Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Friday, 30 October 2015

A Man's Second Best Friend

A man's best friend is his dog. I will brook no dissent on this assertion, and any that wish to protest will be banned and then shot as traitors. Being a manly sort myself, I need two dogs:

Hot Dogs

The brown one is Macey. She is a pound puppy that has an IQ higher than most liberals and by extension - most women as well, HAR HAR HAR! HAR HAR HAR!!! The white one, I'm told, is a Great Pyranese. I shave him bald in the summer but usually he is a wooly, foul smelling farm dog that also came home from the pound. In contrast to Macey, Mort is as dumb as a post, can't do any tricks or follow commands and he slobbers and poops ... a lot. Somehow - he is the best dog I've ever had in spite of all that. He is a crapping, stinking love machine and pretty much everyone that meets him loves him in spite of his hygiene and intellectual problems.

A man's second best friend is his rifle. This is a topic that has caused more fights and black eyes around the campfire and at the rod and gun club because men cannot agree on what the attributes of the perfect rifle are - it's like trying to define the perfect woman or the perfect dog. The young fellas will usually lean toward the flashy big booming magnums, but they can be tricky to get to shoot well and any extended range sessions with them are NOT fun.  Others prefer the latest and greatest proprietary cartridge guns from any number of a growing list of manufacturers. As I got older and wiser - I began to formulate the properties  that would define my version of The Perfect Rifle.
  • it has to pack a wallop capable of taking everything from moose on down.
  • it has to have manageable levels of recoil that allow the shooter to handle prolonged sessions at the bench or at a sanctioned shooting event.
  • it has to be accurate
  • it has to come in the smallest, handiest, most ergonomic package possible.
My first perfect rifle was a plane Jane, chit house K98 Mauser made by Brno in Czechoslovakia. Mine was an Israeli capture - after WW2 Germany was disarmed and all it's surplus guns were dumped into the fledgling state of Israel - which was fighting for its life at the time. They took these guns, rebarrelled them to .308 (7.62 NATO, same thing) - and pressed them into the hands of the soldiers as fast as they came out of the armoury.

Cheap, deadly accurate, and fun to shoot!
I didn't make much money at the time so I really appreciated the economy of the caliber. I picked up fallen .308 brass, and reloaded it without regard to headstamp, trim lengths, or condition - and shot for years like that! With my younger, sharper eyes I could keep the rounds inside a 4~5" circle at 100 yards...offhand!  With iron sights, that's not bad...and many shooters could do better.
A few years later I fell in with some serious gun nuts and hunters. Bob The Knob was crazy about guns and even developed his own rounds for them. He pressure tested them and developed loading data for them and he got the gun bug worse than I ever will. In any event...I needed a better rifle to shoot with such men, and found it in the elegant Ruger No. 1 rifle in .25-06.
With a rifle like this, one shot is all you need.
With a 3x9 Bausch & Lomb scope this gun came in a package the length of a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. With the bull barrel it kept all it's shots in a 1-3/4" group at 300 yards off the sand bags. Because it soaked up recoil so well, I could usually keep my offhand shots in a 3~4" circle at 100 yards - and I started hassling the pros at the shooting matches and at the rod and gun club. Bob introduced me to moly-coated bullets and with 58 grains of IMR 4350 gunpowder - this beast could push 85 grain bullets to about 3500 feet per second across the chronograph. Every animal I shot with that rifle went down with one round and all were dead by the time they hit the dirt! At a metallic silhouette shoot I came out of the shadows and sandbagged about 15 serious shooters to take third place in the northern Alberta regionals. Everyone wondered where in hell this fat new kid came from...and just boggled at the accuracy of the rifle. I reckon my shooting sold at least 8 guns for Ruger and if this was a fair world I would get a commission! HAR HAR HAR!
I lost count of how many POUNDS of IMR4350 went down that gun's gullet. I shot it hard for twelve years. After that kind of shooting, the barrel's rifling and throat slowly erodes, the velocities fall off and the groups open up...and one awful day I discovered I had a burned out rifle on my hands. I almost wept real tears when I had to accept that the days of this little gun were over. Oh sure, you can re-barrel them and sometimes they will shoot as well as they did before - but with single shots of this type...that was a crap shoot at best. I retired the gun and gave it to my friend's son. It still shot plenty good enough for deer hunting...but its days as a tack driving match gun were long over.
I wandered the forlorn hinterands of Gun Geek Forest for a couple years after that seeking a replacement. I bought a Remington SPS Tactical bolt gun and hated it. I put a Benchmark match barrel on it and it still sucked balls. I figured I would try retirement out with a black powder cartridge gun - but couldn't handle it. I am too young for the geriatric BPCR crowd, and do not warrant the respect their age and skill does. I slowly started losing interest in shooting altogether until one day I ran into a nice fella up at the Grande Cache club who introduced me to the Springfield Armoury M1A.
Ten-HUT!!! Officer On The Range!
This is the civilian variant of the old M14 rifle. Recoil? It's just enough to let you know it's there! Mine had match iron sights but I mounted a Swarovski scope on it. No need to develop a load for this gun - it's already been done for us by the nice homicidal fellas of the United States Marine Corp! The friendly murderers at Quantico tell us that 41.5 grains of H4895 yields around 2700 FPS with a classic Sierra HPBT bullet. My chronograph and rifle agree - I get about 2650 with that - considered just about optimum for this rifle. The rifle is a joy to sling up with, but it is a complete shrew with brass. Only go four reloads and then pitch the brass, boys. Having this sweetheart blow up in your face over a 30 cent piece of brass just isn't worth it. This rifle is the gun of choice for the old stubfarts competing at Camp Perry and has recieved the endorsement of one of the finest men alive:
If there are any unauthorized watermelons around CFB Filthie, now would be a very good time to square them away...
If you're not hunting this weekend - make sure ya get out to the range and make a point of shaking hands with your second best friend. You'll be glad you did.  :)


Thursday, 29 October 2015

One Of The Dwindling Pleasures Of Being A Man single malt scotch. Yes, I know, I know - slatternly women and hairy chested feminists can enjoy scotch too...but scotch was invented for men!

As a younger man I read the thrilling novels by W.E.B. Griffin and loved the historical fiction he wrote about the US Marines. The heroes were men with square jaws, ruggedly handsome looks, quick wits - and a penchant for fine scotch. Unfortunately, to W.E.B. - that meant Famous Grouse! I promptly went out and bought a bottle only to discover it wasn't fit to scrub your M1 Garand rifle with. You would have to be a tough, mean SOB stuck in a fox hole to appreciate it! I gave up on Scotch at that point and stuck to my home brewed beer.

This scotch is for the birds...or possibly a Marine that you want to kill...
One day about 10 years later I saw a big placard up in the liquor store about The Six Classic Malts Of Scotland and bought a bottle of Craggonmore on impulse - and I was lost. The rest of the Classic Malts are listed here and make an excellent starting point for the beginning scotch acolyte. All are classics in every sense of the word, and all are indeed worthy of a heroic US Marine, from the brass hat generals right down to the lowliest private!
Classic does not, however, mean superior. Oban is fine. Talisker is described as an explosive single malt and I know BW likes it as do any number of experts, and Dalwhinnie...I was indifferent to. My interpretations are in no way reflective of the worthiness of the makes - you should try them all and form your own opinions. Any number of men of wealth and taste will disagree with me and chances are you will too. It's all good. But for me...personally...the best Scotch in the world is Highland Park: 
It doesn't get better than this. The perfect compliment to a fine cigar and a campfire.

Winston Churchill agrees with me on this, and it is my conviction (and that of W.E.B. Griffin) that the measure of a man's intellect is by how much he agrees with you!

Right behind Highland Park, so close that it is almost a The Dalemore. I remember paying $36.00 a bottle at Stupid Store for it, and could have had a case for $150.00. To this day I still kick myself for not stocking up. It taught me a valuable lesson about scotch: Price is no indicator of taste.  Of course, now that everyone knows the quality of the product...they've jacked the price up. Sigh.

It used to be the best bang for the buck in the single malt market...
One year while out hunting down by Provost I ducked into a small mom & pop liquor store to supplement my camping provisions...and they had nothing for scotch. And by that, I mean they had Famous Grouse (gun solvent), Bell's (commonly known as weasel piss) and Teachers (lighter fluid). But somehow, Mom & Pop had slipped up and some Cardhu had made its way into their store.
Fall sunshine in a bottle

Later that morning I made the best shot of my hunting career. A small doe broke cover across the field, spooked by something in the bush. She ran right across the field at a full run - and I put her down with one deft shot from my elegant single shot rifle - a Ruger No.1 with a bull barrel in 25-06.
My hunting partner and mentor, Bob The Knob (it must be a rule - if you are a prick, your name just has to be "Bob", HAR HAR HAR!) - snidely commented that I hadn't shot a doe, I had just potted a Chi Hua Hua and should be reported to Fish & Wildlife. Rotten Rob agreed but noted that field dressing would only take minutes, and that if they were careful with their knives there might be enough meat to make three sammiches!
Bastards. Bastards all!!! The morning was pretty much shot, so we field dressed my deer and skinned it out - and poured some healthful doses of Cardhu all around. It was a funny year in that it was November, and we were still in our shirt sleeves. The afternoon was idyllic and I will always remember that day, in that field, with those bums - as one of the best days of my life. If you are going to have the best day of your life, in the company of good men - it makes sense to keep a bottle of Cardhu handy.
In any event, those are my top three picks. If you want to get serious about scotch I recommend that you buy a book on the subject from Michael Jackson - not the sexually disturbed pedo/song writer - the whisky expert:

Proficiency with scotch doesn't just happen. I used to think the guys using all the goofy metaphors and adjectives and pronouns were putting on airs of snobbery and sophistication - but all that claptrap is actually legit! A book like this helps you pick out the flavours and notes that will allow you to make your single malt experience all the more enjoyable. Now...Off to the liquor store and the book store with you!!! There will be a test on this next week!

Wednesday, 28 October 2015


That was the title on TIME magazine for the story regarding the massive migration of Africans into Europe. The picture on the cover of the magazine was of a happy brown father carrying his son on his shoulders as he walks into Germany amidst a swarm of thousands of other migrants. We are seeing the same thing here. In a road side latrine at a rest stop between Edmonton and Whitecourt I saw some out house graffiti that summed things up nicely:


And of course, it's far worse for Europe. Over a million mudflaps are streaming into Europe this year. The next wave looks to be about three million. The wave after that is even larger. Millions of illiterate, impoverished, and ignorant savages that turned their own lands into a dump - now want to move to Europe and they are doing so. Rape and violent race attacks are going through the roof in Sweden. Every other Euro nation that has a population of these monkeys has similar problems with them. How is this lunacy...this utter suicidal stupidity...allowed to continue?

My moral and intellectual superiors over at the Treehouse have a possible explanation.

I believe uncle Bob postulated once that women elected Hitler and Stalin. Although I've never seen that one anywhere else - I believe it has the ring of truth. Vox Day has few words and one damning picture that says it all.

Russia - the next hotspot for African nation-shoppers. Good luck with that!
I favour Tim Horton's or the tailgate of my truck as my preferred coffee spot because of women exactly like those in the picture. Old, clucky, chattering dimwits in trendy scarves and tasteful clothes all clucking and squawking in lockstep unison. They dress up for each other, and pouring caffeine into those stunned cnuts is like pouring gas on a fire! That is what those four idiots remind me of.

Winston Churchill was often described as a 'German-O-Phobe' and had said that the problem with The Hun is that he is lying obediently at your feet or he's going for your jugular - and there is nothing in between. He was right, of course. Germany went from a bankrupt nation of rubber boots and tractors to a military power house of jack boots and Messerschmidts in a few short years. I can see them doing the same again as moslems rise to challenge them for ownership of their land.
I may be sexist to say it but I sincerely believe this: women have destroyed the bulk of the families through no-fault divorce. Communities have fallen after that. Nations are falling now. What's left? War?

I just hope that after WW3 is over - that we have the common sense and wisdom to get these stupid women out of affairs that should be handled by men - and back in the kitchens, schools, and hospitals where they belong. This is one social experiment that has clearly and utterly failed - and the bill for the clean up looks like it will be paid in blood if things keep going the way they are.

Alberta Starts It's First Swirl Around The Toilet Bowl...

That's assuming that our newly elected Dippers are potty trained, of course.

This washroom brought to you by the NDP. Notice - there is no unsightly graffiti on the walls in this washroom mister! Alberta is under new management and it shows!

Kate, as usual, has the gory details.

And of course, the fuggin Dippers are doing exactly what you would expect a drunk in charge of a liquor store to do. They have the visa card, they are going to max it out and when the bill comes due they are going to shrug and blame the people  needed to actually fix the problem.

We have more than a few Dippers at work. Tracy (names changed to protect the guilty) scolded me when she found that I was not smart enough to be politically educated. I was sobbing about how these socialist morons were going to tax me more and she lost all patience! "Filthie, who do you think is going to pay for all these doctors and teachers we have? You should be thankful! In Manitoba it costs $300.00 to register a car! You should be thankful you have it so good...!!!" Well, I was taken aback by this fat, slovenly single mother with a crappy job that she didn't do very well...and felt that I should make amends for my ignorance. " Yannow, you're absolutely right, Tracey! Maybe we should do that here! But instead of charging $300.00 to register your car, maybe we should raise that to $500.00! Or $1000.00!!!! Everyone likes having lots of doctors and teachers!!!! And - maybe a PST too! Just like Morontario!!!! But instead of something like 7% maybe we should make ours double that! Then we can get even more doctors and teachers!!!" At that point Tracy sniffed in disgust and stormed away in a snit. As Unca Bob opines - women are fascists and socialists by nature and the lesser ones can never seem to rise above it.

Carl is an import from the UK and our shipper/receiver. He's the biggest pooch screwer in the company and spends the bulk of his day schmoozing with delivery drivers and chatting with employees that are trying to do their jobs. He is a solid Dipper and laughed at me before the election. "Mate," he says, "There's gonna be all kinds of jobs if the provincial Dippers get in! The conservatives are all crooks and incompetents and it's time to take out the trash! Oil is what we do here, mate, and the NDP is not going to mess with that...." And of course once they got in, our new idiot premier started stacking her cabinet positions with activists from other provinces that couldn't get elected in their own ridings. The chick in charge of the oil sands is a school teacher. Oh yeah - you can bet this party of students, teachers, cocktail waitresses, and activists will set the world on fire! Shell just cancelled a big project and you can bet the others are sure to follow. But Carl was right about job creation...I guess we're gonna get over 150 new teachers right away...Tracy will be thrilled. Only stupid people like Yours Truly will worry about icky things like debt repayment!

Our senior sales guy is a Dipper too. He lives in a house twice the size of mine. He always has money for pot, for golf and lavish family vacations...but unfortunately his last child was born with a birth defect that left the tot effectively brain dead. As a result, this family needs help and free programs from the gov't to make ends meet, the poor unfortunates. I don't mean to make light of the misfortunes of having a mentally handicapped child...but dammit, I see something wrong with people living extravagant lifestyles getting handouts while guys like me that have saved, paid the bills and made responsible sacrifices - get stuck with higher taxes.

Dear gawd, we're all going to be lucky if we all have jobs next year. I suppose Tracy is right and I should be thankful. I have no debt, I have a little money saved and a job loss won't necessarily cripple me...and I suppose there is poetic and social justice in the fact that our dummies that voted for the Dippers will probably ended getting shafted by them the worst.

Methinks there will be a lot of stupid people learning the realities of life the hard way in the near future...

Monday, 26 October 2015

The Manosphere VS Old World Man And The Modern Generation Gap

Captain Capitalism, one of my best young bloggers - goes on a rip here.

Aarons' a good kid (forgive me, good man...he's in his 40's) - and he is typical of his generation. He's pissed as hell at the Republicans as are a lot of others. Vox Day comes to mind - he and his bezitted 14 year old fan-boys...errr, excuse me, "vile faceless minions" ... and masculine poseurs call them 'cuckservatives' because, apparently to them - the cuckold is the most spineless and contemptible of men. (I think ol' Voxxie's in for a rude awakening if his old lady ever gets a sense of self respect - but I digress, HAR HAR HAR!). Any number of bloggers and Manospherians won't hesitate to jump on the Repubs with both feet - and fling feces and whatever else comes to hand as they rage about the cognitive disconnect that separates our modern Conservatives and reality. Everyone is mad, nobody's happy and consequently the political right has divided - allowing the liberal scum to eat our lunch - both in America and Canada.

There is a generation gap at work here, one that I am in a unique position to appreciate. I am in my early 50's. I am old enough to remember the days of small towns like Mayberry because I lived in one. I remember the kindly white neighbours. I remember how the coloureds - although they had civil rights - were still kept firmly on a leash. Pot was something that only existed in the chit hole big cities like New York or Toronto, and most wives still stayed home with the kids to raise them while Dad worked as the bread winner. Welfare was seen as an indignity visited upon the unfortunate. Divorce was seen as failure - when was the last time you heard the term 'broken home'? The eeeeeevil Patriarchy or Old Boys Club was still around and doing well. The people currently running the Conservative parties these days are in their 60's for the most part, and were raised and educated in that environment. Men in those days led their families and were responsible for them. If somebody was unhappy, it was the head of the family's responsibility to find out why and deal with it - even if it incurred large personal costs and discomfort. It is what fathers and husbands did. They sacrificed, they worked hard and they were taught to respect others and take care of them too. This is what the Old World Man did. Most of the men in the Republican Party are Old World Men.  Most of the women are Old World Women. In those days women like Carly were as effective and competent as secretaries as they are today as CEO's. Old world men appreciated talent no matter where it came from, contrary to the race whores, the rancid feminists and other self proclaimed victims of patriarchy.

As you can imagine the Old World Man was a sitting duck for leftist wankers. He would bend over backward to try and make unhappy women - happy. He wanted honest, competent negroes to get a fair shake in the workplace and before the law. He had no problems, for example, getting behind first wave feminists that wanted equal work for equal pay. For the liberals - taking him out was like shooting fish in a bucket. Conservatives started a losing streak that still continues to this day, and each time they lose, they lose like the gentlemen they are...and things get a little worse. Affirmative action has America hiring foreign incompetents rather than her own children. Feral women divorce their husbands at the drop of a hat for cash and prizes and think nothing of the poverty and lonliness that ensues after a failed marriage. An entire generation has grown up looking at their parents like they were nuts - and were entirely right to do so. Aaron Clarey and Vox Day will throw women out on the street rather than tolerate their mistakes. They have been raised to avoid commitment, responsibility and restraint with women and who can blame them? Uncle Bob is an Old World Man frequently at odds with the Manosphere - largely because he does not understand how awful the modern woman has become.

This is the world that the Old World Man finds himself in today. Is it any wonder that he fails? From my place here, smack dab between generations - I see both the viewpoints of the New World Man and the Old. I've seen young men in the Manosphere over-compensate as modern society tries to emasculate them - and I don't blame them for their anger one bit. I've seen befuddled older Conservatives shrug in despair as they are dragged to the political left by the faggots, the feminists and the foolhardy. What else can they do? Stand their ground? That went really well for Zimmerman when he shot St. Trayvon Of Skittles, didn't it? Or the victims of witch hunts conducted by social justice warriors. You can get fired for making a joke about dongles nowadays.

The fact is, fellas, that none of us are in a position to avert what lies in store. None of us have the answers. Could Vox Day, Roosh or any other Manospherian take responsibility for a family? How about a community? Much less - a nation? From where I'm sittin' athwart the tides of history - they would eff it up even worse than the Repubs are doing today! They're boys that weren't brought up right. They are the leading edge of a generation of males conditioned to fail and defer to women. It's not looking good! The Captain and his lieutenants may object - but that is the way it is. They bitch about their elders but can't offer up any viable alternatives because they would get shot and quartered just as cuckservatives do when they anger the PC crowd.

There's three generations of us headed to hell in a handbasket boys - and though we may agree on nothing else, boys - let us agree on this: We're all in this together! May God be with you in the days ahead...

Old Hippies On CKUA Radio...

As I get older it gets harder to wake up in the morning, saddle up, and take the dogs out for their walk...especially in winter! GAH!

It all starts with the radio. When it goes off, you seem to have your choice of fake, phoney percolated perky bubble head women who just can't imagine anything more fun than getting up in the morning to giggle about jokes that aren't funny or banter with their sidekicks about nothing in particular. They seem to think that the sillier and stupider they are the more entertaining they are.

Then there's the shock jocks that think they can still shock people in these days of mainstreamed sexually disturbed butt blasters, Chicks-With-Dicks, feminist Meat Puppets and other UFO's. (I'm looking at you, Terry Evans of K97! You aren't 'cutting edge', you're not funny and your two pals sound like teenagers that aren't very bright and need an attitude adjustment). The Bear? Those Millenial morons are even worse! Even children have to be disgusted with this...

The wife seemed to like the strung-out old hippy on CKUA who rises and shines with the spoken and sung word in the morning. When he comes on he talks about his life on an acreage in rural Alberta on soft, low tones that don't assault your raw nerves as you try to wake up. At first it was a perfect fit for an old stubfart like Yours Truly! I would wake up to this other old fart griping softly about raking the fall leaves and other chores - with his tongue firmly in his cheek. He would quietly babble about throwing hay to the horses, about how his dogs were idiots and so on. Being a farm kid 100 light years ago, and an old fart living in a growing, maddening city filling up with swarms of infuriating morons...and facing a Monday filled with them...this man's soft drone of horses, mutts and seasonal chores was calm and balm.

The other day he slipped when he started babbling about his solar powered farm house - and the illusion disintegrated. A solar powered farmhouse? Really??? JFC - you can just tell. This guy was no hobby farmer or rural acreage dweller - he was probably some elderly hippie flink that probably lives off the Froot Loop of Whyte Ave! When this idiot started going on about how he ran his house on kicked me out of his story and left me feeling some kind of sense of loss. Today he was going on about how he was gonna saddle up his horse and take his dogs out elk hunting...just an hour out of Aaaaaadmontin by lake Nakimun!

Ye Gods. If there are any elk out there, they are penned in on farms or living in some yuppie's back yard! Our Host was supposedly better than other hunters because he didn't hunt for sport off horseback with his baying dogs in acreage country - he supposedly hunted for meat and hunted alone. HAR HAR HAR!

Probably more wildlife in that boy's beard than around his 'farm'...
I am a voracious reader and it ticks me off. I don't mind if you tell me a story - in fact, I would happily sit down to listen and pour you a dram for your troubles...but if you're of a mind to do me a favour and get your facts straight? These types crap the bed all the time and aren't even aware of the logs and skid marks and wonder why people turn away from them. If you're going to hunt elk you aren't going to do it from horseback with a pack of dogs. You almost certainly aren't going to do it around Lake Nakimun and if you do some yuppie land owner will probably charge you for trespassing. Hope your horse is good at jumping fences, BTW. Authors are admonished that if you want to tell a story it has to stick closely to the facts. When you start pulling stuff out of your ass it kicks the listener out of the story and it is almost impossible to get back into it (at least for me) - once you realize the author is full of beans.
Goddammitalltohell. I'm up now...and Lord, I need a coffee in the worst way....Mondays, grumble, grumble, grumble...

Thursday, 22 October 2015

A 'PILF'...? Get Those Barf Bags Out Boys! Ulp...!!!!

One day over at Uncle Bob's Treehouse I was flinging feces at my foolish fellow forum folk when Bob made a statement that should earn him a Nobel Peace Prize. It was one of those things that everyone else intuitively knows but I was staggered by it. He said that women are socialists and fascists by nature.

Well...that just threw me for a loop until I stepped back and looked at every single stupid woman I have ever known...and I'll be damned if EVERY SINGLE one of 'em wasn't a liberal too! Every last one. Oh sure, one or two liberal women were intelligent but the rest? Morons. Morons, all. And the stupidest of those were fascists all the way through...they just didn't know it and neither did I until Bob pointed it out. The other day he was beaking off that women were responsible for the rise of turdies like Hitler, Stalin, Lenin and all kinds of other historical turd burglars.. right on up to and incuding Obutthole....and I believe it.

For this morning, I was driving to my first sales call of the day when the empty headed ditz on 99.3 FM opened up and sandbagged me with this: apparently Young Master Turdo won the election and swept the young female voter demographic! Apparently the cankles are so smitten with him they say he's a "PILF"!!! For those of you that don't dwell in the gutter - that stands for 'Prime minister I would Like to F***"

Looks like every half wit with a vagina voted for this moron too...
Not only would they vote for this effeminate fwench flimp...they would bend over for him too!7
GAH...I'm not finished yet...
All joking aside - and I say this in earnest...I really think we need to re-consider women being able to vote. At the very least, the unemployed, those in prison, and those on social assistance should seriously have their voting rights revoked. When the crew of Monty Python can do a better job of running the nation than the guys the women vote might be time to get realistic about sexual equality too...

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

The Boy Crisis

Don't let the mild manners and soft spoken gentleman fool you...he is going to ask you some damned tough questions...

Well ya sure can tell we are about ten years into the faggotification and pussification of our boys. I've seen it in two households so far.

My nephews  (brother's kids) are in their 20's. Neither have a full time job nor are they interested in one. One lives at home with his mom and stepdad, the other works only when necessary and spends every spare cent on drinking or travelling. They lost their father back in the early nineties when they were tots. Their mother was a strong, powerful career woman that didn't want her future compromised by children.

My brother in law's kids are still young teens. He was a school principal, she was a teacher and feminist. They divorced about 5 years ago. (I know! I yam shocked too, HAR HAR HAR!) Today both the kids are diagnosed as 'learning impaired'. I'm not sure if having Pop around would have helped in that case as my brother in law is a Marxist union slob that regards kids as pawns in wage negotiations and little else...but I digress. As you might guess, he is a pathetic excuse for a man and a father and it shows in his children. I suspect all they need is some discipline...but there I go being nasty and judgemental again. As it is their parents have tried nothing and they're all out of options! LOL.

Houston, hate to tell ya this...but we have a MAJOR girl crisis too. Our girls are growing up to be spoiled, bratty and irresponsible. It's been that way for the last 50 years and it's getting worse. My daughter is 30 years old and lives like a 17 year old runaway. For me to say so isn't fatherly - it's considered mean and abusive especially by my idiot in laws who see nothing wrong with a 30 year old woman with a university degree - working part time in a bicycle shop. My daughter is not unusual or so I'm told - other fathers have told me that when they try to counsel or discipline their kids, male or female - they are seen as mean and nasty when they are being honest, responsible and truthful. Nowhere is this more apparent than in our universities where children are actually frightened of new ideas and actively seek to have their schools censored and patrolled for thought crime - and the provision of safe places where they can hide from ideas that frighten or anger them. I suppose it might be construed as mean and nasty to note that the devolution of our universities to intellectual wastelands - coincides with the proliferation of women in them. If you think the workplace is bad now - just wait until this latest batch professionally incubated moronic females hit the job market in earnest.

I dunno what the answer is. When I tried to push my daughter to be responsible and mature it literally tore our family to pieces. Make no mistake about the emotional blackmail game being played by feminists, homosexuals, and social justice warriors: if you go against them they WILL try to destroy you and they will happily cut their own noses off to spite their faces. If you should be a father in such a wretched progressive family you will have a choice: abandon your role as a father and bow down to the social justice warriors...or BE a father...and lose your family. Most knuckle under.

I did not - and for the most part I have not regretted it...but there are sometimes when I wish my family were whole again. The sting is usually worst around Christmas. Sometimes I sit by the fire with the dogs and day dream about a traditional Christmas with a real family. I wonder what it would be like to have grandkids or to be a grandfather. Or, at least I used to...but as I get older and my years of fatherhood fall ever deeper into the past it's not so bad. Wouldn't mind having a grandson to give my rifles to and fly with though. Or go ice fishing with...

BAH! Humbug!!!!

I think the gent in the videeyah got it wrong...this isn't a 'boy' crisis, this is the utter and abject failure of our family and society. Further, it is my contention that we have not yet seen the worst or last of this. Things are going to get a lot worse.

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Little Victories

Turds Of A Feather...

Someone once said that the most binding chains are those we put on ourselves. Never before was the truth of that driven home as on the weekend when I was out flying with Fearless Flapz at the RC field. I had always thought the sport was relaxing and fun as I watched the intrepid pilots put their RC birds through aerobatics that would make a coroner puke. To the layman such things appear to be mere spontaneous stunting - but they are anything but. Successful areobats have routines as carefully planned and rehearsed as any acrobat - there is NO room for error with aircraft, RC or otherwise. If you try to violate the laws of physics or gravity these things refuse to fly and fall like stones.

Unlike Flapz I could never relax while flying. I dunno how many hours I burned up on the simulator - I can drop 'em on the numbers every time - on the computer. I started adding difficulty with failures, winds, and thermals - and still I fly like a champ in cybernetic skies. But when I was actually up in the air with that stupid little RC plane my pantaloons filled with fright, the red alerts were going off in every compartment of my brain - and I finished short flights gasping for breath and sweating. I crashed an ultralight aircraft years ago and the experience never left me. A dozen times I seriously thought about putting everything up for sale on kijiji and taking up needlepoint!

Last weekend, we scrambled out to the field for Dawn Patrol. This was the day I decided to face my fears and phobias. I was going to loop and roll my little trainer, do it again until my pantaloons over-flowed or my heart stopped ... and keep doing it until I  got past this bloody mental hang-up that impeded my enjoyment of a fine hobby. And, by God - I put that little bird in the air and I flew the chit out of it! I looped. I rolled. The fear left and I was back to being the aviator I was supposed to be! Some migrating geese decided to violate my airspace and I put the run on them with the little plane and chased them off! HAR HAR HAR! I felt like a kid again! Before I knew it my timer went and I brought the little plane in for a flawless landing. I can still feel the eurphoric buzz from the weekend. I am not out of the woods yet but - what a difference it made to blow the dust out of my brain box and fly. I was so happy I bought another plane - this one a low wing tail dragger!

The Weedwhacker!
This one is an ugly old trainer too - but it has taught more than a few of the club stubfarts how to fly and has been bought and sold within the club about a half dozen times. It is powered by a two cycle 
20cc engine and it flies a little more aggressively than my high wing trainer. These crappy models are fun, tough, and inexpensive...but from here things get a little pricier and far more serious. I am torn between getting a serious aerobat...or a beautiful scale model that is built to look and sound exactly like their bigger originals.

Tiger Moth - all it takes is $$$$
Look at the wood and the wires...maybe I should say to hell with this kid's stuff and do it right. For years I was looking at a home built Flybaby.
Be still, my beating heart
Lycoming or Continental 85HP engine, wood and fabric. The original Flybaby was designed and built in the 60's and it still flies today. Burn rate is a miserly 5 gallons per hour. This...this is living!
Or...gosh, I love the classic lines of the Pietenpol Aircamper:
Back in the day, if you wanted to get around Alberta fast...this is how ya did it...
Sometimes I think I ain't doing it right. Gawd, I could die well on a dirt farm with a grass landing strip and a tar paper shack for a home. If my wife ever regains her sense of sight and smell, and I end up divorced...I am headed for the sticks!

The Sins Of The Father

Originality is not one of my talents. Upon googling 'the sins of the father' the first thing that pops up is an article about Justin Turdo - apparently the Hair Apparent  of the Canadian throne! Last nights' election went Terribly Wrong - at least if you are a working man - but everyone pretty much expected it. How can you sell fiscal responsibility, common sense and restraint in a nation slowly sinking under leftist progressiveness?

For me, my first exposure to liberalism was Justin's father - Pierre Elliot Trudeau...and may he rot in hell for the things he did.


Here in Alberta we boom and bust with the petro-economy. In the late 80's and early 90's the oil boom busted...and Alberta busted with it. People who thought the good times would never end lost everything. There were suicides. As a young man hitting the job market in those days, with a new wife and was bad enough. But then this son of a whore who was supposedly Canada's Prime Minister - decided to punish Alberta even more! He came up with the National Energy Program (basically an attempt to raid Albertan finances to fund pork for Ontario and Quebec) and established PetroCanada - an attempt to nationalize Alberta's oil patch and run it from out east. Naturally both endeavours failed as they were essentially run by socialist meat holes that did not understand business - legitimate business, that is. It devastated us - my wife and I both worked multiple part time low wage jobs just to pay the rent. Unless you knew somebody who could pull strings for you - you were hooped and had to settle for whatever jobs you could get. A lot of people just sold out and moved. Maybe I should have too. Who knows.

There's no justice - when Pierre croaked, his lickspittles out east tried to make a national tragedy of it. They had the big parade for the coffin, RCMP redcoats in their finest dress uniforms, the works. By then things were slightly better for my wife and I...but that night I poured a small dram of Oban and bid my nation good riddance to bad trash. It is not polite to speak ill of the dead, but some people - guys like Pierre Elliot Trudeau - are men that the world is far better off without. He was a shit stain on Canadian history - and legions of morons out east have no idea the kind of damage he did out here. Oh, some of them do and simply don't care...which is even worse. Good grief, I would scream bloody murder if a man I elected treated them like that...but decency is not a two way street in Canada anymore. Maybe it never was and I am just na├»ve.

Last night, his son was elected the new prime minister of Canada.

I'll admit - I don't know much about Justin. He's a part time drama teacher so he obviously has all the credentials necessary to do the job. Reading through his election platform I learned that I am now a member of Canada's elite 'upper class' based on my income...and that he intends to raise my taxes and steal from others like me that didn't vote for him - and give our loot to those that did. One of my customers that runs a small oil patch business was foaming at the very thought of Justin and his plans for business owners. In contrast, one of the fat slag single mothers in our company is thrilled with him because she thinks he is going to pay all her bills. His statesmanship is not in dispute - when he called some elderly conservative MLA 'a f***ing piece of chit' a year or two back, the media got up on its hind flippers and clapped like barking seals. They did that for his father too.
If you can judge people by their friends and enemies I gotta say it doesn't look good for young master Turdo. As far as the our economic future goes it doesn't look good for me. I've prepared the best I can. My unpretentious house and vehicles are paid for. I have some money but not enough. Soon I will be too old to work and too young to retire.  If things go the way I think they will I will probably be unemployed next year. I'm seeing the signs - buildings are still being put up while completed ones sit empty and are up for lease or purchase. The good companies have all got hiring freezes on while they wait to see which way the economy goes. No need to worry though - Justin is going to grow the economy 'from the heart outwards...'. That evil old Stephen Harper wanted to balance the budget which would leave all kinds of vibrants and women with the feelbadz because they wouldn't get any of those neat social programs that stupid people crave.
My thoughts? Pierre was an evil lying, thieving son of a whore but he was smart as a whip and knew how to play people off against each other to his own advantage. Justin is an idiot. I became a western separatist during the Chretien years but dear God - now we have a leftist idiot for a premiere too. I can't help but think that all the pain to come - all the heartbreak and was all perfectly avoidable.
Brace for a rough ride Canada - and asked for it.

Monday, 19 October 2015

Playboy & The Porn Industry

They're having a wake over at 28 Sherman for Playboy.

I've never been a big porn fan. When I was in my 20's I went to a lot of peeler bars with my buds but generally didn't care for them. They went to ogle the skank - I wanted to drink and talk! Seriously! HAR HAR HAR!!! Usually the music was blasting so loud you went deaf! Out of all that wasted time I can only vaguely remember one stripper. She was so skinny that if she turned sideways she would disappear. She had the boobs and build of an 11 year old and when she came on we pretty much ignored her until she started to dance - and it was poetry in motion. How in hell does an honest-to-god-dancer end up in a peeler bar? I don't think I wanna know! I am no pedo, and as far as I know none of my friends were either...but she got a standing ovation from all of us in the bar that night. We weren't horned out pervs - we were men captivated and shocked by true performance art that somehow appeared in that armpit of a bar. It was probably the only time I ever really enjoyed the peelers - and that dancer could have left her clothes on for all we cared. It was the damnedest thing I ever saw.

When it came to skinmags I never really got into them except for one - Larry Flynt's Hustler Magazine. The humour was so toxic and filthy that even I was embarrassed by it - and I am no prude. Hustler put on no pretentious airs of cultural or intellectual sophistication like Playboy or Penthouse did - the man that subscribed to Hustler was a pig and made no bones about it! The porn went right off the Raunch Scale too. Needless to say it was one of my favourites - and about the only porn mag I would actually read! I dunno if Hustler is around anymore either.

I've heard any number of women beaking off about how porn demeans women but I just don't see it. I think they needlessly worry about porn as some kind of competitor for men's attention and all I can say is that if you can't compete with porn, lady - maybe you need to get out of the game and join the fat ugly man-hating lesbians on the sidelines. And of course, women never have issues with smut like 50 Shades Of Gray or those trashy pulp Harlequin romances. As women take over publishing and writing to make sure we all think properly and laugh at the correct jokes (demeaning laughter is a hate crime, I have been informed), I notice that Mommy Porn has somehow slipped through the politically correct dragnet.

The boys at 28 Sherman are wrong in mourning the passing of Playboy; but they are correct in mourning the passing of the Man Space. It used to be found in the boardrooms, or nightclubs and other exclusive venues that made no secret of their intention to provide men space - and they've pretty much all fallen to the hateful feminist shrew. The hell of it is, once women got into those spaces they discovered they really didn't want to be there...and the men they wanted to crowd all left!

Thankfully internet rides to the rescue again: when my daughter came out of the closet as a militant lesbian shrew - I literally had no one I could talk to about it other than some very close friends that I could be completely honest with. We could only speak out of earshot of others and even so...none of them had wretched daughters so they had no idea what I was up against. It isn't easy - but if you look you can find closed forums where men can talk about crap like this honestly - without incurring the wrath of the social justice warriors, the censors and the pinkshirts. I don't think Playboy or any other mainstream publication can make the transition to the so-called Dark Enlightenment; if they tried any number of liberal lickspittles would arise to sue them into penury. I suspect that while the olds chool man-spaces may indeed be gone...the masculine Speakeasies are on the grow.

I wonder: if women gave men their space...would the divorce stats improve? I would like to think so.

Friday, 16 October 2015

A Hundred Light Years Ago...

60 Minutes did a special on a Chinese political cartoonist - I wish I could recall his name. He seemed to view people as though he saw their images diffracted through another dimension - the caricatures were odd and disturbing in proportions but instantly recognizable. When he published a particularly insulting caricature of Mao Tse Dung he got 20 years hard labour in a political re-education camp. He got out in 15 and did stellar work attacking the foreign politicians of the day. Nixon was a favourite target, and I still remember one where Kissinger was getting hit square in the gob with a very hefty book - the look of shock and surprise on the character's face evoked laughter and hilarity even though the caption was written in Chinese. But one day he was overcome by his ethics and attacked his own gov't again - and back he went to the concentration camp. This time he did the full 20 years and upon his release - promptly re-offended again by mocking his moral and intellectual superiors in the communist party. Such was his presence that his fans in the international community made it plain that China would lose face if they punished him again - so they deported him to America where he seemed to fade into obscurity. Odd, is it not - how a man like that could arise in China under a brutally repressive gov't...but here in the freedom of  North America - our mainstream media journalists are craven, gutless scum an ass kissers or the lowest order?

When I saw the GIF  below, I thought of that Chinese cartoonist again:

Better stick to shining shoes in a cat house, Barkie...
HAR HAR HAR! Awesome...but I suppose I really shouldn't laugh too hard. All too often I tend to get my own comeuppance when I laugh at the misfortunes of others. But...if international affairs were turned over to me, problems like this would cease to exist. The Filthie Doctrine (that my wretched detractors refer to as 'Nuke & Pave' - would prevent a lot of the problems in the world today!)
Have a great weekend boys - and try not to get any on ya...

Thursday, 15 October 2015

A Prayer To The Patron Saint Of All Fathers With Daughters

Five years ago, right after the Christmas holidays I was actually relieved to get back to work. My 20-something daughter had come in for the holidays and relations between us had always been strained. We spent a lot of the holidays with the in-laws who figured they would spend their retirement years trying to harass the hell out of me for entertainment. An hour or two with them often left me seriously considering opening my wrists - and I had spent days with them.

So back to work! The visiting was done, the kid had gone home, and life was returning to normal! First day of the year...I came in an hour early as is my custom to start the coffee pot, rifle The Crack's desk for things he was effing up that I would need to fix, going through my emails both work and domestic, emptying the office garbages and generally setting up for the day. Once all my chores were done I sat down with a coffee to go through the email. I burned through the work related ones, and then went to my own gmail account and noticed one from my daughter. I casually opened it, expecting the usual "I forgot my gloves at your house..." or "Can you spot me a loan for ...." or the usual stuff kids ask of their parents.

Instead, I learned my daughter was gay and was coming out of the closet. There's no nice way to say it: my day - my week - was f****d.

It was a long rambling e-mail about how horrible her life at home had been living with an abusive homophobe. She waxed melodramatic about how I couldn't be trusted with knowing about her super seekrit sexuality (because homophobia) and how awful I was (because sexism) and how I would have to swim shark-infested waters and cross lakes of lava to regain her trust. If I was worthy and able to be given a place in her newly defined family unit - it would be in the closet she had just come out of. She and her creepy girlfriend would tell me what I could say, they would tell me what jokes were funny and which weren't, they would tell me what I could and couldn't think. Today we call these idiots 'social justice warriors'  - essentially bullies that use rabid political correctness to police the thoughts and speech of people they disagree with. She went on to announce her informal betrothal to a homely girl she had known for some time and basically told me that I could fit in with her new family - or **** off!

After reading it I turned grey - I was so angry and hurt I couldn't speak. Sure, I had suspected she was queer, but everyone always denied it and I didn't think she had it in her to be this abusive skank she obviously was. We had the fights that all parents had with their kids...where did this bile, this vitriol - come from?  What in hell was going on here? I tried to walk away and not respond over the computer. I tried...but couldn't do it. I sent back an angry note, told her I was pretty damned disgusted with her and the way she had chosen to deal with this, and told her to take her threats and FOAD. That was that for that. I haven't heard back from her for years other than another angry email exchange last year when we tried to patch things up (it degenerated into email insults), and she tried to go around me to suck up to her mother last week (who, thank God, understands what the little turd is doing and how she's trying to manipulate her). Most of my efforts at contact were met with stubborn silence and I didn't know whether she was alive or dead for most of that time.

For me - I can hold my nose about homosexuality - but it's her personality I will not abide. She's a shrew, she's 30 years old and acts like a 17 year old brat, and I seem to be the only one in the family that knows she's better than that. But they're all afraid of being seen as 'picking on queers'. Craven bastards. They bobble their heads in condescension as my daughter describes her part time job in a bicycle shop, her refusal to get a car or even learn how to drive, or a full time job... or her living arrangements with 8 other weirdos in a slum house in downtown east side Hongcouver. My in-laws tried to give me chit for not bowing down to her and were appalled when I told it like it was: my daughter was a lazy, good for nothing gay hipster with no goals or options or prospects. They almost had a fit of vapours over it...but somebody had to tell the truth. They insist on coddling her and condescending to her but I won't do it. I refuse. Kids have to grow up sometime; they have to be able to care for themselves. They need to be mobile and have a license to get good jobs at a minimum. A meaningful degree is a must, a flinky liberal arts degree like hers is a red flag for most employers today. Most kids want a full time job to get the things they want. GAH! We have no common ground. I have since learned about social justice warriors and the way they operate, and that lesbian man haters with Daddy Complexes are actually quite common. Apparently faggots tend to be boisterous and outgoing - whereas lesbians tend to be mean and sullen.

Today I was farting along in traffic when an RCMP officer crept up behind me, hit the lights and scared the chit out of me with the siren. I pulled over but he went around me and blazed ahead, and I figured he must have been late for a donut or maybe there was an accident or something.

A half mile up the road he pulled into a parking lot beside a convenience store - where several squad cars and his fellow officers had taken some teens down. There were bicycles and back packs strewn about, and a couple kids were being arrested - probably drugs but who knows. One of the kids was a beautiful young girl with her arms cuffed behind her back and I caught her eye as I passed. All I could think was that tonight, after work...some poor father, who only wanted to work and get ahead and provide a home for his family ... was going to get the shocking news that his daughter was in trouble with the law, and that he had some very, very serious problems on his plate now that would put all the others to shame. If you're that father, I said a silent prayer for you. I hope that this was just a minor brush with the law, and that your daughter will see the error of her ways and shape up to be the beautiful woman she's supposed to be.

Or maybe she was just a feral young woman like my daughter, confident there would always be a second chance, raised by adults that worried more about her self esteem than her education or work ethics. There are any number of experts on child psychology and counselling but most of them are disturbed finks themselves and are full of beans and trying to sell them to marks that are too stupid to think for themselves. Screw them.

If I were to seek outside help to reconcile with my daughter or help out that girl today getting busted outside the convenience store - I seriously think that Red Green would be the best guy for the job!

If ya can't fix it with duct tape - it probably can't be fixed! Keep yer stick on the ice, boys, 'cause we're all in this together.

Hold your daughters close, men. There are evil forces acting on them today, and all may not be as good as you think it is. God bless.

Wednesday, 14 October 2015

Ruthlessly Stolen From The Daily Time Waster

Why did the chicken cross the road? To kick Filthie's ass!

Growing up, my parents were much like I am today. They weren't wealthy but they were free. They were also very lucky, and damned hard workers. When they decided to Move Out To The Country they had to do it on a shoe string. Pop, my brother and I built the family's first house. Contractors poured the footings and basement and framed the house...and we did the rest. At the time I was a little older than this young martial artist here. Every day after school we loaded up the truck - headed out to The House and went to work. I wasn't old enough to be much more than a spare set of hands but even doing that made me worth my weight. Weekends were spent out there too. A year later we had an 1800 sq. ft. home for Mom, and were hard at work on a separate 3 car garage for Pop. 2 years later it was time for us kids - Pop built a small barn shaped shed for us to raise hobby chickens in.
Chickens have a reputation for cowardice that one has to be very, very careful with. That kid in the GIF is not a coward or craven - that is a rooster putting the run on him and you threaten or disrespect them at your peril. I raised bantams - basically colourful miniature birds that are more ornamental than anything else. The hens were docile and added a touch of hominess and charm to our hobby acreage as they clucked and scratched... and visitors often delighted in how friendly they were and how they could pick them up and pet them.
Our banty rooster was another story. His place on the farm was as its owner and absolute ruler; and he made sure everyone knew it. Anything under 1200 pounds was fair game for a fight and even the horses minded their manners around him. Bantam roosters have needle sharp spurs on their legs and they use them to fight. It's not so bad if they sink them into you and pull them straight out - but it's murder when they use them to rip! Ours usually went after Pop and the dog but he would go after us kids too if he was having a bad day. One day a weasel got into the coop and that was the end of him. I guess the moral of the story is that no matter how tough you think you are...there's always somebody tougher and meaner.
I put an end to the weasel a couple days later with a borrowed leg we didn't lose any hens. To this day the kid in me likes to think that was due to that rooster's courage and valour. That little bastid - facing a weasel...would literally be equivalent to Tarzan facing the sabre toothed lion with his flint knife.
How many of us would have the courage of a mere chicken?

Tuesday, 13 October 2015

Hey - I Yam On Reddit!!!

Ahhhh. Good work is always recognized, I like to say!

It seems that the cellar dwelling social justice warriors stopped by to use the Thunderbox - but didn't care for the smell!

I was wondering where all the TP went...but I got upvoted by a goodly number of guys with boobs bigger than the girls have, and mocked by extra-terrestrials I didn't even know lived in this galaxy! HAR HAR HAR!

Thankfully - none of them were Deeply Offended or suffered a blow to their Self Esteem. My sincere apologies, ladies, gentlemen, and species of indeterminate gender! I will try harder next time!

(I really must be losing my touch. There was a time when I could make human trash like that spit, foam and hiss on command. it that...or are these people too stupid to troll...?)

Chrissie Hynde Grows Up

I have always loved Grerp. She is truly a modern female intellectual in every sense of the word, and I stumbled across and re-discovered her blog recently. She actually likes men, and is comfortable being a real woman. Reading her stuff for me is like a breath of fresh air amidst the dirty gale of the clot headed slut-walking feminists.  In this post she features Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders discovering that women putting themselves in a dangerous position...may be hazardous to their health.

No problem here, ladies...but don't blame me when some other failed liberal social experiment is sliding it up your arse without your consent.
Chrissie Hynde found out the hard way that if you look like a slut, and act like a slut - you will in all likelihood be treated like a slut. I can see the point these twits are trying to make. They shouldn't have to worry about getting raped just for showing skin. I shouldn't have to lock up my house when I leave, and I should be able to leave the keys in my car unattended without having to worry about some juvie or vibrant stealing it. But in the real world - if you deliberately tempt the gods of misfortune and refuse to take care of yourself the reality is that there are those that will take advantage of it.
And of course, if Chrissie or Grerp point out the obvious - they are mercilessly attacked for it - mostly by scads of ugly women on the social media networks. And the hell of that is...most of the most deeply offended and angry women - are those that are so butt-ugly, not even a rapist will touch them! HAR HAR HAR!
The Usual Suspects are admonished and reminded: there is a large, bold, definitive line between being an idiot and being a victim...and it is not as thin as they would have us believe.
I am loathe to add Grerp into a blog roll that has guys like Uncle Bob on it...especially with this being a very unsavoury blog in its own right...but such are the agonies of the intelligent. Onto the blog roll she goes - adding a touch of much needed class to everyone involved! 
To my fellow Canukistanies...hope your Thanksgiving was a good one.

Friday, 9 October 2015


I don't get over to the Chateau Heartiste very often and don't know much about him. But like pretty much everyone else out there, watching our society spidey senses are going off like gang busters. My own family is devolving into one great big failed liberal social experiment.

Mom and Pop are happily married, the children of old world Alberta pioneers with traditional family values. My brother and I were raised on those values but my brother was a liberal too - and rejected a lot of them. His marriage lasted 5 years. His boys are effeminate, quiet and complete wrecks around women. Both are in their twenties and neither has a wife or girlfriend. The oldest has a beer gut on him bigger than mine and I am over twice his age. Big Bro took up with a nice Christian lady shortly after the divorce, stopped drinking and doing drugs - and today he is on the wrong side of 50 and running Death Races.

I was the straight arrow in the family as my wife was in hers. Her parents are liberal progressives that eventually got so obnoxious - they aren't allowed in our house! I don't care what they think or say; all I know is they won't do it around me. When my daughter went off the deep end and discovered she was gay and that her life's calling was social justice and politically correct bullying she went her way too. She doesn't talk to anyone in the family, even her progtard grandparents. My problems with my in laws aren't merely political - they are moral and ethical too. They aren't going to tolerate mine and I won't tolerate theirs. It's a win for everyone I suppose.

In my own case the collapse of the family was lightning fast. My daughter came out of the closet and announced her homosexuality, then she declared that she and her ugly life partner would be my moral and intellectual superiors and that we all would defer to them in their presence: they would tell us what we could say, what we could think, what jokes were funny...the usual social justice warrior bullshit. My idiot father and mother in law literally pushed themselves into this family feud and into my house to fight it - and got thrown out for their troubles. I don't handle threats or ultimatums well. Today my daughter no longer talks with any of us - not even her progtard grandparents on my wife's side. My daughter and in laws tried to make that battle into one about the homosexuality; but of course, it was all the other BS involved that forced me to draw lines in the sand, and goad them into trying to push past it. Our differences are beyond reconciliation; they involve morals, ethics, politics and even common bloody sense - we can't agree on any of what those things are.

Each time a piece of the family crumbled we all stood around wondering how to handle it. There was a time our family was rock solid and today we can't even sit down to talk about the weather because some idiot might get offended.

Heartiste presents what might be a great pictorial narration of the devolution of our families.

The comments are a little ribald - but worth noting as well. I hear bloggers use the term 'Culture War'... and if there is such a thing I truly wonder if we haven't already lost it. Is this what our society is going to look like before the lights go out and the rioting starts?

Thursday, 8 October 2015

Relationships With Single Mothers

Like anybody else I suppose, a lot of my friends are divorced. I will make no secret of not understanding the dating game as I have no skin in it. It makes no sense to me at all because even in the best cases a failed marriage seems to be a devastating event for both spouses. There seems to be a growing trend with dating mature couples where both partners own their own homes, have their own cars and although they get together socially - they seem to take great pains to keep their lives, finances and belongings totally separate.

On one hand I am not surprised. I blame the rampant divorce rates and family failures squarely on liberalism. They have indoctrinated girls to grow up expecting to be powerful and independent without having to work for it or build the means for doing so. They have emasculated our young men and undermined the role of the father in the home and it's gotten so bad many couples now refuse to marry. I dunno why that is either - the law sees common law relationships almost the same way it views traditional marriage, does it not?

Captain Capitalism does some investigative reporting on the demographics of single motherhood and the perils a man faces in striking up a relationship with them. And of course there are a few typical woman haters weighing in on the comments. (I took a crap in the comments too!)

I make no bones about it. I hate liberals. I hate their arrogance, I hate their sanctimony, I hate their phoney airs of moral and intellectual superiority and I hate their finger puppets like the feminists, the homosexuals, the pacifists, the environmentalists and miscellaneous other reality denying groups. What really, REALLY hacks me off about them though - is the kneejerk reactions they provoke and evoke - in me! In fact I just did it above: I don't really hate homosexuals. I'm smart enough to treat the discrete and respectful queer with civility...but I hate the ones that attack the church, the freedom of speech, our children and guys like me that just want to be left alone. I suppose I could respect a pacifist under certain conditions too; my grandfather became one after spending his childhood as a doughboy in the trenches of WW1. Climate change? I will entertain the concept, provided the data is genuine. I will not put up with fags like David Suzuki or Fat Al Gore berating me for my carbon footprint as they jet about the country scaring children out of their lunch money, and lounging about the yacht or mansion in their off-hours.

Could a similar thing be setting up around the idea of single mothers? Liberals portray them all as heroic victims of men...when that is clearly not the case. All the divorced men I know are good people, and ALL of them had their marriages fail when their wives pulled the pin on it. The guys all did good - they went on to remarry and moved past their divorces but a couple of the women had...and continue to have...problems. There is a definite backlash growing against single women and while most of that is earned...there is always the exception that we have to take pains with and handle differently. Just as there is the odd homo, environmentalist or liberal that is actually worth listening to...there are single mothers out there that would otherwise make perfectly good wives and mothers. The knee jerk reaction is to throw out the baby with the bathwater.

But that is how it goes with liberals and their issues and causes, I guess. The Battle Of The Sexes started out as a humorous way to focus on women's rights and then got turned into all out warfare. Both sides are now so entrenched and focused on hurting the other that they don't realize they are only hurting themselves...and the kids most of all. The carrion eaters in the lawyers offices and the judiciary fan the flames of that war in order to profit from it.

I'm watching this cultural war and left wondering - who is going to take care of me when I am old and senile? These people can scarcely take care of themselves or their families. Are we all doomed?

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

The First Rule Of A Rescue Is:


In unhappy cases like this, though - the people inside are already dead. This is no longer a job for heroic firemen, the Jaws Of Life, the ERT or ambulance workers - this is a job for Red Adaire!

If it seems that there's a pattern to today's posts, it's because I found another great blog to steal from! Male Bovine Perf Logs is hereby inducted into the League of Extraordinary Steamers. Rubber boots are strongly recommended and I personally would seriously consider hip waders...

Submitted To The Thunderbox Without Comment.

That's a cat turd, and no, it will never turn into anything good. A lot of men say they hate cats but most secretly love them. My dad was just such a man. For Pop, I think cats served as an important emotional outlet for when Mom or I or life in general were otherwise driving him nuts.
"All that cat does is eat and chit..." If the hockey game was on and the cat curled up in your lap, he would say "How can you even stand that stinky bastid...?" Pop got downright unsporting at times, and had no problems playfully tossing a cat at his sons. Once airborne, a cat becomes a flying Moulinex. Pop insulted the cats with a dry humour and when he was sure nobody was watching, he petted them with all the kindness and love that he treated all the other animals with. Cats are a foolish and mischievous people and they knew a kindred spirit when they saw one.
His favourite cat was named UW which stood for 'Ultimate Warrior'. (The Ultimate Warrior was some obscure WWF wrestler that Pop and his grandchildren loathed). To this day, how Pop captured that cat is a mystery to me. I think it was once a feral farm cat...but the story goes that one day UW walked into the house like he owned it, and my parents just shrugged and started feeding him. The cat wouldn't hesitate to swing at me, the grandkids or the dogs and when he did - he opened you up and you bled. You didn't mess with UW - or he would mess with YOU. To this day I don't know what it is that my parents saw in him.
One day I was digging my motorcycle out of winter storage in Dad's shop and noticed a couple neatly laid cat turds on the seat of Pop's pride and joy - a brand new Case tractor. I deliberately dragged out the oil change and fussing with the bike just to see Pop's face when he came in to fire up his heart throb only to find that his cat had shat on it! This was gonna be good - or so I thought.
Pop came striding into his shop, noted with satisfaction that I was finally getting my damned bike out of his domain...and stepped up to the tractor... ... ... and noticed the cigar-shaped turds resting on the pilot's seat. "Hmpffff," he said. He just picked them up with his bare hands, and threw them outside on the driveway! Thinking nothing of it, he fired up his dream machine, backed out and ran over the turds, and then took off  down the driveway to grab a round bail and go feed cattle! I suppose that when you're a farmer, you're gonna get shit on your hands (and worse). Who wants to get crap on their work gloves, right? Anyways...I felt led down. Why, if I had crapped on it I would have been tied into a chair and beaten to death with a lead pipe! Go figure.
When Mom and Pop retired from farm life and moved into the city UW decided he had no further use for them and moved out. Last I heard he had moved in with a little girl and her family that lived down the street. When their cat was repossessed by a little girl, they just shrugged and let it go. I personally think that letting that homicidal slasher into an innocent family with women and children was criminally negligent but apparently the fur bag behaved himself. When the family moved away, UW went with them.
All that is 30+ light years ago. When I moved out we had cats of our own and now they are long gone too. We have dogs now and I love them with all my heart...but there are still days when I miss the cats. They are the gods of bastidry and mischief - which, in small doses - keeps us young.