Friday, August 7, 2020


You're not the only ones who thought I was dead.

I missed a scheduled shift at work. (All my own fault; I mis-remembered which days they shifted me, and got it forked up.) And, as I'm of the generation that learned to exist without being tethered to the 'net 24/7/365/forever (you may have noticed the light posting hereabouts) I left my phone charging in the car. Where I couldn't see nor hear it buzzing, ringing, vibrating, nor any of the other cacophony of electronic claptrap as various among my supervisors and co-workers called, texted, etc., your humble bloghost to ask us whereinhell we were, since we weren't processing meat in the ER at our appointed hour. Without any explanation.

This struck them as so out of character, they convinced themselves we were in grave distress, and persisted in their hyperventilations to the point of sending the local constabulary to seek us out and determine our life status.

It was evidently a busy night, but a slow morning, and thinking ourself work-free for several days, we had stayed up watching a Marvel movie marathon, in chronological order, through "Avengers: Civil War", and we were consequently sleeping in the following morning.
(Bearing well in mind that our typical awake working schedule has been nights for about 25 years.)

But come about 11AM, it being a slow day for the City's Finest, not one but three black and whites showed up, bearing five rather LARGE police officers, intent on giving us a rousing cop-knock reveille. (For the record, I recommend one's own alarm clock). I awoke to the pounding thinking someone was working on a fender across the alley, because other than giving the door a PR-24 shampoo, they uttered not a sound.

I almost convinced myself after I was fully awake that I had dreamt the whole thing, but decided to investigate a wee bit further before returning to my pillow.

Which was fortunate, because that's when we spied about half the city's PD day shift arrayed all up in our domicile's grill. We were now fully awake, but perplexed, as we had not, to our knowledge, committed any bank robberies, mass murders, nor any other actual deliberate felonies, and we hadn't heard any hue and cry regarding pursuit of any other violent outlaws to our neighborhood. As we heard them questioning the neighbor about the last time anyone had seen us, and whether they had, perchance, heard a single gunshot, we began to dress to meet the day. As a general rule of thumb, whatever's coming your way is better addressed with you wearing both shoes and trousers. When the mail slot snapped open, and we heard one of them report no smell of bodily decay within, we began dressing more rapidly.
But when Huey, Dewey, and Louie began discussing whether breaking in a window or the front door would be best, fun and games were decidedly over.

We called out that we'd be out as soon as we had our pants on, then proceeded to exit the premises rapidly afterwards. They expressed astonishment that we had slept through what had apparently been several rounds of urgent door pounding, along with relief at not having to retrieve and then babysit a pungently expired corpse until the coroner showed up (a relief matched, if not surpassed, by my own at not having them see the general state of my man cave, the mere sight of which would have assured them of a burglary in progress, a duel to the death, and or an imminent military coup - or all three - had recently occurred within, in any particular order), and once assured by presentation of valid ID that I was the body in question, and explained what must have happened, they inquired ever so sweetly if I would, perchance, care to call my employer to assure them that rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated?

Once I agreed to do so in haste, they went about their business, while some of my sketchier neighbors began to slink back into their own homes, having gone out their back doors and such when they saw the panda car party entourage descending upon my house.

So no, I'm not dead, nor laying low or "going dark". Nor, really, taking a vacation, except from blogging. The last because the PC up and died last month. We have a new machine on deck to replace it, but it really is quite the PITA to dig out the cables and connections to pull out the dead one and install the replacement, with work and a couple of other projects sucking up our time quite handily. So we continue using the obsolescent touchscreen notepad.

One of which projects is rejuvenating a 120-year-old Krag, which has suffered both a longtime lack of preventative maintenance sufficient to call forth the ghosts of generations of drill instructors and give their spirits a serious case of the @$$ - obvious exterior rust will do that - coupled with a surplus of Bubbination to the OEM milspec sights, and replacement with vintage mid-century cheeseball Redfield peep sights, with elevation and windage mechanisms, both of which are as rusted as the exterior of the rest of the piece.

All original value being thusly buggered, we've begun stripping the whole thing to the white, preparatory to restoring it to as-issued condition, and reblueing it and rehabilitating the stock until it looks like either a high grade replica brand new, or an issue arm circa 1898.
(We're leaning towards pretty over functional, and are willing to work on it until the blue looks like a Colt Python frame circa 1970, from the Custom Shop, and the stock looks like something from the expensive rack at a London bespoke arms dealer. Since the thing looks like @$$ now, we can only improve on it at every turn.)
Then we're going to get it dialed in, because any gun we can't shoot, we don't want.

So between that, putting together some new IFAKs for any future unpleasantness, and getting our butt kicked several nights a week with all the critical COVID cases and deaths the jet-genius Gilligans of the Internet assure you are a mythological communist disinformation campaign, time for keyboarding is running a distant fourth place in the How Ima Spend My Time Weekly Sweepstakes.

It isn't a permanent thing, but the general idiocy about things medical, scientific, and political hasn't improved since we were last at it, and anyone who thinks that positive change this side of Labor Day is likely hasn't been paying very close attention.

Make prudent preparations for seriously $#!^^!#£ times, and you'll seldom be disappointed by things being all wonderful, over a long enough timeframe.

And if you haven't done much, or enough, then get cracking.

OTOH, if you're in good shape WRT general preparedness, water, food, finances, and so on -- including regarding Kung Flu - count it all joy.

And start asking "What if?s", just to be sure.

"Don't forget nothing." - Roberts' Rangers Rules

We'll be back at this presently, and rest assured, with all sorts of breaking opinion on the perennial ooze of civilization into the compost heap of history.

Look to yourselves in the meantime, and invest some time in meatspace with helping some worthwhile prospect(s) with even more catching up to do than you for any version - Pollyanna, Middling, or Curmudgeonly - of What's Coming.

P.S. - And if you don't think I'll be meme-dunking on Hidin' Biden [ (c) Raconteur Report 2020)] , and then trash-talking while hanging on the rim, you must be new around these parts.

Monday, July 20, 2020


Sometime last month, the hit-meter rolled past 7,000,000.

We are frankly astonished each time it rolls over another million views, and more so at the increasing frequency each time that happens. And somewhat humbled.

We thank ALL of our readers, every one of our fellow bloggers who link us, and the 99.8% of our commentariat who bring something useful to the table.

You folks are the main reason we do this, since this blog brings us a steady $0/yr since ever, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

Sincere thanks, and best wishes to you all.

Saturday, July 18, 2020

Your Hopeium Broker Called: Sell Short

Read my last comments to the previous post.
There ain't nothin' to be cheerful about, unless you' re where the Kung Flu isn't.
And even if a merciful Deity or blind chance in a random universe hasn't got COVID kicking your @$$ personally, the fact that it's beating the big cities like a rented mule is going to have consequences for you too, unless you're totally self-sufficient, grow everything you eat, and wipe your bottom with tree bark.

The other 99.9% of you should fasten your seatbelts tighter: it's going to be a bumpy rest of the YEAR. Perhaps longer.

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

Just Wondering...

So, you let your Gilligans drive the bus on dealing with Kung Flu.
How's that working out for ya?

FL ICUs are at 98% capacity statewide.
TX has exploded. So has AZ, and 17 other states.
CA gov. Gabbin' Nuisance re-closed 30+ counties yesterday, all because of the morons that think wearing a mask is the Mark Of The Beast, and washing your hands is communism.

So, just wondering, how is everyone enjoying that footlong $#!^ sandwich all y'all are eating, just like we dun tole ya would happen?

We're now going to be dealing with this until New Years' at minimum, and probably more like next Easter.
Or, you could try wearing a mask, and washing your hands.
Dealer's choice.

Suture selves.

Monday, July 13, 2020

Fixin' To Hope To Start To Commence...

One more day chained to my oar, after which I should be able to begin blasting and shoveling the debris, in order to get down to installing the NIB Whizbang Blogmaster 2020 v3.0, accompanied by the obligatory large blue cloud of £@#$×÷+₩£!?×& symbology floating out to sea somewhere between Pt. Concepcion and the Channel Islands.*

If Bill Gates et al wanted to make an even bigger pile of money, they'd invent a desktop computer which worked better whenever the owner cracked it sharply with a stout Louisville Slugger right on top of the tower, and provide suitable sound effects and blinking lights for the effort.

Just saying.

*(My father, like Jean Shepherd's, worked in profanity the way some artists work in oils or watercolors. I have surpassed the old SOB, given proper motivation. Dealing with a new computer system is motivation above and beyond that bar.)

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Ol' Remus

We note via comments here that Ol' Remus, of The Woodpile Report, may have passed away from a recently diagnosed  cancer.

We have no way to confirm this news, hope it isn't so, and if that be the case, regret the error.
Whether it be true or no, we remain saddened at the ongoing silence of his blog.

He seemed to us - and, we suspect, to many others - a delightful and well-informed gentleman, sophisticated yet down-home sensible, who kindly took notice of this blog in its relative infancy, and found our offerings notable enough to link to and/or feature there, on many occasions.

Words cannot express our thanks for his attentions, but we hold back nothing in stating that anytime our own brain droppings online merited inclusion on his weekly page, we felt like a kid who had hit a home run or brought home a report card of As.

Whatever the cause of his absence online, we feel ourselves, and the rest of the world, to be much the poorer for the silence left in its stead, and are second to none in our regard for the wisdom formerly free by the week at his site.

And our only solace, if he has indeed left this earth, is the hope of an afterlife, where an online acquaintance might be continued someday, face to face, and where he and his recently departed wife are even now reunited.

Tuesday, July 7, 2020

Working On It...Sorta

Read my comment at the end of the previous post. I'd have cut and pasted it, but the pride of 2013 technology that is this back-from-the-grave zombie tablet doesn't do that.

I've got the week off, so among the eleventy things I have to do this week, getting this pig back up on skates is rising to the middle of my list.

Take care of yourselves, and be well.