Assinus Politicus - Assclown Of The Year

It has come as a rudely unpleasant shock to WA state senator and walking braindead jackhole Maureen  Moron Walsh [R - Retardia] that nurses do not, in fact, "play cards for a considerable amount of the day". Only someone who's never performed worthwhile labor in their adult life, and/or has a resting IQ in the low teens, somewhere just north of fungus, could managed to get both feet thusly inserted in their own gaping mouths, with their empty head simultaneously shoved so far up their own hindquarters so as to choke off the passage of light or oxygen. But it always cheers my heart when some elected functional moron's political turkey timer pops up to let us know they're done.

Someone on the Twaddleverse helpfully added her WA office number:
(360) 786-7630.
Have fun.

I will personally pledge to contribute to every opponent she faces in her next primary, and every other party's candidate from opposing parties in the general election, the next time this sorry sack of sh*t is up for a vote. She needs to be kicked RTF out of the state house for being that egregiously stupid in public, and based on her speech, we're guessing this is one of her brighter and more coherent stupid utterances. The rest certainly have to sound like she's having a stroke, every time she squawks and squeals.If she has the good grace to quit now, quickly, I'll contribute a like amount to Alzheimer's research and money to care for actual retarded people.

Were I in WA state, I would be gathering signatures for her immediate recall, as being too stupid to suck air and a waste of skin has to be a disqualifying factor in holding office, even in a community like Walla Walla.

But in true form, the memes and Twittterlanche on her head have been properly brutal.

“Nurses … probably play cards for a considerable amount of the day” is in the running for most inane, indefensible, disgraceful thing said by a legislator this year (even though the competition is really fierce). — Ajai Dandekar (@ajai_dandekar) April 20, 2019

When world-class retards tell you you're retarded, YOU'RE REALLY RETARDED. - A.

(And yes, I made that, but Kathy absolutely tweeted it.)
More here.

I'm also pretty sure Joy Behar ( "Why is she wearing a doctor's stethoscope?") could send along a few tips on coping with being the biggest jackass in America today to state senator Walsh.

I'll be dog-goned if I'm not piling on to this monumental level of stupidity.

And a personal benediction to Sen. Moron Walsh:

Don't worry, Sh*t-For-Brains. No nurse would ever treat you like you just treated a few millions of us.
Or...would they?
Sleep tight. Take your vitamins.
And may God have mercy on you when (not if) you end up in a hospital needing care.
No one else will.
You might want to think about getting some gold-plated Costa Rican medical policy.
For the rest of your life.
And for pity's sake, do the world a favor: Change parties.
You're already overqualified to be a Democrat socialist, so by all means, run down and sign up today. You'll increase the IQ of both Republicans and Democrats in WA state the minute you do that.

But walk tall, sweetheart.
Earning Assclown of The Year honors in April has to be some sort of record, even for a politician who's overmatched by celery bunches at the grocery store in a contest of wits.

You might have thought someone who'd had a heart attack and gotten two cardiac stents a couple of years back would have been a wee bit more circumspect, but remember, this is a politician we're talking about, not someone with a functional brain, let alone one connected to their mouth.

Jesus rose from the dead today. But, you, Bright Light, should invest in a shroud and a cemetery plot.
Hey...is that a fork sticking out of your back?
Yeah, you're done.

Sunday Music: Happy Easter

Even if you're familiar with the later pure instrumental works of Celtic synth musician Jeff Johnson, you might not know that when he was but a youngster starting out, he regularly rocked a simple piano keyboard or an Ovation acoustic/electric up and down the West Coast.

With a theme apropos of the day, enjoy.

For something in a similar vein, something from a small family group from just down the street from where I grew up, another one you may have heard somewhere or other before.

If, perchance, you find yourself in a more secular frame of mind, try something else a bit more in keeping with your proclivities, but nonetheless appropriate fare today:

If you don't own this one, rectify that oversight, and collect one of the classic performances of American cinema, by a master of the craft.

 

And for those who think Hollywood is garbage, and there's nothing worth watching, and who have forgotten that film is the quintessential American art form, three movies on which you cannot lose today:

From 1956

From 1959

And from 2004

Enjoy your pursuits of the day.

 

This Is Going To End Well...

h/t I Hate The Media

Because, well...the cartels pay better. Viva capitalismo!

Greater Aztlan Two U.S. soldiers were stopped and questioned by Mexican troops, while conducting a surveillance operation on the U.S. side of the border. According to officials, two soldiers were sitting in an unmarked vehicle north of the Rio Grande last week, when six Mexican troops approached with the guns drawn.
The troops reportedly approached the vehicle and confiscated a gun from one of the American soldiers.
One of the U.S. troops spoke Spanish and was able to talk to the group, explaining they were on U.S. territory.
The Mexican military personal allegedly thought the U.S. troops were on Mexican territory, as that part of the border is unmarked.

 

Firstly, by custom and formal agreement, until recent US ANG deployments in support of the current crisis, both nations' troops are limited to staying well back from the border, to prevent exactly this sort of "accidental" contact.

 

Secondly, the border's location isn't in dispute, nor has been for any time in 171 years. Their troops and ours know where it is, and which side they're on.

 

Thirdly, I've watched Mexican troops, and police, violate the border where they can without penalty, time and again. Whilst armed. Invariably, anyone on their side at the border isn't there to enforce the border, or anything else, except at the wishes of, and to the benefit of, the drug/smuggling cartels, which have controlled all movement across it for 10+ years. I have photographed and listened to, from rock-throwing distance, off-duty Mexican law enforcement scouting the border for passing drug and personnel shipments over it, and calling it in to their narco-jefes. I have witnessed them deciding, in the absence of US presence, to violate US sovereignty time and again, while armed, and not up to anything good. (The technical term this goes by in State Department conference rooms is "cassus belli".)

 

One of the border ranches I worked on, our host had a couple of pictures on his wall of a full squad of pickle-suited Mexican soldiers in the mid-1980s posed in front of his garage, a mile, three fenclines, and one set of PG&E electrical lines overhead NORTH of the international border, and their G3 military rifles at stack arms, which is where there were placed when found by rapidly arrived Border Patrol agents, summoned in the nick of time when the uniformed Mexican troops came north under orders onto his property to kidnap him, take him back to Mexican territory, and execute him. This was a couple of days after he reported a drug cooking lab house just over the international fenceline to US DEA authorities, and it subsequently blew up "unexplainedly", the night before crooked Mexican drug enforcement police were to raid it the next day. They claimed they "got lost" in broad daylight, were escorted back to Mexico at an international port of entry, given back their weapons, and the would-be victim told in no uncertain terms the attempt never happened, or he would be in court every day for the rest of his life testifying, contrary to the wishes of the US Gov. Under Reagan, FFS. The fix has been in forever.

 

I furthermore watched in real time as two Mexican cops patrolling the fenceline (which they didn't do routinely in that area) shot at two attempted crossers, not for trying to get across, which happened in that area with tedious regularity, but for trying it on their own, without a coyote on the cartel payroll, nor paying the $1-2K cartel "fee" for such exploits, which meant those cops weren't getting their cut from them either. And there was no "Alto! Manos arriba!" Mexican Miranda pretense, either. Those cops jumped out shooting, doing full mag dumps on sight when they glimpsed the two would-be crossers. I suspect they killed them, as we didn't see them re-attempt the crossing, and never saw the Mexican po-po hauling anyone off to jail afterwards. This is not a playground, kids. Big Boy Rules apply in full force. This is just what happens there.

 

Enforcing cartel business is what the Mexican military and police in the border regions do, going back decades. There are honest police and military forces there. They can usually be recognized by the bullet holes in their foreheads, or the fact that their heads are not found co-located contiguous to their torsos, in about 99% of cases. There are no other honest ones within 20-50 miles of the US-Mexican border, inclusive, from Tijuana to Brownsville. Write this on your hands with laundry marker, lest ye forget. Plomo o plata is the operating rule.

 

So if a small group of Mexican soldiers was on, or in this case, over the border, they were

a) dirty (and I'm not talking about their personal hygiene, though that probably applies as well)

b) working for someone other than the Mexican government at the time

to a 100% metaphysically true certainty.

 

And let's call this like it went down: They didn't "question" US troops. They captured them, disarmed them, robbed them, kidnapped them, and let these two world-class dumbphucks go, alive, because they didn't have any idea they would be there, and they were momentarily confused, and reverted to theft and criminality because it's their default mode.

 

Sleep tight, America. Big Green is keeping you safe with fucking idiots like this, and officers and NCOs who sent them there.

Note the deafening lack of details on who these two jet-fuel military geniuses were, who their NCOIC and OIC were, and what military intelligence bunch of stumblefucks sent them down there to wave their dicks, with less situational awareness, common sense, ROE, or live ammunition and the will to use it than we routinely gave PFCs on a routine DMZ patrol along the Nork border forty effing years ago.

 

The only reason those two US military personnel are both alive, and free, is because someone wasn't expecting to find them there, and didn't know what to do with them, but wasn't willing to risk an international incident over killing or kidnapping them.

Unlike, for instance, clueless jet ski tourists on the wrong part of a reservoir on the Texas border.

 

Maybe after a few NG dickheads are found strung up to trees with their genitals in their mouth etc., the general dumphuckery level of the average NG squaddie deployed there will move from imagining they're in some magical bubble of safety because "Muh military cammies", and the survivors will cross over into IQ levels higher than agave cactus. Time will tell, but I wouldn't be holding my breath waiting for it to happen.

 

This is why whenever I ventured south, it was in company with friends, following Murphy's Laws of Combat ("Bring a gun. A long gun. Bring all of your friends with long guns..."), we carried a Basic Load and more of ammunition, and we were perfectly happy to expend it all rather than fall into the hands of anyone we encountered not driving a marked US official vehicle. The border, for 300 years, is bandit country.

 

These two clueless squaddies just learned that the hard way, and very nearly won the Second Place Award for Combat, with Cluelessness Clusters.

 

 

This nonsense is going to continue until someone lights up a squad of troops, from one side or the other, and possibly both ways. Or somebody just disappears.

 

Build the goddam wall, and put an end to this silly nonsense.

 

Be Careful What You Wish For...

Someone once asked how many men were needed to start a revolution.
Apparently, 77 is enough to get the ball rolling.

"Stand your ground. Don't fire unless fired upon. But if they mean to have a war, let it begin here." - Captain John Parker, Lexington militia

"Throw down your arms, you damned rebels!" - British officer, 4th Regiment of Foot, on Lexington Common 

And then the F**k-Up Fairy landed, someone pulled a trigger, and the genie was out of the bottle.

Tally at the end of the day:

Colonials:
49 killed
39 wounded
5 missing

British troops:
73 dead
174 wounded
53 missing

The British troops, formed of disparate clumps of men and officers from a dozen regiments (which made command and control even more tenuous throughout the day) after brushing aside what was always intended as token resistance at Lexington (the colonial militia was on the common, not blocking the road at all, and made no move to impede the far superior British forces, all the colonial leaders and stores of weapons having been removed or hidden long before the Redcoats' arrival), marched on to Concord bridge, where they searched the town for weapons until noon, mostly to no great effect, but upon their attempted return to Boston got a much different greeting than at Lexington, and then began an all-day long fighting retreat that left every British officer from the original expedition injured or wounded and unhorsed, all of them exhausted, nearly out of ammunition, and all but surrounded and captured as they straggled back to the safety of Boston city limits. The British in Boston were subsequently surrounded and besieged by tens of thousands of enraged colonial militiamen, which troops then formed the seed of what became the Continental Army.

And with blood shed in strength by both sides, no way any longer to put back the cork to the genie's bottle.

Lesser lights in modern times, agitating for both gun control and confiscations, and shilling for an open conflict in the midst of civil society, should learn a lesson or three about being careful for what you wish.

 

Range Report II: Ruger PC9 Carbine

Having played with this indoors, and gotten it sighted in at home defense range, it was time to take it outside.

It was a perfect day. 75°, sunny, 1/10 clouds, with a 0-10MPH variable crosswind in the canyon varying from 3 o'clock to 8 o'clock.

And if you're keeping score at home, indoors was with Federal 115gr FMJ. Outdoors was with Winchester white box 115gr FMJ.

Shooting it this time off a sandbag on a concrete shooting bench, the 20Y zero proved to be low and right at 100Y.

I made similarly bold dope corrections to the previous settings, but at a more normal zero distance, they were overmuch. The next group was all high and left. Having some wee life experience with bracketing a target (with howitzers), I took off half the original change, and achieved everything in the black inside a 4" circle.

Which reminded me why I like going to the range.

Then I settled down, and focused on slow, steady groups. The variable wind made this a small challenge.
So did the jackhole who decided, on a 75% empty range with 50+ stations, to settle in right next to me and begin rapid-fire strings of turning money into noise with his AR.

Which reminded me why I hate going to the range.

(Which is why a priority for Castle Anthrax is outside-city-limits ability to shoot on the property, WheneverTH I feel like it, consistent with safety and neighborliness.)

After relocating away from Slob A$$hole, re-arranging my gear, and setting up my target 3/4ths of the way to the other end, things were much more agreeable.

The wind died down for awhile, I took my time, and the groups tightened up to where I was moving the centers 1 click at a time.

The final adjustment was 2 3/4" L, and 3 1/2" Up, from the 20Y zero.
I then put the best part of two 10-round strings into the same fist-sized group I'd achieved the other day at 20Y, with a couple of fliers that were me jerking a trigger that is anything but a smooth precision rifle example, and lets off when it feels like it at nearly 5 lbs. of pull. And I think Ruger was using Soviet trigger pull gauges when they made that claim.

Nonetheless, you won't shoot yourself in the foot with it if your aren't an idiot, and I didn't buy it to shoot precision marksmanship. But as I'm not alone in my estimation, there are several after-market drop-in trigger groups on the market, one of which may find its way into my carbine.

According to comments elsewhere, a carbine that will put pistol rounds into minute of chest pocket at 100Y is no improvement over a Glock pistol, for a penalty of 5-5.5 pounds.
Elmer Keith being dead, I will shoot any non-professional using their stock Glock pistol against my Ruger rifle as described, for $1/point at 100Y and farther, and we'll see whether the 5 pounds is worth it.

Just to rub it in, I had 25 rounds left over from the 100 round box I started with.
I was originally going to sight-in at 200Y, but as it was both late in the day, and not worth the walk, I opted for some fun instead, with a bit of serious effort.

The range has metal gongs set up out to 600Y.
Including a 15" circle, and a 14" tall pig silhouette at 200Y.

Standing offhand, and using Kentucky windage, I used the duplex reticle to address the problem. After 2 "overs", it turned out the part of the reticle where the crosshair fattens up to a post at 6 o'clock is the exact bullseye for 200Y, with no farther sight manipulation whatsoever.

Just the way it worked out.

So I then proceeded to clang both the chest-width circle, and piggy, 23 times in a row.
Bang-clang. Bang-clang. Lather, rinse, repeat. Bang-clang.
Like I said after dialing it in indoors: tedious regularity.
Standing.
Offhand.
200Y.

Come show me you can do that with your pistol at 200Y, and when you fail, ask me what the extra 5 pounds gets you. More importantly, anyone with minimal training could do the same thing, which cannot be said of pistol shooting at that range, ever.

Another commenter asked why a carbine for 9mm now weighs 2-3 pounds more than an M1 from 1943.
1) a heavier barrel, that takes down in about a second
2) a non-locking straight blowback action
3) which includes a molded tungsten firing block weight inside the PC9 bolt group, to keep the rifle from doing what Marlin's Camp guns did: battering themselves to pieces, even with hot +P 9mm rounds.

Words fail to convey how happy I am not to have to clean any part of a gas system on this thing. A quick spray-down of the bore with Break Free CLP, and half a dozen patches wrapped around a bronze bore brush, and the barrel is clean.

Word to the wise: blowback means the charging handle is coming all the way back, each and every time, whichever side you have it on. I watched to know this, I did not experiment by putting my mitt in the way, but if you do it the hard way, well, look up Mark Twain's comment about the man who carries a cat by the tail.

Tomorrow, I'll crack open the manual again, and take the action apart for a proper cleaning.
All I did between Range Days 1 and 2 was Q-tips and a few wet patches inside the open action, to get the worst of the crud out from around the bolt and such.

The down side of a blowback action is that everything does, in fact, blow back into the action, so everything from the ejected brass to the working parts get dirty. Coal miner's face dirty, in fact.

Tomorrow is cleaning day.

When I get the camera and card reader sorted out, I'll start posting my own pics, instead of web grabs. (Maybe even crank out short YouTube snippets.) But that's something for another day.

And the fact that I did two weapons-related posts (which happen around here randomly, at best) on the day before and the day after the anniversary of Weaponsman's passing: pure serendipitous happenstance. I think. (Cue spooky music.)

Next project is upping my Vaughn hammer-hatchet to something close to what PJF did with his:

 

Absent Friends

Never got to meet the guy in person, or shake his hand.
Still miss him, his blog (which has evidently bitten the big one as well, but mirrored here), and the commentariat it produced. (Those that drop by, say 'Hi.')

 

Range Report I: Ruger PC9 Carbine

As noted a few days back, I picked up one of these recently, and today was time to try it out, and do some sight adjustment.

The Good:
Ruger. I.e. built like Russian tank.
It feels solid, sturdy, and compact.
6# 13oz stock, and mine was about 8 pounds as tested, with scope and sling.
Points well.
Aperture ring rear and protected front blade iron sights, on barrel assembly, adjustable for windage and elevation.
Picatinny top rail built into receiver.
Comes with multiple stock spacers to adjust length of pull.
Breaks into two pieces for compact storage.
(With weapon unloaded, draw bolt slightly back, pull up on takedown plunger, rotate 1/8th turn counterclockwise, then slide barrel assy. out of receiver. That fast and easy.)

Charging handle and mag release are ambidextrous.
Ruger OEM mag well swaps out with one that takes Glock 17/19/26 mags.
Threaded 1/2-28 muzzle w/thread protector, for flash hiders, and/or SHHH! cans, if you've got the federal tax stamp.

The first thing I did was use one of the three included Allen wrenches, remove the factory Ruger mag well, and swap in the included Glock block instead. I already have the above models, and have no desire to buy OEM Ruger mags at whatever the market price is, for something that's been Californicated to hold only 10 rounds. (Hopefully if Duncan v. Becerra is finalized, that'll sunset that nonsense hereabouts.) Meanwhile, since I'm going to be round-limited, I opted to use G26 mags, for minimum profile.
Provide one seats a loaded magazine firmly in place, they work just fine.
(So do G19 and G17 mags.)
If you don't check it, you'll find the magazine now with nine rounds sitting under the weapon after your first shot jiggles it loose.

The second thing I did was swap the charging handle to the left side of the receiver, where it belongs for right-handed shooters with two hands. That leaves your dominant hand on the stock grip, which works just fine. The changeover took about 90 seconds, 20 of which were reading the manual to see how to do it. If you can screw in a light bulb, you can change the charging handle over.

As presbyopia means never having to worry about your iron sights, I acquired an optical sight to make this fully useful. (If I wear my readers, I can see the sights, but not the target. With naked eyes, I can see the target, but not the sights.) Given what the weapon costs, I couldn't see blowing $300 or more on optics for a short-range carbine. This is not an M40A3, it's a truck and brushwhacking gun.

So, instead of a spendy red dot, I bought the $39 Chinese-made Barska 3-9X w/duplex at WallyWorld. (No, I don't ever expect to need more than 3X, but fixed magnification wasn't an option.) But, true to form, the Barska came with rings made to mount that thing on top of a 10/22 or Marlin .22, not full-sized Picatinny rail. So I bought a pair of Leupold 1" rings, for as much as the scope cost, and mounted the whole assembly on top.

Thus prepared, it was time to head to the range.

It took about 40 rounds to get it centered, shooting 5-shot groups, and at an indoor range with about a 20Y max range.

Recoil?
What recoil?!?
It's a 9mm carbine. Your 10 year old daughter could shoot this all day long.
One-handed.

I started about 2" right and 2" high, but given the relatively short range, the scope corrections were rather bold. By the 40th round, the rifle was more accurate off-hand than I was capable of, and keeping 10 round mag strings all in not just the 10 ring, but the middle of the 10 ring at 20Y became child's play. To the point that I was able to Have A Nice Day on the last string.

The Bad:
I have the takedown 10/22, which comes with a nice backpack carrying case to stow and tote the weapon broken down, with space for ammo, additional mags, cleaning gear, survival supplies, etc.
The PC 9 does not include such a case. Pity. It should, even if it's sold as an after-market accessory.

I had one stovepipe, which annoyed me, but it's still getting broken in.
As it gets dirty, you may need to assist the bolt to close home on a new mag, due to residue fouling.

I went through 100 rounds in less than an hour, slow-fired. The barrel is fluted, which aids cooling. Which is fortunate, because even that modest amount of firing got things h-o-t.

And though I may or may not have some legally-obtained higher cap pre-ban Glock mags, what this thing wants is the 33-round happy sticks, or better yet, the 50 rd. drum or the 100-round Beta-C mag.

And a place to shoot outdoors where you can practice rapid fire.
On pumpkins, watermelons, and old plastic milk jugs filled with water.
Wear gloves. (Be careful: the piece is hot!)

The worst thing about this weapon is that they aren't yet making it in .45ACP (they have evidently announced a .40S&W version for next year), and capable of accepting M1911 mags. I would buy twelve of those. (I have no idea if Ruger will figure this out on their own and add that choice, or whether it will take them another 20 years to clue in, if ever. But it should be a slam-dunk business decision.)

The Ugly:
This thing comes from the factory with a front sling swivel, and a molded swivel loop at the butt as part of the plastic molded stock.
Ruger was 0-2 on this.
The front sling swivel was 20° out of whack, because some flunky was too lazy to put it on straight. So I had to fix that.
And then the mold job on the rear sling swivel leaves the loop too wide to put on standard QD sling swivels, necessitating some Bubba gunsmithing on one side of it with a mill bastard file, to get the sling ring profile to accommodate the QD swivel and close properly. This tells me that Ruger either didn't check, or doesn't care. Sloppy.

That's it.
I have nothing else to complain about regarding the weapon.
IMHO, Ruger has another winner, and a worthy successor to the discontinued Marlin Camp carbines.
This thing is the poor man's Tommy gun, esp. if you slap 33-50-100 round magazines into it.
If you have a 9MM Glock pistol, you should get one of these to make it a matched set.


Sometime in the next couple of days, I'll take it to an outdoor range, and get it dialed in for 100Y. I may even see about learning its 200Y zero for the scope mounted on it, just because I can. When I do that, Range Report II will follow.

Addendum in re: Comments:
Boys and girls, there are limits to what I'll do.
Putting a $300 (or more) sight on a $600 pistol-caliber carbine is one of them.
No matter how quick and nifty it would be.
Even with just the irons and my eyes, I could still point and hit minute of bad guy out to 100Y, just from muscle memory.
At this point, just on 3X with the cheapie Barksa, it holds minute of X-ring at house and yard-width distances. My group at 20Y slow-fired offhand would fit under a teacup. Tomorrow (probably), at longer range, I suspect it'll be dialed in even farther out, and I'll see what the overs and unders are for intermediate ranges.

At that point, lacking the legal ability to add the can it wants on those threads, and the drum mags I want (yet), the only thing I'm adding is a thumb-buster loading block to make reloading the 10-rd G26 mags even quicker and easier, and probably another handful (6-8) of those, and a pouch or two on the gun case to hold them in.

And in case anyone at 5.11, Maxpedition, Fox, Voodoo, Condor, etc. are listening/reading this, WTF don't any of you guys sell MOLLE pouches cut to hold
a) Californicated 10-rd standard rifle mags for things like ARs, AKs, M1-As, etc.
b) 10/22 mags by the triple or more
(currently I use MOLLE grenade pouches instead, lacking a steady supply of M67 frags)
(Hint: a bandolier that had 10-12 pouches for them? GENIUS!)
c) G26 mags 4-, 6-, or 10 across, on a belt or MOLLE grid???

When Ruger's PC9 case becomes a reality, I'll probably get one of those too, if it stores it broken down.

The only reason now to get an Inland M1 Carbine is nostalgia.
(Which doesn't mean I won't acquire one, or a WWII original, at some point.)
This thing does everything the M1 would do, cheaper, and with far more utility.
I still have a Camp .45 around somewhere in vintage shape, which wants the after-market recoil springs, buffer blocks and such, but the day Ruger does a PC45, that old Marlin is going on the sale block, to help pay for the dozen PC45s I'll want in a ready rack.

And the Ruger PC wants three, maybe four, after market stocks:
One in solid wood. Birch, walnut, whatever.
(That may be a weekend/retirement project someday.)
A wood one with the M1 carbine sling cut and profile.
A plastic one like they make, but with a sliding/folding adjustable length.
A plastic one, with a pistol grip.
I suspect in a year or two CM&T, Magpul, and a dozen other companies etc. will get hot on those last two. If not, they're fools.

Cathedral - by David Macaulay

Fire and cathedrals are nothing new.
This 1986 PBS documentary, based on the Caldecott Medal-winning book by David Macaulay, should give you a bit more insight into the topic.
Enthusiastically recommended.

Borepatch yesterday, in the same vein .

Sunday Music: Kool & The Gang - Summer Madness

Original cut released in 1974, extended cut a year later.
Either 40+ years ahead of its time, or timeless. Take your pick.

Long Past Time To Get A Net

 

 

In my travels, I was in a department store the other day. As I made my way to where what I wanted was located, I could hear someone loudly mother-effing everyone from 50 feet away, over the buzz and throng of shoppers. He proceeded to circle the entire store, shouting, cursing, carrying on, pacing, and slamming items as he passed them. He was clearly and undeniably out of control. And most of the store staff, with the wits of hamsters, wasn't sure if this was a problem. No, jackass, having someone so out of control he's flinging heavy items onto the floor and yelling and cursing at the top of his lungs is everyday behavior, everywhere. Of  COURSE he's a problem, dipshit, so either deal with it or call the cops! Well, dozens of school shootings having taught people nothing, they had to ask an assistant manager if calling the po-po for out-of-control lunatic publicly trashing the store was allowed. I sh*t you not.

 

Fortunately, enough bystanders had essentially cordoned fucktard to the point that his only option was out the front door, and out into the parking lot, before store mismanagement could create a mass-casualty incident. Now he's the city's problem. And then his (adoptive, and also fucktarded) mother gets in the store staffs' faces for "creating a scene" (No ma'am, Junior Fucktard did all the scene creating and loud mother-f**king...perhaps you noticed?), and tried to assure one and all that the guy, well into his majority, six feet tall, and loudly violent, was "fine, no danger to anyone" because he was autistic. To her, apparently, taking him out in public when he was completely unhinged and out of control, and a threat to anyone within reach, seemed like a good idea. The depths some people will go to define deviancy downwards is breathtakingly unbelievable until you have your nose rubbed in it.

 

Which brings us to larger realms of discussion of the same phenomenon.

 

Mind you, I'm not advocating anything here, just stating clinical facts.

Given two-plus years to adjust to the reality of a Trump presidency, and despite how unpalatable it may be for them to acknowledge that reality, the fact remains that the Left is simply incapable of maintaining a grip on reality.

 

psychosis

noun

noun: psychosis; plural noun: psychoses

A severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality.

 

psychotic

adjective

 

 relating to, denoting, or suffering from a psychosis.

 "a psychotic disturbance"

 synonyms:

severely mentally ill, insane, mad, certifiable, deranged, demented, of unsound mind, out of one's mind, not in one's right mind, not together, crazed, lunatic, unbalanced, unhinged, unstable, disturbed, distracted, stark mad, maniac, maniacal, manic, frenzied, raving, distraught, frantic, hysterical, delirious, mad as a hatter, mad as a March hare. delusional adjective characterized by or holding idiosyncratic beliefs or impressions that are contradicted by reality or rational argument, typically as a symptom of mental disorder.

Who, looking at the Left, as exemplified by current leadership, could seriously contend that they're merely misguided, misinformed, or sincerely but goodheartedly mistaken?
They openly advocate confiscatory levels of taxation, draconian attempts to dictate thought, word, and deed in every aspect of everyone's life, and embrace the wholesale destruction and starvation of the society to bring it into compliance with their barking mad fantasies.

Global warming, shown again and again to be nothing other than political hoax and junk science of the rankest order, still rules their thinking. They're Paul Ehrlich acolytes, stuck in 1968.

The want wide open borders, consequences to the nation be damned, purely so they can undo the realities of a majority overwhelmingly more-educated white society, in order to achieve irrevocable political power for themselves and their cronies.

They have robed lunatic acolytes who think one federal judge can re-interpret the Constitution and all federal code on account of his or her purely personal whims, and dictate national security and federal policy from one bench in the Ninth Circus.

In the nonsensical frothings of functional retards like Avocado Occasional Castro, and the knee-jerk anti-Semite death-cult mutterings of the two jihadists all recently inflicted on Congress, even professional meatheads like Chuck U Schumer and Queen Alzheimer's Pelosi have begun to see inklings of what happens when they hand the revolution over to the machete-wielding cannibal younglings.

Do they stop any of this behavior, upon mature reflection? Censure them? Remove them from the chambers of power, for cause (as is their right)?

Hell, no!

They double down on it.

When their frothing partisan witch-hunt and attempted coup predictably explodes in their faces, they try to gaslight the once and current Attorney general, who accuses the law enforcement and intelligence communities under the illegal Kenyan president of turning the full force of governmental power against his political opponent for political reasons. They feign shocked incomprehension at how using secret intelligence courts and vague malarkey about imaginary foreign influence as carte blanche to go trolling through then-billionaire and current POTUS' entire life and business dealings is banana-republican at best. Then they turn on their attack dog for failing to manufacture fake news goods, when he and his rabid Shrillarites turn up nothing but a couple of sleazy lawyers self-sliming themselves.

And then double down, and claim there was something, rather than nothing, there, even though they had two years and millions of dollars to find something, anything, and came up empty.

These are not the actions of rational people in control of their faculties.
They are not, despite the likelihood of criminal indictments potentially all the way to the entirety of the last administration, the actions of merely evil people facing the  consequences of their crimes coming to fruition and punishment.

These are people deep in their own fürherbunker, cheerfully directing sweeping counterstrokes by armies long ago wiped out and surrendered, and waving their arms in delusional glee as they imagine their triumphant return to power and the destruction of all their enemies, real and imaginary.

Such satire pales in the face of documented reality.

One does not put delusional psychotics in charge of anything.
One does not indulge their rants.
One throws a net over them, straps them down, and medicates them into oblivious silence, until the rabid squirrels in their heads stop running the bearings off their exercise wheels, and they can once again be re-acquainted with reality.
If necessary, by electroshock therapy to the temples.

These are not sane, evil people you're dealing with.
These are insane evil people you're dealing with.
Cornered, unpredictable, unreachable, and with an army of similarly deranged flying monkeys every bit as irrationally delusional as their psychotic overlords.

They're either going to have to be put into restraints (gently or not), and then secluded and treated according to the magnitude of their psychoses; or they're going to have to be put down like rabid dogs.

There is no longer any third option. One does not let a mad man into the cockpit or onto the bridge of a jetliner or aircraft carrier, and one cannot abide them running rampant citywide, creating chaos and mayhem at every place the voices in their head so direct them.

That there is going to have to be an intervention is a given.
Whether they survive it is an open question.
But whether the insaniacs of Leftardia can be trusted with any power whatsoever, for generations at minimum, has been decided in the negative, without any other recourse.

They are going to have to be removed unless and until they can at least maintain the façade of sanity. If that's even within the realm of possibility for them.

But go they must.
That much is beyond any dispute.

The rest of the country has been patient beyond sainthood waiting for them to come back into the fold of reality.
It isn't happening, and probably never will.

The only choice that remains, for them, is whether they go quietly, or forcefully.

 

And don't think for a second, even though I didn't mention them or show faces, that the ABCNNBCBS media is off the hook in this either. They belong in the same padded wagon.