Big Heroic Me and Richard Blumenthal, D-Conn.

Yep, I put on my UDT gear, slipped the M3 grease gun into a plastic bag and hit that Vietnam beach like Errol Flynn jumping Joan Blondell. Man, you shudda seen me when I....

Oh. Wait a minute. I misspoke a little there. It was actually a beach north of San Diego and what I really had was scout knife and a fifth of Three Feathers in a brown paper bag. But, I mean, I wasn't lying at first. Honest. Just misspoke. By, like, accident, y'know.

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Blumenthal, you damned liar. With any decency at all you would at least refrain from insulting our intelligence with this "I misspoke" crap. You lied your ass off to try to look like a USMC hero and you got caught. Would God I had the power to lock you in a room with a squad of Khe Sanh survivors.

A legacy terrorist

I was trained in a remote area of the the Great Plains of North America by a uniformed paramilitary organization emphasizing survivalism, preparedness, and extreme patriotic and religious values.

At the age of 11 the indoctrination began including weapons training. And damned if New Jovian Thunderbolt didn't just now catch me up by discovering the lethal weapons content in what appears to be a simple camping manual.

Rand Paul in Kentucky

This is a good day to stand, face Kentucky, and render a hopeful salute to Rand Paul. We can discuss his deviation from ideological perfection some other time.

Industry...

...being, Gentle Reader, a sort of post script to the previous post which detailed no more than a simple refurbishment of a canoe paddle.

One thing led to another, and I am finally, at this late hour, inside the house and preparing my supper. In the rear view mirror of the day is a second paddle refinished, a fresh set of shelves for the storage closet built, rewiring the new drum sander, and a small beginning on some overdue lawn care.

This sort of thing must be controlled. When a man sets out to loaf the day away, he ought to have the character to follow through.