A very good officer by the name of LawDog is gagging at this video.
If you care for a glimpse of what a police state might look like you need to see it.
Jul 21, 2011
Heller? What Heller?
Mr. Sykes is the only licensed gun dealer in Washington, D.C., Population 600,000. That's a good discussion topic all by itself when paired with the fact that I can offhandedly think of four FFLs within ten miles of where I sit in a hick county of 18,000.
He lost the lease on his southeast Washington shop and can't find another location, meaning, among other things, there's no way to legally transfer a gun in the Capital. Even DeeCee officials concede their gun laws might play a role here.
The city prohibits "gun shops" within 300 feet of a church, school, playground, library or -- get this --residence, For all practical purpose we can turn to Euclid for a a handle on what this means. A Washington gun shop must set in the center of a clear circle, 600 feet in diameter. That's about 1.6 acres in a city where a cramped basement apartment with iffy plumbing an a drunk sleeping in your doorway can set you back two grand a month. (Trust me on this one, Sidney. BTDT.)
Enter Mayor Gray who has been getting nervous about lawsuits alleging he and his fellow public titters are trying to negate the Supreme Court's Heller decision. So, he decided , "Hey, guys, let's set Sykes up in Metropolitan Police Headquarters."
It looks like this deal might actually happen. It's probably just curmudgeonly to imagine an anti-Stalin activist group set up in the Lubyanka foyer, 1946.
He lost the lease on his southeast Washington shop and can't find another location, meaning, among other things, there's no way to legally transfer a gun in the Capital. Even DeeCee officials concede their gun laws might play a role here.
The city prohibits "gun shops" within 300 feet of a church, school, playground, library or -- get this --residence, For all practical purpose we can turn to Euclid for a a handle on what this means. A Washington gun shop must set in the center of a clear circle, 600 feet in diameter. That's about 1.6 acres in a city where a cramped basement apartment with iffy plumbing an a drunk sleeping in your doorway can set you back two grand a month. (Trust me on this one, Sidney. BTDT.)
Enter Mayor Gray who has been getting nervous about lawsuits alleging he and his fellow public titters are trying to negate the Supreme Court's Heller decision. So, he decided , "Hey, guys, let's set Sykes up in Metropolitan Police Headquarters."
It looks like this deal might actually happen. It's probably just curmudgeonly to imagine an anti-Stalin activist group set up in the Lubyanka foyer, 1946.
Jul 20, 2011
The three-Excedrin candidate
Michele gets headaches. Beyond ordinary compassion for any human suffering, I didn't know I had reason to care. Then I read:
Bachmann could get sympathy from some voters, (Larry) Sabato said, since “millions suffer from migraines.”
(The seer Sabato runs something called the Center for Politics at the University of Virginia, and we are entitled to assume that his insights are nourished at the public trough.)
Y'know, he could just as well have told the Register that Michele could get sympathy for alleged dimwittery since millions of voters also suffer from cranial vacuity.
Strictly personally and putting compassion aside, it isn't Michele's migraines that worry me. It is my own as I ponder even the slim chance that she might one day be empowered to order a couple of Marine Expeditionary Units to quell a pro-choice uprising in Peoria.
Bachmann could get sympathy from some voters, (Larry) Sabato said, since “millions suffer from migraines.”
(The seer Sabato runs something called the Center for Politics at the University of Virginia, and we are entitled to assume that his insights are nourished at the public trough.)
Y'know, he could just as well have told the Register that Michele could get sympathy for alleged dimwittery since millions of voters also suffer from cranial vacuity.
Strictly personally and putting compassion aside, it isn't Michele's migraines that worry me. It is my own as I ponder even the slim chance that she might one day be empowered to order a couple of Marine Expeditionary Units to quell a pro-choice uprising in Peoria.
Poor Sean Hoare
The world media tread lightly on the mysterious death of Sean Hoare, the whistle blower who brought down the News of the World and put Rupert in the Commons dock. The eerie hush screams "conspiracy."
I suspect it starts with Queen Elizabeth who cannot possibly be amused by world's amusement at the sorry state of the media, the police forces, and Her Majesty's entire government in Theme Park England. So the question must be asked: "What did Liz know and when did She know it?" Even if she is eventually found ignorant, it is important to remember that the buck stops at Buckingham.
So far, Scotland Yard is reporting poor Sean's untimely death as merely "unexplained but not suspicious." Quite lame. This is the same cop shop whose bobbies were known to pocket a few extra pence by selling secrets to Rupert's minions.
Journalist Hoare ratted them out, and who knows what else he might have been ready to spill? A reporter who knew the cops were selling GPS locations of known celebrities is quite likely to have had the inside dope on PUS's and parliamentarians fond of dressing in tiny fragments of French maids' costumes as they waited on tables of leather-clad (Dare I use the term?) tarts (!).
The autopsy occurred yesterday, and it will surprise no one when whomever, if anyone, leading the bobbies these days reports that there's nothing to see here, folks; move along. Further scandal could crush the Empire and, poof, there go the pensions whilst also ending the jolly good sport of flogging wogs from Capetown to Bombay and beyond. Further horror? Think of the collapse of the pound sterling when it is no longer backed by the yuan of a million Chinese persons hooked on English opium.
Whilst my research is ongoing, information from my good friend Travis McGee suggests the method by which Mr. Hoare was murdered, possibly with the connivance of Murdoch himself. The crime was quite possibly committed with a tiny irradiated pellet which mimics the symptoms of a naturally occurring infectious disease. (cf. The Green Ripper.)
While I do not yet argue that the dot of death was delivered by a red-haired siren with bad skin, the possibility cannot be ruled out. As I have proven many times in the past, Travis knew everything.
I suspect it starts with Queen Elizabeth who cannot possibly be amused by world's amusement at the sorry state of the media, the police forces, and Her Majesty's entire government in Theme Park England. So the question must be asked: "What did Liz know and when did She know it?" Even if she is eventually found ignorant, it is important to remember that the buck stops at Buckingham.
So far, Scotland Yard is reporting poor Sean's untimely death as merely "unexplained but not suspicious." Quite lame. This is the same cop shop whose bobbies were known to pocket a few extra pence by selling secrets to Rupert's minions.
Journalist Hoare ratted them out, and who knows what else he might have been ready to spill? A reporter who knew the cops were selling GPS locations of known celebrities is quite likely to have had the inside dope on PUS's and parliamentarians fond of dressing in tiny fragments of French maids' costumes as they waited on tables of leather-clad (Dare I use the term?) tarts (!).
The autopsy occurred yesterday, and it will surprise no one when whomever, if anyone, leading the bobbies these days reports that there's nothing to see here, folks; move along. Further scandal could crush the Empire and, poof, there go the pensions whilst also ending the jolly good sport of flogging wogs from Capetown to Bombay and beyond. Further horror? Think of the collapse of the pound sterling when it is no longer backed by the yuan of a million Chinese persons hooked on English opium.
Whilst my research is ongoing, information from my good friend Travis McGee suggests the method by which Mr. Hoare was murdered, possibly with the connivance of Murdoch himself. The crime was quite possibly committed with a tiny irradiated pellet which mimics the symptoms of a naturally occurring infectious disease. (cf. The Green Ripper.)
While I do not yet argue that the dot of death was delivered by a red-haired siren with bad skin, the possibility cannot be ruled out. As I have proven many times in the past, Travis knew everything.
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