My first guns were those I stole from my father. He kinda-sorta dabbled in guns as a kid but life interrupted. He got married, and went to work building a home for his family and other than sporadic health issues - he never stopped. Hobbies were a waste of time and daylight right up until he retired... and then and only then did he have real time - and he loved golf. Far as I know he still makes it round the course like a champ and he is in his 70's.
As a kid, I would have drooled over that Remington boltie with the scope. Then it woulda been the .30-30 next. Nowadays I wouldn't be caught dead shooting junk like that. But back then, these were the kind of guns you had to choose from unless you were a high roller or dedicated gun nut with deep pockets.
I heard that TC and Ruger are putting out econo-guns that shoot 1 MOA right out of the box. Be that as it may I wonder if the kids these days have any more fun than our fathers did with their beaters.
Harumpffff!!! I'd like to think this is just the usual case of retard truancy. Oh, I'm sure it is, right! No need to get bent because one a the slow kids decided to take awhile off, right? The problem is that his blog is just so great, a fella gets used to stopping by every morn to see what he's found to show us. I hope he's okay.
Friggin' Bob did that. One day his posting just stopped. The food fight in the comments lasted for days and weeks afterward. We learned a couple weeks later that he'd had a heart attack and went down at work, and that was that for that for the friendly Lord of the Treehouse. I still miss Bob, I didn't agree with everything he said, but he always shot straight in a time where telling the truth of things is now largely prohibited.
Oh well, I'm sure CW's is alright. What was Friday's assignment again? Oh - The Art Of Speed! I nearly forgot! And - seein' as how CW isn't around - maybe I'll just filtch his homework, erase his name on it, put on my own - and Bob's your Uncle: my homework assignment is done, complete and right on time! HAR HAR HAR! Hope your Friday goes as easily as mine!
BP has his skivvies in a wad at the state of modern science and I don't blame him one bit! Being a technical and scientific man myself, I saw through this perversion of science the second it began.
This is just another biproduct of the Left's long march through the institutions. When it's your job to 'prove' state sponsored propaganda, you get shams like warble gloaming.
As a kid my brother in law got his first teaching gig up in the Northwest Territories on an indian reservation at Fort Chipewyan. He was a hard core leftist as you might expect from a (hork, spit) public educator. He was a union slob all the way through, he married a feminist (also a public educator), and they were absolute murder at family gatherings. He and his wife would regale us with leftist idiocy and I'd try to tune them out and think pleasant thoughts - like killing them in the most painful and inhumane way possible, HAR HAR HAR!
And when the warble gloaming fad came out those two idiots were all over it. My wife's parents were lightweight environmentalists so they got washed away with it too. I remember one Sunday afternoon where we were having a civil meeting, and as usual, everything went to hell when the brother in law showed up. He was bragging and gloating that he had become a point man on environmental initiatives for the local native group up there. Environmentalism is the tool that our First Nation Freeloaders natives use to shake down the gov't for free money. Of course Mommy and Daddy were just thrilled at how their perfect son had become an accomplished climate scientist literally overnight. I am not kidding about this either - I was expected to be awed and impressed with my brother in law but could only muster contempt. Not only for him, but for his parents. Most of the big wheels in the climate scam are anything but scientists. But here was my brother in law, with a teaching degree - posing as an authority on environmental issues. And of course, because my job relied on Big Oil, I to be his whipping boy.
I remember getting up and when no one was looking - I threw my pop can in the garbage rather than the recycle. The smell was getting a little ripe in that house, and it was time to leave.
Ever see those old Bruce Willis or Stallone movies, where the hero tosses a lit match over his shoulder … and the gasoline soaked bad guys all blow up with the force of a small megaton nuke? And the hero just keeps on walking away without even looking back? Remember those?
That's the way I walked away from my in law's home. Instead of a megaton explosion at my back, I heard a hysterical gobble: "Who threw a pop can in the garbage!!!!!???? We recycle in this house...!!!"
HAR HAR HAR!!!
Have a good Humpday - and don't blow anything up!!!
At one time I had one a those Marlin Guide Guns - a slick little lever gun about the size of a Daisy BB gun. It was aptly named, for it was the perfect rifle for the fella that was content to let somebody else do the shooting. Because I am a man, and not that bright - I barked up some handloads for it to see what it could do - and it didn't disappoint! That rude little gun developed enough horsepower to kill on both ends.
Awhile back I looked in on an estranged daughter with forlorn hopes that she'd grown up, or matured, or straightened out. And of course it was a Bad Idea; if anything she's WORSE. All I did was open up old wounds for a bit. At the range on Sunday, Flapz shot even worse than I did. So I tell him to spill it. His daughter had just gone mustang the way mine did. She's not queer, of course - so there's that - but out of the blue, he gets an hysterical text from the kid - "I hate you daddy, everything wrong with my life is all your fault, I never want to see you or your %^&*@ wife again....!!!" He is getting the same kick in the balls I got half a decade ago. The exact same way too - these kids will never say this crap to your face. Of course not - that would mean having to talk, and talking is a two way street. With the power of TB's crystal ball, you can fire all your shots, do all the emotional damage you can - before the target even has a chance to ask why you're killing him. He was almost in a daze. "JFC, Filthie… I paid her tuition at school. I paid her first few month's rent … and like a bolt of lightning out of the blue she does this...". I just shook my head. Here we go again. I had no idea what to tell him other than what others have told me: "suck it up, there's nothing you can do about it, you're on a new path now - enjoy the ride."
If Minnie Mouse had done it, she'd have killed the Warlock or enslaved
him - and set the broomsticks to building nukes.
Some apprentices are more talented than their teachers - which makes them even more
dangerous.
I wish I still had the links. But the story goes like this:
In a dusty isolated village, somewhere in the godforsaken deserts of Shitholistan, an Indian professor comes rattling down the street with a team of undergrads and a truck and trailer full of electronics and telecommunication equipment. The young students unpack a computer, and set to work setting up a satellite uplink to the internet. The kids and some of the illiterate adults gather round to see what these exotic people from The Big City are up to.
The computer was set up, the undergrads put out a patio umbrella for themselves and the prof - and they fire up the computer. The prof takes a seat in front of it... and starts playing Pac Man. He does that just long enough so all the local kids can see it. Then he brings up Tetris, Mine Sweeper and all the other games. In each case, he isn't playing the games so much as he's watching the poverty stricken, illiterate children. After a couple minutes, he shuts her down, walks over to the shade and sits down and picks up a pen and paper. The kids are almost vibrating with excitement.
"Can we play games on your computer too?" they beg.
'Yes' says the prof.
"Well...!!! Show us how!!! We want to play!!!"
'No.'
The kids are frantic. "But...but...but...!!!! We can't even read! How can we learn to run the computer when we can't even read?" they wailed. The old prof just shrugged and smirked. Eventually he relents, and he goes back to the computer and brings up a Pakistani version of Sesame Street and some other children's shows - and that's it. A year later, all of the kids could read. They were not only playing games, they were talking with kids half way across the country and watching more advanced educational programming like NOVA. Their parents marvelled at their children's accomplishments.
One day the kids woke up and headed out to the town computer... and were horrified. The computer keys were all wrong. They couldn't read the foreign text on the screen. "Professor!!! What have you done?!?!? Something is wrong with the computer!!!"
So he explains. 'There's nothing wrong with the computer, little ones' he says, 'It just works on the English language...'
"Well - change it back!".
'No,' he smirks.
"Teach us English - please!!!!"
'No,' he says.
A year later, in a dirty backwater village in a poverty stricken third world nation - the kids all learned English and a few were dabbling in other languages so they could talk to their new friends in Europe and on other continents.
An interesting side note may be in order: maybe stuff like this is another reason you are being displaced in your own lands, Whitey?
******
Back here at home, Marxist unionized public school teachers can't teach your kids math so they dumb down the tests so they can pass - it's about preserving the child's self esteem dontchya know. Or they come up with lunacy like common core math. At home their parents bitch because some big fat dyke at Twitter just banned their account. Or they got a warning from the nannies at Facebook for posting something they didn't like.
And so it goes. The broomsticks go merrily on, flashing the firmware, configuring the software, positioning the initiators, and installing the plutonium warheads on the weapons that will be used to destroy their makers.
Now would be a really good time for the Wizard to show up, put an end to it, and set things right.
Yesterday I headed out to the range dressed in my snugglies. But the weather gods smiled upon me - it was brilliant sunshine coming down, and the snow reflected it right back up again and I just smiled and basked in the middle of it! Days like that are a real treat in a gloomy, overcast month like November! I had to shed a few layers to keep from roasting.
A young fella made the mistake of pulling into the range that I had entirely to myself, so I decided to go over and harass him and make a nuisance of myself.
He uncases a brand new Chinese Norinco M14. These things are another controversial gat amongst us gun geeks. They look great, and a lot of the owners that have them do really well with them. Apparently they are made on the same machine tools the originals were - the Chinese bought the tooling when the military obsoleted the M14 in favour of the M16 back in the 60's. A lot of the lads out here have them and they are businesslike rifles. A few of the lads have had nothing but problems with them. I bought a used one and kept it for a month. Mine apparently had been made in The Year Of The Monkey, and the cheap pot metal sights wouldn't hold a zero. (The original M14's were legendary for their fine sights). These guns may have been made on Springfield tooling... but they are being made by chinks. There is no nice or politically correct way to say it.
Chinks are predatory and dishonest by nature but they're pretty smart too. Being Canadian I've dealt with them on and off for years and my impression of them is that there are some products they are good at, and some they absolutely suck at. If you think you can protect yourself in dealings with them by demanding mill certs and QA/QC documentation - think again. Those slant eyed little bastards will be happy to supply you with the documentation... and it won't be worth the paper it's printed on. To be fair, some Chinese firms wised up and understood predatory dealings like that don't fly well with westerners and Euros and have cleaned up their acts. Others are stamping out junk as fast and cheaply as they can. They'll kill their own people to do that - so they won't give a damn about western consumers that get hurt using their products. There are some really bad reasons their products are so much cheaper than ours.
I told the kid that I had had one once - and then went upgraded to a Springfield. You don't shoot your face off to a kid that is proud of his new rifle. So I left him to his shooting and got back to mine. He shoots a couple and stops and starts fiddling with the gun. I go through a couple mags on my AR, slow fire all the way... and take a break. The lad is still fiddling. So I mosey on over to see what the hang up is.
"It's weird," the kid says, "I fired the last shot, it locked back and won't go into battery again..."
"Mind if I take a look?" I said. So he passes it over and looked okay at first glance. So I frown and take off my glasses and just about put my beak in the action - and I notice it. "Where's the bolt, son?"
The kid shrugs and goes, "What?" So I tell him that when ya take apart the gun, ya gotta put it back together again. He looks at me like I'm stupid, I'm looking at him like he's a retard... and then I go grey. "You didn't take it apart, did ya?" The kid shakes his head, no. "Hold up your hands," I said - I want to make sure you still have all your fingers...". The bolt had sheared away during the firing cycle and God only knows where it ended up. Sometimes when guns come apart on the firing line they embed their fragments in the shooter or worse, some other poor slob down the line. The boy's gun was brand new.
Right now those things are selling in Canada for about $600~700. Your average outhouse Springfield is almost three times that. There is a reason for this price discrepancy. We've been shooting Norinco guns up here in Canada for a lot longer than you Yanks have because our leaders are commies themselves, more often than not, and they get along with the chinks. I've shot Norinco M14's, I owned one myself for a couple weeks, and I personally believe them to be junk. We have smiths up here in Canada that make a living out of refurbing and upgrading chink M14's. They make good guns - but you pay for that. You can build the Norinco into a match gun, if you're so inclined, and from what I have been able to gather, you can save as much as $300.00. But consider: you pay for freight to send the gun to these smiths, you have to wait for them to eat through their workload to get to your gun - and many of the upgrade accessories for them involve wait time too. It's pretty easy to spend more on upgrading a Chinese M14 than it is to buy a Springfield.
When I bought my Springfield it came with a pile of instructional material and American QA/QC documents. It was fired and tested at the factory and the guy that did it signed off on it. The guy that head spaced the rifle signed off on it too. Mine is chambered for the Winchester .308, not the military 7.62 NATO. Lots of people will tell you they are the same but they aren't.
Handloading for the big gas gun is different too. You have to watch for chamber and port pressures or you start bending op rods and doing damage. Reloading for these things is not like reloading for your bolt gun. If you aren't familiar with it - don't even think about buying one until you've checked in with the guys at the M14 forum.
As far as the Norinco guns go - I am no longer going to recommend them. I think a guy is better off in the long run to just bite the bullet, pick up a Springfield - and do the research and legwork that go along with shooting one of the best rifles in the world.
Yesssssssssssss…. yessssss my precioussssss. We will kills them allllll…..
Oooops!!! Did I say that out loud? Why, excuse me! I didn't realize I had company! Hey - Thanks for dropping in!
Awhile back the Bayou Rennaissance Man and his elderly cronies were screeching and carrying on about weaponized toy drones being used by the bad guys to bomb and maim servicemen deployed in the various third world shit holes round the globe. Of course it was all nonsense and I pretty much proved it. There isn't an affordable hobby drone on the market capable of lifting the ordnance required to mess up a poodle, never mind a Marine. I did a scholarly lecture and ran a practical experiment and when I presented it to the geriatric symposium of elderly intellects - the miserable miscreants ignored me. Or they hooted with derisive laughter! At me - the world's foremost Crapcopter pilot!!!
I. Will. Destroy. Them. All. BWHA HA HA HAR HAR HAR!!!!!
Aesop will be the first to die: Using a proper microdrone for the job, I will silently fly into his house and use the drone to drop 500 mg. of Viagra into his Metamucil when he's not watching. When he takes a drink to restore his regularity - BAM! He'll get a chub on so hard the cat couldn't scratch it! It'll go up through the bottom of his chin and out the top of his head - and no one will suspect that I was the author of his demise. I will hunt them all down, one by one, each dying more horribly than the last.... ooops!!! I'm talking out loud again, aren't I?
Let us turn from my rage filled invective to something else - that I refer to as The X Project!
The new little monster takes shape.
Muscle.
Initial motor fit up: COMPLETE
Brains.
Ears and mouth.
Avionics stack fit up: COMPLETE
This drone is what is called by Rotorgeeks the Y4 configuration. All my other Crapcopters are X drones and use the Arduino based 30x30 mm PID flight controllers. I used to sell much less capable variants into the process and control industry 20 years ago for about $1200.00 a pop and there was no way in heck they were fast enough to run something like this back then! Nowadays, the controllers are so fast that even an aerodynamic abortion like this can fly and the F4 coprocessor has speed to spare for telemetry and data acquisition chores. And they cost about $40.00. The flight controller on this one is one of the new crispy mini PIKO F4 with the even smaller 27x27 mm footprint. The tolerances on this little monster are zero. All my wiring has to be clean or it will end up in the props. It's going to be a very challenging build. All I need now is a camera - I may salvage the one off Crapcopter I and use it on this one... or I might opt for the smaller and more modern new Runcams.
It will be slow, fiddly work from here on out and by the time I get it done I'll probably have forgotten why I built it and who I was going to attack with it. Oh well - it's a good way to stay busy and off the streets and out of jail during the winter, and an amusing toy to play with at roadside stops on long motorcycle trips.
Have a great Saturday boys - and thanks for stopping by.
I actually got invited to a Yank thanksgiving tonight, one of the couples at our church are Yanks and had us and a few couples over for turkey supper. I had been dreading it for a couple weeks because I am one of those guys that hurts people whether he means to or not. The kids threw the shindig, us upper-middle aged old farts talked awkwardly at first while the ladies chattered like birds as they got the supper going.
After the meal Joe (we initially took an instinctive dislike to each other when we first met) managed to chat sociably and even on friendlier terms as the night wore on. The old biddies were there and tickled pink to be invited and not have to cook - but they helped anyways.
After the dinner I guess the rule was ya go round the table and everyone has to say what they were thankful for. The ladies were all thankful for their 'church family' meaning the other bums that go to the chapel. Before I knew it, it was my turn to say what I was thankful for. I looked round at all those wonderful folks and I kinda got what the gals were talking about. There was no bullshit at this table, no friction, no rivalries, no head games in play - just a bunch of bums enjoying each other's company on a random day of the week at a random point of space and time. This was what thanksgiving and Christmas and all the other holidays were supposed to be.
When it was my turn I said, "I lost a job I'd held for 10 years and found another one at half the pay where I work twice as hard - and I am deeply thankful for it." It sounded right - it keeps me out of jail, I can torment the kids with my stupidity and teach them on other occasions. The old gals went on at length about how they were thankful for daughters, nieces and relatives that took special care of them to make their lives better. It was the first time in years that I didn't have to listen to some idiot bloviating on politics in a way that made me want to put down my fork and pick up a rifle, HAR HAR HAR!
For tonight, at least, I was kinda-sorta part of the church family too - and it felt good. I am polishing off an after-dinner scotch back home here at the castle - and then I am hitting the hay. What a night!
Errr… sorry for all the maudlin BS lately. Thanks for stopping by, the lame rude jokes will resume shortly.
Don't say ya weren't warned - after all: this IS the place where great intelligence goes to be insulted!
Sometimes life hands me challenges and problems that leave me with the distinct impression that my Maker is trying to teach me a lesson and I am just too damned stupid to get it.
Several years back my millennial daughter decided that she was a queer social justice warrior and that the family would all go live under the rainbow or else. When I chose the 'or else' she ran away to join the circus and we never heard from her again. The only way I know she's still alive is by checking in on the various blogs and forums she's at. I pretty much gave up on that too, but still check in once in awhile - sue me, it's the father in me. I satisfy myself that she's alive, and surf away on to something else. I did that a little while ago - and saw something that has been stuck in my craw sideways ever since. She had posted a movie review written by some other angry menstrual rage head that she thought was the coolest thing since sliced bread.
"No guys, I need to stop and talk about something in this movie and how fucking revolutionary it was; something that I haven’t seen in a movie before or since.
This is a movie about a kid who leaves her birth family.
Not a kid who find that they have a secret lineage or something that allows them to find their ‘true family’ - this is a movie about a kid whose true birth family is made up of bad people. So she gets out. And that is played as the right thing to do. She isn’t punished for it or made to feel bad about ‘abandoning her family’. There isn’t an underlying ‘but they’re your family and you have to love them’ or ‘they’re your family and they love you even if they don’t show it well or do hurtful things’ message of the kind that I see OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER in media. Matilda gets out and lives happily ever after because of it.
We need a million more movies like this to counter the metric shit ton of movies that directly counter this message."
You always did love movies and stories, Spud. You must fancy yourself something of a 'Matilda', eh? I just can't - for the life of me - see how I can even begin to argue or debate a mindset like that. Your Mom and I are bad people? And your grandparents?
One day, I read something else that tied into this and it nearly blew my doors off. I've developed an honest respect for another blogger that thinks much along the same lines I do only he's a lot better at it. So I started going over my own life's hard times and bad decisions and what struck me was that none of my errors were fatal. Oh sure, I could have done any number of things better, but when I pooped the bed... I geared down, backed up, cleaned up the mess as best I could and moved on. Even my failures had some positive merit. Bad decisions are part of growing up and the process doesn't stop just because you turned 18 or 21.
And then I come to you, Spud. NOTHING I did as a parent was right. I let your idiot grandparents have a part in your upbringing and that was a huge mistake... but what could I do? You loved them and your Mom loved them. So they fed your monsters and demons over the years, and told you pretty lies that you loved to hear. "Oh - it's okay Little One! You can cop out, cut out, and flake out! We will always love you and support you! Your Dad is just being mean and nasty...! Nanny and Grampy will ALWAYS be here for you...!!!"
So yeah - I guess it's okay if you tear your families apart, leave them in ruins and walk away. If that pretty little lie helps you sleep at night - run with it and smile, I suppose. It's a sin, but when you took money from your doting grandparents for Christmas and your birthday and didn't so much as say thank you or send them an email - I just laughed. Thanks for that, by the way. Now they can stump themselves trying to figure you out. I wish them luck with that - regardless, you are one mistake I am never, ever going to make again, Matilda. You're 33 this year.
I can't fathom the ways of my Maker but - sometimes I wonder if He isn't trying to teach you a lesson?
Whatever - you'll have to sort that out yourselves, I guess.
Being a Canukistani gives me the best of both worlds: I can stuff my face with turkey and all the trimmings on Canadian thanksgiving - and then go visit my American friends and pig out all over again!!! HAR HAR HAR!
TB invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner at his place but I just couldn't make it this year. He's having haggis, blood pie, boiled cabbage and spotted dick for supper. Apparently every smelly, hairy manky Scot that ever tossed a caber is going to be there too - I'd fit right in! But sadly... I am a celebrity blogger superstar and I don't have time for all the little people. I had to pass. I am in for a big day.
First I am dropping in at Quartermain's for a truly bountiful thanksgiving feast!
AWESOME. A Turkey Day MRE in a can?!?!? Brilliant!!!!
Victor Quartermain - I take back ALL
the rotten things I've said about you!
Mmmmmmmmmmm!!!
After I've stopped in for a nibble there - I am off again to visit Jack and Big Mike for a quick drink! I yam a social butterfly, dontchyaknow…
Ahhhhhhhh. Sure beats that bloody lighter fluid that WL Emery drinks.
Thankfully I have three bottles. All
Jack has to do is furnish the straws.
GAH! After I vomit into the sink and purge myself there, I am off to visit Aggie, The Supervisor and Sunny over at Sunnybrook farm!
Hic...! Why Aggie, you are such a gracious hostess! Shall I cut up The Supervisor's
turkey for him? BEEEEEELCH!!!!
I will probably be in a food coma at this point. But if I'm not... I will make darned sure to raise a glass to the best Americans on the planet!
Hope all you squaddies have a good thanksgiving too.
Try not to be too homesick and have some fun.
For all the disappointed bloggers that wanted me to spend thanksgiving with them - have your people call my people and maybe we'll set something up for next year! HAR HAR HAR!
Happy Thanksgiving Yanks - and thanks for stopping by!
One a the radio stations is already playing Christmas songs. I can take one or two carols and then I have to flip away to another station. Bah! Humbug! Christmas used to be a tough time for me because both our families were obliterated in the early stages of the culture wars. We will never be family again, and that means Christmas will never be Christmas again either. For me it's now just a couple extra days off, and I spend it playing with the dawgz, eating too much, and hanging upside down from the roof of the man cave downstairs. I am going to do a deep dive into the Old Testament this year too. If my wife can think of someplace she wants to go, or something she wants to do - we'll do that too. Christmas is pretty much for young people I guess. I will probably cover at work if any of the kids need time off too.
I am enjoying one aspect of the culture wars though. It looks like they finally lost that battle to criminalize the act of saying 'Merry Christmas'. Or maybe that one is still hot - I don't care; the people I hang out with are smarter than that so it really isn't an issue. But - no Christmas would be complete if I didn't take at least one stab at the politically correct beast that has consumed our nations and families.
Behold:
Oh be still my beating heart! Why, these are even better than my tasteless fish Christmas lights! I used to have a string of perch or wide mouth ass fish lights on the tree that made me smile - until they disappeared one year. I'd suspect my wife had something to do with it, but I can't prove it.
In any event these festive shotgun shells would make an excellent replacement! But... hold the phone, here it comes!
Oh yeah. I'm gonna buy a ton of these now. And if some chitlib femcnut has a problem with it I will sanctimoniously point out that the lights come in two frooty colours of the rainbow, HAR HAR HAR!!!!
Oh, alright, goddammitalltohell.
Seriously, take extra care this holiday season. There's a lot of serious chit going on out there that can divide us. When it comes to politics keep your lip zipped, and make them do the same. Try not to let this be your last holiday season together. I realize this is one of those 'do as I say, not as I do' moments... but there it is.
Have a great Tuesday. Better get after that Christmas shopping if you haven't already done so.
When I was a kid there were still a few old world kings around. They carried their pipes and a pouch of tobacco in the front pocket of their plaid flannel shirts.Their trucks all had 12 foot aluminum boats on top of the camper. And they all had big stickers on the doors - pictures of either a trout or a whitetail buck. The shotgun guys would have a ringneck pheasant decal on their trucks. Their deer and duck guns were in the rear window racks in the truck as well. They could clean a fish or strike a campfire faster than it took you to even think about it. They could do both and get supper going in the time it took to tell a good story or whopper.
The Old Kings were destroyed and displaced by their neurotic Baby Boomer children with big lavish motorhomes, and their little fishing boats were run off by the big ski boats with inboard engines big enough to run cars. The dregs of that generation are still hard at destroying the outdoor experience and can be seen 'camping' in the parking lot at Wal Mart. Kids might look at that and think that is the way of things - but it was not always so.
"Yes, the gun's for sale, Filthie - just not to you."
"But - it's bloody gun shop! And I want to buy it! Shut up and take my money!!!"
-------------------------
That was the scene 30 years ago, and I was trying to buy one of these:
The owner refused to sell me one because it was a copy made in Ishapore or Sandratistan or some other third world chit hole - and was priced accordingly. His opinion was that the gun was a wall hanger for the man cave, or a paperweight. He would sell me a shooter, but he knew a young shooter would never be happy with what was essentially a curio or relic. Shop owners used to take care of their clients like that in the old days.
One of the other regulars piped up and agreed, "Even the better ones from FN were fuggin junk, Filthie" he said. "Oh, stuff it, you old half-wit! It's a great gun, kid - I shot one during my military days and it hit what you were aiming at every time if you did your part...". Another fella piped up and said they were hands down better than the M14. There didn't seem to be any consensus on these guns in those days and it still seems to be the case today. I dunno if they even make them anymore.
I never learned which side of that one I would fall on, because our fart sucking liberal gov't and their canary legged lickspittles in the RCMP banned them. I haven't seen one in years.
There isn't much detailed info on them either. From what I've heard these are old world guns all the way. If yours was fitted by true gunsmith that knew his way around the platform you got a good one. If it was put together by some smelly arab or filthy pakie in the third world - you got a junker.
For what it's worth, when I go medium bore I go with the M14 (M1A)… But it would be nice to have had the opportunity to try the FN FAL out for myself.
Today I went home. I thought at one point I was finally going to transition to a bolt action rifle but - gah. Bolt actions are the most inherently accurate guns out there. You can even buy econo-guns that will print one inch groups right out of the box.
But... they bore me. I am going back to my beloved M14 and AR15 for gov't work, and for fun I am doing my black powder cartridge guns. End of story. I think I am done buying guns now too. I have at best - what? 15 more years? After that a fella gets a little old to be in the game... but who knows? In the black powder cartridge gun game there's lots of seriously old farts still shooting and playing the game so maybe I might have a few years beyond that.
After I got my Trijicon scope dialled back in on the M14, I blew some dust off the AR and went to work with it. I must have blown off 60 rounds of ammo today! It felt good just to spend the morning out doors. It was cold out and the roads were icy so all the candy-asses stayed home and I had the club to myself.
Afterwards I checked out the campsites which are beginning to fill up with snow. It's just barely deep enough now that a 4x4 is a good idea. Theres a few deer and moose tracks around so the critters are doing good.
Dunno what this is though:
All this snow was torn up in one single spot. I think it may be a case that the rut is in full swing, and maybe the bucks and bulls came out here to spar. It is on the campsite road so there is no grazing under the snow.
I love the snow and the sun. I spend too much time indoors in my old age and I really need to fix that.
Welp, I got dishes to do, and after that I got guns to clean and brass to prep. Might be a beer or two down there too - who knows?
Have yourselves a great Saturday, y'all - and as always - thanks for stopping by!
Cats generally get the bum steer from men and they shouldn't. I love them myself. My favourite cat was Sammy - a little niggered black cat that was put on this earth solely to torture my father. One day after chores we were just bagged. Pop crashed on the couch and I sprawled on the floor - I think we'd just finished with bringing in bales for the year.
I was petting the cat with my mind in neutral when Pop goes "How can you stand that stinky bastard? All it does is eat and shit...". So Sammy gets up, slinks on over to him and sits there with her tail twitching and staring Pop down. Aaaaaand - Pop gave the cat a playful punt.
And then he lost 5 gallons of blood when Sammy went after his foot! She ripped on him so bad that he almost used the F word! You could see the blood stains on his socks after she finished with him. And later on that night when the football game was on, they were the best of buds. Pop absently petted her while taking in the game.
I sometimes think I'd like to have one more cat before I die, but we have dawgz.
I am addicted to internet memes. The ruder the joke, the happier I am! I laugh at all the wrong things that aren't funny. But... I didn't laugh at this one.
This one's making the rounds lately and brings the expected comedy and hilarity from the Usual Suspects:
"No woman dreams of a hippie ravaging her, as goes the saying. Also no woman dreams of being leered-at by beaners, raped by a black ape, or beaten by a filthy brown muzzie…" https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2018/11/16/the-reward-of-giving-women-what-they-want/ HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR!!!! Monsiuer de Chapeau Heartiste is a card, innint he? I saw a study that disappeared almost the second it hit the innernet awhile back. It was the divorce stats for inter-racial couples. For white women and black males in was north of 90%. For couples with white men and black women it was north of 80%. Can't remember what the stats were for violent spousal abuse but they were up there too. It doesn't seem to occur to these women that without white men they'd be living in mud huts as slaves.
The Z Man believes that the fate of America is sealed as long as women have the vote. Taking the vote away from obvious retards like these is a no-brainer, but the next problem with that one is - where do you draw the line?
I really think we need to start drawing lines. But... where to draw them?
Chili was invented by Mad Jack's ancestors in the 1850's when they discovered that the deserts and arid portions of the country were just teeming with delicious animals that could be made into savoury stews and chilis. The structurally reinforced ceramic toilet was invented by my ancestors in the 1860's when chili came to Canada and conventional outhouses failed when chili consumers developed containment issues.
Little bit a hot sauce, stir in some pinto beans -
and you are cookin' with gas!!!
Jack's Copperhead Chili is to die for.
Earlier in the week one a the girls decided that we all needed a 'Chili Friday' and the manageMINT agreed. Now I love women - but the ones where I work are less than optimum examples of the breed. The worst is my boss - she has a … a.... *ahem* a hair issue, face jewelry, nose rings an tats - and the mind of a child. Our gal behind the chili extravaganza is a 40 year old punk rocker, and the last one is a divorcee with spending issues and would be right at home in the trailer park with Ricky, Julian and Bubbles. All week we were regaled with how great Amanda's Vegitarian Chili was and I resolved to eat some of it an be polite afterward. I didn't give a damn if it was full of (ulp) egg plant and zucchini - I would eat it and be the picture of couth and class afterward even if it killed me. In spite of their obvious mental issues I love those young ladies as they struggle to become rational adults. I hope they make it - I know I never did, HAR HAR HAR!!!
Vegitarian Chili: you'll eat it and you'll LIKE it,
goddamyoualltohell!!!
Fortunately Amanda made a crock of regular
chili as well.
During the meal Karlie regaled us about tales of how stupid Americans are. Unbeknownst to most Americans is the fact that they are absolutely hated by the Canadian liberals. Our liberals are worse by far than American democrats because Canadian liberals are so goddamned dumb they think they're smart. Then Karlie launched into a speech on what a bunch of a-holes gun owners are.
I must have changed or something. Maybe time away from the constant bombardment of liberal dogma and boilerplate idiocy has allowed me to replenish my resistance to such bullshit - I'm not kidding ya - it didn't bother me one iota! I started a discussion with the Token Pakie and the trailer park queen about weekend plans on the other side of the table.
Guess Matt got tired of Karlie, so he interrupted. "What are you doing this weekend, Filthie?" I didn't even hesitate. "I'm going to the range. I have an M14 that is giving me a hemorrhoid that I gotta deal with. Think it's the scope mount..."
An embarrassed pause.
"Like - with guns?" Matt asked. So I started explaining about my masochistic fetish for black powder guns and gave an impromptu speech about military match guns. The girls were slightly embarrassed because they like me and now had a decision to make: how to deal with this old heretic in their midst?
Amanda saved the day. "Will somebody at least try the Vegitarian Chili?" I told her that I would have loved to, but gosh darn it, I had just eaten too much of the delicious regular chili and was stuffed! And with that, I was able to make a dignified escape.
Sometimes I think that we may just get lucky and evade the looming civil war. Who knows.
Every once in awhile BW gets lazy and posts uninspired, boring pics of hay bales out in the country on his travel blog.
Years ago I was up in Grande Prairie on the 7th floor of the Cheapskate Hotel on the edge of town. I got to watch a storm like this come rolling across the prairie, and it was the most inspiring thing I ever saw. I opened the windows and the wind blew the smell of the fields into my tiny hotel room.
Working as I do in the solar power industry, there are a lot of greentards, soyboys, and estrogen dumps. I keep my mouth firmly shut, and concentrate solely on the job. When politics come up I change the subject or find some place else to be. I work hard, I get paid a wage to work with and for these tards, and some of 'em are nice folks despite their mental retardation. I suspect that if they knew my politics, ethics and beliefs most of 'em wouldn't be so nice. I work to maintain a mutually respectful distance from them and so far I've been successful.
The other day an email came by from on high - one of the students at the local college is in the alternative energy program, she's from Syria, and she had better get some money soon or she was going to be deported. I saw the link to the GoFundMe or whatever it was - and turfed the email right into the electronic garbage can without a second thought.
Now I am thinking twice about it. My attitude is that we have seniors eating cat food, we have service men in the military that have to hit the food banks to get by - and if I am going to be charitable with anyone, it will be my own first. Our own kids can't get good jobs or afford an education - and I am being asked to fund hers? Ummm… no. The other problem I have is that Canada, like America, has become a dumping ground for human trash from the third world.
I hope the management doesn't get stupid about that - but I ain't giving that girl a single penny
This is why the Roman Empire fell. I promise the peasants and proles circuses, free bread and blood and death spurting across the sands of the arena, and instead I get.... oh, GAH!
Rest assured, the perps responsible will be fed to the lions!!!!
Jeez, that sure looks good, dunninit? That defiant eagle, clutching the battered stars and stripes in his talons. Yep. Sure looks good.
And... the message is good, as far as it goes. It is seriously time to stop taking shit off of the stupid, the arrogant, and the dishonest They have no right to do this to us. Trying to make concessions and be civil only makes them worse. Once you realize that, the rest is easy. Getting angry is good - it makes it easier, I guess.
But, when you start meddling with the same things that they are - by God Almighty - you had better be darned sure you know what you're doing or you'll end up at the bottom of the same slippery slope they have.
The first thing you will need to change is yourself.
I have most of the textbook tells of the average mope with severe psychological problems. The one I get the most often is the one where I am back in school, watching the insane procession of greek letters and characters (that infest process control theory and higher mathematics) march across the whiteboard in a meaningless, lunatic scrawl - and I understand none of it. Not one jot. The midterms are tomorrow, and I know I will fail. I understand that others have had experience with that one too.
But sometimes an echoing fart comes bubbling up out of my subconscious, of such a magnitude and stench that even I am dumbfounded at the scope of it.
This morning I couldn't wake up. The wife's cell provides the alarm function in our day, and tinkles a classic Japanese tune to start our day. I woke up just fine and was going to get up... and then just lost all ambition. Somehow I fell back deeply asleep!
I dreamed that I was asleep (I dunno how that works) - in camp. Instead of my fart sack though, I had blankets. I was surprised to be in a bed of sorts, out camping under tarps and stars. I threw back the covers and discovered that I had shat the bed!
I had flipped back the covers and there it was - a great, big fat smelly Texan the size of an NFL football! All I could do was look at it. Then I heard the boys nearby - knocking about and collecting their gear together for the day's hunting. If they came by and saw that, I would be the butt of rude jokes from here to eternity!!!
And then I woke up. Thankfully there were no Texans in bed with me. The wife was stomping around knocking and banging the way she does when she wants me to wake up.
I'm sure it's nothing serious - I'll take this matter up with a qualified professional like Jack or WL and be right as rain again in no time. Feel free to leave your expert opinion in the comments if you're so inclined. I probly just need more fibre in my diet or something!
Hope y'all had a great weekend - and may your problems this Monday morn be small and insignificant - like mine!
Comes from M. Silvius, who - like me - was treated with scorn and contempt the by the BBQ gods and their sinful lickspittles here on earth! But he did something about it - and made his own!
When you have skills and materials you don't have to take crap off of anybody. Now THAT is a BBQ fit for a noble Roman like Filthicus M. Silvius! I'll bet you a dollar to a donut that I could pay him to build me one at going shop and material rates - and still be money ahead on what I've spent on BBQ's from the commercial companies. Details of his build are here.
I've marked the blog for follow up - and thanks for stopping by, M.
The greasy, skinny vegans, pacifists, and elderly hippies that make a hobby out of crapping on the military can't do anything right. But what do you expect from effeminate liberal men and their ropey mouthed women with hairy armpits? They worshipped uninspired, untalented musicians like themselves too (Bob Dylan is holding on line two...). The spoiled flower children of the 60's would start speeching and shrieking and singing against war at the drop of a hat - as if they had been there and were in a position to pass judgment.
Here is how an anti-war ballad SHOULD sound:
A whole generation butchered and damned.
Just a little over a hundred years ago, 3 generations back, young Freddie Filthie got on a train in Edmonton, England and headed off to war. They'd be back by Christmas - after they'd hung the Kaiser and kicked the Hun's arse. Instead, they found themselves facing machine guns, poison gas, and a demonic new weapon called the aeroplane. They did that armed with bayonets, trench shovels and horses. Their blood ran like rivers. At home wives and mothers and sisters lost some or even all the men in the family - at a time when people starved to death if they couldn't make ends meet.
I hope you have time to spare a thought or two for your ancestors.
Like most Albertans and Texans I know my way around a BBQ: ya put meat on it and burn it to a proper texture and you're good to go. I know there are artisans and chefs that can command a grill to the tastes of soy boys, vegans and eastern Canadian flimps and they are welcome to their posturing and preening. I can and have cooked over a wood fire and my wife is even better at it.
Be damned if I can keep a BBQ going though.
It drives me nuts. First - no way am I going to propane or natural gas. Screw that! I don't care how convenient it is, I don't care how controllable the heat is, hear me - I don't care. That leaves wood and charcoal and I am just peachy with it. But - every BBQ I buy dies before its time. It ticks me off, I've probably shelled out over a grand over the years for crap that falls apart after a couple years! Grrrrrr! Now I am hopping mad because my Traeger wood pellet BBQ seems to have calved after only two or three years. Bastid thing!!!
There's a time and a place for cheap grills, when I was a kid Pop brought along cheap Hibachi BBQ's when we went camping and they were made out of cheap pot metal. At the end of the season they were pretty much done and he'd just pitch them in the garbage and buy another one the next year. Then for some reason they stopped making them - I think it was because the campers started going to cheap propane BBQ's.
I was in Cabelas today and happened to score one of these:
It was over 200 beans Kanukistani, and it's made out of heavy cast iron. It's low tech, it's small so I can bring it in and store it when it cools off and not leave it out in the elements. We'll see how it makes out, I suppose. Two bolts hold the fire bowl to the stand - and the rest just falls together.
It should make for some interesting camp cookery this year if nothing else. I'll keep ya posted.
