In Anticipation Of Your Next Thought: Shove Your Gun Control Up Your Ass

My my my. Who woulda seen THAT one coming? Who woulda thunk it? A great big ass mosqueful of monkeys got shot up in Queerbec last night!

A hundred years ago - Queerbec had a similar incident. Marc Lapine grabbed a Ruger Mini 14 and went to some backwater fwench college and shot up a classful of 'women's studies' students, screeching about feminists and their evil as he plinked away.

The ruling liberals got their panties so wadded up that Canada got the most asinine gun laws as a result. As everyone knows, liberals love homosexuals, feminists, and socialists.  The problem was that they like pisslamics and other minorities as well. It wasn't until YEARS later that we learned more about Marc Lepine: he was the son of a fwench whore and an Arabic father. I didn't comply with much of the new gun regs, nobody out here in Alberta did. The cops refused to enforce it and when they did the judges threw the cases out.

The irony and comedy are at lethal levels. Just yesterday, Justin Trudeau was virtue signalling about how Canada would take all those poor, poor refugees that the Eeeeeeeevil Trump Regime was turning away. "Diversity is our strength,: he lisped.

Taking race and political correctness out of it - we STILL need to do something about immigration. We don't have jobs for our own kids - why in HELL are we importing more people? Most of whom are unemployable, low IQ/low skill morons that will only end up on the dole. Oh well. I will buy a round for the house to celebrate the shooting and wish our moslem friends many more! The world needs less moslems, not more.

And no Mr. Prime Minister - those monkeys won't be giving up their guns and neither will I.

A Quiet Weekend

It was gorgeous out yesterday so I spent most of it at the rifle range. One of the visiting stubfarts was a fellow I hadn't seen in YEARS.  He is a close friend of Rotten Rob and Baloney Bob - a couple of fellas I lost track of years ago, and I was washed away in old memories as he updated me on their whereabouts.

Actually - 'parted ways with' is more like it. Those two boys were well-to-do and really nice guys... but like a lot of people from that era, they had problems with booze and drugs. In addition to being gun guys they were both gear heads. They met each other through the local Factory 5 Kit Car Club. They had each built the classic Cobra kit - both blue, both with the white stripe and when they parked side by each you woulda thunk they were exactly the same. But Bob had a custom built 427 in his, balanced and blue printed. Rotten Rob wanted to counter raw horsepower with tech in his machine and went with a fuel injected engine in his. Their idea of fun was getting pissed to the gills (something I heartily approve of) - and racing their hot rods on back roads and remote highways (something I do not approve of).

I actually went along once on a liquor run. When we got back to the house I shakily pulled out my bottle of Oban and nigger-lipped a couple BIG gulps right from the bottle to steady my nerves. It was the last time I ever got in that car. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis thing for them or something. They'd go out with a quart of whiskey or a bag of grass and just burn miles and rubber. One day Rob got an impaired and lost his license for a year. (I know, right? Who woulda seen that one coming???). I figured that'd smarten the boys up for sure.

The next summer Rob couldn't resist the lure of the rod and the road and went out for a cruise and got arrested for driving while under suspension. "Rob," I said, "Are you fuggin nuts??? Put the car away, take your lumps and learn your bloody lesson! You are gonna be in the slam at the rate you're going!" They tacked another year on to his suspension.

Couple weeks later he got arrested again. Drunk driving - and that while under suspension. Bob was with him. "FFS, Bob! You know what kinda shit he's in! Why didn't ya grab his keys and shut him down?" I raged. Welp - turns out Bob was drunk too and didn't want to interrupt the cops who were processing Rob. He also had a bag of dope in the glove box. At that point I washed my hands of them. They called it 'bad luck'. I say there's a difference between bad luck and being a shit-magnet.

I'm no choir boy.  I'm no Einstein either, but I am smart enough to know that cars like that will catch they eye of not only the tire biters and bubble gummers - but the cops too. You don't want to be half in the bag in a machine like that. Then there's the little teensy weensy detail about the 400 raging ponies going on under the hood! They are enough trouble, never mind the cops!

When he went to court Rotten Rob actually beat the drunk driving under suspension rap - the shit bag lawyers noticed that the cops put down the wrong date on the arrest documents... and somehow, that became grounds to throw the case out! I couldn't believe it! My last words to Rob were, "Okay, buddy. You got way luckier than you deserve. DON'T FUCK IT UP! Please...!" The next week I dropped by Rob's acreage, and saw the boys in the driveway with drinks and the cars running - and drove on past. I didn't want to watch this anymore.

Rob has to be in his mid-50's now - and I haven't seen him at all. When he wasn't drinking and driving he was fishing - and I hope he is out on the boat pulling in the big ones. He sounds like the perfect shit on paper but he was a very nice fella in person. For some reason or other the devil had gotten the better of him - and he was too smart to let that happen. I am fairly certain he has shaken off his demons by now.

Bob has to be pushing 60 hard. He'd lost a pinky finger on a table saw (I'm betting booze is involved with that one) - and he has one white eye. He looks like a James Bond villain. Apparently his retina detached and the doctors figured it was from all the years of firing the big magnum rifles he carried. The recoil, they suspect, weakened the retina. His other eye isn't that great either. His days of big rifles and fast cars are over but apparently he still goes after coyotes occasionally. So I guess he's doing alright.

As for me, I am going straight down hill!

I am spending most of the weekend down in the sword and saddle shop this weekend, remembering old friends and old times. Time hasn't been kind to me either - my mind is just like my work friggin work bench: Sloppy, cluttered, disorganized. It's infuriating! Who made this mess???

It's gonna be an ammo pouch when I get finished. I am just playing with conchos here to dress it up a little. It looks okay here, I have run some stitches as good as any woman can do - but then I shat the bed later on and although it isn't bad you can still tell it was a home-made effort. Oh well. If it turns out I will post pics of it later.

So that's my exciting weekend: A trip to the range, and then downstairs to remember old friends.

Oh - and walking dawgs. I have been rudely informed that Dawg Patrol is going to be late if I keep typing on the computer so - duty calls! Have yourselves a great Sunday and try and spare a thought for absent friends that deserve it  if ya can.

I Think I Have A Drinking Problem...

In fact... I guess I KNOW I do.

Four extra-large tankards of Tim Horton's finest swill...GAH!

So F-tard Friday is almost over. I spent all day with a client with a contract for some oilfield structural work - that knows nothing about ironworking. I'm not an iron worker either!!! I know enough to be dangerous and I was light years ahead of my client! I spent the day with their QA/QC and the estimators. I went through 3 cups of swill and my bladder just about exploded on the third one. As I was coming out of the boy's room I got coat-hangered by the Veep who dragged me to his office, set another jug down in front of me - and offered me a job. I'm tempted to take it - my current boss is coming out in Feb. and the fat bastid is a bigger prick than I am - figuratively AND literally.

Then I went over to A&W late in the afternoon and burgered myself.

I'm not drinking any coffee tomorrow... I don't want any booze, or any junk food! I feel like shit now! This is how vegans a created, folks. I want to find some place to die that is quiet and warm. HAR HAR HAR! Why - I think I need a safe place! Piss off, Boss! Don't trigger me or I'll sue ya for my hurt feelings! HAR HAR HAR...!!!

Groan.

My day is shot, I am gonna enter some notes in the computer, schedule some events and set some alarms - and then my day is shot!

See ya tomorrow if I can manage to wake up! Happy Friday everyone!

Shitty White People

Yannow I have been as bad as anyone else. I mocked and derided those cankle blossoms that did that women's-march-with-the-vagina-hat thing. Uncle Bob is chortling about how they finally got the fat ugly feminists out and exercising. Another wank was calling it "The Million Cnut March". HAR HAR HAR! There is no blade sharper than humour!!!

Last night I stopped by my daughter's blog. She is right into that shit right up to her elbows. She admires these women that claim they are still oppressed and degraded by patriarchy but can't explain how. The ones that will mock and insult you as a matter of course - but are shocked and offended if you DARE to reciprocate. She thinks the Fourth Reich is rising up and coming to get her. Ye gods. Don't worry about imaginary Nazis, kid - why, if I ever get my hands on you, I'll....

I've said it often enough without really grasping the import of it. In this war of the sexes, anything that hurts one of them ultimately hurts them both. Those capering, shrieking nasty women in the protest ... they are our daughters, our mothers and sisters. And so many of them are so utterly, hopelessly fucked up with no hope of ever redeeming themselves. My daughter will never have a home or car at the rate she's going. I pray to God that she and her love partner never get their hands on kids. She would see me as the second coming of Adolph Hitler and she would almost spit on her mother for being an eeeevil, deluded Christian. Sure, it's the stuff of high comedy when it's coming from some pink haired, pierced and tattooed she-twink; but when it comes from one of your own? Boy oh boy - that stings and leaves a mark! And of course, because we are enlightened and tolerant... women like my daughter fester and fume and act on their misery and try and spread it. Like me, she is seriously considering violence in the clashes ahead and she will consider it self defense. Or at least - her tribe is. If that tribe ever DOES get stupid about it and gets violent - they're going to get slaughtered and they are going to deserve it. Having blood and skin in this culture war doesn't change right from wrong. It only makes doing right harder.

She DID have the greatest link to a vid. Some kid with a "Larry The Cable Guy" accent was going on about how Trump's election didn't bother him because...well - they had 8 years of bliss with Obama! "Yah know what Ah like aba'at Abamah? He just done drove shitty white people NUTS fer 8 YEARS! He riled up white shit birds from hare in Texas n Alabam right on up to Montana....!" HAR HAR HAR! I wish I had the accent that kid had! HAR HAR HAR!!!! I suppose it was totally beyond that boy that in fact - he was a shitty white kid too. Growing up for him is going to be more hurtful than it needs to be. Almost certainly he will grow up to be a shitty white man too. If he lives that long.

I don't wanna be a stick in the mud or anything, boys - but those clucky women and their mangina men aren't a laughing matter. They are a sign of a diseased culture and it will affect us all. A lot of those women need time on the psychologist's couch and no bones about it. They WILL spread their misery too. One day that stunned cnut in the vagina hat might be YOUR son or daughter. For chrissakes guys - hold your kids close. Don't trust their teachers or even other family members - ESPECIALLY liberal ones. Make sure YOU are raising them and raising them right. Kids NEED to be spanked once in awhile. They NEED boundaries and rules. They need structure and direction.

They need fathers. And women need husbands. Those women in the marches don't have any of that. At best they've had parodies of marriage and family and that is why they are in the streets today, angry, miserable and wretched and not knowing why. You don't want yours in that boat with them.

But...FAH!!!! It's Friday! And pay day! AND... I gotta a new rifle inbound! Should be here next week! Sometimes ya just need to stay focused and positive.

For us, at least, for now - life is good.

Another One For The Ol' Toilet Roll

Anyone that visits the Thunderbox is familiar with philosopher kings like Uncle Bob and WL Emery and Gorges Grouse and maybe Victor Quartermain. Those guys between them can give ya the perspective ya need for all life's jobs that range from cleaning up the shop to sharpening the chainsaw, to horse-whipping the wife and kids, HAR HAR HAR!!!  :) I make a point of crapping in their comment sections regularly to keep them off-balance and semi-honest.

In addition to peerless profound political punditry, Quartermain is

lady's man on par with Uncle Bob.

Those guys will learn ya everything ya need to interface with your external world in a smart, respectable and businesslike fashion.

But this new kid on the block is a new study! Whatsisname... Turdie    Turtle   Twaddle  goddammitalltohell! Fuggin furriners!!!! TB over at The Forty Five is an introverted man very focused on the inner self. The old hippies prattle about 'finding yourself' and 'feeding your inner child' and most of them end up "feeding their inner idiot"! TB is often focused on building the 'inner man'.
Is there such a thing? Not trying to sound like a chit house spiritualist or anything, but if a guy ain't right on the inside - his outsides are gonna be a mess too!

No apologies. Up on the blogroll he goes. For those of you that speak foreign languages, his name is

Toirdhealbheach Beucail 

Whorefrost

Yaaaaaa dee daaaahhhh, ya da dee dah

Gaaaaba gabbaweebeeweejab...

Crapping in a winter wonderland....

Oh - hi everyone! No doubt you're wondering why I am not perched upon my regal Thunderbox!

This morning I went in to see a customer that has a bigger mouth than even I have - he prattled on and on and on and I had a huge case of the gut rumbles going on all the while. I thought I could make it back to the office but it didn't work out that way - I had to divert and make an emergency pit stop at the Aaaadmontin Science Park. And as ya might imagine in such circumstances - I've frozen my arse to the toilet seat! HAR HAR HAR!!!!

Oh I'm alright. BW Bandy is enroute down to Tennessee to bum a flame thrower off Wirecutter. He'll pick it up, and then ride his motorcycle back up here and spark it up and thaw me out. He should get here sometime in April or May...  :) Please NOTE: Anybody that makes rude jokes about rump roasts at my expense will be fined $5.00!!! I did get some pics on the way in though - the trees are magnificent in this bleak, grey day.

It's supposed to warm up later in the week and if it does I might be able to pry myself off my throne in this frozen fortress of solitude. There's no need to tell me to stay frosty - I have that one well in hand! Have a great hump-day!

Historical Context: What About All The GOOD Things Hitler Did???

Years ago Gramma was showing us an old family photo of my ancestors out at the ancestral cabin on Cooking Lake - which is actually more of a slough than a lake. Fish can live in it but the lake has cyclical die-offs and droughts. In the 30's, it was the weekend party spot for city folk wanting to get away for a day. In an old black and white photo, faded and yellow with age - the whole famn damily of the time was lined up and one lady in particular stood out - she had a great big fuggin' Swastika on a necklace! HAR HAR HAR! My mother had a friggin BIRD when she saw it too. Imagine an 1850's southern belle being told she had black ancestors - that was the kind of meltdown Mom had. Being older and a budding chit house historian I tried to explain to Mom the idea of that photo and taking it in context. Of course, the old bitch wouldn't have it and insisted on histrionic virtue signalling with a hearty kiniption for emphasis. I just laughed and shut my gob - but mulled the incident over in my slightly pickled cranium.

This is my theory of historical contextualism: you need to put yourself in that photo, at that time, and try and imagine all the memes and thought trends of the day. You have to imagine the economy and standard of living. You have to try and BE there to appreciate the Nazis and that young lady who wore that Swastika necklace.

Here in the west the dirty 30's were almost over but times weren't easy. Welfare was non-existent. People still starved to death in those days. If you had enough to eat and a roof over your head you were doing good - a lot of people didn't. Men like us still lined up at flop houses and soup kitchens and often slept under the stars, cold and hungry as we searched for work. Post WW1 Germany was an even greater mess what with the treaty of Versailles' crippling pay outs, a gutted infrastructure - and a beaten populace. Feral commies are everywhere trying to incite riots and protest. The kids are living in the street with no hope, no future. All their parents can do is hang their heads in shame. And of course, we know the rest of the story.

This is what I tried to get across to Mom. Put yourself there in Alberta, on a sunny 1930's afternoon, as you contemplate pre-WW2 Germany. The women all have the still trendy flapper look. The older ladies still have the big flowery Victorian hats like Klondike Kate wears.


In Germany - this intense, well spoken young man is clearing away 3 decades of self destructive rot and  ruin embedded both in gov't and society - and getting shit done. Didjya hear about that new German fighter plane? The Messerschmitt is the fastest figher plane in the world! He's got factories going full blast - everyone is gonna have a car. Here in Alberta, only the big wigs like Uncle Bob can afford cars. The odd ones of us still have horses. Most of us walk. On the last News Reel, some young communist shit bags were rioting in Nuremburg and Adolf put an end to it! He sent in those boys with the brown shirts - and they kicked the ever loving chit out of the rabble rousers and it won't be a problem again! The broken glass and debris was being swept up and the damage was repaired the next day. Teens in the Hitler Youth are running telephone lines and competing against each other in community works. In a mere couple of years, Germany has gone from a smoldering ash heap to a world power. Can you see how a young lady out here in 1930's Alberta might be impressed with the Nazis? Before Hitler flipped his gourd and set the world on fire? What would have happened if he had had the sense to stay within his own borders and mind his own business? What if somebody like that had come to power here in Canada or the US?

I guess I can see why the leftie liberals are always seeing fascists under the bed and chitting bricks about Donald Trump. History certainly isn't repeating, but it IS rhyming. Funny how that works too - if you can put your history into context - perspective follows and allows you to view the present more clearly too. Wouldn't it be nice if the cops waded into the Ferguson riot and these other BLM chimp-outs with billy clubs, rubber bullets and attack dogs? Wouldn't it be nice to see those young men put to meaningful purpose and doing honest work and taking pride in it - instead of  burning and looting? It would be awesome, right?

But what happens after America is great again? Welp - let's play that out too: when you are a leader you have a great big target on your back. Money and power corrupt. Always. America will be a big player again and the Chinese, the Soviets, the Pacific Rim countries and Europe are going to rise up to oppose us in shrinking global markets and expanding productive power. Some historians say all wars are about markets and not about politics and I think they are right. Will we go to war to protect our market share? And before the greasy hippies and elderly peaceniks start pissing and moaning - the alternative to that IS grinding poverty and hopelessness. Organizations and organisms that won't fight for their survival die. If you sit on your hands while your allies and trade partners go down - you will inevitably follow.

So many other things start to make sense too. I can see why America's socialists are paralyzed in fright over fascists - fascists are smarter, faster and far more competent than they are. Could it be that by merely getting people off the dole and back to work - we set ourselves up for a fascist revival? Let us be honest with ourselves: if we are to be great again, we are going to have to do some really shitty things to some really shitty people. Is it worth it? What's the alternative?

Will your "Make America Great Again" hat one day give your chicken-headed descendants kiniptions the way that flappers' swastika gave my mother a hissy fit?

Things Ya See When Ya Don't Have A Daisycutter

Never fails. Every single time.

A guy's out goose hunting and takes a break for a cup of coffee, or to take a squirt. As soon as you unload the gun and lean it up against the tree or fence post - the teals go over at warp 8. But you don't care; even if you were ready for them ya probably woulda missed 'em. So ya lean back and sip your coffee, or ya keep on draining your lizard - and then the big geese go over so low and slow, you can hear the air under their wings... and all ya can do is piss all over your boots as you look up in shocked wonder and ask "how can the hunting gods be so cruel to me?"

Once I was eating my lunch in the shade of a great big round bale and I'll remember it to this day: I finished up, brushed the crumbs off my formal camouflage wear, picked up my bow and stepped around the bale to get back to my hunting spot - and startled a perfectly edible doe on the other side. She was out of range before I could even think of nocking an arrow.

So I've been watching the nooze about that woman's march and I'm watching the deranged, the degenerate and the depraved shrieking and capering about - and wondering where the sportsmen are with the rubber bullets and the pepper spray and the tear gas! Godddammit - they're gonna get away!

HAR HAR HAR!!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen, for your delectation, may I present Nina Donovan's "I Am A Nasty Woman"
(Dammit - somebody give Gorges a slap! He's fallen asleep already!!! How RUDE!!!)

I'm a nasty woman.

I'm not as nasty as a man who looks like he bathes in Cheeto Dust

Not as nasty as a man who is a distract to America

From back to broken back he stomped on

Words are just white noise ruining this national anthem.

I'm not as nasty as confederate flags being tattooed across my city

Blah blah blah, my vagina hurts
It's all your fault...

Tell me of a decade that didn't have traces of white hoods, burning up our faith in humanity

I'm not as nasty as a swastika painted on a pride flag yadda yadda yadda...

WAIT. What!!??! Somebody - get Uncle Bob! A swastika on a gay pride flag??? HAR HAR HAR!!! We are SO doing that!!! We'll fly it over Bob's Treehouse! It'll be AWESOME! Holy chit! It's a thing, I guess!!!

Whaddya think, Gruppenfurher Wallace?

This one has all the frooty colours of the rainbow

AND

goes good with the commies and fascists....

Oh man. I am putting this one up at Gorges house!

I will get pounded and have my face washed out with snow for it

...but the joke will certainly be worth it!  :)

It woulda been nicer to see an airstrike on that outbreak of feral zombie womanhood... maybe catch a few for some entertainment on the waterboard... but that's the life of the sporting gentlemen. Sometimes you win, sometimes ya lose, and sometimes you hold your nose and beat a hasty retreat before the stink menstruating, estrogen crazed womyn overpower ya, HAR HAR HAR!

Makes ya appreciate the ol' Stars n' Stripes, dunninit?

I've heard the Usual Suspects

saying it should be outlawed as a hate symbol too.

I think this was a tune from my distant childhood by Squirtin' Burton and some obscure band. Some long haired freak was yodelling a warning for the woman to take her hypnotic charms, her war machine - and hit the road! When was that one? Back in the 60's? Well, America - you have the woman you want - and you're welcome to her! And never has this tune been more appropriate than it is now. Marching, angry women offended by nothing and everything?

You've come a long way, baby.

Remington's Great Outdoors: Restricted Adult - No Snowflakes Or Bedwetters

STARRING BALONEY BOB

AND

GLEN FILTHIE

Now I've seen everything...

I dunno what these guys were trying to prove, really. I can skin a deer out in 30~45 minutes - but I go slow, take my time and keep everything scrupulously clean. Baloney Bob could do it in about 20~30 minutes - by himself. He's an expert and prefers to handle such things all by himself.

One odd day in November I had shot the Guiness Book Of World Records smallest deer. Usually November means snow and -20C at least but we were in shirt sleeves. Baloney Bob and Rotten Rob accused me of shooting an immature Chi Hoo-hoo and chortled to themselves as they laughed at their own lame and ignernt jokes. Bob was proposing a field dressing method like this one and I thought he was full a beans.

I'll be damned.

I specifically remembered my response to their ass hattery too: I proposed to clean ducks and geese with the 4x4 - place the carcasses under and in front of the wheels of the truck. Put the truck in 4x4 and slowly drive forward - and the meat will squirt out like a peanut between greased thumbs! The boys agreed: it theoretically could be done.

WL and I are off to Coopville for the proof of concept trials tomorrow! We'll let ya know how that one shakes out

Post Inauguration Thoughts...

My wife sews and makes a lot of the garments we wear. She makes some cool stuff for herself and great hoodies and sweat shirts and sweat pants for me. (I would wear Spand-Ex, but the authorities told me that if they ever caught me doing that, I would get 90 days in the can for crimes against humanity, HAR HAR HAR!) Captain Sweatpants is respectful of his fellow crime fighters.

Anyhoo, I saw a few clips of Trump's inauguration and that blue outfit his wife wore. I thought that was the coolest garment I have ever seen on any woman in the last 100 years! I talked to my wife about it because I wanted her to see it. Soooooo - over to Captain Sweatpants' Super Dooper Crime Fighting Computer for a high tech search - and I was flabbergasted at what came up.

I typed in "Trumps Inauguration" - and a metric chit tonne of derisive political cartoons came up. Then I typed in "Inauguration Photos"  All the images that came up were for the inauguration of The Black Baboon. If you want pics of the Former First Sasquawtch - they are all over the place. Apparently the fat assed liberal hag squad and their castrati servants are still smarting over the election and think that maybe they can scrub it from public consciousness or something if they censor it out or incessantly mock it. I tried more common search words but the same chit kept coming up!

"Dammit and blast," I grumped, "Hang on, my dear wife! The democrat swine are, as usual, obstructing The Forces Of Niceness! This will call for nothing short of a complete hack of the Democrat/Media complex!!!" I cracked my knuckles, and with lightening speed and superhuman precision I typed in "Trumps wifes outfit inauguration". A blizzard of images came up, mostly of Hollywood faggots and harridans at Anti-Trump protests - but I got what I needed. One pic.

The Forces Of Evil are now in full

subversion mode.

When they aren't pulling shit like this,

they're rioting and breaking windows in the streets.

In any event - what a lady!

She's a vast improvement over the "ape in heels".

Is this a deliberate effort at censorship and speech and thought control? Does a bear shit in the woods? The wife agreed that The First Lady and I have impeccable tastes in fashion and left.

I sat brooding over my beer. How utterly depraved and malicious are these swine? Who would go to the trouble to deliberately undermine a public search engine? I looked at the results of the search again - some cunned stunt was snarking about how awful that dress looked. Another was bloviating about Trump's creepy dance with his daughter at the celebration. Look - you have the right to your opinion - but I have the right to mine too. Not only that, in order for me to make informed opinions, I need access to the information to form those opinions. What else are you media assholes hiding from me? Do you know what kind of provocation this is? How far does this kind of shit go...?

I'm sorry folks. It used to be that I could disagree with liberals but still respect them. But that point was passed over a decade ago. I've never made any secret of the contempt I have for them and the only reason I tolerated them was because they were harmless. But this...? Oh boy. This kinda bullshit is not acceptable at all.

I just want the Usual Suspects to know one thing: I'm watching. Not only that, I am remembering faces and names. I know that a guy can get in big trouble on the internet for saying the wrong things, but it might behoove some of our duller friends on the left side of the political spectrum to take this opportunity to very carefully think about what ISN'T being said.

To the rest of you Yanks - I would check your holsters, your loads and your mags. I think these shit heads are going to escalate this and it could very well get nasty.

Bow Down And Humble Yourselves Before Your New God, Arselings!

Today I had to get the Mighty M14 dialled in for 200m. The next trip out I will confirm my 300 yard zero. This rifle continues to amaze.

1.029" at 200m - best group fired all day

1.508" at 200m

A sub-MOA gas gun???

Who woulda thunk it?

Some old fart and his son showed up once I got dialled in and the old grey hair sniffed in disgust at my rifle and bragged about how he and his kid were shooting "proper sporting rifles". The kid had a .300 Ultra Mag and he had a stainless bolt gun in .25-06. I was tempted to kill him on the spot for his effrontery but I didn't want to send him to hell in front of his son because then I'd pobly have to kill him too, HAR HAR HAR! So I stood up on my hind feet - and started pounding the ever-lovin' SNOT out of the gong at 100m. I asked the old fart if he would do me the honour of indulging me with an informal Gong Show and he sullenly refused. The boy was all grins and taunted his father - "Show him how it's done, Pop!" The old fart told his son to shut his gob and the big fella just grinned wider. This is how wars are fought and lost for elderly gun-club stubfarts  :)  I was shooting like a house afire today. Some days are like that, usually I suck and stink the place out... but it was nice to put that old boy in his place. Look down your long nose at MY rifle? Oh, you foolish mortal!

20 years ago I built this cradle for a Ruger No.1

and it kinda sorta fits my new ride.

The knock-kneed bimbo is wood burned on a piece of 1/8"

plywood that I did on a scrap to practice.

I'm not bad at pyrography and better than most...

but it is something I never put the proper time in on. This

is definitely not my best work.

Maybe when retirement commences I will have more time

for the important things.

For now, my new rifle is soaking in the cradle

after a good day on the range.

It's been so warm lately that all the squirrels have come out of hibernation early. The little buggers come right up to the shooting benches looking for treats to steal and I wish I had a handful of peanuts or something. They are up way too early and some calories would help tide them over until spring. If it's still warm next week and the squirrels are still awake I will take a bag of peanuts out for them. I know, you shouldn't feed them...but it's not spring yet and they are "gun club squirrels". The other old farts have put out bird feeders so I will put out some stuff for the squirrels and if they don't like it we can fight about it behind the woodshed, HAR HAR HAR!

Flapz is all a-flutter over his new girlfriend. Her father is literally a millionaire several times over and owns a couple sections north of here. The quick-thinking Flapz quickly capitalized on the relationship: we now have permission to hunt on that land and Flapz is demanding that I go along to help out in case he knocks something down. I figure I will hunt too...but I have the damnedest problem I never ever thought I would have in my life:  It's not really sporting to take a gun like my M14 out after deer. Oh sure, I have the low capacity magazines to make it legal to hunt with... but this gun is so accurate it really isn't sporting to hunt with. Anything under 300 yards is gonna be dead! And farmers get antsy when hunters show up with guns with flash hiders and military lines to them. Something has to be done!

That's a Remington rolling block single shot repro by Davide Pedersoli.

Caliber is 45-70, with a 30" octagonal barrel.

I will stoke that up with cast lead bullets and black powder and that should cut

my effective range down to around 150 yards or less.

Any deer stupid enough to get that close to me deserves what he

gets, HAR HAR HAR!

I ordered this one from Marstar up here in Canada. I am curious to see if my order will go through - years ago the owner of the company and I got into a pissing match on an internet gun forum and I had the unmitigated gall to prove him wrong. When he got stupid about it I called him on his bullchit. Then about a couple score of other ignernt ignoramii chimed in on my side of the argument and his head exploded. It's entirely possible he will mail me a bomb instead of the gun, HAR HAR HAR!!! (Far as that goes, couldn't happen to a nicer guy, right?)  ;)

Fun n' games continue apace. As for me - I gotta bail. I have my last Old Speckled Hen to drink and then I hit the sack early. She's been a wonderful day.

Filthie's Saturday Speakeasy: Trivia Nite

Oh - hi all!

Guys, I tried. I got the big screen TV. I got the satellite uplink. I paid the fees and got us hooked into the bar room national on line trivia game. Uncle Bob and Wirecutter were tangled up in wires n' speakers n' chit all night - but they got us on line and ready to rip.

And what happens?

WL and BW get in a pissing match, the guns come out, and now poor ol' Filthie has two cooling corpses outside - and a shot out large screen TV. So I'm sweeping up the shrapnel and remains, wondering what I'm gonna tell the cops - this time... Oh, I'm sure I'll figure something out. In the meantime, I have figured out another trivia game for my customers that are still alive and conscious!

FILTHIE'S BLOGGER TRIVIA GAME

Match the following three videeyahs  to the correct blogger celebrity below:

VIDEEYAHS:

A.

B.

C.

THE CELEBRITY BLOGGERS:

Chicken Mom

The Mohave Rat

Glen Filthie (The fabulous fearless RC fighter pilot)

Good luck everyone! Drink and shoot responsibly! Oh hell - one last road rocket for the drive home!

I Am Moving To The USA

You guys are absolutely on fire down there!

Trump is ascending to the throne, liberal heads are exploding like popcorn, and the US Military sounds like they are scrapping the M9 pistol and getting SIGs!

This is great news. I know, I know - "the 1911 was good enough for granddad so it's good enough for me!!!" I get it, I have two 1911's and they are grand guns for the citizen or the gun club stubfart. There was a time when they were good enough for the squaddie too...

But the game's changed for the fighting warrior and this new piece is right up his alley. Unlike the M9 this thing is definitely as step up from the 1911 on the battlefield and no bones about it.

I think I'm gonna come down to America and move in smack dab between Uncle Bob in the Treehouse and the Mohave Rat! I'll have friendly chats with Bob over the fence about how great  a guy George W Bush is one day, and then regale the Rat over the other fence about my religious beliefs! We'll get along swimmingly! Let's make it a hat trick for ya, America! A great new president, a great new pistol for the squaddies, and a fine new immigrant from the North! Providence and fortune smile upon you!

I will be sure to pass along your love as I pass Rosie O'Donut in the airport going the other way! HAR HAR HAR!

See ya soon!!!!  :)

So. Trump Day Tomorrow, Eh?

I'm splitting a gut. It's the stuff of high comedy and entertainment. Lefties are buying guns they don't know how to use because Trump's brown shirts will  be out rounding up the queers and negroes. They're preparing bug out bags for their kitties and are frantically trying to source ethically grown vegetarian MRE's. Hairy chested lesbian feminists are vowing to fight to the last man, HAR HAR HAR!!!

So, I am gonna gaze into my crystal ball and set everyone at ease! We'll see how I do shortly:

1. Trump is gonna repeal Obutthole's stupider executive orders right out of the gate. (That's a slam-dung; I think I read that one already somewhere on the innertubes). The thing is they won't be controversial reversals - they will be the orders that were clearly failures and people will wonder why The Gay Mulatto didn't reverse them herself! Put that shot gun away, you hysterical hermaphrodite, before you hurt yourself.
2. He's got his victims picked out and ready to shoot. They will be blatantly obvious swamp predators that should have been put down long ago - and even the lefties will cheer as Trump figuratively fires them out of a cannon.
3. That is going to scare the living bejeebers out of the rest of them. He is going to make a big show out of grilling them and forcing a few of the more blatantly fishy ones to account for themselves.
4. He is going to look awfully hard at his trade partners - particularly the beaners but us up here in Canada too and he is gonna ask the obvious question: "What have you guys done for me lately...?" Mexico is going to the wood shed; and Turdo La Doo is going to get a very stern lecture. I would like to take this moment to inform our new American Overlord that Turdo does not speak for Alberta and never has. In fact, outside Morontario and Queerbec he has no real credibility or presence).
5. He is gonna fire the media. They are a big problem in The Swamp and he doesn't need them. Nor do we, for that matter. It is not only their dishonesty and bias that has made them useless, it is technology too. He can get his message straight to the people, unfiltered or censored or spun - and all the media can do is cheer or fume the same as any of us.
6. He is going to have to make some very, very unpopular decisions. So much has gone on for so long unchecked that the cost of repairs have gone straight up. The welfare/entitlement class is in for a well-deserved boot up the arse - or at least, the abusers are. Trump will not attack the innocent as there is no PR value in that. America is not going to vote its way out of the hole it dug for itself - but the abusers, shirkers and slackers will be doing their share to redeem the nation.

This is a man that thinks before he acts. People are going to learn that it is to their greater benefit to play ball than to play dirty. He will make blunders as every president before him has - but unlike the last he will self correct too.

Congratulations on your new President, Americans.

Filthie's Antique Chit Show

Dammit.

I have gun fever again. A hundredn'twennyfive years ago our ancestors were transitioning from muzzle loading front-stuffing black powder guns to suppository guns that load from the rear - or the breach! At first they were ultra-manly, ultra-retro single shot cartridge guns with graceful lines that appealed to our forefathers - and today they appeal to their great and great-great grandsons. Specifically, I have fallen in love with the Martini-Henry chambered for the obsolete 577/450 round.

There are certain challenges in making these old guns live again... a feasibility

study is underway as we speak.

My great grandfather may have carried a rifle just like this in his youth. Family lore has it that he was a bit of a scoundrel. It was a common scam of the peasant class in Edmonton, England in those days: you took The King's Shilling (Enlistment) not once - but twice! I dunno how that worked but in the days without computers, one could apparently enlist under one name and then later, do it again under another and you could even get away with it for awhile. He probly got an extra squid, or a bob or a farthing a week under the scam until the bean counters caught up him. Apparently he was even remanded in the Tower of London whilst he awaited the Judge's pleasure in court! The story goes that he got off lightly because of the grinding poverty in his family and community - and was sentenced to a lenient couple years of back breaking public service hard labour rather than prison. That was a good deal for cons in those days and he worked his sentence off and flew straight after that. My uncle even showed us a picture of him once - he had jet black hair, a ridiculous Victorian era mustache and a happy look to him. We marveled as we looked at it - I have his nose and jaw line and ape-like austrolapithacene brow line. (At least I did - too many years of soft living and good food have rounded me out a bit)...

*Ahem*

In any event I am scouring the internet and curio/relic stores and pricing out dies, sourcing brass,  bullet moulds and all that junk - and I end up getting side tracked by all the other cool junk and antique floatsam and jetsam of people long gone from our world.

I love old tins. These are Ovaltine Energy Tablets and Gorges Grouse decided to help himself

and gobbled the lot!

Now he's stuck to the ceiling and the Missus is poking at him with a broom handle and

trying to get him down because she wants to go to China-Mart! It's gonna

take a putty -knife to peel him down from there! Hopefully the tablets wear off

soon!

Serves him right I suppose. Thankfully all is not lost: I was able to procure some Nigger Hair Pipe Tobacco, some Snake Oil From Mars, and some camphorated radioactive toothpaste for Chicken Mom. Why, I am finding useful gifts for all my internet friends! Rest assured, I will find something that is just perfect for you too!

I'm finishing up in Fort Mac today and driving home... it's been pretty quiet. The oil boom has gone bust and tough times are on the way. I may not get off the ground with this project but even so - it has been a great way to pass the time!

Have a good Thursday and watch out for falling Grouse.  :)

Last Day In Fort Mac - No Ravens Today...

Oh sure, there's tons of ravens around but none of the singers I have been running into earlier this week. I saw one today up on a lamp post that just squawked and pooped on my head and flew away without any song notes or sound effects.

Hmpfff! That's better!

SONG FROM LUCIFER'S HAMMER

I went out to take a friggin' walk by the friggin' reservoir,
A-wishin' for a friggin' quid to pay my friggin' score,
My head it was a-achin' and my throat was parched and dry,
And so I sent a little prayer, a-wingin' to the sky.

And there came a friggin' raven and he walked upon the waves,
And I said, "A friggin' miracle!" and sang a couple staves
Of a friggin' churchy ballad I had learned when I was young.
The friggin' bird took to the air, and spattered me with dung.

I fell upon my friggin' knees and bowed my friggin' head,
And said three friggin' Aves for all the friggin' dead,
And then I got upon my feet and said another ten.
The friggin' bird burst into flame --- and spattered me again.

The burnin' bird hung in the sky just like a friggin' sun.
It seared my friggin' eyelids shut, and when the job was done,
The friggin' bird flashed cross the sky just like a shootin' star.
I ran to tell the friggin' priest --- he bummed my last cigar.

I told him of the miracle, he told me of the Rose,
I showed him bird shit in my hair, the bastard held his nose.
I went to see the bishop but the friggin' bishop said,
"Go home and sleep it off, you sod --- and wash your friggin' head!"

Then I came upon a friggin' wake for a friggin' rotten swine,
By the name of Jock O'Leary and I touched his head with mine,
And old Jock sat up in his box and raised his friggin' head.
His wife took out a forty-four, and shot the bastard dead.

Again I touched his head with mine and brought him back to life.
His smiling face rolled on the floor, this time she used a knife.
And then she fell upon her knees, and started in to pray,
"It's forty years, O Lord," she said, "I've waited for this day."

So I walked the friggin' city 'mongst the friggin' halt and lame,
And every time I raised 'em up, they got knocked down again,
'Cause the love of God comes down to man in a friggin' curious way,
But when a man is marked for love, that love is here to stay.

And this I know because I've got a friggin' curious sign;
For every time I wash my head, the water turns to wine!
And I gives it free to workin' blokes to brighten up their lives,
So they don't kick no dogs around, nor beat up on their wives.

'Cause there ain't no use to miracles like walkin' on the sea;
They crucified the Son of God, but they don't muck with me!
'Cause I leave the friggin' blind alone, the dyin' and the dead,
But every day at four o'clock, I wash my friggin' head!

Nobody Is, Kid. Nobody Is....

You weren't born to be mistreated
And you weren't born to be misguided
You were born to be loved
You were born to be loved

Years ago when my estranged daughter cut us out of her life, she did it in a way that left pretty much everyone in the family broken hearted and angry. This is what queers do if you disagree with them, and this is why people hate and loathe them even if they are no longer permitted to say so in public. I don't care about any of that; I will speak my mind as I see fit. It was a painful learning experience for me as well: there are times when taking crap off people - even family - just isn't right and you have to stand up, stick to your guns and most importantly - make sure they stick to theirs if they want to get stupid about it. Words are like bullets, and this old bastard no longer has any intentions of standing around while shitlibs shoot at his feet and demand that he dance to their tune.

For several years I didn't know if my daughter was alive or dead until one day I decided to put my grief and anger and hurt aside and start studying queers scientifically and clinically. I found a closed, passworded forum where parents of troubled homos could speak honestly and freely about their kids and problems without the usual screeching lynch mobs of social justice warriors, politically correct scolds and censors. It has since been found and shut down but I talked to some really great people and they helped me out during a tough time in my life. One lady was a surgeon at some posh clinic in NYFC with an estranged gay son. Another was a full bull colonel in the army and others were just working bums like me. I was shocked to learn that queers in these situations pretty much all act alike. Who woulda thunk it? Stereotypes arise for a reason I guess - but these people predicted my daughter's behaviour patterns and coached me on how to deal with her years before we even coined the terms for social justice warriors, the snowflake generation and cry bullies. One of them told me that it was okay to be worried sick about my daughter and suggested that I could track her and keep tabs on her through this wonderful new thing called the internet. (I was flabbergasted - doing so didn't even occur to me). So I did a web search and poked around and found her blogs and lord - after that I wished I hadn't. You get to see how manipulative, deceitful an deluded these kids are and it left me in a state of complete despair. When she found out I was doing that she scrubbed herself off the internet completely and shuttered her blogs - I think she was deeply embarrassed and ashamed - and she damned well should have been, but that's water under the bridge. 6 or 7 years worth now.

She has a little art blog now - I'm pretty sure it's hers, I just found it - where she posts her work anonymously and yaks with her friends and it is all very harmless (if not a little bizarre) for the most part. She probably doesn't know I've found it. And - like me, she likes to post music once in awhile. Apparently she likes the crooners too.

You weren't born to be mistreated
And you weren't born to be misguided
You were born to be loved
You were born to be loved

Reading your kids is like looking in a fun-house mirror; there's a cadence to her words and a logic to her flow of thought that looks exactly like mine and it makes me smile... and then will it change radically away from any perspective I might have and sometimes it's delightful. Other times, not so much. There was a time I wished by all the stars that we could share life's rocky road or at least have our paths run parallel but that isn't going to happen. There's too much time and space between us. She has her fate, it lies far from ours and it still leaves me a little bummed out sometimes. It serves me right, I shouldn't be reading her stuff. Maybe a part of her looks back on what happened and regrets the way things turned out? I hope so, because I know I do. Perhaps we still have that in common at least. That'll have to be good enough.

Nobody is 'born to anything' in our country,  our lives and fates are what WE make of them. 2017 lies directly ahead! One foot in front of the other, Filthie! As for you - play the cards you're dealt with courage and humour. And most of all...

Don't look back.

Have a good Hump-Day all. I'm off to work!

Fort Mac Shipyards

The chinook continues, +5C today. I will take it!!!

This is the Clearwater River that feeds into the Athabasca and is right

beside Ft. Mac.

Another musical raven. This one was smaller than the one I

met yesterday and sounded like a buggered up

pinball or pachinko machine. He just sat up there, clinking, tinkling and plinking

to himself.

They are homely birds that sound wonderful.

The Radium Scout has been a landmark around Ft. Mac forever. I think

it used to be part of the town's lifeline back in the day

when Ft. Mac was accessible only by river boat and bush planes.

I dunno what this one does. Another river boat?

What a wonderful job working on this boat must have been.

It looks like it was assembled by pikers like us - and probably was.

As you can imagine, Alberta's maritime tradition isn't on

par with a coastal province.

The Fort Mac shipyards open up to the public in May. It might be worth a motorcycle trip once the seasons change and the ice comes off the roads.

Oh dammit. Lunch is over - back to work! Have a great Tuesday, all!

A Man's Rifle Shouldn't Be Uglier Than The Man Himself

These were the words of visiting scholar emeritus, Gorges Grouse upon seeing my range rifle which I now call "Robbie".

That's the Robinson Armament XCR-L Keymod Designated Marksman Rifle.

I admit Robbie is pretty damned ugly to look at. This gun drove me crazy trying to work up a load for it and I was seriously starting to despair until last weekend. Behold: powder charge in grains on the left, group size on the right, all fired at 100 yards.

50 GRAIN NOSLER BT
2.250" OAL
IMR 3031
23.7 GR	1.018"
23.9 GR	0.177"	(FLUKE)
24.1 GR	1.156"
24.3 GR	0.671"
24.5 GR	0.393"	FLUKE?
24.7 GR	0.396"	FLUKE??

That's a chit house Nosler bulk bullet burning progressively larger doses of IMR 3031 gun powder! That is accuracy darn near worthy of a United States Marine, never mind a gun club stubfart like Yours Truly! I'm trying not to get excited because sometimes flukes happen and maybe I just had a lucky day on the range. I am going to repeat this test ASAP to confirm the results before I get officially happy about it.

I got taken into the boards on another blog for this gun - some of the folks saw no reason for owning a high capacity semi-auto and I didn't make a stink about it because most of them were elderly seniors that didn't know what they were talking about or what is involved.

I admit that part of the reason for me owning this gun is as it's value as a raised middle finger to the liberals that infest the gov't and the RCMP. I don't trust those a-holes farther than I can throw them and you shouldn't either. Sadly - our RCMP are now easily as or more corrupt than any other police force in North America. But the real reason I own a high cap gas gun is actually because of one of these:

This WAS my gun. A heart stopping elegant Ruger No.1 single shot

in .25-06.

A "once in a lifetime" gun that outshot guns costing three times as much.

Back in 1999 I found a sweet Ruger No. 1 on the used gun rack. I was new to the sport and Baloney Bob helped me wring it out and work up a load for it: An 85 grain Nosler BT on 58 grains of IMR4350! I still remember the load to this day. For range work I dropped that down to 54 grains and that beast would print group after group after group .75 MOA (3/4" groups at 100 yards) or less, all day long. For years, I shot that gun and impressed even Baloney Bob with it. Soon I was shooting better than he was. For 14 years, pound after pound of gunpowder went down that gun's gullet and finally, one day... the groups started opening up. The velocities fell off. A trip to the gunsmith and a look with the bore scope confirmed the worst: I had burned the throat out on the old girl. Oh sure, you can rebarrel them and I seriously thought about it - but that's a crap shoot. There is no guarantee that your new barrel would shoot as well as the old one. I gave it to Flapz' son and bought a black rifle for my range work. .223 is cheap to shoot and cheaper to reload - and if I ever burn the barrel on Robbie I will just loosen the bolt at the front of the receiver, pull and twist - and slide the barrel out and pitch it in the garbage! Reverse that procedure to install a new one. No gunsmith required! A new one is only $600.00. Cheap brass, cheap bullets, easy to reload, and fun to shoot - all that, plus: guns like Robbie offend liberals and stupid people! Ya gotta love it! Plus - on top of all that - it is a lot easier to say goodbye to a mass produced gas gun like Robbie than it is for a faithful and handsome gentleman's gun like the big Ruger. My heart broke when the gunsmith gave me the bad news about that gun and I still feel a twinge of sadness when I think about it. BAH! Old men and their toys!

Getting back to Gorges and his comments about how a rifle shouldn't be uglier n' its owner...au contraire:

The full length rifles are going cheap at Tradex Canada for $500.00 and up!

In the manly 577/450 black powder round!

The full length service rifles are a lot friendlier and easier on the shoulder

than these carbines are.

If I can find a good one at a reasonable price I may consider it. The

brass is obsolete and has to be fabbed by hand from brass 24 guage

shotshells.

Be still my beating heart.

Tradex has these in .50-70 but they are all in pretty rough shape.

If I can find a good one at a reasonable price...I may go with this instead.

Now that Robbie seems to be coming along, another manly single shot rifle is definitely in the works. (I need to be properly equipped for when I go on safari in Africa with world famous author and adventurer, WL Emery). But in a nutshell, that is my gun strategy: a gun designed for a high rate of fire for range and play - and a friendly, gentlemanly single shot for duties in the field and around the campfire. Rest assured I WILL find another single shot, it may or may not be uglier than I am... but shopping and hunting is half the fun.

See ya at the range.

The Irishman's Dilemma

So, you're left with the classic Irishman's Dilemma...

"Do I eat the potato now - or do I let it ferment and drink it later...?"

- Mallory Archer

I'm not Irish but to be honest - I'm stumped by that one too...

Off To Fort Mac...

Home of Big Oil.

Apparently Cow Cnut   Hanoi Jane   Jane Fonda was up here telling everyone why they should stop raping the environMINT and all find new jobs... presumably in Hollywood where they could prostitute themselves to the leftist cause the way she and Neil Young have. Surprisingly, the old bitch got out without getting pelted with rotten tomatoes.

Pity.

This is the morning sun rising on the hotel beside the gas

station at Deadwater

The prestigious BW Bandy Bed N' Breakfast by Boyle -

and a nice sunrise

We're chinoking up here in koobasaw country. Temps are all over the board this time of year in northern Alberta, we can easily get sub -30C in Jan/Feb but today the truck says +2C and I am just a smidge south of Fort Mac.

This little bugger was hopping around beside the roadside pissoire

a half mile from town.

Actually he wasn't that small. This guy would have prolly been a smidge smaller than King Charlie Of Coopville. Unlike crows that caw, ravens have a deep melodic 'croak'. Folk tales and hogwash from my ancestors have it that these birds can mimic like parrots do and I could well believe it - this guy hopped around beside my truck and trilled like a cell phone. You can tell by the way he acts that he cons the truckers and travellers for treats on a regular basis.

Welp - the road calls! Have yourselves a great Monday.