This. Every Day For The Next Year.

h/t Fran Porretto

If you haven't seen this, you should.
So should 300,000,000 of your friends and neighbors.

And DJT should append "I'm Donald Trump, and I approve this message." to the end of it, and just run it, every day, on every network.

When people are making better ads for free than what you'd get if you paid for them, just move out of the way.

Suck it, NeverTrumpers and DemoCommunists.

All Rise...

Veteran's Day PSA

Look, kids, I understand this may be hard to grasp, especially for the 99.5% (the actual percentage) of Americans that have never and will never serve in the military (vs., e.g., the U.S. circa 1944, when 1 in 6 military-aged males was, in fact, in uniform). Don't get me wrong, military service isn't for everyone, and there's nothing wrong per se with being a civilian, but it's not exactly hard: you don't even have to take a physical.

But here's the thing that some of you keep fornicating up, over and over, year after year.
The Fourth of July is pretty self explanatory, and people seem to grasp Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. Most times.

But Memorial Day comes in May (yes, every year, Snowflake), and as the name might subtly imply, it's the day you celebrate those who died in the military service of their country, particularly this one.

Today, by contrast, is Veteran's Day, which those possessing more facility with vocabulary might have sussed out (without a good head-slapping with a frozen mackerel) is for people who served (or still are) in the military, and therefore still alive.

You could look this up, cupcakes, but Memorial Day was originally Decoration Day, when the tradition was to decorate the graves of the honored dead.
Veteran's Day was originally Armistice Day, to celebrate the end of the War To End All Wars (before we started numbering humanity's massive clusterf**ks). It isn't that any more. And, let's face it, saying "Thank you for your service" which I'll generally tolerate today, isn't going to do a lot of good for guys dead and buried at Arlington National Cemetery. They can't hear you.

So, just maybe, write this on your hand with a Sharpie:
Memorial Day: dead guys.
Veteran's Day: live guys.

Then you won't be caught on the internet posting Taps, Last Post, In Flanders Field, and any twenty other clips, photos, or memes of guys in flag-draped coffins, today, and the Gunny, above, won't have to smack you in both sides of your slimy civilian head to help you correct your malfunction.

Please?

We appreciate that as a general rule, the childishness and churlishness of the hippie scumbags during the Vietnam Era has given way to thanks (at levels from sincere to patronizing ignorance) to vets, as opposed to spitting on them all, calling them baby killers, and asking them how many people they killed. Walk tall. You're not the juvenile walking penises the pussified flower children of the Sixties were.

But if you really appreciate veteran's service today, don't force them to humor you for being too retarded to know the difference.

Get that part right, and maybe next year, we can work on disabusing low-information nitwits of the notion that everybody wearing an old army jacket and begging for cash is an actual homeless veteran rather than a chiseling valor thief, and of the liberal asshole meme via Hollyweird that most vets are out panhandling alcoholics and strung out on drugs, from all that PTSD, or one step from climbing a tower with a rifle.
Maybe.
If you work really hard, and pay close attention.

But for today, just remember, it's for the guys still alive.
Not the ones lying under rows of crosses in 20 foreign countries.

Baby steps, campers.

If you've got this without being told, or you're here from 20 other countries celebrating Armistice Day for what it originally was and is elsewhere, carry on.

244 And Counting

JOURNAL OF THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS
(Philadelphia) Friday, November 10, 1775 

"Resolved, That two Battalions of Marines be raised, consisting of one Colonel, two Lieutenant Colonels, two Majors, and other officers as usual in other regiments; and that they consist of an equal number of privates with other battalions; that particular care be taken, that no persons be appointed to office, or enlisted into said Battalions, but such as are good seamen, or so acquainted with maritime affairs as to be able to serve to advantage by sea when required; that they be enlisted and commissioned to serve for and during the present war between Great Britain and the colonies, unless dismissed by order of Congress: that they be distinguished by the names of the first and second battalions of American Marines, and that they be considered as part of the number which the continental Army before Boston is ordered to consist of. 

Ordered, That a copy of the above be transmitted to the General."

To Uncle Sam's Misguided Children, the red-headed stepchild of the U.S. military, the misfits, the drop-outs, the cold-hearted bastards so sick of being penned up on a Navy gator freighter they'd happily storm a heavily defended beach just to kill something, I bid you a Happy 244th Birthday.

And tonight, on countless bases and in cities around the globe, there will be the obligatory  and celebratory Marine Corps Birthday Ball, with appropriate pomp and ceremony, and the first slices of birthday cake served to the oldest and youngest Marines present. (For those unaware, the Marines are only served crayons on base, during duty hours, or in the field, and not at formal occasions.)

And as is well known in lore and legend, one such soiree was on a joint force base, and the other services and their wives were invited to celebrate with the Marines as a courtesy.

Inevitably, a small group included junior officers from the Army, Navy, and Air Force, and one of the new service wives was so impressed by the Marine Corps celebration, she told her husband "This is great! I can't wait to go to the balls for all the other services!"

Before her husband could correct her, a Marine nearby who had heard that statement leaned in and delivered the coup de grace:

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, ma'am. The Army, Navy, and Air Force don't have any balls." 

Semper Fi, Devil Dogs.

Once A Marine, Always A Marine.

Sunday Music: Fanfare For The Common Man

Aaron Copland is among a very small and select group of American composers who were (or are) certified geniuses and national treasures. If it sounded familiar, but you didn't know what this piece was called before today, pay heed: it was written in your honor. In case you always thought you deserved your own theme song, that's been taken care of herewith, since 1942.

And today, of all days, I couldn't imagine a better group to perform it in your honor.

Science Really Is A Bitch Like That

h/t Liberty's Torch

So, today, we read this latest bit of scientism and Globull Warmist theology, excerpted over at Fran Porretto's place, and hailing from that bastion of scientific accuracy, TIME Magazine :

The problem with MDIs is not carbon dioxide (the most common greenhouse gas), but rather methane, which represents a far smaller share of greenhouse emissions, but a much more powerful one, with up to 84 times the heat-trapping power of CO2. Even the least polluting inhaler was found to emit methane at levels equal to up to 10 kg (22 lbs.) of carbon dioxide into the air over the course of its 200-puff lifetime.

Fran was more worried about what this means for the next target of the Warmist Cult (asthmatics), but I was more struck by the breathtaking scientific stupidity it takes to pen such thorough-going codswallop.

I realize that J-school grads spent about four minutes in science class back when they were 8 or 10 years old, and probably even less time adequately learning how to do math beyond the second grade level, but this level of ox-stunning professional jackassical stupidity is simply beyond the pale.

Listening to most all of the media attempt science and math is like giving a class of retarded kids the keys to a lot full of heavy construction equipment, only less responsible. When you can get better scientific understanding from MAD Magazine than TIME Magazine, the latter is charging too much per issue, and should be printed on Charmin to provide some bare utility.

Point of order, kids:

Humor me for but a moment.
An asthmatic's MDI weighs 4 to 6 ounces.
Including the metal container.

Now, I realize the Globull Warmist Cult Religion makes Scientology appear to be on a far firmer foundation with regard to both religion and science, by contrast, but physics being physics, and the First Law Of Thermodynamics being kind of a bitch when it comes to pulling matter (or more precisely, energy) out of your tailpipe, I put it to anyone with an IQ north of 75:

You can't get 22 pounds of methane out of a 6 ounce inhaler (nor the "functional equivalent" of 22 pounds of CO2, nor anything like), no matter how much handwaving you try, no matter how many goats' entrails you read, and no matter how many virgins you sacrifice to the Globull Warmist Volcano. Not even if you're Rumplestiltskin, and can spin straw into gold.

It's simply beyond ridiculous, skipping right to recockulous.
In fact, the recockulous meter is pegged all the way to the peg beyond Level 11 of Ludicrous on the dial, and cannot be measured with existing instrumentation. Even with the nitrous phlogiston boost and a flux capacitor operating the hyperdrive on pure dilithium crystals.

In short, 22 pounds of methane weighs, y'know, 22 effing pounds, you lying jackholes.
This is why the English language cleverly uses different words for 22 pounds, versus for 6 ounces.

And even if we granted TIME's "84 times" stat, the entire MDI would have to be a solid BLOCK of methane, with no room left for plastic, metal, other gasses, and - not to put too fine a point on it - ASTHMA MEDICINE. So, you can believe TIME Magazine's recockulous claims.
Or your lying eyes.

And FTR, you emit more methane than "the equivalent of 22 pounds of CO2" into the atmosphere every time you turn on a natural gas stove, between the time you dial up the gas, and when the pilot or electrical spark striker sets it on fire. You go figure out if it's more likely there are more gas burners than asthmatics on the planet.

(And if you guessed the next line of Warmist Climastrology is that "Cooking food is killing the planet!", go to the head of the class.)

In actual fact, every human being emits more methane than is contained in an MDI every time they fart, and the average human breaks winds 10-20 times a day (no matter what your wife or girlfriend tells you). Even more if you eat beans and herd cattle.

Which leads the Climastrology Cult to really be about global genocide, to save the planet.
Just like you suspected.

If this obvious scientific and linguistic reality is news to anyone, they should beat their heads against a solid rock wall until the matter makes itself clear.

Which leads us to ask of TIME Magazine, in particular their so-called editorial staff (where Science is concerned, going back only to about Edison's invention of the light bulb, if such were possible):

No other explanation accords with reality so handily.

Thanks for your time.

(Thermodynamics, asthma, math, Blazing Saddles, and Charles Laughton all in one post: this job ain't for amateurs, kids.)

Random Bits

Nothing much substantial going on, other than the ongoing three-year coup attempt, which unwinds daily into irrelevancy, but lots of little bits here and there:

Family saved from home invasion by AR-15.

Well, duh.
The Second Amendment was never about duck hunting, snowflake.


ABC News covered up Epstein story.

Well, of course they did; it would have tarnished the chances for lifelong criminal Shrillary to get elected if she was known to be married to the exact serial rapist and pedo-president she hitched her wagon to for purely political intent, and we can't be blowing the lid off the family crime syndicate.
And just in case you thought differently, Epstein didn't kill himself, and it wasn't incompetence that allowed him to be murdered in custody, with no one checking on him, and all the cameras miraculously "out of order" that night.

Americans in Mexico ambushed, raped, burned alive, some kidnapped.

Curiously silent are all those dumbasses who were shrieking and pearl-clutching when then-candidate Trump correctly called many Mexicans criminals and murderers. Where are those voices now, we wonder?

We've been telling people Mexico is a failed state and third-world shithole for twenty years, and their narco-enterprise makes Somalia look organized and civilized by contrast.
Some people are aghast at Pres. Trump's offer to co-operate with Mexico in wiping out the cartel, but we see this as evidence of how far the U.S. has fallen. 50 years ago, we would have simply sent two divisions of Marines, the 1st Armored, the 82nd Airborne and the 101st Air Assault divisions south, with orders to stop at the border with Guatemala, and sorted their shit out right quick, permanently, and told the UN and OAS to kiss our shiny white asses in reply if they'd so much as burped about it. Martial law and brick-wall justice by firing squad would end this nonsense in about six months, as most of their citizenry knows exactly who the crooks are; most of them, they elected themselves.

That pussification of America you keep hearing about?
This is it, writ large.

Build the goddam wall, post troops on it, declare a three mile death zone for anything seen moving on the other side to the limit of direct fire weaponry, and round-up the illegal collaborators on this side, and start repatriating them southwards with a trebuchet, or pushed out of C-130s from 5000' AGL. I don't care which.
You're already fighting cartel skirmishes on this side of the border, and have been for decades. It's only going to get worse here.
Get that conflict over with now, while you have a chance to prevail.
And anybody that thinks legalizing drugs will end this can be placed in the second wave of trebuchet launches, to argue their case in Sinaloa and Michoacan, like the low-IQ fucktards they are.

If we're going to have a war on drugs, let's have a real one, where we use B-52s and napalm.
I'd give us quite an edge if we went about it that way. 
Clearly, half-assing it for half a century hasn't worked whatsoever, but the quickest way to end it is to surrender. Exactly as the Mexicans have already done.

In sum, as noted over at Fran Porretto's site the other day:
"You must fight."

Not a sharply worded letter to the editor; not at a stupid rally; not at some jackassical street theater that accomplishes nothing but a set-piece ambush to get you killed, injured, arrested, or discredited; but by actually loading weapons and shooting back. (In fact, for the brighter lights, shooting first might be a wiser course of action. Your enemy can't react well with bullets in his liver. Just saying.)

Our neighbor to the south is a failed state, one step from open revolution and collapse, and has been for thirty years.
The media has been lying to you since the 1960s, since they realized they could, and get away with it.
The deep-state government wants to decapitate, metaphysically or actually, depending on the weather, the only leader that opposes them at every step, and has been owning them for three years, for the only time since the 1980s.
And their minions - at every level - want to take from you the only means to resist.

Inevitably, if you let that happen, the boxcars start loading just afterwards.
 
I can't paint the picture any clearer or bloodier.
Shit is coming down, and it's going to land on you, no matter where you are, or think you can hide.
 
You. Won't.
 

 

Sunday Music: Trouble

Like Glen Campbell, Lindsey Buckingham was a self-taught guitarist, and like several such, is frequently described as "the most under-rated musician" etc., etc.

I don't know if he's all that under-rated or overlooked, but his mastery as demonstrated on this Top Ten hit (with 3/5ths of Fleetwood Mac) from 1981 is flawlessly superb. When he departed Fleetwood Mac the first time, it took two guys to replace his parts. He's that good. And his solo at 2:07, and again at 3:09 that carries you to the fade is something that could have been twenty minutes long and still leave you wanting more.

Low Hanging Fruit

h/t McThag

McThag is ecstatic that OK has joined the ranks of Constitutional Carry.

Color us more like cautiously optimistic, but far from convinced this is any wave of things to come.

OK is low-hanging fruit, and it still took until just now to pluck it.

Notably, they have not (AFAIK) suffered FL's (or Califrutopia's, once upon a time) surplus of attention-whoring jackasses taking their long arms to Burger King and the community fishing pier, just to provoke a predictable response, which underlines that pissing on the bear's head is probably not the best nor brightest way to march for your constitutional rights, even giving such shenanigans the most charitable review. (OK residents, feel free to let me know if that sort of nonsense has been going on there in the lead-up to this day, which I doubt.)

And if that happens now after the fact, and you piss off enough lawmakers, despite it being fully legal at the moment, see if that law doesn't get shifted right back in about a minute.

Let me know how that works when it's done everyday at the strip malls or diners there, rather than a one-time political rally, and get back to that topic.

Bear well in mind that OK also is the only solid red state in the U.S.  only one of two states in the U.S. (the other being WV) - that voted in every county -  for Trump in 2016.
49  48 other states: not so much.

You could look it up.

It, quite literally, won't play that well in Peoria.

IOW, this is the political equivalent of cheering getting polygamy accepted, because you got it passed in Utah, or outright communism, because it passed in Massholia. It is not the same thing as getting roast beef on the menu at the National Vegan Conference.

I'm always open to evidence, but the experiment in Florida is still an open question, as the recent proposed SB 634 (which I hope fails to pass there) in response to any number of OC incidents there demonstrates, and a single data point in OK is not a trend.

Fair enough?

It's a fine thing to be ahead at the Indy 500 in the first lap, or even the 16th.

But the Victory lap, last time we looked, only comes when you're ahead on the last lap.

I want Constitutional Carry to be the law nationwide.

But even should I live to see that glorious day, I still don't want to see fucktards toting their rifles to the mall on a regular basis, just because it's legal, contrary to walking around with their zippers open and hanging their junk out on display, which is mainly what this has been about since Day One for most of those nimrods.

Like Nazis marching through Skokie, there's legal and even Constitutionally protected, and there's sensible and appropriate, and one does not automatically convey the other, which was the point all along.

I don't want anyone's rights restricted, but I'd like to see general intelligence and responsible behavior exercised at something above the lowest common denominator, as a rule of thumb.
I'm certainly not anti-gun, but I'm rabidly anti-idiot and anti-jackass.

That shouldn't require an essay to explain, but apparently common sense, isn't.