Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Saturday, 30 April 2016

For Uncle Bob...

I've been picking on Uncle Bob a lot, crapping in the comments of his blog and such. But this one came in over the phone and I couldn't resist!

Oh, us poor suffering fathers and husbands know exactly what you're all about you little shit! I have two dogs and have been victimized by their scandalous eruptions more than once too...!

Friday, 29 April 2016

More Shitter Shenanigans! Saturday Morning Cartoons Cancelled

Great. Yannow those things fart in the 20 megaton range, dontchya?

I'll see your 20 megatons and raise ya 20...

Critical Thinking Skills

You can almost smell the cogitation...

Captain Capitalism thinks critically about Critical Thinking.

Looks like the lefties and progtards are engaging in liberal language fuckery again. They're always doing that - banning certain words like "bitch" and redefining them as "powerful women". Today we laugh in the garage - we don't "nigger-rig" unlikely and often perilous solutions to foolish mechanical problems - we engage in 'African-American Engineering' to cobble together a solution! Looks like they're re-defining the term 'critical thinking' now.

For me the term always had a positive vibe. It referred to being able to predict the consequences of current actions or events. For example - the lefties are carping about 'minimum wages' and setting them at obscenely high levels. Because they can't think critically - they think they can just wave a magic wand, make a few strokes with a politician's pen - and MAGIC! The poor have more money!

They aren't smart enough to see that costs are always passed on to the customer - with the consequences of higher prices or business failure when profits are gobbled up by costs for manpower. They make the same mistake with taxes too. Then they wonder how inflation happened and blame greedy, eeeeevil rich people like Joe The Plumber for the fact that he can't pay a Mexican immigrant pipe polisher $75K a year.

Now we have two generations of kids that have been raised and educated to separate their actions from the consequences. They don't plan, they don't save, they don't have to try or exert effort because it is perfectly fine to fail and there will always be somebody to catch them when they fall.

All of which makes me think, as I sit here grunting and straining on the Thunderbox this fine Friday morning...just what are those kids doing for so long in the washroom if they ain't thinking...???

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

An Ill Wind In The Willows: The Frogmoor Rifle

When my daughter was small I used to spend time with her in front of the tube as she watched her shows. I worked shitty sweatshop jobs in those days trying to make ends meet. 12 hours at it often left me just plain bagged at the end of the day - but what a relief!

I would get home, kick off my smelly work boots - and often my wife would have an awesome supper ready for me. After plowing through that, I would crash on the couch beside the kid to watch TV with her and often fell asleep watching dreck like The Smurfs, My Pretty Pony...and sometimes, these guys:

Great days and memories, before all the drama, anger and hate and my daughter was just a normal, beautiful little girl.
I think I actually worked with those guys at one point...they could even make adults laugh. There's always a little bit of the kid in all of us.
Sometimes I coud stay awake and watch them. Often I passed out and started snoring. I got up and went to work early in those days and was often gone before my daughter woke up. When you're young you can always do something later. When you're older you have to do things now because there might not be time later. When you're older still...I suspect you look back on all your wasted time and wonder what in hell you did with it all!
In any event I was reminded of better times and people when I saw this little gem - the Frogmoor Rifle!

Oh look! Mr. Badger and Toad have taken their friend, Turtle - to the rifle range! This idyllic scene is tastefully engraved on the side of what appears to be a custom ballard rifle.

Comedy and bilarity ensue. The moral of the story is that toads shouldn't play with rifles! Which probably lets half of us guys out... You can almost hear the commotion and mayhem coming off the receiver of this rifle.

The Frogmoore Rifle may not perform well on the range with Toads but it should do just fine at the prestigious Creedmore shoots! Here is the spectacular rifle fully assembled:

A fine rifle that also hails back to better times when we were better people
I like to ponder grand old antiques like this. Imagine the Creedmore tournament: set in a day when shooting was a wholesome and respected sport. Men in bowler hats, tweeds and ties smoked cigars in between matches, and perhaps steadied their nerves with a beer or two, unconcerned with the bed-wetting paranoia that surrounds guns today.
Ya know yer getting old when ya miss the good old days.  :) I think I'm gonna make a point of hitting the range a little bit more this summer. The handgun shoots are coming up at my club and I am busy polishing turd polishing my technique in preparation. Make sure that you hit a few of the matches too if ya can. it will only be summer 2016 once...and you may never be back this way again.

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

Uncle Bob Is A Shit

And I am a fan! Trigger Warning - if you are a pasty faced panty waisted shirt lifting fart knocker, don't click on the link or do what Uncle Bob suggests. As for me - I laughed like hell. Uncle Bob is making history today, for his offbeat sense of humour has earned him the coveted Filthie Thumbs Up Award! The Filthie Thumbs Up Award only goes to deserving individuals who can blend good humour and sportsmanship with unsavoury political incorrectness. Well done, Uncle Bob! HAR HAR HAR!

A funny thing happened the other night on our way to troll Captain Capitalism...

I almost spit up laughing. Some of those sites ARE openly racist and not for those with loose or irritable bowels. I don't have the time of day for Stormfront but Niggermania had the odd off-colour joke or two back in the day. It's hardly recommended reading even with the odd knee slapper.

Honourable mention goes to Captain Capitalism himself. In the past I think the young Captain was far to quick to dismiss and forgive black misbehaviour. If more kids defy the zampolits, the scolds, and the pink shirt social justice warriors - perhaps we can finally hold the black community's feet to the fire and demand that they live up to the standards the rest of us do.

It's a fine line that we walk when talking about black issues - a lot of us won't touch it (and rightfully so) because there is no longer a fine line between honest criticism and blatant racism. If you so much as disagree with something that incompetent baboon in the Whitehouse did - you will be called a racist by the same morons that called George Bush a chimpanzee.

It is with some reluctance that I do this. Stackz O. Mags has given up blogging for awhile and I need to get something up on the sidebar to replace him and his black rifle blogs. Tomorrow a link to SBPDL (Stuff Black People Don't Like) is gonna go up. It details the misdeeds of the black community in objective detail for the most part - and that is something we all need to do. Blacks are literally getting away with murder, enabled and encouraged by idiots like Obama, Farakahn and his sleazy black supremist cohorts - and I think something needs to be said about it. It's time for blacks to step up - and many of them are. Far more of them should but aren't - finding it much easier to cop out and blame whitey and racism for all their personal failures.

I will also say this about that - with crap like The Knock Out Game, rising rates of black hate crimes against whites - there is a rising sense of fury and if some people aren't careful - they are gonna get that race war they're jonesing for. May God have mercy on us all if that happens.

We'll be speaking free on the Thunderbox right up until the lights go out or the shooting starts. I heartily encourage you to do the same.

And a hearty 'Screw you too!' to America's First Sasquatch! You and your idiot husband have done more for gun sales, racists, and hate groups than the NRA, the KKK and Filthie's Thunderbox!

Monday, 25 April 2016

Reminds Me Of My Childhood

Nah. Rubber gloves and a garden hose will do the trick.
Don't ask me how I know this.

Sunday, 24 April 2016

Old Habits

When I was younger one thing Guaranteed To Piss My Parents Off was tobacco. They threatened me with death and damnation if I started but it was a tough sell when they both smoked like stacks themselves.

Ma Filthie circa 1978: There's never an oxy-acetylene torch around when ya need one...

The problem was that even back then the writing was on the wall for smokers. You couldn't smoke in most businesses anymore by that time and they were beginning to get really stupid with making people stand outside in blizzards as a way to punish smokers. (Then these sanctimonious health Nazis would go run 5 miles through their smoggy urban cities which was akin to smoking two packs of cigarettes!) If I wanted to do tobacco - snoose was the only option!

Glen Filthie - the early years: Rebel. Chick magnet.

It was awesome. I would chaw up on Copenhagen and gob in the drains, or out the door or in the corners. If I couldn't do that, I would use an empty pop bottle for a spittoon - which we came to call 'lava lamps'.

I could make one of these for you for free.

Soon big bro was chewing too - and my folks were absolutely livid. When Pop found an unguarded tin of snoose he started firing them into the bush beside the shop. The snoose 'tins' were made mostly of cardboard back then with thin metal lids. Later they were made out of plastic and were useful for opening beers if ya didn't have a church key.

You can see how ads like this would appeal to a 14 year old farm kid. Dammit. Now I want a chew....!
We didn't care, back then a tin of snoose cost 65 cents and we would just go buy more. Soon we both had a couple "logs" of snoose hidden for such emergencies. Pop was defeated - or so we thought. One day I came in from chores to spy him quietly chortling and chuckling to himself as he fiddled with something on the kitchen counter. "What's up, Pop?"
"Well Glen, I've just realized I've been taking the wrong tack with your older brother and that disgusting snoose habit he has. It's time to bump up my game," and he dissolved into a gleeful, barely controlled evil chuckle. "Here's how it works: your hard-rock big brother left this can of snuff here just lying on the table to piss me off! I know he did because he thinks it's all a great big fat joke to watch me flip out and start yelling at him!" Pop's voice began to rise with anger and the vein started throbbing in his forehead so I quickly diverted him - back to the scheme at hand! "So...what are you doing with the snoose?" I asked.
"Well, son, I just dumped half your mother's black pepper into it and mixed it up! When he goes to fill his lip with that shit - he will be in for a big surprise!"
No, it wasn't one of Pop's pranks - but you would be correct to suspect it...
Outside the distinctive chugchugchugchug of Big Bro's 1968 Firebird could be heard coming up the driveway. "Quick, Glenn! Go to the table, sit down, and act natural! And not a word! If we play this right, your brother will be puking his guts out and leanring a valuable lesson - and we may just kill ourselves laughing at him! Here he comes...!"
I was at the kitchen table idly shuffling cards. Dad had a farm magazine out and pretended to be reading it. "Hey guys. Pop, are we going to be running that new fence today? If not I would like to...hey! My snuff ! You missed a tin you old buzzard! Usually you pitch them in the garbage!"
"Er...gimme it. I'll pitch it in the bush and you'll be better off for it...!"
Suspecting nothing, Big Bro took the biggest dip of snoose I've ever seen and carefully packed it into his lip! He looked like a happy toad!
"So? Are we running fence this afternoon or not...?"
We kept watching him, waiting for the comedy and hilarity to ensue...but Big Bro just looked right back at us like we were off our gourds. "What's wrong with you guys? Pop - speak now or me and the girlfriend are off to the movies...going once....twice...Sayonara boys!"  With that, he thieved a bran muffin off the counter and even ate some of it around the wad of snoose in his lip!
After he walked out we scampered to the dining room window to watch him walk out to his car and get in - and off he went. "Well - what in hell just happened there...?" Pop was dumbfounded. I went back to the table and grabbed the tin of snuff and opened it - and lightly sniffed. "Is the pepper any good, Glenn?"
Pop prided himself in being the Ultimate Prankster but - he had nothing on his youngest son. He knew my brother chewed, but he didn't know I was too because I was sneakier about it. I took a great big honkin' pinch of chew, packed my lip - and sighed in contentment. "Not bad - a little spicey, but not bad..." I laughed as Pop stormed up, grabbed the snuff and threw it in the garbage. He turned to me but couldn't talk, he was so damned mad! Then he fished the snuff out of the kitchen garbage can, stomped outside and dumped it - and threw the tin into the bush beside the shop.

I quit chewing in my early 30's and went 5 years. It was truly awful. I sweated. I felt like shit. I had the DTs! Then for some reason I started smoking stogies. The fags and kids go on about how great pot is - but there is no way pot is any equal to a fine scotch and a good cigar. Sometimes I have pleasant dreams of fishing trips long ago - lighting a cigar from a burning branch in the campfire along with a dollop of bourbon or scotch. I've been clean and tobacco free for ...7? 8 years now? I quit the second time on April Fool's day in '09 or '08. I fully intend to start again though. When the Doctor gives me that diagnosis no one wants to hear - I will celebrate with a big fat gagger and a tin cup of 15 year old single malt filled to the brim!

In his final days a man must get his priorities and affairs in order.

They used to sell these as home ornaments but I bought one and used it for it's intended purpose
It probably ended up out in the bush too...

Back On Target: Shitter Shenanigans Shelved

Gawddamn right, you moral and intellectual cripples. But it doesn't change the fact the corporation is run by timid poltroons more concerned with social justice than doing business. The one in my neck of the wood failed and good riddance.

Suppose at the age of 51 I am literally going to need a sex re-education course to learn how to shit, when, and where according to the new liberal department store bathroom policies... Can you imagine? A corporate executive more concerned with lunacy like this rather than doing business? Don't whine to me about your off-shored jobs, folks. In the third world they still worry about things like profitability and productivity. You white collar guys should try it sometime.
Not that I care whether a department store lives or dies - I gave up on them ages ago. I learned early in the game that the cheapest product is not always the least expensive and that shelling out for quality products is often the most economical way to go. There are damned few quality products in most department stores today.
15 years ago my mother gave me the very hell of it when I spent $100.00 on a pair of those BDU combat pants with all the pockets on 'em. A local gunny store was making them right in house. It was awesome - they would take milspec clothing, and basically upgrade the patterns using superior fabrics, fasteners and shit. When they finished the savvy squaddie could buy this stuff on his own dime and have superior clothing that would never let him down. Back then you could by a pair of Levi's for about 50~75 bucks - and I would go through a pair or two easily in a year. But I still have the old BUUs and although they are worn - they are perfect for dirty jobs around the house and oh-so-comfortable. One day I woke up to find that I had gotten old and fat and didn't fit into them anymore...16 years later.  Today I buy Carhartt's from Mikes Work Wearhouse and they're better than Levis - but no way will I buy clothing from the big department stores. Whenever I go to Walmart or Ukranian Tire all I see is substandard crap - and The People Of Walmart and vibrants buying it. Ugh. Now, these stores expect me to put up with skull-f***ed sexual freak shows in the washroom too...? No thanks, I will stick to the high end stores and smaller shops. The second they throw the majority of their customers under the bus in favour of a tiny minority of degenerate sexual morons - I will throw them under the bus and there's no coming back from it. Screw you, Target - and anyone that looks like you.
Shopping should be something that's fun and pleasant. The idea of packing up and turtle-heading because the queers are trolling and patrolling the washrooms - does not appeal to me.

Saturday, 23 April 2016

The Lean, Mean, AR15

I've been picking on the Knuckledragger a lot lately and I suppose I should apologize - but that guy is so much darned fun I can't help it. He has a scholarly article up on his AR build that is worth a gander if you are into these guns - as I am.

WC's custom carbine - built by WC for WC!

The AR is a modular military rifle that has taken about 50 years to perfect. When it came out it was an unreliable piece of crap. It was prone to jamming, and was sensitive to dust, grit and crap commonly found on a battlefield. Many soldiers were rightly furious with it when it bunged up in th middle of a firefight as it was famous for doing in the jungles of Viet Nam.

Over the years the gunnies and hobbyists and the industry at large slowly improved it until guys like us can mod them to our particular wants and needs and put them to any chore possible for pretty much any gun! Quite simply - it is the modern do-it-all gun. The one above is built to WC's personal requirements and is EXACTLY what he wants of it. One of the advantages he missed in his article was that in addition to being able to mod your gun to your own likes and tastes - you can take as long as you want to make them. Can't afford the Giselle trigger yet? Put in a cheapo milspec unit for now and swap it out later when ya got the cash!

My AR is a 7.5" Black Rain stubbie. This one carries tactical farkles I can't be bothered with - mine has a 3X  Vortex combat optic - and that's it.

WC's carbine is an awesome general purpose gun. Mine is a close quarters house cleaner meant to hit big targets at very close range. Unlike WC's gun, this is a specialist's weapon. Anybody could probably pick up WC's rifle and shoot it well - that is why the military uses it. Mine is short and handy - which makes it very easy to wave that muzzle around. You have to take the same care with the stubbies that you do with a pistol - always be aware of where that barrel is pointed! That short barrel also produces a hellish muzzle blast - you can feel it right in your sinuses when it goes off and for newbies it could be intimidating as hell. When I do slow fire work with it I have to think my way through the shot. Once you get used to it - it's not bad...but it's there.

One day for gits and shiggles I used up my last four rounds going prone with it at 200m.

HOLY CHIT! Not bad for a pocket rifle with an outhouse combat optic!

With a zero at 50 yards I held over about a foot and pretty much dumped them in the 10 ring. (Why oh fuggin WHY can't I do this with my National Match M14?!?!? WHY?!?!!?)

I didn't buy the gun to defend my castle or threaten the totalitarians in gubbermint - I bought it on impulse as a range toy thinking I would just sell it when I got bored with it...but I think I'll keep it. Mine is a 'Boutique gun' but a guy like WC (or yourself) could build one exactly the same if you were so inclined. Unlike WC I am not a builder. He knows his way around an AR and I don't. I bought mine because it has warranties, QA/QC requirements and so forth. The stubbies can take some tweaking and there's some special considerations to be taken with them - and I am just not into tinkering and trial and error. I waste enough time on the reloader without taking on that hassle.

So...that's my AR. If you are ever tempted to get into these rifles you need to define its mission first. Is it for run n' gun? General purpose? Hell - you can get air-gauged match varmit rigs built around the AR15 and some will go head to head with a bolt gun!

See ya on the range!

Friday, 22 April 2016

Friday Night Whisky

Prolly won't live to drink it, but...
Such is the magic of the marketeers. The stuff is probably lighter fluid but I bought it anyway. The bottle and the box stirred something in my soul. It was a hair over $100.00 ... but when I saw it I figured that would be the perfect dram to celebrate with if I ever managed to put things right with my family again.
The bottle I got was a little different:
Hmmmm. Some unsavoury scurrilous scoundrel seems to have siphoned my bourbon...
Tasting notes from some dude off the internet:
August 1, 2013
Creamy vanilla, a dusting of rye spices, bursts of citrus and a veritable tsunami of fresh-cut wood. Soft Corn. ★★★★★
Caribou Crossing is the first single-barrel Canadian Whisky produced by a major whisky company since the 19th century. That was the time when people would arrive at Canadian distilleries with jugs to be filled straight from the barrel. The now infamous Bush Pilot’s, from the late 1990s, was also bottled one barrel at a time, a fact that contributed to its legendary status among the whisky cognoscenti. Caribou Crossing Single Barrel, from the Sazerac Company/Buffalo Trace, now advances this concept further, drawing its very best whisky from an inventory of over 200,000 barrels produced for it by several prominent Canadian distilleries.
For Caribou Crossing, Sazerac’s Master Blender Drew Mayville selected the most mature and flavour-rich of these barrels and oversaw the bottling of each individual barrel. Each barrel has its own unique subtleties so identifying each barrel with a number on the package would help whisky lovers find bottles from different barrels and be able to compare them. Since this is single-barrel bottling, there are no laser codes on the bottle to help the more obsessive find different batches.
“Our goal was to put forth the highest-quality whisky available and to give consumers a new way to look at Canadian Whisky,” Mayville said when he introduced Caribou Crossing earlier this year. “We are very proud of the end result and hope these new products will foster a greater appreciation among consumers for what Canadian whisky can be.” If market acceptance is any indication, Mayville seems to have achieved his goal quite nicely. Not only has Caribou Crossing won accolades from prominent whisky writers, it has sold well enough that a second batch was soon required to replenish empty shelves.
Speaking at Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans, Sazerac’s home town, earlier this year, Mayville said that he wanted to use Caribou Crossing and another new Sazerac whisky, Royal Canadian Small Batch, to re-define the Canadian whisky category. That may be a little bit hopeful, given the large number of other high quality connoisseur whiskies coming out of Canadian distilleries these days. Even so, Caribou Crossing certainly raises the bar for current U.S. releases. Mayville has promised to keep the momentum going with more new and exciting Canadian whisky expressions. OK, Mr. Mayville, that’s a promise; we’ll hold you to it.
Nose: Rich rye spices, vanilla, and butterscotch with lots of dark fruit. Stewed prunes and a hint of spirit. Elements of Cognac.
Palate: Soft, creamy corn, with prunes, spice, and citric pith. Hot pepper, and just a touch of rye spices complement a bitter citric middle. Refreshing citric notes abound, though the palate stays creamy throughout. Slight hints of clean oak on first tasting simply tease the tongue, but soon fresh-cut wood and tantalizing red cedar envelope the palate. The influence of corn is obvious here in the smooth robust body, but rye notes poke through also with their fruitiness, together with that rye-specific essence of fresh-water plants. What starts out as a “nice” palate becomes more and more interesting as pleasing tannins, peppery spices, and ripe red fruits slowly emerge from the vanilla creaminess.
With single barrel whisky the balance won’t always be perfect, and here the creaminess slightly swamps some of those scrumptious oaky notes. Still, it’s spectacular whisky. That untamed quality—and the fact that there will never be another one exactly like it—are two of the main attractions of single barrel whisky. An experienced blender’s hand might have given a bit more definition to this whisky, but then it wouldn’t be single barrel whisky, would it?
Finish: Medium. Some tasty woody notes come out after a few minutes, but there is not much spice and no pepper until the end when it joins the tannic oak in a dry and spicy crescendo.
Empty Glass: Surprisingly little, but for hints of caramel and fresh-sawn lumber.
Very Highly Recommended. ★★★★★
Caribou Crossing is not yet available in Canada, but the folks at the Sazerac Company teasingly advise Canadian whisky lovers “to wait and see.” $50.00 at liquor stores across the U.S.
Royal Canadian Small Batch review here.
Bottoms up! Have a great weekend!  :)

Thoughts On Retirement, Expirement And The Tools Of The Trade

Fuggin WC is gloating again.  (In a high pitched mocking falsetto) "Look at me! I'm retired! I don't need a cell phone! Fuck all y'all!!!) HAR HAR HAR!!!! Okay, alright - I am being a miserable shit and WC is only talking about cell phones but his post got me to thinking. Being an authority figure on the internet I like to keep a close watch on the bigger trouble makers - and so should you! Check out my side bar there for the biggest of the baddest! So it is that I keep a sharp eye on WC and the trouble he gets into from day to day! Now that he is off on a well-earned retirement he will be even MORE troublesome, no doubt!

Like WC there was a time I used to snort with disgust at people getting sucked into their cell phones. Like WC I prided myself on being a knuckle draggin luddite and avoiding the damn things as much as possible. But...being a sleazy salesman though - soon I was on mine all the friggin time.

The addiction starts out so softly you don't even notice it.

The more I talked to the customers, the higher my sales went...and even more time was spent on the cell talking to customers. It seemed to snowball! Soon I was on the phone yammering at my friends and LOL-ing over stupid text jokes. One day I learned that not only was the cell phone a great way for people to harass and annoy me - it was a great way for me to do it to them! HAR HAR HAR!!! Coming home from a trip? Call the old lady and tell her to spark up the BBQ and put some beers in the fridge for my arrival! Wanna go to the gun club or the airfield? Better call Flapz and see what that bum is up to...! Soon I had the second highest cell phone bills in the company but nobody bitched because the first ranked sales guy had bills even bigger than mine. Sadly, these infernal devices are the tools of our trade. Next thing I knew I had an iPad too...

A year back they took away my beloved flipper and gave me one of these goddamned things:

A soft, siren whisper that only the damned can hear: what's the weather like today Filthie? Oh my goodness, one of the customers pooped in your e-mailbox! What are the wind conditions out at the airfield? Oh, my beloved, you had better check your reminders and calendar too... 

At first I stuck to gabbling on it and maybe texting. It's a company phone so I have to be careful with it (no surfing goat porn on the internet) but soon I began using all the other features and even bought a few apps for it. JFC. I was addicted. And so I remain - a slave to this electronic servant that wants me to do away with my computer, my watch, my daytimer, my car radio, my camera, my...GAH!

What am I gonna do when I retire? I am going to set that sumbitch cell phone up at 100 yards and dare the boys at the rod n' gun club to send it to hell with one caress of the trigger!!!! And when one of the boys blows that beshitted thing up in a million fragments - I am going to do the Happy Dance Of Retirement that will leave the organgrinder's monkey green with envy at my skill!

Ah - the happy Dance Of Retirement!
Gadink-ga-dink-gadiddily-dink...POP goes the stubfart!

But...I know it won't work that way. When my Pop retired he dragged his day timer around for months afterward. He lived and worked in that damn thing the way I do with my cell... and letting it go was a real big emotional thing for him. When friends from work called and brought him up to speed on what was going on he would lose his shit - and then had to do a difficult re-set and remind himself that it wasn't his problem anymore. It took awhile for him to let go.

Gawd - grant me the strength to let go gracefully and send my cell to Satan on my last day? The big Knuckledragger is right - these things are powerful servants that can make us strong - but they can make us weak and vulnerable too. Now is a good time to take a hard look at your cell and decide - is it your servant, or master?

Thursday, 21 April 2016

Politically Putrid Peckerhead Progressives Pander to Perverts

This echoing, wet fart sounds like a pistol shot in the quiet moral and ethical vacuum of the socialist liberal idiot chamber.

People think social justice warriors are a new thing. A hundred years ago I used to hang out at an extinct politics forum that was pretty much 'small c' conservative in nature. There were a few lefty bungholes and some outright commie loons but we passed the days fighting, scratching, gobbing and gutting each other as we went about solving the world's problems. We honestly had free speech - for awhile. I would like to think I was favoured by the moderators and admins - because when some leftist meathole opened up and excercised his right to an opinion - I would give him mine - in no uncertain terms! The problem was that whenever some leftist flink got wind of it - our forums just got shuttered by the angry service providers - so we moved from site to site over the years. I suppose it's ultimately ironic, isn't it? If you speak freely or honestly these days - you will have a target on your back too! HAR HAR HAR!

Your days are numbered, you free-speechin' blackheart!

I had two leftist punching bags I liked to work out on. One was MM - an old hippy fart sucker with a gay daughter that figured we had to re-invent society so his disturbed but precious snowflake wouldn't feel bad about herself. Back then I honestly didn't think it was gonna happen. Sure missed the boat on that one...

The last real leftie liberal on our forum put his head in his hands in despair when the queers he championed turned into the monsters I said they would. Those underdogs he was defending - turned out to have rabies....
Back then the queers were still locked in the closet and he claimed that they only wanted the privacy of their own bedrooms. He was serious, too. He honestly thought that gays and liberals were one and the same - people with a wholesome and healthy alternative lifestyle that just wanted to be left alone. And of course, when the queers broke down the doors of the closet, their bedroom doors exploded outward and the next thing ya know - they were hammering on the doors to the court rooms, the class rooms, the board rooms...and now they're in our bloody bathrooms!

But the guy just flat out refused to see what was going on. In a few short years we in Canada had the 'human rights commissions' which were charged with policing people's thoughts and speech. They attacked anyone that dared speak out against the gay agenda and were quietly disbanded by the Harper conservative gov't after people began to seriously think about public lynchings for them. I think they should have been lined up and shot - but that's coming, no doubt. I still remember the despair when one day - after arguing with that old liberal idiot for YEARS - he conceded I was right about a few things. The queers were suing some pastor or priest for an anti-homo sermon...and even that old liberal moron knew that was wrong.

Another of the forum's leftist intellectuals had a screen name of 'The Revelator'.  That mentally disturbed nut bar drove me damn near bananas. In fact I shut my blog here down for a couple years because she would drive by, stop in and crap in the comments and lose her bloody mind!

This is how I like to think Revie The Warrior Princess looked....
But I think Revie actually looked more like this.
The cunned stunt was years ahead of her time. Years before our current president, Justin Trudeau started flooding the nation with Syrian vibrants - Revie was calling on the bigoted Harper gubbermint to bring in the poor, misguided Taliban from Afbhagistan. She regularly ripped on the NDP and the Liberals for "pandering to right wing interests." Good lord. The fighting on our forum was, sadly, very much like that going on in Parliament!
I should have drawn my pistol and killed MM and Revie when I had the chance!
Back then everyone scoffed when I ranted that liberals were trying to turn our country into Thailand and wanted to mainstream pedophilia. And today, they stand proudly by grown men that want the 'right' to pee with little girls. At the time I dismissed those two as just names on a computer screen but I sometimes wonder about them now. Are they happier now that perverts poop and pee wherever they want? Once they've mainstreamed pedophilia - what is next on their list of morals and ethics to destroy? Are they proud of what they've wrought?
One thing's for sure - civilized debate with people like this is not going to help anyone. I wonder where all this social engineering ultimately goes?

Old Friends And New

When I built the little .22 with the scope on it back in the early 80's - it was a state of the art plinker and a one-of-a-kind in this neck of the woods. Back then the only guys that had scopes on their guns were top tier handgunners and maybe Mad Max.
 I am on shit detail tonight, scrubbing guns. I dug out my old heart throb - a Ruger Single Six built to my specs back in the 80's when I first decided to "go pro" (HAR HAR HAR!) on handguns. I first started off with a .357 magnum stoked to the gills with high pressure loads and promptly turned myself into a flinching idiot! Most of my friends did the same and gave up on handguns in disgust... but I did a lot of reading and studying - and decided not to give up. Folks - if you are even considering getting into handguns there is pretty much only one way to start and succeed - do yourself a favour and start with a .22. Trigger control is absolutely critical with pistols and that goes double (maybe even triple!) for the big boomers. That is what most of the pros will tell you and they are absolutely right - and for once in my life I listened to the them. You need trigger time to develop the skills and muscle memory and the .22 is cheap enough to make that feasible.
In any event the pros told me to get one of those slick little Ruger semi-auto pistols but I defied them and got the Ruger Single Six instead. Most of my gunny role models at the time were revolver men and that was the way I figured I would go too. As time went by I shot the living daylights out of that little gun - and slowly I started to get good. Finally I was so good that the crappy Ruger trigger was giving me road rage - so I had a smith polish it out for me. Now the trigger breaks like glass and the pull is at around 3.5 lbs. Hogue grips were like hen's teeth too - but somebody was able to bring one in and soon the gun was all pimped out. Hogue grips are a dime a dozen now too.
Bob Milek was a pioneer of precision handguns and handgun hunting. This is who I wanted to be if I ever grew up.
Bob Milek made my head swim with the things he was doing with handguns. When he started scoping them I figured I had to do the same! I had to have the barrel of the gun drilled and tapped and a base custom machined. Today all that crap is standard and you get it right out of the box. At this point I was approaching my 30's and was starting to worry the local snipers. I started hassling them at the tournaments and if I ate my Wheaties and they shat the bed - I even beat them a few times, LOL! Flinching idiot newbies began bringing me their .44 magnums to shoot to prove to them the gun was fine - the problem was - as always - the fool behind the tool. Somehow I had become something of an authority on shooting. Many times I was advised to go to a dedicated serious target pistol and start to compete...but I loved my six guns. As I settled in with the little Ruger and started doing some seriously good shooting - it's big brother was on the drawing board:
Something like this would be just the ticket on close range big game hunting...
That was the intent, anyways. Build my skills with the pea-shooter and when I finally had the moola - I would build the Ultimate Cannon and go up to Alaska and chase after deer and possibly moose. So many nights would pass just like the one tonight, with my keester at the work bench scrubbing guns and dreaming of hunts down the road.
And then life happened and - PFFBFBFBFBFFTTTT! - next thing I know I'm a fat old buzzard whose hunting days are pretty much done. I bought a Ruger .45 with a stubbie 4.2" barrel for piddling about and making noise....but sometimes when the aches and pains subside...I think about that big cannon ... and part of me still wants to go for it!
Unfortunately I just got old and don't give a chit anymore. Awhile back a couple of my stubfart friends almost got in a fist fight over the scoring of a white tail up on the wall. Grown men! I just watched and laughed. Who cares? When I went hunting anything that came down was a trophy and no bones about it. But people get their ego into things, the stress goes up and the stupidity starts...and who needs that?
Today of course I can't hit the broad side of a barn because I put the guns down to pursue other interests...and these skills are not like riding a bicycle. If you don't use them you lose them - trust me on this!

Wednesday, 20 April 2016

Fire The Bitch

Great. Now the social justice warriors are infesting the conservative party.

Screw you, Michelle. Screw you and anyone that looks like you. As for me - I've had it with your bullshit. Name names, dates, locations - the works. If you are getting harassed you call the cops and take it to court - or it didn't happen and STFU.

And no - you weren't "assaulted" if you heard a dirty joke or somebody called you a name. No, you weren't assaulted if some guy didn't listen to your shit and do what you told him to.


Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Poetry Corner: Ode Tae A Fart

Quiet everyone! Settle down...please! Take your seats...!

Today at the Thunderbox I would like to recite for you the poetry of my people on a subject dear to our hearts on this particular blog. Ladies and gentlemen if I could have your undivided attention for a few golden moments? In the tradition of the greatest of  the Scottish bards - Rabbie Burns!

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in your belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts to stir an enormous wind
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Stert workin like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin wi the sauncie face
Will have ye blawin all ower the place

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'body's gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot a rifle
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair
Tae try and stop the leakin air
Shifty yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Prae tae God it doesnae reek

But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap o thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almighty it fairly reeks
Hope I huvnae shit my breeks
Tae the bog I better scurry
Aw whit the hell it's no ma worry

A'body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or two are nearly bokin
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wiz him! I shout with accusin glower
Alas too late, he's just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome any mair

Where e'ere ye go let yer wind gan' free
Sounds like just the job fur me
Whit a fuss at rabbie's party
Ower the sake o one wee farty

Rude Joke De Jour: So That's Why Jets Are So Fast...

Two crows were sitting on a telephone wire in Mosul when an F-15 went screaming by on full afterburner . . . one crow said to the other:

"MAN ALIVE! That bird sure was flying fast!"

The other crow said:

"Yeah, well if you had two assholes and they were both on fire, YOU'D FLY FAST TOO ! ! !"
That's all for now . . . carry on . . .


HAR HAR HAR!!!! HAR HAR HAR!!! Message received, sir, please pass along my disregards to the officers and my regards to the squaddies! HAR HAR HAR!

100 years ago when I still worked for a living and occasionally got my hands dirty, I found myself out on the CFB Primrose Air Weapons range. Back then I was a shit-house instrumentation basher/salesman and often found myself on oil leases doing simple installation/calibration/maintenance work.

There's a lot of oil work going on, on CFB Primrose and my job that day was to pull a couple cantankerous flow computers and install new ones. We depressurized the lines, I did my thing - and opened the valves back up again when everything was bolted up and thought all was well.

I was packing the tool box out to the truck when I first heard it - a small hissing sound.

...ssssss.... then the sound grew in volume. Did I have a leak???


In seconds the volume got impossibly loud and I knew something really, really bad was going on. When you work around high pressure lines noises like this usually mean somebody's gonna get hurt...because something's about to blow up!


Oh shit! My chest was literally reverberating from the percussive force of the sound! My teeth vibrated and my eardrums bounced around in my empty head like dice in a cup!


I would have shat my pants in fear but I saw the CF-18 flash overhead.

He was gone in the blink of an eye...and I sat there in the mud and snow ... and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that the flow transmitters were chugging along and doing exactly what they should be. I had buried my face and body right into the slop trying to get as low to the ground to avoid any shrapnel...but it was only the sonic boom from a pilot having a little too much fun on that day. Would he have laughed at me as well as those crows? I would like to think he would at least get a smile out of it.


Monday, 18 April 2016

You Owe Me, Kid...

It's been a good weekend. We got all the winter dog crap picked up in the back yard and the front yard raked - and I still managed to put on about 700~800 clicks on the Fireball.

On Saturday I peeled out for a shakedown cruise to Lloydminster on the AB/SK border to pick up some gunpowder for the pistols. This was a milk run and not an historical expedition like BW does all the time. I set the cruise at a buck twenty - put on the ipod, pulled the lever on the side of the bike that makes the foot rest go up - and I was a flying LaZBoy in motion! At the gas station on the hill by the microwave towers I even got to do some bird watching.

Look at this curious bird. It's an example of the new Cub-busting Extreme VSTOL birds. The giveaway is the landing gear on this monster. That bird is built to come straight down HARD. Kitfox, perhaps?

On Sunday a group of riders invited me along on an afternoon trip out to Alberta Beach along highway 37. It went pretty good until a flock of  kids on crotch rockets pulled up behind us. There must have been thirty of them. One idiot pulled out and blew by doing at least 200 kph! As he blasted past - I saw his tiny girl friend tucked up behind him - and said a prayer. Darwin is for those two and may God Almighty be kind to them. I've heard it said that God loves fools, cowards and little girls so if that's true - they should be alright. I wouldn't want to be the parents or the cop that will probably be scraping them off the pavement later this year.

Panty filler, more like. (And in my case, perhaps - a pantaloon filler!)
Well I just dropped my speed when that happened and wanted to be prepared to stop. Then the rest of the mob started pulling past and I was forced over to the side of the road - where my front tire got caught in a fissure in the road and started dragging me over to the dust and gravel at the side of the road and the ditch beyond that! Totally oblivious - the kids passed by on the centreline as I fought to keep the big cruiser out of the ditch. I had to ride it out - if I tried to pull out I would have run into the kid on my left or forced him out into oncoming traffic... or crash into them and get run over by the dozens of bikes behind! Sometimes I think I'm getting too old for this shit! HAR HAR HAR!
The biker bar at Alberta Beach. When we arrived the background parking lot was full of heavy metal cruisers, choppers and bobbers.
It ws my first time in a biker bar. Can you imagine it? 30 years I've been riding - and never in a biker bar. That culture doesn't really appeal to me - it seems to be a celebration of sleaze and is comprised of old farts trying to hang on to their rebellious childhood. I ride because I like motorcycles and going places. For me it is not some kind of fashion/social statement like it seems to be for those guys. But whatever...they were nice enough folks to be around. My experience with bikers is that they're all like that. The ones you gotta worry about don't have tats and they wear three piece suits - and even with them, unless you cross them they won't trouble you. They have far bigger things to worry about than grouchy old stubfarts like Yours Truly.
Pizza Boy? Wonder what that's all about?
And now it's Monday already. These weekends are waaaaay to short these days.

Sunday, 17 April 2016

Sunday Silly Science

Everyone knows that often, if you combine two good things you can often come up with something even better. It isn't often that a couple real crappy things can be combined to produce something great. And that, ladies and gentlemen - is what we're here to do this fine Sunday morning.

We here at Filthie's Converged Technologies Group have managed to do just that: take two rotten, despicable quantified masses and energies - combine them at utterly hellish superheated temperatures and pressures - and then carefully lower the ionized plasma to room temperature where we will examine the final result!

So. We're playing God, now, Filthie? For the love of God - stop this madness!!!!!

In a few mere moments, my esteemed and expendable lab assistant, Uncle Bob - will introduce 30 minutes of the most thuggish, offensive rap music into a reinforced titanium/beryllium pressure vessel at 200dB!

Gabbagabba weebeejabba POOMP! Niggamuthafuggah POOMP...!
Careful, Uncle Bob! Don't get any on ya!!!
With the rap music entering the sound proofed pressure vessel, I will begin the flow of the most ignernt, redneck cornpone bluegrass hillbilly music to the chamber as well - Duelling Banjos at 200dB!
No need to worry, ladies and gentlemen - I am keeping a sharp eye on the Kididdlehopper meter!
Now for the heat and pressure! When I give the signal, our explosives expert, Dr. Stackz O. Mags will detonate a small thermonuclear device inside the chamber to drive the pressures up into the femtopascal range - and the temp to many thousands of degrees C! Is everyone ready...?
Pretty anticlimactic, right? A small thump and a bump...but inside pressure chamber? A veritable maelstrom of energies! The fags at CERN were pulling their hair out by the roots trying to create the Higgs-Bosun particle awhile back. Pbbbffbffft! Here we have electrons, protons, gluons, and morons!
The math belies and understates the forces and energies we are working with.

So: whadda we get out of all that? Only the best theme song for the best cop show EVAR!!!
Holy mackaral!!! Looks like we created artificial wiggers too!!!! Culturally appropriate THAT, you SJW turds! HAR HAR HAR!!!! Good work fellas!
Behold! Gangstagrass! But everyone's familiar with Sherriff Raylan Givens...but...what's this? What is this little gem sparkling in the bottom of the reaction chamber?
Damn - I think I am going to culturally appropriate that as the theme song for this blog!
Ladies and gentlemen - the incomparable "Retard River" - gangstagrass style!
Gangstagrass. LOL...I love it.