Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Friday, 13 December 2019

Horse Shoes And Tiny Houses


This morn there was a skiff of snow out so thin, I just skipped the sidewalks and went shooting instead. I just joined this new club and whenever I go, I have the place to myself. Usually.

Today I was shooting and got a phone call from Flapz in BC. He called to say he isn't going to make it up here for Christmas and I gave him shit. He cheered me up with some rude jokes though, and we ended the conversation on a good note as always. Guess I'll saddle up Big Red in the late spring and go down there to hassle him. It's the same old story, you get old and the world leaves you behind. I'm good with it.

I'd just hung up when King Peter and Queen Mary dropped in. They ticked me right off. I have helped them with some chores around the estate and I don't mind - I'm currently unemployed and have nothing better to do - so I guess they figured they owed me something and bought me some magnificent top of the line carbon arrows. I gave them both shit - but secretly I was just pleased as punch inside! I sent them both a text later and thanked them and told them I loved them. Despite all the rotten things I say to them, I think I actually do, too! πŸ˜†

I seem to be shooting in the mid-270's now. By my estimation, a shooter like me, with my equipment … should be able to get into the high 280's/low 290's. It'll come. I finished my last flight of the last round with a perfect 30! I have lucky horse shoes up my arse, HAR HAR HAR!




Lookit!!! I tell no lies! HAR HAR HAR!!!





On the way home I saw this tiny place. It's tough to see in that crappy cell phone pic - but it had Christmas lights and a satellite TV antenna on it. Despite the gloom and grey today it's really quite nice out. The serenity of this place just tugged at my heart. I can picture myself in that, flopped out on a bunk with maybe a hot plate and an oil heater...



Welp - guess I'm old and boring today over here. I sure hope you have something fun lined up this weekend! 

Cheers!

Filthie

Friday Nostalgic Music Post

Back in the day me n’ the retards here at Uncle Bob’s were the baddest of bad asses! BW had a mullet  and an ear ring. I had high top jet boot runners. BP had a microprocessor based keyboard that made music you could weld by! We were young, hot blooded and pished at the world!!! And - we liked our women the same way!




Joan was so cool and so bad ass, she even made that bad hair look great! I think she 
stuck her finger in a light socket, or accidentally shorted out one of the
guitar amps before the concert.
πŸ˜†πŸ‘


Pete F and Mad Jack could dirty dance with the best of them too!






Time has not been kind. Today I am still pissed at the world... and the world could care less! My hair all fell out, my jet boots were traded in for sewer boots, and my leather and chains were swapped for plaid and baggy relaxed fit stretchy jeans. How did it all come to this? Sob...!

Tell me honestly: did Joan make it on her talent? Or was her success all due to corporate marketing and image management? I don’t think you could sell that kind of imagery today...

Joan never grew up but she did get old. She became a vegan, an environMINTalist, a PETAphile, a raging shitlib...and last I heard, rumours were swirling that she was a dyke. Just as Red Greene is the poster boy for men that get old and stay immature, I guess Joan could be the poster girl for women that do the same thing. 

She did age better than me and Red did, I’ll give her that! Have a great Friday and behave yourselves you little chits! Get off my lawn!!!



Thursday, 12 December 2019

Another Possible Solution

Camping in the back of the truck during friendlier times of the year is a snap. I have the gear and suppose I could handle winter temps too but I’ve gotten old and fussy in my dotage. The idea of climbing out of a warm fart sack and into a frozen pair of boots and pants in -20C ... it makes me pucker just thinking about it!!! When did my blood start running so cold and thin???

In any vent, that awful slut, Quartermain - comes in with this as a means of staying warm during winter tailgate camp trips:




I admit that something like this might work for Quartermain and The Young Turds. But things go south fast for the more mature sportsman like Yours Truly! What happens when it’s 2:00am, and you’re scrambling out to pee for the third time in the night? Or you drink too much and shit the bed? Or you decide that you want to stay out a few more days, and that you don’t need a shower or a fresh change of socks and underwear?

No thanks! I’ll stick with efficient, clean burning propane!πŸ‘

Propane doesn’t bitch, and it only blows up if ya do something REALLY stupid, HAR HAR HAR!!! Gawd I need to get outdoors.

Holy Mackeral!!!!

Dilbert goes full retard on the Democrats!


I like Scott. He's one of those men that can observe erratic and disgraceful
behaviour in individuals - and then dispassionately analyze 
their motivations and often he can predict their future behaviour patterns.

Maybe it's the flu he's fighting with. But this impeachment nonsense the Donks are doing has him cursing and sputtering and dropping F bombs like... like me! HAR HAR HAR!!! And yes, Pelosi IS  a cunned stunt!

But as a Canadian with some distance to the fray, I can sometimes achieve a dispassionate position as I stick my long nose into your American business. I wonder if we aren't seeing the liberals trying to apply a lesson they only ever half-learned? Consider:

In the 2016 election, the mass media was going to crucify Trump as a warning to the rest of the clucking gaggle of cowardly conservative cucks. Half of them wanted to see them do it. They were astounded when Trump pulled their jerseys over their head, and collectively beat the ever loving pooh out of them. They were astounded when the fans in the stands went wild with approval too. After he dispensed with the mavens in the media - Trump went after the Clintons. Hard. He bitch slapped Hillary into a fainting, farting ruin. He put a boot up Bill's arse so hard, he literally got lifted off the ground. Then he honked Chelsea on the tit and crapped in the fish tank. On the way out he wiped his arse on their drapes. Through it all they clutched their pearls and shrieked in outrage and got offended. They slapped all the usual labels on him: hater, homophobe, racist, sexist, rapist, etc etc ad nauseum. Trump and the electorate laughed and goaded them with rude memes and tweets on the internet.

Perhaps the Donks saw all this - and are merely trying to turn the tables? Maybe they're trying to goad Trump into doing the same stupid crap they did? And maybe they're too dumb to see that they are goading the American people too?

But... whadda I know.

Wednesday, 11 December 2019

Fatalism: On Being A Snow Flake

A couple years back I was in a bad place of sorts. I was on my knees, in the snow on Dawg Island at 5:00 in the morning. Probably around this time of the year too... with only the odd puff of wind, the odd snowflake drifting by, and the dawgs flopped out in a snow drift as they obediently waited on me. It was a setting of perfection, really. The dawgs grunted and oinked as they chewed at the ice balls betweern their toes. Other than that... silence. In the light of my headlamp my breath bellowed and crystalized. A snow flake landed on my mitt and I marvelled at its intricate and infinite complexity. Every single flake was just as intricate and complex... and all of it could be lost as they settled in their millions billions in the snowdrifts of Dawg Island alone. The result was a masterpiece of utter perfection with the dark, the light, the snow,

I was on my knees at the time because I was just plumb out of steam. At work, where I had succeeded for 10 years, things were falling apart. It may not have been my fault that the economy had collapsed, but it was my fault that our profit and margins had also. I was expected to work miracles and do it for free. My meetings with the national sales manager had degenerated into shouting matches. My daughter had started acting like a hormonal teenager with psychiatric problems. She'd also become a sexual degenerate and went dark. When I tried to deal with her, my in laws would involve themselves and encourage and enable my daughter and wouldn't listen to me at all. I asked - and then told them to stay out of it and mind their own business and they laughed at me. The friction was straining my marriage to the breaking point as my wife was caught in the middle of a family trying to tear itself apart. In the middle of Dawg Island, amidst that peaceful masterpiece of snow and perfection - I was in chaos. My issues were as unique and intricate and complicated has that single tiny snowflake resting on my winter mitt - and exactly the same as anyone else that had family problems. I had no control over any of those things in my life or the people that were tearing it apart - and yet... here I was, on my knees, on Dawg Island, on a beautiful winter morn... and as much a part of that masterpiece of creation as that tiny snowflake resting on my mitt. I was pushed along by the same seemingly random breezes and winds as the ones that settled that snowflake on my mitt.

It was then that I met my Maker for the first time. I couldn't speak to Him, I couldn't see Him... but I knew He was there. Even though I've been through the old testament and I'm halfway through the old... that's all I know for now for sure in the empirical sense. It's enough. Somebody lit the fuse on the big bang, Somebody saw a purpose to this third rock from the sun, and maybe Somebody saw a need for me to be on Dawg Island studying a random snowflake on my mitt.





Dennis takes a good shot this.
His words are wise and are not lost on me.
But.

How do you honour your parents, Dennis, when they dishonor you? 

How do you treat your parents in a Christian way, when they sin against you, your kids, themselves, and God?

I'm not trying to be a dink, I'm asking because I don't know. I've lost my way. 

At work I was expected to work miracles and do it for free and I couldn't do that. As a father I was supposed to...what? To lesbian social justice warriors, fathers are punching bags or live sacrifices. As a son in law, I was supposed to be a rich, respected millionaire to be a worthy mate for my wife. As a husband I was a failure because I couldn't do any of those things.

Maybe those other snow flakes are just being pushed by winds of their own? I think ol' Dennis might have missed the boat. Maybe the best thing to do is just go where the winds send us? And have the grace to accept it and embrace it? It's not like we have any choice in the matter. Perhaps the lesson is that you accept your lot because there are those in far worse places. There go I but for the grace of God and all that...

I'm taking a break from the job boards today. I slept in like a slob, had a great big breakfast Next I will put on my crime-fighting sweat pants and go sweep Dawg Island for senior delinquents. If I see any of you lot out there - don't expect any mercy. πŸ˜‰

Have a great Humpday.


Monday, 9 December 2019

The Guns Of WL Emery


Hmmmpfffff. Looks like the old bugger's eyes are going... isn't that
the old style Unertl scope mount system going on there?

F.U.I.






It's a new crime the Hutterites (or The Hoots, as we like to call them) up here in Alberta invented...
Farming Under the Influence...

Hinterland Who's Who


A frozen Firefox, methinks...

Via Coopville



It looks like CM's new rooster finally grew a pair.

Christmas Curmudgeon




Bah, Humbug! HAR HAR HAR!!! The poor bugger seems to be getting washed away by the torrent at work. I can relate. When I was a kid I worked in a vibrant, diverse hell hole sweat shop where they actually laid people off just before the holidays and then flogged the rest of us to take up the slack. They had to save money to be competitive, dontchya know!!! I remember grousing about it and getting striped by my parents. They defended stuff like that because ‘it was just business’ and I needed to develop a more mature work ethic! Of course it would have been a crime against humanity if they ever had to put up with stuff like that. But they worked for the govt and were better than dirt people and red necks like me. They deserved the lavish perks and bennies they got.πŸ˜†πŸ‘

There’s this whole thing where ya gotta be with the family too. That ended for us about 5 or some years back. All our families just seemed to come apart all at once. I got exiled from The Hive by the progressive liberal social justice warriors, and my wife went with me. Then the assholes turned on each other with divorces and petty feuds of their own. What a bunch of morons.

I was just a little guy when I first saw that Charlie Brown Christmas cartoon where he snaps and goes full retard on Christmas consumerism - remember that one where he buys that shitty little tree and the rest of the Peanuts give him the gears? That one seemed to spawn a whole series of similar cartoons and shows where everyone climbed up on the soapbox to decry the commercialization of the holiday season, and stress the importance of family and religion. Each got sappier and more sanctimonious than the last, and some were so bad you could get diabetes from watching them. I wonder... could all that fake sentimentalism be what snapped the shitlibs and progs? The ones that demanded the removal of Christianity and any related sentiment from the holiday season? “Gotta take down that nativity scene guys... it’s offensive to some people dontchya know!!!” I’ll guarantee you that once those turd brains gutted those things from the holiday... they were shocked and horrified that they didn’t have a Christmas anymore. I suppose they have some kind of parody... and they are welcome to it I suppose.

If you are lucky enough to have a traditional Christmas gathering this year, would it be prudent to lay down common sense rules up front? If so, mine would be

- no politics
- no feuds
- no religious quarreling
- don’t drink too much
- keep it upbeat and fun
- if you can’t do that, don’t go

I suppose I’m being stupid, all that should go without saying... and not just for Christmas.

Floating as I do out here in the Void, all I can do is laugh at the chit people want to fight about, and the lengths they’ll go to. And then, they’re shocked and offended when their families fall apart, or they lose the fights they start. It’s never their fault!!! They’re victims!!!

If you have a thoughtful and traditional family - don’t take it for granted.










Saturday, 7 December 2019

Therapeutic Music Sunday


Well it was a tough weekend here at Uncle Bob's School For Wayward Boys N' Retards. We have our problem students who pose varying levels of difficulty... but perhaps the most challenging of our students is Victor Quartermain.

He's hornier than a three ball tomcat!

He's gotten into all kinds of trouble and the older he gets, the more perverted he becomes! He started out with the pretty girls, but lately he has been rutting with the worst women you can imagine.



Don't you sit there trying to look innocent you shameless
hussy!!!
(Errrr, for the record, I am not suicidal)
Epstein kilt himself! Swear ta gawd!!!!




Well well well! Now we know where Quartermain is
getting his booze from!!!
Are you sharing your psychotropics with him too, Stretch?


It's always the same: whenever he escapes, he's out boffing ghastly cat ladies, angry land whales and chubsters, and probably the neighbourhood cats and dogs as well! I took him down to the vet and asked her to castrate him but she says they aren't allowed to do that anymore. I think he was doing her too - that's what I think....!

Welp, on Saturday a hideous skank fluttered it's eyes at him - and Quartermain met his femme fatale. For those of you unfamiliar with this lady - she's the one that went down to a beauty parlour in Hongcouver - and demanded that the staff drop everything and shave her balls.




Welp… Quartermain is pretty messed up right now. I can only imagine what Mx. Yaniv did to the poor boy... and now that I think of it... maybe I DON'T want to imagine it! GAH! In any event, Quatermain was seriously traumatized and semi-catatonic when xhe finished with him. We have him strapped down in the Time Out room where he is resting comfortably under sedation. The psychiatrist said I might pipe in some easy soft music while his scarred mind tries to come to terms with what happened.

I can help him out with that. Let it not be said that Dr. Filthie is not a compassionate man!



Oh shit! Quatermain just flat lined!!!


Oh well, a few hits with the cardiac defibrillator will straighten that little shit out! Let this be a lesson to you men! Lead yourselves a clean and chaste life - like me! HAR HAR HAR!!!

Have a great Sunday you lot!!! Keep the world of clowns at bay if you can!  πŸ˜†πŸ‘

Problems We Have In Canada





Maybe It’s Just Me...



Maybe it’s just me. I’ve never spent enough time on the trap
And skeet range to be sure of this...
But the few women I saw there were absolutely stunning.

Friday, 6 December 2019

Ugh, Those Russians



Men, I hate to be an alarmist, but the Russians are catching up to us in key areas of science and technology. I personally believe they are close to surpassing us. Please gather round, we need your closest attention to these grave new developments.

On November 15th, Our intrepid secret agent, Pete F, was able to infiltrate a Russian submarine  fabrication facility and escape with these pictures of their latest BBQs. They did not come without great cost; Pete is in the hospital fighting for his life against alcohol and meat poisoning. He’s full of vodka and koobasaw... and he might not make it. Keep him in your thoughts.

Obviously Ivan can’t match our pellet BBQs or automated smokers... and storing drinks on deck is probably a Bad Idea... but the old nickel goes that you never interrupt an enemy when he’s making his mistake.






We’ll need to initiate a full review of our current grilling practices procedures, men - immediately. For those of you that can do so, please commence your investigations this very evening... and have a full report ready for my evaluation Monday morning sharp!

BEEEEEELCH!!!

Errrrrmmmm... dismissed!

Canadiana




Amidst The Ruins

I rejoined the local archery club yesterday. I need a warm place to shoot in the winter, and that means indoors. The club is renting an out building from a local farmer 15 minutes out of town. I went out yesterday to do some of the first formal indoor shooting shooting I’ve done in 25 years.

Turns out it’s at the site of the old Alberta Game Farm. In its day The Game Farm was the second largest zoo in North America and its owner was the legendary  Al Oeming. The place was huge and had other facilities like playing fields and halls for community events. Al was already a famous professional wrestler; but he made his fortune and fame as a zoologist. some of his live-capture documentaries were epics in their day. In the 80s or 90’s The Farm started having money problems. Then they re-financed and re-branded and it became Polar Park. Then one day a tot got away from her mother, walked under a cordon ... and pushed her arm through a fence to try and pet one of the big cats. A cat got hold of her, and a brave handler went in with a bloody steak to try and distract the cougar and make it release the girl’s arm.The child was mauled, the lawsuits started flying... and that’s the last I ever heard of it. I think the place got closed down shortly after that.

It was odd going in there. I remember the place from some elementary school field trips and some ball games and picnics we had there. But all the animals were long gone. The massive parking lot had been turned into an industrial lay-down yard. Junk was everywhere. Some of the barns and concession buildings were falling over... and the only serviceable building left was the one I would be shooting in. It was sad to see the old place in such ruin. I remembered how we marveled at the critters, most of whom adapted to our climate and made themselves right at home. The giraffes grew thick hairy coats in winter, as did some of the cats and monkeys. All...gone.

I shook off the odd sadness that hangs over such places and went in to shoot. And there, I got it all over again. Up on the wall were the club plaques. We shoot 10 rounds, 3 arrows each. A perfect score is 300, or 30 arrows in the bullseye which is worth 10. If you shot a perfect score, you got inducted into the 300 Club and your name goes up on the wall. There was also a 290 Club plaque, and a 280 Club. The names up there went back to the early 80’s when I began to shoot. I read the names and saw the faces. M.H. was in the 300 Club, he was also a shameless cheater and a surly prick. PM was up there too - he was a happy man and an excellent shot. A stab of sorrow came too; his wife, Mavis had passed away and she was just a wonderful woman too. I found her name on the 280 plaque. Rumour had it that PM promptly remarried. Some people do that, they become widowed and just get married again right away and think nothing of it. I dunno what to think of that myself... as I get older and see what is happening to many women in clown world... I don’t think I could abide most of them and vise versa. KG was in the 290 Club, and we were arch rivals, Mr. Koobasaw was up there too... so many names and faces. Their world had moved on, and them with it.  On another display were all the badges the kids could earn in the kids’ archery program. My daughter had earned three of them. I still have her little bow and arrows downstairs. She’s .. what, now? 34? Jesus Christ, I am getting old. Haven’t seen my daughter in 5 years now? More? Back in those days I had visions of teaching my grandkids to shoot, and maybe stealing them for the odd camp trip to give the parents a break. How did I end up here? A rusty, crusty broken relic in a rural junkyard?

Again I shook off the sadness and nostalgia. I had the lanes to myself and took my place on the firing line. The old cadence came back and fit like old leather. Stance. Bow arm. Draw. Anchor. Aim. Release. Follow through... I finished up with a 273/300. I’m glad that none of those people up on the plaques saw that, I’d never hear the end of it. But... for a broken down stubfart that doesn’t practice enough...it’s alright for a start. With some work the muscles will build, the nerves will steady, and getting into the 280 Club should be a snap.

I never had my name up on those plaques because I was an archer, not an athlete or competitor. There’s a difference although I’m not sure I could put it into words. I didn’t care about prize money or trophies, having seen what happens to guys that covet them too much. There were more than a few of those up on those plaques. Somewhere, somehow I’d stopped being an archer ... and maybe that was a mistake. Maybe I should go up there with the other names so that if some other broken piece of trash blows in... he might see my name up there and smirk with remembrance?

FAH! Where did all this melancholy come from? Fill those score cards out honestly you buggardly tosspots! I’ll be watching you all very carefully!!! Especially you, Jack!!!

Have a great Friday!!!




Thursday, 5 December 2019

Okay Boomer - Part II

Aww shucks - it's nothing.

Just a fat lip, a shiner, and a bloody nose. Earlier today I saw Chicken Mom hanging out with The Mean Girls - and I decided to shoot my face off. When the boyfriend found out - I got the stuffing pounded out of me! I guess I kinda asked for it!



Seen whilst slumming over at Camp Borepatch...

The disgruntled dissidents had this insolent rude joke up and I got a yuk or two out of it. Can you remember back to those days? The things that mattered, and the things that didn't? And how ya knew it all and the adults were all idiots and full a chit? And of course, if you're like me - ya got mauled when you got dropped into the real world. Is there anything left of that kid that you were left in you? In my case, thankfully not!

As I sit here, carefully sponging off my bloody nose, spitting out my teeth and wincing at the daubs of iodine - I recall a tune that goes back even before CM and BP's time:




Suicide may or may not be painless, but contrary to the Japanese,
there is no honour in it. πŸ˜†πŸ‘

I was kinda surprised, I thought this 'doo-wop' stuff was over in the fifties but it appears that the 60's were well underway when this one came out.

Yannow the more I think about it … I wonder if the boys at Camp Borepatch didn't poop the bed on that one! Looking at our current leaders... I kinda think the high school kids probably COULD run a better country than what we have now.


Don't you dare call him a faggot! He's fwench, so ya gotta put your high school
fwench to work - and talk through your nose!
Turdo is a faggeau!!! HAR HAR H- errrr… HEAU HEAU HEAU!!!!
Fromage au cottage!!!
(That means 'have a great day' in french).

The Guns Of WL Emery

It never fails.

Last week, intrepid novelist, international adventurer, and man about town - WL Emery - calls me up to see if I’d accompany him on a red stag hunt in the Scottish highlands. I tried to put him off as each time we go hunting we usually end up bagging a disaster... but WL would have none of it.

“Pish tosh Filthie! Are you an old woman? This will be nothing more than a casual affair, with no excitement other than that of the hunt! What could possibly go wrong in the scenic Scottish highlands? We could stop in at Ardbeg or Highland Park - I’ll buy you a case of your favourite swill...!!!”

Fancy that!!! Coming from a man that drinks gin!!! But I gave in. And of course, the whole thing turned into a debacle upon our arrival: our outfitter turned out to be a king pin in the Scottish Mob. He was in the midst of selling a stolen Russian doomsday antimatter bomb to some filthy Palestinkians... and of course WL had to foil the plot. We ended up snipping the timer wires on the bomb and disarming it with 3 seconds left on the clock. Of course WL got all the accolades - and I got accidentally flogged by some slovenly American cretin with a bullwhip that had become embroiled in the sordid nonsense. What was his name? Indie? Indiana? Montana Jones? I forget... but no matter! I did manage to scoop some interesting trophies And souvenirs from our vanquished foes!



A pair of matching Colts! 
I got to keep these - WL prefers his Mauser Broomhandle
machine pistol 


I have no idea what this is... but I DO like it!!!


This looks like a British Bubba butcher job to me.
Only a Kipper Could take a bull pup design....
and make it WORSE...




Of course the authorities only showed up at the hunting lodge after the crisis
had been averted!!!
These chaps are MI6 - Unsavoury Internal Affairs
Division.
Add Scotland to a growing list of nations where we are banned for life.




Oh dear gawd. Is that one of those Yank P17’s? 
Maybe that hack...whatsisname? Jones?
He can have that one...





Looks like a Kraut to me.


I never did get my case of scotch. You’d think it could be the least they could do, after I saved the world and all that! Harrrumpfffff!!!! And no doubt WL will make millions of dollars when he writes about the details of my exploits when he publishes his memoirs! No good deed ever goes unpunished!!!

If any of you can shed some light on these curios, please feel free to enlighten us in the comments! Have a good Thursday you lot!!!

Wednesday, 4 December 2019

Humpday Buggery





Turn up your sound.


One of the things I loved about RC airplanes... was the howl of the engines. It makes my pulse speed up and for a few minutes, my years vanish, and I feel myself become one with The Machine. All that exists is air, speed, and the predatory howl of the almighty engine.

Scale is irrelevant; my little nitro powered piss burners can quicken the pulse the same way a supercharged V12 Supermarine Spitfire can. The retired old farts at our little airfield can put on as good a show as the Thunderbirds can. Perhaps even better - when we crash and burn it is an occasion for sport and merriment. If the flyboys do it, it’s a tragedy.

Until I saw this silly little cartoon I had forgotten how much I miss it. Perhaps when the snow retreats I will get back into it again.

Helpful Gift Ideas

For the bow bender on your list:




Trump arrows!!!!
HAR HAR HAR!!! I will take a couple dozen!!!
Just send the bill to BW...

Last night I had the damnedest dream. I was the prime minister of Canada, and just to be a dink, I put Trump campaign bumper stickers on my limo and the cars of my motorcade. Then I cruised the streets of downtown Trawna, flipping the bird at the assorted queers, vibrants and mystery meat degenerates as we rolled past. Eggs and pies soon started to pelt my motorcade so I rolled down the window and cut loose with my AR15. 

Sigh. True contentment!

Errrrr…. if anyone wants to buy me a rocket launcher, by all means, please feel free!

The Solution



Awhile back I was trying to figure out how to heat the topper on the Dawgmobile.  I've gotten old and fussy in my old age - my blood doesn't run as hot as it used to when I was younger. Back then I actually could camp out in winter in temps so low that you had to worry about vehicles starting the next day. It was simply a matter of having the gear and the clothing.

I toyed with the idea of wood heat - OyTube is full of vids on guys that made wood stoves out of great big surplus ammo cans. That could work, but the problem is that regulating the heat is an issue. Also, suppose ya wake up in the morning and you're frozen - you start a fire in the stove and that's great... but if you want to pack up and move out, you have to dump the ash and some of it may still be live. In winter it wouldn't be so bad, you could just kick snow over the embers and douse them … but what a pain. And fabbing up a good ammo can stove costs a few bucks and takes some time and tools.

The problem with propane is moisture and condensation. I experimented with one last year and the inside of my truck canopy was drenched within an hour or so. If you're going to use propane you can but it has to be vented. Behold these beauts - at  Nu-Way Stoves!

It's only $155.00 US, the size is something I can work with... and I shouldn't have to worry about carbon monoxide the way I would with other heaters.

When I start working again I am going to buy one of these. In the meantime, the intrepid stubfart explorer, GoneAgain - learns ya everything ya need to know. Sounds like he's been down the same road I have. He's also into archaic guns as I am and has some super pointers for that as well.

Enjoy.



Blogatory And Bloviatory Notes

I've been inexplicably bummed out lately. Involuntary/temporary retirement and/or semi-retirement has its challenges. For the first few months I was okay but now that all my reloading and fun stuff is caught up, I am looking for my RNR in stuff like housework!

I am still looking for work though, but the job boards have fallen right off. Alberta is now going head first into the shitter. Decent jobs are almost non-existent on the boards, and the official unemployment stats have us in the double digits for the first time in decades. I personally believe they are at least twice the reported number based on what I see during the day. A lot of houses are going up for sale now, as owners get bogged down in mortgages they can no longer afford. If the pattern holds the foreclosures and mass layoffs are about a year away. Traffic during the day is greatly reduced, most of it is elderly grey hairs that are going about their retirement errands.

I started slipping back into my old ways and have picked up some weight. FFS - I am smarter than this. I am going back on the rabbit food and will lose weight and start exercising even if it kills me. I'm angry now.  The old ego is taking a self inflicted beating and it's damned hard to shake it off.

Like a lot of people I am trying to get my head around a minimalist lifestyle. It's not bad but...we've done it before.  But the hell of that is... I don't need or want any more stuff. Even if I had unlimited funds, without a job it feels like something is missing. I have too much as it is. I need to find new ways to entertain and engage myself. My in laws had a huge problem with that when they retired. In their case, they got so bored and didn't know what to do with themselves - that they started involving themselves with our affairs to entertain and occupy themselves. Good lord, I still remember the fights that started. It ended poorly too.

I have the midwinter blahs. It's 3:30 as I write this and the sun is starting to set. Coupled with the unemployment - it's hard on the psych. My wife is still working and that really gets me. I am something of a traditionalist and it sticks in my craw that I am home cleaning house while she is out earning a buck. But this is the current year; and I am the wrong age, wrong gender, and wrong race for the majority of employers out there. I know all this in my head, but in my gut it still feels wrong. I wish I was the one taking off for work in the morning, and that I could leave my wife at home instead. I am starting to get cabin fever already and spring is still half a year away.

It's going to start getting cold for real soon, and the rifle range will be mostly uninhabitable... so I am looking at getting a membership at an indoor archery range so that I can at least get out of the house and polish up my lagging marksmanship. It's the damnedest thing - improving your archery technique will carry over to your rifles. I dunno why that is, it just is.

The shortest day of the year is only a couple weeks out - so we will be over the hump soon. I just hope my sanity holds up, HAR HAR HAR!!!!

You hang in there - and I will try to do the same! Have a great Wednesday.

Tuesday, 3 December 2019

Culture Corner: Filthie’s Forest

Ladies and gentlemen men thanks for stopping in! It’s a pleasure to have you here!

Sorry, men. But - during the performance I will have to insist that you turn in your .22’s and .410’s. Making stewage out of the performers is strictly prohibited.




Have a great Tuesday!

Friday, 29 November 2019

Alberta Tell Ottawa To Shove It’s Pending Gun Legislation

Thank Gawd - and fuck you, Trudeau!!! It’s a great day to be Albertan, and a great way to tell a bunch of liberal assholes out east to go sod themselves!!!

Pardon my fwench, everyone! But good lord... for most of my life I’ve watched with silent fury as our so-called conservatives would roll over and lose politely as the liberals bent them over in parliament. With every passing year the leftists got more arrogant and conceited ... and I personally have gone as far with them as I am going to go. It almost brings tears of joy to my eyes to see somebody finally standing up to those cretins.

It’s time to start fighting with these guys and getting as nasty and devious with them as they are with us.

They Don't Look Happy




Thursday, 28 November 2019

Happy Thanksgiving Yanks


Don’t talk politics. Don’t drink too much. Don’t stay too long.

Do eat too much, smile and laugh, and keep your loved ones close.

The Filthie Archeologist: Origins



I was wondering where all these horrible things came from...
Anyone good with hieroglyphs?

Modern translation:


I think I’ve had quite enough of
these rude cat memes for now.
πŸ˜†πŸ‘
That’s it, I promise...

Malice In Timberland


When swamp donkeys are hit on the road the drunk driver is often wrongfully 
blamed for the incident.
If the first responders were actually doing their jobs,
they might notice that often, the moose has three sheets to the
wind too.


Turd Polishing



When I started driving my first truck was one of Pop’s decrepit farm trucks. It was a... it was a F..... GASP!!! It was a (sob) Ford! Sorry, everyone, but that fuggin POS gave me PTSD!!!!

It was a 1972 Ford Explorer half ton. I can imagine how it was made too: The engine was built by a team of evil hare-lipped retard union-slob jack asses. On a Friday afternoon. The transmission was assembled by demonic fart sucking liberal voting niggered baboons that were so stupid, they couldn’t be tolerated even in a dump like Detroit - and got exported to Morontario to build trucks in Canada instead. On the way out of the factory, some inattentive monkey accidentally drove the truck over the foot of a disgruntled simian voodoo union steward... and hopped around in a hideous dance of pain and rage, holding his injured foot as he hooted and gibbered ... and cursed the vehicle with fury and heat of 1000 suns. He infused the truck with the lost souls of the damned and of the worst swamp monsters out of the bayou.

When I got it, it was already half in the bag. It only ran right when Pop was around. Pop was a master mechanic and didn’t take shit off machines - possessed or not. If that POS so much as missed a beat or a tick, Pop would tear it down to nuts and bolts. The machines on the farm unfugged themselves... lest Pop do it for them, HAR HAR HAR! But when I drove it... that misbegotten whore built gawdbedamned turd gobbling wretched wreck turned all its hate and fury on me. When I told Pop about it and dragged him over to look at it... it would purr and run like a top. When he was gone, it went back to running like a soggy turd!!!

It tried to kill me that winter. The cops said it was ice and bald tires that put me in the ditch, upside down... but I know the truth. I knew it was icy out and was going about 35 when that miserable miscreant went sideways. When we got it right side up and back at the farm, Pop poured 4 quarts of oil into it and started it with a dirty look and it ran like a Swiss watch. “I ain’t drivin’ that POS,” I said. Pop was livid. “Most kids would LOVE their parents to give them a vehicle! What in hell’s wrong with you?!?!” Pop raged. We had one of the biggest, barn burning fights of my teen years. In the background the metal monster idled and bided its time.

Eventually it turned on Pop too - and he promptly sold it to a sonofabitch that actually deserved it. I learned a couple things from all that... like I was not a mechanic and didn’t want to be. I will not buy used vehicles either. I buy them new, I take meticulous care of them, and drive them until the doors fall off. Both my brother and my Dad only buy used - “a new vehicle depreciates by 1/3 as soon as ya drive it off the lot!” they say. Fair enough, but I can pay a new one off in four or five years, and easily get another 7 or 8 years out of them after that without any major expenses. Pop and Big Bro are buying new used vehicles every couple years and often dump big money in them to keep them going. Whatever works for you, I guess... six of one, half a dozen of the other? I know what works for me. I also learned all I needed to about Ford. I will not buy any vehicle made by The Big Three. They build junk, their employees are thieves and crooks and their management is just as bad. And most of all I learned to hate Ford the most.

Fuck Ford.

Welp... the nice boys in white should along with my straight jacket and medicine any minute now, to take me away to a nice quiet rubber room where there’s no mechanical demons or monsters! Have a great Thursday y’all... and drive careful!

Wednesday, 27 November 2019

Toxic Satire

GAH! I am still struggling to recover from this rude joke!

HAR HAR HAR!!! HAR HAR HAR!!!

I'd read someplace that it was Christians that run the Bee and I find that hard to believe. There is something utterly diabolical and inspired by the way these guys mock our moral and intellectual superiors.

I may have to put them on the Toilet Roll.

Cranky Old Farts Explained



I might have been that little boy once upon a time, in a different universe light years from here. But time and events have left me psychologically ruined and permanently damaged. Today I sit, cleaning my guns, stropping bayonets, stockpiling ammo, booze and popcorn.

I will smile again when the world goes up in flames.


A bitter and twisted Glen Filthie stamps out 1911's in his basement hobby shop, preparation 
for the coming revolution.


Somebody wake me up if the shooting starts! Have a great Humpday!!!

Tuesday, 26 November 2019

Able Semen Filthie: It’s A Woman’s World

Have you ever been in a place or situation and wondered how ya got there in the first place? I am an indentured servant to my Royals that live on a modest estate just out of town. In exchange fore help with chores I get coffee and usually cracking good conversation.

My masters, the King and Queen, are aficionados of Dawg Sport. The mutts are called “Schutzenhunds” or shittyhounds or something like that. They are top breed papered pedigree German Shepherds that are bred for running obstacle courses, attacking designated heavily padded bad guys, and tracking. These activities are organized into a formal sport and it is deadly serious stuff. If you want to buy a pup sired by champs you can pay upward of $7k! The Royals have three of them and travel across the country to compete. Anyhoo about a week ago, the Queen asked if I could help her take a couple of them to the vet as an assistant dawg handler. Her dawgs are not like my K9 cohorts - hers are as high strung as hell, and will attack other people and dawgs at the drop of a hat! I don’t take shit off of dogs, and the King would be on shift... so I agreed to help. 

I knew I was in trouble right off the bat when we got to the vet. The male was losing his mind and Her Majesty could barely control him. The bitch was going nuts too. “Oh, she’s in heat, Filthie! Nothing to be concerned about! We’ll get them into the vet, who will make sure we can breed them and be out again in no time!”

The Queen had called ahead so we would be shown right into the exam room when we arrived. When we hit the waiting room the dogs went nuts. The Queen almost lost her footing as her dog snarled and snapped and tried to go after a bigger dog. I had the bitch and she was trying to go after an old woman with a poofy little ankle biter. They both cowered and trembled in fright and I felt like a shit. The Royals are  just proud as hell of these bloody monsters too! If my dawgs did that I’d kill them both with a quick .22 behind the ear! But The Queen just laughed, and we wrestled the monsters into an examination room.

I heaved a sigh of relief and figured everything was cool. I shoulda been more aware of my surroundings I suppose. There must a been 20 people there in that building... and I was the only guy there. Make a note of it, men: if you ever find yourself around a gaggle of women like that, and animals...horses or dogs are a guarantee of it... you will encounter witchery. Or lunacy? Dare I say fuckery

Welp ... once the lady vet had her rubber gloves on, the first thing that happens is the male tries to mount the female. Quick as a snake, the vet dives in, slips a condom/sample collector over the male’s schlong... and starts jerking him off. GAH!! I didn’t expect this!!!


I guess I’m a bit of a prude even though I’m a farm boy and I know how these things go. But I was still creeped out a bit. But ... the girls just did me in... I am not exaggerating when I say this: I have seen  better manners on Pervert Row at a strip show! The hens cackled with glee and made rude jokes and I just got grossed out and wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere. And women accuse men of being pigs!?!? Those two gals were as horned out as any stinky lonely 400 lb. sweaty trucker at the peeler bar! And about as attractive too! GAH!!! They were having the time of their lives...jerking off a dog.

An eternity later it was finally over. I hardly noticed the bitch straining against the leash as she tried to tear the throat out of the old lady and her little poopsie on the way out. The Queen and the male stayed behind to gossip and chat for a bit. Once I got outside I lifted the bitch into the kennel in the back of the truck, closed everthing up and locked it up. I opened up the cab and got my coffee out. I waited out at the truck because I didn’t want to go back in and wait in the hen house!

Finally Mary came out with her boy and we got loaded up and headed for home. Mary looked for all the world like she needed a bloody cigarette! She asked if I had time for coffee or if I wanted to come out to the estate and shoot for a bit but I just declined. I was still seriously creeped out! I begged off and had her drop me off at home.

Uncle Bob, Jim and the various philosopher kings of the old Manosphere used to lecture at length about the darker natures of women and I always considered it so much bunk. Sure, women have nasty and sinful inclinations just like us guys do... but they can rise above them like us guys do too.

Can’t they?

Maybe I am turning into a stupid old prune but I swear there was something other than a simple sperm sample going on with that fiasco. Maybe it was all my own perverted imagination getting the best of me. But... The Queen IS a redhead. She’s older and hit the wall hard as redheads tend to do. And she is head over heels into dawgs and horses. Maybe Darlock and Heartiste and that crowd were right about a few things?

I am beginning to think so. Yeccchttt. I have the feeling that I have seen something I wasn’t supposed to.




The Vibrant And Diverse Thunderbox



Even a hatey toxic literally-worse-than-Hitler  fella like
me feels his heart melt at the sight of these
cute little clippers.



In my defence, I’d just like to say that I hate everyone 
equally! We can now consider the Thunderbox filled to the brim
with inclusivity and tolerance now!
HAR HAR HAR!!!
πŸ˜†πŸ‘

Have a wonderful Tuesday!

Monday, 25 November 2019

I Don’t Get It Either, Forrest







Some of these bloody cat memes are downright lethal!  They are so damned funny - it almost restores my faith in humanity. I even read somewhere awhile back that the Usual Suspects wanted to make memes illegal and prosecutable. These latest ones with the shrieking hysteric and the ropey-mouthed cat baffle me. The humour is obvious and simple enough for even me to get it... but where does this stuff come from? How do these things 'become a thing'?

I guess regular chimp-outs at Popeye's are becoming a thing now too. I actually had Popeye's chicken once and all I can say is... never again! I suppose if a gaggle of black baboons are going to start raising hell, you can't ask for a much better place for them to do it! But fighting at Popeye's seems to be a thing now too...

Monday is a day for especially deep thinking here at the Thunderbox. If any visiting intellectuals have any insights to share with us - feel free to leave a deposit in the comments.

Have a good one!!!

Oh... and before ya go:



I kinda think the Clintons would go after Pepe first but ya never 
know!

Sunday, 24 November 2019

Uuuuggghhhh... Those Russians: Cosmonaut Survival Gun


The lore circulating amongst the internet warrior-stubfart class describes the stupidity and cluelessness of our countrymen in the development of a writing instrument for the intrepid men of the Apollo space program. According to legend, they wasted billions of dollars developing a pen that could write upside down, in a vacuum, underwater, and even on the surface of the sun.

Okay, I made that last one up - but ya get the idea. When they went on sale to the general public I promptly bought one - and that sumbitch exploded in my pocket two days later and ruined a good work shirt! FFS.  But I digress:

Those scum sucking commie bastids just sent their boys up... with pencils! And they worked fine! You don't mess with what works; and today my writing implement of choice is the Staedtler 2mm mechanical drafting pencil. One would think that we could trust the soviets to be the pinnacle of practicality, right?

Welp… instead a spending billions on a pencil, the soviet pencil-heads spent billions or rubles on … a survival gun! Just in case the vodka-soaked Yuri and Illya blew their re-entry and came down in Siberia or San Francisco... and needed to defend themselves from the wildlife.



If that thing isn't the biggest POS that ever went into space, I dunno what is!
HAR HAR HAR!!!πŸ˜†πŸ‘

How do ya fire that bloody thing? Kalashnikov must be spinning in his grave! I am kinda thinking that if you have to give the rocket men scatter guns... something along the lines of that new Tavor would be the way to go.


I want one... dunno what in hell I would do with it... but it sure is cool looking.

But... whadda I know? For all the world, all I am is an old stubfart with an arsehole and an opinion who's full a beans!



Why, after a plate a beans or chili those boys should
be able to burn that critter to the ground!
Survival guns for space men indeed!
HARRRUMMPPPFFFF!

One Last Thought About Epstein - Who Didn't Kill Himself...

Years ago I made the mistake of giving the Clintoons the benefit of the doubt. Back in the day, when Wilhelm Von Blowjob was denying sexual molestation charges and soliciting gummers from overly ambitious bubble-gummers and candy stripers... I took him at his word. I thought to myself, it's just the political mud machine; Bill was a POTUS, there's a code of conduct, and what man in his right mind goes around risking his job and reputation and even legal action - for a gummer from someone who could only hurt him? It didn't make sense to me presidents and leaders were supposed to be smarter than that ... but I was young and naΓ―ve.

I wonder if I am not being the same way again? Consider:

Bill and Hill should both be in a cage. Seriously, they have both been caught, red handed in scandals and improprieties that would land people like us serious jail time. There's no doubt about their crimes or guilt; they are a matter of public record. To my mind, it draws suspicion on the legitimacy of not only the gubbimint, but the various arms of it such as the judiciary and law enforcement. As the attacks on Trump get ever more ridiculous and hysterical...it's more and more obvious that we can't trust these guys and it starts right at the very top.

Given that this is the case - and it IS a legitimate assumption - why go after Epstein? Everyone already knows Bill Clinton is a pervert and rapist. Everyone knows that Hillary is a criminally incompetent and negligent moron - and yet they're both walking around. They can do anything they want and get away with it. Popping Epstein in cold blood in broad daylight wouldn't do them any good. In fact it would only heighten resistance and opposition against them... it doesn't make any sense. The other day prince Andrew had to move his office out of Buckingham Palace on account of his activities on Pervert Island. You and I would be rotting in a cell with Epstein if it were us. The Royals can do pretty much anything they want and get away with it too. Why bother killing someone that can't really hurt you?

Is it possible to be old and naΓ―ve? Methinks so - and "giving someone the benefit of the doubt" or treating them as I would be treated - doesn't make sense if they are not willing to reciprocate. Is that being un-Christianly?




Our leaders are out of touch, they hate us and they aren't afraid to kill us with gay abandon. My question is - when do we "hoist the black flag and start slitting throats?" And lest it appear that I crap on the USA from the moral heights above - to be truthful it is much worse up here in Canada.

So what are you bums up to today?  As for me - I am boring again. I've almost caught up on my reloading and have to seriously clean out the Augean Stables the dungeons of Castello di La Filthie. I have junk everywhere and it's been like that for far, far too long. Hopefully today I will get the last of the empties reloaded, and can finally move on to other projects.

Have yourselves a great Sunday, and thanks for stopping by.