Friday, September 20, 2019

Dreaming, Or Planning?



A lot of people are just dreaming. About any number of things.

If what you're working on is always going to be done tomorrow, you're daydreaming, not planning or working.

Time is short. You don't know it's up until it's too late.
You want a castle?
Git 'er done.

Thursday, September 19, 2019

Re: Cold Fury - Relax, Everybody

h/t Fran Porretto and Liberty's Torch



In case the (annual) disappearance of Cold Fury has you worried, rest easy:
"Some of you may have noticed the sudden disappearance of my Cold Fury websty this week, an annual phenomenon that usually occurs when I forget to pay for the domain name registration each year. It's a real mental glitch I have going on with this, I admit. I registered the CF name and started the blog in direct response to the 9/11 attacks, six days after the fact on 9/16. Oughta be easy enough to remember that, right? And yet...here we all are. Again.  
But this year is a little different."... - Mike hisownself
RTWT

Bigger, better, badder.
Patience is a virtue.

Ahoy, Maties!

h/t Borepatch


Avast, scaliwags!
We be about some other pressin' urgent affairs, so ye's can have all the day at your leisure.
Splice the mainbrace, it be five o'clock somewhere, for a surety.
Customary shenanigans will recommence some'at later in the day, possibly after the last dog watch in these parts. Or mayhap not before the forenoon watch on the morrow.
And remember me hearties, it be "Rape - Kill -Pillage - Burn" - in that order.
And be square in yer dealin's. Otherwise ye may be handed a black spot.
We're not acertain of what happens after'ards, but like as not it be nothin' to wish for.


"...and really bad eggs..."

Tuesday, September 17, 2019

Monday, September 16, 2019

Bummer II



It's a tough week for rock 'n roll.
RIP Cars' leadman Ric Ocasek, 70, of natural causes, in NYFC yesterday.
Another great band taken by the sands of time (Benjamin Orr went way too young), and another catalog I can play in my sleep.
Their debut cuts from 41 years ago are as fresh now as the day the needle dropped on vinyl on Track One and Track Two.

 

Sunday, September 15, 2019

There's Always Someone Who Never Gets The Word


"Those six thousand ships you say they haven't got?"
"WELL,THEY'VE GOT THEM!!!"


Whether it's invasion fleets and Werner Pluskat's commander at Normandy, giant sharks and small-town mayors, or weaponized drones and drone experts, there's always somebody who'll tell you it can't happen.

More than a year ago, here and over at Peter's Bayou Renaissance Man blog, I and numerous other posters pointed out that drones were going to be successfully weaponized, and kick the ass of soft targets.

A self-proclaimed subject matter expert, who for decorum I shall not point at directly (you can figure it out yourself without too much effort) explained we had to be wrong, because using drones to attack, in my example from TWO years ago, oil refineries (among other targets) with explosives or incendiaries couldn't happen, ever, because they couldn't lift enough to ever get the job done.

It was simply UNPOSSIBLE!

Sh'yeah.
And the Titanic was UNSINKABLE.

Mea culpa. Weaponizing drones is unpossible.

Oops.
Looks like somebody forgot to tell the Yemeni rebels that this could never work.

 
But let's give the expert his due: they didn't stick with piddly little hobby drones with 1lb payloads. Hell no.
These guys have money.
The built big, long-range drones. Launched perhaps from 900+ miles away.
Y'know, like people with huge backing will do.
This time.
 
I would feign humility at being so right, if it didn't happen so frequently.
This isn't an accident, or blind guesswork.  And nobody is right 100% of the time, including me. But this was Eddie Murphy-at-a-Klan-rally obviously going to happen.
I look at things, draw rational conclusions, and extrapolate data in what appears to me to be a reasonable direction and distance.
And I called this sort of thing in 2017. So did Peter. So did others.
Hell, Tom Clancy called a terrorist using a jetliner as a missile in 1994, seven years before 9/11, and he was just a well-read insurance agent with an active imagination.
But it was the guy who was sure it couldn't possibly ever happen because of his own expertise on drones that missed this by a country mile, 180° in the wrong direction.
 
Now cue the next round of "See? I told you no one could do anything with COTS drones from Best Buy!" Which will be true, until it isn't. Because not everyone who wants to bomb a refinery (or something bloodier) has the backing of Iran, and millions of dollars of assets to fund it. So when someone drops a soda can thermite bomb over the LNG terminal at San Pedro/Long Beach, and it looks like a nuclear mushroom cloud going off, remind yourself it's still unpossible.
 
Because who'd want to do that?
Oh, I mean, besides the jihadi on a tight budget.
 
Dear Mayor Vaughan,
 
Consider your ass bitten.
 
FROM TWO F****** YEARS AGO, GENIUS!
NOW can we close the goddam beaches and holler "Shark!"?
Or was this just a figment of our over-active imagination too???

Technology doesn't have a side.
It merely has applications.

Sunday Music: Miami 2017



Starting today, a couple of dystopian epics. This one has always been my first pick.
If you listen to it, you can appreciate the artistry and musicianship of Messr. Joel and his go-to backup band at the height of their powers. But on a first run-through, just enjoy the lyrics.

Friday, September 13, 2019

Just To Make A Point



From nearly a decade ago, just popped up on my YouTube list of random stuff.

Less than 3 minutes long, and better than the last four Disney-fornicated StarWhores movies combined (AKA "$6B Shot To Hell!").

Kudos to whoever was behind this bit of fun.
I doubt they'll read this, but if they added the Darth v. Obi Wan final lightsaber fight, and hit that one out of the park too, they'd be scifi fanfilm gods!

And next, I want the R. Lee Ermey Vader, in this vein.
If I had the skills and equipment, I'd do it myself.

Enjoy.

Of Course, This Will NEVER Be Misused

h/t Bayou Renaissance Man


For what it is, it's great.

The key component is the GPS.

Getting back to the perpetual drone-bomb topic, how long before low-tech non-country players use this method to air-deliver 1-ton bomb loads right onto a target?

Unless you've pre-degraded GPS (which we almost never do, because of civil aviation), your first clue will be when Mohammed FedEx's you a 2000-pound nitrocellulose enema.

This thing is nothing but a cardboard box with wings and a simple brain.

Of course, no one will ever do that with something you could drop from a Cessna 15 miles away.

Let alone from airliners 40 miles away at 25k'.

As if.

And if you think one-ton blivets of drugs from the cartels that can be pinpoint-dropped to a waiting van far from the border aren't going to start being a thing, just like semi-submersible coke ships are, I've got a bridge for sale, cheap.

You'll also see them dropping resupply to groups way out in the Middle Of Nowhere, to facilitate human smuggling. You read it here first. (The solution to that is to build the frickin' wall, so they can't get here in group quantities.)

This is going to make air defense and interdiction quite a thing, going forward, at every level.

What goes around, comes around.

Technology doesn't have a side. It merely has applications.

Bummer. RIP.



Former beat cop with the NYPD, and rock and roller Edward J. Mahoney, AKA Eddie Money, has died at 70, a week after the announcement that he had Stage IV esophageal cancer (for reference, Stage V is Forest Lawn).

A good guy, good tunes, and no whiff of stupidity or scandal marred his career. Guy just liked to rock.

70 years is always a pretty good run. Doubly so with a string of Top 40 hits.
But those cancer sticks will do what they do.
Here's hoping he's in paradise.

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Every Day Is 9/11. That's Exactly The Problem.

Reprinted from 9/11/2018. It's a year later (or eighteen, take your pick); NOTHING has changed.

9/11/2001: A resident of NYFC gets culturally enriched by the Diversity.















I'm a guy. And while I assent to cultural tradition, if you're one too, or you've got a husband, boyfriend, son, or father, you've probably caught on that we really aren't built to care a helluva lot about anniversaries and other such dates.

Saber-tooth in those bushes? You have my full attention.
Hot steak dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy? You had me at steak.
Same spot on the calendar as one 365 days ago, or some multiple thereof? Zzzzzzzzzz

You're fighting upstream against the way our brains are wired on all three levels: human, monkey, and lizard.

And the fact is, at all three levels of my brain, every day is 9/11.
Yesterday was.
Tomorrow will be.
Today is just a happy conjunction of reality and the construct of the Gregorian calendar.
Nothing more nor less.

Because the murdering, semi-literate goat-humpers who perpetrated the act we remember are still out there.
We (you, me, Western civilization, etc.) haven't delivered to them the Third Punic War level of recompense they richly deserve, because reasons. Mostly bullshit ones, at that.

It's too much.
Hey, fuckwit, they wiped out international air travel for months, vaporized billions in the economy of every nation in the world, including the ones least able to absorb that, not just ours in the U.S., engendering a decade-plus series of wars and thousands to tens of thousands of casualties, that really hasn't stopped since they started circa the 7th Century, and won't until we end the problem, by ending the problem children.
Sorry if that unvarnished reality spoils your breakfast, but shit happens.

It's mean.
Really, dipshit? Meaner than destroying the lives of thousands of strangers in the service of your child-molesting leader, and his fanatical devotion to an imaginary death-cult deity?
Meaner than setting buildings on fire, and subjecting thousands of strangers to slow torture by fire, smoke, and worst of all, the time to contemplate the full hopelessness of their situation, such that they'd rather, in hundreds of cases, try flying from the 80th floor of a skyscraper rather than burn to death, or wait to be crushed under hundreds of tons of smoking rubble, screaming all the way to the impact at the bottom?
Okay, you win. I hereby concede that justice demands that every fanatical follower of theirs, including their bomb-toting children, should only be lit on fire, and kicked out of an aircraft at altitude, to scream in unspeakable agony the entire way until impact. Call it Hammurabi 2.0.
Happy now?

That's not who we are.
You got a mouse in your pocket, soy-boi?
Who we are is a disgrace. Who we should be, are the guys who nuked Mecca and Medina, same day, then slaughtered everything left after that, in a feat worthy of Genghis Khan, and then introduced endangered species to graze there in perpetuity, so as to have enough lions and crocodiles handy to feed any stragglers to for the next few centuries.

They aren't all like the terrorists.
Really? That's why the "moderates" cheer and hand out candy when the "fanatics" kill your fellow citizens? How many times will you have to be jihaded by "moderates" who experience Sudden Jihadi Syndrome™, in San Bernardino, or Ft. Hood, or Tennessee, or a hundred other places, before the penny finally drops for you?
By their own doctrine, they're either fanatics, or apostates.
Moderate is a western invention, like unicorns and the Easter Bunny.
You could look it up.

Have a nice big steaming hot cup of Reality, Snowflake:
 
Fanatical Muslims give the other 1% a bad name.

When we should have been whole-heartedly focused on depriving their civil rights, with high explosives, until there wasn't even a single breeding pair left in captivity, we instead had undisguised opportunists waiting to violate our civil rights, submitting us to indignities and violations that would have made Heinrich Himmler and his acolytes salivate, if not progress to actually lewdly abusing themselves in public. Groping my underpants and forcing me to walk shoeless to board a plane hasn't stopped a single terrorist incident ever, nor ever will.
Meanwhile, the recidivism rate for those granted a new .223 caliber third eye in their foreheads is still running at a flawless perfect 0%, every single time it's tried. Suck on that mathematical reality, and get back to me.

We have the spectacle of entire nations self-destructing under the onslaught of "refugees", suspiciously all military-aged males, minus women and children, streaming from every not-at-war Turd World Shitholia and Trashcanistan, raping entire populations in plain sight, for decades, with the full approval of the authorities, and pillaging the cultural heritage of the entire civilized world. And Stockholm Syndrome times Battered Wives' Syndrome is alive and well; but not just in Stockholm, but in Berlinistan, Londonistan, Paristan, Romistan, Rotherham, Chemnitz, and every other future no-go zone in the caliphate that's spreading like cancer from Spitzbergen to Sicily.
To Syracuse.
To San Diego.
Let me know when realization dawns for you.

Charles Martel, Ferdinand of Spain, Vlad The Hero, and the entire interred Knights of Malta are twirling in their graves so hard it should be gyroscopically spinning the planet out of solar orbit.

And we elected an illegal alien jihadist here, who spent most of a decade denying the obvious truth before everyone's lying eyes: we know who the problem is, we know where the problem is, we have the means to solve it, but none dare speak that, or they'll be fact-shamed for their truthiness, and banished from the public square.

When Ann Coulter nailed it on 9/12 or so, the shrieks hit pitches that were heard by dogs in space.
"We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity."

I'm far less missionary-minded: I'd settle for 2 out of 3, and add "kill them all, burn their homes, slaughter their livestock, salt their fields, and throw the corpses in their wells, after we crap in them." If they have spiritual aspirations, that's just fine. And the sooner we arrange that meeting for them with God to be face-to-face, the better for all concerned.

But I'm sentimental like that.

Remember 9/11??
You must be joking.

The half-assed, half-witted, half-stepping pseudo-response to 9/11 has ensured that every day is 9/11.

Ask a thousand English girls enslaved for sex in their own country, and passed around like so much white meat. For a decade, while Britistani officialdom watched.
(Dear British pussies: you should be hunting down like Adolph Eichmann, and beheading, on YouTube and LiveLeak, with dull rusty saws, every public official who did that, and putting their freshly-severed heads on London Bridge, but you're all women now, the best part of your DNA ran down the legs of French ladies of your grandfathers' era in the countryside outside Verdun, and you deserve the butt-raping you'll be getting in your own towns until you fix that. If ever. If you're too squeamish, maybe you can hire it out to the Gurkhas, but it still needs getting done. Sorry about the shoe fitting and all.)
Ask numbers beyond account stabbed, shot, or run over in France.
Ask the women of Germany and Sweden and Norway, gang-raped in 100% of cases by the very same swarthy "Asian" hordes of rapefugees they foolishly welcomed into their homelands.

So far, outside of a few divisions of veterans of places like Samar, Mogadishu, Fallujah, Anbar province and the like, and a handful of Americans armed with rolled up newspapers and butter knives on a flight over Shanksville PA until it ended as a smoking hole in the ground, we haven't done nearly enough, and until we do, we're going to keep remembering, and re-living, the unspeakable agony of that day, until either there's no one left who cares, given that they're all bowing five times a day facing Mecca; or until there's no one left to do it to humanity again, ever, for all time.

When someone tells you they're coming for you, take them at their word.
If it's going to come down to that, it's always better to be the one twisting the bayonet, rather than the one impaled on the end.

Sooner or later, you're going to figure that out.
Hopefully, the light will dawn while you still have the means to make a choice in the matter.

Mo doesn't like Western civilization? Wants to bring about global sharia?
I'm your Huckleberry.
I'll see your jihad, and raise you the Last Crusade. I'm all in, in fact.
So quit dicking around, and flop that last card.

"Let's roll."

When You're Hitting Your Head Against A Wall...


















...it feels so good to stop.

Cdr. Salamander is a stand up guy, with a solid blog bailiwick.
Regarding the Navy in general, and the Surface Warfare side of Big Blue in particular, he's a pure gold go-to destination.

Infantry topics and small arms: not so much.

Case in point: 6.8mm on the way
"Ground combat is not my specialty, my professional toolbox has big things that make big fireballs going out and going in, look cool on video, and require AC power - but please. There are more bad theories there than you can shake a stick at. I thought we stressed Aimed Fire? Spray and pray is what poorly trained targets do. Say what you want about the Soldier or Marine of 2006, but "..poorly trained and clueless 18 yr old" isn't very accurate. There was a move post OEF/OIF experience to go to a 6.5/6.8mm, but the bean counters, again, are trying to kill it."
To which we remonstrated, quite a bit more on-point:

1) Unless the laws of physics were revoked while I was off fishing, WTH difference is caliber going to make in accuracy for Sam Snuffie?
Either you train your people to shoot straight (Marines/most SOF), or you don't (Big Green and everyone else).
A new caliber will give you precisely Jack and Squat in that endeavor.
The only thing that'll help is proper initial training, and regular refreshers.

2) Adopting .26 or .27 caliber versus .223 or .30 will change nothing except how many shots per pound, the size of the hole (if you hit your target in the first place), and the penetration achieved/achievable.
Nothing else notable.
No other result is possible.

This windmill-tilting quest is the Military Industrial Complex version of vinyl/8-track/cassette/CD or Betamax/VHS/DVD/BD/4K, except without any of the helpful improvements in quality of the latter two examples. It's change to make a profit for everyone but the buyer.
A business deal is good when both parties come off better off.
When one side gets the money, and the other side gets the shaft, the useful forensic terms for that are fraud and swindle.
I'm assuming that was not the desired intent...?

3) Oh, except for one definite change:
making obsolete overnight every bit of stockpiled ammunition and parts, and requiring an entirely new procurement chain, delivered product, ammunition, spares, maintenance tools and equipment, training materials, affecting everyone from the issued item's end users to third-level maintenance, and shooting ground combat readiness in the pants for a few years during the changeover.
This is the Manager's Special, where you get $1/lb ground beef for $15 for 10#. The Manager loves that. The customer, not so much.

So, we're going to go with new Magic Beans, because the old beans were just...beans?
Except you're spending non-infinite dollars to get them.
So, how did that approach work for the F-35 Thunderjug, the Little Crappy Ships, and the Ford?
Got plenty of money left over for shells, bombs, fuel, training, and maintenance, have you??

And when you buy the New Hotness, what changes, other than the bottom line of certain Military Industrial Complex corporations and salesmen?
The only thing driving this change is people looking for commendation medals and promotions over in the Braid Grades.
It does bupkus for the grunts.

This is why Pentagon Wars is more documentary than black comedy.

You want to help the grunts?
Get them the best machineguns, mortars, and artillery, which each kill more than rifles, in any war since 1865.
Our issue rifles work fine, and have been top-notch since 1903. (If you want to buy new replacements exactly like the old ones every decade or two, when the old ones are shot out, well and good. But that doesn't require scrapping the entire alligator from tooth to tail, even if you can.) 
Even the Krag wasn't that bad, and twenty years of product improvement even turned the M-16 into what it was meant to be before the Army fornicated up the original concept. Nobody's come up with anything better in rifles since the FAL and the Armalite. Nor, likely, ever will.
Most changes since 1945 have been keeping up with the Joneses/STANAG problems, or raw envy. And the result of that has been mixed, at best.
Even our obsolescent stuff from 80 years ago is and would continue to be quite deadly and adequate, which proves the point that a new rifle is a genuinely stupid idea.
And nothing anyone dreams up will change anything in that regard until we adopt phased plasma rifles in the 40W range.

In this respect, the bean counters are trying to stop someone from making a stupid mistake with Other People's Money (and lives, when it gets down to it).

You really want to help the grunts out?
Can the Ordnance Branch. Wholesale.
It took them 25 years and more, plus two-three wars, to admit the FN-MAG was superior to the M-60 p.o.s. our troops were force-fed.
They didn't improve our WW2 mortars for forty years.
They adopted a too-heavy 155mm towed howitzer, only lately (finally!) replaced.
They still barely noticed that a quality 105mm light howitzer might improve on the WWII relic in use for 50 years afterwards.

Then, if you're really serious, double the training budget, and quadruple the ammunition budget allocation, every year, forever.
The only way to shoot better, is to shoot a lot.
And you can't get a qualified ATGM shooter if you only give him one round/yr.

In Salamander terms, I can buy you the sexiest new guns for every surface combatant, but if your fire control party has their heads up their fourth point of contact, and can't hit the side of a mountain, and never gets to practice doing it, nothing I buy will make any difference.
If no one has pointed this out to you with regard to proposed 6.5/6.8mm Magical Bean Launchers, allow me to be the first.

And if someone says "We'll include more training and ammunition in the budget for the New Hotness, then WTH not do that now with current products, and save wasting $1B or three on change for change's sake?!?

But that's not sexy, and minimally affects anyone's stock price or brings home more pork to anyone's congressional district.

But that's what it means to give the troops the best.

Not buying some new rifle, and doing the same dumba$$ failure to budget/failure to train, and allocating paltry sums for annual refresher training.

Buying a new caliber weapon isn't just pointless, it's like buying an LHD, and then not allowing any time or budget for paint and dockside maintenance, and then sending it to a Baltic dog-and-pony show looking like a refugee from the Red Banner Fleet circa 1991.
So, just wondering, how's that approach working out for ya?

Asking for 2,000,000 friends.
 

Stockholm Syndrome: Denial Is A Marker

h/t Tam





































Ammoman wants to try and find some rationale for Fail-Mart's recent publicly anti-gun stance. Lord only knows why, but Stockholm Syndrome is not beyond the realm of possibility here:

The gun industry has been a bit soft lately. There was a significant amount of panic buying leading up to the 2016 Presidential election. I’m not surprised by that. What we were all surprised about was the outcome of that election. The result was a drop in the market. Lots of guns waiting to be bought. That was matched with lots of folks feeling relieved over avoiding a political nightmare. Without political fear motivating consumers to make purchases, retailers saw low prices and slow sales. Many argue that this didn’t happen, but there is a name for it. We are in a “Trump slump.” Is Walmart dumping the Second Amendment for more profitable products? Maybe. 
 RTWT.

Roundabout, he eventually comes to the proper conclusion, in so many words:
Fuck Wal-Mart; shop elsewhere.

But FFS, stop trolling the bottom of the outhouse for some rationale beyond "WalMart is run  by elitist anti-gun fucktards who think they're better than you, and want to take both your money, and your rights, and have you pay for the privilege and thank them to boot."

The appropriate response to that ends with "...sideways, with a rusty chainsaw."

Does Wal-Mart have the right to decide what products they'll sell, and who can bring what into their store?
Absolutely.

Do they also get to own the backlash that such jackassical moral preening engenders?
O, fuck yeah they do, and will.

(Hey, Fail-Mart, how's that Cunning Plan worked out for the National Felony League, Dicks, and Jillette™?)

Because, rather than trying to find some financial rational for their amoral and anti-freedom kneejerk, let's note that they haven't stopped sales of liquor, auto parts, or gasoline to cut down on DUIs, nor thrown out big-screen TVs to cut down on wife-beating during the Superbowl, nor stopped selling kids' pools to cut back on drownings, nor stopped selling prybars and hammers to cut back on burglaries, nor banned ski masks and knives to help with cutting down on robberies and muggings. The one hallmark of WallyWorld is that when it comes to products, they're quite simply the amoral whores you'd expect them to be, on pretty much everything. And those auto burglaries and robberies frequently happen on their premises, and they have studiously looked the other way, and will continue to, for sheer profit's sake.
Except with guns.

So let's stop crapping around with trying to left-handedly justify this corporate horseshit by looking for some shred of credibility in "unprofitable lines". They will buy a metric fuckton of corn cob holders and happily make 1¢ a ton, and they never stopped making a profit on guns nor ammo (proof being they're selling all remaining stocks at normal price, not dumping the lot out at sea immediately), so this isn't about low profits, or responsible corporate management, it's about low-IQ senior management sucking up to the communists, and letting the people who run Antifa dictate what's right and wrong.
That's delusional mania, not management.

(Word to your mother: when you drag in the dicks at Dick's to explain your theory, you've already driven through the guardrails and off the Cliffs Of Insanity. Just saying.)

This is a business that's electing to tell you all to fuck yourself before they set themselves on fire.

The proper response to that is to hand them a torch, throw gasoline on them, and get a wind machine to fan the flames once they're gloriously alight. They will be missed not a bit, and the engine of capitalism will swallow them under the waters of companies too stupid to succeed, under which tidal flow they'll sink without even a small burp or bubble to mark their passage.

And good riddance.

The last thing they need is someone to float over on a raft and hand them a hanky for their tears, and sing them soft lullabies as they burn, then try to explain afterwards they were turning their lives around before their unfortunate bout of corporate insanity.

That's on a level of delusional people who put up flowers and candles for roadkill.

Wal-Mart didn't do this because guns and bullets weren't making them enough profit.
They did it because their owners are anti-freedom fucktards from Arkansas with a superiority complex in regards to all of America. They think corporate might makes right.

There's a cure for that: poverty.

Dulce et decorum est. Pour encourager les autres.

While they get what's coming to them, put the bong down, and stop trying to rationalize the irrational, and quit assuming no one in business could ever shoot themselves in the foot, with their feet in their mouth.
It's as common as morons on the freeway and chickens laying eggs.

Jeebus crispies, has no one ever heard of Hollywood?!?
Some of the biggest entities in America, and they burn $100 bills by the minute to make a pointless point non-stop every day for fifty years, and no end in sight.
Because they CAN.

Compared to them, Wally-World's owners are exactly the bunch of small-time Ozark inbred Jeds you'd expect them to be, compared to the world-class morons running the biggest media empires on the planet.

In both cases, they are certainly reasons for what they do; but none of them rise to the level of being sufficient excuses for the behavior.

For that, we have to resort to psychiatric diagnoses.

Let's don't, ever, endeavor to be apologists for the insane.
If you're feeling charitable, just put up the orange cones and caution tape, to warn passers-by.

If you're feeling a bit more motivated, fan the flames, and throw more logs on the fire.
If you soaked them in gasoline first, so much the better.
And don't forget to bring marshmallows and sticks.
Never let a crisis of sanity go to waste.


Tuesday, September 10, 2019

I Have No Idea What Could Be Happening...
















Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Blog readers, or happy serendipitous coincidence?
IDGAF.

Visit WalMart, and vote frequently.

Quod sit circuit, fit circuitu.

Another Day Of Whatever



Employment requirements the past week have had me recertifying the skills to save lives and tie down crazy people, among other things.

And the usual parade of human silliness continues, but it's simply broader this week, not deeper. Certainly not funnier.

I'm sure I'll find a thing or three to give a damn about eventually, but right now feels like what it must be like to watch the 3000 auditions too horrible to get on the air for America's Got Talent, including all the people who can't carry a tune in a bucket, and the comedians who, in vaudevillian times would have got the hook in about 5 seconds.

Is it just me, or are other people wishing they'd re-boot Dexter, except this time, bring him back as the guy in charge of whacking everyone who'd exceeded their Warholian fifteen minutes of fame? The Kardashians: lock stock and barrel. Joy Behar. That whiny twit from Florida who wasn't at the school shooting, but is still trying to profit from not being there. And on and on.

If life's annoying twits starting falling in front of busses and subway trains as if they were people with dirt on the Clinton Family Crime Syndicate™, I think the trend would catch on.

Proposed theme song:

Blaring over shots of safes falling on people, a lead pipe crashing down on their heads, getting pushed under a bus, drop-kicked off a cliff, plowed in a crosswalk on a yellow light by a dark sedan, etc.

Remember, it's not really misanthropy if they've got it coming.

Sunday, September 8, 2019

Sunday Music: Rough Justice



British Invasion v2.0, Girl; group edition.
They were never going to change the world, but easy on the ears, and easy on the eyes, along with some interesting arrangements and great harmony.

Friday, September 6, 2019

Plenty Of Room On This Bus For New Riders

























On the 1MC: "Liberty's Torch, arriving."
" These are the times that try a commentator’s soul...and his patience...and his ever-shrinking time for reading the news. The politicization of everything continues apace. The Left is straining to ensure that every imaginable aspect of human activity is seen first and foremost through a political filter. Consider this list of things the various Democrat candidates for president want to ban. Never fear: anything they’ve left out, they’ll get to once the federal government is once more securely in their hands.
You’d think this would be the perfect grist for a commentator’s mill, wouldn’t you? And from one perspective you’d be quite correct: he who writes about politics, political contests, and public policy is normally delighted by a profusion of such things. But for me at least, it’s gotten to be too much. Yes, I can keep up; I read rapidly, comprehend easily, and have a nearly perfect memory. My problem is that I don’t want to keep up any longer. I want it all to go away and leave me in peace.  
I can’t help wondering whether, in 1775, a majority of the American colonists felt the same. "
 RTWT

The trouble isn't that more and more people are getting on this bus.
In fact, trouble won't come until we get to our stop, and we all decide it's time to get off the bus, and go to work.


Wednesday, September 4, 2019

About Biden's Bleeding Eye...















Don't cross the Hildebeast.
She's tan. She's fit. She's rested.
And after six months of seeing the asstards running for the nomination this time out, she's got the inside track on winning when Leftard voters finally get to the point of prayer:
"Please, God, anyone but that Clowncarnucopia of Fruitcakes and losers!"

And if Dopey Joe doesn't catch a clue after the pin in the eye, wait until she uses a nail gun on his crotch.

Corporate Invertebrate Hermaphrodites


















NASCAR rejects gun ads.

Fuck them, and the horse they rode into town on. They're over.
Next season might as well be broadcast on Lifetime and Bravo for all the viewers and attendees they're going to lose.

















WalMart drops ARs, ammunition for them and pistols

Fuck them too. Sideways, with a rusty chainsaw.

















So, corporate geniusii, how's that plan worked out for the NFL, Dick's, and the pussies at P&G's pussyhat soybois hawking Jilette:Razors For Little Bitches??
Haven't been reading the newspaper much, have you?
Not even the financial pages, evidently.

Only world-class fools piss off the people who buy their product and fill their coffers, to court favor from folks who'll never do either.

Your shareholders should sue you all for fraud and malfeasance. Be funny to watch you try to defend that.

But hey, TrailerParkTrashMart, thanks for opening the market up for every other brick-and-mortar firearms retailer in the country, and eliminating your loss-leader negotiating position to sell firearms below cost just to drive littler guys out of business. Firearms makers can now tell you to kiss their ass when you want their product cheaper year-over-year. That just ended too, whether you figured it out or not. Sam is probably spinning in his grave, and his half-wit kinfolk heirs clearly haven't the wits to run a roadside chicken stand. If he were alive, he'd kick their asses, then disown them all.

We notice that you still don't have a problem with selling alcohol, even though drunk driving kills more people than rifles every year since Sam opened your entire sorry-ass chain of fail.

Hypocritical fuckwad bullshit merchants.

I'll still visit your stores though.
Just to use the bathroom.
80-20 my turds land in the middle of the floor though, or in the sink bowl, every time.
Have fun with that. I sure will.
Be a real shame if something that simple caught on nationwide.

Remember, guys, the enemy always gets a vote. ;)
And I'll be eating a lot more ethnic foods, and voting often.
Got a hankerin' for some Panda Express broccoli beef today...

"Cleanup on Aisle 2..."

Tuesday, September 3, 2019

Bring Back Flogging

h/t Kenny


The video author is incorrect. This has Jack and Squat to do with violating the Hatch Act.
It has to do with violating black-letter military regulations.
Deliberately, consciously, and flagrantly.

Department Of Defense Directive 1344.10 (2008) pdf:

4.1.2. A member of the Armed Forces on active duty shall not:

4.1.2.1. Participate in partisan political fundraising activities (except as permitted in subparagraph 4.1.1.7.), rallies, conventions (including making speeches in the course thereof), management of campaigns, or debates, either on one’s own behalf or on that of another, without respect to uniform or inference or appearance of official sponsorship, approval, or endorsement. Participation includes more than mere attendance as a spectator. (See subparagraph 4.1.1.9.)
4.1.2.2. Use official authority or influence to interfere with an election, affect the course or outcome of an election, solicit votes for a particular candidate or issue, or require or solicit political contributions from others.
4.6.4. This is a lawful general regulation. Violations of paragraphs 4.1. through 4.5. of this Directive by persons subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice are punishable under Article 92, "Failure to Obey Order or Regulation," Chapter 47 of Reference (b).
 
UCMJ Article 92: Failure to obey order or regulation (10 U.S.Code §892)
Any person subject to this chapter who—
(1) violates or fails to obey any lawful general order or regulation;
(2) having knowledge of any other lawful order issued by a member of the armed forces, which it is his duty to obey, fails to obey the order; or
(3) is derelict in the performance of his duties;
shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.
By Major Fucktard now having become a national embarrassment to the Army and DoD, she is also a violator of

UCMJ Aricle 133: Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman (10 U.S. Code §933)
Any commissioned officer, cadet, or midshipman who is convicted of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.
 and also, if they really want to pile on, of violation of

UCMJ Article 134: General Article (10 U.S. Code §934)
Though not specifically mentioned in this chapter, all disorders and neglects to the prejudice of good order and discipline in the armed forces, all conduct of a nature to bring discredit upon the armed forces, and crimes and offenses not capital, of which persons subject to this chapter may be guilty, shall be taken cognizance of by a general, special, or summary court-martial, according to the nature and degree of the offense, and shall be punished at the discretion of that court. As used in the preceding sentence, the term “crimes and offenses not capital” includes any conduct engaged in outside the United States, as defined in section 5 of title 18, that would constitute a crime or offense not capital if the conduct had been engaged in within the special maritime and territorial jurisdiction of the United States, as defined in section 7 of title 18.
Of course, being that's she's a magical bulletproof triple-dipper Diversity hire, being a black female lesbian, the odds of Big Green giving her the Big Green Weiner (along with reduction in rank to civilian, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, a dishonorable discharge, and a pension of $0 for life, all of which she richly deserves), is just slightly north of the chances they'll invade and seize Greenland next week.

I doubt the gutless pussies at DoD or SecArmy, let alone the Chief of Staff, even under President Trump, have the nutsack and spine required to send this bitch to a year in Leavenworth and all of the above, as she so richly deserves, just to drive the point home.

Sleep tight, America.
The U.S. Army passed over 20% of their captains to give this Extra Super Special Snowflake a field-grade commission. And despite over 8 years of commissioned service, she still  hasn't figured out that the regulations apply to her.

Probably because in her entire military career, that concept is a complete novelty to her.

Well done, Army.

You continue to do everything in your power to make the military of banana republics the world over look like sound and expertly-led military organizations by comparison.



And while we're telling you about the Army...
(h/t Angus)

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Sunday Music: Take Me To Heart




They soared higher on their debut, but this was the top hit (#14 on the Hot 100) for Quarterflash ("...Three quarters foolish, and one quarter flash...") on their second album (of eventually four), before they faded away, just about the time vinyl turned into CDs. It was also about a thirty-year ear worm for me, and was one of a couple of songs that got me to stop three decades of playing air drums, buy a high-quality electronic kit, and teach myself to play them for real. (It worked. If Marv & Rindy Ross - still together after all these years - ever need someone to fill in on drums, I've got most of their catalogue memorized, and I can make the time for the tour.)


I had help. Mainly from a good ear, and people on YouTube posting things like their live concert at the Hollywood Palace in '84, at the height of their power, so I could see what their drummer was doing from time to time, to make sure I'd picked it up correctly by ear. (I did.) But the '80s are over, and I won't be doing the spandex jumpsuit thing. Fad is not fashion, and must needs die after its day in the sun. Thankfully.

Quarterflash is just a memory though, and lead singer Rindy's a psychologist in Portland now. Which means job security long after she loses her lip and the voice fades, given the average sanity level there.The tune still works though. Doubly so with a lead singer in her prime with that voice, and a ringing hook from lead guitar.

Saturday, August 31, 2019

If You're A Certain Kind Of Stupid, This Post Is For You



If you see this face in the mirror every morning, pay attention.



















Apparently, the genetic coding for intelligence, reading comprehension, and humility are all on the same gene, and separate from the one that grants facility with tools.

I say this must be so, because of the two screeds deposited in response to yesterday's autobiographical essay, which posters evidently think they have one thing down, but they've apparently come up short on some other chromosomes.

For the twenty soopergeniuses out there who thought what two posters took the time to write, the following:

Nota bene:

I don't live in Hooterville, nor have a shop (nor room for one). Not even a garage.
I nonetheless have quite an assortment of hand and power tools, great facility with both, and zero days lost due to accident at my own hand. Ever. (The fact that so few of those who do such work for a living can say the same is what earns me mine. Think about that.)

If the point of yesterday's description got by you, a few more salient points for the reading impaired:

My troubles yesterday (other than too much stuff for the space I possess) were wholly and solely the result of Fortune 500 companies (who should damned well know better) either substituting cheap-ass parts for spec quality hardware, or not bothering to include it at all.
And with 50 year old wiring doing what 50 year old wiring does, unassisted.

Unassisted, BTW, being the exact same way I diagnosed and repaired my electrical problem, despite not working in that field, nor having consulted anything written on the subject for some couple of decades.

In my time, I have dug holes; filled holes; filled sandbags; dug foundations; dug wells; trenched irrigation; milked cows; slopped hogs; wrangled steers; worked on horseback and helped smiths shoe the critters; slaughtered rabbits; fed chickens; picked fruit; plowed fields; planted crops and gardens; post-holed; shifted rocks by hand; poured concrete; strung some miles of fencing: wood, chain link, and barbed wire; repaired same; demo'ed houses; built houses; de-roofed and roofed them; painted them inside and out; remodeled; built additions; built furniture; felled trees; chopped them into firewood by hand; landscaped; brush-whacked acreage; welded; shade-tree mechanic'ed; built, torn apart, and rebuilt bicycles; performed emergency repairs on cars and powerboats; restored actual tanks and half tracks; maintained trucks, howitzers, and actual haze gray men-o'-war; and even constructed and torn down entire villages, to beyond code, even though they were coming down in a couple of months. Some of this was for pay, some of it wasn't. I don't feel any inadequacy when it comes to hard work, hot days, blisters, sore muscles, or using any tool known to man. If I won the lottery, I'd be buying machine tools large enough to need bolting down, and heavy equipment big enough to pick them up, not Ferraris and such. My next appliance, likely as not, will be a blacksmith forge. My man-card is well-punched, and like Quigley and Army .44s, just because I don't like doing something every day doesn't mean I don't know how to do it.


Confuse that reality at your peril.

There are plenty of wrench-benders who could get Ph.Ds. And plenty of Ph.Ds. who can drop a transmission and rebuild it, should they choose to do so. Like Mike Rowe, I have nothing but respect for people, paid or not, who can and do perform dirty, hard, and/or dangerous work, and do so with professionalism and skill. College degrees mean little if you don't have the brains and ability to put them to use.

I've had my share of greasy fingernails, and I chose to work in a licensed profession where there's more poop, puke, and blood than grease and dirt, because it's indoors, it pays much better, and it's air-conditioned. Which helps the layer of sweat I work in pretty much non-stop 12 hours a day.

But if you missed the above parts of the previous essay, and all you bring to the discussion is a knee-jerk excuse to trot out your low-IQ Working Class Hero autobiographical moment, to be the hero of your own story, or try playing city mouse/country mouse bullshit games, rather than reading and grasping what I wrote, save yourself the electrons, and leave off beating the molecules of that particular deceased equine critter.
The horse never did you any harm.

You, like the other two knuckleheads, will only embarrass yourselves.

And I've really got better things to do than hang signs on jackasses.
That's what their braying is for.

So please: don't be one. Life's too short for that sh*t.

Friday, August 30, 2019

Four Trips

This one's dedicated to Phil and Angus , who can probably relate.












As legend and lore have it, no DIY project can be completed in anything less than three trips to the store. Yesterday and today, I improved on that.

About a month ago, the local merchants were flogging perfectly spiffy UHD TVs at ridiculous prices, so they could get the newest models in with even more features I don't want, at prices I won't pay. So a big screen for less than half price for a NIB set was worth the trip.

Where, due to work schedules, it sat on the floor for about a month.
So with a few days off, it was time to upgrade my movie viewing (I have not watched broadcast TV since Fat Bill was president, and miss it not a bit).

Having assembled most of what I needed, it was time to get to work.
I've got three cordless drills, and two chargers.
I could find one drill, the battery was dead, and that manufacturer has planned obsolesenced that voltage out of stock forever. I'll deal with the hunt for the drill, batteries, and chargers another time, but I need to install the wall mount for Big TV today, as planned.

So Trip One:

I needed a couple of odds and ends, and some coax and HDMI, and to get around cordless stupidity games, I wanted an old-fashioned hard-wired simple drill for light work. Went to Lowe's (who thoughtfully killed my go-to OSH harware store chain with malice aforethought, after rescuing them briefly from oblivion). Lowe's has the HDMI and coax. And they have the perfect hand drill.
Except they're out of the one I want.
They have plenty of the bigger ones, starting at from 2-3X the price of the simple one that's perfect for my needs.
Well-played.

So, gritting my teeth, I go to Big Orange Hell, where they have the exact same drill, for a buck less than Lowe's. And five of them sitting right where they should be, on the shelf, unopened.

Mirabile dictu!

Chalk up one for Homeless Depot.

I dodge the 200 migras shilling for day labor in the parking lot, and return home to put up a stupid simple wall mount that's perfect for the TV I have, and the space intended for it.

Except, goddamn them, GE has selected hardware made from Chinesium (an amalgam alloy of zinc, recycled beer cans, Prius body panels, and seagull shit, apparently), which strip, while simultaneously destroying the Phillips bit used, at both ends, while only going halfway in.

And the size hole their instructions say to pre-drill for the anchor screws turns out to be laughably optimistic.

F#&%.

Trip Two:

Homeless Depot winning by a nose, and being a wee bit closer, I return thence on Thursday afternoon, this time for actual hardware.
I selected a double complement of marine-grade stainless steel wood screws equivalent in size and length to one of the cheap-ass Chinesium pieces of $#!^ I managed to hand unscrew from the wall, with pliers, where it had lodged hallway in, totally striped. Because I needed a bicep workout anyways.

Then, not trusting things, I also secured large deck scews, heavy-duty common nails, and fender washers, in case it became necessary to explain the facts of life to GE's wall mount.

And a bit 1/32 larger than GE's recockulous instruction specified.

Thus supplied, I returned home for the next round of battle.

With the larger holes, the actual steel screws fly into the holes, and seat firmly.
The mount is nominally rated for 50#. The TV is maybe 10#. But I was putting it into mature seasoned studs, in a wall I'd added myself. And I weigh a bit more than 50#.

So after hanging on the mount myself, it didn't budge a millimeter.
That sumbitch isn't going to be dropping the TV on me this century.


Now the easy part: putting the TV on the mount.
I've done this with smaller monitors, and the mount itself is simplicity.
Line up the holes, and screw it down.
Easy peasey.

Flag on the play.

In their wisdom, the makers of a $400+ (sale price) wall mount television, have elected not to include the $2 of hardware for wall mounting.
That would be 4 screws, and 4 plastic adapter plugs.

What The Actual FUCK?!?!?

Maybe they thought I'd just carry it around on my shoulder like a ghetto blaster boombox?

I don't know.

But this is, bar none, the stupidest effing thing I've seen someone do.
And I live in Califrutopia, and lived in L.A. for most of my life, so that's saying something.
But they have a handy 800 number, for me to order the Wall Mount Kit for the giant flatscreen TV, it's lack being mentioned no-fucking-where on the package exterior when I purchased it. (I'm going to use that 800 number next week alright, but not to order the kit in question. I'm wondering how many times they'll hang up on me before I finish what I'm going to tell them.)

Who would do such a fucktarded thing?
That would be Samsung.
Samsung, you (insert the most vile racist anti-Korean slur you can imagine here, then triple it), as my old man used to say when he was alive, "the sonofabitch who thought that up should have the TV shoved up his ass, sideways." No, really, and actually.

At this point, I am this:[] close to taking the set to the range, and experimenting on it with 12 ga. slugs. But the mount is already installed, and I want my damn video.

So Trip Three:

But, I know the Three-Trip Rule, so I am only half surprised. So, I trot down to Best Buy, since they have a Geek Squad that does installations, where maybe I can buy, beg, or steal the celebrated un-included mythical legendary Wall Mount Kit that the (insert the most vile racist anti-Korean slur you can imagine here, then triple it) idiot f**kers at Samsung didn't include, to save themselves $2 cost.

But no, Best Buy has never heard of it.
Neither has Le Boutique Targét.
Nor WallyWorld.
I tried them first, this trip.
Don't even think about Sears; their aisles look like Florida after a hurricane, every day, as they lurch towards bankruptcy in a death spiral. They make K-Mart Big Lots! look good, neat, and well-run by comparison.

But the sales chick at BestBuy calls their Samsung rep (but diplomatically, doesn't tell them what I called their company, from CEO to janitorial staff) who used to be one of their Geek Squad installers, who is sure that my wall mount or TV must have the right adapters and screws to clamp the TV in place.
(He's as wrong as he can be about that.)

But, he suggests checking Homeless Depot, because that's what they used at Geek Squad, because their TV mount kits always have everything.

Ready to defecate kittens at this point, I've got no pride left, and nothing to lose, so I swing by Orange Hardware Hell yet a third time, as the sun sinks into the horizon.

So I go to their home electronics aisle, pry open a similar wall mount kit, and there inside, are the very screws and adapters needed.
Along with screws and adapters for every TV set known to man, in all likelihood.
Sold.
And for the helluvit, an HDTV antenna.

I return home again, this time long after the last Julio or Pedro has departed the lot, to undertake Round Three of hand-to-hand combat with a simple TV installation.

The screws and adapters fit like a glove.

The set is now anchored and perfectly aligned.

I plug it in, screw in the broadcast TV antenna, and the set works like a dream. (At least Samsung got that right.)

So, on a roll, I put in a couple of other thingamajigs for another pair of projects, plugging into the nearest outlet, in the bathroom.

I get them finished, and settle down to check online, satisfied with accomplishing (finally) what I set out to do that day.

After taking a bloody day to get it done.

Except...the computer has re-booted.
Funny, since I didn't turn it off.

Try to re-start it.

Then everything in the room goes deader than canned tuna.

And the microwave clock is out. Looking around, I find scoring on the bathroom outlet.
It's old, and not GFCI, predating that requirement handily, but it's never given me any trouble.

The kitchen light is flickering, like the bulb is going to fail. Then it comes on full.
But the demand heater is dead in the bathroom. And so is one side of the kitchen.
And everything downstream from there, including the Blog Command Central room.

And the front room A/C?!?
Now this is serious. No A/C in August?

And the breaker won't reset.
Despite multiple tries.

This now officially sucks. And it's too late to do anything, because everyone is closed.

So Trip Four:

Back to the store again, this time for the multimeter I never had, some wire strippers, and a new commercial-grade outlet.

Get home, turn off the outlet breaker, confirm it's cold with the new multimeter, and open 'er up.

And find 2" of white neutral wire charred and burned away (it dates from the 1970s), which has cooked off all the insulation, and the neutral is touching the bare copper ground wire.

Which shorted out the breaker as intended, and killed 1/3 of the house circuits.

Happy to have tracked down the problem without needing to get a new bus for the panel, I chop all the wire back, re-strip and feed them into an outlet 50 years newer, wire it in, throw the breaker, the multimeter confirms 120V, no smoke issues from the wall, and the breaker resets.

I have spent every penny I saved on the big screen TV on toys and supplies to plug it in.
And rewire a bathroom plug that was about to burn the house down.

Without burning the house down.

Or paying an electrician a couple hundred more $$ for a service call.

IANAElectricain by any means, but I rewired my first switch when I was a teenager (I wanted a dimmer in my bedroom, so I read how to do it, and did it). I generally don't play around with anything electrical more complicated than plugging something in, on principal, because gas (octane and natural) and electricity send more people to the emergency room every week than I want to be. (It's also embarrassing to be treated by your co-workers for Stupid.) And my primary use for electricity is to defibrillate dead people, and let me tell you, they jump when you yell "Clear!" and hit the button. I don't want to do the home version, especially accidentally. I can still remember the experiment at age 3 with the table knife and the wall outlet, and as I recollect, it stung a bit.

But I had the book learning, and most of the toys, so I'm happy about doing the repair myself, and getting the TV ready to rock. But I'm happiest that some union electrician 50 years ago did his frickin' job right when he ground wired my outlet properly, so I could save it and not burn the house down last night, or today.

For an encore, I'ma get me a GFCI outlet next week, and re-do that job one more time.
The skills will come in handy when I start building the Castle Anthrax and Camp Snoopy, probably next year.

Which is my explanation for why my homework is late.

And I think I've earned a nice dinner out.
Followed by Zulu or Lord Of the Rings on a wall-wide TV in UHD, as God intended.

And I've got an extra TV mount now.