Sunday, September 24, 2017

The War Will Be Fun (keyboard alert!)

h/t Gun Free Zone

GFZ won the Internetz for the day yesterday for the masthead pic above
(meme caption is mine, but GFZ's text was priceless):
"From left to right, or maybe more accurately, radical left to far left: Ginger Arafat, Stickmag, Emo Hawkeye, and Tactical Coolio."
That one screams.
My best riff would be Isis-Age Neanderthal, Spike Glee, Emo Hood, and Tacticoolio, but GFZ got there first, and deserves all the props for this one.

These @$$clowns were loitering outside the STL courthouse because of whatever the BLM/Antifa/OWS/ADHD BMW bitch-fest du jour is on about.

Just a guess, but better than even odds they'll be seeing the inside of the STL courthouse, and sooner rather than later.

As the local cops recently and rather hilariously pointed out to some of their newly oppressed brethren recently,
"Whose streets? Our streets!"
It's not that jackbooted thuggery is wrong per se, it's that the cops beat up nurses and shoot middle-aged women in bathrobes, when they should be giving knuckleheads like these clueless clowns a PR-24 shampoo. As anyone knows who's ever spanked their kids, judiciously applied corporal punishment can be therapeutic in many ways. Seeing it happen to this type of @$$clown would also be hilarious.

But this is the armed Leftard resistance. When you pick yourselves up from laughing on your back, try to muster an appropriate level of concern.

Done With All Those Whiny M*****f*****s - updated

No pics of these c*********s (if you watched Deadwood, I'm channeling Al Swearengen here) in question who think a sports stadium is their pulpit to berate America and piss on their fans.

All those overpaid, under-educated, miserable crying sh*tbags are dead to me.

I won't be watching, listening, or paying any attention to any sport, any team, any league, or any network that showcases these nitwits and lets them keep a job tomorrow. (If they'll start lighting themselves on fire though, I'll happily send an approving note.)

And if this keeps up, and the teams and leagues don't start terminating these jackholes, and banning them for life from their respective sports, my next target is every advertiser that subsidizes their antics.

So car companies, beer distillers, and everyone else, this is your only warning:
put the word out that this horseshit ends today, or earn the wrath and enmity of one helluva lot of pissed off former fans.

Call the toss, bitchez.

See who wins my game.

And from Moonbattery via A Nod To The Gods:

Matt Bracken has one up at WRSA today too. Seems like today, we've all had exactly enough bullshit out of the National Felony League, et al.

Alejandro Villanueva, a West Point graduate and former Army Ranger who served three tours in Afghanistan, stood at the tunnel with his hand over his heart to salute the flag and honor the brave men and women who have served America. This is not a political stance but a “love of Country” stance. These players need to understand the difference and honor those who have fought and died for America.

One real man amongst an entire team of the Pittsburgh Kneelers.
(And to the pussified New England "Patriots" : Stop appropriating my culture!)

I'm now waiting for SecDef Mattis to announce:

"Effective immediately, all DoD advertising is suspended for NFL games, and any sports broadcast associated with them, including all cable networks. No Department of Defense support will be given for color guards, honor guards, flyovers, or any other such appearances or support in conjunction with any team, sport, or league that is disrespectful to this nation, our flag, or the men and women of the armed forces. All professional sports games are henceforth off limits to any service members in uniform, or while wearing any portion of their uniform, until further notice. Violations of this regulation will be punished by courts martial in each and every incident without fail by subordinate commanders. There will be no unit activites permitted at such events, no unit parties revolving around it, and Super Bowl Sunday activities around the world will henceforth be conducted as a full duty day, in all likelihood one spent in the field, getting cold, wet, and dirty doing the mission of the military. It will not be spent celebrating a bunch of pampered pussies free to be the disrespectful idiots they so clearly are. As a land of freedom, America has room for their ilk, but this Department of Defense will no longer subsidize their disgraceful and shameful conduct and childish disrespect for the nation in which they live, in any way, nor to the slightest degree."
See if he doesn't, and/or the calls don't start coming from members of Congress for him to do exactly that, in 3, 2, ...

Blood is in the water, and sharks are gonna shark.

The National Felony League has mishandled and misjudged this horribly, and they're about to find out what happens after you grab the tiger by the tail, and he decides you look like lunch.

Couldn't happen to a more deserving bunch of douchebags.

Fire And Prosecute Jackbooted Thugs XXIV

Saturday, September 23, 2017

NY Times: Stupid On Pretty Much Anything You Could Think Of

h/t Pirate's Cove

So apparently, the NYSlimes has decided to slam Pres. Trump for not wasting money on a silly-ass earthquake warning system.

(Moonbatville) People cannot prevent earthquakes, but they can take steps to minimize the deaths and damage. Many more might have died in Mexico City this week had the country not invested in an early warning system that rang alarms just before the catastrophic earthquake struck. The United States, which has been slow to finish a similar system on the West Coast, can learn from Mexico’s example.(Discussion of what an early warning system can do)
The United States Geological Survey is building a warning system called ShakeAlert for California, Oregon and Washington. A prototype is up and running. But Congress has not appropriated the money to finish it. Officials say just 40 percent of the necessary field stations have been built so far. The Geological Survey says that it would cost $38 million to finish the system and $16 million a year to operate it. Congress appropriated just $10.2 million in the current fiscal year. (California and private foundations have also contributed money to the project over the years.)
As Pirate's Cove noted, it's not such a bright idea.


Let's do some maths, and since it's Saturday, I'll work it out for you.

P-waves radiate outward from an earthquake epicenter at 7 times the speed of sound in air (roughly 5300 MPH at sea level).
Love waves, the ground waves that do the actual damage, move outwards at a more sedate 700-1000 MPH.
IOW, in less than a minute, they've already arrived everywhere within 16 miles of the epicenter, or the nearest 860 square miles. In two minutes, the circle is 66 miles across, some 3400 square miles. Which is, for any foreseeable earthquake, the limit of anyone who cares, or needs warning.

Thus California, like everywhere else in the world, has a very precise earthquake warning system, and it costs zero dollars, with no annual maintenance fees:

If the ground shakes a lot, a dangerous earthquake is occurring.
If it doesn't shake so much, it's no big deal.

No warning system can secure more than a few seconds to perhaps a minute's notice faster than that, and anyplace with more warning will be so far away that the warning is useless.
And for a nominal optimum processing time of 15 seconds, anyone within 3 miles of the epicenter will never be warned before the ground is already shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

Thus any warning system is a boondoggle, of a range from dubious to nil utility on its best day.

So the NYSlimes knows as much about earthquake physics as they do about anthropogenic global warming, or the lack thereof.

They are, in fact, idiots on a scale that should set off Stupidity Alerts - at seven times the speed of sound - every time they write about something.
Pretty much like every day for the last 50 years.

In other news, no federal funding has been allocated to erecting barriers to keep elephants out of the trees in NFYC's Central Park, and for just about exactly the same reason: it'd be epic dumbassery and a total waste of money.

The Slimes should go after that level of wanton governmental heartless cruelty and be on it like white on rice. At least, until they go back on their meds.

Don't Hold Back Tim, Tell Us What You Really Think

h/t 100% F---ed Up

Tim Allen, hilarious star of the Most Cancelled Show On Network TV in 2017, opened up to the Hollywood Reporter last fall about his own views before Disney/ABC informed him that his ratings would no longer fit in with their corporate image of Totally In The Tank For Communism:
 Why has the show gone after Hillary but not Trump?
It's a little surprising to me. We have a very liberal writing staff, so I’m surprised they haven’t taken a shot at him. But we’re not sure he’s going to last, whereas the Clintons are like herpes: Just when you think they’re gone, they show up again. 
Didn’t you try a bit about Obama raising the communist flag at the White House that never made it to air?
We got network notes saying you can’t call the president a communist. So, of course, I really wanted to. I do it in rehearsal all day long.
Allen is still the stand-up genius that ABC neutered for Home Improvement, and turned loose for Last Man Standing. But as the cancellation showed, we can't be having any more of that.

So now you'll just have to binge-watch the whole series on DVD, with no commercials.
Boo frickin' hoo.

For bonus points, maybe bootlegged from China, so his corporate overlords get shorted to boot.

Fire And Prosecute Jackbooted Thugs XXIII

Friday, September 22, 2017

Antifa's Civil War

Kenny nails it. Outta the park.
An excerpt:
They’re talking about starting their little war by shooting cops and first responders. Okaaay… let’s see how that works out for them. First off, other than the inner cities, cops are largely looked upon by the general public as their protectors. Those of you that have been reading my writings for any period of time know that I spent a few years of my life living on the wrong side of the law and you’ve heard me say that I generally prefer to handle my own problems without getting the cops involved. That being said, I’ve also stated that I feel a lot better knowing that there’s a cop eating a donut just a few blocks from where my elderly mother is sleeping alone at night. The simple fact of the matter is, there’s a lot of people that depend on their local PD or Sheriff’s Office for their safety and well being. The general public is not going to put up with people shooting at their protectors. 
Other first responders? Who are they kidding? If they start shooting at firemen and paramedics, they’re going to open up a can of worms like they ain’t never seen before. Everybody supports their local fire department and paramedics. We all depend on them and most of us have used their services at one time or another in our lives and been damned glad they were there. Those people are the ones that showed up when Grandpa had his heart attack or when Johnny got into an accident on the freeway or when Junior was playing with matches and set the house on fire. If antifa starts shooting first responders, they’re going to be strung up en masse from power poles by people that had never harmed a fly in their lives before. 
Shooting ordinary citizens? That should be interesting. That old man that retired from his accounting firm a few years ago and now spends his time tending his roses was awarded a Silver Star for heroism in Vietnam. He had no problem killing to defend his Brothers then and he’ll do it now to defend his family. The same thing goes for that guy in his late 20s that manages the local Burger King – he was a squad leader in Afghanistan. Or how about that middle aged housewife that will defend her children to the death? Not just them, but there’s a whole lot of law abiding people that have never taken any crap off of anybody.

Listen When Wisdom Speaks, Libtards

Mel Brooks, 91, tells it like it is.

UK Telegraph link
Society's "stupidly politically correct" sensibilities will lead to the "death of comedy", the veteran Hollywood comedian Mel Brooks has warned. 
Brooks, known for his plethora of acclaimed comedy movies, said political correctness was becoming a stranglehold on comedians. 
"It's not good for comedy. Comedy has to walk a thin line, take risks," he said.
"Comedy is the lecherous little elf whispering in the king's ear, always telling the truth about human behaviour." 
The producer and director said that his iconic western parody Blazing Saddles could not be made in today's political climate.
 Among his many credits, Brooks - whose directorial debut The Producers won him an Oscar for best original screenplay - is one of only 12 people to have scooped an Emmy, a Grammy, an Academy Award and a Tony.
His longtime friend and collaborator, Carl Reiner, is 95. I wish they'd get together once more; I'd pay good money to hear one more installment interview of the 2054 Year Old Man. 

US Economics In Seven Graphs

h/t Vulgar Curmudgeon

Welcome to Reality. Mind the ledge.

It's actually worse than this. Posted relative to gold prices (and an ounce of gold is always an ounce of gold) the dollar of today is worth $0.02 (two cents) compared to the dollar of 1912 or so, before WWI. Prices aren't going up; they're reflecting that your currency is worth @$$wipe, for the last century. Welcome to reality.

1 and 2 only lead to 3 when business stops increasing wages to keep pace with inflation, while still raising prices, abetted by a president who de-coupled the dollar from gold completely and in perpetuity. Thanks, Tricky Dicky!

Nota bene those are inflation-adjusted average prices; most Americans (>50%) live in markets where prices are above-average, and in most cases, substantially more. (i.e. one $50K chicken coop in Appalachia gets averaged with one San Francisco walk-up, or any Manhattan condo, either going for +/- $1M, and you drive the average to numbers so low that it wouldn't get you a chicken coop in any metro area. And it doesn't.)

Not inflation-averaged, but still makes the point: New car prices have gone up 600% since the 1970s. You, however, don't likely make 6x what your old man made in 1970.

College education: the tulipomania of the 21st century, and the next bubble likeliest to burst.
Mind the professors leaping from the ivory tower in 3, 2, ...
But you'll be able to get a great lesson on art history from your local barrista pretty soon; if they don't already have a degree in that.

Pay attention here: health care spending is purchased by the government (for Medicare, etc.) at 2 cents on the dollar, something neither you nor your insurance company can do.
And when doctors and hospitals raised your costs (and your insurance company's costs, since you seldom get the actual bill, until recently) to cover subsidizing granny and grandpa, the price for everyone else not covered by Uncle Sugar launched to Saturn. (Clever econ historians will note the massive breakpoint started in 1965, after LBJ created Medicare to ape and rival FDR's Ponzi scheme, Social Security, for biggest wealth transfer in generational history.)

You'll also note that houses, college, and medical care are the exact items fully and solely underwritten by government programs (we'll overlook the massive .gov bailout of two of the Big Three automakers in 2009ish). IOW, once government says "Hey, we'll get that check, and you can pay us back", the prices for those commodities (houses, college education, and medical care) suddenly decoupled from all economic reality, and approach a  trajectory towards the sun, in a matter of years.

Almost like the mechanics of prices as explained by supply and demand behave with some order, exactly as predicted by Adam Smith in 1776. Weird, huh?

Cry Me A River

h/t Gateway Pundit

This story just broke my heart. 
The Democratic National Committee’s already dire financial standing worsened during the month of August, according to its Wednesday night filing to the FEC.
The DNC raised just $4.4 million last month, the second lowest August fundraising figure for the party in the past decade. The party had less cash on hand at the end of the month than it did at the beginning, as its spending outpaced its fundraising by $44,575.
And it gets worse. The DNC’s debt substantially increased from $3.4 million to $4.1 million, a figure equal to about 60 percent of the committee’s total cash on hand.
Well, maybe my Grinch heart, anyways.
Oh, who are we kidding, this is the next best news to them going bankrupt, and folding wholesale. Their politicians in office would then have to shift over to the Communist Party, but at least they'd all finally be out in the open. 
 Meanwhile, the Republican National Committee raised $7.3 million in August. It has $45.9 million in cash on hand and no debts owed.
If the Stupid Party doesn't get their sh*t together and repeal ObozoCare once and for all, I don't think they have enough in their war chest to hold onto the Congress next year either. Be a real shame if Quisling Ryan gets primaried out at the get-go.

A plague on both their houses.

Fire And Prosecute Jackbooted Thugs XXII

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Operation E and E: Seven Came Back

If you read military manuals, you can learn a lot about the military principles necessary to run successful operations. When you're a young Marine, you absorb the lessons unconsciously, and indeed, frequently no manual is even needed, because the principles are basically common sense, distilled through generations of observation, written in blood, punished harshly, and frequently the innate response of clever warfighting naturals, with or without benefit of a written manual.

Today's case in point was a battlefield that until this moment was likely never written about, but the lessons on display are nonetheless timeless in the annals of great military exploits.

This all happened one fall Saturday aboard Camp Lejeune, during the brief period of months during my service when I occupied the territory most familiar and least-beloved by everyone who passes out of boot camp, and into the Fleet Marine Force: that of private first class, and lance corporal.

Saturday was a magical time in those days. No reveille at 0600, no morning PT in the chilly fall air, no three formations a day, no uniforms, nowhere to be, nothing to do, the first of two entire days most weeks in garrison when one could sleep in, go about their day in leisurely fashion, spend it any way they saw fit (consistent with military order and discipline), eat whatever, whenever, and generally behave like a kid on summer vacation.

So that particular Saturday, in the warm comfort of my military rack, in the common squadbay athwart the WWII-era brick barracks I first called home some months prior, I lazed in peaceful repose in that happy twilight one can only appreciate after sleeping all the way beyond sunrise, instead of waking up in the cold dark to the squeal of distant bugles, and nothing to look forward to at the bottom of the military totem pole but getting dressed, stressed, and oppressed.

Lazy, comfortable, and warm beneath my olive drab horseblanket, battle was about to be joined, and only those of laser-bright tactical acumen would emerge unscathed.

As twenty-five or so of my platoon comrades dozed in somnolent Saturday splendor, the other fifteen or so not present being locals, married, or cleverly having left for weekend liberty Friday night and hence gone all weekend, through slitted eyes I watched dust motes dance in the sunbeams. And heard the unwelcome but familiar clatter of boot heels and dress shoes on concrete, approaching the squad bay double doors.

It was Corporal Hammerclatter, one of the motor transport NCOs stuck on weekend duty, but also joined by Lt. Newbar, one of the motor T officers for our artillery battery, as well as being the Officer of the Day for the battalion.

And I remember the words I overheard as they talked at the middle of the squadbay like it was yesterday.

"Well, Corporal, if your assigned Assistant Duty NCO hasn't shown up by now, just grab the first enlisted man who wakes up and post him as your A-Duty, then get down to the motor pool and finish getting those trucks ready for Monday's exercise. Call me at the battalion OOD shack when you've got your "volunteer" posted, and I'll get you to the motor pool and open the shop for you."

"Aye, aye sir."

Intelligence: Proper intelligence preparation of the battlefield means you have some idea of the enemy's location, strength, and intentions, and enables commanders to forsee, thwart, and overcome enemy plans while executing their own plans and operations successfully.

As the footsteps and conversation retreated out the doors and down the central corridor, without word nor whisper, six other enlisted Marines at various points along both sides of the squadbay silently and stealthily slipped out of their racks, opened wall lockers with the acumen of cat burglars, withdrew civilian clothes from them, closed them, made their bunks up to military spec in about five seconds, and joined me in the narrow safety lane between lockers and outside walls and windows, as we all speedily got dressed out of sight and hearing from the OOD, the Duty NCO, or our sleeping comrades. Showers were down the hall, where the OOD and DNCO were chatting. We don't need no stinkin' showers today.

Surprise: Acting quickly, decisively, and most of all, at places and in ways the enemy doesn't expect, yields disproportionately successful outcomes in military operations back to antiquity. When you know what you're up to and the enemy doesn't, you win, and he loses.

We could have tried to awaken our sleeping comrades and share the unhappy news, but the Duty NCO could return at any moment, looking for his pigeon. And some of those guys were either jerks, or stumblef*cks and sleeping drunks from Friday night revelry, who would clatter and bellow, and give the whole thing away. Semper fi, mac. Serves you right for sleeping too soundly, even on a weekend.

Economy of force: A good commander takes only the forces necessary to accomplish the mission, and no more nor less than that.

Without so much as one word of discussion, eyes peeked out through windows on both sides of the barracks, with a view in all directions. One man peered through the crack in the doors, and noted both OOD and Duty NCO had proceeded down the hall to the Comm/Motor T squadbay, at the farthest end from First platoon's squadbay. A couple of silent finger gestures, and no discussion later, found all seven of us poised inside the window on the second deck, next to the fire escape landing and ladder to the ground thoughtfully installed there. 

Speed: "A good plan now is better than a perfect plan in fifteen minutes." - Gen. George S. Patton. Once you settle on your plan of operation, execute it swiftly, decisively, and ruthlessly. This prevents the enemy having time to react, and by the time your operation is discovered, you'll already be executing the next phase.

The barracks were in an "H" shape, with an extra leg between the ends of the bottom of the "H". The sides were the squadbays, the middle crossbar the central corridor, and we were on the second deck. The Duty NCO was posted on the first floor, and Bn HQ and the OOD were to the side of our squadbay, with a direct line of sight between it and us, first along in the row of barracks along the regimental street.

But Lt. Newbar was heard downstairs, near the dayroom, nowhere in sight of the outside, and Cpl. Hammerclatter at his side, so the outside was all clear. With lightning rapidity and co-ordination the full equal of a team of recon Marines, all seven of us opened the fire escape, sliding the sash window up with but a metallic swish, without awakening a single sleeping NCO nearby, and we all clambered out and down the ladder. In less time than it takes to describe, and again, without a single word of conspiration, we all bombshelled in seven different vectors at a fast walk. (When in trouble, never run in the open; the human eye is especially attuned to pick out movement above all other things. Doubly so for OODs seeing seven Marines climb out the second floor window of the barracks at 0730 on a Saturday morning.)

I made my way to the back road, followed it three armories up the street, and cut over to get the last few minutes of morning chow (breakfast for civilians) at the regimental mess hall. Green eggs and ham ain't pretty, but you can't beat the price. After breakfast, I traced a quiet morning walk in the woods, enjoying nature on a quiet day on post, before emerging two regimental areas away, then making my way to the just-opening main PX on base. I proceeded to kill several hours there, and then had a fine luncheon at the newly-opened actual Burger King on base, before deciding it was time to return to home sweet home.

Upon my return, I noted Second Platoon's Pfc. Smuckatelli in cammies and duty belt, sitting in the DNCO chair, staring at the TV, with a sad and pissed off look on his face after being shanghaied into duty on a day he didn't have it, because some derfball was absent without leave from that post. Derfball would pay on Monday morning when the first sergeant got ahold of his stacking swivels, but that wasn't helping out Smuckatelli's Saturday plans, or his mood, not any little bit. Several of my stealthy fellows were enjoying a football game on the lounge TV in their civvies, and with big grins and knowing nods about Smuckatelli's fate.

And the seven survivors, including me, enjoyed a perfect and blissful fall weekend at our own discretion. Needless to say, every man-jack of us made sure the scheduled Sunday Asst. DNCO knew he had the duty on Saturday night, and was ready to go before we retired to our bunks. Those guys, like me, would have found SERE training rather repetitious after a few weekends like that.

An enlisted man could always feel the love in the Marine Corps, especially in 10th Marines. But if he kept his eyes open and his wits about him, he didn't feel that love trying to slither up his tailpipe and screw him with his pants on quite as often.

Fire And Prosecute Jackbooted Thugs XXI

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Looters Aren't The Only Vermin That Should Be Shot On Sight

h/t Irish 

As Irma whipped through South Florida, Celso Perez and his family were like many of us…
Celso Perez, surprised by county: “Having winds up to 100 miles per hour and we were basically hunkered down in the closet scared to death.”
Monday morning, Irma had passed and it was clear. At 9 a.m., Celso and his neighbors went outside to get to work.
Celso Perez: “We had a lot of trees down in the street and the streets were blocked. We were out here, us and our neighbors, cutting the branches down and trying to open up the streets.”
Later Monday afternoon, as Celso was clearing the tree branches, a car pulled up from Miami-Dade County…
Celso Perez: “And we thought he was here to help us or offer some type of assistance with the trees, maybe he was going to bring us ice or something.”
The code enforcement guy did give Celso something…
Celso Perez: “He said he would have to cite me for having my fence down.”
This warning was slapped on the part of the fence still standing. Celso is a very calm guy. His reaction?
Celso Perez: “I laughed. I thought he was kidding. ‘You are kidding right? We just had a hurricane six hours ago.’ ‘No, I’m not kidding. I have to cite you for this.’ I just laughed. OK, whatever; knock yourself out!”
Celso was told he got the warning was because the fence Irma knocked over made it easy to access his pool and he needed to fix that.
Celso Perez: “Which I could not do that day because all the stores were closed. It’s not like I can go to Home Depot and find some temporary barrier.”
Celso said the code enforcement officer told him he would write up a report and be back to check on him.
Celso Perez: “And if my fence had not been put back up when he came back, he would have to write me a fine or fine me for that.”
Now Celso was really irritated.
Celso Perez: “At the time this officer was out here, we didn’t have power, we didn’t have food, we didn’t have ice. He is crazy, ridiculous. The mayor said that the county would help us recover from the storm and were there to help us. Before the county picks up the debris, the code enforcement guy will beat them to it and some for having my fence down, write me a ticket or something. I’m mad, very upset about this.”
Celso says he understands the fence needs to be put up, but…
Celso Perez: “Give us a minute to breathe. Let us get our power back on. And I wouldn’t mind if they told me that a few days down the line or due time but it bothers me that they came out here just a few hours after the storm had passed.”
Well Howard, does a government agency have to give residents a little time before they start going after them?
Howard Finkelstein, 7News legal expert: “This is outrageous. After Irma, people were stressed, they were worried and for a government official to slap a warning notice on them to add to their misery is insulting. Incredibly, it is legal but should Miami-Dade County be doing it? No. The timing was awful.”
I contacted Miami-Dade County and found out Celso was not alone.
After Irma, the county handed out 680 pool barrier safety notices and 177 electrical hazard safety notices to homeowners suffering damage from Irma.
The county stood by their decision to hand out these notices right after Irma.
A building official wrote, “The safety notice is neither a notice of violation warning nor a citation. It is important that we reach residents in the immediate aftermath of the storm, because that is when conditions are most dangerous, and taking steps to protect life is a critical part of the recovery process.”
A notice alerts the owner that there is a potential hazard present that they may not be aware of.
Celso Perez: “I want the public to know what the county is doing out there.”
Celso couldn’t get a company out to replace his fence yet and put this up … still stunned at what the county did.
Celso Perez: “Shame on Miami-Dade County for harassing the residents and not coming out here and helping us with the trees and do without power. Should have brought us ice not a citation for having a down fence.”
Should the county have been handing out notices right after the storm? The county thinks absolutely; they are helping to save lives. Celso says by hitting him with that after the storm, all they are doing is creating more stress and headaches for homeowners trying to clean up and rebuild.
Miserable m*****f*****s!

Personally I'm sentimental, and generally friendly.
So I'd just have beaten the sumbitch to death with a baseball bat on the spot, and then let the county know that a tree had fallen on his head. (The fact that the tree in question was ash, about 36" in length, and from Louisville KY would thus preclude any claim that I had made any false official statement. I'd simply be exercising some economy with the whole truth.)

But if someone had a chainsaw handy, and had seen Scarface, I would not be a purist in thinking up ways to deal with the problem of such a pestilential infestation after a catastrophe.

Hundreds of unsolved missing persons cases prove that in the South, there ain't much gators and hogs won't eat if you leave it out for 'em in the woods and swamps overnight.

As it is, every one of those city inspectors who've signed so much as a single citation should be summarily suspended without pay for 6 months, handed a shovel, and told they will only be reinstated if they can get 180 days' worth of citizen affidavits of them shoveling sh*t and cleaning up debris, within 180 days, with no days off. Their supervisors should get the same deal, except for a year. They would also all have to provide genealogical proof that their mothers and fathers were married to each other.

'Cuz I'm easy like that.

Mulisha: Don't Be This Guy

h/t Mason Dixon Tactical

Keyboard Alert!
If you read the linked cautionary tale, you may lose control of ingested beverages! Be warned!

Apparently, MDT found something to play with on the 'net. (Save yourselves! Don't play with it!) And found one of the certified President's Hundred of The Most Retarded LARPers Gone Sociopathic On The Internet.
What more can be said about that other than I guess if Tolkien could think up “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings”, these imbeciles can play their sovereign citizen BS games and think up all the little things to make them “appear” legitimate. Of course…. “Red Ink Oath”….sounds legit…..  The problem is, we know LotR’s was fantasy, these jokers are serious.

Said @$$clown isn't just stolen valor, but pretty much a walking criminal fraud case, coupled with a legit insanity defense just waiting to happen.

He joined (at the ripe old age of never-served-in-a-real-military-unit 34 -- unless he's being mum about the BCD or psych discharge, for PR purposes) as a private. Mind you, he's so private he's not actually in anything legally constituted. Bootstraps that into a shake-and-bake Looneytenantcy, then skips Kapitan straight to Major Malfunction, stays there for 14 years, and then vaults over Looneytenant Kernel straight to full birdshit popcorn Kernel.

He can do this because he owns the website, and it's all legal (in the cacophony of voices in his head) because he's also the admin of the 4th Continental Congress (which is one of his other websites). When you own Congress, you can be anything, right? How convenient.

This is something to remember when you think about how the nation's going to turn out:
this guy can vote and own weapons.

And he's probably rocking the finest martial offerings made by such worthies as Kel-tec, Hi-Point, and the Bud K catalog.

It took me about 15 minutes to dox him, and get his full name, birthdate, address, e-mail and telephone numbers, failed business information, etc. Gotta love the internet.

I'm sending out some notes for the local D.A., the state AG, the state and county EMS agencies, and probably the CA ARNG and CSMR offices, along with a CC to the folks over at Far Beyond Insanity. Pretty sure his FB shenanigans won't be as funny when he's being chatted up by The Man.

It only took me most of the night and this morning to heal from the pain of laughing myself right out of my chair, and the muscle spasms to my diaphragm.

That should count as PT. Or, if I had a Mulisha, I could award myself a Purple Heart. Or become Grand Admiral of the Afghani Navy, and team captain of the Jamaican Olympic Bobsled Team. Pretty much the same way US Naval Academy plebes get rank on their bathrobes, and steampunk airship commodores get medals and ribbons: i.e. whatever’s on sale in the crafts and sewing departments at Hobby Lobby.

File Under: Opioid Deaths - I Told You So

h/t Bayou Renaissance Man
So, exactly as I recently explained awhile back, the "opioid overdose epidemic" is overwhelmingly street addicts checking out permanently from seeking higher highs due to acetyl fentanyl-laced heroin, not codgers eating their bottles of Norco and Percocet.

Evidence to the point:

Authorities confiscated nearly 195 pounds of fentanyl in a pair of busts that prosecutors said included one sting that netted 32 million lethal doses of the drug, an opioid 50 times stronger than heroin.
Four people were arrested after the busts in August and September that also netted 75 pounds of heroin and cocaine. Bridget G. Brennan, New York City's special narcotics prosecutor, said the busts come as overdose deaths hit an all-time high in New York's five boroughs in 2016. 
"The sheer volume of fentanyl pouring into the city is shocking," she said. "It's not only killing a record number of people in New York City, but the city is used as a hub of regional distribution for a lethal substance that is taking thousands of lives throughout the Northeast."
In the first bust, on Aug. 1, 2017, police and federal agents seized more than 140 pounds of fentanyl — the most in the city's history — after watching Rogelio Alvardo-Robles and Blanca Flores-Solis receive what appeared to to be a package of cocaine from an unknown trafficker at a Walmart in Manhawkin, New Jersey. Authorities said that after the exchange, they went back to an apartment building in Queens' Kew Gardens neighborhood, where a DEA agent approached them and seized the alleged drugs.
Afterward, authorities said they got a search warrant for their apartment and found 97 packages of drugs in suitcases and a purse in a bedroom; 84 of the packages were either filled with pure fentanyl or heroin laced with the powerful drug. Authorities said the trove could have had enough doses to kill 32 million people from overdoses.
Then, on Sept. 5, authorities seized another 53 pounds of fentanyl-laced heroin and another 2 pounds of uncut fentanyl during a stop near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. That bust came after detectives and DEA agents watched Edwin Guzman and Manuel Rivera-Santana pick up a duffel bag from men inside a tractor trailer and drove back into New York City.
After the stop police got a search warrant to open the locked duffel, and found 25 1-kilogram bricks with the drugs.
The four people arrested in the two busts each face criminal drug possession charges; Guzman and Rivera-Santana also face conspiracy counts.

For those of you striving against the residue of public-school mathematics, let's break that down: if 85 pounds of acetyl fentanyl would kill 32M people, that means the lethal dose is  (38,636 mgs divided by 32M LD50 doses =) 0.0012 mgs, i.e. 12 micrograms.
For reference, a grain of common table salt weighs between 300 and 600 micrograms.

Remember this the next time some potheaded large "L" Libertardian starts yapping about the people in the federal pen for "non-violent" drug offenses.
(Ask them to explain how legalizing bringing this sh*t into the country will result in less harm to society, after they've imported in a couple of duffel bags enough of their home-cooked crap to wipe out the entire population of NYFS and Pennsylvania. Because reasons.)

And to bring this the extra mile, I suspect someone at the DEA is smoking some seized product, because that would make the fentanyl somewhere around 1433 times more lethal than Sarin nerve gas. (>cough< Bullshit! >cough<) Common Core math at federal agencies for the win.

Nonetheless, offering the arrestees LWOP instead of execution for that level of dealing/distribution, in return for rolling over the entire supply chain, is the way to play this. Highest guy holding the bag gets the death penalty, everybody else gets shipped to some Chateau D'If-style hole, with a plate of food shoved through a slot morning and night, until they keel over. It sounds like the arrestees are just some more Dream Act folks, selling Americans the illegal poisons Americans won't sell.

Junkie ODs are Darwinism in action. And executions for drug peddling should be as common as parking tickets. So if we're going to have a War On Some Drugs, let's really make it a war. Starting with killing the enemy. What we have now is a Controlled Pressure On Distribution Pipelines To Maximize Cartel And Crooked Cop/Judge/Congressman Profits.

Also nota bene, none of the Libertardian Usual Suspects seriously argues for abandoning the War On Murder, the War On Armed Robbery, or the War On Rapists, despite the fact that these illegal activities have been going on since at least back to the time of Cain and Abel, predating the War On Some Drugs by something like 5900 years.
Why izzat, d'y'spose?

Fire And Prosecute Jackbooted Thugs XX


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Flick Pick: Treasure Island

An apropos flashback:

Treasure Island
(Turner, 1990)

Ted Turner has certainly pulled some bonehead cinematic moves in his day. (Colorizing Casablanca, for instance.) But he's more than made up for that sort of general jackassery with the creation of no small number of excellent productions. Treasure Island is one of the best of those, made for US cable, and released in theatres abroad. There have been several film versions of Robert Louis Stevenson's classic pirate adventure yarn. (Nineteen, in fact, and nine teleplays, covering either the exact story, or derivatives of it. Including by the Muppets.) Skip all the others. This one is bar none the best yardstick by which to judge every other attempt, and leaves the other versions in the dust. Opening with Oliver Reed coming ashore as Billy Bones, and moving to Christopher Lee as Blind Pew, it only gets better as it goes. Christian Bale, then but 16, stars as Jim Hawkins, and the story and dialogue hew faithfully to Stevenson's work. And midway through the piece, Charlton Heston, aged 67 years when this was filmed and with a full and legendary career behind him, swaggers onscreen as the best, truest, and most swashbuckling Long John Silver ever to play the role, and carries the tale and the role magnificently from then until the closing scenes of the film. Shot mostly on location in Cornwall England, and on board the recreated Bounty II, originally made by MGM for Marlon Brando's 1962 version of that tale, the film is well-directed by Heston's son Fraser, with a wonderful Celtic-influenced seagoing score by Paddy Moloney, and played by the Chieftains. It thus satisfies historical purists, delights the ear, and engages the mind with this telling of a longtime favorite tale.
One of Turner's other boneheaded moves (or even Warner Bros.', take your pic) is that a lot of the Turner Productions catalog hasn't been made available for years. This one was only released in September of 2011. I jumped on it, lest it disappear again. So if you fancy this tale, and like it well-told, by all means get a copy of this flick before it's gone for another 20 years. If you don't, somebody's liable to hand you a Black Spot, and we're not sure what happens to you after that.

UPDATE: Somehow I missed putting this one up on September the 19th the first time I posted it. Sink me. Error rectified. And it's still the best version ever filmed.

And when the sun sinks below the yardarm tonight, there'll be no points guessin' what's goin' into the panopticon herabouts, in 70-inch UHD glory.

Gunner Mongo Likes

h/t Tam

Behold, me hearties, the Silencerco Maxim 50.
$999 in New World dollars? Sold, sez I.

What be that foul humor?

Arr, it be the smell of every shitweasel in Sacramento evacuatin' 'is britches, fer this beastie be a muzzleloader, ergo not a firearm, no port of entry lubber's 4473, nor any scurvy waiting period, and no bilge-swillin' $200 stamp. They can ship it straight to me own port o' call direct, this very day. I may even stock meself an entire small arms locker with 'em, for boardin' parties an' such.

"That smell...that black powder smell! Nothing else smells like that. It smells like...victory!"

Attention To Articles: One O' These Things Is Not Like The Others

h/t Kenny

Fer them what're still green to the ways o' wisdom, and prone to lubberly dumbassery:

This is a Ship's Surgeon:

These are ye Surgeon's Mates:

These are Masters-at-arms:

The latter are a fine thing fer breakin' up mutinies, crackin' the heads o' those too long in the rum barrel, settlin' quarrels at cantinas ashore, and generally keepin' order below decks,

Mayhap now ye know why they call 'em "beat cops"...

but a poor choice for tendin' to the medical arts. (Ye brighter lanterns o' the crew may have noticed that surgeons don't carry belaying pins in their tool chests.)

They know Jack and Squat about the medicinal arts (an' Jack jumped ship at the last port).
Here be the lesson:

Police officers in Philadelphia said they had to revive a pregnant woman who overdosed twice within just 45 minutes.
The police officers were patrolling Monday night when a passerby told them of an unconscious pregnant woman, according to WLKY.
The officers, who were with the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority (SEPTA), gave the woman Narcan, an antidote for opiates, according to WPVI.
It took two doses of Narcan for the woman, who officers believe is around 7 months pregnant, to regain consciousness.
“At that time, the Philadelphia Fire Department came over to the location and she refused their services,” SEPTA Police LT. Michael Fox said to WPVI. “She didn't want to go to the hospital. She didn't want any kind of medical treatment. She got up and left the area.”
But 45 minutes later, the officers again saw the woman passed out on a sidewalk, according to TribLive.
This time, paramedics drove her to a local hospital.
Only a swab with ballast fer brains could be surprised by that display of dimwittery.

As ye Ship's Surgeon points out fer yer further edification,

"Only an unlettered jack-a-knapes wouldn't know that Narcan isn't a Magic Cure for a surplus of Morphia, 'tis but a respite for awhile, and the dose must be repeated frequently, even in shore hospitals, as any foole know. Untutored baboons from shore party master-at-arms aren't taught this (which is a failure of training as much as a lack of the brains God gave a seagull), which is why they ought not have given the first dose, or else demanded the ambulance ride on the first occasion. This were not two overdoses by the doxy, but rather one - aided by two idiots masquerading as surgeon's mates and as ignorant o' the medical arts as babes in the woods.

But being no brighter than any other piles of dunnage, they took the word of a opiate-headed doxy over the dictates of common sense.

This is why we don't allow the masters-at-arms to practice medicine and surgery on the hospital deck.

Thus endeth the lesson."

Pay heed, me hearties, and don't mistake Jimmy Legs with his belaying pin for a ruddy medical man o' the likes of ye Ship's Surgeon. Unless ye be inclined to argue th' point at issue with Davy Jones aft'r'ards.

Read more here:

Poxy Whore Shrillary Caught In Articles With Antifa fils de putains

Shewin' her true colors as twice the lice-ridden strumpet her fat husband be, an' surprisin' naught from stem to stern, poxy whore Shrillary were shiftin' ponderous hordes o' treasure to none other than a pack o' scurvy Antifa fils de putains:

heaving line
Hillary, who long during the campaign trail condemned “dark-money” Super-PACs, has funneled over 800K from her Campaign over to one of these very same outfits. It has been revealed that the failed presidential candidate’s Super-PAC, “Onward Together”, is heavily backing “resistance” and Alt-Left extremist groups such as ANTIFA.
O fer the good auld days, when the likes o' such'd be strapped athwart the muzzle of a bow chaser, the gunner ordered to touch off, and her measly guts used to decorate the bow waves, an' feed the crabs.

Instead ye'll hear naught but silence from her reg'lar customers, thievin' bastards and ne'er-do-wells the lot, an' fit fer nothin' so fine as a cask of powder and a bucket o' grapeshot, sent with tender lovin' care at the speed o' heat into their quarterdeck.