Mad Jack's Shack

ex luce ad tenebras

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.


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.


Page created: Mon, Aug 19, 2019 - 09:05 PM GMT