Sunday, March 17, 2019

Sunday Music: Baker Street



You couldn't get away from this song in 1978, and over forty years later it still wails.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

The State Of Stupidia


Warning: Smarter than actual sales help.
Hole in head optional.

Myself, at the local chocolatier's establishment yesternight:
"I'd like half a dozen thingamajigs, please."

Retarded Minion of Stupidity employed by said chocolatier:
"How many thingamajigs would you like?"

Myself:
"Half a dozen, please."

Retarded Minion, now looking thoroughly bumflustercated:
"Um...how many would that be?"

Myself, thankful that Retarded Minion is juuuuuust barely beyond range of a polite roundhouse slap to the side of the head sufficient to loosen fillings:
"That would be six thingamajigs, please."

Retarded Minion, flooded with obvious relief at being freed from further mathemagical distress and consternation:
"Ah!...Yes, six, got it."

Gobsmacked: Not only an actual thing, but frequently also the solution to the problem.

The bill for the thingamajigs was then announced as $6.96, whereupon I handed her a $5 bill and two singles, and I swear for a moment it looked as if she was going to have to take off her shoes to count, and failing that ploy, be forced to use her lifeline to call the engineers at NASA to correctly calculate that she owed me 4¢ in change thereof.

Which is by way of noting that she was old enough to vote, and English-fluent, but that clearly second grade mathematics had completely kicked her ass, and she should be beaten with a stout rod until she could master the fundamentals of basic math.

That the common phrase "half a dozen" baffled the blistering fuck out of her suggests that the manager there is similarly a lackwit in urgent need of a new job in either the custodial maintenance or street-level recycling industries.

Retarded Minion's (undoubtedly Common Core public education) teachers, to the last one, should be horsewhipped until their flesh is ripped off and the bones show, and then put up against a wall and shot.
Slowly, starting at the toes, and working up to more important parts.
Put in charge of the firing party, I should make them each count the rounds as they were fired.

I swear to Buddha, I'm going back there tomorrow, and if she's still employed there, I'm going to pay her with $2 bills and $1 coins, just to watch her head explode against the walls.

And these sorts of fucktards are going to get $15/hr in a couple of years?
The economy will collapse. Civilization is doomed. You read it here first.

Ron White was wrong: I can fix this kind of stupid, but you've got to allow me to use a big enough hammer.
























At any rate, a couple of more of these incidents, and I'm going to abandon all civility, and start going full-on As Good As It Gets on these morons, to reduce them to tears as a policy, and sport.

Related: Peter runs into similar distress at the local hospital.

Friday, March 15, 2019

Whether Report

"The fog creeps in on little cat feet..." - Carl Sandburg

From Linda Fox, via Cold Fury, the following:
It's here. Now.
 
They hate us. They have contempt for us, and no hesitation about displaying it openly. They viciously attack us in public, in our homes, and use thug tactics to threaten our livelihoods, our safety, and our ability to function in a modern society.
 
When it's all over, there will be a putative victor (because a fight so infused with hatred must end in complete surrender for one side), but there will not be peace. It will end in bitterness, lasting distrust, and unwillingness to associate with the other side in any way. It will be the end of the United States, as we have known it.
 
Logic has not stopped their lies. Resort to the courts is a lost cause. They have taken over the legislative bodies, maligning and intimidating any opposition, threatening the established leadership, and using underhanded means in their climb to power.
 
I don't see an end that doesn't culminate in death - many of them.

While we agree with the observations, we must dispute the theme.

No, it's not "here now".

Because they aren't killing you on the streets, neither singly nor in batches, nor are you doing that to them.

Yet.

And that, plainly, is the only way you'll know when we are "there now".

But we aren't far from it, though as yet it hides somewhere out amidst the fog.
Which is clearly the Fog Of War.

It's visible, but it hasn't yet rolled in, save in small wisps.
Know what it and its arrival portends, and make the most of the time left you, however much or little that may yet be.

Neither will the aftermath be the long twilight distrust you imagine.
When the civil conflict you imagine arises, it will be a war of survival, and extinction, and there will be but one victor left standing afterwards. There will be no Marshall Plan, no Appomattox kindness and conciliatory welcome of separated brothers.

This will be Rome vs. Carthage, for all time.

One side only shall leave the field triumphant, the other side shall cease to exist for all time.
So it must be, and so it shall.

One doesn't make peace with a cancer.

It will indeed be war to the knife, and knife to the hilt.
But afterwards will be cleansing the locus of the disease with fire, and salting the field that brought forth the error, lest anything ever live or grow there again.

It may prove to be a chainsaw amputation, but it will be equally permanent as any done with the finest medical laser.

Communism delenda est.

2063 Years Ago Today


















"Tragedy is me stubbing my toe. Comedy is you falling off a cliff." - Mel Brooks

Or, getting stabbed to death by your entire Senate.
(President Trump, call your office. Turnabout being fair play, perhaps in commemoration, today the president could stab a few senators. I have a few suggestions if he's interested.)

Go read today's essay. Have fun.


No, John, not Joan.

BTW John, apropos of the day, I found you a pencil holder.

Get Your Mind Right
















You're leaving a million-dollar resource untapped if you're skipping the sort of things the folks in Meatspace Training Opportunities are putting out.

The in-person classes from one and all are probably a bargain at twice the price, and all full of needful things, no matter who you are nor where you are.

Mosby (aka MountainGuerrilla) has been putting out five-star advice, as usual, when he takes the time. Lately on fieldcraft, but pretty much if he says it, you can take it to the bank, and count on your thumbs the number of times you'll be disappointed or steered wrong.

Jason Hanson (at Spy Escape & Evasion) chisels away every day at stupidity and ignorance, and provides simple, everyday suggestions about how and why you can improve your own situational awareness and situational preparedness for things that could and do happen every day. You don't live in Mayberry, and it's not 1950 anymore.

And the latest public podcast from "Sam Culper" at Forward Observer is worth every minute of your time, like the other education he gives gratis, and as the courses he charges for are.
Set aside half an hour, and pay attention to the pearls he's dropping on the ground for any that notice. He says, in so many paraphrased words:

Imagine what you'd do if you woke up tomorrow and the power was out, cell service was inoperative, the internet was down, and it didn't look like any of it was coming back any time soon. An Area Study gives you intelligence about the things that will affect you most, immediately and locally. Intelligence analysis isn't to predict the future; its purpose is to reduce uncertainty about what's likely and what's unlikely. You should prepare for the follow-on, second- and third-order effects that are going to occur locally.
Stop worrying about the colossal monster catastrophes, like SMOD or the eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera. A relay tripping in New England blacked out a dozen states, and that was quite catastrophic enough.

And pay attention to the concept of second- and third-order effects.

First order effect
The power is out.
Second order effects
The food in the freezer will defrost, and what's in the refrigerator too, and they'll spoil.
ATMs don't work.
Power-driven communications like the internet are gone.
Gasoline stations cannot pump fuel.
A/C and stoves that require electricity won't work.
Traffic lights are out.
TV and radio stations, hospitals, and emergency response dispatch are running on back-up generators, for a few days.
Pumps don't work, so water supply and sewage will fail.
Third order effects
Fresh food will dwindle, become scarce, and run out.
Traffic will be horrific.
Emergency services will be crippled.
Cash on hand will be all there is, because EBT card and debit card balances cannot be processed, even at your local bank.
Medieval disease outbreaks from lack of cleanliness and sanitation we now take for granted will become far more likely.
 
And that's just from a power failure.
 
You can keep stacking up the dominoes, but even someone as thick as a bag of hammers will begin to realize in short order this is a bad day, an even worse week, and if it lasts as long as a month, things will be well past the stage best described as "sporty" anywhere such a situation is a rare occurence.
 
Look ahead, and plan based upon what you can see, and foresee.
 
The time will come when these preparedness resources you have access to now will be unavailable, and it will be too late then to redeem the time you've wasted. So don't. You don't have to live and breathe beating drums of war, but set aside an hour, an afternoon, or a weekend or two, to learn some things you don't know, and start you thinking along paths through an unknown future from a fresh perspective foreign to your experience and ways of thinking. It could save your life, or the lives of your family, whether in a small local disaster, or in much more ominous and widespread circumstances.

That's part of what we mean when we commend to you to "get your mind right".

Do it.

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Kleptocracy Dies In Gunfire















Mike at Cold Fury has noted again the spreading dumpster fire that is Venezuela.

I sympathize with the plight of Venezuelans starving and dying, and getting exactly what they voted for, good and hard.
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

We shouldn't send them one single troop, or even $1 in US treasury funds.

But we should have submarines and clandestine flights dropping off those cases of captured AK-47s and ammo from our 1983 Grenada vacation adventure, and passing them out with bandoleers of ammo to any Julio in-country willing to start shooting at Maduro and his minions.

It's sort of a local tradition to inaugurate new presidentes via gunfire thereabouts, so why screw around with what works for South America, going back nearly 200 years?

Sunday, March 10, 2019

Sunday Music: Year Of The Cat



"She comes of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolor in the rain..."

Another wasn't-supposed-to-be-a-hit six-and-a-half-minute masterpieces.
One of those songs you wish would just keep playing.

Thursday, March 7, 2019

And The Drum Beats On...

h/t WRSA



Today, this thoughtful essay from Malcolm Pollack:
"'Because the next Democrat president might be the last president of a free America, and then we will have to shoot our way out of socialism.' -[from Sarah Hoyt]
That’s it exactly: we are desperate. We know how close we are to the edge, to the dissolution of civilized order into chaos and tyranny. We can feel in our bones the implacable hatred of our would-be commissars for everything we believe is good and right and true — along with a growing understanding that their hatred doesn’t stop at our traditions and beliefs. As long as we live and breathe, we are a threat. If the blood-soaked history of the twentieth century can teach us anything at all, it should teach us that it will not be enough to see us displaced and destroyed. They will want us dead and gone.
One of the milestones along the road to civil war is the normalization of violence as a rational response to a dehumanized enemy, followed soon after by an eagerness for general conflict."
RTWT.

We, along with many others, have been telling you the same thing, for years.
When the legacy media pundits are starting to trip over it, we've already passed Peak Reality. This one is just another datum to add to the graph.

When 200 compasses all point north as being in the same direction, you're got a pretty good handle on which direction you're heading. True in the actual wilderness, and true in the wilderness into which national political discourse has wandered. Nothing looks right, but there's a lingering overcast, and an oppressive heavy stench of decay, with a faint whiff of death nearby, but just beyond the fog and undergrowth.

We are entering what Sun Tzu called "death ground".
The place where wise generals dread to fight, and where the consequences for the loser are permanent.

There will be no retrograde, no feint, no headlong retreat.
We are heading into the civilizational Thunderdome:
Two men enter, one man leaves.

And the man who leaves will not be the same one who entered, when the contest is all over.

For those slower on the uptake, these are the Good Old Days.
Ahead lies a terrible struggle, endarkenment, and horrors better left unimagined.
Talking about them now would bring skepticism; describing them in the moment would show the poverty of mere words to contain them, and be wholly gratuitous at that point.

Steel your hearts now to what's coming. Savor the sights and sounds and smells of what is and what was in your lifetime, that some among you may someday convey them to generations unmarked by what is to transpire, that they might by some means restore and someday surpass the things which daily become but fond memories.

Get your grieving out of the way now. There'll be no time nor place for it in coming days, and afterwards, the weight and enormity of what you'll know would slay an elephant. Learn this lesson from history: there are no end of letters and books and stories and movies about the Second World War, terrible as it was. But of the great European slaughterhouse that was the First World War, scarcely a generation earlier, there is comparative silence. Hundreds of thousands of corpses filled a mile-wide No-Man's Land from the North Sea to the Alps, and the corpses were trodden and shelled and chewed up by rats for four long and horrible years. The scars mark that continent to the present day, a century later. Much of that generation was completely erased, crippling those countries even now, and hastening the demise of that continent under the relentless tide of demography.

For most of my lifetime, we rejoiced that our Civil War was a century earlier, and the whole of the continent itself entirely unscathed by either world war. And we were right to do so.

But that is about to change. Anywhere from a week to a generation from now, the relentless drumbeat of idiocy that cannot abide free men going about their days, and must control every waking moment, every word that escapes their lips, every thought that flits through their minds, and ultimately, every beating of their lifeblood, will be satiated with nothing less than victory, or a bayonet to the heart.

They think they want the conflict they would foment.

And they've abandoned any moorings of reason, logic, self-interest, or common sense, and any boundaries of decent or morally-bounded behavior to accomplish their nightmare of ultimate total control of all, by their chosen few, whom they assure us are oh-so-very-much-smarter than we Deplorables.














They are going to have to be not just beaten back, but utterly destroyed. All memory of them wiped from human reckoning. Not just their army destroyed, but their women killed, and their babies' heads smashed on rocks, and all those who cheered them on eliminated to the last man. Their livestock slaughtered, their temples of error pulled down until one stone lies not upon another, and their fields sown with salt, that nothing will ever grow there again. Like Carthage after the Third Punic War, which policy ensured for all time that there never came a Fourth Punic War.

And their calling cards are the same ones throughout history.
They want to shut you up.
They want to disarm you.
And then, free of your arguments and your arms, they want to kill you.

That's why they now openly proclaim the outright plan to strip the clear acknowledgements of the First and Second Amendments, and muse before God and everybody how joyful and pleasant it would be to come and round you up, and kill you.

Take such thoughts and such people exactly at their word.
Some historically-minded wonder what it would have been like if only someone had strangled Hitler in his crib. It would never happen, for the same reasons you aren't doing it now. You have half a Congress full of would-be führers, gruppenführers, and gauleiters, openly telling you what they want, and will do given the slightest chance, and yet nobody's fired so much as a single shot. And likely, nobody will. They wait until the columns march into whatever suffices for Poland these days before they'll recognize they let things go too far, and only pay attention too late. Pray the response is not too little.

The Jews who said "Never again!" got it wrong.
The truth of human history is "Again and again."

To believe otherwise is but delusional wishful thinking.
It's a warm and comforting psychosis much like end-stage hypothermia: one just nods off, and enters oblivion.

Life is struggle. Sometimes less, sometimes more. We who have known little struggle are about to get all too familiar with more. Life forms unequal to that struggle are culled mercilessly and pitilessly from existence.

Many of us try to stockpile needful things. Some of us limber up. Many pine and itch for the trumpet to finally sound, before time and infirmity render them unequal for the tasks they could compass in their younger days. Those too young to know what's to come chafe at that ignorance, wishing now they were in it, not knowing that when they are "in it" they would wish themselves at home in their beds, or anywhere else but where they shall be, if only wishing made it so.


Stock your larders. Sharpen your weapons. Fortify your walls. And gather your friends.
The hard-hearted ones. The ones who can deal with adversity. The ones who can laugh in the darkest days, and push on through the darkest nights.

Crybabies and mama's boys may die as well as any other, but they waste resources, and bring nothing of value.

What's going to come, eventually, is going to be a problem for two types of people:
Those who have no idea of what's coming.
And those who do.




Sunday, March 3, 2019

Sunday Music: Classical Gas



Definitely a classic. And totally a gas.

Friday, March 1, 2019

QED

h/t WRSA


What we warned you about a year ago, and many times prior, has come to pass:

"Like academe and the mainstream media, the American military bows before the altar of political correctness, offering up sacrifices of its very being and purpose in order to satisfy this jealous god. The indoctrination into the sacred rites begins early in a Marine’s career. For me, it started at The Basic School (TBS), the 6-month initial training for newly commissioned Marine Lieutenants. Throughout the course, the new officers attend a variety of social mixers with senior Captains and Majors in different occupational fields in order to discern which job they wish to be selected for at the end of the training. 
The staff of TBS and the Infantry Officer Course (IOC) set aside one of these mixers for women and minorities only, so they could plead with these groups to join the combat arms—artillery, infantry, and tanks. While the staff fêted the “oppressed,” the white males returned to barracks to clean. 
After the mixer, the Commanding Officer of IOC made an appeal to our class as a whole to join the infantry, while reiterating the need for women and non-whites as platoon commanders for the grunts. In his words, “Without diverse leadership that looks like America, future marines would not respect their officers.” 
This kind of favoritism for “marginalized peoples” was manifest throughout my entire instruction. The treatment of women was especially egregious. Female Marines rarely carried squad or platoon gear such as radios, machine guns, or batteries. They were more likely to fall out of hikes. Their injury rate was higher overall."
RTWT.

This entire outrageous read is the tip of the iceberg of the rot in the military.
Strident beneficiary Lori keeps trying to square that circle in Comments, but the reality is that troops don't respect anyone, enlisted or officer, who can't cut it.

Women can't.
Ever.
Period.

And this nonsense is going to cost us a squad, a platoon, a battalion, a battle, a campaign, and a war. Then a nation. A society. A culture. 
All for the want of a horseshoe nail.

The shrieking about drafting women into combat is nonsensical.
Since Congress has decreed the combat arms open to them, of course they must register for a draft, and be drafted, and get maimed and die in combat.

Anything less, besides being a hypocritical sexist double standard, also admits the realities of biology:
They can't cut it in combat, they shouldn't be there, and at that point, why have them in the military (especially one shrunken to a fraction of WWII wartime strength) at all?

And if the Sisterhood admits those realities, the game is over: there are once again just two sexes, they differ in fundamental ways, and there's no place trying to shoehorn under-qualified women into positions that will get themselves, and the men around them, killed for trying to pull their weight and save their bacon.

Admit that, and the whole feminazi agenda goes under.

And PC and the Sisterhood cannot be having any of that, so in a choice between truth and fantasy, they'll take fairytales, like:
                                           Women = men.

The Gods Of The Copybook Headings are going to cull a fearsome price from us for embracing insanity.

They always do.

And a blast from the past (banned by YT, but mirrored):

Thursday, February 28, 2019

Happy Anniversary, Trayvon



As Bayou Renaissance Man noted yesterday, it's been seven years since Trayvon Martin received curbside justice.

Lest we be remiss in proper celebration of such dates, allow us to properly commemorate the anniversary of his justified removal from the species:


Wednesday, February 27, 2019

What They Want, Versus Will Get




















This from GVDL, WRSA, and originally KD.

As usual, Denninger gets things half-right.

There is intended to be a Civil War. The Leftards openly fantasize this, as they see themselves as swooping in to repeat another victory.

Except this time the South is every white person, everywhere.
(They think they'll get over because they "identify" as gay black women. It won't work any better for them than for the frog giving the scorpion a ride.)

But "we" (D. apparently has a mouse in his pocket) won't be stopping it, because "we" didn't start it, don't control the narrative, and have neither the will nor inclination to prevent gravity from working.
The chimp-out under plan is being ginned up per protocol, exactly as thousands of smaller versions have, with a monotonous cadence of hoax crimes, all beating the drum inexorably to fan the flames and direct the muster of exactly the CW intended.

The surprise will be when (and if) it comes calling.

On Day One, predictably to a mathematical certainty, they run out of cops, after two or perhaps three volleys. The cops already know this to a man, hence the distinct lack of vigor to go about it in the first place.

If no learning occurs prior, on Day Two, The Culling begins in earnest.
Instructive, at this point, is the Flight 93 Effect: i.e. in this day and age, you've got about half an hour's free reign to hatch your Clever Plan, and after that, the so-called Sheeple, having been red-pilled to the New Reality,  will come at you, if necessary with bread knives and rolled up magazines. And then you and your Clever Plan are over.

The problem for the Leftards is that Joe Average can do much better, on thirty minutes' notice, than bread knives and rolled up magazines, unless he's trapped in an aluminum tube at 40k'.

It will be ARs and Glocks and such, until all obvious targets have either changed shape, caught fire, or bled out.

Then, the survivors (and pure odds overwhelmingly favors one side, and that side is not The Diversity) will look to who started it, and The Hunt will begin in earnest.

By Friday, people will be rounded up in batches, and shot against the handiest wall, and it likely won't end until Rush Limbaugh is considered the most Liberal Man in America.

You can forget the military; they'll be hamstrung, and the wiser ones (about 98%) will either have joined the melee, or chosen to sit on their hands until the festivities are over, rather than wade amidst an internal war fray. They'll retreat to their bases, and lock the gates, with orders to merely repel boarders, and fire only defensively. And for exactly the same reason the Beijing Guards wouldn't fire on the Beijing students in Tiananmen Square.
The Chicoms had to import hicks from the sticks to do that dirty work.
Our military won't have time for that, not being prepared beforehand.
And they'll see what happens to the cops, from local to federal, and want no part of that pie for themselves. ("Only a fool fights in a burning house.")

{In fact, see if you don't find young and middle-aged guys headed home in their work out gear, and find piles of empty police uniforms in the police station parking lots, when most of them just go home to protect their own families.}

Besides, the military will generally have their hands full assuring six other world powers that the nukes are secure (nations that have them get itchy about that point, to a metaphysical certainty), and those other nations should fuck right off and stay out of this hemisphere, and not stick their nose into the bear fight, lest it get blown off with a response in the megaton range, by way of warning shot.
For the same reasons, there will be a rush to the Mexican Border, but it will be an exodus headed south, not north.

How long The Hunt lasts is an open question, as is how far the decline.
Some areas may last for weeks, some others for only a few hours.
The "Civil War" is liable to resemble more closely the Rodney King Riots, rather than the Unpleasantness of the 1860s. Ain't nobody got time for that, and in any event, there'll be no one left to whack after a few days or weeks, the rest either dead or in hiding or exile, with bounties on their heads.

You think the Left will suddenly show backbone?
Look at an Antifa event: one Moldylocks face punch, and it's over.
The "brave" ones only attack with police escort and at 10:1 odds.
Toe to toe, they scurry like roaches, and when heads start exploding and guts opened up right and left, they'll set Olympic track records getting back to the safety of mommy's basement, if they can make it there unscathed. And those are their "tough" customers.

Hospitals and churches won't be a safe zone sanctuary, and there'll be no Geneva conventions: people will be pulled out by the hair and shot on the steps, when and where found.

Media outlets will be gutted free-fire zones: radio, TV, newspapers. Open season on "journalists", and no bag limit. Mark my words. This ain't going to be Vietnam or GWI or GWII: "PRESS" creds on your vehicle or person will be a death sentence. "The Revolution will not be televised."
You may get some Liveleak and youTube hashed up cell video, but it will look like shakey-cam outtakes from The Blair Witch Project or War Of The Worlds, and liable to get you shot in the face for doing it, so it will not be a wise move to be the guy holding out a cell phone camera like some talisman of protection, unless it's got an NIJ rating sufficient to stop .30 cal incoming.

What happens after that is when things get interesting, in a Chinese curse sort of way, and my crystal ball is hazy by that point.

Then we'll see who's organized, and legitimized, or whether we enter the warlord and dictator period of history.

And whether it starts next month or twenty years from now - if it ever does - is still a wide-open question.

But the Left definitely thinks they want one to start, and are openly salivating at the prospect.
Like all mad dogs.


But mad dogs always get shot. Always.

Then you go after their owners.

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Pogo FTW



O God, this is like a nightmare.
And me thinking with multiple posts linked on different sites today, my writing work was done.

From Comments to the prior post. This deserves the front page:
"The women doing all vulgar stuff you see in the media are not the issue; they are lost already. What the draft will do is take the good ones who do value family over job and send them off to slaughter and PTSD. There ARE good women out there, and drafting them will destroy what the enemy of our souls could not until now.

What I had assumed was that WRSA readers were more conservative in their moral values than most, and that they would want to see their women adopt more traditional values that strengthened families. For men to group all women as radical feminists and then rejoice to see all women, including the ones with good values like being stay home moms drafted seems self defeating. If the "good" men (which I thought might read blogs like these) rejoice to see ALL young women drafted because of the vocal, obscene ones seen on television, then I would logically conclude that the enemy of our souls has won a major victory and is indeed living rent free in your heads and is getting you to self destruct. I hope I am wrong, but I do not see how it could be otherwise.

It is enlightening to read the assumptions made about me in the above blog and in comments. Here is a bit about me; see if it fits your assumptions and assertions. I spent 14 years as a Navy fighter pilot, became a Christian and left the military to stay home and raise kids. I am rabidly conservative, against abortion (my husband and I have offered to raise children that would otherwise be aborted and adopted three children). We live a victorian life here where women often run around in long skirts, maintain their purity before marriage, and play classical music on the piano when we are not working our farm. My husband is a respected leader in our home and would never speak the way many of your men speak here, No woman in our home would be disrespectful to our men. But I ask you; we have a daughter who has maintained her purity in all ways, is hard working and sweet, loves Jesus and respects authority.....where would I find a moral man for her for a husband?

What I see here is despair; the kind of despair that will result in defeat.

As for the Kurdish woman in the above picture, find out the situation. If the Muslims come here like they did to Kurdish lands, our women would fight to the last with our men just as she did. Better beheaded than raped and forced into Islam. You should hope yours would, too."

No sale, Lori.

A woman willing to defend hearth and kin as a last-ditch defense: What Louis L'Amour called "a woman to ride the river with".
A woman who wants to go to war: not so much.

Your own background makes this worse, not better.
And I didn't assume you, personally, were a rabid man-hating feminist; I have only the evidence of my own lying eyes and 50 years of black-and-white text and living-color documented history of the culture I live in to name the source of this error. Don't take it all personally. You're more a symptom than an author.

You passed a gender-normed PFT every time you took one, and your service itself perpetuated the nonsense that has now led, logically and inexorably, to precisely this point. No one but you is astounded at this.

"Women might be drafted?!? Including my daughter?!? Where are my smelling salts and fainting couch?"
And so now you want not-quite actual gender equality, and special favors for your gender. At the expense of men everywhere. Again.
Just like you got every day of your entire military career.
Color me shocked.

Of course women should be and will be drafted (which goes by the quaint title of "Equality before the law"), and they'll be killed and maimed, because you think you're equal. You and the Sisterhood beat that drum like a rented mule your whole life, probably before you were even born, whether you burned your bra then or found Jesus now or not, and now that the chickens have come home to roost, you want to become a vegan.
Nice try.
"How do you write women so well?"
"I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability."
- As Good As It Gets
Those women, possibly including your daughter, will be killed and maimed because you want to have your cake and eat it too, pretending that there is no difference between the genders, because of your service, rather than despite it. Until there comes a draft call-up.

Chicken, meet hawk.

What you think now is all well and good, but if and when your daughter and anyone else's gets a draft notice, your name will belong in the block where it says "your friends and neighbors".
Own that.

And don't try to hide behind finding God.
He sent Jesus, yes.
He also sent Jeremiah and Isaiah.
And nobody liked what any one of them had to say.
Human nature is remarkably consistent that way.

And that you cannot see that, even now, speaks volumes for the rot in common sense in the last half century.

Call me when you repudiate your service, regret having ever done it, and acknowledge the logical certainty and fairness that your daughter and generations yet unborn may be slaughtered on the altar of political correctness and gender-normed insanity, and get back to us when you do.
Nobel and Winchester were aghast at what their inventions wreaked on humanity too.
You (and tens of thousands of others) only helped lay the paving stones for women being blown apart.

You're the absolute last person anyone should listen to on the topic, because you still carry the disease.

Find me the mother of daughters who never considered serving in the military, who's willing to go to prison to stop women from ever being allowed to serve, not the person arguing for special privilege now that her own ox might be gored, or her little lambs slaughtered.

You stand accused by your own hypocrisy, and may indeed be hoist on your own petard.
Logic and actual gender equality is a bitch like that, ain't it?

The guys online have only been warning you about this coming inexorably for years going on to decades, but you couldn't hear them over the decibels of your afterburners, and the sound of your own awesomeness.

(A military fighter pilot with an attitude surplus? Who knew??)

That's not womyn-hating, disrespect, nor despair, it's an acknowledgement of both fairness, and the inevitability of one's jumping off a cliff leading to a painful stop at the base.
Even Wile E. Coyote could see that one coming.
You, evidently not so much.

Now your daughters and everyone else's will have to pay for that defect, and you want to tell us you didn't really want that.
Sorry reality hurts your feelings, sincerely.
(And if you're really worried about your daughter, I humbly suggest adding the biography of a boxer named Cassius Clay to her reading list.)
Now imagine how some drafted chick is going to feel when she steps on a landmine and blows her legs off one day, just because the Sisterhood needed to feel good about themselves in opposition to reality.


Monday, February 25, 2019

Wish: Granted



Re: Heh at WRSA, and the federal ruling that a draft of only men is unconstitutional, we saw this shrill bleat that such manifest fairness is unfair go unanswered:
 
It is interesting to read the comments on this subject. It seems most commenters would enjoy seeing their young women getting drafted into combat, getting killed or mutilated, and many call women by vile profanities. Only a few men like you hold the line in your own lives and resist the temptation to bitterness and self destruction.
It seems that few WRSA readers have the foresight to see that the enemy has already set up residence in your head and wrecked any future you could have had in a decent, moral society if you take joy in the thought of having your own women forced into combat, killed or mutilated.
Hey, hold my beer:

Dear Lori,

1) Shells that landed inside your perimeter can be assumed to be aimed fire. Welcome to combat. It's a bitch like that.

2) "Their" young women? Ha! "Your body, your choice." Wait, what?
People told you for fifty years that if feminazis wanted to push for military service equality, you'd get it, good and hard. Welcome to the party, pal. The federal courts just punched your equality ticket. Enjoy combat. I hear it's a peach. Bummer you can't change biology, huh?
That rustling sound is your chickens coming home to roost.

3) "and many call women by vile profanities".
Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of the caterwauling about toxic masculinity, rape culture, and 57 other flavors of anti-man feminist horseshit polluting the culture for 50+ years.
Men built the culture and the civilization, and even gave the Sisterhood the very equality they're now enjoying, and all the Sisterhood has done with each expansion of that equality is squat and shit harder on men in general, and in specific.
Imagine a sentence that begins with the word "Go", and ends with "yourself", and see if you can cleverly supply the missing four-letter verb that belongs between the imperative and the object in that sentence.
Some of us aren't holding the line, we're holding our sides while you get your equality, good and hard, just like you bitched, whined, moaned, and pussy-hatted for. Wasn't you? Go bitch at three generations of bull dykes in congress, et al, whom you let do your talking, and voting. Now you'll get to enjoy feeling like men do when the military draft makes them Fate's bitch. Legend has it your gender has some experience with that, so all y'all should take to this like a duck to water. Pisser about how heavy the packs are, huh?

4) "bitterness and self-destruction".
Really? You mean after watching generations aborted in their millions, women en masse making sport of degrading, deriding, and ridiculing men as a gender, for decades, we're not already seeing the root of that bitterness that lead to civilizational self-destruction? On what planet? Maybe you've noticed the growth industry of importing women from foreign lands as yet uninfected by the American Harpy Disease as brides here, who have still some wee notion of the eternal sense of division of roles by gender, courtesy of biology, and who're not afraid to be mothers, while resisting the asinine fairytale notion that you can "have it all", instead preferring marriages that endure, and motherhood in a two-parent traditional family, while resisting the perennially failing idea that you can skip those things, and have an endless parade of penises, and a career, and then squeak out a child as an artificially inseminated career woman, with Government as the Baby Daddy, because Gloria Steinem lied it into truth.

5) "It seems that few WRSA readers blah blah blah"...
No, sweetheart, the enemy has been sitting in residence in our institutions. Perhaps you've been asleep for fifty years. Men have not.
They're tired of being accused of rape every time some drunken bimbo has buyer's remorse the morning after. Or makes a story up out of whole cloth for a shot at a payday.
They're tired of having no say about an abortion, but being saddled with full support for any baby delivered.
They're tired of being saddled with paternity in a marriage despite that fact that up to 30% of all births within wedlock (itself a vanishing fraction of total births) are actually bastards sired by sluts catting around on the sly.
They're tired of women yammering for equality, then treating husbands and fathers as disposable, after garnishing their paychecks for anywhere from 18 years to life.

So how about some more actual equality:
A baby isn't your body. So from now on, no abortion unless the baby consents to it as well.
Good luck with that one.

Child support is 50/50. Women will be henceforth required to submit child support payments to the state in escrow. Women who fail to pony up the same amount as the father will be declared unfit, lose custody, and be imprisoned. Welcome to Deadbeat Mom status. Sauce for the gander.

No spousal support. You want spousal support, stay married. Divorce is henceforth a declaration of a desire by the filing party to be self-sufficient, entirely on their own hook. Alimony is hereby reset to $0, in perpetuity, in all cases. Each party departs the relationship with what they came into it with, and 50% of all joint assets produced during the union. And nothing more going forward. Now you're equal. You don't get to marry and divorce your way to an endless monkey-branching half of every man's paycheck as your lifetime pension plan if you don't honor the "until death do us part" section of the oath.

False and unsubstantiated accusations of rape, battery, or sexual harassment will be mandatorily prosecuted, with non-negotiable sentencing of the guilty equal to the highest sentence allowed for a man convicted of the same crime. Plus civil damages and loser pays lawyer fees. Due process is a thing again.

Three false accusations of same will constitute Three Strikes, and lifetime incarceration.

Aw...too soon?

6) "wrecked any future you could have had in a decent, moral society..."
Stop, you're killing me, and my sides hurt from laughing.
Look at teen pregnancy, the number of abortions, divorce, out-of-wedlock births, shacking up, marital infidelity, and every social pathology traceable incontrovertibly to single parenthood (read single motherhood), and tell we where is that decent, moral society you've fantasized. Maybe among the Amish, or back in 1950. No one's seen it hereabouts for decades.

7) "if you take joy in the thought of having your own women forced into combat, killed and mutilated".
Apparently you've missed those same men, in droves, warning you that's exactly what you were going get if the Sisterhood kept pushing this anti-biological codswallop contrary to reality forever that women are physically equal to men, and missed as well exactly the commenters you deride (hard to break old habits?) tell you until their tongues had calluses that 99% of women don't even belong in the military in the first place, and never have, let alone within a country mile of combat duties, because there isn't 1 in a literal 1,000,000 women who could even pass the physical.
And that it's going to get women and men killed and maimed when it's tried, and on top of that, cost us a battle, a campaign, perhaps even a war.

But the Womyn Of The 21st Century are immune to such facts, logic, and millennia-long biological realities, and aren't having any of it, because the Sisterhood has pink-pilled them into oblivion chasing exactly this nonsensical fairytale nightmare.

If all we had to do was draft the lot of you, and kill and maim you in the literal millions to finally eradicate the error, I'd happily see an entire generation of lunatic women dismembered and slaughtered, just to see the pitiful few croaking and bloody survivors come crawling back to common sense on their bloody stumps, and let us try again societally in 20 years with generations yet unborn and untainted by the poisonous nonsense of retard feminism.
It would be a bargain for everyone but yourselves if the inevitable bloodbath only looked like WWI trench warfare, and wiped you out to the last lip-quivering Wannabe Combat Barbie.

And since that appears to be the only way 99% of you will ever wrap your empty, ungrateful heads around reality, the day cannot come soon enough.

Pucker up and kiss the pig you've been applying lipstick to since the 1970s.
You chose your date for this prom, and now you're all about to dance with the partner that brung you to this point: a civilizational death wish.

Skip to my lou, baby.
Full gender equality, at last.
While biology laughs her ass off at you and the insane Sisterhood who wrought this (99% of whom will never bear the brunt of this asininity which you foisted upon yourselves), and the Gods Of The Copybook Headings sit in the wings with their pens ready to tally up the cost of reality coming so late to your empty heads.

Some lessons leave a mark. Fortunately this one will.





































And perhaps, next time you want to call out a gender, try pulling the board out of your own Sisterhood's eye before taking a half-assed swipe at men. You hit like a girl.

Some People's Kids...


















...are only alive because there is a God, and He has a sense of humor.
 
Posted for scale.

















And also because there are some folks willing to go up on top of an 80 year old rickety wooden building with previous roof collapses, and haul their drunk asses off with a Stokes litter and rescue hoist, to keep them from falling off a 2' wide catwalk onto the ground 200' below.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.


I also note for the record that the base is still federal property, that graffiti tagging, trespassing, and breaking windows are all federal felonies, and that judges seldom find the story as funny in superior court Monday at 9AM as it seemed Sunday night at 9PM.

Sunday, February 24, 2019

Memento Mori

















OldNFO had a post a couple of days ago about a panel at the Life, the Universe, and Everything Conference on Grieving.

The questions:
Question 1- Professionals working in fields that encounter death frequently tend to compartmentalize everything. How does this impact their reactions to death and grieving?
Question 2- What impact does military service have on reactions to death and injury, and how would that differ from civilians who encounter death frequently?
Question 3- Writers often approach the character who knows that they have a limited lifespan with fatalism or over-caution. Those are reactions that people have, but they’re hardly the only ones. And people don’t usually stay in either one as they actually get a chance to grieve the perceived loss and accept a new reality. What does this actually look like?
Question 4- Burnout is a real problem for police, military, and medical professionals alike. How much of that is related to being unable to grieve deaths that have happened in a professional setting and what does that look like for a character?
Question 5- How does someone with a chronic illness relate with people who are able-bodied and healthy? And how does working closely people who are living with chronic illnesses change your perception of it?
I (obviously) wasn't there, and only found the post after a gnarly night of gunshot wounds and traffic manglement (happily, no one died in our care) but here's my answer:

Unless you buy it after an IED explosion, or going out like Quint in Jaws, death mainly hurts the friends and family.

No one ever woke up during a Code Blue and said "Ow!". They were over it, and generally speaking, long gone and well past caring at that point.

And if they've had their threescore-and-ten, or more, it isn't really necessary to "compartmentalize" their death; someday, it's going to be everybody's time.

The hard ones are the way-too-early ones, especially kids and infants. No one pulls the plug on those for an hour or more, because kids.
And people doing the codes have kids, or have had.

Military deaths vary: for most, it's a growing up process, because it challenges the invincibility of youth. And what pisses you off is the sheer inexplicable randomness of it. Rarely can you say , "Well, Jimmy ate it because he did X stupid thing", because usually, you did the same thing as Jimmy, you were just five steps ahead of him or ten steps to the left, and sh*t happens. But it takes awhile, and some maturity to process that and come to terms with it.

Guys who make a career of flying or being around it see more death in peacetime than anyone else, and being the methodical types, try to glean some nugget out of it to make it not a waste. Some lesson to learn, some sort of "let's not do that again" message from a lost squadron-mate.
But sometimes, someone goes out, and just doesn't come back, and no one ever knows why.

A character in a situation facing their own mortality would go through all five of the Stages Of Grieving, randomly, serially, and every which way. Besides fatalism or over-caution, I have to think there would be some sense of hyper-awareness, of processing every sight and sound and sensation, because there was coming a final moment. They'd live every minute; scarcity brings value, something as true with time left on earth as any other thing.

I don't notice burnout, and I've been doing this 20+ years.
Sleep and days away from it solve a lot of problems.
That doesn't make hard cases and tough beats less, but the end of the day, the person on the gurney isn't me, or friend or kin, so when Death happens, I'm just the gate agent at the boarding ramp for the ECU (Eternal care Unit). You do your job professionally, you treat the subject with dignity before, during, and after, and you do the best job you can. I imagine it's like being a concert maestro who knows he's going to be executed after the last note: you'd want to deliver the most perfect final performance you could, right? It's exactly like athletes saying "leave everything you've got on the field." Even in a game you think you're going to lose, it isn't over until the last whistle.
If I was half-assing it, it'd be harder on me. I know it would. But if someone dies, and they died after I did every possible thing that could be done, there's no shame in not being superhuman, because the enemy (Death) gets a vote.

Chronic illness, and working with it, fills me with sadness when I see people who gave up, or chose stupidly and unwisely, and are finally paying the penalty of one big mistake, or a lifetime of little ones.
And it instills in me a dread that I do keep locked in some deep, dark basement, to hope to never have to face going slowly, by inches, for any reason. Everyone hopes for "the big one" to just check out relatively quickly and painlessly, ideally while asleep. No one says, "Please, let me lose my mind first, and then have my body hang on, so I can be screaming at the walls, rotting from bed sores, crapping in my diaper, drooling untasted pablum, and not recognizing my family until I finally get a massive septic infection and die."
And I can totally respect the person who chooses to go skydiving or mountain climbing, and have an "accident" facing that, choosing to meet Death on their own terms, instead of puttering along until all their own choices are forfeit. Or, not, and deciding to float with the current until The Day.

My 2¢.

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me – 
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 
And Immortality.
 
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility – 
 
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring – 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 
We passed the Setting Sun – 
 
Or rather – He passed us – 
The Dews drew quivering and chill – 
For only Gossamer, my Gown – 
My Tippet – only Tulle – 
 
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground – 
The Roof was scarcely visible – 
The Cornice – in the Ground – 
 
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –                          Emily Dickinson

 I mention this to remind folks that Death is part of life (rarely the fun or welcome part, but a component nonetheless), he follows his own schedule, and, exactly as Terry Pratchett imagined, HE TALKS IN CAPITAL LETTERS.                                             

Sunday Music: Midnight At The Oasis



Maria Muldaur's sultry melody, and butter-smooth jazz guitar perfection.
Enjoy.

Friday, February 22, 2019

Darwin 1, Species 0

h/t Irons In The Fire

One Down, Only 39,999,999 To Go

h/t 90 Miles From Tyranny


Another fine (Mexican, to a 99.999% certainty) export product, doing what they do.

Note with delight the literal grace under fire, and the following permanent deportation, this week, of three-time prior deportee Javier Hernandez Morales, in this case by Napa Valley County Sheriff's Deputy Riley Jarecki, after the protagonist tried to shoot her with a .22, and in short order, became the object of a 15-round mag dump to the torso, which successfully subdued his miscreance, permanently.

His final  "Aaaayyyyyy!" is clearly audible and intensely satisfying, howbeit all too brief, as the deputy successfully drains all the fight out of him when he tries to start his car and flee the scene of his murder attempt.

One Golden State Marksmanship Award, First Class, to Deputy Jarecki, and a heartfelt "Good Riddance!" to the murderous refuse with fatally poor situational awareness she has successfully deported forever. He represents 10,000 more crimes he'll never commit, 80 more elections he'll never vote in, and half a dozen anchor baby welfare brats he'll never sire, and all solved for less than $7 of duty ammunition, and a plastic garbage bag funeral in Potter's Field. If the family (in Mexico) wants the body shipped home, trebuchet at the closest Port Of Entry should be the officially selected method. (There may be a lesson or three in there somewhere.)

Would that they might show this video in Mexico, endlessly, as a reason to stop coming here, to 80M of Javier's primos.

"National Emergency" indeed, and here, the consequences, a mere 500 miles from the actual border.

It's a pity "Shoot On Sight" and "Dead Or Alive" posters have gone all out of vogue.

Reminder: Javier didn't just wake up that day and decide to carry an illegally-obtained weapon, illegally concealed, and attempt to murder a cop doing a traffic stop on a whim: he's been a criminal for years, if not his entire adult life.
They're all criminal illegal aliens. Some, more so than others.

Nice shootin', Deputy.

Thursday, February 21, 2019

RIP: Peter Tork


















Peter Tork, 77, bassist and keyboards for the Monkees, died yesterday of cancer.

Derided unfairly as the Pre-Fab Four, the Monkees nonetheless out-toured and outsold the Beatles at the height of their powers. With characteristic common sense and gentleness, Peter's comment on the group rings through the ages:

"There must have been something to us. We sure sold a lot of records."
Indeed they did. It's time for the prissy prigs to end the travesty, and put the group in the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, where they belong, and while surviving band members Mickey Dolenz and Mike Nesmith are still alive to rake in the long-overdue honor.

Enjoy Peter, getting the girl for once.

You're All California Now

























Over at WRSA, Conservative Cat Lady's Trump Derangement Syndrome is in full swing in Comments. Menopause is playing hell on Ann.

Go read if you like. Just probably best not after a meal.

But I see the point.

I mean, it isn't like anybody knew that the president signs spending bills, he doesn't pass them.

Total number of spending bills passed by POTUS 1787-yesterday: 0.
Total number he'll pass in the next 240 years: 0

Geez, it's almost like there was some sort of separation of powers under the Constitution, and the Speaker of the House and Congress had some wee responsibility, along with the Senate, for passing the bills the President gets to sign (or veto).

Wait, what???

There is such a thing?!?!?

You could look it up.
(And of course, Trump is to blame for them writing it that way in 1787. No doubt whatsoever.)

So keep BMWing about Trump, and covering for Quisling Ryan and Bitch McConjob doing nothing for two freaking years, because they knew THIS president would actually build a freaking wall, and their CoC contributions for cheap foreign labor would dry up.

O, if only there were a sharp-tongued Conservative Cat Lady harpy-pundit somewhere, who'd actually been to law school, and clerked for the federal appellate court, and had some bare inkling that this was the way things worked in a constitutional republic!

How tragic that we have no such person.

Clearly, this is 100% Trump's fault. 
Shrillary would have done a much better job.

And Yertle and Quisling wouldn’t have given her everything she asked for, on a platter, with an apple in its mouth.

Nosiree.

You’re a political genius, Ann.

Keep voting in Democrats to Congress in droves too, and then bitch because Superdaddy didn’t fill your Christmas stocking with anything but a lump of shit. 435 districts and 20 cabinet-level agencies stabbing the president’s agenda in the back 24/7/365 is all just an enormous coincidence too.

We squeaked Cheeto Hitler into office by a red hair, and he didn’t fix everything forever overnight! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!

Hey, KY, thanks for Yertle over and over.
AZ, Senator-For-Life Braintumor McCrazy sure paid dividends on cancelling Obozocare, didn’t he?
FL, thank heavens for Marco ScrewYouBio and his shadow Amnesty plans, and shitting on gun owners on national TV!
And thanks WI, for Quisling Ryan, who quit after doing nothing for 2 whole years, and lost the entire House the first time out! That should come in handy for the next 6 years, huh?
And all those illegals Lindsay Grahamnesty couldn’t see in CA for 20 years are sure coming in handy in Democrat-For-Decades Califrutopia. Thanks a pantload! For payback, we’ve sent you Speaker Alzheimers, Fineswine and the endless AWBs, and now Senator Kneepads. You’re welcome!!

This isn't because of Boomers, X-ers, Millenials, or any other such codswallop.
We're paying for public education, and the fact that 90% of everyone since 1955 is in the Captain Kangaroo/Mister Rogers/Sesame Street Generation, where thinking is too hard, and Uncle Daddy should give me everything, whether that's ObamaPhones and Obozocare, or a Wall.

Shocker for you grade-free low-information Pass-Fail students: it doesn't work like that, and never has.

Your chickens?
Coming home to roost, boys and girls.
It’s a big shit sandwich, and you’re all going to take a huge bite.
Chew it up and swallow, or choke on it.
You made your own beds; now you can lay in them.

I swear to Buddha, you anti-Trump princesses are airheads like Amydala, shitting on the Chancellor, and paving the way for Emperor Palpatine, and then suddenly aghast when you see the Death Star swinging into position overhead.

You're all California now.