One of the fellas at the wife's church was going through his mom's affairs as she had passed quite recently - think he said she was 91. I dunno what all is involved with something like that, but they had to dig through her financial affairs and they found that she was not accepting a special pension that Canada awards its war vets.
If I understand the situation correctly, old war vets (WW1 and WW2) were eligible for a pension over and above CPP which everyone gets. Anyways, upon the death of the vet the pension goes to the wife. I didn't quite catch it all (my hearing is absolutely shot) - but it turned out that the old bird refused to take the money and saw it as charity that she didn't need or want. They must have found some old uncashed cheques or something.
I think about that and just boggle. Today every second welfare case is screwing the country out of everything he can - and his justification for it is that countless others are too and he just wants 'his share'. These types will protest, beg and whine and even riot... while old ladies like this quietly hang on to their pride.
They don't call 'em The Greatest Generation for nothing. Nobody stops to think anymore...what happens when they are all gone? Yegads - we have some very, very big shoes to fill and I don't know if I can do it, never mind the special millennial snowflakes that are coming of age now.
Errrr...I'm kinda embarrassed about this but I have to put a language warning on that one for the more respectable readers. (Yes, I will have a bar of soap too, thank you very much!)
Oh hell, I will just come clean: I despise in the Captain what I see so often in myself: he's bitter, he's cynical and angry. But then I stop and remember that the same forces that did a number on me and my family - have hit younger men his age like a ton of bricks. I got off light! I see that bitterness in bright young men all the time now. It's in the quiet stoics too - the kind of men that just suck it up and deal with it. I can spot them a mile away too. Guys like the Captain and I are too willing to talk about it and let it get to us - the stoics are too quiet and a lot of these problems persist because nobody makes a big enough stink about it. I dunno which is worse sometimes - guys like me and the Cap that bitch about it all the time, or the quiet stoics that won't say chit if their mouths are full of it. Your mileage will vary.
The Cap thinks the Hildebeest is gonna win the election based on the greed of the welfare class and by playing the 'woman card' just as the Buckwheat Administration played the 'black card'. Patriotism has nothing to do with it, people will vote for what's best for themselves rather than what is best for the nation. He may very well be right.
But I have more faith in Americans. You can only rob Peter to pay Paul for so long. And Whitey is getting mightily fed up with victim and identity politics - especially because he is footing the bill. And Hillary tells us that the Grievance Party is just getting started! Oh, you white male bastids haven't begun to pay for the crimes and sins of your fathers! (Apropos of nothing at all, your national debt stands at 19 trillion dollars). Nobody's noticed yet... but the Saxon is beginning to hate again. Also - even if you are a true blue liberal - almost everyone has a family member now that has been hurt by affirmative action and political correctness. Be it a ruined family like mine, or getting passed over for promotion at work, or even losing your job because you made a rude joke on facebook and the wrong creep read it. America won't survive much more of this. I think enough Americans are smart enough to understand that their own self interest is in a free nation that defends its citizens and its interests, and that racism will not be cured by more racism. I pick Trump for the win and contrary to many - I think he will be good for America too. (I can't wait for that mealy mouthed fwench faggot we have for a prime minister to cross swords with him). I offered to bet the Captain $10.00 on Trump for the win. Dunno if he'll take it or not.
Whatever happens, I wish you guys the best of luck. And - stay loose, don't lose faith, and don't get bitter no matter what happens. You must render unto Ceasar what is Ceasar's - but you don't have to bow down to him - or her.
I've been getting a swollen head of late. I have been playing with drone technology and having a ball. You can go down to the store and buy one for a thousand bucks and be flying as well as I do in an afternoon - but all that high tech with the GPS, position/altitude hold, sonar - sheesh...you would get bored awfully fast. That's because today's ultra fast high speed microprocessors take out most of the skill required to fly these machines.
It's a shame, because these toys have so much to offer the inquiring mind. I had to learn to sodder (which is actually pretty easy). I had to learn about rotary wing physics. I had to acquire a chit house level (mis)understanding of microelectronics. I had to question full blown aeronautical engineers about the algorithms the computers use to fly these things and the associated feedback loops and technology. I had to swap endless emails with computer engineers in getting my computer to talk to the machine and get it to accept my commands. This is why the hobby is so great: you can just fly for the fun of it - or get your head into it and start using your noggin.
I've been trying to transition from line of sight flying to FPV (or First Person View) that allows me to use VR glasses to fly the machine through a camera mounted on the front of the aircraft. It hasn't been going well; the visual cues require different reflexes and I have had some brutal crashes. I lost my AV camera and damaged the FPV camera in the last one. I broke my landing gear in another crash. The AV cam is toast but the FPV still runs.
I need a means of training to smooth the transition into my touchy, powerful model. My flight simulator is just not up to it. So yesterday I was in the hobby shop and the retarded retired old fart behind the counter sold me this:
He's about two inches square. He runs off my RC radio, and works with my
Fat Shark VR goggles.
It looks like a $2.00 piece of crap you might buy from Toys R Us...
Good grief...it prolly IS!!!
And I prolly got soaked by those old bandits at the hobby shop!
Whatever. I can fly him right into your kitchen and set him down on the table in front of you - or land in the palm of your hand if you cooperate. Cranky old farts that don't like being spied on (like Wirecutter or Gorges) could prolly take him out with a fly swatter. It frightens my dawgs - they run and hide in their crates when they hear it in the living room.
You may dismiss this thing as an idiotic toy... but to me, this thing and the bigger ones like it are magic. As a kid in the 60's I was mesmerized by the experimental aircraft being fielded by NASA and the military. I know what goes into these useless toys - and hope they inspire kids the same way they inspired me to dig into the sciences and tech behind them. It's a good way for older farts to keep their minds nimble too. Forget your slide rule, you old fart - you'll need a programmable calculator to sort out the black magic this little demon runs on!
The day ya stop learning is the day you die. Keep yer stick on the ice - and watch out for falling Crapcopters. ;)
In the 52 years I've known my father I have NEVER ONCE heard him use the F word. When he's mad he'll blister paint with obscenities - but he has to be REALLY, mad. By contrast I was dropping F Bombs since grade 1. The other kids swore like truckers so I did too - and still will on occasion when I am overcome by uncontrollable fits of stupidity.
But, getting back to Pop - once he almost dropped the F bomb when we almost got T-boned by an inattentive Pajeet/kebab truck driver who dared a red light. He missed us by inches. The old man was as white as a sheet! "Holy....F....ffff..."
"Holy fuck!" I said - and he just nodded and just slumped his head on the steering wheel in relief. "Got any toilet paper on ya, Glen..." he said...
That was one time. The other time? Well - it went something like this:
HAR HAR HAR! True story, I swear. Now - if anyone needs me, I'm off to pay my respects to my wife and her eeeeeevil Christians at the church, and maybe sneak in a quick Crapcopter flight beforehand! It's mighty thoughtful of them - they put the school playground next to the church where I put on an airshow! I can do my thing and then walk right in to church without missing a beat!
It's another vomit and urine soaked Saturday night at Filthie's Speakeasy, and I am behind the bar trying to polish the crap out of the beer glasses that the dishwasher can't get. I dunno why I bother, these bums will drink out of jerry cans and wouldn't give a second thought to a dirty glass, HAR HAR HAR!
Uncle Bob is snoring with his head on the bar and a beer spilled next to him. BW is cutting a deal on rocket launchers with Vladimir Putin at the corner table, and I can hear WL puking loudly just outside the door in the back alley. A bigger hive of villainy and human scum there never was! And of course there is the regular Saturday night crowd is here: unsavoury negroes, rotters, floozies and tramps, and the usual down n' outters.
This bum has been making the rounds lately and the stupid kids were all agog. I dunno why everyone is so impressed - I can play a gazoo and nobody makes a big deal of it. But - whatever... here he is again playing the same crap in my dive.
I suppose he's hoping these bums will throw a few bucks in his hat.
Good luck with that fella, I'm lucky if these guys can pay their bar tabs...
This guy isn't bad and his acrylic fiddle has some novelty I suppose - but he's hardly original. He reminds me of the coolest woman alive (besides Tracy Chapman) that used to stop by Filthie's Speakeasy before she made her fame and fortune. This guy makes extensive use of digitized repeaters - and he's not bad but this little lady did it YEARS ago - and sounded and looked a lot better doing it!
Ladies and gentlemen and persons of indeterminate gender - the spectacular KT Tunstall - who is, to my mind, the first of the meta-string musicians. Pity to see her reduced to working in a dump like this!
I wonder if they will ever hold a Songwriter's Circle here at the Thunderbox?
If they did I would prolly have to mop the floors.
I'm sinking a pint myself. I added another machine to the World's Smallest Hangar today. I would show it off now but BW keeps bringing in fuggin Russians, terrorists and arms dealers to cut his shady deals - and I don't want the Russkies getting their grubbers on the technology! Check in tomorrow when the company is a less rough around the edges!
This morning I went out to make a formal attempt at FPV Crapcoptering (and failed).
On the way back, a couple girls were out on their horses - whadda they call 'em? "Paints"? Looks like someone sloshed 'em with white and black paint? Anyhoo, they were out in a harvested and cut field. A couple of flocks of Canada geese went glurting overhead, flying almost low enough to take their hats. To finish it off, we had the gloomy October fall skies going on.
I couldn't even get a friggin cell pic! If I hadda gotten that one, I would have put the BOOTS to CW, BW and even Norman Rockwell himself!
Once in a lifetime pictures like that are the stuff of memories... and this is why the damn kids carry the things around everywhere they go. I suppose I should have been happy just to have seen it...but it would have been a major score to have gotten a picture to share.
When I was a kid growing up in the 70's there were still a few depression-era teachers knocking about. By the time I ran into them they were all pretty much in the home stretch before being let out to the retirement pastures. I had the fortune (and misfortune) to run into two of them before they were all gone forever.
One thing that constantly amazed me was how disgusted they were with us kids and our parents. One of the lady teachers went to great pains to try and hide it, the other was right in your face with it and didn't give a damn what you or anyone else might think of it. Paraphrased, Old Lady Halat (Or Old Lady Halibut, as we called the old bitch): today's kids are lazy, rude, and utterly screwed and their parents should be flogged. What in hell were these people thinking letting their kids do the things they do, while their parents did what they did? Our society was falling apart is the seams!
I will never forget one incident that set the old bitch off like a volcano: some high school kids had had a bush party at one of the roadside campgrounds a couple miles out of town. They had a big bonfire that got out of control and burned down the cookhouse. Some intellect thought it would be the height of humour to burn down the outhouses. When the cops showed up they got pelted with beer bottles. Happens all the time today... but this was big stuff back then and made the papers. More squad cars were called in. A paddy-wagon and the fire dept. were scrambled out of Edmonton. Kids went into remand by the dozen and were put up on public shit lists in the local community papers. The seniors were outraged as was our teacher and the old bat went off about it for days as if we were all personally responsible. Nobody had ever seen shit like this in my small town. Today people would have sneered at it called it derogatory names like "Mayberry". I suppose it was. For awhile.
As for Old Lady Halibut - she tried, I'll give the old bird that. She asked us as a class: why would we do something like that? It was a beautiful rural campground where little kids could play and families could be together. And it was all free! Why, when she was a kid they couldn't afford vacations or tents or trailers or any of that stuff. Us kids had it all! And we were pissing it away! What in hell was wrong with us?
I and a couple other stupid kids started to laugh at her rant. How should we know? We were in grade 5! Everyone knew ya didn't mess with The Big Kids or they would beat your ass! Sometimes seriously! How were we supposed to know what those animals were thinking? I said as much and I'll always remember the old bitch's reply: "Well, Smart Alec - in a couple YEARS you WILL be one of those animals at the rate you're going!" I just laughed - and the old harridan snapped and took a yard stick to me and beat my ass with it. Then she sent me down to the office where I got the third degree. A sympathetic vice principal made notes as he took my account - and let me go out to play early for recess. He was going to have a chat with Mrs. Halat!!! Years later I learned the teachers had the long knives out for Mrs. Halat. She was too tough on the kids, she was abusing her position to punish kids unfairly and she didn't have a place in a modern school where she refused to let go of old teaching techniques and methods. Why - most of us were failing math! How was that possible? (Somebody should have told those morons we were failing because we couldn't do it, and Halat wasn't about to cook the grades to pass us on). A couple months later we had a new teacher and had learned that Old Lady Halat had decided to retire early. We all heaved a sigh of relief and started getting good marks and having fun again.
And a couple years later, I was one of those animals that Old Lady Halat had bitched about. I never brought home the cops - but I never grew up either. I hit the job force as an irresponsible young man at the height of an economic recession - and the culture shock blew my doors off. In those days, sitting in Mom and Dad's basement playing video games was not an option. I grew up fast the hard way.
On the way home from dreary Ft. Mac yesterday I stopped by what was once a public road side campground. Years ago, back when they were everywhere, my father in law and I had stopped there coming back from a long fishin' trip. Happier times. By the 80's the vast majority of these road side camp sites were gone. The parties got wilder. Drugs started happening. Kids got killed every year like clockwork. The ones that are left are really nothing more than rest stops - where some passing stubfart like BW or Yours truly can stop, yak on the cell, stretch the legs and take a break during long road trips. The cops watch them like hawks and still can't prevent the vandalism.
Look at this artifact through the eyes of a city kid.
Those trees would be full of deer, bears and adventure. Maybe
even mountain lions. :) Why can't
people respect stuff like this today?
This cookhouse still survives.
Some idiot tried to burn garbage in the stove. The place was strewn
with garbage and the crappers - ugh! These pics are carefully taken
so as not to show all that. It wasn't easy.
Reminds me of my hunting days...
My grandparents wouldn't think of defacing public property like this. Nor would my parents or even me. We were raised in better times and better people... like Old Lady Halibut, I suppose. I would just love to sit down at the picnic table and chat with that old woman today.
Maybe that wouldn't be a good idea. If she saw what was going on in our schools today I could see her going down with an M14 and mass shooting the teachers. She was one of the last educators that understood that a child's education is more important than his self esteem. She tried her best to make sure I knew it - but it was so easy for me to cop out and go along with the other lemmings. I am thankful now that I learned that there is a price to be paid for doing that. The wheels are coming off our society as we speak, and the kids today are even less prepared than I was when I was getting out of school.
The Golden Age of Albertan aviation ended probably in the mid 70's. Back then, before the gubbiment ran and legislated anything that moved - aviation was not exactly cheap - but within the means of the average person that wanted to get involved. It was a godsend for our farmers and ranchers on the especially big spreads. There was usually a Piper Cub or a Cessna or an Ercoupe on most of the big spreads along with grass runway strips. The farmers preferred grass, but had no problems taking off and landing on rural roads as well. Everyone did it and more than a few had no formal license and a flask stashed in the cockpit too. Never knew when ya might have to drop in on a neighbour to say hello, right?
In those days, rather than jumping on a horse or in a truck, and riding a couple miles out to the further pastures - you hopped in the plane, buzzed out and were back for coffee. The so-called 'parasol planes' were great for this, with the wing up high. The pilot could cruise over the pasture, count his cows and even put down with them if he knew the terrain well enough. I like the Cubs and classic Cessna 120's and even the Ercoupes...but I LOVE the modern open cockpit birds and the Beking Duce is the KING of Aviation Al Fresco!
$23,500.00 on Barnstormers. Jeez Louise... as soon as I'm done writing this I am going to go
see Gorges Grouse and hit him up for a loan!
The pilot flies the machine from the back seat which is typical of birds of this type. Engine is 160 HP which is a little much for a plane of this type. These are meant to fly low and slow and are not meant for serious speed that you would need for cross country work.
A well appointed VFR panel.
A rudimentary GPS, and some mid range comm gear. You could approach and land at the bigger airports too, with a plane like this...but why would you want to?
Classic tail dragger
When I was a younger man I swore I was going to get my private pilots license and live the adventure... but life happened. I did manage a few flights with an ultralight before crashing and today my flying is limited to small RC airplanes and drones. These machines are great for younger men that learn fast, or old hands that know the ways of the airplane. Maybe in the next life, huh?
In my next life, I will be a ripped handsome devil like Uncle Bob, and my wife will be a slim beauty that would look gorgeous in a fur lined leather helmet. We'll live in a tar paper shack off the grid, with a shop full of vintage cars - and a small aircraft parked in the morning mist off to the side.
I never played organized soccer as a kid but the wife did and apparently she was pretty good at it. Remember when your creaky old bones could move like that, and a stunt like this was just a matter of practice? I never got to see her play, by the time we met she had given it up.
In any event someone had posted this on the rod n gun forum and all us old stubfarts were HAR HAR HARing and FNAH FNAH FHAHing at this young lady's antics when all she got was a cross bar out of it. How can ya have skills like that and NOT score on an empty net?
One of the younger posters set us straight. Apparently the idea is to HIT the crossbar; it is a measure of coordination and skill and an expert's proposition. Apparently it's a thing with soccer hooligans.
Only women could make a show of skill and ability out of NOT scoring on an empty soccer net! How were we supposed to know?!? We're creepy, stinky old men and pretty young women (rightfully) avoid us. Nobody tells us these things!!! Apparently, in the words of John Cougar Mellonhead, we all gotta 'forget all about that macho shit and learn how to play guitar'.
Somehow I think my chances at learning how to play guitar
Even though I can use it for personal business, and it's actually a better truck than my own personal one, I still like to drive my '08 Toyota Tacoma. Problem is - is that it's an old man's truck! A couple weekends ago my dad dropped by and that turd brained senior delinquent is driving a piped F150. Yup - 75 years old, and he's chugging around like some fuggin kid with a muscle car! I am green with jealousy and rage. He goes rumbling by and the bubblegummers all swing their heads around to gawk and gape, and the young fellas look on with admiration!
I gotta get in the game or go home. Peer pressure will not be denied.
I figured maybe some classical hunting and fishing decals would spruce up my ride a bit.
Nice. But Wirecutter has those on his truck and I need
something a little flashier.
Remember when these were all the rage? Stackz O. Magz prolly has this on that jacked up monster 4x4 he drives.
Yannow I've almost lost my nuts on trailer hitches and related equipment a
time or two. Those might even be mine but he can keep 'em...
the wife'll never miss 'em, HAR HAR HAR!!!
This might be more in line for the great Filthie Supermarine:
Hmmm. A little more tasteful, but perhaps it's a little too flashy
for an urban chick magnet.
Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh baby, where, oh WHERE have you been all my life?
The perfect example of form following function!
Screw dad, the bubblegummers and the cool kids! Who cares what those idiots think??? Can they do this?
Does life get any better than this? Shoot a turkey, and
wipe your arse with it!
I personally would have shot something soft like a rabbit though.
Yes! I too am a rugged individualist and an outdoor enthusiast! Dammit, where's my credit card?!?
Maybe an old man's truck isn't so bad after all, huh? I wonder if they can make one for a motorcycle?
I am often inspired by other bloggers. I am a big fan of Wirecutter's posts from the Land Of Froots And Nuts entitled, "Gotta Be California" where he'll post some ghastly sexual freak show or UFOs engaged in extradimensional activities.
The Canadian version of that would involve our indigenous koobasaw gobbling, vodka swilling Ukranian farmers that live on a plane of existence not understood by modern man or science!
Didjya hear the one about Nestor and Dmytro? They were playing
hockey on the North Saskatchewan when Nestor
got a break away - and was gone for two weeks! HAR HAR HAR!!!
Bohunks, villainy, and lunacy go hand in hand on the North Saskatchewan River. I can't prove it, but it is my conviction that this scurvy lot are definitely rogue bohunks. Farmers: bar your doors.
Oh gawd, I'm still LOLLING. Jim is like Uncle Bob: brutally honest about what he thinks and why. And like myself he's prolly WRONG about all of it too! :) And like all of us the best material shows up in the comments. Behold, as my fellow darkly enlightened semi-neo-reactionary-alt-right colleagues hold forth on the subject of death squads in South America, and drug use in America:
Although I love to mock and deride Unca Bob and crap in the comments at The Treehouse - I secretly admire the way he thinks. If I recall he did some superlative work awhile ago that should be mandatory reading for all young men where he distills feminism and liberalism as being about the 'murder of the father'.
He knows what he's talking about. Somehow a few new readers have started to drop in to use the Thunderbox - and I appreciate your company and apologize for the odour. Remember to leave a quarter on the counter! For the new guests, some ancient history and a long story short: my immediate family disintegrated 5 years ago when my daughter discovered she was a militant gay lesbian and a social justice warrior. As such, she and her girlfriend figured they were obviously the moral and intellectual superiors in our family, and they would be enforcing their morals, politics and ethics on the rest of us - particularly me, because I was politically incorrect. Not only that, I was a homophobe, a fascist and intolerant (who knew?) - and intolerance in our new rainbow family would not be tolerated. I should be thankful, they gave me a list of terms and conditions and ultimatums by which our new family would operate - and despite all the effort they put into enlightening me, I rejected them without a second thought. Whatever - I was done as a father, that much was obvious. My gay hipster of a daughter didn't need one or want one and she could do just fine without one. Or so she had been told and taught.
Over the next few years I had a running fire-fight going with my progressive liberal in laws. Their moral high ground was smack-dab in between me and my daughter and if she was going to give me the finger - they made it plain that they approved and supported her. They have always meddled in my family and last year I finally gave those two idiots the punt. My wife had tried to sit on the fence and not get involved in our increasingly bitter confrontations - but enough was enough. I told her she could come with me, or go with her elderly parents - but she couldn't do both. I fully expected to be selling the house, taking the dogs and the liquor cabinet and the bike - and leaving her the rest. Somehow, by the grace of God - I won that one. I told her parents that they could go pound sand too, and that if they approved of my daughters methods, they couldn't possibly have a problem with me using them too.
That was last year.
Yesterday, the old boy sent his daughter a text telling her that he missed her and was wondering how she was doing. Oh boy. My wife tentatively showed me the cell with the message on it - and I wanted to throw that goddamn thing at the wall. I wanted to reply to it and tell that stupid old son of a bitch where to go and how to get there. I am still shocked at how utterly stupid progressive liberals are. That idiot thought it was just fine to undermine me as a father and it didn't even occur to him that I would do the same right back to him if he wanted to get stupid about it!
This is the evil and stupidity that is endemic to socialism, liberalism, feminism and political correctness. They are so utterly convinced of their own righteousness that it doesn't even occur to them that anyone else would oppose them on valid grounds... and make it painful if they insisted on getting stupid about it.
Today, the last I heard, my daughter had a part time job working in a Hongcouver bicycle shop. Not bad for a 32 year old with five years in university, eh? My outlaws? Well, they're in their 70's. They had three children and lost one in childhood to medical problems in a family tragedy. Their remaining son is a public educator and an unabashed union slob. He divorced his feminist wife (in all fairness, the woman WAS an idiot) and threw the kids under the bus with the usual 'shared custody' BS. Mom and Pop think he's a hero, and that their daughter is a disappointment because she married me. Whatever - my mother in law and father in law are now wondering what in hell happened to their family. The fuckers are never gonna get it either. Everyone's hurt, nobody's happy and nobody will step up and try to make things better. I have a couple times but I'm not going to anymore. We're all adults, we can do what we want - and I am not a father and have been told so - bluntly. Screw you guys too, I guess. Ancint history. Spilled milk.
As for my wife and I - yeah, we're hurt but we're moving along. She's an incredible woman and is made from better stuff than either her mother or her daughter. Yannow she just shocked the bejeebers out of me earlier this year. One day she informed me that she was going to church and even got me to go a few times too. Being raised by liberals, I discovered something utterly shocking: Christians are not evil, sanctimonious villains! I know, right? The first time I went to church I was just astounded. They run their services in two sessions on Sunday mornings with coffee between the two. As I walked among them for the first time I felt something there that I can't describe. I think this is what 'community' is. It was right out of Louis Armstrong's song. The guys shook hands with strangers and laughed and chortled with friends. The women were stunning in their Sunday best. And rug rats! They scampered hither and yon, and the grumpy old men barked at them and then went back to stuffing themselves with coffee and cookies. The children paid them no heed. When the services resumed, the little ones had to come out with the adults and sit quietly and respectfully and listen to the preacher for about ten or fifteen minutes. He went slowly through his schpeil ... and finally dismissed the rug rats and they fled like little gibbons to the Sunday School nursery. I would be willing to bet a little bit of learning goes on in there too despite the best efforts of the children. The faith doesn't have all the answers I need in life, but its adherents certainly seem to.
Contrary to the shit you see in the media, and on the Hollywood
That's NOT how the story goes! Who writes this shit?
Mind you, ya never know these days. Yesterday I believe it was the wife that said it: Alberta is governed by the NDP - half of those losers are commies and the other half are genuine nutters. In any event, it looks like those shit birds are considering legislation that will force catholic schools and homeschoolers to indoctrinate the kids with pan/homo/alternate sexuality in all its politically correct splendour. These days I look at the bitchy faggots, the transgendered sexual freakshows and social justice warriors and I think I've entered some ghastly magical realm filled with perverted monsters! And they want to put these wretched degenerates in charge of schooling your kids. What kind of fugged up moron wants to push that crap at perfectly healthy kids? Hasn't this shit gone far enough?
It's getting scary out there. The soap box failed years ago when the media was bought out by corrupt globalists and Marxists. The ballot box looks like it might fail in the upcoming American election. Hmmmmm. The Soap Box. The Ballot Box. Err...what's that last one?
God's calibre, as recommended by St. Browning and St. Cooper.
We had a big dump of snow earlier in October and then some balmy weather yesterday where it all melted. I was okay with it, yesterday I cleaned out the hangar a bit and flew in the early part of the day and then took the team out on a long range Dawg Patrol. When we got back to the castle I put on my crocs, poured out a splash of whisky, and tried to think of something constructive to do on a late, warm fall afternoon.
So I started a fire in the back yard, pulled a chair up and petted the dawgs as I loafed pondered philosophical issues.
Why do people hate crocs?
The other day I slipped at work and informed my idiot coworkers that I wear crocs and love them. So all day, those retards sent harassment texts full of rude jokes about crocs and the people that wear them.
Well har-dee har har...
Back in the good ol' days before the invention of nose jewelry and call display, me and the other juvenile retards would do crank calls on old cranks when we wanted to harass people. Sunday afternoons were best. Picture it: A young Gorges Grouse or PP has been working hard all day with his chores and his lower level emergencies. It's Sunday afternoon, the animals have been fed, the big problems dealt with, the smaller ones well in hand...and a well deserved Sunday afternoon nap is in order! The poor fella falls gently asleep and snores in bliss unti the phone rudely rings. Blearily he stumble to the phone.
"Good afternoon sir! Pardon my call, but could you tell me: is your refrigerator still running?"
"Eah?? Why, yes, yes it is...."
"Then ya better go catch it! HAR HAR HAR!!!"
"Filthie? Why you little bastard, I know your father, and when I..."
Sadly, this is what passed for humour in my misspent childhood. I can just imagine their rage when they realized they were talking to a dial tone and slammed the phone down. But middle aged men are resilient, and I'm sure they just went back to sleep and forgot all about it because their own ignorant kids preyed on my dad just as I did on theirs.
Today you send texts to people you want to harass and torment.
Nyuk. Nyuk. Nyuk.
Cyber-bullying: it's real, folks.
I need a tissue for my tears, a cookie and a safe place...
A fall night starts to close in...
Even my Dad thinks crocs are gay! And he's what? 75 now? Youda thunk he would have developed the maturity and intellect to appreciate the fit and utility of fine footwear - but no. Screw him too! After a day in steel toe boots - my dear old crocs are a welcome relief. Mine have real fake fur liners in them for added comfort.
I think cats are gay.
Enough with the cats already!!!
A final splash of whisky for the night.
Well - that is how grizzled old philosopher kings blow their Saturdays - deep in thought about matters of great import! Today I'm hung over as hell and it serves me right. I gotta go into work now to see if I can help a customer out, but seeing as I won't be on site - I think I'll wear my crocs.
And if I get one mealy mouthed rude joke about it - he'll be paying an after hours call out charge!
The mood is tense in the control tower of the World's Smallest Hangar. The crew are in high spirits, but the Mission Commander has butterflies and colf feet - and a yellow stripe all the way down his back!
Crapcopter II is refuelling and preparing for its first passenger...
When the RC wieners fly their planes as you typically see them do - they are flying in what we call 'line of sight mode'. They have trained themselves to fly the plane from their own position on the ground. With the advent of modern technology and micro-electronics - we can now fly in FPV mode, or First Person View. I am going to try my first flight in this mode in about thirty minutes using those VR goggles. I will be riding in that orange camera just to the left of the minions in the picture. The green camera underneath is a video record only unit, while the orange one will be my 'eyes' for the duration of the flight.
Line of sighters require different reflexes than FPVers. The Line Of Sighter can see his aircraft at all times, and his left and right will "flip" depending on whether the airplane is coming toward him or going away. Those are the reflexes I currently have. Now I will not be able to see the Crapcopter, but will be sitting right behind the Minion as a pilot. This may or may not be a big deal.
I lost my last Crapcopter to ill winds and overconfidence before I could try this. There is a metric tonne of new technology here and I am not a telemetry or AV guy - so I've been learning new skills like mad. I am fortunate in that my new flight computer is light years more capable of the one I was using a mere half year ago. It won't save me if I panic but it will give me tighter control and faster response - which is not necessarily a good thing when your skills are rusty and you're playing with new tech. A fatal crash is a high possibility.
If I chit the bed and lose my cool - I am virtually going down with the Minions, HAR HAR HAR! Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, right? Wish us luck, folks. Tell my wife I love her! If I don't survive I don't want WL or PP to get anything in my liquor cabinet - just pour the contents into my coffin and I will take it with me!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go put on my leather helmet, flight suit and bum-parachute. We will see if I am made from the Right Stuff.
MISSION UPDATE: Wellllll....I and my crew seem to be made of Average Stuff. We had a few hard landings but we had some high winds too. I could fly it line-of-sight, but to do FPV in this wind was a bit of a pant-filler. I have to learn how to fly through a fish-eye lens, and because of the inherent latency of telemetry, I need to train my mind and reflexes to work differently too. By the time the optical image of the drone landing is in my goggles - it has already landed. Focus and such wasn't bad but our last landing was REALLY hard and I broke a motor mount. No biggie, repairs mad and the bird is flying again already... but I am going to wait for a nice calm day to try FPV again. For now the mission was a wash. The technology is good - I just need to learn to fly all over again.
I was outraged (OUTRAGED, I say!!!). A Chicom locomotive? In America?!?!?
TREASON! Treason most foul!!!! Oh, you can just bet I had diplomatic dispatches off to King Charles, Queen Betty and even Senator McCarthy within minutes! (The only reason it took that long was that I had to wipe the rage spittle off my computer screen). You can bet the parties responsible will be writing an apology and that financial compensation for my hurt feelings are on the way! :)
Thankfully, Willy is on hand to sooth ruffled sensibilities, and properly dispense with this train treachery!
Steel wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor...
There's a couple versions of this tune out there, and I wouldna thunk that Willy would be the one that does the best job of it - but he is!
Chinese locomotives? The very idea! This is why I love Americans though - they understand The Machine and that the locomotive is a noble machine indeed - and special ones deserve names rather than numbers. Today we don't seem to have noble machines with character anymore. When did we stop making them? And why?
I don't like lawyers. Even the good ones are shit birds. You cannot be a lawyer and claim to have a conscience. Ken White is about as good a man the law profession is ever gonna produce. Ann Althouse isn't bad either - but there are times that that cunned stunt needs a trip to the woodshed too. I think it would be fair and just to say that we should march all the lawyers out and start shooting them at random as a warning to the survivors!
Look - I know these guys have a tough job. I know there are principles involved, and that everyone has a right to a vigorous defense. Ken certainly gives Hillary a 'vigorous defense' as he would put it. But to me, a common man that just wants to see everyone get a fair shake - Ken is polishing a turd. Hillary attacked a young rape victim in a public court and accused her of 'having a thing for older men'. That is a spirited defense, Ken? To me (and I am not a lawyer, thank God) - that is libel. To do something like that to a young girl, in court? That is right on the line of 'a vigorous defence' and libel... and it is definitely in the realm of unethical conduct. Pull my other finger, Ken.
The tone of Ken's article is basically - nothing to see here, Hillary was just doing her job. Well, yes and no. Hillary attacked a young victim of rape in court. She's covered and lied for her husband who also has a history of mishandling women. She's gone on record saying that all victims of rape deserved to be taken seriously and believed. Sure Hillary. Except when your husband does it or you are in court trying to win a case.
I think sleazy lawyers would be a much smaller problem if they were forced to look more closely at the fall out from "vigorously defending people" they probably shouldn't. When we start start sticking to the letter of the law, rather than the intent of the law - injustice asserts itself and the next thing ya know - corrupt, politically connected shrews are giving the FBI the finger and running for president.
I often wonder about these oldsters too. What drives them? If I were an elderly senior, I would be more concerned about harassing the kids, teasing my grandkids and getting the damned dawg out for a walk. If I had money like they do I would retire and say to hell with the world and learn how to garden and live my life. What is it about the halls of power that corrupts? It's like The Lord Of The Rings where the midget gets a ring imbued with evil and magical power - and can't bear to get rid of it even though it's destroying him. I see the grasping, power hungry nutter in Hillary (even most Donks do) - but once I turn my formidable intellect on it I see that maybe she is a product of her environment. Sleaze, back room deals, and dirty pool are a big part of our courts, both in Canada and the US. So it goes in the halls of power, and if you aren't strong enough or mean enough - you get chewed up and spit out. CDR Salamander has an example of that, and the why's of it and the reasoning. Steeped in a poisonous environment like that, I suppose I might understand Hillary and Establishment Repubs a bit. Most of them started out as greasy lawyers too. What's a good man going to do in an environment like that? Did the good general step out in front of the bus - or was he thrown under it? How would YOU survive in a moral and intellectual cesspool like that? Is it any wonder our leaders are bent and twisted people more often than not?
One thing I've noticed abou legal battles is that the biggest winners are typically the lawyers. Oh sure, the stories are rife about the endless cash and prizes won in frivolous lawsuits but usually - everyone except the lawyers takes it up the hooper when differences get 'legal'. I've seen it: when Flapz went through his divorce a list of demands from his ex came through the lawyers. They were ludicrous and infuriating. He told his own lawyer to reciprocate - which he was happy to do - and the tension and anger skyrocketed as ultimatums and threats went back and forth. When he finally broke down and talked to the wife it turned out that the wife's demands weren't that bad, and she was willing to negotiate. They settled and agreed without the lawyers (to their fury) - had the agreement rubber stamped and they parted ways in a more amicable fashion.
Keeping that in mind, I ask myself this question: why are we so polarized today? Liberals are frothing at the mouth to take my guns and rights. I am thinking seriously of shooting people if they try. Canada's Constitution became a fish wrap decades ago and the American one is going the same way - and all the lawyers are in this like a dirty shirt.
Could this lunacy be driven by the legal beagles seeking to profit from an angry populace the way the lawyers did when they were running up legal costs as they negotiated Flapz' divorce? Somebody has to be making money off this, right? I hope the Americans are wise enough to walk into this election and see with their eyes, and not with their hearts.
No, I am not picking on Unca Bob again. I am thinking today of Baloney Bob - possibly the only marksman better than Yours Truly in the world! :)
Light years ago I used to look forward to weekends the way only young people can. This time of year that meant hunting trips, camp fires, cigars and BOOZE - oh gawd, lots of BOOZE!
My wife and I had turned a corner of sorts at that time in our lives. Like many couples when we were young we were so poor we didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. But now we were both working, we had our own home and I could even afford a decent hunting rifle and the odd trip out! Having a good rifle and putting it to good use brought me to the attention of Baloney Bob at one of the gun tournaments and we discovered a few things in common: we both liked hunting, we were both shithouse marksmen, and we were both drunks!
We used to go out deep into Alberta's 'koobasaw country' that was settled by ukranians, Lithuanians, Estonians and other bohunks and rubber begonias back at the turn of the last century. These are the people that were Bob's ancestors. On a trip long ago we stopped at a grave yard, where Bob got out and showed me the graves of his grandparents. The grave yard and church grounds were immaculate even back then and the church looked much like this one that I found during a trip out to Bonnyville today.
These immaculate little churches are all over the place
in koobasaw country.
I didn't go in; although it looks like a skating rink
the icy crust was very thin.
It's treacherous stuff to walk on.
His family had a summer cottage nearby and we piled up there for the night to sit around the campfire, sink a few pints and plan the next day. Bob must have gotten into some green beer or something because he spent the entire night barfing and retching and keeping us awake.
The next morning I shot a young spike buck right out of the gate and I was pleased as punch. The weather got hot so we dipped into a tiny but busy village called Duvernay and went into the pub to stick our noses into some glasses. I struck up a conversation with some of Bob's relatives and the boys got antsy and wanted to go hunting - but I was enjoying the company so we parted ways for the afternoon. I sat in that pub with some elderly gents and bought a few rounds, ate a couple metric tonnes of perogies from the restaurant and the day flew by without me or the fellas noticing. Bob and Skinbag came back shortly after supper to show me another deer they had taken and pick me up.
Duverny is pretty much dead today.
16 years later I passed back the same way on the road home from sales calls and thought I might stop in at Duvernay for a bite. There's only ghosts and echoes here now. 16 years ago the town was all tiny, neat old homes owned by local retired farmers and gassy but friendly elderly stub-farts. A little black kitten came out to see me but the place is pretty much an empty, forlorn dump now.
I sat in the middle of that time warp and just shook my head. It's like I'm growing up all over again. I remember as a boy hitting my teen years and looking on in befuddlement at the toys of my childhood and wondering just what in hell it was I found so wonderful about them. (I remember looking on in befuddlement at the girls the same way and wondering why I was obsessed with them).Today I'm doing the same with all my hunting guns. The thought of getting up early and going out to drop the hammer on a deer or a moose just leaves me cold and bored. There was a time me and my friends LIVED for it. And this town - the old farmers are all gone... and nobody has moved in to take over. Of course I knew the family farm was a thing of the past long ago...but now even the traces of that era are blowing away as if they never were. I'm glad I got to see some of it before it was all gone.
Today Baloney Bob must be retired. Last time I saw him he looked like a villain of James Bond's - he had had some eye surgery that left him blind in one eye, he had gotten soused one day and took a finger off on a table saw - and he was having problems with booze. But I remember him when he was a big, ropey farm kid with a big smile and bright eyes that handle himself and the game when it was on the ground.
I spent most of the day driving and thinking and remembering old days with old friends. I know you can never go home - but it would be nice if ya could at least stop by an old watering hole for old time's sake.
If you want to see Canadians go completely bat-shit, murderously insane, the best place to do it is at any Tim Hortons burp-n-slurp coffee shop. British Soccer Hooligans? Pbbfbfbfffftttt! Pussies!
If you kippered pansies tried to pull that shit
at the front of the line up at Tim Hortons, you wouldn't go to
the hospital, you would go to the MORGUE!
You're all pussies - and so are all the fags that play for
Manchester United! HAR HAR HAR!
The elements that make for this social TNT at Tims are simple: elderly old geezers that have all the time in the world and think everyone else does too, and stressed out yuppy assholes that think the world revolves around them and their self-induced pressure cooker problems...and lots of caffeine. Pop got his pristine, pride and joy Ford F150 smacked up in the parking lot of Tim's when he didn't move fast enough for a hockey mom in a minvan full of young chimpanzees.
I dunno why I go to Tim's, I used to sneer in disgust at the morons that lined up by the dozens for that swill and fought and raged themselves ragged in the parking lot. I've always prided myself on being able to drink whatever's in the jerry can... but for some reason I line up with the brainless sheep at Tim Hortons now too.
And - because I'm an old fart (and don't give a shit about work) - I got all the time in the world. Last week I was in line at the double drive thru and we both placed our orders almost simultaneously, and proceeded to the pay window at the same time. I hit the brakes, looked over and saw an angry woman with her mouth going 100 MPH so I smiled and waved her through. I savoured a look in the rear view because the guy behind me started to rage because I let her in! HAR HAR HAR! It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood...! Ladies first, dontchya know! Hey, pal - same to you!!!! ASSHOLE!!!
So I got up to the window - and I'll be damned: the coffee was free, the lady up front had paid for my XL Black. Was I in Tim Hortons? Or had I been magically deported to a British Finals soccer game? I just shrugged. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Then the same thing happened again yesterday. Where is all this damned courtesy and civility coming from? Two free coffees? In two weeks?
If this keeps up I may just have to apologize to the Brits, to soccer fans, and maybe even the fags that play for Manchester United...