Please step over to Random Acts of Patriotism for the Hitler take on John Moses Browning's 1911 versus the Teutonic brick. If it doesn't make you laugh you're not a true gun nut.
H/T Borepatch
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 7, 2011
Climb Mount Niitaka
...and the sneak raid was on.
Travis McGee: "With every passing year it will seem more quaint, the little tin airplanes attacking the sleeping giants."
There's not much we can do about the Japanese attack seeming quaint to the uninformed young, but we can try to make sure they remember it happened.
Travis McGee: "With every passing year it will seem more quaint, the little tin airplanes attacking the sleeping giants."
There's not much we can do about the Japanese attack seeming quaint to the uninformed young, but we can try to make sure they remember it happened.
Oh, Brave New World
I still cling bitterly to the belief that the last important inventions were the Model 94 Winchester and the Zenith Transceanic radio. But it can be hard.
About once a month New Dog Libby's dietary needs send me reluctantly to WalMart for 44 pounds of Purina Dog Chow in an Ol' Roy bag. This was such a day. The crowd was thin, thank God, but I had forgotten to activate my anti-impulse circuits.
The new, cheap flat-panel HDTV is better in every respect that the bulky monster it has replaced. Merely saving space in the small living room made it worthwhile, never mind the better picture and curse-free setup.
Nevertheless, I feel like a primitive Baptist who has just discovered Charles Darwin.
About once a month New Dog Libby's dietary needs send me reluctantly to WalMart for 44 pounds of Purina Dog Chow in an Ol' Roy bag. This was such a day. The crowd was thin, thank God, but I had forgotten to activate my anti-impulse circuits.
The new, cheap flat-panel HDTV is better in every respect that the bulky monster it has replaced. Merely saving space in the small living room made it worthwhile, never mind the better picture and curse-free setup.
Nevertheless, I feel like a primitive Baptist who has just discovered Charles Darwin.
Barack Theodore Hussein Roosevelt Obama
His Ineptness went to Kansas yesterday to channel a little William Jennings Bryan and a lot of the old Bull Moose.
Pardon me for saying so, Sir, but you don't make a very credible prairie populist, and it's even harder to picture you leading a battalion of actual men, charging up a Cuban hill in the face of other actual men shooting back.
Mr. President, this country knew Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt was a friend of ours. You're no Teddy Roosevelt.
If you want to Americans to quit dissing you as a street wimp who lucked out, flying Unicorn One to Hawaii at our expense for a 17-day golf junket won't do the job.
You want to be Teddy Roosevelt? Fine. Book a train to Libby, Montana. Find yourself a Flathead guide. Hire a good old quarter horse with some mountain pony in his pedigree (demand a birth certificate) and an agile, hefty pack horse or two. Learn to throw a diamond hitch. Head on up into the Kootenai country. Be ready to pull your weight when it comes time to pitch the big wall tent and fire up the Sibley stove.
I'm pro-choice when it when it comes to personal weapons, but your image consultants probably will recommend something like a Model 95 in .30-40 Krag, scabbarded under your leg.
Get in, shoot at a quarter-ton of something with teeth and claws, and get out. Then maybe some of us will listen to you prattle on about big sticks and heroic presidents.
Until then: President Obama as Bull Moose? Bull Shit.
Pardon me for saying so, Sir, but you don't make a very credible prairie populist, and it's even harder to picture you leading a battalion of actual men, charging up a Cuban hill in the face of other actual men shooting back.
Mr. President, this country knew Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt was a friend of ours. You're no Teddy Roosevelt.
If you want to Americans to quit dissing you as a street wimp who lucked out, flying Unicorn One to Hawaii at our expense for a 17-day golf junket won't do the job.
You want to be Teddy Roosevelt? Fine. Book a train to Libby, Montana. Find yourself a Flathead guide. Hire a good old quarter horse with some mountain pony in his pedigree (demand a birth certificate) and an agile, hefty pack horse or two. Learn to throw a diamond hitch. Head on up into the Kootenai country. Be ready to pull your weight when it comes time to pitch the big wall tent and fire up the Sibley stove.
I'm pro-choice when it when it comes to personal weapons, but your image consultants probably will recommend something like a Model 95 in .30-40 Krag, scabbarded under your leg.
Get in, shoot at a quarter-ton of something with teeth and claws, and get out. Then maybe some of us will listen to you prattle on about big sticks and heroic presidents.
Until then: President Obama as Bull Moose? Bull Shit.
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