Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

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

Sunday, 30 December 2018

2018: For Absent Friends, Missed Boats, And Crossroads Met

Well that's another year shot to chit ininit?

It's been a great one for me personally. I ditched a high paying job with arseholes, ulcers and bullshite and started a new one at harf the pay but if nothing else - it's good for the soul. I am working with men and women that are going to be leaders tomorrow and God willing, maybe I can influence them in good ways in the same way that I was influenced by men and women who came before me.

My former employers shot Big Al out from under me before I could train him; he was a good man but the corporate shithawks had had their way with him and he needed some remedial attitude adjustment. I learned from my mentor, Leisure Suit Larry - real leaders pull, and that great teams are managed upward. I tried to pull Al with some success - but he's an old fart who will probably never see the board room again. Right now I have my hands full. I work with proggie retards and environmentalists and answer to some young women that fancy themselves as leaders. They have potential, but they have issues with the usual problems with estrogen and maturity that you'd exepect from young women. Karlie will be a good leader if she can dispense with her hormones and it appears that she can. I've taken her aside once or twice and she gave my counsel a fair hearing. I may yet bring Amanda around. She cares about the job but she doesn't understand that real leaders pull, they don't push. She's a good woman at heart - and she has potential. I can hardly wait for the day that she realizes that the mule is flogging her - not the other way around! HAR HAR HAR! I love these kids.

When I die and go to hell, I hope that on cold lonely days... maybe the young ones will think of me and the few GOOD things I have done … or tried to do... and smile. I hope that one day, seasons ahead, that they remember me with fondness.

As 2018 closes and 2019 opens I find myself one more step down that trail that leads over the great divide. My back is buggered, I have bad habits that HAVE to go or I will be crossing the River and paying Charon his fare before my time. What of it, I ask myself?  Others have gone Home before they're called and who is to fault them for it? Fah - this world? It's shadows and puppet shows at best. This is not where we will make our stand, and it sure as hell is not where we will fall - mark my words.

Some a ya HAVE sailed away in the roughest of water... but we'll see you again - sooner rather than later, if Darwin and Murphy have their way! On the other side, YOU will have to lock up YOUR daughters! HAR HAR HAR! I look forward to meeting absent friends again, and closing with bitter enemies in Valhalla. You assholes know who you are! :)

2019 is off to a rocky start for some of our number .2018 was hard on some of us too. Let us close ranks with our oldest, meanest and most expendable out front! I will lock shields with Jack on my left, Pete on my right. Beyond them, let Sunny, BW, and Quartermain do the same. I would laugh like hell if WL and BP formed up too! I would taunt TB with good natured insults about how he will fall first on the spears arrayed against us! Step back young fellas! If they get past us, all our hopes and lov2s fall and ride on you!  HAR HAR HAR! No pressure, right?  For those of you on hard times - fall back. We have this. We were trained by the best. Take what you can from us, and do that which we could not.

God bless, and have a blessed 2019.

Step Outside With Me, Men...

As I write this it's -15C up here in Canukistan. The pakies, pussies, and pimple faced are staying indoors and huddling for warmth and bitching about the weather - which leaves the Great Outdoors wide open for us! I think one a the reasons so many people are so stupid is because they get squirrelly with cabin fever up here.

But I digress! For awhile now I've been going stir crazy being cooped up inside and it's silly - I am going to turn into one of them if I don't get outdoors enough! When we were kids we'd go out and camp in temps down into the -20's without a second thought - but we had all the gear too. It was downright enjoyable because we had all the right equipment. But my gear slowly started dispersing a couple years back along with the wood fired outfitters tent and such - it was just too much clutter. I thought I'd give up the great outdoors and do all my camping in the warmer summer months like all the other old farts... and I can't handle it. I need to get out or I'll go nuts. I need the night, the campfire, the scotch, the works.

To do that, I am changing my strategy. Rather than huge outfitters tents with their stoves, frames, and cots and other bulk and clutter - I will just use the back of the Short Bus for my outdoor excursions. Problem is that I may need to heat it as I am older and my blood doesn't run as hot as it used too. I am becoming a creepy old geezer like BW or Jack or M, HAR HAR HAR!!! HAR HAR HAR!!!

Errr...still haven't dealt with the Christmas clutter yet boys. Sorry for 
the mess!

We are gonna try propane for this application. I've heard that condensation and fumes can be problematic in confined spaces like the truck - so we'll see, I guess. With all due respects to Hank Hill I have always been contemptuous of propane and other un-manly camp fuels.

You watch your temper or I will kick YOUR ass, Hank!
I am not impressed with propane for heating or BBQing, to be honest,
and if ya wanna get stupid about it - now's the time!

Propane starts to misbehave at colder temps but that should not be a problem at all for me. All ya gotta do is warm it up a bit. I can put the bottle near the camp fire or in the cab of the truck for a bit - you just have to warm it up a bit - and then spark it off in the back and it will warm itself up.

She's in the back of the short bus now and we'll see what Mr. Heater can in a harf an hour
or so. 

I will call it good if she can melt the ice and snow off the back window.

If you hear an explosion from up around Aaaaaaadmontin… you will know what happened. Don't let Pete or Jack defile my corpse please!

Otherwise - I'll keep ya posted.

Good Boy

Behold the magnificence of Man. 

10,000 years ago, these critters were starving curs that would pack up and kill us and grab our children if we weren't careful. Only the fear of fire, clubs, and flint tipped arrows and spears could keep them from tearing our throats out, and sometimes even then they got a few of us. Today they are everything we are not: faithful, fearless, and they love without question. We've done the same thing with horses.

I've instilled and cultivated these qualities in my dawgs with spectacular success. Why have I not done the same with myself? It's something to think about for the new year, I suppose.

Have a great Sunday - and if I don't hear back from ya - have a happy and safe New Year too.


One day I was out at the new refinery they were putting up north of Fort Saskratchmebum - the NWR. The clientele I worked with was a little rough around the edges. The boys were framing in the structure that would eventually hold a distillation vessel or something and it must a been about 200 ft. high. The ironworkers were up there doing their thing and having coffee while I yakked with the foreman below. We were chatting when my hard hat went 'SPAK!!!' and nearly fell off my noggin. 

'WTF?' I said, and took it off to see what hit me. Shit happens on job sites and rivets, bolts and other stuff routinely fall from heights on those below. Sometimes it's serious. But this time, all it was that hit my lid was a great, big soupy loogey. I looked up at the cackling morons above who had just gobbed on me from heights above. "Ah jeez - hey! You guys are fuggin animals! I just got hit from the spray on that one!" the foreman yelled. "Sorry about that, Glen - I am going to write those two assholes up as soon as we're done here... I'd fire them, but with the shortage of tradesmen right now, you see what kind a chit I have to put up with."

I wiped my lid off on the back of a passing steamfitter and told the foreman to think nothing of it. I made a rude joke about being allowed to carry firearms on site but my request was turned down. Ironworkers aren't the brightest of tradesmen, and allowances have to be made when dealing with them.

Ironworkers: yes, they do stuff like this. 
It's my scientific theory they evolved from a hominid/seagull hybrid
species during The Plasterscene

Friday, 28 December 2018

Gun Buggery

The other day Flapz brought back an old friend - a lightly battered Ruger No.1 I had given his son. It was bull barrelled, chambered in 25-06, and in it's day it was a friggin tack driver! Groups went .5 ~ 3/4" MOA all day long and one hole groups happened on a regular basis. The boy has no interest in hunting, I guess, and it has been sitting in the back of a closet for ages. When I gave it away the velocities had started to fall off, and accuracy had begun to degrade - a sure sign of a barrel that had had the bun. It was still plenty of accuracy for whitetail work... but as a range gun, she was done. Flapz and his sons have other guns of mine so it didn't bother them at all to return this one, bless their hearts.

Back in it's day, the Spruce Grove Gun Club was the crossroads for gun loving riff-raff, gun club stubfarts, and all manner of scum of the earth. It was run by assholes, FOR assholes - and our gang was right at home there. I had picked up this beautiful, elegant single shot Ruger and under the tutelage of Baloney Bob - I was becoming a proficient marksman. I was starting to beat my moral and intellectual superiors in Gun Geek society - and more than a few objected to the spankings they got from this new upstart that started showing up for the turkey, gong and coffee shoots.

Today was not to be a serious competition though, we were there in the Name Of Science. Baloney Bob was wringing out his new wildcat we all called .240 Gordy. Gordy I  was basically a 7mm Mauser necked down to .243, with a blown out case and radically improved shoulder. Stuffed to the gills with the right propellant, Baloney Bob was getting close on 4000 FPS with 75 grain bullets. And no pressure signs. We did our homework and double and triple checked his velocities against several chronographs. Our best minds concluded that Gordy was going at least 400 FPS faster than he had any right to... but the proof was in the pudding. No one was surprised when the barrel prematurely washed out from the heavy loads. But by then even Grampa Smith had heard of the new wonder gun - and was intrigued. Ordinarily you have to wait a year to get one of his premium rifle barrels but Bob was bumped to the front when he sent his rifle in for a new barrel. The gun was starting to garner national attention.

Long story short: The new barrel was a dog. Velocities were 'only' about 3500 fps, and while accuracy was good, it was nothing to crow about. That's the way it goes with such things, I learned. You can have the best rifle in the world that shoots like a dream, but once that barrel burns and you need a new one - all bets are off. I spent the afternoon mostly spotting for Bob, heckling the wanks, and trying to cheer everyone up. Even though none of us had skin in Bob's game - we all kinda did. Had his experiments played out we would all have adopted the new wildcat for ourselves. We all wanted to see Bob in the famous gun rags... but 240 Gordy II was no screaming hell, and Bob would not be cheered up.

Peering through my spotting scope at Bob's lacklustre groups down range - I noticed an extra bullet hole had appeared on his target. "Which one a you wanks was shooting at Bob's target?" I barked. And of course they all denied it. Bob looked like he was going to vomit - a rifleman like him doesn't drop shots, especially off the bench. I cranked the scope up to 60x and looked again. "Holy shit! It's a bug! A horsefly the size of a chainsaw!" I shouted. "I'm gonna shoot that sumbitch right now!" 

"Like hell you are, Filthie! That's my target, so it's my bug...!" Bob whined. I told him to shut up and shoot fast then, because I was gonna get it as soon as the crosshairs steadied. The other men at the benches had swung their guns round and were taking aim now too! I saw the first shot land a few inches underneath - but that stupid horsefly just kept sunning himself on the paper without a care in the world. I took up my trigger slowly, breathed, and caressed the trigger. It broke like a glass rod.


"HOLY SHIT! He got it!" one of the spotters called. I looked through my spotting scope and sure enough, there was a hole right where it should be, and some legs and juice around the bullet hole. "Take that, you arseholes!" I cried, "You've all been OWNED! By the most talented, handsome shooter ever to -"

"You shot my bug, Filthie," Bob growled. I was in mid-gloat when I noticed the murderous expression on Bob's face. Man - I've never seen Bob so pissed. "You shot MY bug." he said louder. "Clear your rifle Filthie," he commanded, "and step behind the firing line!" I did as I was told, and started to gobble in fright as Bob advanced on me. "Now Bob - don't get excited! It was just a lucky shot, and I meant nothing by it...!!!" It hadn't even occurred to me that I had kicked my friend in the nads when he was down.

I can still hear the monkeys hooting and chimping out in glee as Bob got me in a headlock and started peppering my noggin with coco-bonks, nougats and peckerheads. The left side of my brain shut down under the gruelling punishment, and I still have the lumps and dents to show for it to this day. But finally, Bob got himself under control. My clock was thoroughly cleaned and no bones about it.

"Show's over, butt heads! Get back to your guns - NOW!" Bob yelled. The monkeys hooted with merriment but happily went back to their shooting. I flumped down at my bench and tried to see something besides the stars and tweety birds that were orbiting around my head. Bob took his seat, and morosely regarded his rifle. "What am I gonna do with .240 Gordy, Glen?" he asked.

"Blbdbdfeezenntglh," I replied. 

So my rifle has burnt out, just as Gordy did 20-some years ago. I am thinking that new 6.5x284 Norma will make a great gun - especially in a handsome single shot like my beloved No. 1. Am I going to make the same mistake Baloney Bob did? Far as I know Grampa Smith is retired now, so rebarrelling is going to be an even bigger crap shoot. The e-mail has gone out to Karl over at KS Arms. Hopefully I will hear back from him sometime in the new year. Karl is a bolt gun guy though, and this is a falling block single shot. Will Karl even look at it? Who knows?

As always - I will keep you posted. Thanks for stopping by, and have a great weekend and a Happy New Year.

Have Yourself A Fascist Little Christmas...

...yadda yaddah yaaaaaahhh…!

Sing along, everyone! Did you know where Fascist Christmas comes from? (Stop that sniggering, you buggardly tosspots!!! Fascist Christmas is as real as Kwaanza - and no bones about it!)

Now... where was I? Before I was so RUDELY interrupted?

Ah yes! Fascist Christmas Holidays! And how they're made!!!


Okay! Alright, I'm sorry everyone!!! Totally inappropriate! I seriously gotta stop hanging out with the tards at Gab and other counter culture cesspools.

(But it's still funny).

Party's Over

And the Usual Suspects are the usual casualties. Sigh.

Welllll? Did you smarty-pants enjoy your holiday debauchery...???? Hmmmmmm???? How about a great big nice greasy fried egg sammich??? BEEEEEEEEELCH!!!! HAR HAR HAR!!! HAR HAR HAR!!!

While these drunks wallow in the misery of their hangovers I would like to point out that I was a virtuous paragon of temperance and restraint over the holidays! I had 2 beers. That's it. Pure as the driven snow, was I!

I had to laugh at one of the older bloggers I follow. She and her husband are just wonderful folks and I just love them both... but she made a gingerbread house from a kit she had bought - (HAR HAR HAR!) - I shame myself for laughing - but it was the most DISMAL ginger bread house I had ever seen! If it was life sized, I'd a put tar paper on it and moved right in!!! HAR HAR HAR!!! Gawd, what a shit I am! HAR HAR HAR! I left my compliments on her craft and a Merry Christmas in the comments.

The next day, I saw my wife fussing with the exact same project. It must be a popular kit the womenfolk can buy in the craft stores or something. My wife did a marginally better job... but she was cussing and struggling with it. You look at the picture on the box and it looks like a work of art...but when you go to make it yourself, disaster soon follows! If that had been left up to me I'd a eaten what I could of it and thrown the rest out for the magpies!

So, old age, and iron willed temperance made Christmas pretty boring, I guess. My conduct was virtuous and holy all the way through... except for maybe Christmas dinner... and then all the candy … and hot chocolate.... and ulp…. HURK! HURK! HURK! Oh lordy - I think I'm gonna puke!!!

Sorry to be so antisocial everyone! But I think I am gonna snuggle up with the coon and sleep this one off!

Thanks for stopping by - and have a great Friday!

Tuesday, 25 December 2018

Times are tough up here in Alberta right now. You can buy a barrel of Alberta crude oil for less than an equivalent volume of bottled water. The local petro-economy has tanked' Our socialist cow of a premiere - is utterly out of her depth. Before she got the job she was a 'public educator' and a product of the Alberta Teacher's Association - a union slob that didn't have to worry about the realities of markets, economics, and trade.

Our Prime Minister is likewise a former public educator - he gained valuable life experience and honed his skill as a statesman as a ski instructor and a substitute drama teacher. He's also your typical trust fund baby who can't tell friends from enemies. He basically flipped America the bird, and figured he'd snuggle up to our new besties and trade partners in China. Right now they are about as pleased with us as Trump is. Like our premiere, he has no clue about where to go or how to get there. Even his former friends are turning on him. The lickspittles in the media aren't being kind to him at all. It's the perfect storm: tough economic times, and feckless, entitled leaders without a clue about economics. And they aren't done yet - Turdo La Deux wants to import boatloads of stupid, violent economic refugees for me to support because tolerance! Multiculturalism!!! We'll be lucky if people don't start wearing yellow vests and trashing the place soon.

For dirt people like me things can be pretty dire right now. I've got friends looking for jobs in this economy and facing Christmas without a paycheque. I am doing alright myself - I found a little un-popped bubble in the economy where I may or may not be able to ride things out for awhile. We will do what we always do - hunker down and endure as our elites virtrue-signal and shrug when that doesn't work. They'll be alright, they have posh retirement plans and entitlements they never had to work for.

Today, we get have to lay all that aside. We have to lay A LOT of things aside up here in Alberta right now, if ya catch my drift. We may be down, but by God Almighty - we are not out! Fact is I have been here before. Same thing happened here 30 years ago. Back then I was a kid entering the workforce and could only find scut jobs. My parents and in laws looked down their noses at me and figured it was because I was an idiot - until they started losing their jobs too. 

I loved the Barenaked Ladies the second I heard them. Living as we were in dark times, much of our music of the period was dark. Grunge culture popped up among the kids as the first generation of cellar dwellers were made. The economy had no room for them, their elders had no respect for them and didn't understand them, and suicidal creeps like Kurt Cobain sang of their rage and hopelessness from the radio every time ya turned around. By contrast, the BNL were upbeat, cheerful and corny.

God gave us a sense of humour to face such times and what a wonderful gift it is: from it you can leverage other virtues like courage and wisdom. For those of you in tough times - stoke it! Feed it! 
It's hard work at first but it gets easier.

Keep after it, and have yourself a very, Merry Christmas.
And by all means - spare a smirk for these irreverent proto-hipsters
and Sarah McBallgargler as
they do a rather good job of interpreting
a Christmas classic without 
defiling it.
As always, friends - thanks again for dropping in!

Sunday, 23 December 2018

The Guns Of WL Emery

I am simply exasperated with the man. Scope mounts on a flawless double rifle?!?!? The man is a walking scandal!!! And he'll catch the very hell of it when the Royal Geographic Society, and again when the safari club finds out!!!

Filthicus: Saturnalia

Apparently ancient Roman tyrants like me celebrated Christmas by calling it Saturnalia and indulging in all kinds of tomfoolery: everyone ate too much, the women and slaves assumed leadership of the household during the festivities and good cheer was the name of the day - the dreariest, darkest and shortest one a the year.

Yeah - screw that. We will have blood, guts, and sport for the occasion! First up - the lions!

Hack! Sput…!!!! What in hell was that?
FIGHT, you buggardly crap factories!!!

Now that looked promising until those damned dawgz 
ruined everything!!!
I want those canines fed to the tigers this instant!!!

Doh!!!! I hope the tiger is tasting him...!!!
Otherwise I will need to find a monster that eats
tigers, cats and dogs!!!

Well, there goes that idea I guess. I did my best, friends and countrymen! I guess we'll have to all go back to the Christmas thing with gifts, feasts, and sparkly lights. I know - I am disappointed too! But at this time a year - folks gotta do what they gotta do to keep cabin fever and lunacy at bay.  :)

Heading Into The Holidays

My experience, growing up as I did around upper middle class shitlibs, Marxists, and feminists is this: nowadays they live and die for outrage. They love to be outraged, and they love to outrage others. I am the survivor of two progressive dysfunctional liberal families. After I was banished and hurled into the void for having the wrong opinions about everything  - they started turning on each other. Family events with those people were an exercise in masochism. The holidays were supposed to be about family and fun but they became occasions for them to lecture, badger and bully. Some of the more obnoxious bible thumping Christians used do it too back in the day. There's not so many of those these days, though.

That, right there, is what Christmas is supposed to be.

I made the classic blunder in my family feuds. I didn't want to fight, I didn't want to offend anyone, and I went to great pains to keep my mouth shut. Christmas became something I truly started to hate. My daughter acted like a bloody monster and the inlaws encouraged it. Then they'd start going off on politics and ruin an exquisite meal. The other dinner guests were unlikeable drips and flakes. When I got home I had to be the bad guy again and discipline my daughter for all the stuff she'd done during the day when I couldn't make a scene in front of the outlaws. It only now occurs to me that my Christmases weren't working right because my family wasn't working right. I tried to hold it all in for decades but just finally blew it all up and walked away. There was nothing to stick around for, and no point to it.

The Z Man speculates that the modern family was doomed back in the 70's when the middle class adopted the 'whore/drug culture'. I grew up in the thick of that. Of course, when I became an adult I saw the folly of it all. I barely managed to evade the social consequences of that culture (most of my friends and acquaintances didn't) - and got fully ensnared by the fallout created by those times - the new 'pervert/social justice culture'. I rejected it out of hand, knowing full well where it would go. My family embraced it - and our paths had to part. Z says all this shite is being pressed upon us by our elites and rulers. I cry BS; we are doing this to ourselves. Or at least, some of us are - I refuse to take part in it myself.

If you are dreading the holidays this year, my advice on this is to stop procrastinating. If there are confrontations coming, Christmas is not the time to do it. Do it NOW. Call up that person (or persons), ask them straight out what there intentions are for the occasion. Are they going to turn the family reunion into a pissing match? Or are they going to make an effort at being civil? Iron it out before you go. If you don't like their response, or doubt their sincerity - give the occasion a miss. Go to the range, take the dogs out somewhere special, take some time for a quick tip of the hat to your Maker.

For this year I have bought a few stocking stuffers for the wife, I've got some long range dog patrols scheduled, I have some rude jokes to share with retarded friends over coffee, and a pile of range time scheduled. The wife and I may have to take in a movie or start on some New Year's chores too. It may sound sad but it beats putting up with ropey mouths, head games and shit tests from queers, feminists, Marxists and other intellectual wreckage I suppose.

If you can't have a loving and kind Christmas - have a blessed and peaceful one instead.

Have a great Sunday and thanks for stopping by.

Friday, 21 December 2018

I Don't Like That Creep WL Drinks With...

There's something phoney and artificial about that dude...

Friday Filthie Archeologist

If you're ever in Alberta one of the places you should visit is the Tyrell Museum in the Drumheller Badlands. One of their most fascinating finds is not in the museum but in the surrounding countryside. They had found an old petrified riverbank that told a story millions of years old - that of the hunter and prey. The tracks of the prey emerge out of nothing, lost to the passing ages: the prey, thought to be a smaller herbivore, left tracks as he ran for his life. Hot on his heels, the tracks out of time of the raptors can be seen. The follow closely on that of the prey, stop, mill around in some confusion - and then take off in hot pursuit again. Both tracks fade into nothing and the passage of time and changing landscape obliterate the rest of the story. That little snippet occurred in an obscure, dried out gulch that probably hadn't seen flowing water in thousands upon thousands of years.

This week I have a collection of artifacts, some recognizable - others that will require thoughtful collaboration with the Peanut Gallery intelligentsia and scholars. I present, for your edification and enlightenment:

Just as the tar pits and river sediments trapped the more foolish denizens of the long past eras,
so it goes in more recent ones.

I have no idea who this bonnie lass is - but her likeness was found everywhere
when I was a kid.
I think the cigarettes my dad smoked carried her likeness on
the package.
I have not seen her in years.

This looks like a prehistoric Crapcopter…

I think it is for rolling cigarettes.
I've no idea how it would work though.
The ones I saw were red and had a crank on the side, and you
bought your tobacco for them in big tins
the size of the ones they had for cookies. The tins
made handy containers themselves.
Gawd, I'd give my left nut for a cigarette. Just one...
is that too much to ask...?

I know what this is, but I ain't telling. Give ya's a hint though:
you might see one in Uncle Bobs vintage
Boogie Van.

I remember these.
I'd like to forget them too! Kinda like disco in that regard.

Have a great Friday night folks - and as always, thanks for stopping by.

Thursday, 20 December 2018

Vote For The Perfect Girlfriend


Purdy li'l lass, isn't she? Gimme a shout, BW, and I will pass her phone number along.


Errr… what happened to the dawgz? They just keeled over …


Somebody please - tell me that last one is face paint? Hate to think a pretty girl like that would tat up her face like that! Be sure to vote for your favourites, and have yourselves a great Friday.

Future Crapcopter Pilot

And that boys, is what we call a good ol' fashion nigger-rigged African-American
Engineered electrical splice.
Let us hope that M is taking notes. 

Christmas Reading

The Christmas reading this year is brought to you by Jess.

I have a challenge for ya: read the first few paragraphs - and guess the ending. I'll bet you get it wrong as I did - and yet totally understand it too!

Merry Christmas to you Jess - and thanks for the Christmas present!  :)

Wednesday, 19 December 2018

Good Morning

The Filthie Geopolitician: Ya Friends And Ya Enemies

I am still chuckling.

I wanted to punch something back when Turdo La Doo was peacocking for the stupid kids when he almost-diplomatically flipped the bird at Donald Trump and the US. The spergs and the chattering skulls stood up on their hind feet and applauded too. "The US can go suck a fart, we have BIG friends in other markets!" That was the message our gov't wanted to give yours and Trump is no idiot. He heard it loud and clear. Our new bestest buddies - the chinks - will look out for us now.

What could possibly go wrong?

The problem with dealing with the Chinese is that they are Chinese. They lie, cheat and steal anything that isn't nailed down. Those are cultural cornerstones for them. They're really good at it, and they are getting better all the time. They are not capitalists. It's not just Canadians that are learning the bitter truth about anti-Americanism. Many African nations, seeking freedom from filthy American imperialists - have struck alliances with China. To their dismay, the parterships by and large are not working out well. Apparently Chinese are all racists that think blacks are violent and stupid and they have the bloody gall to say it too!


The other day me and my boss, Matt The Rat - were trying to understand a new product our Chinese supplier wanted to release into the market. We had a telecon with one of our customers, assembled a list of questions about it - and then parted ways. The customer went back to work, and we took his questions back to our Chinese supplier and their tech department. We had three questions - all pretty much yes or no types, and one that required a clarification.

The response we got back was gibberish - written in Chinglish. "Well, that answers that! LOL" I said to Matt in an email. The phone rings and Matt is on the blower. "Did you understand that, Glen? I don't believe these guys - let's do a teleconference and see if we can get this cleared up!"

So we spent the next 20 minutes on the line with some fuggin clippers that basically spoke English as well as they wrote it. I let Matt run with that, no way was I going to try and guess at what these monkeys were saying. It sounded like a down town Saigon fish market on the other end of the conference - or maybe two ducks copulating.

Poor Matt - he has a nasty cold, he's behind and crap like this is the last thing he needs. "Whaddya make of that, Filthie? Ya see what I gotta put up with? Did you understand any of that...???"

"I think so, Matt. The message was that we should not sell the product because if the customer has any problems with it - we will not be able to support him. I'm not trying to be a dink - but it is what it is."

The other message I got from that is this: if you plan on partnering up with the Chinese - you'd better be able to speak their language. That - and keep one hand on your wallet.

Tuesday, 18 December 2018

The Art Of Speed

Officially sanctioned by King Charles Of Coopville.

Upskirts From Hell

Herk! Herk! Herk!

I think I'm gonna HURL!!!!

Phew! Good morning everyone! Sorry about the dry heaves, it happens when ya get an eyeful of something ya shouldnae huv! GAH! Especially on a Humpday!

It's a sad sign of the times that I have to say this - but don't any a you areselings try this at home!

Mountain Mung

As a teen I did that back in the Dream Time, before family, before wives or even girlfriends. We were in the foothills by Bragg Creek and we found a stream and all drank our fill. Within hours we all had the squirts!

The lucky kids tied up all the stalls at the youth hostel. I wasn't so lucky, I was about 100 yards back in the bush, leaning against a tree, trying to do my business without getting any on me. The Out House Poet is correct:

No matter how hard 
You wiggle and dance
The last one of all
Always lands
In your pants.

Always have a water filter. Don't trust ANY outdoor water sources. Filter it, treat it and boil it. A trick I heard for water treatment is that for every litre of water, add one drop of bleach and supposedly that should be enough to kill any bugs in it. Obviously ya don't want to drink tons of water treated with bleach, but for the short term I'd think a fella would be alright. I'd prefer the proper iodine pills specifically made for treating water myself,

Old Man Shouts At Clouds

If I get caught riding without a helmet, the Nanny State will fine me at least a couple hundred beans. If I ride in the back of the truck the way we all did when we were kids the driver gets fine.

That must be the life, eh?  ;)

Dear BW

First of all, I want to take back all the rotten things I've ever said about you. I promise never to say such things again, or make any more rude jokes at your expense. Let us bury the hatchet, as they say.

Now that we are friends again, can I please borrow $1500.00? I am down at the Aaaaaadmontin Remand Centre, looking at 30 days in jail unless I can make bail.

It was all a misunderstanding, of course. I will explain everything
when you get down here.

Monday, 17 December 2018

Miss Kamikazee 1941

The winners, rather than the losers write the history of the wars they fight. I dunno what to think of the World Wars. There are so many people out there that are flat out revising history in order to help them polish their preferred turds lodged here in the present day. When ya come from a family of progtard liberals as I do - ya hear it all: "The ruling elite of America 'let' Japan bomb Pearl Harbour in order to justify retaliations...!!!" or "Imperial Japan didn't do anything Imperial America didn't do first...!!!" and it gets dumber from there.

Miss Kamikazee 1941?

I have no idea what happened during WW2. I used to study on it and think myself fairly knowledgeable of the events in the war in the Pacific I read everything I could get my hands on about it. And maybe the liberal family wanks were right because as time went on, I have heard snippets and bits and pieces from historical authorities that I respect - and they were often at odds with the perspective and narrative that I had been working with and raised to believe.

A lot of folks won stupid prizes during that time in history. I may be full of beans, but I think FDR was actually a commie prick, and America won that war in spite of him rather than because of him. MacArthur might have been as well. Not sure about Eisenhower either, for that matter. The convoluted conspiracies and scams of our current leaders have left me skeptical about EVERYTHING, past and present.

Who knows, I can't even wrap my noggin round the stuff that's happening today! TB has an interesting take on information management in the day of social media. I wonder in the days going forward, if the winners will continue to write the history books. I think it was the Benghazi incident where those politicos got killed - and Obutthole and Hillary stood idly by while it happened. When the news leaked out they went into damage control mode, pulled a lame whopper out of their rectums... and tried to claim the mudflaps went berserk because some obscure racist put out a vid on OyTube that was insulting to moslems. The fake news was on the wires, all the networks primed and ready to go, with the media slobs all marching in lock step - and the carefully prepared script was exposed the next day. Other crimes and cover ups fell apart for the Donks the second after they were committed. TB is right - you buggardly peasants have way too much information - and our leaders and managerial class won't get ANYTHING done until you are back in that dark room with the chit and the mushrooms, HAR HAR HAR! HAR HAR HAR!!!

All I know is that when you finally get that your enemies are lying to you - the game gets mighty tough and almost impossible after that. That - and we are all going to win some stupid prizes in the days ahead.

I read somewhere on the innernet that Mrs. Hanky might run again in the next
American election.
Miss Kamikazee 2020?

Some Random Screaming Memies

Well it's Christmas rolling round again. I'm seeing the stress already - people are driving like arseholes and nearly colliding because they're racing deadlines, coping with work and family and life and trying to fit in The Perfect Christmas around all that and possibly some family feuds to boot. This year I am buying a few stocking stuffers for the wife and the rest of the world can go straight to hell for Christmas - I couldn't care less. I am going to tell my wife how much I love her, maybe take the Dawgz for a picnic, maybe have a scotch or two and do some tinkering down on the gun bench or maybe play with the Crapcopters. It's gonna be pretty quiet.

Mind you, there is a LOT to be said for quiet! No family feuds, no drama, no cheap shots, no bullchit. The past few Christmases have been pretty darn decent and have given me time to orient myself and achieve some measure of peace and contentment. Flapz' daughter flipped her lid the way my daughter did and him and his wife went scurrying after the 'kid' - in her early 20's - and they sat down and supposedly worked out all their differences. They had to go out to the coast to do that too. I let Flapz run with that; the way he described it his daughter was acting like a child too. She certainly had maturity problems and they are of the kind where if they are stupid enough to create problems like that once - they are stupid enough to do it again. I think he's going to have to wash his hands of the kids and their self inflicted problems at some point like I did... but time will tell. Maybe they helped the kid grow up, who knows? I wish him well. Flapz is greyer than I am, has developed blood pressure issues, and he's 8 years younger than I am. His Christmas will be interesting, no doubt.

I myself am finding hardly any use for my old dreams anymore. All I would like is a chair like that, a GOOD book with a theme, a plot, and some engagement. The last good book I read was a couple years back when I bought one of WL Emery's true crime yarns off Kindle. He has more out and I should buy some of those too over the holidays. For me, all is good enough with a good chair, a dawg or two nearby, and some peace and quiet.

Hope you all have a blessed and merry Christmas teed up.

Sunday, 16 December 2018

Sunday Scibble: IPSC

I've always frowned on IPSC and IDPA. The games arose from the genius of St. Cooper. Jeff was an intelligent, white male mitten head and former jar head that understood pistolcraft as an art as well as a science. Current poseurs and gas bags will say crap like 'the purpose of the pistol is to fight your way to your rifle'.  If you tackle an opponent that is an acolyte of practical pistolcraft with that mindset... you're dead. A real pistoleer will blow your brains out before you get anywhere near your rifle!

IPSC is a practical pistol discipline that teaches shooting as an athletic endeavour and those that master it are truly formidable opponents if a tactical situation develops. They develop the muscle memory and athletic skills to bring their guns into play in close quarters situations - which has always turned me right off. I am the sort that believes in prevention and precaution - and will usually avoid 'tactical situations' altogether. Running around, blasting off ridiculous amounts of ammo at ridiculously close targets that are ridiculously large has always stuck in my craw sideways. If I ever had to shoot in anger I'd pot the bad guys while they're 300 yards out! HAR HAR HAR! What kind of idiot lets them get so close? Tactically speaking it is a valid mindset - a pound of prevention is worth a tonne of cure. But let us game this out and indulge in free thought!

We need to be brutally honest about carry guns.

This is a pistol meant for playing games.

If all you need is a gun to settle differences of opinion and/or government and social work...

...any piece of ...

...shit will do...

the job. (With all due apologies to the squaddies and law enforcement, of course. But
when black pimps are using the same guns you are - the truth is what it is!

GAH. I hate 9mm's.

But last night I got dragged out to a local IPSC match by the boys and it looked like a good time. There were all kinds there - 'gun bunnies', tatted up beardos, women, old stubfarts like me, even a geriatric who seriously had to be pushing his 80's. It was awesome - guns were out on the tables or on holsters everywhere and nobody was a dink or an a-hole. Everyone chatted and had a good time. Because you are going through a pile of ammo and losing half your brass - a 9mm starts making sense.

Because of the peer pressure from my retarded friends, and the realities of IPSC... I am kinda hooped. I need a gun that is halfway between a full blown race gun and a POS like the three suspects above. I don't want to be shooting my beloved .45's on foolish games like this. So for hacking around on the IPSC course a pea shooter like the 9mm is probably actually to be desired. And to an eminently practical man like myself, who has no need to impress anyone but still wants to maybe compete on a half-arsed level...

The gun wanks are all saying this is too heavy to be considered a practical pistol.

That's the CZ Shadow 2. It was designed as a competition/carry hybrid. It's heavy - and I loves me my heavy guns. It has metal grips - which I hate. But the sights are adjustable, the front's a fibre optic, and they are only 1300 bucks. The gun wanks claim the trigger is first rate, and contrary to the US Military, the CZ 75 is hands down a better gun that the Beretta 92 and the old Browning Hi Powers that Canadian squaddies are still using. I won't talk about Glocks because I have psychological issues with anger and rage management.

Hmmmmmm. 9mm? I wonder if I should get into this?

Saturday, 15 December 2018

The SKS: A Matter Of Preparation

Right now, as we speak, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his retinue of homosexuals, vibrants, and feminist rage heads are getting ready to take a run at your right to own property and defend yourself. Which way that one goes is anyone's guess. In Canada, you do not have the right to defend yourself or your property, and the courts (infested with leftist activist judges) often side with the perps in such affairs. Right now they are supposedly after only handguns and assault rifles - but anyone that believes that is an idiot. They want all the guns, and no bones about it.

If you haven't got a gun for home defense and disaster preparation - now is the time. If you buy the gun now you are virtually scot free - sure, they record who the gun is sold too, but beyond that they are hooped. You can buy and sell certain guns in Canada merely with a phone call to the CFC who do a rudimentary record check and keep no permanent records. Their data base has been hacked and repeatedly crashed, their records are hopelessly hooped, so if they ever come calling to collect your gun you can tell them that you sold it years ago to some guy in Red Deer … and oh, sorry, no records - and the cops will basically shrug and go away. They are not going to enforce this crap even if it passes, and non-compliance will be rampant. About all Trudeau and his team will accomplish is making it harder for lawful people to get guns, and easier for failed social experiments to victimize innocents. I am not advocating disobeying the law; what I am advocating is that if our idiot of a prime minister and his cronies decide to abuse the law - YOU will be in a position of deciding whether or not to comply with it. As opposed to, say,  having some truly disgusting people make that decision for you. Of course I myself fully intend to comply with all the present and future gun laws! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELCH!!!! Sure, I'll have another beer too, thanks! What is that awful stink that has come over my blog...?

If you don't have a gun in the house, go buy one of these. Do it NOW.

The SKS is a great choice for the noob or non-gunnie to arm himself and protect his family. I am not an expert in these, but I hear you want to get one made in Russia, Finland or Yugoslavia. The Chinese clones have spotty QA issues. They usually run around 350 bucks or so, and can be used effectively by the whole family. You can probably get a thousand rounds of surplus ammo for a song and a dance too. The 7.62x39 Russian cartridge is mild mannered, cheap, and a helluva lot of fun to shoot. At our club it often happens that when the milsurp firearms like these come out, the high end match guns sit on the racks and the milsurp beaters are passed back and forth. Everyone smiles and has fun shooting these. My SHTF guns are high end AR15/M14's that cost a lot of money. They're great for a gun club stubfart like me or serious competitors like Borepatch or ASM - but the casual shooter doesn't need the bells, whistles and farkles of such guns. 

This Christmas, kill two birds with one stone: get one of these for your son and use it as an excuse to get him out and shooting and spending time with him. Better yet, buy two so you have one too. You will have a pile of fun, AND be ready to defend yourself and your family should the need ever arise. 

Most of these will shoot well right out of the box but some guys gotta tinker. Riflechair seems to have accurized his SKS. 

Grab one of these great bargains while you still can.

Friday, 14 December 2018

The Filthie Archeologist: 2nd Edition

Welcome friends, to the second edition of The Filthie Archeologist - a scholarly symposium of the greatest retronauts on the internet!

We've got a number of strange artifacts for your delectation and consideration this week. The millennials and Gen Z's are all stumped, and I may have to bring in some other old stubfart  academic specialist to identify some of the more obscure artifacts.

This is the current worth of the Canadian dollar, or 'Loonie' as we locals like to call it.
In its heyday, it was used to annoy hapless merchants and cashiers.

This is a "key" for opening a can of meat byproducts like SPAM
(or PREM, in Canadian parlance).
The mystery meat was classically served in sammich form, with mustard n pickles.
Discussing the ingredients of the meat mixture was taboo amongst
the diners that fed on it.
Legend has it that someone found out what actually goes into the SPAM,
and the knowledge drove him suicidally insane.

The mechanical abacus. Using the basics of rudimentary mechanical 
advantage, the local chinamen down at
the convenience store used it to cheat us kids when making change.
To be fair, the local white merchants couldn't run one of these either.

The credit card was invented to overcome the embarrassment and conflicts
created by the mechanical abacus. 
Squabbles and arguments that had formerly been a daily occurrence were
reduced in frequency to about once a month.
This machine apparently was used to process credit card payments.

I have no idea what that is.
If any visiting scholars might know - please leave your 
theory in the comments.

That's it for this week - keep your wits about you in these last shopping days in the run up before Christmas - and have a great Saturday!