ex luce ad tenebras
You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family. A great truism that I'm reminded of every so often. Like last night, for instance.
The rest of this is largely a rant, not safe for work, and is not politically correct. This is the official trigger warning to any thin skinned SJW that stumbled across this site by accident and when told not to pull the trigger because the gun is loaded - pulls the trigger.
Keep reading as it amuses you to do so.
One of the best restaurants in Toledo is the eponymous Schmucker's Restaurant, which was started in 1948 by Harvey and Nola Schmucker. It's still owned by the Schmucker family, with grandson Doug Schmucker as the general manager. Schmucker's is famous for the homemade pie, but like the pie, everything in the place is made from scratch. So the food's great. And, as far as I know, the entire staff and family are all Christians.
On Thursday, January 9th, 2020, President Donald Trump and Vice President Mike Pence came to Toledo for a campaign rally, which was held in the Huntington Center. The turnout was good - okay, the place was packed beyond capacity and a giant TV was set up outside so that the out crowd could watch the speech. Moonbat protestors were tolerated until they became too abusive, then were arrested and hauled away by the TPD.
My good friend Big Frank went out to lunch that day with his Liberal daughter, who insisted they eat at Schmucker's. Pie, you know. While at Schmucker's, the United States Secret Service showed up and quietly walked around the place, then talked to anyone looking suspicious. One long haired hippie type pinko fag walked out, shouting Fuck Trump! as he left. The Secret Service detained him for questioning. Anyway, there's not much of a show, and then...
Vice President Mike Pence walked in the front door!
The man was hungry, but he walked around and met everyone. Frank shook hands with him, and said he was friendly and affable, and acted just like a regular guy. Someone you'd have a beer with and be happy to have his company.
So Big Frank is on cloud nine. He's just shaken hands with the US VP, and that's great stuff.
For my part, I was in Indianapolis one time for the Origins Gaming Convention, and saw a crowd of police in one area of the hotel. K9 dogs sniffing all over the place, nervous looking cops, and a cadre of wait staff all dressed like junior penguins, complete to a pristine bar towel draped over their left arm. The reason? One of the cops told me that the Vice President was going to show up as the guest of honor for a fund raising dinner for the Ayatollah Obongo - and I couldn't remember the dumb fuck's name, nor could I remember what he looked like. It was Joe Biden, of course, but such is the impact of being Obongo's VP. All you have to do is shut up and have a pulse.
So last night I called up Uncle Sardonicus, just to see how he's getting along. Unc isn't getting any younger, and he's had a few mini-strokes. We chew the fat for a few minutes, then I tell him about Big Frank's great adventure.
MJ: "...and then the Vice President walked in - "
MJ: "What are we talking about here?"
US: "The vice president. Pence, that stupid douche bag from Washington. Shit, I'm smarter than he is. My cat is smarter than he is. He's so dumb that I could do a better job than he does."
MJ: "The vice president of the United States, Mike Pence - "
US: "Yes. The dumb-ass."
MJ: "Well, Frank's a good friend of mine and got to shake hands with him. Said he was a good sort, very affable."
US: "He and that damned liar - "
I'm going through my email like a stupe when I come across some kind of complimentary stat evaluation for Mad Jack's Shack. Now, since this is from Google, anything I read has to be taken with the proverbial grain of salt, but still, it kind of looks believable.
This is, I would guess, results from Google search. I got the search phrase and the number of times the hump behind the keyboard clicked on my article. Check it out:
|Search Stat Results|
I'm making a joke here. A play on words.
This diatribe is not safe for work, Church, or anyone (anything?) that even thinks it might be a snowflake. Continue at your own risk.
We, the Great Unwashed of the United States of America, have got drone questions. No problems as yet, but questions.
In mysterious Baghdad, we have one drone, presumably weaponized, that is responsible for the untimely demise of Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis, the deputy head of the Iraqi Popular Mobilization Forces (the PMF, which is coincidentally backed by Iran) along with his pal, Qasem Soleimani, who was head of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC) Quds Force (think KGB or Tonton-Makout here), and was the genius behind terrorist activities in other countries. So two birds with one whiz-bang, which is nice for everyone - ah, except maybe Abu and Qasem, who have discovered that this whole Muslim business is a pack of lies and it's a bit warm in paradise. The question is: Who takes over for them, and what will they do next? Because I'm pretty sure I know what we'll do, now that we have a President that makes noise when he walks.
The left wing commercial media are laughable. They act like their hair's on fire, and we, all of us, had better duck and cover, and vote for whatever clown the Moonbats decide to run in the 2020 election, or the whole world will blow up. Except for the Moonbats and their followers, of course.
Consider, the enemy is congregated on another continent. They belong to a devil worshiping quasi-military organization, none of whom could find the U.S. on the best day they ever had. But they'll still yammer and bark at the moon...
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we've got mystery drones flying a grid over Colorado and Nebraska. We've also got 'em in Ohio, but you didn't hear that from me. How do I know? I saw one before I pulled out of Sylvania, that's how. I talked to Main Lady's neighbor about it, and he'd seen several. The thing is, the neighbor is an intense young man who owns his own company and does well for himself. He's on good terms with the County Sheriff, who, when questioned, told him bluntly that he wasn't supposed to notice the drones. In fact, the local police department brass was under strict instructions not to notice the drones. Nothin' to see here, move along. At least that's what he told me, and he's a pretty straight shooter, not wound too tight or too loose.
This being ancient news, Slashdot picked up the story - Unexplained Drones Are Swarming by Night Over Colorado - from the NY Times.
‘It’s Creepy’: Unexplained Drones Are Swarming by Night Over Colorado
They come in the night: Drones -- lots of them -- flying in precise formations over the Colorado and Nebraska prairie.
“It’s creepy,” said Missy Blackman, who saw three drones hovering over her farm outside Palisade, Neb., on a recent evening, including one that lingered right above her house.
Since before Christmas, sheriff’s departments in the region have been bombarded with reports of large drones with blinking lights and wingspans of up to 6 feet flying over rural towns and open fields. The drones have unnerved residents, prompted a federal investigation and made international news, even though they may be perfectly legal. And still, they [the drones] remain unexplained.
The drones have even prompted a federal investigation - yet no one has been able to explain them.
I've got the shakes and I can't see straight. Today is 1/1/2020; there should be something significant here, but I can't imagine what it might be.
The Ancient Aquatic Aviation Officeholder left 2019 searching for answers to life's most difficult and thought provoking questions. Buoyed by my morning bourbon and being at loose ends until 2:00 PM (I'm invited to a Hoppin' John party - whatever that is) I will provide a few answers.
Happy New Year!!!
Complete with three bangs. This is reminiscent of the midnight racket I suffered when my neighbors decided to celebrate the New Year by unlimbering their gun collection and ridding themselves of some excess ammo.
Now, on to the questions.
I haven’t found out who let the dogs out.
Lydia T. Pecksniffin, who lived next door to the Baha Boys and hated their music.
Where’s the beef?
At your local Kroger's supermarket. What? You can't find it or something?
How to get to Sesame Street.
Take I-1010 to Doodyville, Right at Mane and Clown Avenue, then straight through the lights until Sesame Street. It'll be on your left as you arrive.
Why Dora doesn’t just use Google Maps.
Dora lacks an Internet connection.
Why do all flavors of fruit loops taste exactly the same.
Ha! Good question. The real reason all fruit loops taste the same is profit and corn syrup.
How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop.
Why eggs are packaged in a flimsy carton, but batteries are secured in plastic that’s tough as nails?
Have you ever tried throwing batteries at a politician? No? But eggs are better, and the packaging reflects that. Easy to unpack, easy to throw. Just imagine crazy Uncle Bernie making a speech. He gets to the part about medicare for everyone, and you want to throw something - but you can't get the damn' batteries out of the package! Meanwhile, everyone else in your group is throwing eggs.
What does the fox say.
Foxes don't talk.
Why “abbreviated” is such a long word.
Because when abbreviated was invented, writers got paid by the letter. Now they get paid by the word, so everyone uses the abbr.
Why is there a D in ‘fridge’ but not in refrigerator?
Because. That's why.
Why lemon juice is made with artificial flavor yet dish-washing liquid is made with real lemons.
Production costs, and it's a real travesty. Once a Democrat takes up residence in the double wide at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, this terrible condition will be fixed.
Why they sterilize the needle for lethal injections.
Same reason they cut crosses in the noses of the bullets used in a firing squad.
Why do you have to “put your two cents in” but it’s only a “penny for your thoughts”? Where’s that extra penny going to?
Not to me, that's for sure. The extra penny ends up under someone's bed, along with a few wire coat hangers and odd socks.
Why does The Alphabet Song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?
Because it's easy to remember.
Why did you just try to sing those two previous songs?
Because I'm susceptible to suggestion.
Just what exactly is Victoria’s secret?
Oh, ha-ha, ho-ho-ho. That would be telling!
Where is Waldo?
Inside that pair of shoes you can just barely see under the bed of Razor Willy's main lady.
Can you hear me now?
No, I can't hear you now. Speak up and stop mumbling!
Now my mind is hung up on how much is that doggie [STET MJ] in the window?
$10. The doggy was originally priced to sell at $75, but he's been returned twice. He chews the furniture and he bites moonbats when they looked at him funny.
Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
Gah! I may be violently ill.
Well, that's that. I hope the man is satisfied, or rather pacified, and will get back to work. Meanwhile, my glass is empty - a truly untenable condition.
Happy New Year!
This is the mandatory Happy New Year! post. Happy happy 2020; happy goodbye to 2019.
The news in 2019, in review. Note that these news events are selected arbitrarily, without any consideration for importance to the world around us or interest of the readers - all three of them.
A local message board / website that I used to infrequent went belly up. Swampbubbles, hosted by Chris Meyers, went sideways and hasn't been heard from since, thus depriving Dale Pertcheck of a platform. Pertcheck, by the way, has the same attributes as a stopped clock and is every bit as interesting to watch.
I am referred to an essay, Class Warfare, by Doug Casey. My own revelation are the human emotions of jealousy and envy, neither one of which I understood until reading Casey. As it turns out, this is my intellectual achievement for the year.
A message board local to Toledo, Ohio closes down. You can see it at Toledo Talk, and even find a few of my brilliant comments in it. The place ran for about 16 years with only a few major upsets and flame wars, which the owner settled by deleting a few accounts. This is a good run considering the myriad of users and their diverse political, economic, and religious beliefs. While I was very sorry to see it go, JR did a great job with it - and that takes a lot of work.
In a truly stunning moment of civic mindedness and generosity, I ask that cards and letters be sent to an 11 year old girl named Eva, who is a bad way just now. The response is overwhelming, for which I sincerely thank everyone who participated. Thank all of you again.
I answer the quora question Whati is the origin of the Polka dance? as posed by some Slavic fathead who should know better. Oddly, my answer did not get deleted, which should tell you something about the reliability of the fiction you'll find on Quora.
I go off on a tirade about Wounded Knee, Indians, and whether or not I'm a native American. I was born early in the morning in a hospital in Toledo, Ohio. My father was at work, but my mother was there and she took good care of me. How am I not native to America? How am I not indigenous?
This was the early 1950s, and there was something good to be said for that era. Men, real men, shouldered their responsibility and didn't bring their work home with them. They just did their job, and that was that. The Commies, Japs, Krauts (Boche), and Wops were not to be trusted - they were the enemy. Easy, see?
Tipped off by Big Mike, I wrote about James Poulos, who twittered about the real conditions in Los Angeles, Portland, and SF, where the homeless have caused sections of each city to slide back into Fourth World countries. What Trump accurately referred to as real shit-holes.
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.
Buy the Victor, be the VictorOctober
I did the obligatory Christmas dinner, which was excellent. My contribution was a plate of deviled eggs.
|Smith and Wesson .38|
|Smith and Wesson .38 at Halitosis Range|
|Model 59 at Halitosis Range and at Parking Lot Range|
|Md 59 at 75 Feet, Five Shots|
|The Doom That Came to Atlantic City|
Merry Christmas to all of you reading this. My best to you and yours!
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.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.
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
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|
|One Week After Surgery|
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.
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:
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.
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!
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.
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.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.
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.
(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.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.
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.”
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."
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.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.
“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.
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.
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.
Yeah, and the top three are starvation, disease, and hot lead from an AK-47.
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.
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.
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.Note: I felt I was in rare form here. We'll see how long this masterpiece lasts.
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.
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.
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."
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).
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.
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|
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."
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.
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..."
"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 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.
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:
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.
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?|
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."
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?
Page created: Sun, Jan 19, 2020 - 09:05 AM GMT