Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Tuesday, 31 May 2016

True North

When I was a kid the first Mad Max movie came out and the villain of the story was some mutant in a goalie mask. I bet Terry Sawchuck could kick his arse! Terry got around and played for the Redwings, The Bruins and even the Tranna Maple Loafs.

Yannow that had to suck, playing for the Loafs. I'm not a sports junky - but I wonder if there was any point in their long history when they didn't suck? If they did have a respectable stretch it was probably during Terry's reign in net.

Gun Porn

Justin Trudeau's AR15?

Monday, 30 May 2016

Oh No...!!! Uncle Bob!!!

Unca Bob has always lived dangeroulsly. I worry about him sometimes because he often says things that will get him in trouble and to be honest - he ain't that bright either! HAR!!!

So I went over to the Treehouse to see what happened to him - he hasn't been seen since he posted that bit on Team Woman. Usually if Bob goes silent it's because he's locked himself in the crapper, or he's gone on a three day bender drinking Toilet Duck. When I got over there I found this:

Obviously Bob didn't go down without a fight! Captain Sweatpants is on the scene and has the suspects in custody! Now all I gotta figure out is - which one actually done it!

A Cautionary Note On Motorcycle Clubs

I've never been a big fan of the motorcycle clubs. (By 'motorcycle club' I refer to the ones run by hobbyists rather than gangsters). Nor have I ever been a fan of biker culture either - the older I get, the sillier it seems. Not to be disrespectful to my fellow stubfarts - but're fat, you're old, and your old ladies are 'old ladies'! HAR HAR HAR!!! I can forgive all that because some of the machines are nothing short of metal gods - but I digress.

Awhile back Fearless Flapz F. bought a Harley and all of a sudden became the coolest piece of chit since sliced bread! He even went on Kijiji and found a beautiful leather vest for $40.00! Then he took it down to the chinaman at the shoe maker shop and had him cut it on the sides so that it laces up. That way, when his beer gut gets to be the same size as mine, all he has to do is let the laces out a bit and the vest will still fit like a glove.

That's gonna be Flapz in 10 years, HAR HAR HAR! I suppose I shouldn't laugh - I could probably beer belly bop him and his bike into the middle of next week with my expanding gut... :(

But - I digress again! Jeez! Long story short, Flapz gets invited on a weekend ride and asks if we want to go. I declined for the reasons above and I also had chores to do - so off Flapz goes with his gal to ride with other Harley Ferguson aficionados. They met at Rosie's Bar for breakfast at 7:00 am and pitchers of beer were put out with the pancakes, bacon and eggs. Flapz figures it's a novelty thing and has a beer with his breakfast and thinks nothing of it.

Afterward the bikes fire up and the engines roar - and off they go! At a small, isolated rural grave yard about 45 minutes out of town they pull in, park - and the guys start rummaging in their saddle bags and pulling out beers! There's about 21 bikes on this trip. Flapz passes on the road rockets.

In any event, they ride the rest of the day like that, stopping for beers and chatter! Flapz estimated that by the time they got to Ryley (which really isn't that far from town) - most of the guys had drunk around 10 beers! And then they pulled into the biker bar in Ryley and had some more! One of the riders was an off duty cop from the Edmonton Police Dept. and was filming these bums as they filled their gullets with barley and hopps! Flapz didn't see if he was drinking himself.

I'm no prude. Gawd knows when I was a kid and this town was a lot smaller - I would go out with the boys and get sloshed and carefully drive home by the backroads. Some times I got so pickled I would pull into a pasture, park, and get in the back of the truck to sleep it off! Today, with all the increased traffic and idiocy on the roads - I wouldn't dream of it. On a bike? In a convoy? Oh boy...somebody's gonna get hurt. It's a matter of time.

My advice is to choose your riding partners with care. Be safe out there.

Filthie's Hinterland: Who's Who

Om nom nam...glit...nom nom...
Known for it's disgusting table manners, the moose, or swamp donkey is also a terrible conversationalist and cannot be considered a worthy dinner guest.

The Canadian Moose is not impervious to bullets, but the Swamp Donkey can be one tough critter to put down. I've seen good hits made on these critters and they will keep chugging until they make it into the middle of a swamp or bog...and then expire there. The hunter is then left with a major ordeal to get the animal dressed and the meat packed out. I've never shot a moose and probably wouldn't out of sheer laziness. The further you are away from the truck - the more guys you will want to have to help you pack it out!

Each year hunters waste millions of dollars buying the new guns chambered in exotic or proprietary magnum calibers for moose hunting but the money is a waste. I've seen these things go down peaceably with a .308 and I've seen them run for miles after being hit with a .300 Win. mag. If you get a moose with a bad attitude in your sights - be prepared for a work out!

Sigh. Strange things happen out here in Filthie's Hinterland. I dunno what these two morons are trying to prove. For more information on the Canadian Moose, contact the Fish and Wildlife Office in Ottawa.

Sunday, 29 May 2016

Canadian Patriotism

I sometimes wonder if there is any room for it any more with all the PC multiculti hogwash!

Here at the Thunderbox we cling to Old Canadian values that pre-date effeminate fwench swine ministers, the invention of nose jewellry and we harken back to a time when Canadians lived in better times, and were better people. A time when the RCMP were the envy of the world law enforcement.

Shamelessly stolen from It Ain't Holy Water. If he keeps this up he'll find himself on the toilet roll of honoured bloggers! Have a great Sunday! For those of you in America and Queerbec - I will pass along your respects to Sargent Dave and Teddy! LOL...!

Saturday, 28 May 2016

He Probably Should Have Duct Taped Her Pie Hole Too...!

So I've got my Saturday Morning Chores done, we've done the Dog Patrol and I am here waiting  for my Ipod to charge up so I can play my music whilst I do a long range recon on the motorcycle. Hopefully there might be some point of interest that BW hasn't scooped me on.

While I wait, I noticed a fine example of the court and legal system actually working!

Can it Cutie!
Why, if I were the judge I would have given her a bare-bum spanking and thirty days in the can for daring to defy my authority!!!! And she would shut up and LIKE it too - or she would get some more!

The very insolence of this woman has me working myself into a snit!!! HAR HAR HAR!

A hundred years ago I had a brother who had fallen on hard times and was maybe hitting the bottle too hard. In any event he had managed to land himself an impaired driving charge and got dragged into court to face the judge. Before going in the lawyer told him in no uncertain terms that he was to keep his lip zipped - you may not respect the judge but HAVE to respect his power. Our judges can ruin your day and the next couple years of your life on a whim - and they do it every day.

Being an honest but troubled man at the time, Big Bro confessed to all and threw himself on the mercy of the court. He got the average sentence of the time too: driver's license suspended for a year and I think he got a $1000.00 fine at the time too. A double whammy wasn't good enough for the gods, his marriage dissolved a little after that.

Of course this story is in the Huff & Blow and being a liberal arse rag, the snivellers and whiners are crapping in the comments about sexism and all that rot. To my mind, the world has far, far too many mealy mouthed lawyers that never shut up - and that chick got off lightly!

And now that Judge Filthie has rendered a judgement on all this - it's time to fire up the Fireball! (My motorcycle). Somebody start the count down! Once the blast off baffles have retracted and the Launchpad is clear - feel free to dance and celebrate my departure with Uncle Bob And His Beautiful Bimbos !

I like the black chick with the big boobs the antennae.

True North

He probably just finished cleaning his bunghole ya know...
My own first dog in our house was a Siberian Husky... Sled Dog Sallie. We had two cats at the time and she adopted them as her own. The old bat would flop out on the sofa and the surly cats would snuggle in and then any humans that wanted to use it were S.O.L.! She was a rescue dog that we had gotten from the pound. When she was taken into custody by the SPCA the story was that some sack of human excrement had left a team of huskies cooped up in a cube van in the middle of summer. By the time they broke into the van to get the dogs out, Sally was one of the last survivors. She moved in with us and reigned over her feline subjects in regal splendour until she passed away a couple years back. I still miss her sometimes...

'Back When I Was A Kid..." Old Man Filthie Bitched...

When we went to school it was uphill both ways! In winter time it was -40 C but we couldn't afford we hopped from fresh cow pie to fresh cow pie to keep our feet warm...


When I was a little shit I would have looked forward to a climb like that. Whey you're young such things are far less daunting than when you're old. Now I have nightmares like that where instead of happy, young and expendable chinamen on a ladder like that - it's old clods like WC or PP or Uncle Bob... and the first one to get stupid takes out everyone behind him on his way down! HAR HAR HAR!

Friday, 27 May 2016

There's Gonna Be A Dunkin'

Well my wife seems to have found God and has even managed to drag my raggedy arse into church. Just to set foot in a church set me on edge because I have been raised by people that hate religion almost as much as the Mohave Rat does. The Rat and my liberal family are all wrong about Christians, of course. My dealings with them have been nothing short of neighbourly. There's no pressure, no bullshit - so far. They are starving for numbers - when I went the church was half empty but it was encouraging. Sure, there were a lot of old farts but it made me feel good to see so many kids. They're wonderful folk too - the young men are big strapping brutes trying to puzzle their way through their bibles and their wives are pretty gals with beautiful kids. During the break the little ones chimped out and the old farts barked at them like baboons - it looked like a symbiotic relationship going on there. The old stogies like bitching at the kids and the kids liked tormenting them. :) I fell in love with these people the moment I saw them. They seemed to be good with me too. Next time I might even toss out a prayer for my daughter...

But ya know - when I went to church I didn't expect to find God. I know that somebody had to light the fuse on the Big Bang, and although I've never spoken with God or seen a miracle - I can feel that there is one. It's good enough for me. My wife is convinced and quite often she perceives things I do not. She's decided to get baptized this weekend.

I dunno what to buy for these kind of things! I went to the store and they had ones festooned with diamonds costing thousands and thousands of dollars and something about that just sat wrong with me. I think the chain is 14 kt. and the crucifix is 22kt but I dunno - but it's simple and elegant - like her. I thought something like this should be easy but when it comes to fashion and taste - I have been threatened with legal action by offended women and children and fashion police. (I will so tuck my goddamned pants into my socks if I feel like it! When you're three stories up on a steel I beam you don't want your pant legs tripping you up. And I'll wear my damned hard hat if I want too! I'm bald, I wear hats. Deal with it!)

GAH1 Unfortunately I am going to have to deal with my potty mouth too or  I'll certainly go to hell with shitbirds like Uncle Bob, Stackz O. Mags and Flapz! HAR HAR HAR!!! Okay, alright already - I will wag a civil tongue in my head if possible! But - no guarantees! Misbehaviour could break out at any time!

I hope the wife will like it. After the crud we've been through the last couple years she deserves a break and if she can find it with the church I will be behind her 100%.

Thursday, 26 May 2016

A Ghastly Death

What a horrible way to go...

It drives home the fact that there is no mercy or fairness in the real world. Mother Nature, Darwin, Murphy, the them what you will - they don't give a flying fig about whether we live or die or how. When your number's up - it's UP.

Once I was out hunting and this mangy, crippled coyote crawled out of the bush about 30 yards in front of me. His back legs weren't working and he was a wretch running on fumes. Do you know that those things have the same eyes as your dog does - with all the same intellect going on behind them? That poor bugger just looked me in the eye for a bit, and then laid there.

I shot him.

There are the pasty faced city kids and tree huggers that yammer about the sanctity and beauty of nature. You know the type - the whale watching beardoes in their $2500.00 Kevlar kayaks, their homely, greasy flat chested girl friends with their top of the line Goretex wardrobe and expensive cameras...

Looking back on that I was glad I was there to send that yodeller on to the next world.

Wednesday, 25 May 2016


Being a crime fighting superhero myself, perhaps I should pay a professional courtesy call to Batman next time I'm in Gotham City..

I always thought the Batmobile was a heavily modded one-off. But then I stumbled across these two classy women on the internet and figured it must have been built from a production car.

I hate concept cars. Yannow, they never actually BUILD them and they get me all hyped up for nothing. By the time a fire breathing concept car hits the production line it has a 3 and a half cylinder engine and looks like a 45 gallon drum. I had heard that the Batmobile was built from a 1955 Lincoln but learned later it was built from a concept car - the 1955 Lincoln Futura. Too bad.

Looks like Captain Sweatpants And His K9 Crime Fighters will be stuck with the Dogmobile for a little while yet...

Piss Burners

I pity the kids today and maybe I shouldn't... but it saddens me when I see a perfectly good white kid driving some souped up rice rocket (that is more rice than rocket) - with a gay wing and a stove pipe exhaust. Give it up kid. HAR HAR HAR!

Pardon me while I put on my old fogey's hat and reminisce about better times. Back in the 70's my brother drove a Ford Pinto.

Ford had to stop making these. They had a nasty habit of rear end collisions where the rear mounted gas tank ignited and the impact would lock the doors and jam them so the occupants couldn't get out.

His was a ghastly mustard yellow but it was cheap on gas and allowed him to save up. When he had enough money he bought a 1968 Firebird with a blown engine.

Back then one of these with a mint body and a blown engine could be had for $700.00

Pop was dragged in to the project right from the start. He went down, arranged to have the beast towed to our shop out on the acreage - and then he went to work. At first he grumbled and grouched but soon he was as enthused about it as we were. When he was a kid, the new Ford Mustangs were the rulers of the dragstrip, and he built a '49 Merc that he claimed would 'eat Mustangs alive'. Right from the start it was clear Big Bro couldn't pay up front so Pop would have to finance him as well. I helped pull the blown engine and sat in on the discussions as Pop lectured us on engines and components. Pop decided this car would be fast - but reliability would not be compromised. There comes a point where you start pushing parts and materials to their limits and then things begin to fail. Once Pop had an idea of where we were going we went to work. Big Bro ran back and forth between the part shop and our garage; I stayed home and wrenched with Pop.

When we finally got it done Big Bro was off at work and Pop and I took the car out for a shake down cruise. I will never forget it. My dad is a sensible, responsible man and a straight arrow at all times - you can set your watch by him, he is so reliable and trustworthy. But on that day, on the Gas Line Road... he ran that beast up almost to its limits. He pushed the car up to 80 and I thought nothing of it. I started to liquefy as he got up to 110. "C'mon, baby, show me what you got," he crooned like a loon.  I was an unconscious puddle of organic mush on the floor mats when he hit 120... and STILL he poured on the coal..."127! Oh yeah!!!" he crowed!

Thankfully the car finally began to slow and  dropped out of hyperspace as it went sub-light. Pop was babbling like a happy kid "That's plenty of power for a kid! We can get more speed out of this girl yet, Glen - but we would need a proper track for that! Of course, once ya go that route, the trick becomes keeping the car straight when ya shift, and keeping all that horsepower on the road rather than spinning your tires and burning them's called wheel hop...". It wasn't until later that I was flabbergasted to learn that my dad was probably the coolest dad alive! Most 14 year olds and all my friends were ashamed of their parents and don't want to be seen with them. I started buying hot rod magazines and planning out my car - it was gonna be a '71 GTO ... but life happened.

I have no regrets, being a dumbass... I probably would have killed myself (and worse, maybe someone else) with a car like that! At least, that is what I tell myself when I pass the informal 'show n' shines' going on every summer. Hot rods are for the cool kids and I am not cool nor am I a kid anymore.

But...every so often I still feel like one and that is enough.

Tuesday, 24 May 2016

This Is A Job For Captain Sweatpants!

This is obviously the work of a senior delinquent. One might be tempted to blame Uncle Bob and you would be correct to suspect it unless you have been gifted with formidable powers of observation and deduction as I have. Wirecutter and Charlie Goddamit are admonished to mind their Q's and especially P's. It's spelt 'PEEPEE', boys.

Come along quietly fellas - and nobody gets hurt...

A Grumpy Old Man And Literary Burn Out

GAH. I am in the midst of a summer cold/flu that has filled my head up with snot, and doing the sweats/freezing thing. One second I am in a sweating misery and the next - freezing. At least I had the sense to do it during a weekend filled with crappy weather, HAR HAR HAR!

So it was that I grumped my way over to Pete's blog and crapped in the comments.

Pete's a good shit; and I shouldn't have been so rough on him...I'm sure he wrote a great book and it will sell well. But, dammit - I am just burnt out and parched as far as recreational reading goes. It used to be when I was home sick I could grab a good book, crash in my chair and read a good yarn until I fell asleep. Today - there is no real good writing going on anymore. There's no originality, only recycled characters, plots and themes.

And the SF wieners are right about the social justice warrior wieners: any book those idiots write isn't about telling a story, it's about pushing a narrative and a truly revolting and immoral one at that. Maybe it's just me - but I don't want to read in graphic detail about a couple homosexual butt blasters packing fudge at some intergalactic gay bathhouse - and then have a long boring lecture afterward about how it's perfectly okay to do stuff like that. It turns out the most of the authors of this dreck are themselves a bunch of queers and pedos if the current blog wars are any indication. Is it any wonder those people can't write anything good?

I have a message for today's young authors: take your politics, your sexuality, your personal hang ups and biases - and shove 'em up your ass! Sideways! Tell me a story. I want to be that kid again, taken away to different places by fictional characters that I can understand and identify with.

Uncle Bob often prattles over at the Treehouse about how kids are being smothered by the nanny state. They aren't educated, they're indoctrinated. I think he's bang on the money with that and you can see it in today's young authors. They have absolutely no interest in making their readers think - they are more concerned about telling them what to think.

Bah. Screw it! I'm going to back to bed! Sure would be nice to have a good book to crash with, though.

Sunday, 22 May 2016

Right This Way, Major...

When I was a kid and we heard the air raid siren go, we would drop EVERYTHING and head out to the flight line on the double! If I was holding the ladder while Pop was taking a load of nails up to the roof - sorry about your luck, Dad! Duty calls! Likewise, if PP and Uncle Bob were on the pond playing hockey - the game was called when The Blacksheep were on. If time permitted they might take their skates off to come into the house - otherwise Mom was S.O.L. too! When the Blacksheep were in the air - so were us kids!

I liked the mechanic that beat the pooh out of any pilots that dared to bring back a bird shot full of holes. Pop was unimpressed when I started calling him a 'mitten-head' and his dog a 'meat ball'.

The Blacksheep undoubtedly was a kid's show, and no real effort was made at historical accuracy. I suspect the men that flew in the Pacific would be less than enthused about the liberties taken by Hollywood but the show wasn't for them so much as it was for us kids. I suppose most of them are gone now - but how I would love to sit down and just listen to somebody that was actually there and get their story - minus the Hollywood hype. The perfect setting for that would be in the hangar beside a real F4U Corsair, with a couple of lawn chairs and a flask or a pot of coffee.

This Navy Bird looks like he will cheerfully go for the throat of any of the other planes in my little hangar...

If you're looking to get into RC this is the way to do it. This one was built by some old(er) stubfart that didn't have the time or the guts to actually fly this thing. $400.00! You can barely buy the engine for that! But this comes with the servos, with mechanical retracts - almost ready to go! It has a .91 Saito four cycle glow engine which is a big thing for us warbird fans. Super Dave Osborne, my trainer plane, has a two cycle glow engine and he sounds like an angry mosquito when he revs up. This bird will roar at full throttle and stir anyone's soul as he does a low pass or a fast barrel roll over the field.

Ooops. Somebody cut one... but it looks like poor ol' Woody Woodpecker went a few too many rounds with the Koreans...

In real life the Corsair was a pig to handle at low speeds. Landings for new pilots were often interesting and so it goes with these models. This is an expert's plane and I doubt I will be ready to fly it this year... but there is a lot of work I can do in the meantime. I have to go through it, break in the engine, and probably swap out some parts and make some mods here and there. Flapz will be called in to evaluate the feasibility of a new onboard glow heater system to ease startups. This thing will be a champ in the air - but a treacherous bi*** on final approach! You bring the warbirds in hot because they drop and stall in the blink of an eye.

Good gravy!!! A two blade prop?!?!? Like hell!!! I will get a three blader or a four if they make one...

I'm up to my ears in aeronautics right now. I was shocked to learn that two blade props are more efficient than multiblade props. If you have a plane with a two blade prop and put a three blade on it - it will actually slow the plane down, generally speaking. The real warbirds, though, need multiblade props to harness all the power they put out. If you smell rotten wood burning - it's probably just me trying to think!

If I could open that damned canopy I would put an Angry Bird or maybe a Minion in there for a pilot...

They don't make these particular birds anymore so if I crash this one my only option will be to scrap the bird, salvage the servos and whatever else I can - and build anew! There will be no mulligans with this one. Damn - it's almost too nice to even think about a mishap...maybe I should just put it up as a static display?

Nahhhhhhhh...... God willing, I will be able to fly with Pappy Boyington again as a 52 year old kid! Can somebody go outside and put the ladder up so Pop can get off the roof? He's been up there a mighty long time! HAR HAR HAR!    ;)

Gun Porn

The clumsy looking 1858. Is it an Italian repro? Or a refurb? The finish on that sweetheart is to die for...

Octagonal barrels invoke romance and nostalgia

As a borderline black powder geek I've never been a fan of the Remington 1858. To me it's needlessly larger than my preferred Colt 1860 Army or the 1851 Navy revolvers. (Mine are Italian repros; guys like me can't afford originals nor would we shoot them if we could!)

Years ago I read Stephen King's Dark Tower books and envisioned The Gunslinger as carrying a pair of these and they would have looked good on him. If you are looking for a fun read those books are highly recommended. If you're looking for fun guns - nothing...and I mean NOTHING - beats the percussion cap n' ball guns.

True North Strong And Free

Saturday, 21 May 2016

An Early Morning Round Town

Early this morning I had some errands to run and took a little time out to park beside my first school to send some texts and take a brief walk down Memory Lane.

The former playground of Stinky McNasty Elementary School

That lush green forest was a bald-ass playground field when I was there in the 70's. It was filled with nasty death and torture dealing devices like monkey bars, teeter-totters and the regular playground equipment that scares the hell out of liberals, lawyers and stupid people. I guess they object to Darwin and Murphy from harvesting their sub-intellect children with such devices, HAR HAR HAR! I couldn't get over how green it was. Those trees are 30 feet high, now!

Gawd, these trees grow almost as fast as kids. Take this young gent, for example:

See that little evergreen in the corner?

100 years ago either Flapz or Skinbag and I were out hunting along the river Dismal down in Brazeau country. We had gotten thoroughly, utterly skunked on that trip and hadn't even seen any game, much less gotten off a shot. We were packing up the camp and going home (that was always a bummer whether we got anything or not) - when I spied these scraggly tiny evergreens growing on the rocks along the riverbank. They were barely two foot and tenaciously clinging to life by a thread suspended by a banana peel! I picked one the same way a child picks a wildflower and took him home...and look at him now! Last week I was in the that corner with the mower and he grabbed me by the throat, lifted me off the ground and shook me down! HAR HAR HAR! Mort sleeps in his shadow during the day.

Speaking of Mort...

Mortimer is a great pyrenese in the winter (or possibly a snow ape) but we shave him bald in the summer and he gets pissy about it for the first few days. He has pink skin under all that fur and the other day he got bummed right out when I started laughing at his arse! He has two big, fat hairy meat curtains for buttocks just like me! HAR HAR HAR! HAR HAR HAR! Poor bugger...

In thanks for dropping by this morning, and have yourselves a great weekend! As for me - I am off to the hobby shop to make an offer on an F4U Corsair. I'll let ya know how I make out!

Friday, 20 May 2016

A Dance....With DEATH

Death smiles at us all; but all a man can do is smile back - Marcus Aurelius

I figure I better grab this one before one of those other no-good bloggers gets it. Some awesome footwork is in the offing by these two skilled river dancers at the end. Have a great weekend!

Filthie's Fearful Friday Blog Night Creep Show

Today on the Thunderbox, with the rains pouring down and lightening flashing across the sky - the mood is set for a night of blood curdling horror! The blogosphere's most fiendish and creepy authors assemble here tonight to regale you with three tales of horror so profoundly scary - that I must issue warnings to those of you with weak hearts and irritable bowels!!!

We'll let Count Foyd start this theatre of chills and horror!

This first story comes from the pied paki of pick up artistry and asks us the question: Is our reality real? Are our actions our own? Arrrrooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!

Great Ceasar's Ghost! That one was so scary, I will have to go upstairs and change my underwear!!! In the meantime, Elvira will introduce you to our next special guest!

Thanks for having me on your blog, Glen, you big handsome stud muffin!!!
I really enjoy the company of fearless men unafraid of the dark! This next story comes to us from
a creepy old man that imagines an America where the military-industrial complex goes utterly mad!
Without further adieu - Fred Reed.

Good heavens, Elvira!!!! A woman with 10 arms?!?!? How ghastly!!!! There'll no easy sleeping for me this night!!!! And may I say, my dear lady, you haven't aged a day since we last met! Why, that last story was even SCARIER than the first! I don't know how much horror I can possibly take!

This last story, dear readers - is seriously not for the faint of heart, weak of mind - or craven of spirit. It's my first attempt at fiction, and is a dystopian alternate universe where all the greatest blogosphere celebrities aren't nice people - but utter ASSHOLES! What would your doppleganger look like in the next alternate universe over from ours?

The prisoner was half walked, half dragged to the chair illuminated by the anemic 40 watt bulb and roughly thrown at it by the burly jailers. Missing the chair, he fumbled and stumbled and sprawled across the wet concrete floor, and laid there for a moment, trying to gather his wits. In front of him, three grim men, seated at a table - traded disdainful looks among themselves as the prisoner regained his feet, and tried to sit down with as much dignity as he could summon.
"Name," the older gentleman said.
"C'mon, Wirecutter... you know my name -" the prisoner was cut off as one of the jailers slugged him across the jaw.
The prisoners head lolled and he spat out some blood. "Glen Filthie," he croaked.
"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Filthie?" Without giving him a chance to reply, Uncle Bob took over the interrogation. "In the last month you made an application for Rule 5 clearance to a panel much like this. Your portfolio contained photos of women so ghastly, that the last one induced PTSD in one of the reviewers. Thanks to you, today, Stackz O. Mags is sitting in a rubber room, mumbling, sometimes shrieking about fatties and chubsters with machine guns! In his more lucid moments, he tries to call in an airstrike on his own position."
"Look. It was a joke, okay? It was a friggin JOKE -" Before he could go on one of the jailers slugged Filthie in the gut and doubled him over.
"We're gonna give you one last chance to redeem yourself, Glen," Wirecutter said in dangerous tone of voice. "We understand you have a new portfolio for us to review. Pending that review, if you are successful you will be a licensed Rule 5 blogger and will be able to post pictures that celebrate the beauty of women, camel toe and milfs etc etc. If you fail - trust me on this, Filthie: you don't want to fail a second time. Are we clear?" Still groggy from the beating - Filthie managed to nod.
"Excellent! BW! Will you do the honours?" And with that - the third member of the review panel rose, picked up a folder off the table - and walked it over to the prisoner. As he handed it to the inmate he whispered quietly, "Don't mess this up, Glen."
Fumbling with the photos and the pictures inside, the prisoner's hands shook both from fear and trauma. He stuttered as he spoke. "I would like to thank the board for agreeing to give me this second chance at redeeming my reputation and my honour. My Rule 5 theme on my blog, if successful, will be 'Girls With Guns' -"
"GET ON WITH IT, FILTHIE..." WC growled. "Yessir. Gentlemen - my first of three photos for this application.....". Trembling with fear, Filthie produced the first photo.
BW  buried his face in his hands. Uncle Bob made choking sounds. Only WC looked unruffled. " So. Mr. Filthie thinks we're a bunch of pedos..."
"No...NO! She's a midget, WC! You like midgets! Please, please don't...!". Wirecutter nodded at the guards. One caught Filthie's arms and held them behind his back while the other guard beat him up for several minutes. Finally, Uncle Bob intervened. "That's enough, boys. Filthie - would you care to try again? We're looking for PRETTY women, the kind of wholesome gals that good men want to look at! Why is this so tough for you...? C'mon, man! Get with the program! Next photo, please!"
With one eye swollen shut, Filthie extracted another photo, and held it face down in his lap. "C'mon, Glen - you can do it!" the sympathetic BW  coaxed. The prisoner clenched his one good eye shut, sobbed silently and shook his head. "It's okay, Glen - just one good pic - and all this is over!"
Taking a deep breath, Filthie produced the second photo.

BW cringed. Uncle Bob turned his head, retched, and vomited noisily onto the cold cement floor behind him. This time the guards needed no command - they fell on Filthie, kicking and punching until the prisoner was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Are you shitting me? Do I have to tell you why you got beat for that last one, Filthie?" WC asked. He sighed in resignation. "Guards - he can't move any more - let's see that last picture and be done with it!"

"I thought so. BW - can you pay our respects to the applicant? Uncle Bob isn't doing to well and I'm just gonna walk him out and maybe get him a bucket..." BW pulled a set of brass knuckles out of his jacket pocket and put them on. "No sweat guys - I got this."
Filthie felt the first hit and heard his teeth skitter across the floor. On the second, he lost consciousness and was welcomed by the blackness. Never would make a Blogger's Rule 5 Application again.
The concludes Filthie's Monsterpiece Theatre for tonight, folks. Sleep well, and don't let the bed bugs (or anything else) bite!

Thursday, 19 May 2016

Today's Philosophical Question

If a fart is cut - and nobody lives to hear it...does it make a sound?

Thank Gawd Somebody FINALLY Said It...

100 years ago all the self proclaimed gun experts in the sport went off and rebelled against all the adults (and common sense) by hating on the AR15. This particular mutt, when he realized that pretty much everyone with a triple digit IQ was laughing at him, promptly turned around and got behind his own line of boutique AR15's. Because they are just chock full of awesomeness, dontchya know! He'll even train ya to run-n-gun with it for a modest fee! Don't shoot yourself in the ball, George! Ya only got one, HAR HAR HAR!

Once again, Wirecutter brings it. AK's are too frightening for liberals and stupid people so they are not allowed in Canada. That being said the vast majority of them are Chicom junkers. That's not to say I would disrespect one or an opponent armed with one - but to advocate the AK design over the AR15 is pure idiocy.

Fact is I wish WC would do more gun posts. As a kid that grew up hunting in Alberta I have probably shot more soft targets than a Marine. Over the years I shot a few whitetails and mulies myself, and have seen them killed by others shooting all the calibres from 6.5x55 all the way up to and including the new powder gobbling Ultra magnums and I will tell you this - the sign of a stupid kid is when they start beaking off about calibres. All these new proprietary calibres coming out are about selling guns to hunters, not about killing game more efficiently. If you hit an animal with any reasonable cartridge - where you're supposed to - it is going down and no bones about it. The fan boys beaking off about the puny 5.56/.223 cartridge utilized by the AR15 are usually parroting crap they heard from idiots like the Mad Ogre. The truth is that gun will ruin your day (if not end it) out to 500 yards in the hands of an expert. Maybe further.

Even if (for some godly unknown reason) you can't stand the .223 - the AR offers options. Punch out a pin, swap out an upper - and your .223 AR becomes an AR in anything from 6.5mm right on up to .458 SOCOM! If you can have only one rifle, this is it! I've been tempted by the .300 BLK and the 6.8 SPC...but can't really justify the need other than as another range toy.

I read WC all the time and if I recall he built his own AR from parts. That is a hobby in itself for some but a few things need to be understood going in - you are going to have to do your homework. There's videos all over Youtube on how to do it. And no - building is generally not cheaper than buying a complete rifle from the dealer! Quality parts cost, the tools cost - and about the only advantage I see is that you can improve your cash flow by buying the components in dribs and drabs instead of plunking down $1500.00 in one big gulp. There's a lot to be said for that. If I don't miss my guess most homebuilts will do 2~4" groups at 100 yards and that is all most guys need. I've heard that stubbies or short barrelled AR's can be problematic - and will require component selection and assembly by somebody who really knows his way around the AR to function reliably. Of course, the full blown target rigs with air gauged match barrels will need a specialist's attention too.

Unfortunately my favourite black rifle guru, Stackz O. Mags - dropped out of blogging recently so I need to get a replacement for him on the toilet roll. I like Carteach0. He's fat, old, bald and a deadly grumpy marksman - just like Yours Truly! Pass along my regards if any of you yanks see him. Onto the blogroll he goes!

Another Economic Report

While the bankers are being upbeat and positive about the economy - I continue to call 'bullshit' as they prattle on about leading and lagging indicators, commodities, stocks n' bonds and what have you. My moral, economic and intellectual superiors are calling for a mild recession and a fairly quick recovery.

A week or two back I noticed the yards filling with drill pipe - which is a really, really bad sign. The equipment rental yards were filled with idle equipment - another really, really bad sign. Today and yesterday I dropped in on some major oilfield and heavy construction customers - and couldn't reach them.

They were out in the yard picking up trash. One was out on the lawn tractor mowing the grass.

Folks, it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to realize that when you have your senior tradesmen and foremen out on garbage detail - there is something serious going on. The layoffs going on in Alberta - already terrible - are going to become much much worse in the next quarter.

Ya heard it here first! Make your preparations accordingly!

This kind of shit can only end one way...

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Wednesday Afternoon Bird Watching

Today we're goofing off doing our homework at the Edson Airport. These are real planes, not the toys I play with...

The beauty of my job is my office is where my truck is! I can pull in beside a babbling brook out in the country and start flapping my gums at 100 MPH on the cell, or pound out quotes on the computer or just take a deep breath and decompress!

This bird could easily be over 30 years old.

I love aviation but fear the gods of the sport - having had an unpleasant encounter with them some years ago. But - it doesn't stop me from ogling the planes just like I did when I was 12 years old! Today at lunch time I just sat and watched a few planes come and go.

I think this one is an air museum and I think it's in New York....
If I ever get the time I am going to saddle up the bike and go south to this air museum and worship the metal gods nesting on that aircraft carrier. I have seen ads for this in the past - I think that is the decommissioned Lexington or Intrepid or some such - and they run it as a museum for pasty faced fan boys like me!
A submarine??? You gotta be shitting me!!! I dunno if Canada has any...
Back in the day Canada boasted the 4th largest navy in the world. Thanks to a succession of mealy mouthed, fart sucking liberal gubbermints our armed forces have been cut back and pruned to the point of irrelevance. I remember a few years back (and I am NOT making this up, although you would be correct to suspect it) - Canada had bought some stinky old obsolete diesel electric surplus sub from Britain. On the way across the ocean home, some fwench pipe polisher left a hatch open in high seas, the sub's innards got doused - and a dangerous electrical fire broke out. They had to be towed back to Scotland or some damned thing to have their bargain basement submarine refitted! Imagine the cost savings! PBFBFBFBFFFFFFFT!
Be thankful for your military, Americans. I am thankful for our squaddies up here in Canada and back them up 100% but sometimes it bugs the living bejeezus outta me when I see the way this asshole of a country treats them. They can only do so much with band-aids and bailing wire and to send them into combat with junk is an act of criminal negligence and incompetence! But...what can you expect from a country run by cheese-eating surrender monkeys?

If you're done fussing with your hair, ya fwench toss-pot...ya might wanna do something for our troops...

Never Take A Lift From A Stranger...

With all due apologies to our friends at Mammoet

These guys piss me off. I've been trying to sell them stuff for the last 100 years and I've gotten a nibble or two but never anything big. I go in, I do the presentations, they politely entertain me and listen respectfully to what I have to say, have your people call my people, let's do lunch, yadda yadda yadda... and then nothing. Maybe I should hang myself from one of their cranes to get their attention? (And before Uncle Bob, Stackz O. Mags, or Wirecutter says it - shut the **** up). ;)

Tuesday, 17 May 2016

Well Of Course...

That's either BW going to East Overshoe AB or me going to the liquor store...

Margaret Trudeau, Apparently

For our Yank friends - our current swine minister's mommy.

Sunday, 15 May 2016

The Sunday Roundabout

I sit here sunburnt to a tender3rd degree - a happy man.

This morning I went out to the RC airfield and established supremacy of the skies. When I got home late, instead of chores I took the dogs out for a long walk and questioned some local seniors about their suspicious activities. Oh, they all played the innocent... but I know better. We will be watching them all very closely and if they should take the merest step off the straight and narrow path of righteousness - me and my crime fighting K9's will be there to intercept and restore law and order!

After that I had a full slate of chores for the day. I was going to wash the bike and then the Dogmobile and then do some painting and yard work. I got the bike out and headed for the car wash but took a wrong turn...and then another one..and then another...and the next thing I knew I was out in the country headed to parts unknown! A long drive later I was deep in Alberta's Koobasaw Country - by Mundare.

It was awesome. The place was as quiet as a ghost town. I pulled off and parked on main street to savour the day and noticed this sullen old prick staring out the window at me. The guy obviously had a serious attitude problem with his staring - so I stomped over and started giving him the very hell of it!!!

15 minutes later I realized I was arguing with my reflection in a window! HAR HAR HAR! Used to have a budgie that would do that...

Mundare is the biggest koobasaw capital of the world. That is a statue of a giant roll of sausage but I think it looks like a couple of wrinkly old dinks. I suspect Uncle Bob and possibly Wirecutter posed for the artist. Yeecchchcht - now I want to wash my mind out with soap!
Spring is finally here; this tree was just filled with friendly bumble bees doing their thing. All the trees on main street were in bloom - and not a soul was around. I sat and soaked up the peace and quiet of small town Alberta. It's been over a year since I last did this.
This is some kind of church from one of the Soviet bloc countries - I think it's Ukranian. When the original church was built in the early part of the last century Canada's prime minister, Sir Wilfred Laurier - stopped in to check it out. I've never seen a bell tower like that - I suspect it can play tunes when run by a skilled musician.
At this point I realized I was wool-gathering and lit out for home - now about 85 clicks behind me. Another wrong turn on the Tofield Road offered up this gem:
The abandoned Ross Creek cemetery

 I must have passed this cemetery a dozen times but never had time to check it out. I saw the big marker but not the sign.  I saw two stones in it - that big one is a memorial to the Hallburg family - Samuel August and Emma Charlotte who pioneered here in the 1890's and early 1900's. It was overgrown and neglected but I did see a smaller stone further back. I have seen a few family cemeteries around the county from this time period and most are still kept up by the current land owners today. It was nice to finally stop, see what the stone was all about, and pay my respects to the Hallburgs.'s been a mighty fine day! I had to be somewhere, I suppose - and I dunno if I got there or not...but I'm glad I went!

We Are Reborn; There's New Grass On The Field

Super Dave Osborne prior to launch on Dawn Patrol today
I love Bremner Field. Our airstrip is located about 5 miles out of town and is big enough to land  real airplanes. The grass is maintained and groomed so that golfers could almost putt on it. I was the only one out there this morning and the locals were surprised to see me so early in the day. A couple of geese sat out on the north/south runway heckling and glurting their disapproval of my airmanship. A little while later - while I was up in the air - a flock of insolent black birds settled in on my runway to pick for grubs and seeds. I did a few low passes over the runway to try and shoo them off but they just looked at the plane with disgust and went back to feeding. I started to panic because I was running out of fuel and the little bastards wouldn't give way. I needn't have worried; when I ran out and dead-sticked the plane in the little birds moved out of the way as it came in and didn't seem to think anything of it. The bloody cheek! I'm sure you can imagine my chagrin. (Actually it was a charming way for an old fart to greet a new Sunday!) The little black birds were still stuffing themselves when I packed up and left! HAR HAR HAR!
Screw you too, you cheeky little kipper! Next time, if I see you on MY runway, I 'm gonna run you through the prop like a Moulinex!
With the badly behaved black birds beaten - it's now time for Captain Sweatpants and his fearless canine cohorts to patrol the neighbourhood for senior delinquency! Crime never sleeps! Enjoy your Sunday, all!