Bloggers In Pursuit Of The Wayback Machine

It must be the time of year. Fall always evokes a feeling of nostalgia in me and I wonder if some of the other bloated bloviating bloggers work the same way. The leaves change colour, then they start to fly and the message seems to be "Take a good look around, O Foolish Mortal, for Ye shall never be back this way again....". The year officially ends in winter but for me it is over in fall. Maybe it's a function of age - I find myself taking extra pains around my elders these days because I want to hold on to them. I was out shooting at the rod and gun club today, and asked about one of the other stubfarts I hadn't seen in forever...and got the bad news that he had passed on. Frowns went right across the firing line. We are starting to lose our elders at the club...and the pressure is on lazy buggers like me to step up and step into the shoes left by the elderly volunteers that are going over the Great Divide in larger numbers every year. The shoes are too big; I'll never fit into them!

Sometimes I wish there was a way to re-connect with our ancestors and I see some of my fellow stubfarts doing it with varying degrees of success.

Uncle Bob is trying to channel the spirit of our ancestors by reading old little girl's books, HAR HAR HAR!!!!  (Sorry, Bob. I will forever think of Little House On The Prairie as a book for little girls in elementary school. Up here in Canada I think Anne Of Green Gables was another favourite for young women). Even as a lad I found that the TV versions were liable to induce vomiting. Bob says Laura Ingalls wrote stuff of value to men and one day I may check it out if time permits. And I mean that - a recommendation by Uncle Bob is a serious endorsement!

BW has had a little more success in my opinion. He has gone one better than the mad scientists of Hollywood with their obsolete uranium isotope flux capacitors - I am convinced he can slip in between dimensions to trump space as well as time. One day he's in southern Alberta and the next he's in Northern BC! That fella gets around and no bones about it! When he does arrive on historical scenes - bless his heart, he treads lightly and is no doubt welcomed by old ghosts everywhere. Not only that - he is a man of refined sensibilities and tastes - and a peerless art critic:

 

Arty The Art Seal Says: Art! Art! Art! THIS isn't Sparta! This is ALBERTA!!!!! I recognize these two Albertans and consider them old friends as do most travellers on Hwy. 21.



 

Bob Of The Jungle has his archaic books. BW has his dimension hopping motorcycle. They are worthy time travellers both - but it is time to look at another way of tripping the light years that divide us from our ancestors. Years ago I fell for the charms of shooting black powder firearms. They load slow. Burnt black powder smells like a wet fart. It's dirty. It's slow. It's inefficient.

 

It's wonderful.

 

Black powder geeks are a different stripe of cat than Uncle Bob, BW, and Yours Truly. They have been called "creative anachronists". Others call them eccentric loons (they aren't). I call them Retronauts. Bob and BW record and interpret history...but these guys LIVE it. They camp outdoors all year round using period correct equipment. They either make their equipment themselves or trade for it among other black powder geeks. Everything...everything...is made by hand. Yep - even the rifles:

 

 

When is the last time you saw beauty, art, heart and soul...in a gun?

 

Claude has a black powder forum dedicated to the intrepid Retronaut and I used to post at it years ago. The campfire is always stoked, somebody will always lend you a clay pipe if you've broken yours, and sometimes the BS flies faster (and hits harder) than bullets! There were a couple old farts there that drove me nuts: they were extraordinarily talented and gifted men, but modest to the point that they drove me mad. Their favourite trick? One of  'em would make something like this:

 





 

 

 Those are powder flasks. They're made of presentation grade curly maple or burl, and flawlessly scrimshawed - all by hand.  The skills that go into making one of these take DECADES to acquire. And - may God rot their balls, they would post a pic of inspired art like this and say "Here's a piece of crap I cranked out this weekend....". Stop and think about this for a second; imagine: you have a blank of flawless curly maple sitting in your hands right now. God Almighty spent close to a century, maybe more, creating that piece of wood in your hands. You cannot afford a mistake. You must work that wood with all the skill God gave YOU - to pay homage to our ancestors. It's a pile of responsibility, when you think of it. Womenfolk titter behind their hands as they laugh at us fellas as we sulk in our man-caves, unaware of the tests and tribulations posed to us - by a simple block of wood.

That is not to say that women are incapable of understanding the Wayback Machine or the journey - many of them definitely can - and the best of the best Retronauts can be found at Contemporary Makers!

Onto the blogroll they go, to take honoured positions by Bob and BW! If you're feeling pensive and blue as we head into the winter with long nights and short, cold days, the artisans at Contemporary Makers might warm your soul.

Hope ya had a great weekend lads.

 





Our Women Are Nuts

It's all fun and games right up until some moslem monkey and his 18 brothers are sliding it up some idiot feminist's arse.

Yannow I sit back and look at the carnage women have wreaked in the workplace both in Canada and in the US. Productivity has dived. Profit margins have dived. Wages and salaries have dived.

Office politics are now toxic in most corporations. One quarter of our women are on anti-depressants and driving the other 3/4 of their peers nuts with their bullshit and drama. The church, family and community is collapsing everywhere.

And now, we want to put these same women responsible for all that - on the battlefield where, if they fail (or when they fail) - they will be at the mercy of some of the worst scum of the earth. These are grown adults pushing this chit too!

It seems to me that when humans get together their collective IQ drops by at least 50%. That is an accomplishment in the military.

This can only end one way, chickie. Remember - when you're getting reemed on Youtube by a mob of ISIL simians...you asked for it. But there I go...blaming the victim !!!!

Have a good weekend y'all.

Pedophilia, Right On Schedule...

 

Herbert The Pervert Reads Salon

Like most people I originally was willing to at least listen to the argument for homosexuality. I would have conceded that they had the right to the privacy of their own bedrooms and maybe some of the rights and freedoms regular couples had. Like most folks I wanted the queers to get a fair shake.

But when they got out of the closet and into the mainstream I lost all respect for them and their liberal enablers. They attacked the church. They attacked the freedom of speech. The queers started pounding on the doors of the courtrooms, the washrooms, the boardrooms...and as much as they've tried to deny it - they are trying to push their way into classrooms where they will attack children the same way they've attacked the church and conservatives. Pedophilia is part and parcel of the gay agenda.

Anyone with a triple digit IQ could have seen it coming. Homosexuality is firmly linked to pedophilia; and any number of liberal dancing monkeys will hop up and down in rage to deny it...or at least...they used to. Today, the turd brained women of Salon are no longer bothering with evasions and denials. Get your barf bags out:

http://www.salon.com/2015/09/21/im_a_pedophile_but_not_a_monster/


Here we go again with the sympathy card:  The poor and downtrodden pervert, wrongfully shamed and ridiculed by an ignorant, hateful and bigoted society, blah blah blah blah.....BLAAAAAUUUUUUUHGGHGHGH!!!

 

You've heard this one before, folks...don't drink the koolaid...

 

I shouldn't have posted the link to those liberal harridans...but the writing is on the wall folks. My own daughter is gay. If it were only homosexuality - I would hold my nose and tolerate it. But homosexuality isn't just about sex - only an idiot or someone misinformed thinks so. It is part of a filthy agenda pushed by some seriously horrible people on the rest of us that should know better. There are all kinds of very harmful and self destructive behaviour patterns that go along with homosexuality and liberalism and I am finished trying to pretend otherwise.

 

I don't care what stupid people think. I don't care how many of them line up in a row to sing the praises of homosexuality and pedophilia. If I see some butt blasting SOB attacking a child...I will not be responsible for my actions. This is one liberal social experiment that needs to be shoved up the orifice it came out of.

 

UPDATE:

 

Yeah...what he said:

 

http://goldengeesenews.blogspot.ca/2013/01/morals-barbecue-grill-assembly.html

I Will Not Work For Women, Nor Will I Vote For Them Part 1

Present company excepted, of course.

 

Your Majesty - I humbly beg for your forgivness for what follows

 

 

I used to be something of a chit house feminist I suppose. I believe in equal pay for equal work. I believe that if a woman or a visible minority can do the job they should have a crack at it. That's all about fairness I suppose - which has since been perverted into (hork, spit) - social justice - and I have had enough of it.

 

Uncle Bob over at the Treehouse said it best when he pointed out that women are fascists and socialists by nature - and the vast majority of them do not have the ability to rise above it. I agree with this position although I did not arrive at it easily. The two ladies above are the exception that prove the rule. Maggie was one hell of a woman and to be quite honest - I'm surprised Old Blightey could honestly produce a woman like that. And Her Majesty - I am a Royalist and proud to be so... she is an old world woman that simply doesn't exist anymore.

 

I've heard it called 'The Dark Enlightenment'. An apt name - it evokes images of Darth Vader, the Devil and Evil Incarnate. Be that as it may - I have gone over to the Dark Side and it is my intent to stay there. All men may be equal under the law, but they are not created equal. Nor are men and women equal - they are very different and every day we pretend otherwise - things get a little worse.

 

It was the early 90's in Edmonton Alberta when I was a young man just hitting the job market. The oil boom had gone bust. The socialists were in complete control of Canada with Pierre Elliot Turdo hammering the Alberta economy with the National Energy Program (basically taxing the hell out of the Albertan oil patch to fund pork for Quebec) - and this cankle-blossom as the Mayor of Edmonton:

 

 

 

Jan Reimer: Socialist Cunned Stunt

 

With the economy in tatters, and the feds taxing any opportunities in the Alberta economy to the hilt - this half witted harridan started going after local business in Edmonton the same way. For the adults here at the time, it was a time of deep recession. For us kids just hitting the job market? It was a full blown depression. Local youth unemployment was pegged at 25~35%. I got by, working unskilled part time jobs and juggling two or three of them to get anywhere fom 40~50 hours a week. That, in a time when local business were flipping the bird at Jan and her taxes and relocating in Calgary where they understood the value of a dollar and a working economy. This woman did more for the City of Calgary than she ever did for Edmonton.

 

Then came this goat faced train wreck:

 

 

A 'Conservative' Socialist - And Filthy Teacher's Union Shill

 

 

This woman should be doing time. Liberals and socialists don't do well in Alberta, and the teacher's unions were always at odds with the Premiere and provincial leadership because our former leaders insisted on icky stuff like financial accountability and responsibility from the public sector. In order to get the fat pay raises and cushy bennies those union slobs insist on - they needed a wringer in order to highjack the ruling Conservative Party. Enter Red Redford. The teachers union slobs all bought memberships in the Conservative Party, they all voted for Redford at the leadership convention...and instead of getting a Conservative leader, we got this hag. And of course the teacher's unions all got raises, the snivel servants made out like bandits, and who cares if this twat violated laws and rules to get it for them. She's a chit stain on Alberta politics and she was run out of office on a rail - leaving the most prosperous province with a deep deficit.

 

 

Surely Danielle could put an end to this streak of feminine flops?

 

Danielle Smith was everything Allison Redford was not: warm, soft spoken and restrained. This Wild Rose Party candidate made a run at the leadership but lost to Redford - largely because (in my opinion) that the Wild Rose Party was too new, untested - and many people had just voted conservative for so long that surely - Allison couldn't possibly be as bad as everyone said, right? Danielle started out with the Conservatives as I recall, and broke with them as the rot and incompetence started to infest the party. After her loss to Allison, she crossed the floor to go back to the conservatives - an act that was seen as betrayal by most of those that supported her - including Yours Truly. After years of this kind of idiocy, it was clear that the Conservatives weren't fit to rule. It was time to take out the trash. I am still at a loss to explain it - but Alberta doubled down on stupid by voting for this idiot!

 

 

This is the face of socialism in Alberta today

 

Traditionally, the NDP or New Democratic Party has been a party for the usual leftist howler monkeys: the sexually disturbed homosexuals that are offended by their own genitals or by yours, the champagne socialists, the fat, ugly single mothers trying to replace their ex-husbands with gov't, the career snivel servants and the usual union slobs. There is no doubt in my mind that this neurotic looking woman has the best of intentions - but she is off to a really, really bad start. Her MLA's and ministers are also cut from the NDP cloth: they're former cocktail waitresses, idealistic students, housewives (and fishwives), egg headed academics that couldn't hold a real job...and nobody that has ever had to be responsible and accountable for their actions. Her cabinet members are similar flunkies and activists from other provinces that couldn't get elected in their own ridings. With the oil boom gone bust - and this idiot fixing to tax everything that moves...I see the same dire times for Alberta that we had in the early 90's.  We have voted our way into these dire straights, led by women all the way...and they are setting the stage for a financial chit storm we will not vote our way out of.

 

 

That is just my local experience with female public leadership. Here is another stirring example of female empowerment:

 

 

Your little social experiment is over, Chickie. It failed.

 

That's Katherine Wynne. She's an elderly homosexual dyke that has put the fork into Canada's other remaining economic engine: she is the premiere of Ontario and now they are drowning in red ink too. She has defended gay sex ed in elementary schools, and turned a blind eye to the openly gay pedophiles that are pushing that agenda in the Toronto District School Board. She went silent as a church mouse when they got arrested for it too.

 

 

The plants will get the worst of it from this slovenly tree hugger

 

That's Elizabeth May, leader of the Green Party. She may or may not be drunk there. She has about two brain cells left and fully intends to kill them with booze. If she has her way industry in Canada will stop and we will all...we'll all....I'm not sure I know what this idiot plans to do when 98% of the country is unemployed.

 

Let's take this beyond Canada:

 

 

The Hildebeest





 

Billary needs no introduction. She is probably one of the top 10 filthiest, sleaziest politicos in America today.

 

 

She's Conservative! But she also sank Hewlett Packard...

 

 

Stretch Pelosi...ya gotta pass the bill to see what's in it...

 

How many more of these do we gotta do? I've seen it in the workplace too. Women become obsessed with setting up office politics, establishing pecking orders, and attacking their enemies with a viciousness and cunning that makes the stuff the guys do look tame by comparison. If a consensus doesn't arise in the workplace the will try to enforce one by any means necessary. Lesser men often go along with it in hopes from benefitting from it. At least 50% of women can't budget or think critically. When they come to power they do so mostly as leftists and the result is high taxes, high unemployment, high fuel prices and declining real estate values. As it goes in politics, so it goes in the workplace.

 

In my next exciting adventure, I shall detail my experience with the feminine wilds as it pertains to workplace harassment! Tune in for chills, spills and thrills - same Bat-place, same Bat-channel!

 













Doggery

 

Glacier Babies

It is my contention that the best dog for you is the one you have. It is also my scholarly opinion that the SPCA and similar organizations - while noble in and of themselves - are chit stains on the human soul. My dogs come from the SPCA and no bones about it. I need a companion. He must be able to sit, stay, heel and lie down on command. After that the terms and conditions of our partnership are unconditional and wide open. These two idiots will lay down their lives for me; how can I not reciprocate? It is a tragedy when animals like this end up at the SPCA or get euthanized.

Macey is the brown shepherd/collie/retriever/alley cat cross in the photo. Her former owners dropped her off at the SPCA because she was 'aggressive and uncontrollable'. When I got her, she was. If she saw a rabbit, or a cat or another small dog - she did her best to slip her leash and attack it - with the full intent of killing it. I started with my usual dog training methods that have always served me in the past: a rolled up newspaper and a pocketful of cookies. If the dog misbehaved, she got beat with the rolled up newspaper and scolded. If she was good she got a treat.

Macey shrugged off the beatings with the newspaper with contemptuous impunity. I started using my hands to spank her. I spanked her until my hands hurt - to no avail. She was smart, I knew that - but she was stubborn as hell too. One day she got her jaws on a small pocket dog and I started strangling her trying to get her to let go of it. When she did, thankfully the small ankle biter was alright...but I was shaken. I took her home, threw her in the back of the truck and was fetching the keys to take her back to the SPCA. Dogs like Macey that come back to the shelter are seldom put up for adoption again - but I was at my wits end. I was literally beating this dog when she misbehaved and it was having no effect. She was a predator first and a pet second and that was final!

Thank God for my wife. She intercepted me, talked me down and told me not to make decisions like this while I was mad. Macey had won a stay of execution - but her days were numbered. I will not have a dog that bites or threatens the pets of others.

One day I wandered into the pet shop and figured I would try a choke collar. They had a couple makes and brands but the one I saw was a combination choker with deadly-looking spikes on the inside of it. One jerk with that, and those spikes dig in and would hurt like blazes. If you let off on it - it's loose enough that the dog wouldn't even know it's there. I hated myself for it - but I bought it. Macey was in very deep trouble and if this didn't work, she was done. I needn't have worried. Within a month, rabbits, cats and other dogs could pass directly in front of us - and just the threat of that collar had Macey firmly in control of herself. But that wasn't the turning point - that came when she could control herself enough to actually THINK. People call them dumb animals and say it's because they can't reason. I call BS; Macey can reason like a champ and I have proven it to doubters a number of times. But her real breakthrough came when she realized that all she had to do was what the monkey was telling her to do - and she got rewarded and praise! She went from being motivated by punishment and pain to motivation by reward - and once a dog can do that...the sky is the limit. Today she heels and points. She runs left and right on command and stops and sits when commanded. She exceeded all my expectations - once she learned a trick she wanted to learn more. This summer I got royally reamed at the airfield by and old lady that saw the spikey collars. I was told to get them on civilized collars at once or I would be taken behind the woodshed and dealt with. So...I bought some less lethal looking collars to keep the women and civilians from getting upset.

One day we got into an impromptu dog obedience competition with some friends out on the patio at starbucks. They were into the formal dog-sport of Schutzenhund and apparently the dogs need to be flawlessly trained and bred to win. Their German Shepard came by air from Germany from top notch breeders and they paid $7,000.00 for the dog when she was a pup. She grew to be a spectacular animal, but on that patio, on that day, the seniors that served as the judges decreed our little contest to be a tie. HAR HAR HAR!!! Today we patrol the neighbourhood twice a day, on the lookout for crime. The troublesome seniors in my neighbourhood wisely behave themselves, knowing that Captain Sweat Pants and his fearless canine side kick are ready to restore order at the drop of a hat! HAR HAR HAR!

Macey was now doing fine...but she was lonely. One day I ran into Mort - or Mor'Dhu as we named him - after the fiendish Scottish bear-demon. He looks for all the world like a purebred and papered Great Pyranese. Purebreds are often wooly and shaggy and look something like St. Bernards. Their owners will groom them and bath them and they look wonderful...but I just gave Mort a buzz cut. Summers are a lot better for him without all that hair. Macey loved him at first sight and they have been our room-mates ever since.

Mort was a direct contrast to Macey; he is probably the dumbest dog I have ever seen...but maybe the most loved. People have poetically referred to retards as 'Emissaries from Heaven' and rightfully so. As dim as he is, Mort loves attention and loves those that give it to him. Everyone stops to pet Mort as we pass by. The seniors in particular are most vulnerable to his charm, they just seem to lose themselves in his eyes and adoration as they pet him and softly mumble about dogs they used to own themselves. Toddlers barely able to walk have staggered up to him, grabbed him in a hug...and he will slip a foreleg around them and try to hug them back. It's so cute that I got diabetes from watching it and had to go puke in the bushes. Where Macey and I were fearless deadly crime fighters...Mort was a much loved village idiot! HAR HAR HAR!

Mort only had one problem - he wasn't house trained. I started by beating his ass with a rolled up newspaper when he made a mess, and went from that to brass knuckles and billy clubs - and from THAT to a 2x4 with nails through it at the business end! I was at my wits end just like I was with Macey...so I put him in a crate. Crates are small cages for dogs to sleep in while the owners are away or asleep. It looks mean to put a dog in a crate during the day...but he actually likes it. He won't make a mess if we are home, and if he is in his crate, he will hold his mud rather than sleep in his own filth! With the crate - Mort became a domesticated house dog. The crate became his bedroom and he goes there to eat his cookies and treats or to sack out when we are too busy to pet him.

My advice to anyone looking at an older dog from the SPCA is this: MOST dogs that have problems can be made into fine pets and companions. Do not trust the charlatans like the Dog Whisperer or the self proclaimed authorities and authors. Talk to the people that acutally TRAIN dogs. They see it all and a few may have had problem animals themselves. Do not be afraid of 'being mean' to the dog. He is going to challenge you for dominance - and he is doing exactly what his genetics have programmed him to do. Be prepared - you don't try to reason or beg with dogs. YOU have to dominate THEM...and once they understand that everything else is good.

Do not give up on your best friend because he will NEVER give up on you. Dogs like this should have never ended up in the SPCA. So - if you've a mind too...check the SPCA first rather than the breeders and puppy mills. You will not be sorry, that is a Filthie Guarantee!

Now get that dog out for a walk - and don't turn your back on those shifty seniors in your neighbourhood! They are not to be trusted! ;)

Probably Not Germany's Suicide Note

But I think a lot of people had their death warrants signed and sealed today:

http://www.therebel.media/did_merkel_just_read_out_germany_s_suicide_note

I know that The Rebel is a bit over toward the conservative 'agit prop' side of things. But if you want to tell me that the gubbermints of these countries are doing everything in their power to keep the undesirables out - all I can say is - 'Pull my other finger! It has bells on it!'

And I suppose I am a racist. No, really - a real, bigoted racist that believes there are differences in the races and that we are not all made the same. (Liberals and stupid people throw that term out as an insult to pretty much everyone that disagrees with them). I remember laughing with the devil when that study came out that showed blacks as having a national average IQ of 85.  The blacks and progressives chimped out in rage and gawped like fish out of water when the researchers threw the study's books wide open, daring their peers to critique and review the study for flawed methodology. Then they screamed 'Racist' at the researchers - only to discover the head tall forehead was an Asian. Ooops. They spent years polishing turd and bending logic to it's breaking point as they tried to undermine that study - only to have more pop up and confirm it! HAR HAR HAR!

The cognitive disconnect boggles. Most of these progs and lefties will concede that certain species have desirable and undesirable traits. They will concede that we have developed a rudimentary science called genetics - that allows us to actively breed and select the traits we want and don't want in our plants and animals...but that science goes out the window when we talk about humans because - RACISM!!!!

Personally I am more an informed citizen than a racist. I have a better than average understanding of statistics than most progs and liberals, and I am intelligent enough to understand that people are individuals and that they aren't all the same. Further, I can and do make allowances for individuals that earn my respect through hard and intelligent work. I maintain that it is my right to discriminate against stupid people regardless of their creed, colour and sexual orientation.

But, I don't like to lecture. I have an enquiring mind, and I find it useful to keep silent and think when others are screaming at the tops of their lungs and shout down their rivals. When the feces flinging monkeys quiet down - here are a couple of questions I would ask Merkel:

1. Your country dragged the world into national conflict and killed millions the last time that murderous, militant anti-Semites had control of it in WW2. Why are you letting swarms of the exact same animals flood into your country now?
2. Assuming they can integrate and coexist with the legions of homosexuals, atheists, and other heretics and infidels...what do you expect these low skill/low IQ vibrants to do? What kind of jobs do you have for them in a high tech first world economy?
3. Your social programs are shaking apart at the seams - and now you want to throw millions more on the dole. How do you propose to look after the legions of seniors and honest invalids that need social assistance while caring for these imported problems?
4. Assuming you can absorb this wave of migrants - what about the next one that's coming, that's three times the size of this one?
5. The third world is a dump because of the people that live there. What will happen to your nation when these migrants are voting in your elections - in addition to filling your jails and slums?

I fear the inevitable over-reaction to stupidity like this. During Hitler's rise to power, Germany went from rubber boots and tractors to jack boots and Messerschmidts overnight. Will they do the same here as they watch their country devoured by foreigners that aren't fit to shine their shoes? Will we see moslems and other vibrants death marched out of Germany? Some EU countries are telling Angella to shove her migrants - and are throwing up barricades to keep them out. I wish them luck.

The third world has to solve it's own problems. Everyone was all a-flitter about that dead boy that washed up on the beach. In the third world that would not have attracted a second glance. THAT is the third world and you will have it on your own doorstep sooner, rather than later if this idiocy continues.

Tales From The Timberland: The Fall Invitational Open Classic

Valhalla



As I get older fall gets tougher and tougher. The back gets a little stiffer, it gets harder to stay warm and the things that used to thrill me - don't.

It never used to be that way. When I was younger, at this time of year I would be checking the zero on my hunting rifle, running through my gear and camping equipment, and obsessing over the hunting draws. Then it was out to the spruce/moose country for pre-season scouting, camping and maybe the odd pot shot at an unlucky grouse with the 20 bore as I walked the cut lines.

My peers in the game were hard core hunters that counted points, knew the regs inside and out - and were deadly serious. Baloney Bob was a case in point. He wasn't happy with the classic hunting calibres of the day so he literally developed his own. He had to order custom dies to make his own ammunition, and he paid through the nose for micrometer bullet seaters and other exotic reloading equipment. He was the typical Ukranian farm kid that grew into a tall, skinny man with arms and legs like Popeye The Sailor. The legend goes that one day - in country just like this, Baloney ran into a moose on a distant cut line. The swamp donkey high-tailed it before Bob could take his shot - so he took off in hot pursuit. You have to be careful in country like this; you can literally walk blindfolded into the bush 20 yards, take off the blindfold - and not know where you are. Bob started after that moose at 2:00 in the afternoon...and chased it through the deep snow for hours. A couple times he might have had a marginal shot, but wisely passed them up and continued the chase, hoping for a better one later. He was lost in the euphoria of the chase - and only noticed that the sun was going down in the late afternoon. And - he was lost. Night time in winter, in this country - is hell for those unprepared for it. Do not ask me how I know this. Bob knew it too...and slowly started retracing his steps and tracks in the failing light. This is around the time when rookies start to panic - but Bob kept plodding, slowly retracing his tracks. When he lost the light he stopped. This is when things get scariest - the temperature starts dropping like a stone, the panic bells are going off in your head and the darkness closes in around and chills your soul. The only thing standing between you an your maker is mother nature...and she is anything but motherly at night and cares absolutely nothing about you. You are at the mercy of Darwin, Murphy and God.

Fortunately the trail head was up on the ridge and Bob's friends started a roaring blaze. As the darkness settled, Bob saw the light and was able to finally plod in around 8:00 PM when things were pitch black. The mental aspect of such a mishap is almost as exhausting as the physical aspect, and Bob almost collapsed when the boys asked if he wanted a smokie or a drink of whisky first. The boys scolded Bob and gave him the very hell of it - if he HAD shot the moose, they would have to butcher it and pack it out! Who wants to do that in the middle of a winter night, through miles of snow?

A lot of us that hunt have our own version of that experience and some of us even learn from it.

 

Pete The Meat's Hotel Bar & Grill Is Open For Business. The food was stellar but the waitresses were a huge disappointment

 

 

Old age started catching up with me in 2012. A running accident left me with chronic back pain. The spontaneous 6 mile runs that I used to hate and love were a thing of the past; I had my hands full just walking the dogs their 3 or 4 a day and they left me in shearing pain. But God - how I still wanted to hunt and camp. I fell in with some more hard core hunters that literally disappear down the river in canoes to go after elk - and live off the land. They have water and a little food, minimal equipment and often their hunts - while successful - turn into exhausting ordeals. To get the old farts out they bought the big outfitter tents, packed the gear and the food and the whisky and all the comforts of home. They called it 'The Fall Classic' and invited elderly celebrities like Yours Truly along.

 

 

Ya wake up fast in the morning

 

 

Sure, everyone thinks you just jump on the ATV, ride the cut lines until something crawls out of the bush - and ya shoot it. Easy, right? Even if it actually worked like that - it's unsporting as hell. I know, every year slob road hunters hunt this way but in my experience? The critters get wise. I would ride ol' Yeller into the trees, park it ...and start walking. I've seen animals while riding the quad but the second they see me - they're gone. The only way I personally have ever gotten a good solid shot was by walking and stalking. Mind you - I am very picky about my shots, and when I pull the trigger on a moose or deer - it's a done deal. I get close, put them down with one shot - and that is that for that!

 

Pete and the boys were extraordinary gentlemen too. When I packed for this hunt, I somehow forgot my field chair. I tried to crick out my aching back on the first night but just couldn't do it. I fidgeted and fretted trying to sit on logs, I stretched - but my old back was on fire. I kept quiet but knew if this kept up - I would be headed home the next day.

 

 

Gods Of The Hunt

 

 

Chris knew I was battling chronic back pain, so he offers me his chair, pulls a ground pad out of the gear and flumps down by the fire. He pulls up a couple logs to improvise a back rest/pillow...and sighs in contentment. He thought nothing of it; but for me it was an act of kindness I will never forget. Younger men cannot imagine my relief as I sat in that chair. The pain in my back was at around a 12 out of 10...and when I sat down in a proper chair it dropped down to about a 4. Such are the joys of getting old. Once my back permitted me to move again, I dug out a bottle of The Edradouer scotch.

 

 

For Life's Little Victories

 

This scotch is produced in the smallest distillery in Scotland. I had literally hunted high and low for a bottle of this without success - for YEARS. The information I had was that the distillery was literally run by three guys with some local part time help on the odd occasion. When I finally did find a bottle, I packed it along for this hunting trip. I offered Chris a dram and orated, pontificated and bloviated about what an opportunity these fortunate men were about to have in being able to sample one of the most scarce makes in the industry.

 

Chris took a swig, said "Yechhhcchct!!" and threw it on the fire. Pete and Rick did the same! "You are all BUNGHOLES," I declared. Can you imagine the bloody NERVE!?!? But the swine just shrugged, and went back to snorting spiced rum and coke! I snootily tipped my own glass...and to tell the truth...this scotch was no screaming hell at all! If you see it by all means grab a bottle - but the verdict from this old dirty whisky drunk is what it is. You may like it - but I will use it to sauce the liquor pigs and reserve my better stuff for more sophisticated company! HAR HAR HAR!

 

The boys tell me I'm welcome at the fall classic this year but I am going to pass. My hunting days are over and not just because my back...to me, the thrill of the hunt is old hat. This is a game for younger men and it is time for me to move on and seek other pursuits that might offer new experiences and things to learn about. I will always love my hunting days and the friends I have met...but this year I am staying home.

 

If you are still young and strong and in the game - I hope you got your draws and wish you the best of luck in the 2015 season! I will take a couple pounds of burger if you can spare it!    ;)



 





The Alpha Male & Pick Up Artist II

The best times of my life always seem to occur in circumstances and places I wouldn't ordinarily expect them. Lounge Lizard Larry had just gotten divorced from his wife - back then the divorce stats were around 30% and everyone was wondering what that was all about. His ex was a coldly formal woman around me and never said much. His 11 year old daughter was a happy, boisterous kid that Larry worshipped. Shortly after he divorced, he called me into his office, sat me down and told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was to see that his daughter was cared for and if I botched it he would haunt me to my final days and kick the stuffing out of me when I arrived in Hell. It still almost chokes me up to this day. Looking back on it - that was the only indication I ever had that Larry was actually stressed by his divorce. Otherwise he handled it like a champ. Within a few months he had bought a new house, an old, small, used car, and seemed to be picking up the pieces of his life at a good clip. It was obvious that he had been prepared for it for a long, long time, and I helped where I could.

We were in my truck bringing a load of Larry's stuff to his new house when he throws a hand across my chest and shouts "Stop! Stop!"  I nearly shat my pants, thinking I had run over some unseen toddler or maybe an old lady! Larry just sat there looking straight ahead, as if in a trance. After I had wiped my ass and changed my underwear I ask him "So what's the panic? Did you just shit your pants too...?"

But Larry is looking up the road - where I see an average woman in her late 40's struggling with an old car. The hood is up and clearly something is wrong. "Okay Junior," he says, "I haven't done this in a long, long time. Follow my lead - and if I trip up - help me out!"

"That's Nora, one of my neighbours, she's a classy lady, divorced, one son. I would like to meet her and find out a little more about her, and YOU are going to help me out! So: Until you are told otherwise, you will conduct yourself like a perfect gentleman and stifle your usual primate behaviours! NYUK NYUK NYUK!!! If you screw this up, I'll rip off your head and fart down your neck! Now - don't just sit there! Drive up, roll down the window...and let ME do the talking!"

So I made it so. We pulled up alongside the lady, I say "Hello." and Larry takes over with some small talk. Apparently she was doing the child custody thing too, she was going to run out to pick up her son but was afraid to run the car because it was overheating. It was an old car with the old style circular air cleaner on top and the fan belt out front...and I could see from the seat of my truck that it had come off. When I looked back at Larry and Nora...they were chattering like school kids. I interrupted to tell them I could probably get the car running long enough for her to get it to a real mechanic where it would have to be checked out.

"Excellent, Filthie!" Larry says, "So, here's what we'll do, everyone: Nora, my simian sidekick will get your car running in fairly short order. While he does that, you will come with me to the house and borrow my car to go pick up your boy while I get supper going - surely you and your son can join us? Perhaps you could make a quick stop at the Safeway on the way back - I have some ingredients and supplies that I will need for supper...if I give you some money could you pick out a good bottle of red wine for us...and maybe a bottle of Liquid Plumber for Junior, here...?"

And with that...we all had our missions. For me tinkering with the car was a treat; unlike the new cars today with their modular, computerized engines and serpentine belts that need 5 hours and a tech to get at, the old engines were easy-peasy and meant to be worked on by the layman. It was winter, but we were having one of the glorious Alberta chinooks where the winds blow soft and warm. By the time Nora got back I was finished and had gotten in a snowball fight with Lisa in the back yard, and then I was getting pelted with snowballs from two little hellions. I loved the kids. Lisa was a chatterbox like her father, and Nora's boy was quiet and awkward - so Lisa did his talking for him too. He didn't seem to mind. For me playing with the children was like a tall drink of water on a hot day...even back then, dark forces and demons were gathering about my own daughter. Whereas she was sullen, secretive and bratty - these kids were boisterous and outgoing and happy. When Larry poked his head out the door to call us in for supper, the heavens opened up, the gods smiled down upon me, and they guided the snowball I launched at Larry with the precision of a Minuteman anti-ballistic missile. I nailed the old bastard right in the head with a slushy one that snapped his head around like a shot from Mohammed Ali! HAR HAR HAR!!! When he recovered his balance, I hit him again! The gods had given me an arm like a cannon that night, with plenty of ammo - and by Godfrey - I used it! Larry shrieked like Homer Simpson and ducked back into the house and had Nora call us in for supper. Just like the craven bugger to hide behind women and children when things got serious! HAR HAR!!!

Supper was fantastic because Larry was truly a superlative cook. He moved around the kitchen like a pro while Nora sipped red wine. Larry chattered as he moved and even I could tell right off the bat...she was smitten. When supper was served we had two tables - one for the adults and one for the children, so I took my meal with the kids to give the adults space. I was surprised he could eat at all - Larry's gums flapped at 100MPH as he regaled us with stories of his youth when he was the manager of a local nightclub...where he bounced the surly drunks and druggies, assisted in the kitchen and behind the bar and generally went where he was needed. We laughed at the stories of his hapless patrons and customers and silly coworkers, (some of those stories may warrant a re-telling from the Thunderbox one day, perhaps...).

Afterward, Lisa sighs with contentment and says, "Ahhhhhh. It's just like being a happy family again...". Even Larry ran out of steam when his girl said it. An awkward silence followed as everyone seemed at a loss...so Nora pipes up: "So how did you and Larry meet, Filthie...?"

It was glorious. I am not ordinarily a glib man, but a snoot of Cardhu had loosened my tongue and bolstered my courage! "Larry and I met in prison," I loudly proclaimed, "where he was doing quite well for himself I might add..."

"Junior...", he growled menacingly, but I talk right over him, "Larry was in for bigamy...or...were you in for child molesting by then, Larry...?"

"JUNIOR!!!!" he roars, but again I shouted over him, "Bigamy! Definitely bigamy! He would have gotten away with it but one afternoon he was shot by an angry husband as he tried to escape out the bedroom window...". I started gobbling, trying to get the words out as fast as possible before he laid his fists on me.

"Thanks for coming over tonight, Junior, it was a wonderful evening..." he says as I got kicked, slapped and punched to the front door. The kids were giggling, and Nora was smiling, and I was laughing too hard to defend myself and didn't stop until I found my arse on the front step with the door slammed in my face. How RUDE!!! The door opened again and Larry threw my jacket and boots out...and I realized that this was probably one of the happier nights of my life. The moon was out, the snow shone underneath it on a peaceful street, and the chinook blew softly and warmly to remind one of spring. I put on my stuff, knocked on the window and waved goodbye...and left them to themselves.

Larry was a chick magnet even in his 50's. Today's self proclaimed 'pick up artists' are every bit as slutty as the women they game. Games are for kids, fellas. Larry treated his women with warmth and sincerity. He didn't 'game' them or seduce them, he was just himself: a big goofy humorous man who worked hard and played hard. I suppose it would be rather an insult to compare him to sleazeballs like Roosh or bratty children like Vox Day because he truly was an artist where they are just poseurs. He could call anyone of his ex-girlfriends up and they would fall over themselves to be with him again.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I would call a pick up artist. Larry and I fought over that too, he seemed to think anyone could pick up and bed women, but it took a real champ to handle long term marriage as I did. Now that I am the same age as he was when he said those words, it seems to me that when it comes to women - the mission is to find your soul mate. About the only advice I would offer is that she won't be where you expect her, and you won't see her for what she is in the sack or in the bar.

Keep your stick on the ice, and join me again soon. This story has an epilogue that involves some tough writing and I would appreciate it if you stop by and let me know how I do.

Old Hippies

Perhaps 911 is an appropriate time to talk about Old Hippies. I have a major problem with these guys. The mealy mouthed cretins seem to think that politics and world affairs is a zero-sum game. They don't seem to realize that in the real world affairs of real world politics - sitting on your hands and doing nothing IS an action that will have inevitable consequences. Guys like Unca Bob and this fella here will tell us: we never should have attacked Viet Nam!

It was all about money and was driven by eeeeevil jooos/eeeeeevil corporations/insert-your-bogeyman-of-choice here. These finks made such a stir at home that the powerbrokers in Washington called the boys home where stinky young hippies gobbed on them and called them murderers. Everyone from one end of the earth to the other knows that 58 000 Americans lost their lives in Viet Nam. "It was unconscionable!!!" they shrieked, "It was pure, unadulterated evil and murder!!!" How many people know that 2 million south Vietnamese were murdered by the Viet Cong when America pulled out? Men, women, and children. The hippies and idiots I have seen will try to either deny that number or blame American squaddies for Viet Cong mass murder. Others aren't even aware of that little factoid. So who is the evil one?  It's not even worth the argument. The lesson here is that taking your ball and going home may have no consequences for you - but for others the fallout could be fatal.

We were told by Unca Bob, Fred Reed and other baby booming geezers that if we just stayed out of other people's business they would stay out of ours:

http://fredoneverything.org/spare-r-why-they-hate-us/

Really. Here is my response to that:

"But...but...but...that was all America's fault too!!!! "It's alllllll about the ooooooiilllll..." they droned. And of course, they likened the whole thing to Viet Nam. Ugh. Some kids never grow up. Some kids are smart enough to read the sign and stay off the thin ice...others have to go out, fall in and possibly drown. Some of those are so dumb that if ya fish them out - they'll do the exact same thing again next winter.

From where I sit there was no relationship at all between the Viet Nam and moslem conflicts. The most glaring difference was the calibre of the people involved in Gulf War 1 and 2. They were volunteers, patriots, and determined people on a mission. Many of the soldiers of Viet Nam were indolent conscripted flower children.

Stormin Norman

 

 

The tired old trope the lefties and hippies always trot out is that of the fugged up Viet Nam vet amputee. Nine times out of ten he also has PTSD...and of course the hippies think nothing of it that many of these derelicts also self-medicate with pot, meth and other recreational pharmaceuticals. Take a look at these Gulf War vets:

I betcha money he doesn't smoke pot

 

Hmmm. Women seem to handle combat quite well. Why can't the girly men of the 1960's?

 

The hippies and peaceniks didn't screw with Chris Kyle. I wonder why?

 

So the reason America is hated is because they 'meddle' in the affairs of others? My question is this - how can they not? Anywhere in the world, at any given time, any number of nations will do their level best to draw America into their battles on their side - especially when they're losing. America has real interests in these third world countries and stands to suffer real losses if those wars go the wrong way. When those interests were set up in better times by better people the local war lords and bandit gangs were driven out to establish a profitable enterprise. That in turn provided jobs, and even rudimentary schools and hospitals. When Britain and later, America - pulled up stakes and left, the war lords and gangs moved back in and tribal savagery resumed. Africa and the middle east are non-stop bush fires.

 

Pardon me - Iran is about to go nuclear.

 

While the hippies piss and moan about useless wars abroad and see drug induced ghosts of  the Vietnam conflict...to me, it seems awfully 1939-ish out there. Instead of Viet Nam, I see Chamberlain waving around a scrap of paper and proclaiming 'Peace In Our Time!!!'... and I see a black baboon in the Oval Office handing Iran the keys to the missile silo.

 

But - silly me. Maybe if we just sit on our hands, the people trying to kill us en masse will change their minds and decide to be nice to us! Sure, most of these fig farming, goat feltching savages have blood feuds that go back to the 1300's...but all we need to do is give peace a chance...!!!!

 

You do that, boys. I'm stockpiling ammo. Have yourself a great weekend.







Thursday Afternoon Shit Detail

As the self proclaimed King Of The Manuresphere, my life is not all fun and games. As an old world conservative living in a world that is going relentlessly fascist and socialist - it falls to me to maintain discipline within the ranks, and render unto our politically correct overlords what is theirs by fiat if not by right. It is not a duty I take lightly, nor will I shirk it - no matter how unpleasant it gets! The first offender in the docket today is Vox Day with this heinous thought crime:

EXHIBIT A:  HOW THE WEST WAS WON

 

 

HAR HAR HAR! HAR HAR HAR HAR!!! OMFG! HAR HAR HAR!!!

 

Oops.

 

*Ahem*

 

Mr. Day, this Imperial Courts Martial, presided over by Yours Truly, finds you in contempt of

• White people
• Natives
• Liberals
• Christians
• Stupid people
• People of colour
• Visible minorities of sex, creed, politics and about 14 gender groups
• etc ad nauseum

For your crime, you are now on Filthie's Shit Detail for the next 30 days! During that time you will remove the pan in my Thunderbox twice a day, take it to the designated receptacle outside and pour the contents into it. You will then add 2 litres of diesel fuel and ignite the mixture. During the combustion process you will stray no further than 10m from the receptacle and you will guard against any and all fire hazards that may arise during said combustion. Afterward you will spit shine the pan and return it to the Thunderbox to await my pleasure. For those that insist on it, further damning evidence is available here:

 

http://www.voxday.blogspot.ca/2015/09/immigration-is-invasion.html

 

 

Next on the list is *gasp* Neil over at GGN!!! Who woulda thunk a man of flawless character and reputation would take part in such a horrid display of badthink?!? Doubleplus ungood!!!

 

EXHIBIT B: ILLEGAL CONCEALED CARRY OF FIREARMS

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Loaded gun pulled from woman’s body cavity during drug bust

Posted: Tuesday, September 8, 2015 12:47 pm |Updated: 6:32 pm, Tue Sep 8, 2015.

By OLIVIA MESSERomesser@wacotrib.com

Waco police pulled a loaded shotgun from a woman’s vagina late Monday evening after a traffic stop led to a drug bust, officials said.

Castaneda

Waco police Sgt. W. Patrick Swanton said officers stopped a 1998 Toyota Land Rover carrying a man and a woman at North 15th Street and Blair Street about 11 p.m. for a traffic violation.

During the stop, officers found 2.7 grams of methamphetamine under the driver’s seat and arrested the driver, identified as Gabriel Garcia, 30, on a charge of possession of methamphetamine in a drug-free zone. Police say the stop was within 1,000 feet of West Elementary School.

Another 29.5 grams of methamphetamine and a set of digital weighing scales were in the female passenger’s purse, Swanton said.

Ashley Cecilia Castaneda, 31, was arrested on the same charge, but while being transported to the McLennan County Jail, she reportedly told an officer she had a 12 gauge shotgun lodged inside her vagina.

Officers stopped and called for a female officer, who retrieved the gun. The shotgun had a round chambered and a full magazine of shells, Swanton said.

“It was a safety concern for the victim who had a loaded firearm inside her body,” Swanton said. “Depending on a number of factors, that gun could have gone off by body movements or compression of the trigger.

“People have asked us, ‘Why are you even telling us this?’ The reason is because we want people to know this truly does happen,” he continued. “That was an extremely dangerous situation for everyone involved.”

Castaneda was also charged with unlawfully carrying a weapon.

Castaneda and Garcia remained in the McLennan County Jail on Tuesday afternoon in lieu of $31,000 and $10,000 bonds, respectively.

Read more.  OK, so the actual story is a little different, but only about four or five words, and maybe the pictures.

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HAR HAR HAR!!! HAR HAR HAR!!! Good LORD. HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR!!!

Ooops - who's the pig doing all that inappropriate laughing? Harumphhh!!! Order! ORDER!!!! Your back aches for the whip, doesn't it!!!!

This inappropriate laughter itself will have the hags, wretches and cunned stunts at Jezebel howling for our blood!!!!!

Neil, for your thoughtless endangerment of your peers here on the blogosphere in general and the Manuresphere in particular, I decree that for the next 30 days you will clean and polish the wood on my Thunderbox twice a day! Take extra care along the rim, I tend to leave great big smudge marks.

This punishment may seem excessively cruel and severe to the rest of you. I am not a cruel man, the reason for this is that it is imperative that no wit or humour be allowed in the Manuresphere or the Manosphere or any part thereof. Humour and wit are offensive to liberals and stupid people - and the last thing we want is anybody having any fun around here!

Carry on - and watch your step! Filthie is watching you!!!

 



The Alpha Male & Pick Up Artist

Behold the Manosphere, bitches! If the patriarchy is dead - then by God Almighty - chivalry is too!

Supposedly these manosphere guys are respectable role models for our young men to emulate in these troubled times of rampant divorce, feral womanhood and rabid feminism. There are any number of wise elders in the manosphere (or the manuresphere, as it is beginning to be called) that can help us unmanly types get ahead of the game. Vox Day is one of the best from an entertainment perspective. He assigns greek letters to all the manly character types - apparently being a 'Gamma' is the worst. (I got banned from his site when I snidely pointed out that his own son was a 'Gamma' by his own definitions, HAR HAR HAR!). That boy doesn't know a damn thing about being a man, he absolutely hates men that are smarter than he is... but he does understand the batshit crazy women we have these days. He also knows how to deal with them. Roosh is another whom I jokingly refer to as the Pied Paki Of Pickup Artistry. Last I heard, he's in a flather because some crazed bitch threw beer all over him at a nightclub, HAR HAR HAR! I dunno what his problem is, women have made something of a tradition and sport out of pouring out their drinks on pigs and cads. (It's never happened to me but you would be correct to suspect it). He's a poseur... But he'll learn ya everything ya need to know about 'gaming' women, and getting 'em in the sack for a quick 'Pump-N-Dump' - and he'll show ya how to throw them away afterward! Ye gods!

Uncle Bob has orated, pontificated, and bloviated about how there is no such thing as the Pick Up Artist or the Alpha Male. He uses different definitions when he lectures, and I think sometimes that leads to confusion amongst his fiendish foolish fans like Yours Truly. I say there IS so such thing as an alpha male - because I was friends with one for years.

My role models growing up were Pop, his friends and pals and they all did the Manly Arts: they coached hockey and baseball, they were tradesmen and white collar men and they all had successful marriages. When Larry The Lounge Lizard entered my life, I didn't know what to make of him. He was much younger than my Dad and his pals, and he was my boss on my first job out of school. At first we fought like cats n' dogs. I was a technical wank in a sales/product specialist role and to be honest, like all new grads I thought that I knew everything, that my chit didn't stink, and that salesmen were only a marginal improvement over child molesters. And - that Larry The Lounge Lizard was an asshole. After a few skirmishes I quickly found that I could either try to get along and play ball with Larry - or quit. So I tried to play ball.

Larry, in spite of his numerous flaws and virulent psychological problems - was one shrewd SOB. He started teaching me everything I needed to know about professional technical sales. He instantly forgave all my previous sins with him and concentrated on making me part of his team. I learned which orders to disregard from my managers, and I learned when and when not to tell white lies. We misrepresented ourselves to customers. We cut corners. We withheld information. To non-sales type people this is all damning stuff...and sleazy conduct. Hell, I said that to Larry myself and I can hear his rebuttal to this day: "Listen, Junior. We are here to sell stuff. To do that, our customers, our managers, and we ourselves all have to be happy. As you know, our management is infested with childish, stupid men with egos. Some of our customers are even worse."

"Our job,"  Larry continued, "Is to keep our customers working and on the job and happy with us. If we do what the management wants, we'll piss the customers off, they won't deal with us and the management will blame us for it when the customer flips us the bird and goes to the competition - because managers never blame themselves. If we do what the customers want, we won't make any money and we'll go out of business."

"The shortcuts we take, the little white lies we tell, the deviations from standard procedure that we take - all of that is aimed at keeping customers and managers happy - and putting money in OUR pockets! So - we can do anything we want as long as everyone benefits, everyone is happy and nobody gets hurt! Or, we can stir up chit with the wrong words at the wrong time, piss EVERYONE off and have them mad at us - all for the sin of being 100% honest! Oh - and we'll lose our jobs not long after that!"

Anyone in the business end of things has seen it a million times: Deals worth thousands or hundreds of thousands go bad because the players start fighting over stupid chit costing nickels and dimes. And so it was that Larry literally ran our office in Edmonton and the branch manager just went along for the ride - and I did too! If a dog fight was shaping up, Larry stepped in and soothed ruffled feathers. He understood how to approach industrial clients. He would literally show up in your office, do the banter and then tell you how he was going to make you more productive, reduce your maintenance problems and offer to design your system for you. And, of course, he had already talked to the other key players in you company by that point...and all you had to do was sit back, cut the PO's, and let Larry The Lounge Lizard handle the rest! When we lived up to that, getting a second order from you would be child's play.

THAT is what an alpha male really is. A leader, (a real one, not the legions of poseurs and pretenders in the Manuresphere and the workplace) - cares about his team and its success. Top notch sales professionals aren't born - they're made. It's not a fast process either, they are made by starting off a newbie slowly by co-managing the bigger accounts. The newb has to learn to speak to groups of people, he has to learn how to manage the hecklers and hostiles in the audience, and he has to be able to make mistakes and recover from them in order to learn. You could never make Larry mad enough to lose his chit - he always had his eye on the ball, and he lived and died by "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth". We have seen that old nickel played out in game theory too: humans that find that they can take advantage of others invariably do. The only way to deter them is to give what you get - kinda like 'Do Unto Others' in reverse. My concept of the apha male is that he is not feared or even necessarily respected - he's the guy who makes the decisions because everyone else trusts him...and that was exactly the kind of man Larry was. He was always upbeat, he was always ready with a stupid joke, and when problems cropped up it was usually Larry who tackled them first.

We literally built that company from the ground up. Eventually Larry spent his time targeting new customers and I handled the ones we were already established with. The management soon learned that when they saw discrepancies in our inventories and paperwork - they weren't to ask questions because we were up to some monkey business that they did not want to get involved in or know about. As long as the money was coming in, and the discrepancies were eventually dealt with - all was well. When questions arose, Larry got involved and showed me how to solve them. I started joking with and harassing the customers the same way Larry did - and had a ball doing it. I chatted up the women like a cad. I tormented the guys ruthlessly - but when it came to business we always came through. When economies explode, and good people are hard to find - that counts with customers. Contrary to what you might believe - a real honest to God sales job is pretty tough to beat and real alphas do well. We horsed around and indulged in juvenile behaviour when we could but we always worked like demons when we had to.

Our company (Dildonics Ltd - names changed to protect the guilty) was run by the Weiner Family. Frank Weiner was the CEO. Craig Weiner was the national sales manager (and a notorious liar, thief and a cheat). Dave Weiner was our branch manager. We delighted in tormenting the Weiner Children (as we disparagingly called them behind their backs) and I found that the best way in the world to annoy your boss was to walk in, put your feet up on the desk - and wait for him to flip out!

Dave was talking to his father one day on the phone when I did just that. "Hold on, Frank" Dave said, he never called his father 'Dad' at work. "One of the salesmen just came in here grinning like an idiot and I think he's either drunk again, or has something  to say..." I contemptuously threw a PO worth $130,000.00 on his desk. Old Frank was mightily impressed. "Way to go Filthie! Looks like you are the lead salesman this month...!" At which point, Dirty Dave pipes up "Yeah...he did alright I guess...but had I handled this one, I would have made more money...". The place veritably rang with good natured jeers, laughter, insults and cat calls. Just as we were getting ready to let Frank go - Larry walks in and the bragging and insults start all over again. "Well, Junior, I hate to piss on your parade - but I can't resist!" With a flourish Larry throws down a package we had just won with Syncrude up in the Tar Sands - about $175K for the first phase alone. The project was estimated to have three phases total. That started another round of monkeys flinging feces about and shrieking at the tops of their lungs. I never had that much fun at work again in my life. They were great days.

Unlike Larry (or even Uncle Bob over at the Treehouse) I never became an 'alpha male'. I simply don't have the drive or the patience or the maturity for it. I'm lucky if I can think two moves ahead whereas those guys are a half dozen moves ahead before they even light the afterburners. Those guys are also ruggedly handsome; I am getting the build of a Franklin stove and my visage has been known to cause nightmares for pretty girls. I don't care...I'm happily married...but I can't speak for the wife! HAR HAR HAR! If some idiot like Vox Day wants to call me a beta or zeta male I suppose there is no harm in it. But for me - I know what an alpha male is, and it has been my pleasure to know more than my share during my life.

Tune in later this week when I try to undermine and betray Larry The Lounge Lizard in his pursuit for love and happiness - and I receive my just comeuppance!