A Wild Blue Yonder day..

I spent a good part of the day with this old friend.


I got some refresher flying in, and completed my bi-annual flight review. It's been some time since I flew--too long actually. But it all still felt good and right, and the check pilot--who didn't know about my leg until we were aloft for a bit--said that my skills were still great despite my time away from the cockpit. We flew over parts of three states, and shot some touch-and-go landings at an airport that had so much traffic in the pattern that I felt like I'd joined Baron von Richthofen's Flying Circus. We did stalls, emergency procedure drills, and plenty of navigational drills. And there were turns: steep turns, climbing turns, turns around a point. It was both a blessing and a pity that there was no wind aloft to make things more difficult, but my performance was satisfactory enough to get me signed off and current again.

It was a good day, but now I need dinner, a celebratory drink, and a nap before the New Year's tomfoolery starts in. Look forward to more flying posts for 2011 now that I have the extra disposable cash needed to stay current without having to resort to selling myself to the local photographers for the price of a rental hop, particularly the photographers who don't understand concepts like crosswind components, FAA minimum altitudes and the Washington, DC ADIZ.

"Come on...you can go over there just for a minute so I can get some shots. We'll be in and out before they know it, and if they have a problem with it, I'll say that it was my idea."

Yeah, one actually said that. More than once. Another photographer offered me a hundred dollars extra if I'd fly over Camp David so he could get some pictures and couldn't understand why I was being unreasonable when I told him no. I couldn't make him understand that the blue circle around it on the sectional chart means something, and I want to keep my license. Frankly I tired of having to deal with these guys just so I could keep my hours up so I took a hiatus, but now I'm in a better place and I can afford to fly without them and their silly demands.

It feels good.

Now I'm shopping for my own aircraft. I don't need much--just a solid airframe and a strong motor with a reasonable amount of time on it. And external hardpoints.

Heh.

SNAP!!!

OK, a few weeks ago, I totally rebuilt the toilet in my main bathroom. Rather proud of myself I was, too. Until it began to leak. Damn it--how can it leak? I replaced every single component, screw and gasket in or connected to the tank. It's not possible!

So tonight, I spent another hour on it, tearing it down, repositioning the gaskets, refilling it, emptying it and mopping up the water, then replacing the gaskets... And still it leaks.

I'm at an impasse. I can't figure out what's wrong, but I for damn sure am not going to call some expensive plumber in here to do what has to be a simple fix. Tomorrow I'm gong back to Home Depot to try to cadge some free technical advice.

In the meantime, I'm done with it. I cleaned up, washed up, and walked out into my living room to find shreds of plastic all over the floor. It took me a minute to figure out that this plastic once comprised a bag that held the brand new family-size loaf of honey-wheat bread that I'd just bought at the store today. But there was no bread--not even a crumb. The whole loaf was gone. Like it was never even there.

And there sat Audie Murphy, licking his chops and looking quite proud of himself."Got jam?"

And my head exploded.

All together now: "Awwwwwww....."

It seems that the poor little criminals in AZ Sheriff Joe Arpaio's tent jail are in for a few cold nights.

PHOENIX -- Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio is used to dealing with extreme heat in his Tent City jail.

For the next few days, inmates will be facing severe cold weather instead. The overnight temperatures are expected to dip below freezing.

Inmates will have extra blankets for the next few nights, Arpaio said. They will also be issued pink thermal underwear to go with their standard pink boxers.

The tents used for the jail date back to the Korean War.

"The conditions here are mild compared to what happened in 1950 in 'frozen Chosin,'" Arpaio said, referring to the Korean War battle.

And I hope that each one of them, as he shivers under his blankets, thinks about someone that he knows who didn't do wrong and who is warm and comfy in a nice house or apartment somewhere.

Well that's one way to go...

Once upon a time, there were three idiots from Louisville, Kentucky--Tran Phuong, Phuc Nguyen and Chau Tron. Now they probably could have stayed in Louisville and grown to a ripe old age, but they decided to go to Philadelphia for Christmas, and while they were there, they decided to embark on a crime spree, pulling guns and robbing several businesses in South Philly and Darby.

Now even that really wasn't too dumb. I mean, lots of criminals do stuff like that every day. But where these three brain surgeons blew it was when they walked into John Anthony Hair Styling for Men shortly after it closed and stuck a gun in the face of Mrs. Terry Staino, taking her laptop, necklace and wedding ring.

A short time later, they drove the wrong way on a one-way street and the police who stopped them saw their guns on the car floor and arrested them. It didn't take long before the investigators figured out that they were the ones who'd robbed Mrs. Staino.

Now these three are looking at some prison time, which no one would be too happy about, but they've got a bigger problem ahead...a much bigger problem. You see, Mrs. Staino, the woman that they robbed--the one whose wedding ring they wrenched right off of her hand? Well she's the wife of Anthony Staino.

That would be Anthony Staino, the "reputed" Philadelphia mob boss.

Yeah. That Anthony Staino. The guy who kills people. And kills their families. And kills their friends. And kills their friends' pets. The Anthony Staino who has a whole army of thugs and goons at his beck and call, some of whom are already in the prison that these guys are likely to wind up in.

They manhandled and robbed his wife. And they got caught. And now he knows who and where they are.

Enjoy the whole story here.


As these guys sit in jail awaiting trial, they've got to know that they can't run and they can't hide, and that it's literally just a matter of time before something really, really bad happens to them. And they've got to know that there's nothing they can do and nowhere that they can go to stop it from happening.

Sometimes when you're really stupid--deliberately and malevolently stupid--the Karma fairy brings the big bat...the one with the nails in it.

TSA bars stripper surgeon, but ok's terrorist's wife to fly.

What is going in in this country when this woman is not allowed to board aircraft for domestic flights,
but this one is A-OK for international flights?

That's right...in this new system of airline "security", where all are slated to be inconvenienced equally (except for those who appear to be muslims, because that would be profiling), Tammy Banovac, a woman in a wheelchair who gained notoriety for protesting TSA by stripping, has once again been barred from boarding an aircraft for no apparent reason, while another one--Kathie Smith--who is married to a Jihadist, advocates terrorism against the Unites States, and poses for pictures holding guns and surrounded by pictures of other terrorists gets to fly wherever and whenever she wants to.
Tammy made TSA look like idiots last month when she took off all but her bra and panties to protest the way that she'd been groped on a previous screening, so now she's getting jerked around every time she shows up at the airport. But Kathie Smith...well she hasn't challenged TSA so they're apparently willing to overlook a few red flags in the name of diversity:

On her MySpace page, currently available for viewing via Google cache, Smith wrote: “As salamu alaikum akhi.. it is time for Jihad and it is now Fard ayn for ALL Muslims whether their in the United Snakes or else where...Insha'Allah!!!!”

Smith has lauded Awlaki, celebrated the deaths of U.S. soldiers -- who she called “terrorists” -- at the hands of the Taliban in Afghanistan, and applauded another user’s posting of a rendering of the two planes hitting the World Trade Center towers on Sept. 11, 2001.

And while she has repeatedly called for jihad against the West, Smith told FoxNews.com: “I am exercising my right, as an American citizen to freedom of speech, religion, and the right to bare arms. I have the right in America to say what ever I want. That is what makes America so great, right?”

But a paid government consultant aware of Smith’s movements said there’s concern that Smith could follow the path of Colleen LaRose, a suburban Philadelphian dubbed “Jihad Jane,” who pleaded not guilty in March to conspiracy charges involving a plot to kill a Swedish artist and providing material support to terrorists.

“When her husband released the video earlier this month of the two of them holding weapons and included standard jihad imagery, such as pictures of German jihadists that have left to join terrorist groups in Pakistan and Afghanistan or have been arrested for plotting terror attacks, we were concerned that they might be escalating to an attack themselves,” the consultant said.

It's nice to see that TSA has got their priorities straight.

So I ask you: Who would YOU rather sit next to on a long-distance airline flight?

Tammy? Or Kathie?

Unfortunately, you don't get a choice. Since Tammy has dared question TSA's authority, they've ordained that you'll have to share your flight with the jihad-supporting, terrorist-marrying Kathie.

Kathie Smith...has been flying back and forth between the U.S. and Germany as recently as two weeks ago...The FBI also did not respond to an e-mail from FoxNews.com asking why Smith is not on the federal government’s no-fly list.

Good luck with that. I'll just drive.

Mitch Cowley needs to be hit with a baseball bat

He really does.

It all began when retiree Gary Yourtz paid $1.1 million for a house in Denver's Belcaro neighborhood and pulled a demolition permit, planning to build his dream house at 825 S. Adams Street. Gary liked the neighborhood, but didn't want the old house, built back in 1958. He planned to raze the old one and build a new one, an act which would have increased his property's value and helped prop up the neighborhood's property values.

But this was all halted abruptly when a drive-by jack-ass by the name of Mitch Cowley decided that he didn't want Yourtz to tear down his own house because Cowley, who doesn't even live in the neighborhood--or in Denver--claimed that he likes to drive by and look at the house. He and Susan Livingston (who at least does live in the neighborhood) filed a $250 application to have Yourtz' house declared a historically-significant building, putting the demolition on hold.

The result? Yourtz had to hire an attorney and pay almost $18,000 in legal fees to fight this fight, only to have Cowley just shrug and withdraw the application on the night before it was supposed to go before the City Council for a determination.

Now Yourtz is still out the money. And Cowley? he and his pal Livingston are free and clear and not liable to repay a penny to Yourtz.

"I was just trying to draw a line in the sand because this has been going on too long," Cowley said. "Just because someone owns something doesn't give them the ultimate right. They are removing homes of substance and replacing them with no substance."

Yes, Mitch. Ownership of property gives people the ultimate right. This specifically includes the right to remove a house that you like and replace it with one that they like. If you felt so strongly about this house, why didn't you buy it when it was on the market?
Seriously, if you'd pulled that crap with me, I'd be taking that $18K out of your ass with a Louisville Slugger.

Now if I was Yourtz I'd probably be working up a comprehensive plan to make both Cowley's and Livingston's lives miserable. It would become my new hobby and I'd devote time to it each and every day. You see, these two are the epitome of the modern Liberal; they are driven by the unshakable belief that they know better than you or I what is best for us and the community around us. And like most Liberals, these two are just going to go through life messing with other people and trying to punish us all for not living the way that they want us to until someone makes them pay a cost for the trouble that they cause.

Back from the Christmas trip

No posts yesterday because Murphy and I were traveling back from visiting family and friends up in the mitten state--the one whose economy was demolished by the tag team of Obama and Granholm to the point where it is now one of the worst places to seek a job or own property in the country. (Just keep voting for the Dems, you idiot union members!)

This was Murphy's first trip with me. He did pretty well considering. I cleared the whole back cargo area of my SUV for him and put his dog bed back there, but he decided that it was more important to be close to me than comfortable, so he fought his way up between the presents and luggage and carved out a cramped and twisted little niche for himself that looked like one of those gerrymandered congressional districts that democrats carve out to ensure that it contains enough of "their" people. His body was on the seat, his head was on my armrest, and I don't have any idea where his legs were, but he rode that way most of the trip. Crazy dog.

The big moment came when Murphy got to meet my nephew, the Spud. Spud was close to Lagniappe and my prior Shepherd Oliver, so naturally he was all excited to meet his new dog best friend. Alas, as soon as he walked into the yard where I had Murphy, there was much barking and teeth clacking, and Spud retreated with a wail of "He hates me!" Apparently one of Murphy's prejudices courtesy of his past life is that he doesn't like or trust children, especially ones who are timid. And as Spud is the poster-boy for the timidity movement...

It took some work on his lead, and half a bag of treats, but eventually Murphy learned to accept Spud and take goodies from him. This had to be refreshed again the next day when they met again, but after that, the two got along quite well...that is if you call a dog mostly ignoring a boy "quite well". But it'll get better. Lagniappe didn't care for Spud either the first time they met, but they grew to become good friends in short order.

On Christmas Eve, I met up with Aaron of "The Shekel" and got some shooting in too, if you can call what we did "shooting". We tried out a new place in Commerce Township called Target Sports II. Now I used to shoot at the original Target Sports in Royal Oak way, way back in the day (and an owner or two ago, I suspect) but this was my first time trying this place. The basic run-down: Nice, yuppie-attracting storefront filled with over-priced guns and over-priced accessories. The range was run by a chick with a funny name that I can't recall--Hella or Hedda or Hecka...whatever it was, it obviously translated from the old language as "Bitch". She started out by nixing most of the ammunition that we brought from outside, on the grounds that it was "steel core and bad for the range." This knocked out my .380 and Aaron's 9x18mm. We know that our ammo isn't steel cored--that's not even legal for sale in the US--but she had a magnet the size of a brick that she put on the box, and when it stuck, she declared it "steel-cored". We tried pointing out that it was the steel in the cases that her massive magnet was attracting, but she wouldn't budge. Our suspicion that she was just trying to deprive us of our ammo so that we'd have to buy more from them at their outrageous prices was confirmed as soon as we got into the range and saw all of the .223 rifle cartridge cases on the floor. So my cheap Tula .380 ammo might somehow damage the range but that stuff at 3,000fps won't? Fuck you, Bitch. And then there was the whole list of "can'ts". You can't draw from a holster and shoot. You can't lower the detachable barricade and shoot. (Then why does it have that clasp and hinge?) And you can't even hand someone on the adjoining lane an empty firearm with the action open, as we found out when The Bitch used the PA to yell at us for the "crime" of passing Aaron's wonderful S&W Model 29 .44 Magnum back and forth as we alternated firing 5-shot strings at out targets. Apparently if you wish to trade guns with someone, you must leave the gun on the bench and trade shooting positions, and swap your targets on the hangers too because you're not allowed to crossfire onto adjoining targets.

Adding insult to insult, she shorted us on our time, too. If you go in there, make sure that you keep a stopwatch running, because they're obviously not above cheating their customers out of five or ten minutes in order to try to squeeze other paying customers in.

Bottom line: Screw that place and screw it hard. I won't be back.

Back at Aaron's, my mother and sister arrived with The Spud, and we had a terrific Christmas/Hanukkah dinner courtesy of Aaron's wife, Natasha and her mother (Spasibo!) who made a wonderful ham. Now that was much better than just going to the movies and eating Chinese food, wasn't it, Aaron?

The next day, we had another great dinner at my father's place (more ham...and RIBS!) and gifts were exchanged. I got the Spud an army backpack, belt and canteen, but I'd forgotten to make sure that the box I was packing his gifts in was empty before I put his stuff in it. When he opened the box, the first thing that he pulled out was a rifle scope, followed by a loaded 20-round AR mag. Needless to say, he was a bit excited for a few seconds--and his mom was about to stroke out--before I figured out what I'd done and reclaimed those items. And in keeping with our Christmas tradition where I give the boy a weapon that he wants (and which his mom promptly takes away and hides) I also got him a slingshot.

As this was Murphy's first Christmas, he was a bit slow to catch on. But he too discovered the joy of ripping the paper off of something to find new toys inside.

The next day, Aaron and I took the Spud out to play some lazer tag. Being the day after Christmas, the place was nearly empty, and for two games our of three, the three of us had the whole arena to ourselves. Spud racked up a ton of points just following Aaron around and shooting him over and over, as Aaron, in true Canadian military fashion, merely responded by asking him nicely to stop doing that. I, on the other hand, discouraged Spud by repeatedly running away from him and setting up ambush after ambush for him when he predictably pursued me. Naturally, he soon developed an affinity for Aaron's United-Nations-style defensive tactic and just stuck to him like glue for the last game. Great fun, and next time we'll try it with Aaron's daughter Abby, who will, I predict, dominate that arena just like she does everywhere else she goes. That one is definitely not timid.

So we're back home now, getting re-settled in and looking forward to a relaxing day of reading in front of the fire.

Someone got a name for Christmas

Any dog can get squeaky toys and rawhide chews from Santa. But this one...he wanted a name. So henceforth, the Dog Who Resisted Being Named shall now be known as: Audie Murphy, or "Murphy" for short.

Like his distinguished namesake, he's intelligent and resourceful, but also calm, cool and quiet. He stands tall and responds decisively when challenged, but he also has a touch of roguishness about him at times that only adds to his charm. Even though he started out with a bad hand early in life, he's clearly a diamond in the rough that I expect great things from.


So Murphy it is.

T'was the night before Christmas...

Uh-oh... I hear something up on the roof.Could it be...?!

A Christmas PSA

Have mercy on the reindeer and put out some diet cookies...that guy in red gets fatter every year!

Anticipation...

Boss left his sock drawer open. If one stocking is good...Ima gonna get me some swag this year!

Just for laughs

This old bit from the TV classic Taxi just slays me. It's not even the jokes so much as the timing and body language that goes with them. This is called "acting" and it's something not seen very often today.

Hats off to Governor Christie!

You may recall my article (and others) last month expressing outrage and pure disdain for the State of New Jersey after a man named Brian Aitken was sent to prison for seven years simply for having two lawfully-purchased firearms packed in among his personal effects in his car.

Well Governor Christie just commuted his sentence, freeing him as soon as the paperwork is processed. Brian Aitken is about to walk out of prison a free man and will be able to spend Christmas at home with his family.

Gov. Chris Christie commuted Aitken's sentence, from seven years to time served, according to an order the governor signed today.

Aitken had appealed to Christie for commutation after being sentenced in August. According to the commutation order, Aitken will be released as "soon administratively possible."

In 2009, Aitken was arrested for possessing two handguns and ammunition -- the guns were unloaded -- after state police found them in the trunk of his car. Aitken was visiting his mother in Burlington County when she became concerned about his well-being and called police.

Aitken, who had recently moved from Colorado where he bought the guns, faced felony charges the same as if he had used the guns to commit a crime.

Thanks to Governor Christie for righting a wrong. I guess that the only real check and balance on an out-of-touch legislature and judicial branch that doesn't respect or follow the Constitution is the election of a Governor who does!

Schitzo Dog

All day long, I move around the house and the dog follows me. From room to room, upstairs to the basement and back, wherever I go, the dog is always two steps away. When I sit, he lays down. If I get up, he gets up. This dog is my shadow and if I even make brief eye contact with him, he comes even closer for a petting.

Of course this changes when we get outside. He did quite well on his leash today, but as we got home, just ten feet from the door, he spied one of the neighbors' infernal free-range cats and dammit, he pulled the leash out of my hand.

I should be holding tighter, I know, but I'm still used to an older, milder Shepherd who didn't pull crap like that without telegraphing it by freezing in place for a second before attempting to bolt. This one? He just jumps, and he jumps quick. And today he proved that action beats reaction when he lunged and pulled the leash from my hand.

The cat made a hasty exit over a fence, and the dog stopped for a few seconds about ten feet ahead of me, but then as I approached to get him back, he realized that he was free. Free. FREE!!! Free Dog! And off he trotted at a cavalier pace suggesting that he wasn't in any particular hurry but just off for a jaunt into the woods. Naturally my attempts to recall him were unsuccessful. I was alternately repaid with haughty glances, the K-9 equivalent of a smirk, or else I was ignored altogether even though I know damned good and well that he could hear me.

Now if there's anything worse than the helpless feeling of knowing that your dog is loose and roaming around where literally anything can happen to him, it's the knowledge that all of your neighbors can hear you calling your dumbass dog over and over again, until finally they all know that your supposedly loyal hound is disrespecting the hell out of you.

So for the next forty-five minutes, I coax and cajole and silently rage as this dog trots round and round my house, and my neighbor's houses, always staying in sight but well out of reach. He goes up a steep, snow-covered hill to the street behind mine, so I drive up there to get him and as soon as he sees me, he runs back down to the house again. What fun! Then he goes to the cat people's house and goofs around in their yard for a while. I can't get near him of course, because in the snow-covered rough terrain of the woods, he's ten times faster than me. It's like a dump truck trying to catch a Porsche on a race track--not gonna happen. A couple of neighbors try to lure him, but he's not having any of that. He just frolicks back and forth, and runs around people's houses, having a ball as the sun goes down. Hell, what do I do when it gets dark and I can't see him any more? I hate this dog. I'm about ready to go back in the house and find his receipt when suddenly I get an idea.

"Bye, dog," I yell as I walk down the street away from him. It works--he's following. He's staying at a distance, but he's following. OK. Hopefully I can work this.

I stop. He stops. I sit down. He bounds off. I get up and start walking again. He runs after me but stops every time I look, dropping into that ready crouch that dogs seem to equate to "On your mark...get set..." I keep walking, doing my best not to look. I listen for him instead. And it works...sort of. I hear his collar and claws on the road, but before I can react, he blasts past me like a Phantom jet not a foot away from my leg. I try to stomp on the leash but just miss it. DAMN YOU! He's fucking with me big time, now. He runs into another neighbor's yard and disappears around back of their house. well screw him--I'm not following him. I wait. Sure enough, after a minute, his curiosity gets the better of him and he peeks out from around the corner of the house. So I turn and walk away from him again, this time up the driveway of the neighbor across the street. He trots after me again, passing me just out of grab range, but then he pauses at the base of the steps to their front porch. If he goes up there, I'll have him trapped. If he doesn't, we're back to square #1 again. He stands there, looking at me. I try the command that I've been using to get him up into my truck: "UP!"
And nice as you please, he goes up the steps onto the railed porch. I've got him.

I get hold of his leash, and I smile and praise him and hand him a treat from my pocket. I'm pissed, but this isn't the time to punish, lest he equate getting caught with an ass-whupping. I'll never get him back again if he makes that connection. So I take him home and bring him in the house, and to be quite frank, I don't want to see this dog for a while. But what does he do? Yep, as soon as we're back inside, it's Velcro-dog again. He resumes his old role as my shadow like we've always been Best Friends Forever.
Jekyll and Hyde have got nothing on this dog, let me tell you.

Now I want an electric collar. One with a remote control. It doesn't have to buzz, or shock him or do anything like that. No, I just want one that will blow his head clean off the next time I call him and he just gives me that mocking look as he trots off. That'll teach him.

I swear I'm gonna trade this dog for a goldfish, then I'm gonna flush the goldfish.

West Virginia's Senators--disgraceful, both of them.

Well the US Senate decided to try to jam the pro-illegal alien DREAM Act down our throats today despite We, the People, sending the House and Senate a clear message in last month's elections. Senator Jay Rockefeller voted in favor of the bill that would have allowed illegals up to the age of thirty to avoid deportation simply by declaring an intent to enlist in the US military or start attending college. Under this act, they would then be allowed to remain here despite prior criminal records or future arrests, and ICE could not deport them.And once they were granted citizenship, they would each be allowed to sponsor their family members, including the parents who brought them to this country illegally in the first place--parents like this couple. The bill would have resulted in millions of new "citizens" (read: welfare-seekers with voter-registration cards) and would have undoubtedly resulted in the Democrat Party's rolls increasing to the point where elections would become mere formalities in parts of our country.

Again, Jay Rockefeller voted FOR this.

Worse though was our newest senator, former Governor (and Democrat Party hack) Joe Manchin. Manchin just skipped the vote. I won't pontificate on why Senator Coward ducked this vote (and the vote on repealing the military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy) other than to say that I find his claim of a family event to be utter and total BS. You wanted to be a senator, Joe--that means that you SHOW UP FOR WORK and you represent the people whose votes you begged for. You're just lucky that the bill went down to defeat because other senators were brave enough to stand up and vote "NO" because you'd have been saddled with it's passage forever had it squeaked by without you standing up to try and stop it.

Oh, and Senator Rockefeller...do us a favor please and just stay in Washington, DC. You've been there so long that you've lost touch with the people who sent you there and to be honest, a lot of us don't even want you back any more.

Saturday Man Movie

For today's man Movie Saturday, we get to watch this clip from Missing in Action 2, in which Chuck Norris gives the sadistic prison camp commander what he's had coming for quite a while.



And one more gratuitous Chuck Norris spot from the firstMissing in Action, just for the M60.

Because even Chuck Norris is manlier with an M60.

Finally! The new gun arrives

It's not at my house yet, but at last it's at my dealer's business, waiting for the final transfer to me. This is the long-awaited replacement for the Browning 1919A4 medium machine gun that I sold back in September. The Form 3 transfer tp my dealer was an absolute nightmare that took months instead of weeks but it's over with now and the gun is here...all twenty-three pounds of it. I just got back from visiting it. And here it is: My new M60 General Purpose Machine Gun.





Now while I wait for the M60-haters to pile on, let me say that I will miss the Browning, but this is undeniably a step up. Now I have a gun that can be carried and operated by one man and his dog instead of requiring a crew like the Browning did. No more lugging tripods--this one has a bipod and can even be shoulder-fired or hip-fired. And it's a ton lighter. Also, once it's in my hands, I plan to send it out to the nice folks at US Ordnance for an upgrade to the current M60E4/MK43 specification, thus curing most of the design problems that these older guns have.

New Dog thought it was great fun to pull the 100-round belts of M-60 ammo out of the ammo can a few minutes ago, but when I tried to drape one over him and explain that it'll be his job to carry at least one belt, he bolted out of the gun room and I haven't been able to figure out where he's hiding yet.

Oh well...we've got a few months to try to come to an understanding on this subject. BATFE is currently running about four months to process dealer-to-customer transfers so with any luck, I'll be taking final delivery of this one in April.

But in the meantime, I can still go visit it at my dealer's place any time I like. Yay.

Oh--There's the dog. Just had to look behind the bed in the guest bedroom.
Gotta hide better than that, pal. So...carry the ammo belt for TWO bacon strips?

And they wonder why I no longer call Britain "Great".

An elderly farmer in a motorized wheelchair--one of Britain's few remaining tax-paying, productive citizens--shoots at what he believes to be a fox on his own farm and he accidentally hits two thieves who are there to rob an illicit drug-growing operation that was set up without the farmer's knowledge.

Police respond and take everyone into custody--the two shot thieves, two women who are in the dope shack, and the farmer. Everyone is eventually released without charges or any court sanction except for...you guessed it:
The farmer.

The injured men, aged 27 and 30 and from Basildon, Essex, were arrested on suspicion of possessing a firearm but were later released without charge.

Police found 50 cannabis plants in the rented outbuilding. Two women were arrested and they too were released without charge.

Although Mr Tibbs no longer faces any charges, he has now been left without his shotguns after Essex Police withdrew his firearms licence on the grounds that he kept too much ammunition at his farmhouse.

A police spokesman confirmed that two licenses held by Mr Tibbs for more than 20 years have been revoked.

He said: '[Mr Tibbs] is unfit to be entrusted with a firearm and may present a danger to public safety and peace.'

So this disabled senior citizen loses valuable firearms to his own government and is now left unable to defend either his livestock or himself, while the criminals who have been operating on his land and who may now be just a tad upset are free to go on about their business knowing that if they want to pay this old man a visit and express their displeasure, there's nothing that he can do to fend them off.

Pathetic.

If you give a dog a peanut...

So I'm having some peanuts for an after-dinner snack. Roasted in-the-shell peanuts. I'm eating them in my office and New Dog walks in.

N ow I have yet to give him any people food, and I don't plan to get him hooked on that vice like every other dog I've ever had has been. He watches me crack open shell after shell, and as usually happens, I drop a few on the floor every now and again.

New Dog does not beg from me--his manners are very good in this regard. He just lies on the floor and watches me without even trying to get a morsel.

Finally, I've had enough. I put the bag of peanuts on a small table behind me and I clean up the shells and such that have missed the bowl and fallen to the floor. For some reason, I put the peanut bits into New Dog's dish. Why not? It's just a couple of peanuts...what can it hurt?

I resume reading and typing, and a few minutes later, I hear crunching behind me. I don't pay it much mind at first, because this dog is always chomping on the bones that I've given him, but then I hear what sounds like cellophane. WTF? I turn around and New Dog is caught in the act reaching into the peanut bag for another mouthful of peanuts. And on the floor behind me is not a bone, but rather the broken, wet shells of a couple dozen or so peanuts that he's already helped himself to. I guess that he likes them now.


Aaarrrrrggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Hungry...

Found some sliced turkey breast in the back of the refrigerator. It's dated 11/04/10, but it's still sealed. What do you think?

Try it, or just have some of the cottage cheese out of the carton it was hiding behind?

And when did they start putting cottage cheese in milk cartons?

Oh wait--it's just... never mind.

Time to call for pizza.

New Dog--decidedly NOT helpful.

So I'm loading ammunition. I've got the wood stove going in the reloading shop and it's all nice and cozy and peaceful.

Enter New Dog, my velcro buddy who can't seem to stand to be more than ten feet away from me at any given time.

First he decides that he doesn't like or trust the brass tumbler. It's just sitting there on the floor, minding it's own business as it whirs away making old fired brass new and shiny again. Well New Dog seems to suspect it of subversion, because he keeps growling at it. I tell him to quit, and he barks at it defiantly then swats it with his paw a couple of times.
"I was talking to YOU," I tell New Dog.

He leave the tumbler along for a few minutes, and I've almost forgotten that he was in the shop when he walks through an area where I have several small boxes of brass in various stages of processing sitting on the floor. Does he step over or around any of these open boxes? Nope. He steps ON them and spills several of them, flipping brass cartridge cases all over the place and co-mingling them all nicely.

I gently chide him and set about picking the damned things up. Meanwhile, he goes over and re-engages his nemesis, the brass tumbler, again. "RrrrrrrrUFF! RUFF! RUFF!"

"LEAVE IT!"

Big sigh.

I go back to work, and shortly, I crush a casing with the press. I remove it from the shell holder and toss it across the room into a big tub that I have that is filled with damaged or rejected brass. Courtesy of the Browning machine gun and it's healthy appetite for berdan-primed brass, the tub's fairly full. Enter New Dog. He saw me toss the single .45 casing across the room and he ran over to the brass tub and began DIGGING for whatever treasure just landed in there. I hear the brass jingling and I look over to see him standing there with his two front paws in the tub raking through the brass. Naturally, there's now a sizable quantity of brass from that tub rolling around on the shop floor.

"GET OUT OF THERE!!!"

Somewhat chagrined but not done with the mischief-making yet, he scampers off as I grab the broom and dustpan to pick up the brass. A few moments later, he manages to find a large trash box filled with that stupid huge bubble wrap packing material that the folks at Midway USA use to pack tiny items snugly in very large boxes. This stuff consists of large green air packs about six inches long and 2-3 inches in diameter that are all connected in long chains. New Dog decided that these are the greatest toy ever and commences to pulling the long chains of of the box that I've put them all in and he starts jumping on them and biting them trying to pop every last bubble.

OK, this is kinda funny to watch, but then he begins to eat the plastic so I have to take it away from him and make sure that it's all picked up and put away somewhere out of his reach. And this takes a few minutes, because while there's just one me, there's lots of this bubble wrap (Thanks, Midway!) and he's prancing around the shop with chain after chain of the stuff, just having a great time popping it and doing his best to keep it away from me.

I finally gave up so we're back upstairs now. I'm typing and he's laying happily next to my chair with just one eye kept on the stairwell door in case that tumbler comes up wanting another piece of him.

Dogs...

Dog names

Still no luck picking that perfect name.
The suggestions thus far:

Alvin
Billy Jack
Blitzkrieg
Commanche
Dog
Gator
Jay
Kirby
Melvin
Muttley
Nixon
Phideaux
Ruger
Schultz
Shadow
Stalker
Steve

I'm at an impasse. And he's not helping.

Justice Breyer says that "personal values of our founders" trump the Constitution

Liberal Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer is in the news today courtesy of his asinine proclamation that despite the plain language of our Constitution, our Founding Fathers really wanted us to enact gun control.

Appearing on "Fox News Sunday," Breyer said history stands with the dissenters in the court's decision to overturn a Washington, D.C., handgun ban in the 2008 case "D.C. v. Heller."

Breyer wrote the dissent and was joined by Justices John Paul Stevens, David H. Souter and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. He said historians would side with him in the case because they have concluded that Founding Father James Madison was more worried that the Constitution may not be ratified than he was about granting individuals the right to bear arms.

Madison "was worried about opponents who would think Congress would call up state militias and nationalize them. 'That can't happen,' said Madison," said Breyer, adding that historians characterize Madison's priority as, "I've got to get this document ratified."

Therefore, Madison included the Second Amendment to appease the states, Breyer said.

"If you're interested in history, and in this one history was important, then I think you do have to pay attention to the story," Breyer said. "If that was his motive historically, the dissenters were right. And I think more of the historians were with us."

(insert sigh here)

First of all, any lawyer at all--heck, any intelligent 5th grader--knows that it doesn't matter what the parties to a contract privately believed. All that counts is what they actually put in writing and signed off on. If you go to a car dealership and sign papers agreeing to buy a Kia, it doesn't matter if you are thinking in the back of your mind that you'd really like the Corvette instead. You agreed in writing to make payments for and take delivery of the Kia. That's what's in the contract, so you don't get to sign it then drive out with the Corvette because it's what you "really" wanted. Well the US Constitution is perhaps the greatest contract ever written, and it specifies exactly which powers that We, the People, are giving to the government in exchange for us recognizing and obeying it. In this instance, part of the contract specified that "the Right of the People to Keep and Bear Arms shall not be infringed." (Amendment 2, Ratified by the States in 1791.)

But Breyer, a lawyer since 1964 and a Supreme Court Justice since 1994 (Thanks, President Clinton!) now insists that the writing of a contract means less than the personal values of the people who wrote it.

Breyer, who just published "Making Our Democracy Work," a book about the role of the court in American life, outlined his judicial philosophy as one in which the court must take a pragmatic approach in which it "should regard the Constitution as containing unwavering values that must be applied flexibly to ever-changing circumstances."

Since the Founding Fathers could not foresee the impact of modern day communications and technology, the only option is to take the values of the Founding Fathers and apply them to today's challenges.

"The difficult job in open cases where there is no clear answer is to take those values in this document, which all Americans hold, which do not change, and to apply them to a world that is ever changing," Breyer said. "It's not a matter of policy. It is a matter of what those framers intended."

So in Breyerland, if a mechanic enters into an agreement to fix your car, but he intends all along to cheat you, you should have no legal recourse against him when he does cheat you and returns it still broken after demanding payment for his time because he'd meant to cheat you all along despite contracting with you to fix your car. And his personal values should be considered as a defense, so if he was morally inclined to cheat people, Breyer suggests that he's perfectly entitled to do so, contracts and promised to the contrary aside.

Flippancy aside, Breyer's type of thinking is dangerous for another reason too, and that's because it naturally sets him and people like him (other liberals) up as the arbiter and interpreter of the "values" of those long-dead Founding Fathers. Even if we were to try to run our entire country on what a small handful of people who have been gone for over two centuries would have personally liked, we don't really know what that is, do we? Of course we don't. But Breyer and his ilk now presume to know, and I guess that they'll just tell us and we can take their word for it.

Well me personally, I'm thinking that Thomas Jefferson would have agreed with me putting my foot in Breyer's ass. So I guess that Breyer won't have a problem with that should I ever find myself in close proximity to him, right?

Folks, this is why elections are so important. Presidents get to nominate these Justices, who then sit for the rest of their lives and make decisions that affect us all forever. Clinton gave us Breyer and Ginsburg, two of the most destructive Justices as far as individual rights are concerned. Obama's just put two more on--Kagen and Sotomator--both of whom are judicial hacks outstanding only in their personal allegiance to Obama. The people who elected Clinton and Obama also elected these Justices and anyone else that Obama gets a chance to name before we can get him out of there in 2012. (And does anyone who even pretends to love this country and it's freedoms really want a Supreme Court controlled by a 5-4 majority run by Obama picks?) This is why we've got to get serious about Presidential elections. Bush, for his other faults, gave us some great Justices in Roberts and Alito. His father gave is Clarence Thomas and President Reagan gave us Scalia. Come 2012, we need to elect someone who is ideologically tuned properly enough to give us other Justices in that vein. I have no idea who Governor Palin would pick but I'd still trust any of her choices over anyone that Obama or one of his successors might appoint...or anyone like Breyer, who really works at demonstrating that he still doesn't get his job. I mean, seriously...how many people really don't grasp the basic concept that words mean things.

Oh--Breyer weighs in on gun rights for DC residents as well, and he seems to be granting some new permissions:

"Are you a sportsman? Do you like to shoot pistols at targets? Well, get on the subway and go to Maryland. There is no problem, I don't think, for anyone who really wants to have a gun."

Well there ya have it, folks. You can now take your guns on the Metro--something that was illegal yesterday--because Justice Breyer says that you can. And I didn't even know that Breyer had been appointed to the Metro Board.

Saturday

I took the dog out with me while I ran errands today. I also wanted to try walking him downtown where there was more people and traffic to distract him. Turns out he's quite well-behaved on leash and he doesn't try to pull out ahead of me. This is good. For a reward, I took him to the local tennis court (because it's fenced and he can't get away) and we played ball for a bit.
As you can see, he's still on his leash, just in case. And on the tennis court, he was a good fetcher. He always brought the ball right back to me and dropped it, and he didn't give me a lick of trouble. Of course he did slip and fall in a puddle and soaked himself, but that was just funny...at least it was when he did it.

Here he is, bringing the ball back. He's got this game down cold.

Afterwards, we drove back home. And here's where the goofiness started. I had to make a stop, and as soon as I got out of my truck, Mr. Wet Dog decided that he'd rather sit up in the front seat instead of waiting in the cargo area where he's supposed to be. So when I came back, I found a wet dog in MY seat. And someone learned a new command: GETINTHEBACKDAMMIT!

So we got back home, and I went around back to let him out the tailgate. When I opened it, however, he bum-rushed me and took off into the woods before I could snag him. And as usual, he totally ignored me as I called for him to come back.

He eventually went down to the road and trotted across to see the neighbor's dog (who was behaving so nicely behind his fence), and when he saw me coming he went next door to that neighbor and began to run around the next neighbor's house, looking back frequently to see if I was coming, of course.

Now I'm not falling for that. Not again. This time I just went up to the neighbor's dog and began petting him. Immediately this dog raced over to get in the mix as I'd figured that he would (because dogs--like women--are jealous creatures by nature), and I was able to grab his leash. I wound up taking a header in the wet, muddy grass when I dove for it, but I got a good grip on it as he darted off and I was rewarded with a loud "URK!" from him as he was suddenly brought up short.

On the way back up to the house, I decided that I might want to name him "Nixon", because this dog can be a real Dick.

Saturday Man Movie

Since John Wayne was brought up by a reader yesterday, we'll feature the final gunfight from The Shootist, John Wayne's last film.

Here, legendary gunfighter J.B. Books, dying of cancer and seeing the writing on the wall for the the end of the frontier lifestyle, invites the last three men who want to kill him to meet him in the bar.

Gotta watch out for those sneaky back-shooting bartenders; they'll get you every time. It's a good thing that Richie Cunningham just happened to be in the neighborhood.

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday, I had to drive in to work for a bit. As so often happens, I wound up being delayed time and time again by drivers who were going just at or even below the posted speed limits, either on the two-land country roads that I have to traverse, or in the left lane of the highway when I got on that. In most cases, when I was finally able to pass (sometimes by crossing the double yellow line because the only alternative was to stay behind them for miles, poke along, and get to work late), I noticed that it was almost always SOME JACK-ASS WITH A CELL PHONE UP TO THEIR HEAD, obviously more interested in their conversation than they were in their driving or the time constraints of all of the people behind them. On the two-lane which I must use for twenty miles--the one that only has three short passing zones--it seemed more the rule than the exception to come up on a whole long line of cars all driving slow, everyone held back by the idiot at the head of the line who hadn't noticed or didn't care that there were two dozen cars on their back bumper while the closest car ahead of them had gone over the horizon a long time ago. And the ones on the highway? They always seem to park themselves behind some slow-mover in the right lane and just sit there, blocking everyone else who might want to actually use the passing lane for, you know...PASSING!

People like this need to be shot, or at least run into the ditch. When I get to be President, there will be a new law allowing for the sideswiping of anyone driving slow and talking on the phone. A simple declaration of "I needed to get somewhere but I couldn't get past that jack-ass on his/her phone..." will stand as an absolute defense against any criminal or civil claims that might be filed by said jack-ass. It's harsh, but oblivious cell-phone yakker/drivers have it coming and have for some time now.

Oh--and it did not escape my keen observation that most of these drivers were women. I'm just saying...

Today, New Dog--the Dog That Resists Being Named--and I stayed home and enjoyed the first snow-fall of the year. We were actually going to go to the dog park but the roads were all being shut down by people crashing. I stopped to help at one and it was--you guessed it--a young woman driver who had slid into the ditch and flipped her SUV up on it's side. When I got there, EMS had not arrived yet so I pulled over to make sure that she was ok. She was, and predictably, she was complaining that the roads were too slippery and now her new truck was wrecked because the county wasn't doing anything about it.

"No, honey," I replied. "You wrecked your own truck because you were driving too fast." (And probably on your phone, I thought privately.) "Notice how none of these other people are going into the ditch?" I could also still make out her skid marks in the snow, and she'd fish-tailed several times before hitting the ditch. She'd clearly had some speed on. Idiot.

When the Sheriff's Deputy arrived (and commenced to writing her a ticket for Operating Too Fast for Conditions), I left and went back home. It wasn't worth driving half way across the county in this weather with more people like that one on the roads.

Back at the house, I lit the fire up in the stove and Dog and I lay down to take naps--him on his dog bed and me on the couch. So nice.
Afterwards, I thought that a walk might be in order so I began putting my shoes on. Dog came up beside me and whined a bit, and when I ignored him, he reached over and took his leash off of the arm of the chair that it was on and turned to me with it in his mouth. I laughed and took it from him, setting it on the couch next to me only to have him pick the end of it back up and set it on my lap. WTF?! Where did he ever learn that? Smart dog.

So we went walking, and as we did so, we encountered the UPS man making a delivery to one of the neighbors.
"He's not going to bite me, is he?" asked the UPS man as we walked up.
"I hope not," I replied. "This is a new dog."
The UPS man tentatively gave this one a pet, and told me that he'd been worried for a moment because he thought it was Lagniappe.
"Aw, Lagniappe liked you," I told him, after explaining that Lagniappe was gone.
"That's not the impression I got from him," he said. "Every time I ever went over there when you weren't around, I thought that he was going to bust out that window and kill me."
"Seriously?" I asked, laughing.
"Yeah," he said. "Didn't you ever wonder why I always left your packages down on your driveway instead of up on your porch? That dog always scared the hell out of me."

Good job, Lagniappe. You were a damn good dog.

This new one's got some big paw-prints to try to step into.

Perhaps I should name him "Dammit".

On second thought, no. I mean, he's already demonstrated that he won't respond to that.

This morning, I took him out into the fenced dog area of the yard. He was on his leash, and he did just fine, although he saw a couple of the cats nearby and he clearly wanted to chase them when they ran. The problem came when I took him back into the house. I fell victim to an old habit that I'd gotten into with Lagniappe, and without thinking, I reached down and unhooked his collar BEFORE we were all the way back in the house. No dim bulb, this dog--he realized what I'd done before I did and like a black flash, he was off. He backed up about ten feet, looked at me, then began to dash and caper around the yard like a Dervish.

"Come!" I commanded to no avail. He wasn't coming back. I went after him and tried to get him to back, but he was free for the first time since coming here and he was going to play. He'd run right up to me, lower his head to the ground, wag his tail, and wait for me to grab at him, at which point he'd bolt off, run a half circle around me just out of my reach, and do it again. "Come here, Dammit!"

But the result was always the same: He'd get within a few feet and pause, but dart away like a rocket as soon as I started to move.

OK, cute but aggravating...and I have someplace to be this morning. But I can't get close enough to grab him, nor can I lure him close to me by holding something out to him, or just sitting on the ground, pretending to ignore him. Even when I walked away from him, he'd follow, but never all the way back into the house. He wasn't leaving, but he wasn't coming in, either. "Come here, Dammit!"

Wow, that dog's fast. And agile. And still free. Aaarrrggghhhhh......

I't my own fault. The foster warned me about him. She gave three instructions: Never let him get wet, never feed him after midnight, and never let him get off-leash outside. And here, on Day #2, I'd already screwed up.

I'll spare you all the details, but it took twenty minutes, help from a neighbor, and a ruse to lure him into the neighbor's shed. He's back now. And now that we're back in the house, he wants to be best buddies again.

And how do you stay mad at a face like this?


Actually it's not that hard today. Grrrrrrr.....

He's here.

He came today, hopefully to stay.

This is the new dog, a 2 year-old German Shepherd.He's not a replacement for Lagniappe--he could never be that. He's a different dog altogether. This one is a purebred shepherd who has been in a kennel or foster care for much of his young life. He needs a permanent home. I need a permanent dog. Perhaps this'll work.

He's sad now. His foster family just drove away. Here he is, looking out the window, no doubt hoping that they'll come back. Surely there's been a mistake and they'll return when they realize that they've forgotten him.

"They ARE coming back...aren't they?"


Cry, cry, cry...Pace, pace, pace...

It's ok, pal. Just settle in. It's you and me now, and your days of not having a home to call your own are over.

So what'll we call you?

He's coming...

Late, but on the way.

He's coming.

I doubt the bin Laden's going to recruit this idiot any time soon.

OK, this news story about a muslim who tried to firebomb a pub in Britain is about the funniest thing I've seen in a while.

I found the video on the London Muslim blog, and a bit of searching took me to this news story about it.

Amir Ali got eight years in prison for that stupidly-executed but serious crime, and the world gets another example of why muslims tend to be viewed with suspicion almost everywhere they go, except at American airports where--of course--they are not to be profiled or discriminated against...because the ACLU and CAIR say that it would be wrong somehow.

Can anyone explain that to me?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Anyone?

EDITED: Of course I write and post this about an hour before this breaking news comes out.

Are they ever going to stop? Why are all of these radical muslims even here? If they hate the West so much, why are so many of them in it these days?

Company's coming.

Apparently I'm to expect a visitor at lunchtime tomorrow.

We'll see what we'll see, eh?

Operation "Pop-a-cat" a success...how disappointing.

Just an update, for those who wondered how my efforts to rid my yard of the neighbor's unwanted feral cats-and practice my marksmanship--via the use of my Airsoft pistol whenever the cats appear is going.

I can report that the cats have apparently all figured it out, now. They still come around somewhat, but as soon as I open my door, they all take off like greased lightning, running off so fast that I haven't been able to get an aimed shot off at one in over a week now. The last notable exception was a really stupid one that I scored FOUR hits on a couple of weeks back. First I caught it sitting static under my bird-feeder and I nailed it. It jumped and ran and stopped way back in my yard on top of a big flat rock. I aimed, fired, and hit it again. (Stupid cat...) This time it ran into a hedge that separates my yard from my neighbor's. But I could still see the cat in the bushes so I aimed and fired a third time, and scored a third hit. It leapt out of the bush and made a bee-line for my neighbor's back deck, and when it got there, it stopped, and turned to look as me as if it was just daring me to fire on it again. Challenge accepted, I took aim and hit it for the fourth time in less than thirty seconds. This time it ran around the far corner of their house and I haven't seen it since.

But the other cats--all six thousand of them (rough estimate)--now refuse to loiter in my yard or stand still for so much as a second once my door opens. Call it a victory for my birds and squirrels, but my target practice is falling off rapidly. Those cats made great targets while they lasted but now I've got no targets to shoot at.

Maybe I can find some way to bait them back...

NOTE TO THE ANIMAL LOVERS: It's just AIRSOFT. It doesn't really hurt them, so spare me the outraged hate-mail.

Pearl Harbor remembered--and the USS West Virginia's ghastly secret

December 7th, 1941, is a date that will live in infamy, but another date--December 23rd--has a meaning in relation to that attack, too.
When the battleship West Virginia (BB 48) was hit by numerous Japanese torpedoes and bombs, she sank upright, jammed alongside the wreckage of the battleship Tennessee.The West Virginia was refloated on May 17, 1942, and moved into Drydock #1 for repair and body recovery. 66 bodies were recovered from the vessel, many of which were found in areas that had never flooded. But the worst discovery--the one which shocked hardened salvage workers--was the three bodies found in Area A-111, the Forward Freshwater Pumping Station. This area was completely dry when opened, and the three bodies were found to be surrounded by empty ration cans, indicating that the sailors had been alive and eating for some time after the sinking. The fresh water tanks had also been opened. The three men had been trapped in this space with plenty of food and water...even emergency lights. Then the workers found a small calendar on one of the men...it had check marks on every day from December 7th through December 23rd. These men had remained alive for sixteen days, until the air was finally exhausted. Sixteen days.

Ironically, Navy divers had been down alongside the hull almost as soon as the fires were out, sounding the hull with large hammers and listening for any replies from inside the ship. However the area where these men were trapped was under the section of hull that was pressed up against the side of the Tennessee, and it was the only area that the divers could not get to during their sounding operation. By that fluke, they'd missed these three men and left them to die.

So on this day and again on the 23rd, remember in particular US Navy sailors Clifford Olds(age 20), Ronald Endicott(age 18), and Louis "Buddy" Costin(age 21). Their headstones all say that they died on December 7th, but in reality, they weren't nearly so lucky. Trapped inside the sunken West Virginia, they waited sixteen days in vain for help that never came.

The West Virginia got her revenge, though. Following her raising from the muddy bottom of Peal Harbor, she was rebuilt and re-fitted and participated in the battles for Leyte Gulf, the Philippines, Iwo Jima and Okinawa. Winning five battle stars, the West Virginia was also present in Tokyo Bay as part of the fleet which took the Japanese surrender, ending the war. This magnificent ship literally played a role in both the opening and closing acts of the war in the Pacific, and it would have been grand to have preserved her, but this valiant ship--once flagship of the Pacific Fleet--was sold for scrap and cut up in New York in 1959.

How a thirsty dog gets a drink when there are no dog bowls around

Just found this old picture of my first German Shepherd, Oliver.

He routinely drank from water fountains like that when he was thirsty. What a character. I still miss that dog.

Fake muslim convict causes a stir in Boulder, Colorado.

Maria Hardman, 19 years old, was sentenced to two days in the Boulder Jail and slated to serve those two days this past week-end. However, upon arriving at the jail, she appeared wearing a hijab, or muslim headscarf, and refused to take it off for the booking photo. She claims to have converted to islam three years ago when she was 16 years old, and is now holding herself out as some sort of victim and also a crusader on behalf of muslims everywhere. In her own video, which she's posted to Youtube, she speaks of how she's reached out to both the ACLU and CAIR, the Washington, DC-based lobbying organization/terrorist front-group, requesting their help. And like so many other privileged and sheltered little Boulderites, she claims that the problem here is a "lack of education" on the part of everyone else around her. She's so worldly at 19, and all of the adults with actual life experience are ignorant, at least in her view.

Well maybe the ACLU and CAIR can help her explain how she can really be a devout muslim when she engages in the activities that she boasted about on her public Facebook page (which she's now taken down and changed). On facebook, this "devout muslim" (and underage teenager) describes her favorite activities as:

"Activities: Running, Traveling, Hiking, Scootering, Reading, Cooking, Skiing, Horseback Riding, Hookahing, Partying and Lovin', Camping, Drinking, and 1 more"

"Interests: Traveling, Partying, Ummm See Above"

The page was also filled with gratuitous, casual profanity and self-authored references to "crazy/awesome nights" and partying. At one point, she even listed her status as: "permadrinkin ;)" with a self-reply of "Supposed to say 'permadrunkin'".

She sure sounds like a devout muslim to me...what do you think?

Oh--and the crime for which she was sentenced to the jail...Operating a motor vehicle under the influence of alcohol. Predictably, she has a defense to this one as well. She claims that she was given alcohol without her knowledge when, at a party, she sipped a glass of punch from a bowl that she did not know was spiked. Of course her credibility was further demolished by her BAC, which was 0.19, or over twice the legal limit of 0.08. To reach such a limit, she would have had to have consumed the equivalent of at least 10 shots, bottles of beer, or glasses of wine. That's not something that you can get from one cup of punch. But she's playing that down now, too. She laughingly tells everyone in her "feel sorry for me" video that she was sentenced to jail for "a bunch of traffic violations." She can't even be honest about her DWI when it's a matter of public knowledge.

Now the muslim community is trying to decide how to handle this hand grenade. Thanks to little Maria publicizing her little affair, they now have to rush in and defend a female who claims to observe their religion yet drinks, operates motor vehicles, and casually associates with non-family-member males.

Meanwhile, Maria has to go back before the judge to explain her non-cooperation. Here's hoping that the judge increases her sentence and gives her more time in jail just for being a self-absorbed drama queen and twit. In a perfect world, her over-indulgent parents would be forced to join her on the work crew for letting her get so screwed up.

Related news stories:

Denver Post
CBS Denver
London Muslim blog

How's this for irony?

Did you know that the first recorded purchase of a machine gun (OK, it was a Gatling gun, which is technically not a machine gun) by a private citizen was made by H.J. Raymond, proprietor of a newspaper, our of fear that rioters would attack his offices due to his supporting the Conscription Act of 1863? That newspaper was none other than the New York Times, one of the most virulently anti-gun papers in print today. Mr. Raymond bought three of them, which he installed in his building during the riots.

An interesting story exists about Gatling guns being used to defend the New York Times building during the Draft Riots of July 13-16, 1863, during which the mob of 50,000 people caused 1,000 deaths and $2,000,000 in property damage.

“While others cowered in fear of mob violence, Henry Jarvis Raymond, editor of the New York Times and a prominent Republican politician, was prepared to fight. Daily, he blasted the mob in flaming editorials in the Times. Brightly illuminated by night, its plate glass windows gleaming a challenge to the mob, the imposing Times Building, an arrogant symbol of wealth, seemed to dare the rioters to attack. Raymond, who advised ‘Give them grape (shot), and plenty of it.’ was quite ready to do so. Inside the two northern windows, commanding the most likely avenues of attack were mounted Gatling Guns, manned by Raymond himself and Leonard Walter Jerome, a major stockholder of the New York Times (and future grandfather of Winston Churchill). A third Gatling was on the roof of the building, in position to sweep the streets below. The entire staff of the newspaper had been equipped with rifles and stood ready for the attack that might have come at any moment. The Times was waited for the mob-Messrs. Raymond and Jerome probably would have like nothing better than a chance to play Gatling music for the rioters’ edification-but the attack never came. Learning that the Timesmen were well armed, the mob directed its attentions elsewhere. As it was to do many times in future years, the Gatling Gun had served well-without firing a shot.”

Yay for the gun as a peacemaker and a life-and-property saver, but perhaps America might be a bit better off today had the New York Times been burned to the ground back in 1863.

I'm just saying...

Shooting in the cold with an old guy

Yeah, that's right. I was graced by a visit from Old NFO today and we got some shooting in at my local range. He brought out his wonderful Jim Clark custom 1911 and several other firearms which were only slightly less impressive, and we teamed up to kill numerous targets on the pistol and rifle lines. Turns out that he's an excellent shooter, and wow--does he have some wonderful toys! My Christmas gun wish-list just grew by at least three new items.

I brought out a few of my favs--my Springfield 1911A1, my H&K P7M13, my S&W Model 19, and my Bushmaster Delta H-BAR. All are excellent arms that have served me well, but alas, they pale in comparison to someone else's weapons. Must upgrade.

After shooting, we grabbed lunch and talked about stuff--guns, tactics, flying, life, and several of you fellow bloggers.

It was a good time, even despite my learning the hard way not to bend over while wearing old, tight-fitting jeans with a 1911A1 in my back pocket. Such the pity--I did like those jeans.

EDITED TO ADD:

Since Old NFO is posting his target pics on his blog, I'll post the pic that I took of one of mine:This is a 6" target. 47 rounds were fired at 100M. All hit home.
Rifle: Bushmaster HBAR.
Ammo: My own 55gr. reloads.
I'm not unhappy, despite those four 7-ring flyers. All are still well within Minute-of-Bad-Guy (MOBG).

Luv me my HBAR.

Ambulance-chaser gets sued by clients who didn't get rich

It was bound to happen eventually.

Three Metro Detroit men--Ronald C. Moon of Livonia, Jeffrey D. Schmitz of Royal Oak and Louis J. Toth of Northville headed to New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, allegedly bringing relief supplies to help devastated residents,

Somehow, when they got to Lake Charles, Louisiana, they did something that brought them to the attention of law enforcement and they were arrested outside a casino by Calcasieu Parish sheriff's deputies. They were locked up and held for five days before posting bond, during which time they complain that they were "verbally abused" and life wasn't fun or pleasant.

They returned to Michigan and immediately sought out an ambulance-chasing lawyer in an attempt to get paid, apparently selecting Birmingham attorney Norman Yatooma due to the publicity surrounding his other high-profile money-grubbing lawsuits. (I guess Geoffrey Fieger wasn't available?) They claim that Yatooma hired a couple of public-relations firms to spin their story and get them media attention, but then did little else and they "only" got a settlement offer of $25,000 in addition to having the charges against them dropped. So now they are suing Yatooma.

Their complaint? They feel that if Yatooma had made more noise and filed more papers against more people, they might have gotten even more money, despite the fact that they can't seem to show how they are entitled to any payout whatsoever.

That's right...required for a tort claim is a showing of some actual harm. In othert words, these tools would have to show how they somehow lost they money that they're seeking, or the opportunity to make the money. The point behind a tort claim is to put plaintiffs in the same place where they would have been had the tort not occurred. I'm thinking that in this case, had these guys not been arrested--and had they really been bringing relief supplies (and not looting as the police said that they were), they'd likely have returned home with empty vehicles and nothing but more stories about the things that they saw. Frankly, I don't see how that's worth $2.50, much less $25,000. You're not supposed to get a bucket of cash just because something unpleasant but otherwise not harmful happens to you, and especially not when you are part of the cause of your own misfortune by inserting yourself into an already chaotic situation like these gomers did.

Now I'm torn here. I think that these three jerks definitely have nothing coming, and if they were now suing anyone other than their own parasitical slip-and-fall guy, I'd be even more outraged. You see, I don't want to see these guys make a dime, but I also want to see shysters like Yatooma take a hit in the pocketbook for their role in abusing our nation's legal system to the point where it costs us all more money in higher insurance rates, more regulation and restrictions, and massive delays when we try to bring legitimate cases into court. True Karmic justice would be where these three meet with Yatooma to agree on a final payout only to have a meteorite land on all four of them or a sinkhole to open up beneath their feet.

Yeah, in this case I'm rooting against both sides, because a defeat for all of these people would be a victory for America and real justice.

Saturday Man Movie

You ever have one of those days?
You know, one where a simple in-and-out job goes sideways and you wind up running for your life across Africa with an entire army of Simba warriors coming down on you? Well the Wild Geese had a day like that back in 1978.

Interesting bit of trivia: Real-life mercenary Michael "Mad Mike" Hoare was the film's technical adviser.