The Woody Hayes Memorial Armageddon Wagon

Remember the good old days when we were beginning to worry about  merely PARAmilitarizing big city cops by dressing them tactical and giving them assault rifles to rein in the kids with nickel bags and round up hard-working girls on the street corner?


Things have advanced.  Now, even the college division of the Barney Fife Drum and Bungle Corps can have a cute killer on its TOE. To be fair, though, the junior colleges will have to wait for their MRAPs . So far they seem reserved for NCAA Division1 "schools."  Ohio State for instance.

Reason reports the Buckeyes are being pretty cagey about  "why?" -- not to mention apparently lying through their teeth.

If they need a weapon of mass destruction (14 tons, 11 mpg, drivable only by a trained expert) to dissuade the kids from parking in the faculty lot, why don't they just say so?

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H/T my man in the military-industrial complex

Big Money: Guns just Fine and Dandy

This clown makes a point.

He eyed Ruger and SW stocks after the Navy yard shooting by a guy with a Bidengun. They rose, and he declared, ergo,  the gun debate is over. He couldn't report without taking a few shots as us, however. For example:

"Sturm, Ruger has been one of the best performing stocks on Wall Street since America elected a black Democrat president five years ago, and the tinfoil-hat brigade rushed out to stock up on guns."

Making us racist while skipping mention that the Navy shooter was black.

Making us the pulp Sci-Fi gobblers while ignoring the murderer's own terror at microwaves taking over his tortured brain.

Let him have his fun, even:

"Despite the news coverage, events like Monday’s aren’t really so remarkable. People with guns kill about 30 people (other than themselves) every day in America...

Which is an approximately correct number. it works out, according to the feds, to some 3.6 gun homicides per 100,000 persons living in America, per year.  But it is  revealing to do the arithmetic. Divide 3.6 by 100,000 and get .000036 per cent. Then toss out all of the slain young urban men with a criminal record and you can walk down most American streets with a cheery attitude.*

 "Yet investors on Wall Street are betting that, despite all the hand-wringing and pious talk, no one will do anything. They are probably right."

Yep. Grin.

It is pleasant to have confirmation from our "markets" that those of us who endorse the moral right to self-preservation are -- so far --  occupying tenable political ground, no matter what sort of goof brings the message to us.

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Whee, we get to stay on the Tilt-a-Whirl

The Kwee* ride continues and Wall Street orders up another container load of silk skivvies scented with tulip bulbs.

Since the money is  to remain free -- if you already have some in mega-billion quantities -- why not buy a zillion shares of the latest Lehman Bros. iteration and  send the Dow up another 150-plus points? The ball is ever so much fun. Do not worry your pretty little head about the guy in the masque.

While there's not much to grin about on Wiemar Road, at least the CNBC report produces a wry grimace. It says Pope Bernanke will keep floating $85 billion a year of hot checks to buy the bills run up by  President Clinton Bush Obama. For that pittance I'd hardly bother to bitch. It is 85 bill a month, Sidney.

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*"Quantitative Easing," -- Fed Geek-Speak for turning pixie dust into money to buy loans which can never be repaid.

I hear voices, too.

Nagging, insistent, they keep yammering, "Write. You're supposed to a writer, so make with some words."

Unfortunately, that's just one voice. Another lately assaults, "Finish the damned floor!"

It has been  half-carpet, half oak for years. Finally the carpet became too toxic even for my relaxed housekeeping standards. Replacing it would have been cheap and easy, but I've come to detest the stuff, especially when sharing a home with a high-shed lab. Besides, I've accumulated a some planking, and I always overestimate how long ambition will endure for any given project. So:

That was Monday. There's been a little progress since, three more planks laid (exhausting the oak inventory), all pegs driven, and 40-grit rough sanding. But between me and elegance lies another series of sandings from 60 grit  down to the (xxx) level of smoothness.*  Then, of course, the miracle varnish, whatever seems most miraculous when I go shopping. And is on sale.

It occurs to me that this report is so far devoid of any public service. Because I really care, let me correct that with a graphic depiction of an invention for tightening the seams between the strips of renewable, natural, recyclable, material. (Another way to describe all that is "not quite straight.")

You screw the block to the old floor and drive wedges to jam the new board tight. Works well, but I believe I am unable to receive a patent.

When it's all done I'll return to keeping an eagle eye on the state of the Republic. No, wait. There's another voice: "Big northerns are biting over at Ingham Lake. Load up the dog and the camper. Go fishing. Go fishing." 

Damned old voices.

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*A professional would go to about 120 grit or even finer. Jimmy the Tweak has learned of the project and established an  over-under of 81. Bet the under. I mean, Hell, I'm  just going to walk on it.