this slop and send it to 'em, they're so hungry. Look, the dog won't even eat it.
Kids Now: I don't want Mac & Cheese. I want McDonalds.

Moms Then: You better stop crying or I'll really give you something to cry about!
Moms Now: I can see you're upset. Take a deep breath and use your words.
Kids Then: ::silence::
Kids Now: Last time I used my words, grandma washed out my mouth with Dawn dish soap!

Moms Then: You want to go out? Take your bike. Be home before dark.
Moms Now: You can't walk around the block by yourself. I'll drive you. Text me when you need a ride back.
Kids Then: Bye!
Kids Now: Why not? Grampa told me about the time he was gone for a week before anyone noticed, and you used to go anywhere you wanted - back in the old days.

Moms Then: Take a brown bag with a bologna sandwich on Wonder bread. Grab a Twinkie and a Hawaiian Punch too.
Moms Now: I packed your bento box with almond butter on whole grain, kale chips, and an organic smoothie.
Kids Then: Thanks! Can I get an extra Twinkie today? Please?
Kids Now: Good. Send it to the starving kids in India Grandma keeps karping about, and gimme a ten spot for Taco Hell.


Quora Question: I Give My Girlfriend...

Here's the entire question:

I give my girlfriend money to buy groceries, and she buys random things. I then have to buy groceries so that an actual meal can be prepared. How can I teach her how to buy groceries like an adult?

This guy's an idiot.  I wrote another answer that may offend the delicate sensibilities of the Quora moderators.

Use the punishment - reward system. Unlike a dog (who really wants to do what you want him to - he just can’t understand you), your little ice pick in the eye could not possibly care less what you want. You’re dumb enough to give her money, and she’s just bright enough to go enjoy herself.

So, having provided her with a grocery list and enough greenbacks to cover it, when she returns with a backgammon game, two cases of champagne, and a bag of potato chips…

Forget it. She’s not your type. Tell her to look me up on Mad Jack's Shack and I’ll take her shopping - and other places.


Quora Question: How did polka dancing originate?

Incredible as it may seem, someone wants an answer to this one.  So I provided one, and the real question is, one what?

My contribution will likely be deleted in a few minutes, but one never knows.  Keep reading for the truth about Polka.

From the folks at Quora: How did polka dancing originate?

All dancing is driven by musicians and music. If you don’t believe me, try doing the Bunny Hop  next time the orchestra plays Edelweiss at 84 beats per minute (BPM).

In Bohemia, in the 1850s, the local party-hearty crowd had a bad case of the shorts. While any number and variety of annoying deeds were done by the boheems due to the shortage of long green, the one group that should never get the short end of the stick got it, and that stick was shorter than a Democrat’s wedding tackle.

So they retaliated.

It took the musicians four days to come up with a dozen polka songs, and an hour and a half to invent the dance to go with the music. This is not as easy as it might seem, as they needed a lively dance that would cause everyone to sweat buckets in twenty minutes, plus it had to look like fun so all the women would want to dance. It also had to be simple enough so that the average man could learn to do it, (and here’s the true malicious genius of their revenge) but that the average untutored man would look dumber than his brother-in-law holding a hammer when his wife dragged him out to the dance floor - after three or four beers.

The name of the nefarious dance is Polka, and it’s still with us, and it’s still effective. Don’t believe me? Just drag you non-dancing fatheaded husband onto the floor and tell him to dance the polka with you. It’s easy - just look at my brother Fred dancing with his wife!

And that’s how Polka was invented.


When the Pellets Hit the Windmill

I note that Peter Grant the Bayou Renaissance Man has published two more posts on the collapse of civilization during a catastrophe.  You may read them as it amuses you to do so at An Interesting Look at Urban Defense (May 11, 2019) and Urban Conflict: A Recent Object Lesson (May 14, 2019).

Most of the time I find I'm in general agreement with whatever Peter has to say.  I perceive Peter to be an intelligent, erudite man with an unusual amount of life experience.  He's also a Christian, with a solid set of Christian morals and ethics.  So most of the time I think Peter has the right of it, but this time he's overlooking a few points.  Here they are, in no general order.

For some reason I'm reminded of my school bus driver in elementary school who purported to be a Christian.  His name was Lockwood, he was meaner than a nest of hornets, and he eventually quit the bus driving business to take a position as pastor of a church someplace.  The day he left, he gave us a lecture about being noisy and unruly, and building a death trap for ourselves by our raucous behavior.  His replacement was a man named Joe who was a whole lot nicer.

Pardon me, but I've a touch of attention deficit disorder this morning.

The idea is that due to the unprecedented amount of stable dressing that commercial media is shoving at us and calling news, and the real news being debunked by the political Left (SJWs, Moonbats, Progressives and Fascists), and conservative news and bloggers being deplatformed along with violent political protests involving ANTIFA, New Black Panthers, Black Live Matter and similar groups, the fertilizer may hit the turbine blades and government will fail.  There are other factors involved, but I'm sure everyone reading this gets the general idea.  About the only thing people can agree on is that this truly massive failure might or might not happen in our lifetimes.

I live in Columbus, Ohio, and have lived in many major cities east of the Mississippi.  To pretend that a repeat of the civil rights riots from the 1960s couldn't happen here, or in any other major city in the US for any reason at all, is foolishness.  Sections of major cities could easily see rioting and a complete breakdown of orderly civilization as we know it for a week or more.  It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be permanent, but it could happen. 

Around 8,000 pages or more have been written about what to do, how to prepare, and which caliber of rifle is best.  I'm not going to cover any of that because it's been done to death.  Here are a few things that never get mentioned.

Should this happen in my immediate area, here's what my preparations look like and why.  Note that these are not in the order of importance, as importance will change with the situation you're immediately facing.

Water.  What you'll likely to need above everything else is water.  Lots of fresh water.  One person requires one gallon per day.  No water means no survival, and water is also necessary for digestion.  So it doesn't matter if you have food, if you don't have water then your clock is ticking.

People.  You'll need a group of people local to your area, an area that is geographically close to you, who think the same way you do, and that will accept you as a member.  Try to find a group who all agree it's morally wrong to murder people in their beds, for instance.

Fire Control.  You need fire control.  If your home catches fire, and the fire department isn't available just now, you'd better be able to put the fire out or grab your gear and run for it.

Extended First Aid.  First aid is important, but extended first aid even more so.  Having one or two antibiotics on hand is a good thing, and being able to fix problems with your digestive tract is also important.  Remember that the hospital ER might be full, the hospital might well be full, and you, personally, just aren't all that important.  Knowing the difference between a serious illness or injury and one that can be treated by antibiotics and rest is valuable knowledge; having the supplies to treat the illness is almost as valuable.

Food.  Food for you and the family, including the family goldfish.  You can do better than Meal, Rejected by Enemy - and you should do so.  Stash the MREs in the closet someplace where you'll only tie into them when you're sufficiently hungry and civilization still hasn't staged a return. 

Guns and Ammo.  I said I wasn't going to mention it, but here it is anyway.  Having an AR15 is a great thing, and I wouldn't criticize anyone for stockpiling rifles or ammo.  However, the fact is that no one wants to get shot, and that includes the authorities.  Should a group of a dozen or so blue clad officials from the United Nations start going house to house in your neighborhood, kicking in doors and confiscating food, water, and everything else they can use, what would you like your response to be?  Presumably you'll resist, because if you don't you very likely will not survive this episode.

What's your response?  Is it:

We all know the answers to that one.

There's no substitute for experience.  If you've been there, such as sitting out a hurricane instead of evacuating like the authorities demanded, you'll know what I'm talking about.  You'll deal with freeloading neighbors, looters, and heavy handed authorities (not necessarily police) who will confiscate your possessions and instruct you to report to the local processing center - for processing.  They'll volunteer to shoot your dog for you.  Don't take my word for it.  Find a few people who have been there, done that, and have the tee-shirt.

And now, if you'll excuse me, happy hour is near at hand and I don't want to be fashionably late today.


Curtis Reeves Chad Oulson Shooting - Slow Progress

I wrote about this case before, but for the sake of convenience a brief summary is called for.

Curtis Reeves, a 71 year old retired police captain, was at the Cobb Grove 16 Theater in Wesley Chapel, Florida with his wife.  Chad Oulson, a 41 year old, physically fit, hardworking man, was at the same movie with his wife, and was sitting in front of Reeves.  During the pregame show Chad was texting someone, Curtis objected, and words were exchanged.  The short of it is that Reeves had a container of popcorn which Oulson seized and threw at him.

So Reeves shot Oulson with a .380 automatic and killed him.

That was in January of 2014, over five years ago.  The case still hasn't gone to trial, but here's the latest news, behind a pay wall: Trial Postponed In Pasco Theater Shooting Due To Stand Your Ground Uncertainty

From the article:
Reeves is charged with second-degree murder in the Jan. 13, 2014, shooting of Chad Oulson in the Cobb Grove 16 theaters. The men argued after Reeves told Oulson to stop using his cell phone. Oulson approached Reeves, grabbed a bag of popcorn and threw it at him. An instant later, Reeves drew a handgun and shot Oulson in the chest.

Just about the time this case was going to go to trial, the Florida legislature changed a part of the
Stand Your Ground law, shifting the burden of proof from the defendant to the State (the prosecution).

Reeves originally pleaded that he couldn't be prosecuted because of Florida's Stand Your Ground law, but the judge wasn't having any of it.  The trial date was set for February of 2019, but then the law changed.  The question then became does the change apply retroactively, and to cases that are in motion, so to speak.

Well... maybe, maybe not.  Judges have been ruling both ways, so the whole business is being kicked upstairs to the Florida State Supreme Court, which will take months to render a decision.  Meanwhile, Curtis Reeves is out on bail, but under house arrest.  He gets to live in his own home, and can go out to go to the store, the doctor, and to religious services.  By the time this case gets to trial, any jail sentence will likely amount to life in prison due to Reeves's age and health.

The wheels of justice grind along, crushing everything in their way.

I already published my personal opinion, but I'll repeat it in brief.  This is a case of two men acting like assholes, and one being armed.  Neither one would ignore the other, let alone apologize and move away from the offending dick.  Knowing he had no chance to take Oulson in a brawl, Reeves pulled out his pistol and shot the man.  Now he's dead, and leaves behind a host of grieving friends and an absolutely devastated mother and a wife, equally devastated.

Curtis Reeves belongs in prison.  I don't think he'll ever get there, but that's where he belongs.


Facts About Bees, Trees, and Latinos

I went out for lunch today, which was a mistake.  For a sawbuck I got an overly large portion of meatloaf and gravy, a somewhat lesser portion of mashed potatoes, and a small helping of canned green beans.  The beans were the best part of the meal; the meatloaf upset my delicate constitution.

On my way back from the restaurant I found a Mexican man in my driveway, explaining to my neighbor (not that one, thank the Lord) that there were bees up in the pine tree behind my house.  Just why I'd care about this is beyond me, but he insisted on pointing them out until I, surprise-surprise, saw a swarm of bees at the top of one of the pine trees behind my house.

Well, hot damn.

I told him to let 'em be (clever pun intended) because they were important to the ecology.  He agreed, but he kept talking about the bees.  I wanted to go inside, so I finally just shrugged it all off and left him to his own devices.

Naturally, that's when the fun started.

About 45 minutes and half a bottle of Pepto Bismol later, I reenter the outside world with the vague notion of visiting the grocery store.  Since I have plenty of gin, I'm not quite sure why I'm going, but there you have it.

At the end of the street is a cream colored SUV, slightly beaten, and a mujer mexicana along with two muchachos.  I walk over top see what's up.

"Buenas tardes," I say, smiling.  She looks at me like I'm deranged.  Clearly, either she doesn't speak any Spanish, or I'm an idiot and my Spanish isn't as good as it might be.  I look at the older boy, who is also regarding me with some concern.

"I'm trying to say buenas tardes," I tell him.  He smiles and translates for his mother, who laughs a little and pronounces it correctly for me.  Her diction bears so little resemblance to mine that I give up.  We go back and forth a little via her eldest, who is so fluent in English that he has no trace of an accent.  I gather that her husband, their father, is up the tree gathering bees.  As evidence, a be hive is nearby.  An unoccupied bee hive.  He has seven other hives at home.

I look up and sure enough there's a Mexican in the pine tree, near the top.  This guy has a bee suit on and is capturing bees.

Mexican Trimming Trees

Now, my opinion is that anyone who wants these bees badly enough to climb a pine tree in a bee suit and capture them most definitely does not need any aggravation from the simple minded fascists that are on the board of directors here in Stalague 86.

Junior Translator
I left for the store, and by the time I got back the bee hunt was still going strong.  I wish him all the best, because he's obviously working hard.  His kids are good kids; well mannered and polite.  The kids are fascinated with my camera, so I pass it over to the youngest.  The older one shows him how to activate the video function.  Here are the results.

Australia is no longer a free country.

This, right here, is how it starts.  The carpet kissers moved in, all nods and smiles, and established Little Baghdad.  Now they aren't so friendly.  In fact, the cops are keeping the Christians out of the area for fear of a disturbance.  If you believe the cop, that is.

If this hasn't happened in the United States, it's only because someone like Lauren hasn't found and documented it yet.


Piracy and Governmental Protection

I got this story courtesy of my Internet buddy, Old NFO, where he announced that a Texas author was getting hosed over by pirates in Canada, the Canadian government, and the U.S. Government.  You can read about it Boosting the Signal as it amuses you to do so.  Continue reading my own diatribe at your own risk, knowing that if you're a snowflake and I've somehow failed to offend you, it isn't for lack of trying.

Here's one to make you stop and ask the eternal question - What the Fuck?!

John Van Stry makes his living as an author.  I'll assume he's fairly good at his business, as people are buying his work and saying good things about it.  The thing is, some no good son-of-a-bitch Canuck (Travis Robert McCrea) and his beaner friend (Francisco Humberto Dias) have decided to steal John's work and sell electronic copies of it on their website.  This is commonly called piracy.

Evidence of the violation is blatant.  All you have to do is point your browser at ebook bike and you can see for yourself.

What really gets on my very last nerve is that the Federal government of the United States is aware of this - and does nothing.  The Canadian government is equally aware, and does nothing.  Both governments are giving these scumbags tacit approval to steal and to sell stolen property.

Being no slouch, John is suing these two swine, but it turns out that attorneys won't work for free, or maybe they think this isn't an ambulance worth chasing.  So as it turns out, John could use a few extra bucks, hence he's started a go fund me page.  You can check it out at Bring ebook.bike to Justice, and you can read the unofficial legal complaint at Travis Mccrea Lawsuit.

Then, kicking a man when he's down, the jack booted thugs that run Amazon just deleted John's last two novels.  No warning, no notification, no explanation of any kind.  Both books are gone without a trace.  One was released this week, and another was released a few weeks back.  The thing is, this affects the position of the books on the Amazon bestseller list, which in turn affects royalties, which has a direct impact on John being able to afford food next week.   In layman's terms, you ain't gettin' paid this month, and don't count on next month either.

The amount of pond scum sucked up by this situation is truly immense.

If you have a facebook account, you can find John at John Van Stry on facebook.  Look him up and leave the man a few words of encouragement, and if you can spare it, a few bucks into his legal fund.  Every dollar counts.

What I'm really wondering about are the other authors involved here.  More than a few of these people are notable authors, NYT bestseller lists, various awards and contacts - notables.  I'm wondering if a class action suit isn't someplace just over the horizon.

Not to be too much of a wet blanket, but if John wins this one (and it seems like a slam-dunk to me) he still has to collect.  Now me, I'd sell the debt to a violent group of motorcycle outlaws with a chapter in Vancouver.  Then I'd start watching the Canadian news.

Here's a hoist of the late afternoon bourbon to John and his supporters.


Old NFO Spam Attack

Old NFO complains that he's the target of spammers, and that it's taking him the best part of his sober life to get rid of all the spam messages.

Check it out at %&*#%)!!!, and take a look at one spam message he failed to delete.  This one:

The nerve of some people!


Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez Explained

Unless you missed the bus, everyone within earshot is aware of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, moonbat extraordinaire, and her Green New Deal.  If you're bored or in need of amusement at someone else's expense, you can read about the proposed train wreck here: Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez Releases Green New Deal Outline.

What people with any kind of intelligence wonder is why something like this would even be proposed, as it's completely nonsensical.  Well, I'll tell you.

Take a look at AOC's early life, courtesy of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez Biography.  From the article:

Early Life and Education

Born to a working-class Puerto Rican family in the Bronx, New York, Ocasio-Cortez graduated from Boston University, majoring in economics and international relations, and worked for Senator Ted Kennedy's office where she focused on immigration issues while in college.

After graduation, she returned home and became a community organizer. However, with the recession taking hold, along with the financial issues her family faced after her father's death in 2008 from cancer, Ocasio-Cortez took multiple low-wage restaurant jobs to help keep them afloat.

So she went to college, worked for Ted Kennedy - doing just what I might ask, but if I do the censors will likely delete this post and ban me from civilized company forever - and then returned home to work at menial jobs (waitress) because she's too dumb to get anything else.

Think. In the moonbats east coast home state, in the city known as Moonbat Central East, she can't find a decent job.  With her education and résumé, she can't get something?  Ever wonder why?  Could it be because she's both abrasive and dumber than a left handed monkey wrench?

Having been picked up by a talent scout and then winning a popularity contest, she's now in office.  Does anyone actually believe she has a clue?  She not only missed the clue bus, she can't find the bus schedule or a bus stop.  But that doesn't matter, because her handlers have carefully pointed her in the right direction.

The New Green Deal is stupidity in a can. The reason AOC championed this is because:
  1. She was told to by whoever is handling her.
  2. She doesn't understand it.
  3. It makes some other outrageous Green Plan seem reasonable by comparison.

Think about item two.  AOC not only doesn't understand the plan; she can't understand it.  She, United States Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D), is intellectually incapable of understanding the Green New Deal or the ramifications thereof, even when it's explained to her.  She really and truly cannot understand it, and she never will.

She won a popularity contest, nothing more or less.  She's been coached on what to say, how to act, and what to emphasize.  She was perfect for the job.  She's a cute female with heavy moonbat experience, and she's from out of town.  If she were black she'd be perfect, except that she'd run off at the mouth too often and commercial media doesn't do well with shaniqua theater.

Now we get this, courtesy of BreitBart and Right Wingnut Matt Gaetz(R) from Florida. Read on as you like.

Matt Gaetz Unveils ‘Green Real Deal’ as ‘Commonsense Rebuttal’ to AOC’s Green New Deal

Having scammed skimmed through this article, the thing that strikes me the most is that Matt Gaetz, a successful lawyer and wingnut, is advocating change and deregulation affecting an industry he knows little to nothing about.  This is especially true of nuclear power stations, which are regulated within an inch of their lives by the N.R.C. (Nuclear Regulatory Commission).  So far we haven't had many accidents at nuclear power plants. There's a reason for that.

Another item Matt Gaetz advocates is rebuilding the electrical transmission grid, which arguably needs to be done since the damned thing is older than I am, but the cost is astronomical.

Given that Matt Gaetz graduated from Florida State University in 2003 and from The College of William and Mary in 2007, and has a Doctor of Jurisprudence degree, I have to believe he's fairly bright.

I'm just wondering if he's thought any of this through.  I don't think he has.

So I guess we'll see what happens in the future.  Me, I have work to do and time won't stand still for me.


April Fool's Day 2019

Well, it's good old April Fool's Day again.  In a moment of alcohol induced inspiration, I decided to list a few April Fool's jokes that either took place on April first, or didn't but were good anyway.  I also decided to list one or two that equate roughly to two redneck friends with a case of beer and a .22 pistol, who decide it would be fun to shoot cans off each others' heads.

Keep reading for a few politically incorrect and potentially disastrous jokes and stories.

Rainbow Room
On a contract down in South Carolina, I tied up with a few good old boys who started telling me about a professional lunatic they only referred to as The Contractor.  Evidently this guy would do stuff the rest of us wouldn't even dream of, and although the staff liked him, they wanted to pull a prank on him.  So...

One genius decided it would be fun to sneak out to the parking lot and affix a bumper sticker or two to The Contractor's pickup truck.  What sort?  Well, the local gay pride group had an office nearby, and The Contractor hated gay guys, so the natural choice would seem to be a rainbow bumper sticker.  Or maybe two or three.  This is a fine idea, right up until the time they realized that someone would have to go to the gay pride office and pick up a few things.  And what if you got seen coming or going?  So they drew straws, with the loser having to go to the Gay Pride office.

I don't remember just who had to go down there, but the man returned with three rainbow bumper stickers including one that said Honk if You're Gay.  They also registered him with the official Gay Pride organization, made a small cash contribution in his name, and signed him up with the weekly newsletter.

It was over a week before The Contractor found out why people (guys, mainly) kept honking at him as they passed.  Then his wife got the welcome package and the first newsletter.

Black Powder
Meanwhile, back at the old Medusa Trap and Skeet club, a foursome is out breaking a few clays.  All these men load their own, and as they walk out to the skeet field another member waits like a retriever in a duck blind.  What's up with this, I wonder aloud.

"Just watch.  Those four know each other, and Fred swapped out a few of Don's shells."

Sure enough, on station three there's a loud KA-BOOM! and a cloud of smoke.  This is closely followed by expressions of dismay, profanity, and groundless accusations.  It seems that some unknown has loaded up a few shells with black powder instead of the nice clean smokeless stuff.  Getting the residue out of an autoloader is going to require a complete disassembly and a bucket of Hoppe's #9.

Critter Loose
Back in the old MS-DOS days a fellow I know was employed, and I won't say where.  One complete and total ass hole in particular was always giving this bright, talented young man a hard time, and so one day...

A little squeak noise and a funny scurrying sound was heard.  The women who heard it hastily pushed away from their desks and held their skirts out of harm's way, looking for a critter.  No luck.  This went on for a few months, with good old Victor mouse traps being set, opinions about cruelty to animals being voiced, and one lady swore that something had been at her lunch.  Eventually the noise happened when some dumb propeller head was waiting for a drive to format, and being a busy body, he called his boss to voice a few suspicions.  The IS Department ding-a-lings perpetrated a search of all hard drives, found the executable on one machine (loads with the autoexec file and at random times runs a command file that produces the noise), then went looking for the alleged perpetrator of this noxious and decidedly unfunny hoax.  Guess where the source was found?

The ass in question got a chewing out, and gave my friend dirty looks for several weeks thereafter.

Home Invasion
Joe (not his real name) was a funny guy, always pulling tricks on everyone.  Frank was a fairly serious sort, was likeable and good company.  April first rolls around, and Joe, not able to keep his trap shut, says that he has the perfect joke to play on Frank.  He knows that Frank watches the Eleven O'Clock News every night, so he's going to put a mask on and pop up outside the picture window behind the TV.  He'll knock on the window to get Frank's attention, and then fire six .38 blanks from his revolver at Frank, thus scaring the living crap out of him.  Just for a joke.

Funny, right?

Well, Frank got wind of this comic act and got his S and W revolver, which he loaded with blanks.  He kept the revolver in his lap, hidden under a newspaper, and turns on the news.  Sure enough, Joe knocks on the window, raises his gun, and about died of a heart attack when Frank jumped up and let fly with six shots of his own.  Blanks, of course.

Joe didn't think it was a bit funny.

Revenge on the Plain
Old Cowboy, out in South Dakota, came from a medium size family.  He had a little brother, about five years his junior, and this being South Dakota and all, he and his friends were a bit hard on the little tyke.  Anyway, out west everyone is armed and dangerous one way or another, and Cowboy's little brother was no exception, having a .22 rifle.

One afternoon Cowboy, about 16 years old, had a few friends over, and they were teasing his little brother kind of hard.  The kid's only ten, so he can't wind up and take a solid swing at any of them, but they make him just as red-faced angry as anyone can get.  He promises to fill all of 'em full of lead, and storms up the stairs.  The group is downstairs laughing and generally carrying on, then they see little brother coming down the steps - and he's got his old man's 12 gauge pump, and he's stuffing shells into it.

Holy shit!  Cowboy's little brother's flipped his lid, and he's going to shoot!  Run!!

The entire group ran for the front door and tried to fit through it.  They heard little brother rack the slide just as three spilled through the door, down the steps, and ran like hell for the barn.  Shots were fired behind them, and the rest of the group followed hot on their tail.

Turned out that little brother had taken the shot out of the shot shells, and torched off three rounds while watching the teenagers run like hell.  In the end they all got a solid talking to by their father, who I guess was trying not to laugh at 'em too much.  Mom said it served 'em right.

Hunting Season
Back out in South Dakota, the Why Two Kay crises was in full swing, and the state hired a bunch of scum sucking contractors to help out.  Just imagine ten or eleven guys in a converted store front downtown, all with not much to do except work.

One guy was from Canada, and in my opinion was a real closet case.  He was also kind of dumb, in that retarded sort of way that you get when you've been drinking too much bourbon and now it's after 3:00 in the afternoon and you haven't had lunch yet.  Anyway, I wouldn't have trusted him with a broken lug wrench, let alone a loaded shotgun.  However...

When hunting season rolled around this Canuk wanted to go out with us in the worst way.  Well, we took him, and we've got eight hunters in a line on the prairie, all strung out, with the dog at one end and the Canuk at the other.  Guess who's walking next to the Canuk.

We don't see anything, and me being the nervous sort I'm making sure that I'm a bit behind the Canuk.  I was watching to see where the dog was when the gun goes off.  I hit the deck, and after a suitable length of time I poke my head up.  The rest of the guys are a bit worried that I've been shot, but I wasn't.  Then I asked the Canuk what he was shooting at.


"Pheasants?  Where?"

"Down there!  See 'em?"

Across the plain, about ten miles away, a few pheasants are getting up and flying to the next cover.  Yeah, I do mean it - ten miles.  It's open prairie, and you can see for miles.

Okay... the next week we're talking about Canadian honkers.  Pierre, SD is in their migration path, so these honkers stop at Capital Lake, which has the state capital building on one side, and the governor's mansion on the other.  The geese are thicker than fleas on a Tennessee hound dog's back, and they're wing to wing in Capital Lake.

Someone, I don't remember just who, started a rumor about the special goose season they have.  Once a year the Fish and Game people set up a special shoot where hunters can go clean a few of these geese out, right on Capital Lake.  We don't know just when it is, but it's got to be pretty soon.  We all want to go.  We keep talking about it, until Canuk volunteers to call the Fish and Game office and see when the special goose shoot is being held this year.

One guy had to turn his back, then choked on his coffee.

This was rolling right along until one of the older fellows saw a potential disaster ahead, or maybe he just felt sorry for the Canuk, who was about to dial the phone.

"Now wait a minute.  Think.  You got the governor's mansion on one side, the capital building on the other side, and a full parking lot at the rear.  Do you really, seriously, think that they're going to hold a Canadian goose shoot out there?"

And that killed it.  But the story got around, and all the men and women had a good laugh over it.  One woman suggested he build a blind.

Keyboard Hell
Back in Detroit, I had my first real contract that actually paid some serious bread and was out of town.  It was a real learning and growth experience.

This one little piss-ant thought he was in charge and he could be a real dick at times.  He made a big deal of locking his computer up whenever he left his desk, and when he was gone we had to take messages from his wife, and his ex-wife.  His ex didn't seem to be all that bad, but then I guess you never know.

There was a little fun program that you could load that would make typing a real interesting experience.  At random intervals, it would introduce a typo.  The longer you worked, the more often the error would occur.  Do it long enough, and you'd type pure gibberish.

Someone, and we don't know who, waited until big important mister supervisor left his desk for a meeting, then pulled the hood and jumped the key lock.  The hood was restored, the system started, and the Happy Typist released into the wild.

About a week down the road mister perfection finally noticed that maybe something was wrong.  When he held down the 'g' key, the line of gees was periodically interrupted by other characters.  That led to an investigation of the autoexec file and a subsequent search for the guilty, followed by persecution of the innocent.  Finally, one of the directors had a talk with all of us with super-visor out of the room, and told us to quit picking on him.  Then he described how mister supervisor came storming into his office and described what was going on, and said he was being persecuted.

Everyone had a good laugh over that one... except mister SUPER-visor.

And that's it.  If you have any good ones, post 'em.  



Page created: Tue, Jun 18, 2019 - 09:06 PM GMT