The right tool for the right job

Admit it. You, yourself, have felt the urge and even come >this<  close to action.

Bob put money in the machine and pulled the lever, No product.  No help from the return-money button. The boss's fork lift was handy.

Some jerk squealed. Polaris fired him. He applied for unemployment compensation.  


"State unemployment records say banging and rocking the machine didn't work, so M---------- allegedly commandeered a forklift, picked up the machine at least six times and dropped it on the floor at the Polaris Industries' warehouse in Milford. Three candy bars felll."


Denied. He must settle for the three gedunks.

My impulse control is a little better than that, though far from perfect, leading to a nice little fantasy.

Administrative law judge:  "Why on earth did you pulverize the candy machine with a fork lift, Jim?"


Me: "Because I didn't have a goddam Tommy Gun on me, dammit. That's why."

Bullets in schools, the eeeeek level explained

Eeeek Level One.  Sammy might actually get away with this one because lead-headed teachers and administrators are probably unaware of the very useful "bullet" pencil.

Eeeek LevelTwo. This one will cause a lockdown and local editorials praising Superintendent  Z. T. Limply for taking no chances. After all.  if it saves just one life...

Eeeeeek Level Three:   If you feel like amusing yourself with a full SWAT, active-shooter routine, complete with horrified mothers on MSNBC  (and even more horrified interviewers), you could slip one of these into some rotten kid's back pack.

Those Madcap Swedes; Uffdah! Greased Lightning

This is at least half funny. There's even a Jeff Cooper bonus, several Rule 2 and 3 violations. Under the circumstance, I think we can forgive them.

Grizzly Grub

An  AP story on the big bears of Katmai quotes a young lady psychologist on her mind-blowing honeymoon there in Brown Bear Heaven.

“There’s a bear in the water, and there’s a bear coming down the beach ... and then, we were coming in to eat and there was a bear running by, and there were three bears just over there by the river. So, that was amazing to have it so accessible.”

A mis-attribution? Actually, I think that's what the bears said.

More fun with headlines

A guy shouldn't josh about a death, but, but, but...

Please don't hate me; blame the potato-headed Des Moines Register for:

"Missing Tuber's Body Found in Cedar River."

I apologize again, but I can't help it that I yam what I yam

In case your tail is wet...

I have just the thing because I occasionally go to auctions:

It is a military helicopter tail rotor cover, purchased for a staggering three dollars. I was willing to invest that sum to satisfy curiosity.  I'm having a little trouble figuring out a practical use for it. So far the only thing that comes to mind is stacking firewood into a truncated replica of a Celtic stone tower and employing it as a cover.

Naaaah. Too much like work.

But maybe the grin alone is worth the three bucks. I mentioned the McNamara 100,000 a little while ago, but darned if I suspected the Army turned them into chopper pilots.

Hold me bitter and watch this, Cyril

I had a $20 rifle. I spent about ten hours and $50 to turn it into a $65 rifle.  If nothing else it proved that a Brit relic from the Days of Empire could be made less ugly. Grind off protuberances. Polish. Blue. Finish up a semi-inletted stock set  from Herter's final going--out-of-business sale.

The SMLE actually looked nice and sporty, and I fear I was guilty of the sin of pride.

Then comes my friend K over dinner one Friday night and says something like, "Yeah. Looks okay. Too bad it's such a weak action."  (He had been reading one expert gun writer. I had been reading another.)

"Weak action?! I'll show you, you SOB."

Yours Truly to the loading bench in a paleo-Mythbusters mood.














After concocting one round of this load I dug out a spare SMLE and a hank  of cordage. I carried the whole works to the K acreage for the annual sweet corn fest, a great party; folks came from miles around. Some shooting was always a featured attraction before we tapped the kegs.

With much advice (and damned little actual assistance), I lashed the rifle to a tractor tire lying in the shootin' pasture and hitched the pull cord to the trigger. After all, the cartridge about to be chambered was getting awful close to IED territory.

Final bets were placed as the crowd ambled toward whatever shelter was available.   I don't know the details of every wager, but the gist of all was whether  "He'll blow the sh*t out of it."   We didn't burden ourselves with precise definitions of terms. My position was, roughly, that the improbable bomblet would probably stretch the action and create visible but minor damage without "blowing up."

Boom.

The extractor left for parts unknown. A big hammer was needed to open the bolt and a dowel to pound out the brass. That's not a blowup. I claimed victory. My adversaries said "Well, yeah, but...," and I don't recall ever collecting my winnings.

Then we drank a beer or two and argued about something else.

Gun Buyback Logic

A nice quick take from my friend JAGS down in Texas.

Participating in a gun buy back because you believe that the criminals have too many guns is like having yourself castrated because you believe that the neighbors have too many kids.
.

Strange signals in the air

New Hampshire Public Radio alleges that the world has only one broadcast station run by criminals and one by psychiatric patients.

Isn't it just like government radio to get its facts all screwed up? They forgot Fox News and MSNBC.

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Hat tip to Blaine Thompson on Facebook. He's the man who runs Indiana Radio Watch, a must-read for area media types and interesting to radio freaks everywhere.

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(Oh hush, please. I +know+ cable is technically not "broadcasting.")

Banging with Gramps

The Great Annual Clan Pheasant Shoot-At is history, and Camp Jiggleview has reverted to its genteel semi-squalid quietude.  It is  now inhabited by a mere six legs (one biped plus New Dog Libby) compared to about 40 at the peak.

This gathering of armed citizens and their aristocratic dogs has been going on for close to 20 years. Its motto is something like search and destroy prior to grins over unhealthy food and a certain small ration of good whiskey. 

Every annual session leaves a special memory. This year it came from our friend Dan who shared the Camp J Transient Officers Quarters with my son, grandson, and four-leggers Ruby and  Storm. Dan suffered a minor thumb cut Thursday -- something about a small mishap with the action of his OU gun. Over Friday morning coffee he told me he would be leaving early because the wound had been badly exacerbated. I asked for details. 

Well, I was rearranging dogs in the sleeping bag and ...

And if that doesn't  perfectly capture the flavor of these things, nothing does.

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One more, almost as good.

I have an intricate range  box, the product of my late father's creative mind and careful workmanship. When my youngest heir and assign, age 17,  opened it he found a three-screw Ruger Single-Six, a Colt Huntsman, and a GI Colt 1911A1.

I allowed as how we still had enough daylight to run back out to the countryside for a spot of handgun practice and asked him to pick a pistol. Whereupon: "Let's just take the whole box." 

Is that a well-trained lad or what?

Speaking of goat ropes...

While the Mideast burns, your federal government reminds you that you have an inalienable right to a goat, even if you can't afford it.

A goat enthusiast is capitalizing on the drought which killed much of our nice grass but left some ugly weeds.  Forget that icky 24D. Get a goat.

“(Goats) will eat grass but they really prefer things like vines and rose bushes and poison ivy, things that give us problems.” For Iowans who are interested in eco-goats, the federal government has programs to help pay for fencing and watering facilities."

---

I haven't provoked any local bureaucrats lately; shame on me. This may be my chance.  Imagine their surprise when I request a special-use (eco-goat) permit from the governors of my village, Smugleye-on-Lake. These are the guys who last achieved statewide recognition by making it a criminal act to feed a stray kittie.

Espresso Justice

And yet another tale of what may happen when impetuous young men meet a wise old philosopher.

"Don't none of you [expletives] move," one of the teens reportedly yelled at the cafe patrons. One "teen" was swinging a gun, the other a bat.

One of the (expletives) in the internet cafe was Sam Williams, 71, philosophically armed with a .380 handgun. He chose to move despite the instructions to the contrary.  When he and his pistol quit moving, the 19-year-olds were chastened, not to mention bleeding.

Local officials say they probably won't charge Sam with a crime for protecting himself and other (expletives) people in the cafe. That's good as far as it goes, but I see no mention of either a gold medal or compensating Sam for the expended rounds.

They're coming to take me away, ha ha

I do not hate crazy people. If I did I'd lose half my friends including, possibly enough, myself.

In fact, if you ask me, the trouble with American politics is that we have too few crazy people. Worse, the loonies we have aren't crazy enough.

Rand Paul, for example.  He'd rather be president, of course, but he thinks that, at best, he might have to settle for No.2. This accounts for the semi-libertarian lip prints all over the Romney carcass.  At least he'd get to live in the Naval Observatory and look through the cool telescopes when ever he wanted. Besides, there would always be Chief Quartermaster to tell him to the split second what time it is, meaning he could swap his Rolex for a semi load of Brylcream, effecting a personal economy.  All this is only a little bit nuts. In fact it is quite common across the governing class -- from Obama's outright statists to neoconniest thugs of the Republican "right."


That's why I am supporting Randi, our newest United States senator. And no, it isn't just because she's an attractive woman. It's because I admire spunk, and appointing yourself senator in a wacky American alter-government seems spunky to me. It's also because The Republic  of the united States of America occupies ground in that delightful no-man's land where genuine genius mates with stupendous delusion.

These guys are mostly libertarian/ancaps writ large, albeit with a discouraging quotient of Pat Robertson prating. They claim to believe what most of us believe. Pro-gun. Free markets. A little more federalism,, etc.

However, the political philosophical underpinning seems  to be a notion that American government(s) were legal up to about 1870 when somebody or something else took over. As nearly as a guy can tell from their site, they served some legal papers on Obama or Holder or one of those guys and thereby became our de jure government .

These guys really like to stick "de jure" into their prose at every possible opportunity. I approve. "De jure" sounds rillyrilly intellectual. I mean it's Latin, and you can't get more intellectual than that. In fact, the news about Randi reminds me I've been meaning to practice my own Latin more religiously.

So postus endus cuz it's time to turn on airem conditionem. Hottern Hellica here, and that's de facto.











t

Cultural Literacy

The 10 a.m. temperature at Camp J is 80 degrees. We'll hit the predicted 99 in a walk.  It is as though all the politically ambitious, seeking all the offices in this great land, had turned to face me, as Muslims to Mecca, and begun delivering their stump speeches.

I am doing the kind of work which should be done in less heated circumstances, so I welcomed a chuckle from my pal John in the GMA, even though it mentions heat, even though he doesn't know where it came from.  We salute the author, where ever he or she may be.

---


“Several commenters mistook my use of the microwave as the way all Americans heat water and clucked their tongues in disapproval. I’m happy to report to any of those who’ve returned to the site that I’m quite atypical in this regard. 


The standard American way to heat water is to take a pot of water out to our pickup truck, open the hood (what the Brits call a “bonnet”), and lock the pot onto the engine block using a set of latches readily available at any Wal-Mart. 


Then we drive around at high speed, reciting the Gospels and firing our shotguns out the window. After reading the Gospel of John for three minutes and sixteen seconds, the water is ready. I hope this puts to rest any confusion.”

Geopolitical quickie

A Very Important General, USA,  has recently bought the house next door to me and plans to move in when he retires later this year. I've visited with him briefly and he seems a bright and pleasant guy.

So, when we come well-aquainted enough, I will put Tam's Latest Hit under his nose and see if he laughs as hard as I did. If he does I'll propose him for high political office.

Sample: ... if the Frogs and Jerries are still worried about Tsar Vladimir I, let them cut a few social programs and reactivate an armored division or two on their own dime...

The ultimate question

The GOP governor is coming back to the neighborhood Saturday. He'll join our two local GOP legislators for "Eggs and Issues" -- one of those little confabs where the lawmakers try to persuade a skeptical dozen or so people that know WTF they're talking about. It's usually an informal thing with no ground rules other than common courtesy and a bit of Iowa nice.

But the governor is expected to be a big draw. Organizers booked a bigger room and limited attendance to 100 subjects.* They also changed the ground rules. Questions must be written.  The emcee will read them from the podium.

Leading to a pleasant little fantasy. I would write and slip into the middle of  stack, "Sir, why did you give such a bullshit answer to the last question?"

Update: Turns out there will be two meetings. The other one will admit 250.

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*How's that for political savvy? They don't call it the stupid party for nothing.

Entertaining the Shieks

So that's what those guys do when they're not actually drilling.


Domain Name opec.org ? (Organization)
IP Address 212xxxxxxx.# (Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries
ISP United Telekom Austria (UTA)...
...
Visit Length 21 seconds
Page Views 4
Referring URL http://www.google.at...basics.html&docid=g1
Search Engine google.at
Search Words girls with guns vintage
Visit Entry Page http://love-a-luddit...eautiful-basics.html
Visit Exit Page http://love-a-luddit...eautiful-basics.html
Out Click Gangster
http://santafu.blogs...?zx=297d85cee6256885

Two Magic Guns

And one was extra magic. Not only did a brand new 9mm pistol fall from a "case" and go off by itself, but it did so without having been loaded. The empty, self-discharging weapon propelled a projectile though the apartment floor and into the fellow who lives one floor down.

The other gun, also brand new, magically disappeared in the few hours after leaving the gun store and before cops came to arrest the 19-year-old son for reckless use a a firearm and shooting in the city limits.

His mother (of the year) said she bought the two guns for about $1000.  She draws $300 weekly unemployment pay. The cops said her little boy had "several thousand dollars" in his pocket when  he was arrested. My crack instincts suggest another mystery here.

(Edited to delete factual error.)

Warming the cockles of your heart

Confused and lonely no more, the littlest puppy comes home, wagging its tiny butt and rolling over and over in hopes of a nice snack of .25 ACP.

I tip my hat to mommydotguv for returning the little guy to the man from whom  it was stolen 30 years ago.

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Title note: Dammit, I forgot what heart cockles are, and with Wiki black I can't look it up. So I put my hat back on to the SOPA freaks.

The Guns of Moronia

A spotty video, but it has enough laugh snips to make it worthwhile. And, for you prurients, there's the occasional set of hot-brass catchers or, if you prefer, hot brass catchers.


--
(via email, from my pardner John of the GMA)