The Hell They Can...

 

That soldier in the pic knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s doing it anyway. Those noggers that are rioting and burning and looting do too. Some of the Antifags may or may not - many of them are homeless, mentally ill, or drug addicts... but even then most of them know too.

The people giving them their orders know what they’re doing too. I’ve run across some types that believe human beings are nothing more than extremely advanced and nasty killer apes. “It’s genetics, dontchya know...!” Sure, pal. Sure it is. Or it’s “Deus vult!!!”

Everything in life is a choice, right up to and including slavery. You choose to believe white racism drives black misbehaviour, when it’s black misbehaviour that drives white racism. You choose to believe that boys can be girls and girls can be boys. 

There is a subtle difference between believing something and rationalizing it.

...And You Can Eat Chit...

 As a kid I caught no end of grief from my elders for being a picky eater. I fought pitched battles with my parents over it, and while I realize what they were trying to do... screw them. When they put shit in front of me as a kid, I went hungry. If times actually DID get so bad where I had to eat shitty food to survive...THEN I would eat it but only if absolutely necessary. Picky eating in times of shortages would be a self correcting problem I’d think.

BARF!

 

Squirt Guns

I really don’t know what to make of these Personal Defence Weapon - or pocket assault rifles. I’ve never really been able to play with one. This one might appeal to the run n’ gun crowd but for a stubfart like me it would only ever be a range toy.

Dunno how much a benefit something like this would be for the squaddies either. Some of those ARguns are awfully short and handy. I’m not all that up to speed on that new fangled chambering either... what is it? 5.7x28 or some damned thing. Back when I was briefly considering one... billets were expensive as hell if you could find them, and brass and reloading data were unavailable.
 

You can eat your lunch or drink your coffee right at your machine.

The Boss wants an honest day out of you; you want to give it to him.

No matter how cold outside, it’s warm in here.

The young ones are mentored. They will take over when you are gone.

Your coveralls are covered in old stains but clean.

Your work boots fit like bedroom slippers.

There is a dartboard by the shears. No quarter asked for, none is given.

Everyone is on the same team.

Everyone takes pride in their place on the team.

These are things that once made us great.

Abstract Art Appreciation: Artifacts

I’m 56 years old... and by Godfrey... I want to play on that slide!

Remember those big tall swing sets that you could launch from, and get

serious air time off of...?

We could make a NASA astronaut barf on the merry go round.

The other day I went past my elementary school on the murdercycle. Of course all the equipment was pulled out, and a new toddler’s playground was set up elsewhere in the property. They let the site of the original playground go fallow as a “natural area” where the brush and trees grew back. No trace of it remains, which is the idea I suppose. It’s been like that for years now.

Yesterday I had a preliminary phone interview for a job with some megacorp. I should be happy, just getting an interview is a big deal these days. Alberta is in a bust cycle, crippled by changing global markets and economies and an utterly moronic leftist govt. I have to take an online test though, which will probably show that I am as obsolete and dangerous as that abstract playground pachyderm.

I feel the forces of the times that want to erase and cancel me as thoroughly and completely as that old playground of my childhood, so that no trace of me remains. Part of me wants to go, too. I dunno if it’s age, orneryness, or laziness that betrays me?

Probably all three...

Some Beach, Somewhere