Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Monday, 31 August 2015

The Equal Opportunity Employer Part I

I can tell within two weeks whether a new job will work for me or not.


Shitzen Unt Kiggles Inc. was a world wide instrumentation company that I went to work for back at the turn of the century. As you might imagine it had German ancestry and it follows that it manifested itself in the work culture. You always 'Zieg Hiel'ed' after you took a dump, any thing that wasn't against company policy and regulations was prohibited, and you didn't sneeze without authorization forms filled out in triplicate. One of the fucks in management even made a point of bragging about it. Like Hitler, he was a loud, sawed off runt with a big mouth and one ball, HAR HAR HAR! Back then I was more professional and courteous than I am now and ignored the Gestapo and the SS with imperious disdain.

For you see, they needed me a helluva lot more than I needed them. I could ignore all that bullshit because I had my own duties and my own turf and total control of it - silly as that sounds. The second Alberta oil boom had just begun, and the projects going out for bid were a veritable avalanche of potential wealth with juicy contracts just waiting for us to grab and take off the street. I started working 7 day weeks, 12 hours (or more) a day - but I was young, I was in charge and I liked what I did - which was prepping bid proposals, coordinating production with orders and shooting the shit with customers and contractors. The Gruppenfurher (in a civilized company, he would have been a branch manager) - wisely left me alone to rock n' roll. Soon business expanded to the point where I couldn't handle it and we had to hire someone.

Ever hear that tune from the Northern Pikes, "She Ain't Pretty, She Just Looks That Way"? When Jessie (names changed to protect the guilty) walked in the office on her starting day - the office staff went quiet as a tomb. She sauntered in with the litheness and confidence of a cat - a slender but chesty woman, dressed with understated elegance that complimented the way she moved. The guys melted with one sultry look. Even I was smitten to begin with - when I finally got my eyeballs back in their sockets and recovered my wits, Leisure Suit Mary was screaming at me to answer the bloody phone - which I had just noticed was ringing off the hook. Within minutes I was back in the groove, submerged in the urgency, minutia and details of my job.

To begin with she was a sorceress. She would ask me to do stuff and I would do them without even realizing it. So would the other guys. She was good at her job too, no bones about it. She had the tats that young people were just beginning to get in those days. She spoke well and charmed us guys and we went along in a daze. Jessie wasn't a slutty hottie - she was a classy young woman that projected an air of warmth and trust that just made you want to protect her and help her out. I did my best to train her and bring her along.

Two months later she was my boss. She became the Office Manager. And everything changed.

Jessie started slacking off - which meant more work on my plate. She got away with it by batting her eyes at the Gruppenfurher - and anything she wanted, she got! If I needed anything, unless Jessie agreed the Gruppenfurher told me to FOAD. I began to ask myself - who, exactly is running this shit show? The Gruppenfurher? His dink? Jessie? GAH.

One day after a great steak sammich I shat my pants for three minutes straight. It was such an epic fart that it was a life achievement: the windows rattled in the panes, the dead flies in the light fixtures danced around in the diffusers like dice in a cup - and I swear I hit 9.9 on the Rectum Scale. The boys down at NASA in Florida heard it and wrote me fan letters complimenting me on my controlled burn. The fellas at Ground Zero that weren't retching gave me a standing ovation - and then rushed to revive Leisure Suit Mary who had feinted from methane poisoning. I've heard that S+K is still trying to scrub the chit off the office walls to this day!

That afternoon I got a formal written reprimand from Jessie. It was signed by the Gruppenfurher and The Furher Himself from the Canadian head office in Montreal! I had to sign a form promising not to ever shit my pants again, or do anything else that would offend my coworkers or make them uncomfortable.

It was a declaration of war, and I was up against a satanic witch.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode!

Sunday, 30 August 2015

The Manosphere VS Marriage

When my younger moral and intellectual superiors start bandying about terms like "Marriage 2.0", "MGTOW" and PUA...I cringe. When they start ranting about the chicken-headed liberal feminists, the screeching femcunts of Jezebel and the garden variety modern North American Woman...I want to put my head in my hands and despair.

The Manosphere was a huge step in the right direction...10 years ago. When men could get together and talk honestly without politically correct censorship we found that it wasn't just us and that we weren't imagining it. Our women actually WERE going bat shit crazy, they were hurting themselves and their families - and there was sweet bugger all us guys could do about it for the most part. Being men, we naturally homed in on the source of the problem and started addressing it directly - hence the PUA and MGTOW movements.

Today, of course, the truth is starting to sink in with the philosopher kings of the manosphere. As Guys like Unca Bob will note - these movements aren't getting us what we want, and in some extreme cases, are actually harmful. My personal view is that they are excellent short term strategies to cope with the pain and sorrow that goes along with heart breakers such as a divorce. If you've been through the divorce court meat grinder - by all means, take some time off, hop on the motorcycle and Go Your Own Way. See the sights, see where the road goes. Or pack up the truck and head for the back country for some therapeutic fly fishing or hunting. Get away from women, get your head on straight and come back when you're ready. Or go the PUA route (but only with extraordinary caution) and keep any relationships light and casual. I am leery of that one; in today's feminized and faggotified sexual climate...caution is the word of the day: don't fuck it unless you are prepared to own it! False rape accusations, paternity suits...these are real world consequences for a quick roll in the hay.

Guys like Captain Capitalism recommend strategies such as 'minimalism' whereby you only own what you absolutely need, avoid debt and marriage like the plague, endure hard times with cheerful stoicism and do your best to 'enjoy the decline' of our faltering society. Hard to argue with that...but I'm gonna try.

Boys - if you want the 'good life' with a nice home, decent car and some absorbing hobbies ... you HAVE to be married. It's that simple. One income is no longer sufficient to cover all that without having to scrimp on something. Even with two incomes your first few years of home ownership will mean poverty as you slowly build up equity, savings, and capital. This is normal and good; you are investing time, money and effort today for a better life tomorrow. It's healthy and wholesome but it's tough too. Deal with it - because the payoff IS there. You're going to need a good woman - and THIS IS WHERE THE MANOSPHERE WILL LET YOU DOWN.

90% of the manosphere is focused - heart and soul - on the source of our problems with women: the modern liberal femcunt. We are talking about the sluts, the fat ugly feminists, the man-hating sexually disturbed lesbians,  the socialists, etc etc. While there is no doubt such women are the causes of epidemic divorce stats - obsessing over them and developing strategies to deal with them are not the way forward. Blogger Vox Day knows all about degenerate women and how to game them...but nothing about manhood. My thoughts are that you need to do your homework up front and avoid the modern feral woman altogether. They aren't worth your time, they never will be and any investment of time or effort in them will probably only end up hurting you.

A lucrative, classical marriage is a good deal for men and women because you can combine incomes and divide labour. That requires a true partnership with a woman smart and mature enough to understand the benefits of making sacrifices and investments today for pay offs tomorrow. There's still a lot of them around in spite of the dismal divorce stats. Your job is to find one for yourself and it won't be easy - these women aren't stupid, they know what they're worth and they will not give themselves to a man that can't reciprocate. When you shop for a woman you are not looking for the selfish, bratty harridan like your baby boomer mother - you are looking for the warm, tough woman that your grandmother or great grandmother was. My grandmother, for example - was a financial wizard. She always smelled like fine leather and perfume, never had a hair out of place, and could spit shine her house in an hour or less and still have time to play with us kids. She and her siblings found themselves on the street in the middle of the Depression and she learned life's lessons the hardest way possible - and thrived. You can too. She was a remarkable, powerful woman that today's feminists can only dream about emulating.

A classical good marriage comes from a classical good courtship. My scholarly recommendations would be to keep sex and expensive dates off the table to start. Those are only for the most serious candidates whom you are seriously considering marriage with. Again - this is not prudishness - it is just common sense caution. A failed relationship with the wrong woman carries huge consequences. Hell hath no fury and all that...

So what do ya do if the fine restaurants and night clubs are out?  For us, after our shotgun wedding we never had much money...but we finally had time for a good courtship! (We got things backwards and managed to prevail in spite of it). We listened to music and watched TV together. If time permitted we baked bread on Sundays from scratch. We brewed wine and beer. We went for coffees. We rode bicycles and got into running. We played board games and cards. We went camping a lot. My girl took me shopping at the grocery store for our dinner-dates and tried to teach me to cook. The purpose of the courtship is to prove to each other that you are worthy of each other, that you can be as happy out of the sack as in it, and that you can enjoy similar activities together. There are no power games or head games like the manospherians and feminists advocate - you are both adults, and any relationship you arrive at has to be good for both of you. Welcome chaperones to start, they will add to the fun and can be a useful witness if you accidentally come across a gold digger that decides you raped her 7 years from now.

That is my two cents: A real man NEEDS a real woman. It goes the other way too - so if you are acting like some woman-hating know what you gotta do.

Take care of yourselves and have a good Sunday.

Friday, 28 August 2015

I Have Committed Aviation

And May God Have Mercy On My Soul.

The fact is that He already has. My first foray into the fine art of recreational aviation was with one of these:

That machine is a lot fancier than my beloved Turd Bird. That one looks to be sporting a serious Rotax 912 aviation engine whereas mine had a crappy two stroke Rotax 503 snowmobile engine. Arrogance and pride were other sins I committed, for I grew up with dirt bikes, snowmobiles, ATV's and boats...and these machines are NOT anything like those other ones. The problem isn't that they are unsafe; in the hands of a knowledgeable pilot they are no more dangerous than your average motorcycle. The problem is the learning curve: it's straight up, and you can get into fatal trouble without even knowing it. Your car can run (and run well) with one or several loose bolts. A loose bolt on an ultralight can kill you. I was a low time pilot with hardly any experience when my engine crapped out on climb out. When that happens you land on whatever is in front of you. For me, the choice was either a sewage lagoon or a standing crop of canola.

I chose the canola.

I hauled in my control bar to descend and pick up airspeed and controllability - and powered into that canola with every last ounce of kinetic energy I had! I still remember the horizon going round and round as I summersaulted the machine about three times. When I crawled out from under the wreckage my machine was a ruin - but I was totally, and completely unscathed. The old ego took a chit kickin' and my pride and heart were broken...and the local pros did their best to help out. "Everyone crashes in this game, Filthie. EVERYONE. What you did there was a text-book controlled crash, and you walked away! Call it a win and smile!"

See that control bar the pilot in the pic is using to fly the bird? That is lightweight chrome moly steel tubing. The one on my machine bent around my chest on impact and as God is my witness (and protector) - I didn't have a bruise or a scratch to show for it. I took this as a gentle warning that He didn't want to share his heavenly skies with me, so I thanked Him for his patience and stepped out of the game. 

Aviation for me is like sailing for others. A part of my soul still longs for the skies and always will. So it was that God took pity on me again and I bumped into some old farts I knew in front of a hobby shop. The result?

I was with one of my younger friends - call him a squib-fart because he is not old enough to be an old fart yet. The old farts introduced us to RC aircraft - and we were both lost, heart and soul. Those are crappy nitro-powered trainer aircraft we are flying. You would think this is a relaxing sport and for most it is...but when I am flying I am right back in that ultralight aircraft. My heart begins to jack-hammer, my breathing comes in gasps and for me, the whole shooting match is an exercise in controlled terror. I'm not as good at it in my old age, and I know this is an unnatural and unhealthy reaction to something that should be fun and wholesome. I am so strongly tempted to quit, but I will not be craven. I dunno what it is - I can fly the Crapcopter with aplomb - but these fixed wings? My reactions, by the way, are not unique. There is a pucker factor involved here as those planes of ours are $300.00 used. Some of the jets that fly at our field are $15,000.00 and up! You crash one of those - and you are out some serious money! By contrast, my young friend there is all over these things and is a product of the XBOX generation. He is doing loops and rolls and is bored with the trainer and ready to move into a scale warbird or maybe a slasher aerobat.

If you are a retired old fart looking for something to do that will keep your hands busy, off the street and out of jail - you might want to look into this yourself. If you are a father looking for something educational that will absorb you and your kid - this kind of thing would be an excellent father and son effort. The old farts and vets are very protective and appreciative of new fliers and the ones at our cub will treat you like a king. I suspect the other clubs are much the same.

There's a couple airshows every month that are as exciting and fun as the real ones - and some involve real drama. This P47 Thunderbolt is Tar Heel Hal. He flew his first maiden flight at our field a couple weekends back. There is well over $1000.00 tied up in this model so the owner handed the controls over to one of our best pilots to wring out. It was a good thing he did - Hal's engine crapped out the same way mine did all those years ago in the flex-wing ultralight - but thanks to some skillful airmanship the bird was brought down in one piece. For the life of me I do not understand it. We have reliable two cycle engines that will power a skidoo for as long as you want to take care of it and do the maintenance. We have two cycle weed wacker engines that can knock down weeds all day long...but can't last 10 minutes in a model airplane application. What's up with that?
So it is that I have confessed my sins. God has had mercy on me and has actually given me some wonderful hobbies - and for that I am grateful. May you turn your sins into healthy hobbies too - and have a great weekend to do it in!

Wednesday, 26 August 2015

The Hugo Awards: Endarkenment


I've been following the tempest in the teapot for awhile now - the battle for the Hugo Awards in Science Fiction. I won't go over it; in a nutshell, the genre is pretty much locked up by leftist/liberal/progressive scum. We're talking about the elderly hippies, the young men with bigger boobs than the gals, the homosexuals, and the fat ugly shrews with their hair dyed in all the frooty colours of the rainbow. A few have turned out to be full blown pedos. I won't get into it, as you would expect the whole thing is childish as hell.. but in a nutshell, SF has turned into a refuge for these troubled and unwholesome people. The books they write are basically long, boring, sanctimonious lectures on progressive social justice. Of course, anyone with a triple digit IQ can't read that dreck and the sales have gone into the toilet. I myself gave up on SF way back in the mid-90's. I was turned of by the genetically enhanced faggot in space, or stories featuring lesbian time travellers, or stories that portrayed the women as strong and independent and the men as weaklings. Shit like this wins Hugo awards and today it serves as a red flag for books that a scholarly gentleman is better off to avoid.

A few men and women that resented the stranglehold the SJW's had on SF rose up and tried to do something about it. They wanted to see a few Hugo awards go to people that actually wrote good stories and did good work - and of course...they got their asses kicked.

I like Brad. Never met him but the guy is laid right back, wants everyone to have a say, wants everyone to get a fair shake, and will live and let live. He wants to expand the genre, bring in new readers and writers and make it more fun for the fans - and the queers, the social justice warriors, and the feminist fatties tarred and feathered him for his troubles. He was called a racist (I hear his wife is black), he was insulted, libelled and slandered and all the while he was scrupulously courteous, polite and restrained in return. He now sits among he wreckage of his efforts and wonders what the hell happened and what he did to generate such utter hatred.

Brad is a younger fella so he doesn't understand what happened to him. Most men his age won't. They were indoctrinated since birth that you can't judge people by their looks, that there is no relationship between homosexuality and other self destructive behaviours, that all viewpoints were respectable and should be respected, that everyone is equal and nobody is special, that everyone is special and beautiful in their own way.

And yet, anyone five or ten years older can look at this and see exactly how it happened and why. For in my days growing up in the 60s and 70s...we regarded homosexuals as unhealthy and sexually disturbed people. We loathed the socialist parasite. We avoided the man hating females and laughed at the ditzy feminists. In those days, we had good science fiction, the workplace was productive and healthy and a place you wanted to be, and the SJW types kept their noses out of the affairs of the adults. We discriminated against depravity, indolence, incompetence and other attributes that the SJW's have come to celebrate. I coulda told Brad this was gonna happen years ago. SF didn't get this bad because of a few rotten appes; that whole damned apple cart is rotten from the top down, and guys like Brad are the excpetion in SF - not the rule.

Brad has written off the effort to reclaim the Hugos and I don't blame him. The important thing now is to get back in the game and distance the good from the bad. Reward the good authors: buy their books and recommend them to others. Pop by their blogs and pay them a compliment. Likewise - punish the slobs. I won't buy another book from Tor after one of their trained zippers started calling those that disagreed with her - fascists. (How original). I won't buy a book written by John Scalzi. You wanna dress up in drag and come out for the queers, Johnny? Fine - but to me you are only a dancing monkey and if you don't entertain me, I won't put a coin in your cup. Stephen King spent the last novel I read shitting on gun owners. Fuck him too. It's a free country - those guys can choose their actions and choose their words - but as a customer I have the final say on consequences.

At the end of the day the SJW's are bullies - and I don't like bullies. Drop by Brad's blog, pay your respects, and pick up a copy of Chaplain's War if you get the chance. I am just finishing it and it is classic SF and a pile of fun. If you see a current non-SJW SF book or novel that is worth reading let me know. I am a voracious reader... and pickins have been slim for a long, long time.

Keep yer stick on the ice.

Monday, 24 August 2015

The Manosphere

I have stood aside and watched the battle of the sexes right from the start.

It started with first wave feminism and in its day it had merit. Unscrupulous men could and did treat women like dirt and there was no recourse for them in the workplace, in the home or even out on the street. As men, it is our duty to protect women from adversity whenever possible and we had literally shat the bed on the issue in those days. The Battle of the Sexes had begun. My grandmother was a first wave feminist and in those days she had grounds for her views.

Second wave feminism hit the streets in the early 70's with Billy Jean King. The Battle Of The Sexes was heating up and the seeds of our destruction were laid. Things started getting stupid. Every second feminist ass hat was clucking about how women were so much better than men at pretty much everything. They made better bosses because they worked through consensus, they handled stress better, they could supposedly think when men became emotional and lost their shit. I heard it all. And, we wrongfully kept our mouths shut when the inevitable happened: women started burning out in the workplace. They developed stress and heart problems. Obesity and lung/heart problems soared as they started to smoke and drink more. They started suffering the same problems men had. We as men let them get away with it and shouldn't have; for although patriarchy was dead...chivalry was still alive and kicking.

Today the battle of the sexes has devolved into all out war. Judging from the divorce stats 50% of all north American women are now bat shit crazy and unfit to be wives. If they can't be good wives it follows that they can't be good mothers either. These unfortunate women are sluts, or ugly lesbians, or shrews and there is no nice way to say it or sugar coat it...and we live in fear of them. Uncle Bob said it best, I believe, when he noted that women are fascists and socialists by nature...and lesser women can't seem to rise above it. So it is that we have toxic workplaces where some fat, obese she-twink can walk into a room and proclaim that men suck...and if anyone looks at her sideways they lose their jobs. No fault divorce allows them to rape their former men in divorce court and cash in. Nowadays all bets on marriage are off and men are avoiding it like the plague.

As our women devolved us guys started talking and comparing notes among ourselves on the internet - the only really safe place to do so (for now).  There are about three bloggers that I read on the subject for vastly different reasons. We'll start with Captain Capitalism - he's pretty much a good kid (now in his 40's I believe) that went through the same meat grinder I did 10 years earlier. Went to school, paid through the nose for it, got out and found no jobs...and to make it worse it sounds like he went through the meat grinder with women. (Thankfully I didn't have to contend with that). He sells common sense, pushes self improvement and - for the most part you can believe what he says. He may not handle the modern woman well - but who does?

Uncle Bob over at the Treehouse is a kindred spirit of sorts. He is an old world man like Yours Truly, but he has always had a way with women whereas I have not. (I lucked out in spite of that, but will be in deep trouble if my wife ever re-gains her senses of sight and smell! HAR HAR HAR!). Bob understands the shortcomings of old world women but I think he misses the boat on these new shit eatin' shrieking shrews that are always offended, can never find a man, and are never happy with men or themselves. He isn't wrong, in my much as he is obsolete. I know I'M obsolete; and I am probably 10 years younger than he is. He correctly notes that the Manosphere has a few poseurs that are handing out very bad advice to young men and we pretty much agree on which ones too. Bob is on the Steamer roll of honour too.

Which brings us to Vox Day. Don't get me wrong - I love Vox, he is capable of scathing wit, spectacular commentary and devastating snark. The commentary can be spectacular too! Ol' Voxxie does not understand manhood and nor do his fan boys. He's a victim of the battle of the sexes and being the spoiled son of rich parents doesn't help. He's co-opted the Greek alphabet to class and characterize men from Alpha to Zeta.... and it's all rubbish of course, I got banned from his site when I pointed out that by his own definitions, his own son was a 'gamma male' - a supposed class of male that he holds in utter contempt. Vox DOES understand the modern woman though, maybe as well as Captain Capitalism and better than crusty old farts like me and Bob. He knows how they think, he can predict their behaviour patterns AND IT DRIVES WOMEN NUTS. He has other traits that makes the social justice warriors foam with rage: he's ruthlessly honest about issues of race, gender, faith and political correctness. He is still a boy but one day - if somebody doesn't kill him first - he will be a fine man.

Where does this all end? I dunno. As Aurini (another Manospherian) notes - anything that hurts one gender ultimately hurts them both. Times shape us too. My grandmother found herself out on the street, trying to raise herself and her siblings at the height of the Depression. She was 12. She was truly a powerful woman that today's bitch feminists can only dream of being. She always looked like a million bucks, she smelled of fine leather and perfume and she cared about the men in her life.

By contrast, my daughter is a militant lesbian shrew, with no ambition, no morals and no real work ethic. Like many Gen Y's...she is drifting through life without purpose, without goals and cares only for herself...and maybe her girlfriend who has some serious screws loose as well. She shamelessly uses feminism and homosexuality to bully people even when it isn't appropriate. There is no comparison between the two women, there is only contrast. I could talk to my grandmother about anything.... whereas I haven't spoken to my daughter in 5 years and don't even know if she is alive or dead. You can't build a family on that - and I strongly doubt you can build a community or a nation on it either.

The Manosphere is undoubtedly a poisonous toxin. But then - so is chemotherapy. If you are fortunate to have a good woman hold her close and never let her go. The alternative is too ghastly to contemplate.

Friday, 21 August 2015

Range Notes: The PDW

I have always loved the so-called 'PDW'... which, for you non-gun-geeks, is an acronym for Personal Defense Weapon. In essence these guns are short, snubby and designed to be portable and transportable and easily deployed by people in vehicles or extremely cramped spaces. The consensus on maximum intended range seems to be about 50 yards.

My personal favourite in this genre is the elusive HK MP7:
It seems to be more a new and improved Uzi more than anything else. They usually carry electronic holographic sights and it fires an oddball 4.6x30mm round that can supposedly defeat most common body armour. Why does a grumpy stubfart and gun club duffer like Yours Truly need a gun like this? Because fuck you, that's why! HAR HAR HAR!!! I just think they're cool and would be fun to play with at the range. There are a couple of problems with that, though:

a. HK does not sell their cooler guns to civilians (which is probably a good idea when it comes to angry and twisted guys like me). I actually DID see one of these for sale over on the Gunnutz once, years ago...and it was up for $13,000.00!

b. On top of that, ammo and reloadable brass could be a problem sadly I will probably never get to handle one of these. In a typically sour-grapes fashion I wrote this whole issue off and comforted myself with the thought that I have my hands FULL with my other guns which run from black powder to black rifles. Who needs another money pit?

A couple weeks ago I was goofing off down at the indoor range when the AR15 version of the PDW caught my eye. The damn thing looked so cool and I began to get the dreaded gun fever again. I dragged myself out of the store and angrily told myself to forget about it.

But I could not.

The next day I pushed my way into the store, pointed at the gun, and told the gun counter guy to shut up and take my money!!!

That's a Black Rain boutique rifle. It has a Zeiss 3x9 on it that will be replaced by a proper combat optic once I have found which ammo it likes to eat. My first efforts with it were absolutely dismal. I was shooting some heavy 77 grainers that I had made for a match gun years before and the little snubbie sprayed them all over hell's half acre. I set it down in disgust and said "I hate this gun!"

But being a science and technical guy bade me to act the part. The holy and hallowed Scientific Method must be followed!!! So I started buying different types of ammo to run through it. I bought some Fiocchi 55 grain factory loads - and the improvement was immediate and profound.

A called flyer that opened up the group to about 2-1/8". Not bad for a pocket rifle with a 7-1/2" barrel, eh? So I tried again, this time shooting off my hind feet:

I had to aim at the top of the paper to belly flop some of the rounds in the black - and got this group at 3-1/8".  3 in the black, two at 6 o'clock.

I have heard some of the self proclaimed gun gurus and experts grump that these things are really no better than pistols. They are better left in the hands of people who don't normally carry guns. Ordinarily I dismiss the gas bags out of hand...but unfortunately, sometimes the Scientific Method has to be applied to them too. My pistol is a Springfield Armoury National Match .45. (I think it is an overpriced shit house 1911 and I'm kicking myself now for not buying the Les Baer gun) - but whatever! The point is it is a pistol of average performance that any squaddie might pull from the armoury. Here is 5 shots fired off the bags with the caveat that I suck at bench rest shooting with pistols. (Come to think of it I suck at all other disciplines of marksmanship as well, HAR HAR HAR! Hey, Bub - this range report is worth exactly what you paid for it!). In any event, 5 shots, ammo is 200 gr. hand loaded JHP conicals:

Again, a called flyer opens that group up to about 6-1/2".  The rest are in about a 4" group, and I think accuracy would probably improve with the classic 230 gr. round nose bullets. I will try those later. Off the bags the PDW wins hands down.
Offhand, off my hind feet, 5 rounds again from the pistol at 50m:
Sorry for the crappy cell phone pics, BTW...all but one missed the paper - but you can see where they hit the wood. I estimate that group came in at around 5-1/2". I'm actually glad I did this - this pistol shoots dead on at 20m and if I do my part all the shots easily fall within the black bullseye. The PDW wins again, hands down.
The last word?
There is no denying the 'cool factor' of the PDW. Despite the accuracy...this gun is a world of fun to shoot! I know I'm doing it wrong, I know the other gun geeks will give me a wedgie and beat me up for it...but I just may leave the big Zeiss scope on it! It seems to like lighter bullets. Oh...and the muzzle blast. This is a rude little gun to shoot. You may think as I did that this would be a great gun for a youngster or the little lady. The ergonomics are great...but the muzzle blast on these guns will turn a novice into a flinching idiot. This is not a gun for the beginner. They will be better served by the classic M4 carbine or even the full length service rifle. As far as Black Rain Ordnance goes...? I don't buy into the hype and hoopla of boutique AR15's. Even Bubba can put them together in his basement and produce a functional gun. BUT - I have heard of people having reliability issues when building their own snubbies, and if they do something stupid and the gun fails or doesn't work - they're screwed. If I have problems with the gun I take it back, the dealer evaluates it and either gives me another one or the gun goes back to Black Rain for warranty work. At least I have back up. As far as the economics of building your own go...once you buy the tools and the parts you are pretty much up around the price of buying the gun from the factory. You would have to build a couple guns to make it pay and ignore the cost of your time. A lot of people like to say building your own is the way to go, and they have had success with it...but some have had problems too. That's just my assessment, your mileage may vary. I am a shooter and not a tinkerer, so I buy.
Shoot straight, keep those score cards honest - and we'll see ya at the range. Have a great weekend.

Wednesday, 19 August 2015

The Vibrant And Diverse Workplace

About three years ago The Crack (my boss at work) was ecstatic. "Hey Filthie," says he, "I finally managed to hire someone for the shipper/receiver position out back! She starts tomorrow!" Back then we were still friends and got along for the most part.

The next morning I met "Danny". Danny was a butch militant lesbian that was about 5'6" and tipped the scales at (at least) 200 lbs. Being older and wiser I was able to stifle myself and politely introduce myself and make small talk while maintaining a politically correct and professional exterior. After the introductions, I graciously made my exit and went up front to have a few words with The Crack.

I sat down, disrespectfully put my feet up on his desk and he pushed them off. "Fuggoff, Filthie, I'm busy..." he says. So I tell him. "You're an idiot, you know. You just hired a sexually disturbed degenerate, and you're not only going to have to fire her in 6 months... She'll probably sue you when you do."

The Crack fairly explodes with politically correct indignation! He tells me to shut my hole, or he would write me up for discrimination and misconduct. The office girls start shrieking that I am a great big fat hatey homophobic bigot. And for myself, I just sat in the middle of the maelstrom and basked in the outrage and mayhem. I tell them all with a grin, "You'll be sorry!" and take off to harass my customers amidst a hail of insults and recrimination. I think some dung and rotten vegetables were thrown as well during my hasty exit! HAR HAR HAR!

Fast forward 6 months. One sunny morning the young office girl comes in and puts some paper work on my desk. "Can you run these out to Danny when you have a minute?" Sure, says I. I was absorbed in my own work and thought nothing of it. 20 minutes later the older one comes in with some paper work as well, so I gather up the lot, go out back to do some equipment and test checks, perform some errands - and drop the paperwork off on our vibrant and diverse lesbian shipper.

Later on in the morning the same thing happens again. I grumble to myself that these damn women should take their own bloody paperwork back to Danny - but do it myself because I was headed out there anyways.

After lunch the same thing happens again.  The file girl comes in and furtively tries to put more paperwork for Danny on my desk. "Can you run these out to Danny please?"

No, I says. "Please," she begs. Definitely not says I... And she begins to cry! Now I'm not only suspicious, but mad too! "Out with it!" I roared, "What in hell is going on with you and Danny?"
The older office lady comes barging in, closes the door to my office and quietly explains things.

It turns out that when the girls go back to drop off paperwork on Danny, she leers at them, cat calls and makes sexually inappropriate comments! A couple of times she even grabbed and groped the younger gal!  HAR HAR HAR! I start busting a gut laughing, the file girl starts sobbing at the top of her lungs, and the next thing ya know, The Crack is in my office demanding an explanation for the tears, anger and my laughter. So finally,The Crack shoos the women out, closes the door and glares at me like it's all my fault!

"What are you going to do about this, Filthie?" he demands. I politely remind him that he hired Danny, she is his problem and he is the manager. So he starts whining that I get along with Danny better than anyone else in the company (and rudely speculates that it's probably because we are both sexual perverts and pigs) and that it would be a real boost to the team if I would go back, unofficially explain the problem to Danny and correct it - and then we could hopefully sweep the whole damned mess under the rug. It was true enough: my own daughter is an angry, disturbed lesbian with demons of her own so I did go out of my way to work with Danny - I wanted to try and get a better grip on how lesbos think and what motivates them. I foolishly figured a more informed viewpoint might prove useful with my own daughter.  (It didn't, of course, but at least the effort was made). Unfortunately, it also resulted in the fact that I was the closest thing Danny had for a friend in the workplace.

So I went out back, took Danny aside and told it as it was - without sugar coating it. She had to stop harassing the women, she had to keep her hands to herself and she had to watch her mouth. Of course, the response was rage. Danny angrily told me to FOAD; so I explained that everything I said was unofficial and off the record, and told her that if a man had done what she had - he would have gotten fired and no bones about it! She then made a point of bringing up Workopolis on her computer and proceeded to ignore me as she perused the want ads. What can you do but shrug? Danny was basically a clumsy mockery or imitation of a man and like most lesbians of that type... and she had some serious chips on her shoulders. She had kids and personal problems (a son had recently run away from home). Ugh - I didn't want to know or even think about that.

A couple weeks later a truck driver came in to deliver a load and got in a fist fight with Danny. I still don't know how they managed it - the trucker was a dark skinned vibrant that couldn't even speak do you get in a fight with somebody like that?  We never figured it out but it was plain to see for everyone...Danny had to go. I refused, point blank, when The Crack ordered me to do the deed. The stupid bastard ended up firing Danny about two weeks before Christmas. The timing couldn't have been worse, and I had to give Danny a shoulder to cry on while she tried to get her shit together after getting the news. It was probably the lowest point of my career with this company. I lost any remaining respect for The Crack that day, he just can't seem to handle people with any degree of class. Sure enough, Danny later filed a lawsuit against The Crack for employee harassment and discrimination. I never learned what happened with that and to this day, I don't want to know either.

It is my contention that the social justice warriors can collectively go fuck themselves. Yes, you CAN so often judge people by their looks. Yes, you can DEFINITELY judge them by their actions. Stereotypes are what they are, but they arise for a reason. And NO, all people are NOT created equal. I hope and pray Danny eventually finds a place to rest her spirit and soul. I personally don't think that homosexuality is going to help with that, and I know that political correctness and patronizing won't either. Unfortunately I don't have any answers either.

I refuse to adopt the progressive politics and ideologies required to invert ethics, morality and common sense in order to accept deviancy, degeneracy and mediocrity. Bringing these things into the family has pretty much destroyed those that do - it certainly did with mine. Those office girls that banded together to call me a homophobic bigot didn't even see the irony when I had to go back and tell a homosexual masher to keep her lusts to herself.

It is my new mission: I shall swim or tread the tides of history and ignore the pains of the idiocracy in which I live. I will no longer try to save people from themselves - they simply aren't worth the effort. All that matters to me is my place in the field, at the firing line at the rod and gun club, and my duties at the airfield. I have found my peace and truth - and may you find yours, wherever it is.

Monday, 17 August 2015

Life In The Slow Lane


First day back at work. Email inbox full and over flowing. Urgent messages. GAH.  Can open...worms everywhere... and par for the course I guess. I suppose that is the price you pay for a week on the motorcycle, with no destination and no real plan. How I wish I could have done this thirty years ago.

Last year whilst ambling about we came across the Leitch Collieries along the Crowsnest Pass in southern Alberta. Constraints of time and schedule precluded a stop at the time, so I put it on my list for this year. As I get older I find myself taking greater interest in our ancestors and history and if I'm not careful I may turn into a full blown chit house historian, HAR HAR HAR!

It's about a 6~7 hour motorcycle ride from Castello Di La Filthie. When I'm in this area I like to rent a small cabin on a dude ranch that ordinarily caters to city slickers and equestrians. It's a bloody long haul for an old fart, even on a luxury sled like Inferno. This one hides in a dip of a ravine just off the highway. The front yard is full of gophers and nosey deer drop in from time to time. Our ancestors in the sod buster days would have considered this luxury accommodation - and I do too, but for far different reasons.


Sometimes I am struck by how beautiful my lady is. She is at her prettiest when she's not aware that she is being watched and admired.

At the interpretive history site the ruins below are pretty much all that is left of the old Leitch coal operations. This was the powerhouse and machine shop and in its day it was on the edge of the frontier. It takes about a half a day to wander the site, read the material and absorb how the operation worked, and the histories of the people involved.

Below are the ruins of the mansion of the coal tycoons that owned the operation. The picture is deceiving - I think this place was about the same size as my house and half again. Not bad, but consider that the servants lived in the bottom floor and a family of five on the upper floor...and most of the miners and their families lived in shacks! Those pillars supported a wooden verandah that encircled the front three quarters of their home.
There's a whole pile of history here alone, and more in the nearby towns of Blairmoore and Bellevue. In town I ran into some that would challenge my supremacy on the road and was happy that there was no need for a show of force. ;)

How cool is that? His n' hers trikes? I was exchanging good natured insults with the old fella (actually an exchange between two grumpy old men I suppose) when his lady walked up, regally saddled up...and left us grumping at each other on the sides of the road! HAR HAR HAR! I wished him well as he scrambled to crank the engine and take after his departing wife.

It was a good week and pretty laid back but there was a soft sorrow in it as well. As we tooled about southern Alberta and worked our way home out of the foothills I saw the wind farms. No grain elevators anymore, really. And the old abandoned buildings that were everywhere when I was a kid? They are all gone - pushed over, bulldozed and cleared away. The small rural towns are gone, replaced by growing communities on the edge of full blown urban sprawl. Drumheller is turning into Disneyland for dinosaurs complete with hordes of screaming kids, hotels, and chain restaurants. Old Alberta is as gone and as dead as the ruins at the Leitch Collieries. I think I know the sorrow of the American Indians that got moved into reservations, lost the herds of buffalo and had to listen to trains hooting and whistling in the night. What will this place become when I am just a distant memory like the miners at the collieries?

Bah - such morose thoughts. My moral and intellectual superiors don't trouble themselves with such foolishness and prefer to live in the moment. When I get back from holidays I am always happy to pick them up from the kennel and bring them home.

We're back from Sgt. Filthie's Magical History Tour and all is well. Enjoy what's left of the summer.

Thursday, 6 August 2015

Drone War

I don't link to other bloggers and I suppose I should - and will if any should ask it...but one of my favourites is Vox Day. The man is a nitro-powered 24 mega-ton weapons grade arsehole and his biggest sin is that he is right - most of the time. I will give him part marks for this:

Apparently Vox thinks the moojies are going to target the drone operators and their families so they are all quitting in fright.

This non-Rotarian scribblarian posits that drone operators are quitting in droves because they are fighting a coward's war.

According to this Progressive Pied Paki Of Publishing the drone warriors are just so ashamed of themselves they are morally obligated to quit. Again - part marks.

I read a similar article years ago - this is nothing new - written by a journalist that ACTUALLY TALKED TO THE DRONE OPERATORS (Hello, McFly!) - and their main reason for quitting - is that it is a dead end job. Drone operators are incredibly specialized fighting men in an organization that relies on and rewards versatile individuals. None of their skills are transferable, their positions typically don't lead to advancement or promotion - so why bother? And sure - stupid people and liberals will ignore the tactical necessity of and condemn such warriors - but who cares what they think? Throw in the fact that all their operations are mostly classified and they will never be recognized for their work...why bother?

I love the drones. I love the machines, the technology, and I really love the fact that it turns the tables on these terrorist mutts in a real way: they could be sleeping in their mud hut in the furthest reaches of back-country Afghanistan - and still be blown to smithereens at any time, day or night, along with their friends and family. All of  a sudden, their holy war has gotten deeply personal. We need to step up the war on terror and increasing intake of trainees is a good sign. I could blow those sumitches away 8 hours a day by drone and sleep soundly at night.

Contrary to Vox, who thinks the Bad Guys are going to infiltrate and eliminate our drone operators, or intimidate their families...I just don't see it. That takes long term planning, flawless subterfuge, and is an obvious avenue of attack that can easily be blocked by The Good Guys. The fall out would be huge too - if moojies start selectively targeting American citizens like that - citizens will be picking up rifles and returning the favour, and Barak Obutthole and his leagions of law enforcement finks be damned.

I think the next step in terrorism will be to counter the drone threat by adapting and adopting the technology for themselves. Let us put this in perspective: Meet the Crap-O-Copter. This is a toy I built for myself to learn about electronic basics, radio, and eventually audio/video technologies:

Mine is the V Tail quadcopter in the back and my buddy built the tricopter up front. They are all plug and play; eventually they will carry cameras and possibly rudimentary telemetry and sensors. Just a side note - these would make for excellent father & son projects. They are short range propositions only - all the worry about being spied upon by toys like this are just so much hype - these things are run by cheap Chinese flight controllers that are buggy as hell, the cameras they carry aren't capable of any real resolution, and contrary to the horror stories put out by journalists and stupid people - they are basically overblown educational toys. They crash a lot, interference is a huge problem and you will not have to worry about dirty ol' Glenfilthie spying on you through the bathroom window any time soon. Some idiots on Youtube have sent these aloft to insane heights and lost control of them - and collision with passing aircraft or the wreckage falling on innocents below are about the only real credible threats these things pose today. 99.9% of the hobbyists out there are smarter than that.

But: what about strapping a kilo or two of semtex or C4 to one of these - and flying it into the Whitehouse? Or into some out-gassing politician while he pontificates, orates and bloviates on his soap box at some political function? I would posit that if some simian terrorist can wire up an IED - chances are he can assemble one of these too. At night you wouldn't even see them. How would you defend against them?

My main criticism of the War On Terror is that we haven't really fought it. In order to win it - we have to fight and WIN it. That means, in a nut shell, killing the moojies that need to be killed and threatening any that would support or sympathise with them. Not only must we kill the leaders - we must kill the followers, the enablers, the suppliers and the families and friends of terrorists as well. This is a war, after all. We have been admonished by liberals and pacifists for over 50 years now - to keep our hands to ourselves while they try to make peace with animals and savages. We have been to Iraq twice now and will probably have to take on Iran next. I don't think there is an easy way out of this. We are up against hard, ignorant and hateful men. The only way to make moslems behave is by fear or common sense - and since they can't handle the latter...the former will be the way to go in the days ahead.

Wednesday, 5 August 2015

The Third World

Is a desolate, fly blown shit hole because of the fucks that live there. Guys like this prick:

And now - they're coming here.

Meet Abu Al Fuk Nuk Al...okay, so I made that name up. This filthy piece of human sewage is actually Abu al-Miqdad al-Kindi (AKA Khalid bin Umar Batarfi) and he is a grand poobah of  Al Quieda. Apparently this monkey is yodelling about how terrorists need to step up their game against us heathens and infidels out west. What kind of animals would bow down to a mutt like this? Cripes - I wouldn't be surprised if the bugs and fleas that live in his beard don't jump ship and move to the camel's arse!

I think we need to step up our game against islam and admit these ignorant, stupid people aren't our friends. We are headed for race wars and no amount of political correctness is going to change that. You can't make peace with people that are trying to kill you.

If one of our drone warriors would be so kind as to shut this mutt up with a well placed Hellfire...I would sincerely appreciate it. Take out his entire village of mud hutters while you're at it. Tell the president I said it's alright if he bitches.