Showing posts with label Banana Republic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Banana Republic. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

O Please, O Please, O Please...

h/t WRSA

This country, and especially this government,
are long overdue for a good housecleaning.
Jump, you commie pigs, if you feel froggy.





















The math on this kind of stupidity has been done to death, but for the Baby Duck Retards in the meme who shat this genius idea out their tailpipes, let's go over it one more time:

The late, great blogger WeaponsMan, shortly before his untimely passing, calculated conservatively and accurately that the actual number of privately-owned weapons in the United States was somewhere north of not 200M, but rather a number in the ballpark of 600,000,000, at the lower end of estimation. The upper end could be more than one billion private firearms.

With over one trillion rounds of ammunition. Which is more than the ten largest armies in the world have, combined.

But let's tie one hand behind our backs: we'll stipulate only 100M gun owners.
We'll make it even easier, and say only 10% of them have AR-15s.
Then we'll say only 10% of them strenuously object to confiscation.

That's only one million people, one helluva lot more familiar with that weapon system than 95% of the military and all law enforcement in the entire country, federal, state, county, and city.

FTR, there were only about 50,000 Taliban in Afghanistan, and half the Army, most of the Marines, and a large hunk of the Air Farce and Navy forces were ignominiously driven out of A-stan after failing to oust them despite ten years' earnest efforts, where the Taliban still runs the show.

So we're talking twenty Taliban-sized armies, except home-grown, on their home turf.

You wanna confiscate guns, starting with AR-15s?

Before those million gun owners have worked through their first magazine, they'll already have wiped out every soldier and LEO in the country (that's before we see how many of the military and police will turn their weapons on their would-be overlords first), leaving them nothing better to do than go after the politicians that instigated such shenanigans, followed by the Leftard @$$holes who voted them into power in the first place.

The stampede of violence that ensues will be for folks to collect notches and count coup, before Team Liberty runs completely out of targets to shoot at, from Canada to Mexico and coast to coast.

Washington D.C. will be an uninhabited park for the next century, and the mountain of skulls that results will make a pyramid of liberty that free people will marvel at for decades, if not centuries.

Please, PLEASE, go right ahead on with that plan.

Otherwise, somebody ought to clue in Senator Kneepads and Governor Chickenshit and tell them to be careful what they wish for, before they get themselves all Mussolinied and Ceauçescued.

If you thought the Secret Service was underqualified before, wait until they have half the country cheerfully taking accurate potshots at their bosses.

Saturday, August 3, 2024

Change My Mind

In the dictionary under "Fail Upwards"...

Wednesday, July 31, 2024

The Secret Of Her Suck-cess

That's true; she also has more California swallows than
 the Mission San Juan Capistrano.

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

You Must Remember This: Brutus Is An Honorable Man









A few updated points, if I may:

Somebody made the decision to half-ass Trump's protective detail all along.

Somebody made the decision, despite multiple requests from the campaign, not to increase Trump's protective detail.

Somebody decided, despite clear and credible threats of an Iranian assassination plot, not to increase Trump's detail in the days prior to the Butler assassination attempt.

Somebody decided to deliberately and knowingly lie about that, and claim that just the opposite had happened.

Somebody on Trump's detail made the jackassical decision to place the nearest building to Trump's podium outside Secret Service responsibility, against all common sense and basic SOP.

Somebody made the jackassical decision not to put Secret Service countersnipers on top of that very building.

Somebody made the decision to not have everyone on the same radio frequencies, and not to have liaison officers from all agencies in each others' command posts, to literally make sure everyone was on the same page at all times during the event.

Somebody made the decision to pull all of Trump's actual Secret Service bodyguards from him at this event, and replace them with fat-assed, half-assed, untrained and unqualified fifth-string security bumpkins from DHS. And just pretend Trump was being protected by the Secret Service.

Somebody failed to cordon off the AGR building in question, and prevent any random access to the building by people like RTA Fucktard.

Somebody made the decision to put the local po-po who were supposed to be on top of the building inside the building, where they could see and do nothing.

Somebody made the decision not to have officers literally in sight of each other in a 360° perimeter all around that building from well before to long after that event.

Somebody made the decision not to have officers on constant roving patrol around that building from well before to long after that event.

Somebody made the decision not to have such a patrol around that area even after a police officer spotted the shooter, photographed him, and flagged him as a "suspicious person" less than 200Y from the podium.

Somebody's failure to do those things allowed a random RTA Fucktard to carry an orange 15' ladder over to the building, and erect it, and no officer discovered that ladder for 10-20 minutes before the shooting, though it was in plain sight.

Somebody didn't control access to the building's parking lot, so they didn't see RTA Fucktard trundling the ladder over to the building, nor did they see RTA Fucktard when he returned for his war bag and rifle, nor spot him climbing up onto the roof in question.

Somebody's multiple basic oversights didn't find the ladder, climb up it to investigate, and thus did not see nor challenge RTA fucktard as he crawled into firing position.

Somebody had to have tipped RTA Fucktard off about the position of the closest counter-sniper team, and told him where the exact best position was that would utilize the intervening trees to mask him from their sight a mere 100Y away from them the entire time he was there. (If you think this "just happened", tell about the time you were on a plane, flipped a quarter that came up heads 100 times in a row, just before you were bitten by a rattlesnake and struck by lightning, simultaneously. I'll be at the bar while you work that out.)

Somebody coached RTA Fucktard and/or assisted him to scrub his entire internet presence, acquire three encrypted cell phones, and obtain multiple remote-detonated explosive devices.

Somebody ensured that there were no law enforcement or federal agents in position to see what RTA Fucktard was up to, but they couldn't prevent dozens of eyewitnesses from flagging the cops and feds down, and warning them minutes before the shots were fired.

Somebody put Trump on stage, despite a "suspicious person" who had disappeared, despite countersnipers watching RTA fucktard with a range finder and then a weapon on the nearest roof, despite those same countersnipers knowing (because any sniper's #1 imperative, especially counter-snipers on a presidential protective detail is to f**king observe intently) that no other sniper team had been on that roof previously.

Somebody didn't have someone posted inside the protective zone at the access gate between the Show Grounds and the AGR building with either the keys to the padlock, or a stout pair of bolt-cutters, wasting precious minutes of response to the threat while a police vehicle had to repeatedly ram that gate to create an opening, preventing any other officers to get to RTA Fucktard's position before the fatal shots rang out.

Somebody decided not to erect a sight-blocking barrier between the podium and that building (a standard event precaution), making any view, or shots besides random ones visually impossible.

Somebody decided to do this, at Trump's last public appearance before the Republican convention, which was unusually and totally uncharacteristically being carried on live television.

And yet, RTA Fucktard showed up at the rally from 60 miles away, walked around scoping the scene out, walked a ladder into position, carried his tools and toys onto the one roof within a mile with absolutely no federal agents or local LE presence on it or near it, got into position unseen (except by alert Trump MAGAholics in the crowd), took his sweet ass time to line up his shot, and launched 7-10 poorly-aimed shots at what, for anyone moderately skilled with a rifle, is "Gimme" range - the shooting equivalent of a 3" putt in golf - who nonetheless managed to miss Trump all but one time, and inflicted on him about the least serious wound one could receive, while missing a catastrophic one-shot kill, with brain explosion, by about 2 cm.

Flip a coin 23 times.

The odds of getting the same result 23 times is approximately 1 in 8,000,000.

That's the odds this "just happened" because of "incompetence".

The chances of missing a killing shot, for a barely-able shooter on a 6'3" 215# man standing fairly still at 130y is 4%. 

[We state this because a congressman from Texas, who owns an AR-15, which he hadn't fired for 6 years, re-created the shot this week for himself - 16 shots at 140Y from a barely sloped roof at a head-sized target  shortly before dusk - and obtained killshots on his target 15 times out of 16 attempts. No wonder whoever set this patsy up thought he couldn't possibly fail.]

The shooter fired between 7-10 rounds, per all leaked data.

4% of 4% of 4% of 4% of 4% of 4% of 4% is 0.000000016384%.

1/16billionth of a percent chance he misses with all rounds, except for an insignificant nick.

After a 1 in 8 Million chance of getting there to take the shots in the first place.

So go ahead on, and tell me this was "just simple incompetence".

Ms. Cheatle needs to be black-bagged, flown to Gitmo, and waterboarded until her recollection improves significantly.

With red-hot blacksmith pincers, thumbscrews, and power tools to motivate her to push beyond any lapses or reticence.

And then have it repeated, until she tells the identical story every day for two weeks.

And then repeat it again, simply because she deserves two weeks of enhanced interrogation on general principles.

After that, shoot her in the head and dump the corpse at sea, for all I care.

In a just world, she'd be drawn, quartered, the parts charred, and the charcoal displayed in the four corners of the country, pour encourager les autres.

But not until she coughs up everything she's hiding, and everything she knows (or was in on).