Lust object in multi-hued steel

An example of what  may result from a couple years of thought and experimentation and adaptation of equipment meant for something else. The more you like old Marlin lever guns and 19th Century metal finishing techniques, the more you'll appreciate the latest product from the shop of Genius Jeff who acquired the raw materials as rusty junk.

It's all assembled now -- you should see the walnut -- and at the Tulsa loophole. I'm not clear whether he means to sell or merely display. I sort of hope the latter. It's comforting to have such art only a few miles down the road.

I cannot offer a complete geekout because I know little of case-hardening technique. You need to clean and polish the metal, taking care to preserve the flats and sharp corners and markings, then bake it in calcium carbonate or something like that.  I'm told the pulverized bones of an Incan goddess work best, but in a pinch one can employ those of a sacred white buffalo. I'll ask him when he gets home.

Do I need glasses or is truth really getting even fuzzier?

Three days ago our Commander-in-Chief stood on the White House lawn and told America: No combat troops to Iraq.  That was pleasant to hear given that American warriors are relatively untrained in adjudicating disputes between rival religious sects.

This afternoon we learn that he has told congress he's sending "up to"  275 special forces troops to Iraq.

If I know government flackery correctly, the Ministry of Truth is warp-speed keyboarding the logical explanation that these forces are not "combat"  troops. While "equipped for direct fighting," they're really some other kind of troops. Therefore the White House/State Department complex is not nearly as schizoid as any intelligent observer would first believe.

If so -- if they are other than active warriors -- then WTF are we directing them to do? Organize block parties? Hold knitting bees? Help the Jihad reduce its carbon foot print?

When we learn to our amazement that none of this works, we can surge in some more people. Why not? It is certainly a vital national interest to promote a reasoned dialog about who gets first crack at the afterlife virgins, not to mention the lion's share of oil loot; well worth all the young American blood it takes.

But .. but ... sputter ... sputter

You guys told me the world was getting hotter and that would make me colder up here in the north plains and, besides, all my buddies on the gulf and east coasts would get smooshed by dozens of giant killer hurricanes. I mean really whacked, bad enough to get lots of free stuff from FEMA.

And now you tell me it ain't so Joe?  Cooler Atlantic Ocean this year and a "slow" hurricane season?

My deep faith in the infallible accuracy of government and its climate scientists is beginning to weaken.

My Underpants

Getting ready to go visiting, I changed into fresh clothes a few minutes ago. It's cold, so I decided on long johns and grabbed the set on top, a high-tech, micro-fibered, odor-destroying, item. Probably thirty or forty bucks worth of  redneck lingerie which came my way, unnoticed,  in an inventory buyout.

They're camo.

Camoflage underwear?

A guy can only assume someone has identified a niche market of perv hunters who like to flash Bambi before they shoot her mommy.

Dear Secretary Kerry

Hi,

Just caught your speech about Syria. You're probably right that President Assad gassed a few  thousand of his fellow Syrians and it was horrible.

Sorry to say that after that part, you got a little gassy yourself. Part that I had the toughest time understanding is that Assad is the guy who did it but
you and your boss want to bomb somebody or something else. If you said who or what, I missed it.

I figure Bashir needs punishing, but it seems to me that since he gassed Syrians, Syrians ought to do the punishing. I listened to you say it was really our job (this was your gassy part I mentioned a sec ago), but I didn't hear anything more than about  Saddam Hussein's old Weapons of Mass Destruction that will be shot  at us pretty soon. You remember. Bush and those guys.

Seems to me if your boss reallly needs attention that bad, you might just go ahead and have somebody shoot Assad. Geez, with all the money we give you guys, how hard can it be to keep another Matt Helm on the payroll? Or maybe Nicolai Hel if you don't mind working with foreigners.

The CIA could pay a pretty handsome hit fee out of its petty cash drawer. 'course, you'd want to find a different bunch of guys to actually find Bashir.

And you'd have to make your staff write a speech for your boss full of plausible dunnowhodunnitability, but with a wink and a nudge everyone will know he's the hero. You too.

Anyway, just my 2 cents. Have a nice day.

Jim

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.

A clip full of toilet paper, if you please Ma'am

We've all been subjected to a good a deal of deep, dynamic, unalloyed ignorance in the current debate.

We're used to it, of course. Every Second Amendment rights defender  is continually explaining facts at a kindergarten level.  "And the bullet goes round and round and it comes out here..."

Anyone who hasn't isn't in the game.

Occasionally, however,  despair is understandable. Somewhere in Colorado, adult Americans elected Diana to public office.

Rep. Diana DeGette (D-CO): "I will tell you these are ammunition, they’re bullets, so the people who have those now they’re going to shoot them, so if you ban them in the future, the number of these high capacity magazines is going to decrease dramatically over time because the bullets will have been shot and there won’t be any more available."

Setting aside the basic illiteracy of  "...these are ammunition," has this woman actually sat through the lengthy debate in America's  highest councils and come away assured that firearms magazines are as reusable as Charmin?

When dumb goes that deep, I doubt the synapses can be repaired. Stitch her lips shut. Roll her west from Wolf Creek Pass. Just to see if she makes it all the way to Pagosa Springs.

H.L. Mencken on Gun (and everything else) Control

Each year about this time,  the Moon of the Shrunken Scrotum, I tend to stay  in my lodge,  near the fire, and spend time with the old writings. I owe these authors. Without them I would be someone else.

This morning it is H.L. Mencken (1880-1956), one of my primary sources on 21st Century politics. Here he discloses one of the reasons we veer so close to post-constitutional government and pixie dust economics.

He is discussing American literature as it existed in the earliest years of the 20th  Century. It was ponderous stuff requiring close attention and patience, but Mencken thought it was important. Or would have been if enough people paid attention. He wasn't optimistic about that.

"In the arts, as in the concerns of every day, the  American seeks escape from the insoluble  by pretending it is solved. A comfortable phrase is what he craves beyond all things...".

Hi! I'm yo Fuller Rush Man

The cops have three of them in jail over in Estherville. They're accused of drug offenses, and I can only wonder again why there is no statute making criminal stupidity a felony all by itself.

A bunch of guys from around Portland, Oregon, blew into the quiet little county seat, checked into some cheap rooms and fanned out to sell drugs door-to-door. Let me repeat that. Door-to-door. How surprised could they have been when some folks called the law?

To add a little more bizarre:

"The investigation resulted in authorities obtaining two search warrants for rooms at the Super 8 Motel in Estherville. However, authorities believe some of the suspects got away after being told door-to-door sales require a permit."

I see. The perps were comfortable selling pot and heroin to the lady of the house. But they panicked and lammed after learning that their enterprise needed the same city permit required of Hoover vacuum hustlers.

The Montezuma Two-Step

Our hunk of Interstate 80 has three great qualities.

First, it's a rapid way of getting out of Iowa, albeit by the least interesting route available. (Eastbound, it also ejects you into the maws of Illinois SSR commissars.)

Second, it is America's most incontinent-friendly route.  In the 1950s and '60s, someone was having a sale on pissoirs and palaces to house them, and we planted them wholesale.  At the posted speed limit you are never more than 27 minutes from  relief. Back when our sappy official motto was "A Place to Grow ," a legislator grumpy about the cost of maintaining the "rest areas" said we should change it to "A Place to Go."

Third, it takes you within a few miles of Montezuma and (Mystery Revealed!)...

Where you may sit in a somewhat sterile front area, wander through the catalogs, and fill out your order.

And where you may peek through a window at, but not fondle,  Brownell's goodies.

And after your order is quickly processed by an extremely pleasant and efficient Iowa lady, you get to put your new essentials into your Homey Roller, bow to the Temple of Shooty Mammon, and be on your way to less interesting places.

It isn't as much fun as rummaging through Herter's during it's year-long quitting -business sale, but it's warmer than mail order, and you are permitted to discuss things with actual humans who are blessed with good sense. For example, I wanted a pint of magic cold blue, but they were out of the pint-sizes and had only the little four-ounce bottles at a roughly 50 per cent higher unit cost. I wondered if Brownell's might agree to sell me four 4-oz bottles at the pint price.  A quick phone call from the aforementioned nice lady to her boss yielded an instantaneous "yes," and she seemed as pleased as I was.

Good folks there in Montezuma. Stop by and say hi when you're in the area.

Oh. And, in case we Iowa taxpayers didn't afford you enough places to pee, be advised that Brownell's also offers gratis urinal access. Free Markets to the rescue again.

Listen up, Kemosabe

According to Jinglebob, tribal wisdom of the Dacotah holds that upon discovering you're riding a dead horse you are well-advised to dismount.

Government has not absorbed this truth and instead believes it should respond by, among other things ...

1. Buying a stronger (and more expensive) whip.

The whole thing makes a good read, although a bit frightening for its truth.

For all you Chevy Volt haters...

It took  a few decades, but General Motors has managed to recreate the pyrotechnic potential of the Ford Pinto. You'll all recall the little pony was reputed to enjoy exploding its gas tank in relatively minor crashes.

Chevy's  Volt likes to splode its battery, and that seems to be creating a public relations problem for the company. 

The piece also justifies its existence with a single sentence:

"As Robert Bryce points out in his book Power Hungry, electric cars are the "Next Big Thing. And they always will be."

And you probably shouldn't even carry a weiner in your pocket in their territory

Somebody saw a cougar down in Iowa City, and one of our vigilant public servants was ready with wisdom -- things you and I would never think of. Misha Goodman, director of the Iowa City Animal Care and Adoption Center, reminds us to


...walk in pairs in the areas where the sightings occurred and to not let children walk alone in wooded areas, particularly at sunset. If a mountain lion is spotted, Goodman said to stay at a distance and to never feed it.

We should all tattoo that on the backs of our hands.

---

Our crack DNR isn't quite ready to admit citizens actually saw a cougar this time. They are  "investigating."

In the past few years the DNR has finally conceded that a few cougars may have taken up residence in our fair state. Before that they usually said people were mistaking deer for the big cats.  The argument eventually colllapsed when DNR learned that even us civilians know that hardly any deer have five-foot tails.

Set back, relax, and enjoy your flight.

The Iranian-American businessman who forgot to take his loaded  Baby Glock out of his computer bag was a little embarrassed to find it after a flight from Houston. He thought maybe the crack  TSA security operatives ought to be, too. 




 "It's just impossible to miss it, you know. I mean, this is not a small gun," Seif told ABC News. "How can you miss it? You cannot miss it."


But the TSA did miss it, and maybe --- I dunno, just maybe -- I can answer  his question.

Was one of these in the  security queue, motivating the TSA  fellas to lose concentration and squabble quietly over whose turn it was to gape at the pervoscan, or probulate her as a opt-out?  I mean, I'm just askin', here.

Heady Science

(From our series on  great spread-spectrum technology breakthroughs in the 20th Century.)
.

If your name is Bubba, you just KNOW.

Commenting on an American Thinker article on the Cheshire murders, an eminent firearms authority says:

Oh and in case anyone is contemplating home defense for themselves and their families, I recommened a shotgun loaded with buckshot over a handgun. It delivers a far more devastating blow on the criminal. Even if you miss, you will still stop them in their tracks and it won't go through a wall. Besides, everyone knows the sounds of a round being cycled into a pump shotgun. That is usually all it takes to make somebody think twice.


Once in a while I suggest  a short Mossy 500 for non-enthusiasts interested in a  home defense piece.  Buckshot is okay, but, on the other hand,  I recommend against missing.  I also question the wisdom of counting on clickety-clack to solve your problems  with the goblin at your bedroom door.


Love the internet. Second only to John Ford movies  in creating gun experts. 

Score

Tam nails one center mass when a copeaucrat says every  gun in someone's hand is  a potential homicide. She invites one and all to play the game. Okay:

Every net connection in someone's hand is a case of potential sedition.

I'll drink to that.
.

The End of the World as She Knows It

This would be a routine weather-stranding story if it weren't for Holly (Whosis). I don't know Holly, but I'll bet she has great hair and is on the most intimate terms with mirrors everywhere.

Holly and Jeff were stranded on Interstate 29 between Omaha and Sioux City Sunday when foul weather and accidents closed the road for some 24 hours. They were lucky enough to find a hotel room and even a convenience store.

But Holly's life went downhill from there. As the Des Moines Register reports it:

"They ventured out of their motel room Monday afternoon to look for shampoo, conditioner, a deck of cards and some puzzles. 'We're at a convenience store,' Holly said. 'They're all out of shampoo and conditioner'."

And so I note for my whacko wookie-suited brother and sister survivalists: Relax a little. To the extent that Holly is representative of the population, the competition for post-SHTF resources isn't going to be all that severe.

Flying home for Christmas?

Travis McGee on a winter flight to O'Hare:

Passengers reached up and put their lights on. The sky had lumps and holes in it. It becomes tight sphincter time in the sky when they don't insert the ship into the pattern and get it down, but go around again. Stewardesses walk tippy-dainty, their color not good in the inside lights, their smiles sutured so firmly in place it pulls their pretty faces more distinctly against the skull-shape of pretty bones. Even with the buffeting there is an impression of silence inside the aircraft at such times. People stare outward, but they are looking inward, tasting of themselves and thinking of promises and defeats. The busy air is full of premonitions, and one thinks with a certain comfort of old Satchel's plug in favor of air travel: "They may kill you, but they ain't likely to hurt you."

----

"One Fearful Yellow Eye" P. 1