Mad Jack's Shack

ex luce ad tenebras

Plea for Help - Thank You! from Jackie

I set up a GoFundMe page for Jackie Ruth Brown Koson.  Here is a message sent to me from Jackie, which she asked me to share with everyone:

Thank you for setting up a GoFundme page under my name.  I have had tons of medical appointments that will continue for a while.  The good news is that I am now in physical therapy three times a week for the broken foot that I have had since June.  The Doctors discovered a second break which was not initially reported.

The surgery site is healing.  I will need further reconstruction in six months.

I need to maintain a healthy diet for my autoimmune disease.

I went to see my doctor today who told me to go buy scar away silicone patches which will help with further healing along with Vitamin E oil.

I was completely stressed today not knowing how I was going to meet all of the expenses that I have financially.  I came home to a GoFundme check in the mail which I am highly grateful for.

I would like to personally thank all the donors who donated funding.  I can not even put into words how much your donations mean to me.

I am forever grateful!

Warm regards to all,

Jackie Ruth Brown Koson
And there you have it.  The part that matters is not the amount; it's knowing that someone, somewhere cares about your well-being enough to send you a few bucks and maybe a prayer or two.

My sincere and heartfelt thanks to all of you for helping Jackie.


Plea For Help

It hits us all, even the most self-sufficient of us.  A few little things pile up - the truck throws a rod, and a few days later you have a grease fire in the kitchen, then a few days after that you're hauling a load of junk down to the curb for unlimited pickup day, and you step in a gopher hole and break your ankle in three places.  Now you can't work, and you can't get around.  And then?  Then you get cancer.

This is an approximation of Jackie Ruth Brown Kosen's past eight months.  Jackie-Ruth is a self-sufficient woman who spent 23 years living on a sailboat in the Florida Keys, where she made her living diving for shells to sell to the tourists, working odd jobs, and catching her dinner.  She started traveling again, and ended up in a tiny cabin off the grid in Mount Prairie Hollow, which is someplace in Moore Township, Missouri, and which, as everyone knows, is pretty close to Thomasville, Missouri.  She could hunt for her dinner, and was fully capable of shooting a six point buck in the morning and having venison for dinner that night.

The Day After Surgery

Right now Jackie is living in a nice house in Thayer, MO.  However, her ankle hasn't healed up correctly, she has autoimmune small-fiber polyneuropathy, and she just had a cancerous tumor removed from her face.  She's unable to work, and the disability checks just aren't enough.

All Jackie Ruth needs is enough to cover her expenses for the next three months.  In her case, that's one thousand dollars.  So what I'm asking is that anyone reading this, please share it.  If you, the reader, can spare a few bucks, please kick in and support a worthy cause.

One Week After Surgery
I set up a Go Fund Me page here: Go Fund Me: Help for Jackie-Ruth.  As for me, I eat my own dog food.  My check went out last week.


You Go When Your Number's Up

I came close to cashing in my chips yesterday (Saturday, 10/19/2019), but was saved at the last minute.  Here's the entire story in excruciating detail.

My brother Big Mike invited me out for a round of sporting clays at the Black Wing Shooting Center, 3722 Marysville Road in Delaware, Ohio.  It's a great place to go shooting.  All I have to say about sporting clays is that I enjoy it, and if you ever run into a skeet or trap shooter that thinks they can shoot and is getting a swelled head, just invite them out for a round of sporting clays.  They'll get a lesson in humility that they won't forget anytime soon.  Especially trap shooters, who are an arrogant, anti-social lot to begin with.

I'm shooting an Ithaca Model 37 in 12 gauge, with seven-and-a-half shot in target loads. It's a light gun, but it'll bruise your shoulder if you aren't careful.  Me being a manly man and all, I don't care about a bruised shoulder.  What's a few bruises and a little swelling?  Just be sure to hold your shotgun tight to your shoulder and remember to make sure the fillings in your teeth are tight.  You'll be just fine.

One round is 100 clay pigeons.  I didn't keep track of my count, although I will next time.  I probably broke over half, which is respectable score.  The best I was able to do was at station four, where I broke two birds with a single shot - on purpose, and did it twice.  The way this station is set up, the birds will cross at a single point, hence the two for one shot is possible.  On my first try pieces from one clay smashed into the other and broke it.  Okay, I'll take it.  I'm not proud.   The second shot I was dead on, and all that remained of those two birds was a cloud of dust.

Ha! Gotcha!

After twenty stations and four boxes of shells, I was really worn out.  We planned to go and try out a new Tiki restaurant after the shoot, which sounded good to me.

Big Mike found the Huli Huli Tiki Lounge, located at 26 W Olentangy Street in Powell, Ohio, and it's everything we'd hoped for.  The drinks were well above average, and the food is solid.  The service was spotty until we befriended the bartender, who was a shooter and a good guy.  The prices at the Huli Huli are in keeping with the food - we intend to return for another round.

The bad part about the Huli Huli is the band.  The drummer and bass player are solid.  The guitar player is not.  He showed up with a dozen foot pedals and he only needs one.  He failed to set his equipment up correctly - he gets feedback and static - and he doesn't understand that louder isn't better, and that the room is small.

We left before he really got rolling.

The other bad part is that the city of Powell is having some kind of local ceremony involving a bonfire, music, and I don't know what all.  I do know that the local PD was out in force and were issuing tickets for moving violations as quickly as they could.

We, Big Mike and I, were walking back to Mike's car.  We needed to cross the street, so we walked up to the crosswalk which has an orange sign in the center of the road:

Yield to Pedestrians

State Law

Traffic is heavy and slow in the far lane, but the lane closest to us is open.  I started to walk across, and Mike pulled me back in the nick of time.  Some driver ignored the sign entirely and blew through the crosswalk at about 35 mph.  Had I kept walking he would have struck and killed me, just as sure as I'm drinking gin tonight.

But he didn't, and the cops didn't see it which is a shame, and I didn't have anything to throw at him; not even lead from a .38 revolver.


The Return of the Midnight Shooter

We had another visitation from the Midnight Shooter.

At 12:40 AM EST on Sunday, 10/20/2019, an unknown amateur firearms aficionado discharged approximately 8 shots from a 9mm autoloader, changed magazines, and discharged 5 more shots.  The exact location of the alleged perpetrator of this horrific unlawful discharge of a firearm within the city limits and outside of a facility specifically designed and duly licensed for such an activity is unknown at this time.  However, I would guess that said location is someplace North of Misty Way in Southeast Columbus, Ohio. 

This time the shots were somewhat muffled, so I suspect he was shooting into the ground.

I didn't call it in.  Why bother?  The Columbus PD has some kind of new listening device that detects gunfire, approximates the location, and sends that information to Command Central.

Ten minutes later the CPD ghetto bird arrives, and the stupid thing circles the area for 15 - 20 minutes before giving up and returning to base.  The helicopter makes more noise than the shooter, and is a lot more aggravating.

And no, the shooter wasn't caught.

Just another day in Machine Gun Alley, Columbus, Ohio.


Important! Read this one...

If anyone reading this announcement plays games that are slightly more complex than slap jack, keep reading for hilarity that I truly wish I'd had a hand in designing.  For the rest of you, well... at least you can read.  Keep reading.  You'll love it.

For those of you who don't know about Kickstarter, where the hell have you been?  Even I know about Kickstarter, and I'm a social Luddite.

In brief terms, Kickstarter is a site you can visit and invest your scarce, hard earned cash into someone else's harebrained scheme to make billions a day from a new invention.  It's also a place where crackpot inventors can go and display their wares (the combination electric back scratcher, nasal spray, and duct tape dispenser, for instance) then invite people to invest in the production and sale of said ware.   Okay so far?  Wonderful.  I am truly amazed.

Thanks to Big Mike, I found a card game on Kickstarter that I predict is going to be a laugh a minute, and will surely be jerked off the site for multiple violation of the SJW code of moral conduct and sensitivity.  Check it out:

Virtue Signal: the Game of Social Justice

I'm not going to explain it here, as that's what the site is for.  I'm saying that I invested in it.  This is a game that is so cool it'll have SJWs everywhere chipping their teeth and trying to glue their heads back together before the first 5000 copies are sold, and the coolest part is that the louder they squeal, the more popular the game will become.

Ha! Ha!
Ha! Ha! Ha!

I love it.

But I'm not kidding when I tell you to hurry.  How the game stayed active on Kickstarter this long is a minor miracle.  Its very existence is a supreme insult to SJWs everywhere - and everyone else that isn't a main stream heterosexual I-was-born-this-way man or woman.

Go check it out and tell me if I'm wrong.

Right now the game stands at:

$21,530 pledged of $25,000 goal, with 515 backers and 23 days to go.


Loads of Fertilizer For The Turbine Blades

Most of this is screaming news, the sole purpose of which is to drown out real problems. Let's see what we've got here, and then I'll cite a few problems I think are serious.

Courtesy of NBC News, we get the latest on the Guyger murder and subsequent trial.

Amber Guyger Found Guilty of Murder at Trial In Fatal Shooting of Neighbor Botham Jean

Amber Guyger was found guilty of murder on Tuesday for fatally shooting her neighbor, Botham Jean, after thinking he was an intruder when she mistakenly entered his apartment.

She faces a maximum of life in prison.

The jury was tasked with deciding whether or not Guyger, 31, acted reasonably when she used deadly force, and if the prosecution had proven beyond a reasonable doubt that she intentionally killed Jean or if a lesser charge of manslaughter, which involves reckless conduct, was warranted.
Imagine you're at home, having a cocktail and watching the idiot box.  An unknown dressed in the ubiquitous blue uniform walks into your castle uninvited, screams something vaguely incoherent, and puts two 9mm slugs through your heart.  Now, I don't leave my door unlocked, but I don't wear my pistol while I'm inside my own home.  But let's say I have it next to me, or on me.  I have to realize I'm being invaded, draw against a terrorist that already has his gun drawn, and put a .357 slug into his spine before he puts one to my heart.  I don't think I'm up to it, but I might as well try - I'm dead anyway.

Moving along to Reuters, always a fave of mine in the Moonbat Press, we've got a big win for pornography star Stormy Daniels.

Stormy Daniels Settles Lawsuit Over Arrest at Ohio Strip Club

(Reuters) - Porn star Stormy Daniels has settled a lawsuit against the city of Columbus, Ohio, for $450,000, receiving the payout after she charged that police arrested at a strip club in retaliation for her claim that she had an affair with Donald Trump.

Meredith Tucker, a spokeswoman for the city [of Columbus, OH] attorney’s office, told other media the parties reached a settlement of $450,000 during mediation, an amount that was “fair given the facts and circumstances involved.”
First off, the city government in Columbus is listed in the Moonbat Hall of Infamy as being completely, totally, and incontrovertibly committed to the Lunatic Left. The Columbus Cops work for the city government, which means that they are all officially left handed (while at work, anyway).  Any suggestion that this mess was instigated by the GOP for political reasons is hogwash, believable by those members of government that have been smoking their own mushrooms.

Of course, the Mayor and his cronies are Liberal, and now they look stupid and liberal (how tough is that?) and the city got fined $450 large, so... maybe they've got something there.

Ockham's razor dictates stupidity on the part of the police who set up the sting and made the arrest, and the Mayor's Office who directed operations from mobile command central.  But still, the GOP is pretty smart.  Makes one wonder, doesn't it?

From Fox News we get the latest attack on the President.

Hannity: Democrats 'guilty of nearly every single accusation they are throwing at' Trump

Fox News host Sean Hannity's commentary Monday night took on new relevance as a photo emerged raising questions over former Vice President Joe Biden's involvement in the firing of a Ukrainian  prosecutor, who was investigating a company that employed his son [well, whataya know bout that - MJ].

Hannity argued that the Democrats are trying to impeach President Trump over a "manufactured crisis," while they commit misconduct themselves.

“The great irony here is that once again – it is the Democrats [who] are guilty of nearly every single accusation they are throwing at the president."

Remember: SJWs always lie, and SJWs always double down.  Credit to Vox Day.

In terms some of you can easily understand, have you ever been unjustly accused of infidelity?  You deny it, offer an alibi, but over time the accusations continue until, for no discernible reason, they stop.  Then you find out that someone in your happy home has been unfaithful alright, and it isn't you.

Yeah, like that.  That's an SJW who is doubling down.

Real issues are being drowned out by the screaming and moonbat howling over this non-issue.  The moonbats hope this will carry on through the next election, when their arch enemy will again emerge victorious causing an insurrection.  Not armed, thought, because the Left doesn't believe in guns.

And then we get life on the street, again from Fox:
Phoenix Police Say Driver Killed Man For 'Looking At Him' at Red Light

A man [Mixon - MJ] was killed in March after he “looked over” at another driver at a red light, police in Arizona revealed, saying the suspected killer was arrested this past week.

“Pulling up next to another car and looking over at the driver may seem like a common occurrence, but it now appears to be the motive behind a violent murder,” police said Friday in a news release.

Police made that statement in announcing the arrest Thursday of Nicolas Elliott, 30, on a charge of murder in the March 1 death of 26-year-old Alex Mixon at a Phoenix intersection.

Three people told police they were with Elliott at the time of the shooting and they said Mixon “merely looked over at (Elliott) which in turn enraged (him) to fire his handgun at (Mixon),” the Arizona Republic reported citing court documents.
Three witnesses, and now we're going to have a trial and several appeals, and the dirty son-of-a-bitch will avoid the firing squad.

So if this isn't serious, what is?

Public Education. The little darlings that are most in need of all the education they can get aren't learning to read, let alone comprehend what they read.  In some areas classroom discipline is so bad that the teachers are getting danger pay, and now some districts refuse to expel the worst offenders on the grounds of racial discrimination.  What do we do to correct this?

Take a left wing city, like Chicago.  Get 100 incorrigible cases and send them to a military school in Aardvark Flats, TX.  No phones, plenty of activity.  Discipline is not unreasonable and help is always there - because, quite frankly, these children will not know how to behave.  Their family can come and visit them on Christmas and two other holidays.

When they graduate, show the rest of the U.S. the cost of the school versus the cost of supporting them at home, and the fact that they are no longer criminals.

National Debt. Right now it's about $22 trillion ($22,000,000,000,000), an amount that most people can't imagine.  I certainly can't.  It's getting larger, and at some point it must be paid back.  Here's a clue: I don't think it's going to be paid back this year.  Next year isn't looking good either.

Given that the national debt is getting larger instead of smaller, my real question is, "Where the hell is it all going?"  Because if we knew that, we could cut back on spending in a few areas and maybe the debt would start shrinking.

Ah, if only it 'twere s'-simple.

Disarming the Law Abiding Citizens.  In an effort to curb so-called mass shootings, the incredibly stupid segment of our society seeks to disarm law abiding gun owners. That won't fix the problem, but the elected officials who support this violation of civil rights see one thing and one thing only: Reelection.

Until we get elected officials who make civil rights - all civil rights - their major issue, and are elected, the clock is ticking and it's only a matter of time before my front door is kicked in by a troop of jack booted thugs.

One thing that gives me hope is that some police have stated that they'll never enforce an order to confiscate firearms in a house to house search and seizure operation.  We'll see.

Thoughts? Opinions?


Employee Abuse at Google

Take any or all of the top fifty tech companies, and Google will float to the top.  Being bored out of my mind recently, I decided to read Slashdot which is rare for me, and I stumbled over this story about employee abuse at Google.

Evidently, over the past few years, the tyrannical middle management at Google have a zero tolerance policy for whiners and whistle blowers, but there's a bit more to the story than the tip of the iceberg you can see, looming dead ahead in the fog.

The story on Slashdot is Google Employees Explain How They Were Retaliated Against For Reporting Abuse, which in some cases is probably true.  The original story comes from the Motherboard section of Vice dot com, where it shares space with an article about impeaching President Trump, right next to another story about porn stars, anal sex, and how the stars prepare for scenes with a farm animal.

In this case, the big story follows the title and doesn't say much more.  What's interesting are the comment and responses area.

I think it's appropriate to note that Slashdot isn't really a news site.  It's much more of a Hey, lookit this shit! site, and the Lefties that make up the vast majority of the Slashdot contributors predictably do the right thing and crucify the named villain - in this case it's Google, who, I'm sure, is every bit as worried about an article like this one as AOC worries about the national debt.  In this case there was somewhat of a backfire, as not all contributors are flat liners looking for a place to scream.  I found it interesting because it illustrates the difference in the thought process between the emotional, liberal Left and the erudite, conservative Right.

The Left sees a story like this one and starts barking at the moon.  They verbally dog pile the target, and repeat whatever the accuser says, adding a few superlatives of their own.

The Right reads the story, notes a few facts and produces a summation.  Our story of abuse of authority takes place over a few years within a company that is in the Fortune 50 group, and who employs over 100,000 people.  Now then, even if all these stories are true, and even if there are twice or even three times the number of cases that we have here, that's only 0.00135 percent.  Not even one percent.  In a company that large, it's reasonable to believe that someone doing the hiring is going to screw up the process and hire an undesirable employee or two.  And, because no one likes to fire people (except me - I love to fire incompetent employees), the manager will do everything he can to make the employee successful.

But some people are stupid and never should have been hired in the first place.  Once hired, they screw everything up, and it's everyone's fault but theirs.

You can find the original document of cases at this link:  Actual Document of Examples

This is the Left in action, and I'm glad I'm retired.  All I need is for some joy boy to explain that he identifies as a LatinX African-American cisFemale (just try and figure out what that is, Glen Filthie), and It needs me to be extra careful so as not to micro-trigger It.


Quora Question: Why is there air?

The old Coz knew the answer to that one.  Here's a few answers I posted on Quora, mainly to see how long my insightful if somewhat pithy responses would be tolerated by the overly sensitive Quora censors that protect humanity from people like me.

What is an urban dance fitness class like?

You get one of two scenarios:
One, it’s a bunch of fat people sweating and struggling for air as they try to keep up with an instructor that’s fit for the Olympics.

Two, it’s a bunch of gorgeous women in skin tight leotards perspiring lightly while executing a professional level dance routine. You’ll see the occasional man there, but unless the guy looks like a model and is gayer than a three dollar bill, he’ll get frozen out.

Are there industrial risks in San Cristóbal, Venezuela?

Yeah, and the top three are starvation, disease, and hot lead from an AK-47.

How do theatre people in wheelchairs typically adapt dance choreography involving leg movements?

They don’t. What are you, nuts?
Note: This answer got 'collapsed' almost immediately.  I appealed on the grounds of reality, and that the question in and of itself was insensitive to differently abled people in general.  My appeal fell on deaf ears.

Which is your favourite Albanian folk dance?

Depending on partners, my all time favorite Albanian folk dance is the i gjallë me tre mënyra. Traditional music isn’t all that hard to find, but people who really know the dance, and really understand it are a little rare. I learned it when I was a teenager (girls next door taught me), and back then everyone just sort of piled onto the dance floor. The audience would applaud and shout encouragement to their favorite people.

Now, not so much.

What professional ballet is famous for being the worst performed?

It’s hard to say, but in all likelihood it’s Swan Lake, as choreographed by an artistic dim-bulb and his assistant choreographer, who turned out to be a retired high school football coach from somewhere in Alabama (a State in the U.S.). Judging by the choreography, the choreographer likely worked in a canning factory and was laid off due to incompetence.

The university in question, and it will recognize itself here, was busy stuffing some new scandal under the carpet, and during the process was forced to replace a few people with virtual unknowns. Hence these two chowder heads are now in charge.

One of them decided it would be cute to employ a troop of Junior High girls to play a flock of swans, which might have worked with the help of Divine intervention, except that a group of elementary age girls were being taught (that’s the wrong word, but bear with me) by a bellicose, self-important behemoth who demanded a position in the production for her little darlings from some pencil pusher who was in a position to give in to her. Unfortunately, no one pushed her under a bus, and so the kids were included.

What could possibly go wrong?

Rehearsals were guaranteed to include three melt-downs, and halfway through the second week any dancer with even a tiny smidgen of talent or common sense walked off the stage. The remaining gaps got filled with dancers desperate enough to take the jobs, or who were convinced that this wasn’t really happening, that it was Candid Camera or something similar. Does anyone remember Candid Camera and Allen Funt?

Well, the show must go on. Two of the kids ended up in the Orchestra pit; one fell (or was pushed) and another was supposed to exit stage left with the rest of the birds, but suddenly lost her mind and jumped down into the pit so as to hide. Or something. Then it turned out the lead couldn’t lift the prima - she was a hefty little thing - so she kicked him in the shins and his understudy had to take over. Then things got worse.

At the end of the show - I don’t know if you’re familiar with Swan Lake, so bear with me - at the end of the show, pretty much everyone dies. To signify this, the assistant choreographer thought it would be appropriate to discharge a blunderbuss loaded with black powder. No shot, just powder. Safety and all, you see. Before anyone could stop him, he torched it off and scared the toe shoes off the swans, who screamed and ran like hell. The audience was a bit startled and jumped to their feet, and the stage was covered in a haze of gunsmoke.

And the curtain dropped.

You’ll note that I’ve omitted names here, and there’s a reason for that. Anyone who can’t guess at the reason should run for office. You’ll make a dandy politician.

So the answer to your question is: Swan Lake.
Note: I felt I was in rare form here.  We'll see how long this masterpiece lasts.


Of Mice and Mayhem

Wednesday morning (the infamous 9-11) I got ambitious enough to make eggs and bacon for breakfast.  Just for a change of pace, I scrambled the eggs in my small, cast iron skillet.  I inherited this from my great-uncle Clyde, who used it every morning during the depression.

Clyde was a bachelor, preferring the hell of his own making over the excruciating torment delightfully brought on by his one big mistake in life.  The man was content to live alone, and by all accounts was happiest that way.

After breakfast I went out to run some errand or other, and when I returned what should I find?  A nice, big field mouse helping itself to the leftover eggs in my skillet, which I'd thoughtfully left on the stove just for him.  The cute little pestilence would hop into the skillet and get some eggs, then hop out and hide under the skillet.

Right next to the burner.

So it occurred to me that if I were quiet and dropped down below Mr. Mouse's line of vision, I could sneak up and turn the burner on.

The downside here is that the flames might not prove instantly fatal, and Mr. Mouse would crawl away to a suitably unreachable spot in the kitchen, where he would slowly achieve entropy and stink the place up.

Another option was to find a suitable instrument, such as a broom handle, and dispatch the rodent by spontaneous cranial compression.  This would require a blunt instrument of suitable size (easily done) and the dexterity to wield same with efficiency.  Just imagine, if you will, the sight of a somewhat elderly, overweight man attacking a stove with a broom handle, while the mouse escapes.

So that's out.

I found an old Victor trap in the basement and baited it with peanut butter, then set it on the kitchen counter.  I also gave the area a cleaning while I was at it.

In the morning, the peanut butter was gone and the mouse was still at large.

I debated setting a bait in my stainless steel sink.  The mouse climbs in to get the bait, but sadly can't get out.  In the morning all I need to do is turn the water on, the switch on the garbage disposal.  What, you're telling me it wouldn't work?  I suppose it might make a mess somehow.

So it's off to Home Depot where I bought a garden hose, a nozzle, and a bag of Victor mouse traps.  I set the traps, baited with peanut butter, and drank gin until I felt like going to bed.  In the morning, one trap had been sprung:

Mad Jack 1, Mouse 0

I left the rest of the traps set, but this morning there were no more trapped mice, and no more stolen bait.  I'll got two more nights, but I think the final victory is mine.


Joke Time

God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael, the archangel, found him, resting on the seventh.

"Where have you been?" Michael asked.

God smiled deeply and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds.

"Look, Michael. Look what I've made."

Archangel Michael looked puzzled, and said, "What is it?"

"It's a planet," God replied, "and I've put life on it. I'm going to call it Earth and it's going to be a place to test balance."

"Balance? I'm still confused."

God explained, pointing to different parts of Earth..

"For example, northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth, while southern Europe is going to be poor.  Over here I've placed a continent of white people, and over there is a continent of black people. Balance in all things."

God continued to explain, pointing to different countries. 

"This one will be extremely hot, while this one will be very cold and covered in ice."

The Archangel, impressed by God's work, then pointed to a land area and said, "What's that one?"

"That's Florida, the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful trees and gardens, it's surrounded by water, and days filled with sunshine. The people from Florida are going to be handsome, modest, intelligent, and humorous, and they are going to travel the world. They will be extremely sociable, hardworking, high achieving, carriers of peace, and producers of good things."

Michael gasped in wonder and admiration, but then asked, "But what about balance, God? You said there would be balance."

God smiled an all-knowing smile.

"I'll create California.  Just wait untill you see the idiots I'll put there."


Banned Words

All kinds of words have been banned over the years.  The first word that comes to my mind is antidisestablishmentarianism, but that's probably just me.  I'm a bit odd.

On my previous contribution to the overall knowledge of mankind, a casual reader delurked a left a single, succinct suggestion.

When you use the phrase "gun control" you cede most of the ground to The Enemy, who created that phrase for just that purpose. Use "disarming the law-abiding" because THAT is what is under "discussion" (a term you should also reject).

My thanks to Lens Larque for an excellent suggestion.

Beginning today, the phrase gun control will no longer appear in any of my posts.  Instead, I'll use disarming the law-abiding public.  I'll have to find something else to replace discussion with.  Something on the order of "unwarranted attack" comes to mind.

Comments may, of course, use whatever language the author of the comment sees fit.


Shootings and Solutions

Well, unless you've been incommunicado for the past week, you know all about the two new mass shootings that have the anti-freedom crowd frothing at the mouth.

Kicking around the Internet, I found one blogger who got it right, and who is worth reading.

Keep going, with the standard disclaimer about special little snowflakes and thin skinned moonbats getting their cute little hides branded.

I found Stilton's Place owned and operated by Stilton Jarlsberg, via Bayou Renaissance Man.  Stilton makes some good points in Unintended Consequences, most of which I agree with.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say that old Uncle Stilt put all ten shots in the bull's eye.

My own thoughts have changed somewhat.  I used to blame untreated and undiagnosed mental illness for most of these terrorist attacks, but I no longer think that's the case.  Instead, I think that the world contains bad people, and from time to time they commit one or more felonies and are caught by the police, ground up by the judicial system, and sent to prison.  In a long while, they'll be back in society.

The problem is obvious: How do you find these bad people and get rid of them before they become a real problem?  Well, the only way I know how to do it is to find the man killing random people in a gun free zone.  That's the one we all want to get rid of.  Other than that, I am, strictly speaking, at a dead loss.  I have no idea, nor have I heard any that will work, and will not make life impossible for the law abiding hoi polloi trying to go about their daily business.

The anti-freedom Left screams about gun control.  In truth, the Democrat politicians and their mouthpieces will scream anything to get elected.  If the Left thought that supporting the Second Amendment would secure them a coveted seat in the government, you'd see each and every one of them openly carrying a sidearm of their choice, along with photo-ops down at the local range.

What the Left continues to fail at, and what the Right fails to point out, is that whatever it is we've been doing is not working.  Gun control doesn't prevent shootings.  Just look at Chicago - check Second City Cop and Hey Jackass! Illustrating Chicago Values, which as stats that are truly amazing.

For his part, Stilton writes:

Gun control can not and will not change any of this. The phenomena of mass shootings is, in fact, unstoppable absent a wholesale change in our culture, our way of life, and our society's unhealthy obsession with an inhuman and inhumane electronic world.
I'd compare this to traffic laws.  I live in Columbus, Ohio, and twice a day on work days, we have excessive traffic congestion on the beltway and on I-70.  We also have one or more accidents, some of which are fatal.  Now it would seem to me, since I'm not all that bright, that after a while the people traveling to and from work would get the idea that they should drive a bit more carefully.  It would also seem that attrition would take its toll, and in five years or so, we wouldn't have the traffic problems we have today.

Well, dream on genius, because that ain't the case.

As I write, I overlook a side street with heavy to-and-from work traffic, and two or three times during the rush hour, some jackass lays on his horn because the moron in front of him is fucking around with his phone rather than paying attention to the traffic - which started moving three seconds ago.  That's the attitude on the beltway during rush hour.

The unbelievable crap I see on the road is the only convincing argument I've ever heard supporting gun control.  Next time you drive in rush hour traffic, take a hard look around you.  Count the morons and the psychopaths.  How many of these people would you really trust to carry a loaded gun?  Me, I wouldn't trust most of them with an empty beer can.

Stilton blames society's obsession with the electronic world, and he's right.  Partly right.  I think there's more to it than that, but all I can do is drive safely and pack my gat.

And pray.


My Interesting Life - 7/26/2019

Yesterday, while minding my own business, I missed getting into a traffic accident by ten feet or so, then I saw some poor little kid get punched out and decked by an adult while at my local Kroger's.  Here's my rant, complete with racist, misogynist, misandrist, and politically incorrect and callous comments.

All you special little snowflakes and SJWs better plug your ears and blind yourself with number two pencils before continuing.

I'd been putting off my grocery shopping all day.  I just didn't have the ambition, and there's food and liquor in the house, so if I don't want to go, what the fuck?  I live alone, or rather Danté and I live alone, and Danté, being a cat who came in from the alley, is not particular about what kind of dry cat food he eats.  He doesn't like tuna fish because it reminds him of the time he spent looking for a little safety from dogs and ass hole zipperhead lawn boys who chased him with a weed whacker.  The local maintenance man put a stop to that and threatened them with deportation.  Damned gooks.

So around seven o'clock that evening I decided a run to the grocery was in order.  I was northbound on McNaughten Road, intending to make a left on to E Main Street, and got hung up behind a moke at the light.  The moke finally goes, then I've got to wait for some soccer mom in a mini-van who is being tailgated by a dumb-ass fat lady in a sedan.  Now I'm clear, except for one car - another mini-van - but he's about 400 feet north of me.  The green arrow changes to yellow, and I check his position to see if he's going to try and beat the light.  I estimate his speed at 35 mph (51 feet per second) and he can't possibly make it in time.  So, since I'm in the intersection, I start my turn.

Everyone reading this knows what happens next, but I'm going to say it anyway.

Instead of stopping, which he has plenty of room and time to do, the silly son-of-a-bitch speeds up.  I'm watching, and I see him put the hammer down.  He's closing fast, so I put my foot in it, and he misses me by maybe ten feet or so.

Northbound on McNaughten, South of E Main

The Intersection, Courtesy of Google Maps

The very next thing I hear are squealing tires and the distinctive crump of a nasty fender bender.  This clown nailed somebody.

I'm not terribly civic minded.  The way I see it, the ubiquitous Average Joe has enough problems of his own without me trying to help him.  But in this case, half of me argues, said ubiquitous Average Joe was being a complete ass hole and as a result, some poor schmuck has a brand new set of problems, likely starting with physical injury.  Ah, hell.  I find a place to turn around, then I head back to the scene of the crime.  The accident isn't as bad as I thought it might be.  The ass hole in question turns out to be some ugly old white guy who is loudly claiming his innocence to anyone who'll listen.  The driver of the other car, the alleged victim in this case, is a middle aged black woman, about 5'2" tall, maybe 375 pounds.  She is clearly shaken up and has that deer in the headlights look to her.  I park my heap in the City Barbecue lot, and about that time officialdom rolls in with sirens, lights, and authority.

I gave my statement to a nice looking lady cop who'd been on the job less than one year.  When she asks for ID, I pull my CCW license along with my DL and pass them over.  When she asks if I'm packing heat, I tell her 'No, as I didn't see a need for it.' and explained I showed her my CCW to add to my credibility.  It means I passed a background check and am not, generally speaking, an Average Joe.  When she asks if I'd be willing to testify in court, I tell her that I would consider it an honer and a privilege to go to court and testify.  Which is the truth.

The circus finally breaks up, and we all go our merry ways.  Or at least we leave.

Now I'm at Kroger's, and having filled my short list I decide that a frozen pizza is on the menu tonight, because I don't feel like cooking and I don't feel like eating out.  The frozen foods section is pretty much empty.  There yours truly, and about 20 feet away a family of three: Mom, Dad, Son of about 10 years old, tall, slender build.  I don't know what they're doing; I'm searching for my pizza.  They don't have my regular make and model, so I'm busy reallocating my marginal utilities.

Ever hear someone get slugged in the midsection?  I hear that, and when I look over the kid is doubled up on the deck, crying and rolling back and forth.  The father (I'm thinking boyfriend here) says something about, "You got to learn to watch out for them doors, boy."  Then the mother says, "Now he's crying.  Good job."  Mom doesn't seem all that upset, and the guy, a middle aged black packing a lot of beef around his upper body, has that satisfied look. 

The trouble is, I didn't see the punch.

Again, I'm not all that civic minded, but on my way to the check out register I get to thinking about this.  The Mom isn't doing much, so either A) she doesn't give a damn, or B) she gets slapped around at home, and maybe worse.  Then there's the kid.  When I left the aisle, he'd managed to get to his feet, but was still doubled up.  The man says that it was an accident, the kid says "You did that on purpose!"  Which, I think, he probably did.

I cash out, and find a security guard outside.  I tell him what I've seen, how the people were dressed, and he tells me that, "I'm a father, and that kind of shit doesn't fly around here."  He's carrying a few extra pounds, but he's also built pretty solid.  I guess I might have hung around to see if a witness was needed, but these are the sort of people that will start right up if questioned.

Had I actually seen the punch, I would have left my cart and gone to security immediately.  But I didn't, and that's that.

Now iTunes refuses to play my iPod, stating that something isn't loaded.  So I guess it's back to the old salt mines for me this morning.

Have a nice Friday.


Joke Time!

I thought this was a good one, but naturally it's a bit off color.  Continue at your own risk.

She was standing in the kitchen, preparing their usual breakfast  - soft-boiled eggs, toast, and coffee - wearing only the T-shirt that she slept in.  As he walked in, half awake, she turned to him and said softly, “You've got to make love to me this very moment!"

His eyes lit up and he thought, "I'm either still asleep and dreaming or this is going to be my lucky day!"  Not wanting to lose the moment, he embraced her and then gave it his all right there on the kitchen table.

Afterwards, she said, ‘Thanks’, and returned to the stove, her T-shirt still around her neck.

Happy, but a little puzzled, he asked, “What was that all about?"

She explained, “The egg timer's broken."


Black Plague, Los Angeles Homeless, and a Crapcopter with a Flamethrower

That last should get Glen Filthie, owner and operator of Filthie's Thunderbox , started right up.  You see, Glen has been having an argument with the boys in the Treehouse Club about drones and low yield nuclear devices, Vulcan Cannons, and the end of the world as ISIS would like to know it.

Then there's Los Angeles and the brand knew revelation by a cartoonist and a noteworthy doctor that, surprise-surprise, L.A. is going to be facing a very serious health crises in the near future.

Keep reading for my politically incorrect rant, which is guaranteed to anger and activate any and all special little snowflakes in a sixty mile radius.  The drone argument is at the end.

Browsing around Breitbart I happened to find this story about conditions in Los Angeles, CA. Since my brother, California Dave, lives out in L.A. I took a gander at it just to see what's up.

Let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

Dr. Drew: Los Angeles Faces Imminent Outbreak of Bubonic Plague
From the article:

Dr. Drew Pinsky said Friday that Los Angeles faces an imminent outbreak of bubonic plague because of the growth of the homeless population and the failure of state and local authorities to deal with rodent problems.

Dr. Drew told Adams [Scott Adams, noted cartoonist and host of his own radio show - MJ] that he had predicted the recent typhus outbreak in Los Angeles, which was carried by rats, transferred by fleas to pets, and from pets to humans.

Bubonic plague, Dr. Drew said, like typhus, is endemic to the region, and can spread to humans from rodents in a similar fashion.

For those of us who slept through history class in high school, know that in 1346 until about 1353, roughly one-third of Europe was wiped out by what we believe to be bubonic plague.  Records being what they were back then, the disease may well have been something else, but we'll never know for sure.

Los Angeles has roughly 60,000 homeless people, most of whom are living in tents, crapping in the city storm drains (or on the sidewalk), and throwing their trash onto the trash pile next to the tent city.  Now, who loves trash?  Rats.

Rats show up for a free meal, and rats carry disease.  Fleas bite the rats, get the disease, and then hop onto the homeless - or just hop off any old where, and pass the disease along to someone else.  Like, for instance, Los Angeles Deputy City Attorney Liz Greenwood.  From Typhus Epidemic Worsens in Los Angeles:

Greenwood believes she contracted typhus from fleas in her office at City Hall East. Fleas often live on rats, which congregate in the many heaps of trash that are visible across the city of LA, and are a breeding ground for typhus.

"There are rats in City Hall..."

Say that again, please?

"There are rats in City Hall and City Hall East," Greenwood said. "There are enormous rats and their tails are as long as their bodies."

The storm water system is supposed to handle rain water and grey water.  It's not designed to handle raw sewage.  But thanks to L.A. city government, they now have the raw sewage from 60,000 people being dumped into the Pacific ocean every single fucking day, which is where the storm drains end up.  Nice, huh?

On top of that, Los Angeles has no rodent control system, so the rats are here to stay.

This isn't a question of money.  Los Angeles has been absorbing hundreds of thousands of illegal aliens without breaking stride.  Mind you, none of these illegals have had any kind of vaccination at all, so brace yourselves for a brand new outbreak of some weird new disease that, up until now, was only found in South African monkeys, and was transmitted by their habit of licking each other's asses.

So if it isn't the bread, what is it?  Mental illness, drug addiction and abuse, and frankly, feeding them.  Stop handing out benefits, and the homeless will riot, but will eventually relocate to another city where they can receive benefits.  Like, for instance, Austin, Texas, where the city council recently passed a law making it legal for people to camp out on the city sidewalks.

Brilliant, right?

The homeless could be relocated, except that the ACLU got involved and prevented it.  So now they can't be relocated, unless the government wants to defy the court system, which right now doesn't sound like a bad idea.  If the cops would go along with it, what could happen?

The real solution for Los Angeles is to get rid of the rats in city hall, but I don't see that happening in the next five years.  Unless, of course, the black death gets a firm foothold and important people start keeling over.  Which, you know, could be accepted philosophically - there's always some good in everything, right?

Which brings me to the drone article.

Besides a camera, what would you really like to put on a drone?  A flamethrower!  Well, check this out: Drones With Flamethrowers Are A Thing You Can Buy Now.

The thing tears around like any other drone, and the flamethrower has a 25 foot range with 100 seconds of firing time.  Nice, huh?  Just wait until the sand monkeys and goat fuckers get hold of this beast.  Coming to a neighborhood near yours!

But there's a catch. From the article:

The catch (because there's always one, right?) is the WASP costs a whopping $1,500 — and that's without a drone. Add on the cost of a DJI S1000+ drone, which runs $1,500, and you're looking at $3,000 for the full setup.

So at $3,000, it's a bit over the old crapcopter budget.  I guess Glen wins another one.  Oh well.  But maybe with a can of butane and an igniter of some kind... there wouldn't be as much range, but still and all, it'd be cool.


SJWs Reach a Brand New Low

I broke my toes on an empty case of bourbon, fell into my office chair and multi-fingered the keyboard for about three eternities.  When I was able to see again, I found myself staring at Quillette, and the article Publicly Shaming a Musician for Calling a Composition by Its Name by Kurt Gottschalk.  It looked interesting.

The SJWs are still at it, this time in Nova Scotia.  The event was a gathering of... well, I better insert the standard warning before I continue, because I'm going to get nasty.  If you're an SJW, continue at your own risk.

The event is called OBEY Convention XII, and it's funded by the state of Canada and a host of others who want to stay on the right side of the SJWs and the alphabet soup of door knob sucking faggots and dykes.  The trouble is, SJWs eat their own, as a few people discovered that eventful weekend.

The subject at the event is avant-garde art.  Visual, tactile, auditory (not music), and other is all represented.  Think in terms of a deranged Bozo with an aluminum step ladder and a bicycle pump.

One American (read: United States) composer named Mary Jane Leach was invited to give a lecture about an equally obscure composer and homosexual black man named Julius Eastman (1940-1990).  I don't expect anyone reading this to have heard of either one of these people, much less heard their music, but I'll say this about each: Their genre is avant-garde unknown.  I suppose you could label them both as classical, but the reality is that their music lurks about in the fringes of the same area where you might hear Phillip Glass (whose work I've heard and enjoy) or maybe Frank Zappa's classical compositions, although both those are something of a stretch due to quality control.  To give myself credit where credit is due, I looked up both Leach and Eastman on the Internet, found a few of their compositions on YouTube, and gave them a listen.  I was able to tolerate Eastman for 30 seconds; Leach I listened to as background music while I was doing something else.  She isn't too bad, especially when compared to Eastman.  Leach claims to have known Eastman, and for all I know they were close friends, although I doubt it.

But that's neither here nor there.

In a collection of self-proclaimed artists that no one has ever heard of, and in an audience so desperate for entertainment that they'll actually attend an event like this (pseudo intellectuals, wannabe bohemians, and real closet cases is what I'm thinking), Leach gave a lecture on Eastman, then was supposed to follow it up the next day with a concert of her own.  Eastman's known works include:

Does anyone see a pattern here?

Mary Jane Leach, being an NYC avant-garde (I just love that word.  It means 'fucked up, but nobody wants to admit it'.) composer, listed a few of these compositions by name.  Big mistake, MJ.  Shortly thereafter, an unknown SJW complained to the powers that be, who immediately swung into action.  They canceled Mary Jane Leach's program for reasons that were never made clear to her, except to say that she'd deliberately injured a group of SJWs and so was being expelled and forced to wear a sandwich sign proclaiming her to be unclean and a social pariah.  Figuratively speaking.

Kurt Gottschalk doesn't do justice to the situation.  From his article:
The decision to cancel Leach’s concert was, more than clearly, made out of respect for people of colour and for the oppression they’ve experienced and continue to experience.
Which is stable dressing.  The decision was made from ignorance and hatred, no more, no less.  This is what the Canadian SJWs are like.  They're societal piraña, not caring what they eat or destroy, only that they must eat.  In this case they, the sparse attendees and the prolific crowd of artists, needed someone to hate.  Welcome the guest of honor, Mary Jane Leach.

And so, in summary, at an event that very few people have ever heard of, a naïve speaker gave a brief lecture about a dead black faggot who thought he was a noteworthy composer, and as a result of speaking the literal, uncensored truth was pilloried by her intellectual inferiors.  Being a musician of sorts and having no training in SJW combat, she has no ideas about how to fight back.  I recommend she read SJWs Always Lie and SJWs Always Double Down, both by Vox Day.

Why am I bothered about this?  For the same reason that, in 1985, my brother Shotgun Bob experienced a similar event in college during his Latin class.  The professor explained that the Latin word for 'black' was nigreos.  When some jungle bunny jumped up and objected, the professor just smiled and explained that the language had been this way for two thousand years, and he was a bit late in his objections.  I gather that the black stopped showing up for class after that, and his formal complaints went into the round file.

The thing that bothers me is that the SJWs are so completely fucking stupid that they'll actually support an event like this one, and castigate some mercilessly for speaking the unvarnished truth, and now that the OBEY convention has some free publicity more people might attend, and the voice of sanity is being drowned out by the screeching of the moonbats.

Thanks for reading.


Plight of the Children and Others

I saw this on... okay, somewhere.  I think it's incredibly stupid, and for any of you who want to know why I find it incredibly stupid, keep reading.  The rest of you can keep surfing.

Did You Know?

2.7 million children have one or more parents in prison, which means that the children are not living with a criminal.  Is that so bad?

400,000 children are in foster care; their home life was so bad that the State finally stepped in and provided a temporary solution to what is very likely a permanent problem.  Do you have the slightest idea how bad things have to get before the foster care system will actually take action?

765,000 children are separated from one or both parents who are in the military, and don't know if they'll see their parents again.  Which is true in some cases, but much less so in others.  Case in point, it takes a minimum of three soldiers to put one soldier on the front line, and that's dealing with the bear necessities.  This figure is inflated, and most importantly, the parents made this choice for the children - they knew, right up front, what the situation would be before they decided to have children.

The media focuses on 2000 children separated from their illegal immigrant parents, which is what sells papers.  Again, the truth is that the 'parents' aren't even accompanying their so-called children.  The kids are being used to help criminals enter the United States, and right here I'm going to mention human trafficking.  The commercial media never covers the human trafficking that is happening right now across the border between the United States and Mexico.  Mexico isn't doing a damned thing about it, dumping the entire problem on the U.S.


Use Your Words! Use Your Words!

I hear this all the time, mainly from Millennials trying to settle two or more squabbling kids.  Instead of saying, "You kids settle yourselves down, and I mean now!", they say "Use your words! Use your words!"

What words are they talking about?

Continue for a brief lesson on training children that hasn't won any awards from Psychology Today, Good Housekeeping, or Parenting magazine.

Kids squabble.  It's a fact of life.  Some more than others, but they all do it.  When that happens the authority figure is supposed to step in and bring order out of chaos, justice out of oppression, and joyful exuberance from angst and despair.  Kind of like my old father did. 

"You kids pipe down!"

The children always settled right down and generally went somewhere else to do whatever they were not supposed to be doing.  As I remember it, Mom had a better feel for what was really going on and would provide a solution as needed.

These days I hear this Use your words! crap, and I haven't the faintest idea what they expect the child to say.  Consider:

A bunch of eight year old boys in third grade during lunch.  The kids are brown bagging it, and one boy, whom we'll call Glen Filthie, has a brownie for desert.  The other kids might steal the brownie, but past experience has taught them about Glen, Ex-Lax, and dealing with Montezuma's Revenge for three days and nights.  Sooner or later, the bright ones will conclude there's something funny with the food that comes from Glen's house, so it's best to lay off.  The fact that Glen has two deserts, one of which he hides and the other of which he sets out as bait might also have something to do with their conclusions.

I digress.  I'll begin again.

Eight year old boys in third grade brown bagging lunch.  Jack has a brownie for desert, and while eating his lunch he sees this Fat Dad in the next row eyeing the brownie and drooling into his lettuce sandwich.  Jack palms a newly sharpened number two pencil, which has been worn down to shank length, and waits.  Fat Dad tries to snatch the brownie, and Jack nails his fat little hand with his grade school shank.

Okay, fight's on.

Since Teacher! Teacher! is present, things get broken up pretty fast and end with promises of an after school meeting.  Then Teacher! Teacher! throws a curve.

"Why didn't you use your words, Jack?"

Words?  What words?  What's she talking about, words?  Fat Dad tried to take my brownie, I let him have it with my pencil.  Now he looks like he's going to cry.  Okay, he shouldn't have tried to steal.

"Next time remember to use your words, Jack.  You don't want to grow up to be a hoodlum like Glen Filthie over there, do you?  He's going to reform school, once there's an opening."

"I don't know, Teacher! Teacher!.  I like Glen, he's pretty much okay, and he's into this archery business.  We go out shooting and stuff, and even if it's reform school, it can't be much worse than listening to your pedantic winging all afternoon."

So... words.

Revisiting my original scenario, I suppose adding a little verbiage might play out something like this.

Jack has a brownie for desert, and while eating his lunch he sees this Fat Dad in the next row eyeing the brownie and drooling into his lettuce sandwich. 

"Don't even think it, Fat Dad."


"I see ya', and I ain't gonna argue with ya'.  Do not put your fat fuckin' hands on my desert."


"Now what the fuck?"

Jack palms a newly sharpened number two pencil, which has been worn down to shank length, and waits.  As Teacher! Teacher! delivers a lecture on profanity and orders Jack out into the hall as punishment, Fat Dad tries to snatch the brownie.  Without missing a beat, Jack nails his fat little hand with his grade school shank.  Fat Dad yells and snatches his hand away, and the fight's on.

We'll leave Jack out in the hall, where he'll eventually be joined by Glen Filthie (Teacher! Teacher! not being overly bright about some things), and the two will take the rest of the day off.  Because, as Glen points out, only an idiot would stand around in the hall when the sky is clear and the temperature is a solid 68° F.

I hope all you readers were entertained, but my question remains: What words?  What do the adults expect?  Who teaches the words, and what are these magical words supposed to accomplish?


Bricks and Free Speech

I occasionally read Kim du Toit, and although I don't agree with everything he writes, he usually has a fairly solid take on political events.  At the very least, the man is demonstrably literate.

On a recent post Kim referenced a Tweet by some moronic Moonbat about Antifa disruptions, milkshakes, and bricks (see the pic).

Sarah Gailey
Another blogger who I'm not familiar with picked up the tweet and wrote about it:

Tor Books Blogger Sarah Gailey Calls For Violence and Murder After Reporter Andy Ngo Attacked by Antifa by John Trent

Tor Books blogger and the author of Magic for Liars and the American Hippo Sarah Gailey called for violence and murder following the attack on reporter Andy Ngo by members of Antifa.

Gailey, in a number of now-deleted tweets, called for not only violence against those opposing Antifa, but also called for murder.

On June 30th, Gailey tweeted, “If we can’t throw milkshakes I guess we’ll just have to go back to bricks.” One of the weapons used in the attack against Ngo was a milkshake. Portland police reported they had been informed that wet cement mix had been mixed in with milkshakes that were being used as weapons by Antifa.
Sarah Gailey has since deleted the tweets, they having served their purpose and now being something of a liability.  Kim wrote what I would call a typical Kim-style response in Kim du Toit - Gloves Off

From Kim:
I repeat, for the umpteenth time: are you Leftist lunatics absolutely sure you want to start down this road?
Continue reading for my own take on this one, but be forewarned: If you're a sensitive little POS or a member of some subculture that's always getting offended, take your Xanax before you continue reading.

The answer to Kim's question is a rousing affirmative from the middle to far Left.  Yes, the moonbats do, in point of fact, want to continue down this highway.  Their little green vehicles are all charged up and they have a full load of bricks.  They have no fear at all.

Now think.

How many of these door knob sucking little fuckers have had the living shit beaten out of them as a result of their attack?  Or even just for running their mouth?  Sure, every so often one or two collect a set of minor bruises and cuts, but I'm talking serious violence here.

If Antifa showed up in force someplace for some reason, and were met by an equally large group of pissed off motorcycle outlaws, do you really think they'd hang around?  I don't.  I think the Antifa members who couldn't run fast enough would be chased down and stomped, then thrown into the nearest dumpster.  They'd be lucky if the dumpster wasn't set on fire afterwards.

That's not what's happening.  What's really happening is that the local police are protecting these little asshole cowards by being present at their demonstrations but ignoring their actions, thus giving tacit approval to Antifa.  The demonstrators attacked by Antifa have little to no idea just how to protect themselves; most have never been in an actual brawl.  Even if they did want to fight, they lack training, physical fitness, and weapons.  And let me tell you, anyone who has ever actually been in a brawl, 1) doesn't want to do it again, and 2) knows that you, the individual, are much better off with a weapon than without.  Generally speaking, a shotgun is best, a hand gun will work, as will a rifle.  But that's in general terms, and doesn't account for less than lethal violence, which is what we've got here.  In a case like this, the very first brawling style weapon to pick up is a baseball bat.  We aren't hitting home runs here, so very little skill is required.  Just wind up and swing at their knees.  When you connect, your opponent will drop and roll, screaming like a banshee.  As tempting as it is to admire your handiwork, ignore him (or her, or it) and nail another one.  Pretty soon, likely sometime after your second opponent falls to the cement with a shattered kneecap, you'll notice that people will be backing away from you.  This is in preparation for a full blown retreat, which Antifa has not had to do because - no one has come after them with a baseball bat!

Let a few of these Antifa thugs get a six weeks (in the hospital) beating.  See what happens, because I'm telling you the rest will quickly lose all interest in politics, protests, and Antifa.

And that is why the Left truly wants to head down this road.  They've never suffered a real loss.


Happy July 4th, 2019 - Independance Day!

I could pontificate about the bad old days, April 19, 1775 – September 3, 1783 (8 years, 4 months and 15 days), with the official ratification effective on May 12, 1784 (9 years and 23 days), but I won't.  The Revolutionary War was a tough time all over, mainly because the British were not the benevolent monarchy they thought they were, and most of their subjects were pissed off at them - enough to go after some relief.

You know how bad things have to get before people will organize to do anything, let alone take up arms and go to war?  Pretty bad, for sure.

These days we prefer to celebrate and proclaim our independence from tyrannical foreign powers.  Like Canada, for instance.

Keep reading for a few insights and inflammatory comments, not all of which are original.

One thing I always like about the Fourth of July was fireworks.  Hey, who doesn't, right?  I still love fireworks.  One particular firecracker that my father and grandfather spoke of was the cannon cracker.  They wouldn't say how big it was, exactly, or where I might get one or two, but the cannon cracker was the undisputed number one firecracker in every boys' ammo dump.

This is a photo (used without permission) of the 'Cannon Cracker' that my father always talked about, and that he set off when he was a boy.  The American Cannon Cracker was patented on July 7, 1885 by the Masten & Wells Fireworks Co of Boston, Mass.  The cracker or salute has wooden end plugs and is 9½ inches long by 1¾ inches in diameter.  Sadly, salutes over 5 inches long or over ¾ inches in diameter were banned from US trade in 1912.

The enormous size of this monster made it the short-lived prize possession of every boy in the United States; many dreamed of setting if off in church.  My father often used the metaphor 'like a cannon cracker in church' (coupled with a few expletives) to describe the accidental slamming of a door during a tranquil summer morning.  I always wanted to know about the canon crackers, but he'd never describe them except to say they were big.  I think he didn't want me to get any ideas I didn't already have.

Cannon Cracker
Anyway, here it is.  It used black powder for the explosive, and back when canon crackers were legal and fun, I'm certain that some little miscreant somewhere set one off in the rear of the sanctuary right in the middle of a particularly tedious sermon.

Not that I, personally, would ever find any amusement or pleasant diversion in such a nefarious activity... I wonder how young Pastor Parsnip would deal with that sort of interruption.

I think it might have been during a gun show, but a few friends and I fell to discussing the Revolutionary War, and wars in general, and how badly the French were behaving in the sandbox.  I, of course, had to refer to the French as Froggies, which set off a fellow with French ancestry who happened to be nearby.

Froggy commented that without France, there would be no United States.  He was referring to the French support of the future U.S. of A. during the Revolutionary War, which was significant but not altruistic - the French hated the British.  Spain got into the act too, but only to aid the French - not to help the future U.S.  My guess is that Spain was waiting to see what shook out at the end of the war, and if there was anything they could scoop up for themselves.  Smart move, if you were Spain.  Anyway...

I replied that while that was certainly true, and while France was the first nation to recognize the United States, whatever debt we might have incurred was paid back with interest, twice over; once during WWI and again during WWII.  Without the U.S., the entire European continent would be saluting a different flag.  He gave me a dirty look and went quiet.  Well, fuck him if he can't take a joke.

Then I found this missive someplace on the Internet.  I won't swear to the accuracy, but if it isn't the gospel truth it should be.  Here you go:

JFK'S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60's when DeGaulle decided to pull out of NATO.  DeGaulle said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.  Rusk responded, "Does that include those who are buried here?"

DeGaulle did not respond.  You could have heard a pin drop.

When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of 'empire building' by George Bush.  He answered by saying, "Over the years, the United States has sent many of Its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders.  The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return."

You could have heard a pin drop.

There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American.  During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying, "Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intend to do, bomb them?"

A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: "Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to
shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships. How many does France have?"

You could have heard a pin drop.

A U.S. Navy admiral was attending a naval conference that included admirals from the U.S., English, Canadian, Australian and French navies at a cocktail reception.  He found himself standing with a large group of officers that included personnel from most of those countries.  Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks when a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English.  He then asked, "Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?"

Without hesitating, the American admiral replied, "Maybe it's because the Brit's, Canadians, Aussie's and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Robert Whiting, an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane.  At French customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on. "You have been to France before, monsieur?" the customs officer asked sarcastically.  Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously. "Then you should know enough to have your passport ready."

"The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it," Mr. Whiting replied.

"Impossible. Americans always have to show their passports on arrival in France!"

The elderly Mr. Whiting gave the Frenchman a long hard look.  Then he quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchmen to show a passport to."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Me, I'm proud to be a citizen of the United States of America!


An Accurate Tweet

I don't like Twitter.   I can't see tweeting anything much beyond the occasional insult to some foaming at the yap social sub-class whose members are terminally confused about reality and which restroom to use.

However, comma.

Big Mike shot this one over to me, and the author is completely in step with reality and is as succinct as he is accurate.

Tweet by James Poulos
Don't you just love it?  Portland, where you need an AR-15 and eyes in the back of your head if you're a journalist.  Los Angeles, where the rat problem is worse than New York City's, and gentrification consists of an outfitter's tent or a car that actually runs.  Then there's San Francisco, where residents are discovering weird new (to the U.S.) diseases that were previously confined to the open sewers of the middle ages and modernized third worlds.

So here's a tip of the old fedora and a hoist of the morning bourbon glass to James Poulos. I'd go out drinking with you anytime, James.


Bury My Hatchet at Wounded Knee

Well, here we go.  The Indians are trying to run this ragged old flag up the pole instead of shoving it where it belongs, and - keep reading if you want, but know that non-politically correct language lies ahead alongside my alcohol fueled views on Injuns and history in general.

The Indians have tried this one before, and it crashed and burned so quietly that they gave up on it for a while, but now they're back.  From Lawmakers Seek to Revoke Wounded Knee Medals for US Soldiers by Kali Robinson, Associated Press.

From the article:

Advocates for Native Americans called Tuesday for Congress to revoke the Medals of Honor given to the U.S. soldiers who participated in the Wounded Knee massacre.
They’re being supported by three members of Congress: Traitorous turn coat RINO from the fascist nation of Kalifornia Paul Cook (R, CA) is on board.  He must have red skins in his backyard, because everyone knows the Mexicans hate the Indians with a real passion.  Then we've got moonbats Denny Heck (D, WA) and Deb Haaland (D, NM).  I couldn't begin to guess why a moonbat from Washington gives a tinker's damn about this one, but Haaland is easy - just click the link and see for yourself.

My objections?  Do you really have to ask?

For openers, when the US Armed Forces award a medal, it's awarded and that's that.  In this particular case, on December 29, 1890 (128 years, 5 months, and 27 days ago as of 6/25/2019) a bunch of Lakota Sioux Indians got together for a little celebration they call the ghost dance.  Just what that is, I couldn't tell you.  The US Calvary showed up and demanded the Indians turn over their guns (where have I heard this one before?  Oh yeah, moonbats on parade...), which sounds Draconian until you realize that these are the same noble, heroic, and essentially friendly Indians that had a bit of a misunderstanding with a US Calvary officer named Custer, and we all know how that went.  So way back then, the fertilizer hit the turbine blades and when the dust settled and the tombstones were counted, 31 US soldiers were dead.  No one can agree on the number of Indians that were killed, but estimates range from 150 to 300.  Depending on who you are, this is either called the Wounded Knee Massacre or the Battle at Wounded Knee.

There's plenty of blame to go around on both sides here, but the bottom line is that medals were awarded to US soldiers by the United States, and those medals should remain awarded.

The Indians have never forgiven the White Men (particularly old, fat, gun owning white men) for this victory, but my own rejoinder to their opinion is that this battle happened over 100 years ago, and if the Indians had been armed with, say, AR-15s, we'd all be reading about the self-defense victory at Wounded Knee.  But that's not what happened, and anyone who thinks that these Indians wouldn't have killed every single white man they could put lead into that day knows nothing of the Sioux.

Another thing I have a major hard spot with is the self-proclaimed Native Americans.  I was born in the United States.  Doesn't that make me a Native?  This label is full of contradictions.  Probably enough to fertilize a football field or two.  Native my grandmother's venochie.  I'm native.  They're Indians.  If they have a problem with that, fuck 'em.

But it doesn't stop there, oh hell no.  Again, from the article:

The legislation is a healing road that everyone needs to take, said Cheyenne River tribal member Manny Iron Hawk, whose grandmother survived Wounded Knee.

"There was no honor in these murders and the Lakota, we live with these traumas to this day," he said.

A healing road?  Okay, what about the ancestors from Custer's infamous Last Stand?  How about a little healing from that?  How about some healing for the settlers who were tortured to death and killed by the Indians?  Naturally, Iron Hawk will never bring any of that up.

I've lived out in South Dakota, and I've been out to the Indian Reservation to do a little gambling at the casino.  When I told a few friends that me and my buddy Tennessee were headed out to do some low stakes gambling, the first thing they said was Don't stay out there after dark - the Indians will shoot at you.  My good friend Commander Cody asked me if I was carrying anything out that way, and suggested it might be a good idea to do so.  "For," he said, "the Goddamned Indians will shoot at you."  And he was right about that.

That rez looks like a DMZ.  Cars and houses burned out, people staring at you like they'd like to scalp you.  No, I'm not exaggerating.  These are the same people who, when sober, want to dishonor US soldiers who did their job, and who lost friends in that battle.

The elected officials in South Dakota are very non-committal about this one. Even the conservatives have nothing to say, which says something about politicians in general and SD conservatives in particular.  Me, I'd cheerfully assemble a rail, tar, and feathers, then put them all to good use in Washington, D.C.


RFI: Blogger States and Other Mysteries

I'm looking over the statistics for my little slice of annoyance and trying to decide if I should be depressed or elated because, you see, on one hand people are actually reading my blog, but on the other hand my readers include people like that beer swilling, gun loving Canadian Glen Filthie, and when you come right down to it I'd like to think that a few respectable individuals waste their time here as opposed to TV SitCom reruns on Hulu.

Dispensing with the levity, I have one post that's getting a lot of hits and I don't know just why this might be.   The post with the heavy traffic is Restaurant Review: Simms Steakhouse, which is an ordinary review.  This would bother me a good deal less than it does, but one referring site is (interrupted)

Edit (6/24/19): click on apeniano dot top below at your own risk.  The site triggered Malwarebytes, then when I opted not to continue, it showed me a xxx nude female advertising something, and she wasn't pushing a new breakfast cereal. 

My thanks to Ed for the heads up.


apeniano.top. The site doesn't seem to do anything or be anything, and I was hoping someone could shed a little light on this.

Would someone please enlighten me as to who or what apeniano dot top is?


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.


Page created: Fri, Dec 13, 2019 - 09:05 AM GMT