Sep 25, 2009

Land of the Morning Scam

Didn't we already pay for the 108,000 Garands and carbines Seoul wants to sell us for about $100 million? Not to mention a few other favors for the Land of the Morning Calm -- to the tune of some 50,000 American warriors who died too young.

My Uncle Gene was there over a freezing winter, top-kicking a battalion aid station. His summary take: "The Communists just shot at us. The ROKs stole us blind."

Sep 24, 2009

Good Morning, Senator Kirk

So whaddawe got here?

Insurance lawyer, insurance lobbyist, long-time crony of Teddy Kennedy, leader of pragmatic (get mine first!) pols as DNC chairman, super-delegate backer of B. Obama, favorite of Ted's kids, and, incidentally of the aforesaid Mr. Obama himself.

Hope and change arrives, cleverly disguised as just one more matinee by those venerable Vaudeville tappers Tip O'Neill and Joe Kennedy.


An addendum.

The AP reports; "Patrick planned to send a letter to the secretary of state to declare an emergency, allowing him to override a legislative vote that defeated his administration's effort to make the bill take effect immediately. Normally, legislation faces a 90-day waiting period. "I recognize the gravity of this decision and I will make it very soon, and tell you just as soon as I do," the governor told reporters Wednesday night.

If feeding Obama the rubber-stamp vote he wants now rather than in December is handling an "emergency," then what word will Gov. Patrick use when, say, Obama bin Laden is discovered on the bridge of a hijacked destroyer, steaming into Boston Harbor at flank speed?

Sep 23, 2009

Poor Planning (Reloading Division)

Killing some time until the truck is repaired, I processed a couple hundred .38 Special and a few .357 cases yesterday. There were nicely polished, sized, and belled. Then I reached into the primer drawer and came up with jiggety-teen different varieties of caps; right, everything except small pistols. So, checking Midway, I learn that everything in that line is "Out of stock. No back orders."


A local bulletin board is polluted this week with one of those beneath-stupid arguments about coaching football -- for third-graders. (I'd be pleased to post the url if I thought this corner of the Blogopolis SMSA held anyone dull enough to care about parents' opinion on whether the "win!" or "let-em-all-play" philosophy should prevail in coaching pre-pubes.)

However, it occurs to me that in about 20 years a good many alumni of this third-grade football mania will be shocked to discover that the world economy has too few insurance-selling jobs to accommodate all the disappointed young men who planned a lush living in the NFL . The brighter among them would gladly trade a working knowledge of Chinese or Arabic for all memories of the ass-pats they earned by not falling down too much.

If you can teach a kid the off-tackle slant when he's nine you can sure as Hell get him started on something likely to be useful.

Full disclosure: I personally played third-grade football if one of us could find the needle to blow up David Stouffer's leaky football and if the mean big kids weren't using the vacant lot and if it really seemed like more fun than walking down to the river with a cane pole. What a waste. If my community had had an organized youth football league and a few dozen daddies who were, themselves, frustrated athletes, why, heck, me and Joe Namath would have been team mates and drinking buddies. I guarantee it, and just writing about it deeply saddens me about my deprived childhood.

Sep 22, 2009

The Natural Perversity of Inantimate Objects

Today's little trip is a seven-mile run to the Ford dealership to determine if the F150 clutch transplant is completed. Then I can obey Horace Greeley. I shouldn't be here in Smugleye-on-Lake today. I should be approaching Three Forks. Yeah, maybe I should have seen it coming, but before I loaded the camper there wasn't the slightest hint of slipping.

Meanwhile, I submit that you don't read Reason magazine often enough. Me either, but I resolve to go there more often for things like this explanation of why the trouble with America is an excess 0f civility.

Sep 21, 2009

See You Later Allig ... (ZAP)

I'm sure Corb is a nice kid, a credit to rock and rollers everywhere, and fully deserving of his new scholarship. But I wish he'd explained the conundrum to the doowhackadoo photographer and editor. Solid body guitars need to be plugged in. Plugging them in while seated seaward of the waterline could result in a very short set.

Sep 18, 2009

L'etat, c'est WTF?

Read this and wonder how President Barack Obama could make this guy a czar of anything, much less of the regulatory function of the United States government -- even after we make allowance for the source, World Net Daily.

Cass Sunstein either means it or he doesn't when he writes: "There is no reason to believe that in the face of statutory ambiguity, the meaning of federal law should be settled by the inclinations and predispositions of federal judges. The outcome should instead depend on the commitments and beliefs of the President and those who operate under him."

Imagine how smoothly everything would work if President Obama and Regulatory Czar Sunstein sat down over a beer and decided how the Commerce Clause and the "general welfare" language of the Preamble should be interpreted.

For one thing it would save all that expense of the judicial branch of government. And maybe the legislative. If this nincompoop thinks Obama ought to be permitted to interpret the law, he might as well let the new Sun King make it in the first place.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the active governing class: This is why you scare us shitless, off our writing chairs and into the shops where ballistics in the lingua franca.

To put it as plainly as possible, Cass, we have a Constitution for the express purpose of keeping humans such as yourself where you belong, in a dim attic, unwashed, contemplating your navel, shunned in the full Mennonite manner by all to whom liberty is an idea not yet dead and monarchy is not the ideal to be desired.

(H/t to John of the GMA)

Sep 17, 2009

Royal Succession to Teddy Kennedy

It is a custom of monarchs to name their own successors, and most of they time they get away with doing so.

So it almost is in Massachusetts where the final act of hypocrisy in one of American history's most hypocritical political lives is underway.

You can read the AP link, but you probably already know the salient facts. Five years ago Sen. Edward M. Kennedy told the folks back home to repeal the law permitting the governor to name a replacement for a senator who dies. And of course, the people obeyed, Teddy being, after all, a Kennedy.

This summer, a dying Senator Kennedy had an epiphany and told the folks back home that his state deserved two voices in the Senate, therefore the governor must be permitted to name the successor to a senator who dies.

And so this morning the folks back home, speaking through a legislature dominated by the Joe Kennedy/Tip O'Neill Democratic machine, plan to "debate" the Kennedy deathbed edict.

Some lonesome and honest soul in that lawmaking body will certainly be rude enough to wonder aloud if the late senator's call from the grave might have the teeniest motivation of a Republican governor in 2004 and a pliant machine Democrat in 2009.

That Bay State Diogenes will then be attacked as a right-wing toady to Rush Limbaugh. He will be pilloried for sullying the Kennedy legacy which, as everyone knows, exemplifies the American virtues of selflessness, decorum, and modesty in all facets of their lives, public and private.

And if that isn't the truth I'll kiss your arse on the quarterdeck of the U.S.S. Constitution and foot the bill for a video uplink to the teevee satellite of your choice.

Sep 16, 2009

Domestica redux

Before the hour of eleven this morning a friend I see too seldom came for coffee, the city maintenance man appeared with a load of firewood which he help me unload and stack, a neighbor delivered a quart of Jack Daniels as a bon voyage offering, and best looking woman in this end of town popped in for a visit. So much for the loneliness of bachelorhood, though I concede this was a considerably more social weekday than I'm accustomed to .

The new underarm stuff, maybe?

Sep 15, 2009

Veritable Arsenal

This jaunt is not overly planned, but I suspect we're looking at about two or three thousand miles through the barren waste lands of the great American desert. My bestiaries report a land of vipers and sagebrush, grizzly bears and wolves; ethnographic studies reveal a populace quick to retaliate against violent provocation.

So I feel pretty good about things and don't really see a need to be armed to the extent necessary for an excursion down South Halstead Street in Chicago. And since guns get kicked around severely on my camping trips, the prettier ones stay home.

For what it is worth, here's one man's concept of a well-stocked arms locker for a few days on the great prairie and in the Rockies when no hunting is planned.

--For general pleasure and common pest control, the Smith 59, just because I'm comfortable with it, like having 28 rounds easily available in its two magazines, and a few more dings aren't going to set my tear ducts flowing. This will be a fine chance to shoot up all the remaining ancient reloads. I don't worry about the pipsqueak caliber because I figure the odds of trouble are slim.

--In case I'm wrong about that last point, the 20-inch Mossberg 500 with with five rounds of 12 gauge 00 buck in the magazine and five more in the stock band.

--A .22LR semi, maybe the Winchester 74, maybe one of the 10-22s. There is no place like the Wyoming/Montana plains for just plain plinking fun.

That arsenal should be veritable enough, though I'm beginning to flay myself for not planning on a Winchester 94 or a single six. How can a self-respecting man go to the shadow of the Big Horns without a cowboy gun?

The trip starts when you begin stocking the book locker with appropriate reading and research matter. So. for everyone who has been in my house in the past two years: Where are the rest of my Rocky Mountain fur trade books? I warn you that I can be a mean SOB when aroused.

Cash for Clunkers reckoning

This is about the time the first or second car payments are due from the citizens who bit on the cash for clunkers deal. Listen sharply for the first whinings that the gummint ought to step in and restructure the auto loans.

Sep 11, 2009

Well, Hildy Johnson would have understood

Someone on a military radio net says "bang, bang, bang" and CNN/Fox News defecate all over themselves trying to scoop the world on a "shots fired on the Potomac" drama.

Virtually every elevision " journalist " involved in this fubarathon holds a college degree in journalism. Among people with even the slightest sense of what reporting and editing should be, such a degree has come to command the same level of respect as a certificate of attendance at an Arkansas institute of cosmetology.

There are enough projects going on around here to challenge my mind all I care to, so the current reading is light. I pulled Admiral Hornblower in the West Indies from the shelf and rediscovered how much fun that C.S. Forester series is. Also, it's a painless way to to refresh your memory on the Napoleanic Wars and assorted other European tomfoolery at the cusp of of the 18/19th centuries.

John D. MacDonald - Science Fiction

John D. wrote so much that it's dangerous to make categorical statements about his work, but it's generally thought he wrote only two science fiction novels, Wine of the Dreamers in 1951 and Ballroom of the Skies in 1952.

Yesterday, at one of those semi-permanent garage sales, I found both of them, side by side in undated Fawcett Gold Medal printings. It's stuff like that that keeps me wasting time going to auctions and yard sales. This pair is shelf-worn but obviously unread. Since I can't recall reading either work, I think I'll tuck them in the camper for roadie use.

(Fifty cents each -- same price the sale guy was charging for Harlequins.)

Sep 8, 2009

The Grave-Spinning Lord Baden-Powell

Alternate title: Speechless.

Roberta reports that Adult (uh huh) Leaders have made Britain safer by ordering Boy Scouts to quit carrying their pocket knives.

Sep 7, 2009

Dang! And Free Whiskey!

By actual count it has been 22 days since TMR laid a 2x4 between the eyes of the man who at the moment occupies the office of President of the United States. I agree with you that this is unforgivable.

I'll listen in tomorrow as he lectures his captive audience of public school inmate-educatees. I understand he has been shamed out of telling them to write themselves a letter ruminating on what each could do to "help President Obama." So I'll be watching for an identical message couched in other words.

And, by the way, I am announcing the First Occasional TMR Liberty Prize. This one goes to the first history teacher credibly reported to this blog as having created and used a related lesson to follow the Obama speech -- reviewing history's official personality cults, including but not limited to Mao, Stalin, Hitler, the KorCom Kims, and the ayatollahs.

The prize is a fifth of Wild Turkey, and I ain't kidding.

EDIT: Times being what they are, and the national literacy level being what it is, I suppose this is necessary: We are referring here to a metaphorical 2x4, and TMR recommends against initiating physical violence against any person, including those who, at any given moment, occupy the office of President of the United States. The jug of Wild Turkey offer, however, remains decidedly literal.

Sep 6, 2009

How to buy a gun by mail order:

Sign this. Send it along with your order.

I am a citizen of the United States, over 21 years old, of sound mind, not a drug addict, not a habitual drunkard, not a fugitive from justice. I am not under indictment for a crime punishable by a year or more imprisonment. I have never been convicted of a crime of violence. There is no law in my state, county, or city that prohibits this order being shipped.

Date____________ Signed_________________________

The date had to be before the 1968 Panicked-Over-Guns Act, in other words, during the era of American history when the default condition of government was one of trusting its citizens.

(H/T again to Turner Kirkland. RIP)

The Courteous Dixie Gun Works

What a gray world we've become since the days when Turner Kirkland was in his prime. I just ran across one of his 1967 Dixie Gun Works catalogs. On the kraft mailing envelope is:

"Dear Postman: This Fascinating Catalog has cost our customer $1.00. Please deliver with HASTE and ACCURACY."

Imagine. A time of quaint and touching confidence in the efficacy of polite language.

Turner could also send you a modern gun via Railway Express.

Sep 5, 2009

Black Hills Rancher

I don't know if Jinglebob carries openly, but he is the dead-certain cinch to be the only blogger I know who could walk into the general store with a .45 Peacemaker on his his hip and appear 100 per cent natural -- as if buckling on was as routine as buttoning the shirt.

Besides, he slings a mean camera and can handle a dutch oven.

Welcome to the blogroll.

Sep 3, 2009

The Free State of Montana

A near-new Texsun camper followed me home the other day, and I decided to keep it. With a little luck, in another week or so it will be back on the 150, pointed westward toward the fur trade country with a stop at the Little Big Horn to honor the military genius of Lt. Col. Custer.

A routine part of any trip is a check of the state firearms laws along my route.
As you'd guess, the Regulators of South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Utah aren't likely to get pantywadded over my veritable arsenal and cache of ammunition, but in checking Montana I was reminded of something wonderful. It is the Montana Firearms Freedom Act which, in essence, tells DeeCee to go regulate up a rope about guns and accessories made in and kept in Montana.

I probably need to be back home before Oct. 1 when it becomes effective. Too bad. I envision buying a Bozeman Trail Silencer for my Bridger Big Rifle, Cal. One Hundred Fifty. I would post a picture here of them and me, defended against the feds by the entire Montana polity, maybe even including the Big Sky National Guard. Damn!! Course I'd have to stay there if I wanted to keep my goodies, but there are worse places to hang out.

(John Steinbeck in "Travels with Charley:" "If I could live away from the sea I would live in Montana.")

Let's hear it for Montana, not afraid to bell the federal pussy. They'll lose in the courts, of course, but the point will be loudly made that some Americans still give a serious damn about the principle of federalism and about Amendments 2, 9, and 10.

No court can change the other pleasant result - the soiled-linen state of the Kalispell liberals -- Redford, Sarandon, that bunch.