Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted

Sunday, 30 April 2017

First Ever Bob Wallace Memorial Campout

Well last week end was ruined for me by the passing of Uncle Bob over at the Treehouse. Isn't it funny: there's any number of bloggers that I agree with on pretty much everything but I hate their guts. Bob and I disagreed on a lot of things and that was A-OK by him and we wasted our fair share of electrons debating all kinds of scholarly subjects. It ain't right that somebody like Bob goes over the Great Divide without some kind of fanfare - so it was that the job fell to me - Captain Sweatpants And His K9 Crime Fighters. (I'm sure we woulda made short work of Bob and his evil pug dogs had we ever met in person).

We chose the rod n' gun club campgrounds as the perfect spot
to make our last farewell. I think
he would have approved.

Some previous slob campers had left some garbage
we had to neaten up.

Before getting serious we fired off some old firecrackers Flapz had kicking around since forever. One of his bottle rockets went straight up to Olympia itself, hit Zeus in the ass - so he turned around, threw down some lightning bolts and thunder, and hit us with a shitload of hail!

My wife loaded up and tried to hit me in the gob
with a slush ball. Fuggin Bob
definitely would have approved of that too, no doubt.

It was our first run with our new little trailer and my intent was to hoist a glass and make a toast to Bob and then have a quick range session the next morning. But my ambition just dissolved once the weather passed, and the Flapz and M got the fire going.

Mort was deployed to guard the perimeter and defend the camp
while I took a break, let my guard down, and paid my
last respects to Mr. Wallace.

Oh my goodness. Caribou Crossing is simply the best whisky I have
ever tasted. Utterly spectacular. If you see it - buy two bottles
One to drink, and one to save for something very special.

I had the booze. I'm sorry, I woulda liked to have had a proper cigar too but I quit smoking eight or nine years ago. I filled my glass, and said a quick silent one for Bob.

Holy Father - we pray that Bob meets you on fair terms, and that he finds a place of favour in Your realm, and at Your side.


I was strongly tempted to add, "Please don't believe any of the rotten things he says about me or my buddy, George W. Bush!" but I suppose that jokes in prayers are disrespectful.

I'm sorry folks, I am not a real Christian yet; and you would need a full bull Pastor for a good speech about ashes to ashes and dusts to dusts.

Welp... after that, the next toast was for me. It's a celebration of sorts. I've known forever that my family was toast. It's one thing to know it in your head but getting it through to my heart or gut was a very difficult thing for me. But, I think I did it. Finally. I think I'm good. So I hoisted another glass, this time to myself, my beautiful wife, and my crime fighting K9 cohorts! And then I hoisted a bunch more... gaaaaaaaaahhhhhh......

Distant roads are calling us, and my wife and I have our own paths to follow too. And now - we have this fine new little trailer to do it in. There are other families coming into our lives, here at the rod n' gun club, maybe at the RC airfields - and I even got a formal invitation to the Black Powder Cartridge Rifle nationals in Bethune, SK this year. That may sound prestigious and formal but it's just a bunch of smelly old beardos and black powder geeks having a turkey shoot.

I had mixed feelings about the camper. No, it isn't the same as rolling out of a tent and onto the snow with your rifle up like ya did when you were 30 and full of piss and vinegar! But - the furnace was nice, the dogs slept on one side, we had the other - and there wasn't the merest hint of condensation on anything the next morning. I was hoping to live blog all this last night, and maybe one or two of you guys might be able to hoist a glass and propose a toast of your own, but I had problems with my electronics and intoxication and it just didn't happen.

Families are where ya find 'em.

Have a great Sunday, y'all. And keep the noise down if ya could, I am hung to the rafters after too much good whisky and a night with the campfire, HAR HAR HAR! And so long to you, Bob!


  1. Yes Glen, families ARE indeed where you find them.


  2. I'm glad you did something to remember Bob. I will miss his posts.