Life is Hard. Wear a Helmet.

Life is Hard. Wear a Helmet

Virginia State Constitution: Article 1; Section 13
That a well regulated militia, composed of the body of the people, trained to arms, is the proper, natural, and safe defense of a free state, therefore, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed; that standing armies, in time of peace, should be avoided as dangerous to liberty; and that in all cases the military should be under strict subordination to, and governed by, the civil power.

Alabama State Constitution: Article 1: Section 26
That every Citizen has a right to bear arms in defense of himself and the State.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Pay attention kids

Remember when $5 Trillion seemed like a lot of debt for our country to be in?



It really is grade-school level stuff.
You can't spend more than you make, otherwise you will owe money to whomever loaned it to you.

Like, for instance, a billion communist Chinamen?

Monday, November 28, 2011

Mondays

Well, that sure was a nice little vacation.

I got four straight days off, the most I've had in 2 years.

Back to The Hive boys and girls.
The first few lines set the mood perfectly for a Monday morning.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Thanksgiving holiday roundup

SayUncle has an open mic night.

Weerd and JayG went shooting for Black Rifle Friday.

Marko listened in on Black Friday Shopocalypse Now.

Robb has mad smoker skillz.

Massad Ayoob gets the quote of the week:
"I didn’t shoot my own turkey (would have scared heck out of everyone in the frozen foods section)..."

Huey had "Gun Stew" for Thanksgiving.

Murphy is planning next week's shooty goodness.

Moooog spends Thanksgiving with his dog, honestly.

Dave didn't drink beer?

PawPaw takes a stand.

Brigid starts her letter to Santa.

I searched for something meaningful to write about, until I ended up HERE.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Friday, November 25, 2011

FUCK CANCER

I had the distinct honor of serving my last few years in the Air Force alongside MSgt Wesley "Chili" Childress, of the Va ANG.


He was a genuinely good guy. He always had a damn smile on his face. He could wade through a lake of horseshit and make jokes about it the whole time.















 He was also an original Bad Motherfucker, and a member of the Iron Order MC.



He was an avid shooter. I sold him his first AK-47 "Zombie stopper". "Every other third-world asshole out there has one, why should you be left out?" He laughed about that line for days and days.


Cancer, that fucking bitch, finally took him from us yesterday. Thanksgiving Day 2011. After a fight of over two years.
There will not be another Thanksgiving Day that goes by that I will not remember my brother Chili.


If Cancer was a guy, I'd kick him in the nuts and set him on fire, then piss a puddle next to him and watch him roll in it. Fuck cancer.


Thursday, November 24, 2011

One Vet's Thanksgiving

Dear God,

Thanks for bringing that woman into my life, just when I needed someone to push me to start making decisions for the long term instead of just today.

Thanks for making sure that the only recruiter in the office was the Air Force recruiter on the day I showed up to take the plunge.

Thanks for giving me all those leaders during my time in the service. (The good ones and the bad ones.)

Thanks for giving me the chance to see the "real" world, where people live and die every day, so I could understand how good I really have it.

Thanks for making sure my kids turned out alright. Even though I couldn't be around all the time to help raise them.

Thanks for letting me be there to help, when a stranger needed a hand.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to pass on some of the lessons I learned to those who will continue long after I am gone.

Thanks for letting me know when it was time for me to give up "the life" and settle down.

Thanks for making sure my retirement turned out alright, and for making sure the transition wasn't easy.

Thanks for giving her the strength to stay with me through all that; for being a shoulder for her to cry on; for being a friend she could talk to through those long days and nights while I was gone.

Thanks for helping my son decide to join the Air Force and carry on our traditions. (Please keep an eye out for the right girl for him. He's so like me at that age, it scares the shit out of me.)

Today I have a roof over my head, a job, a good meal in front of me, and a family that loves me. (Even when I'm being an asshole)

Tomorrow the sun will rise again.

Thanks.

P.S. - While I've got you on the line, please keep an eye on all my sons & daughters still out there making it happen.
P.P.S. - and thanks for Jim, who keeps dropping by the blog and leaving coments regularly, knowing that it's things like that that keep attention-whores like me going.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

'Tis the Season

The Kommandant has decreed:

Henceforth from this moment until the passage of the holiday referred to as "Christmas", all time not spent in the pursuit of shopping, carrying shopping bags, and driving the Kommandant to the mall and other assorted shopping districts must be spent in the accomplishment of chores; including, but not limited to: lawn mowing, raking leaves, cleaning windows, scrubbing bathrooms, splitting wood, grooming the dog (no, that's not a euphemism), sweeping and/or mopping floors and general cleanliness to include personal hygiene.

No shooty goodness for me on the 3rd.  Hope you guys take some pictures and post them.

I get the weekend of the 10th to drag her down to Richmond for the company Christmas party. She's wrapped up the other two weekends between the holidays quite nicely.

I married her for her efficiency. (and her cute butt)

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Other 1%

The laugh track makes me grind my teeth.


My favorite part is the excerpt from the letter that says "BOHICA" (or something like that)

Great video to watch two days after I got a letter informing me that the contractor paid to manage my medical records lost a copy of them including all the important bits like, name, SSN, address; and offering me a free year's worth of credit monitoring and identity theft recovery assistance. Lucky me!

H/T - This ain't hell

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Jackson's book of maxims

When Tom Jackson went off to attend West Point, he did so with a bit of an inferiority complex. He worried about whether or not he would be able to fit in with classmates he considered more worldly than himself. He wrote down bits of advice he picked up from instructors, classmates and books, and studied them constantly.
Did he know even then that he would become the greatest infantry commander of all time and the "grandfather" of maneuver warfare?

You may be whatever you resolve to be.

Through life let your principal object be the discharge of duty.

Disregard public opinion when it interferes with your duty.

Endeavor to be at peace with all men.

Sacrifice your life rather than your word.

Endeavor to do well with everything you undertake.

Never speak disrespectfully of anyone without a cause.

Spare no effort to suppress selfishness, unless that effort would entail sorrow.

Let your conduct towards men have some uniformity.

Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. (MSgt B's favorite)

Speak but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.

Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself ; waste nothing.

Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off unnecessary actions.

Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and if you speak, speak accordingly.

Wrong no man by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.

Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries as much as you think they deserve.

Be not disturbed at trifles, nor at accidents, common or unavoidable.

It is man's highest interest not to violate, or attempt to violate, the rules which Infinite Wisdom has laid down. The means by which men are to attain great elevation may be classed in three divisions — physical, mental, and moral. Whatever relates to health, belongs to the first; whatever relates to the improvement of the mind, belongs to the second. The formation of good manners and virtuous habits constitutes the third.

A man is known by the company he keeps.

Good-breeding, or true politeness, is the art of showing men by external signs the internal regard we have for them. It arises from good sense, improved by good company. It must be acquired by practice and not by books.

Be kind, condescending, and affable. Any one who has anything to say to a fellow-being, to say it with kind feelings and sincere desire to please; and this, whenever it is done, will atone for much awkwardness in the manner of expression.

Good-breeding is opposed to selfishness, vanity, or pride. Never weary your company by talking too long or too frequently.

Always look people in the face when addressing them, and generally when they address you.

Never engross the whole conversation to yourself. Say as little of yourself and friends as possible.

Make it a rule never to accuse without due consideration any body or association of men.

Side Note: The "father" of maneuver warfare was George S Patton. (3d Army, WWII) His grandfather, of the same name, graduated from VMI in 1852, while Thomas Jackson was an instructor there. He later commanded the 22nd Virginia Infantry, and served in the Valley campaign under Jackson during The War of Northern Aggression.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Am I a Prepper?

I've been told by friends that I'm preparing for "Zombie Apocalypse" or TEOTWAWKI, and I just don't see myself that way.
I know some people actually do prepare for that sort of thing. In fact, there's a whole industry built around it. Wanna buy a bunker?



I actually consider myself a somewhat normal, everyday kind of Palooka.
Yes, I have guns. I take care of them, and I make sure I never actually "run out of ammo" although I may have just a single box of 50 rounds for a particular firearm in my safe. A gun is an awfully handy tool to have when you need one, but having one with no ammunition is pretty useless unless you've got one helluva throwing arm. Mine isn't that great, I doubt I could hit 900 ft/sec. Anyway, I generally don't keep more than 200 rounds on hand for a particular gun (except for the .22's, then it's more like 2000). Perhaps if I felt I had the disposable income to have more I would, but just because it can be cheaper in the long run to buy in bulk. (I want reloading equipment; I'm already saving my pennies.)

We have plenty of food on hand at any given time. We're always sure to have a supply of dry beans, rice, canned goods on the shelves. This comes more from our experiences than anything else. We've spent some time living in places where grocery stores are not as reliable as they are in most of the states. We experienced times when our only grocery store would run out of various items on a regular basis. Weird things that you don't really notice until they're gone. I can remember learning to go without eggs, potatoes, milk (except for powdered), tin foil, salt, pepper, canned tuna and a dozen other items, sometimes for months. (But generally not all at the same time)
The fact is, I just like to cook. I like to have ingredients handy to whip up a decent, nutritious meal from scratch. I can soft/hard boil an egg, bake a potato, make a pot of rice, etc. without consulting a cookbook. When I tell people this stuff is when I start getting the weird looks. "You don't use a rice cooker?"  Why yes, I do use a rice cooker, but when the power's out, I can still whip up a nice pot of rice on the grill if that's what I want. "Oh, you're one of those people...where's your bunker?"



Here's the kicker...I have a Bugout Bag (BoB), not just one either, I have one for every person living in the house. Nothing fancy. A mid-size frameless backpack with bedroll and shelter. It's got everything one person needs for a minimum of 72 hours in any conditions. Hot or cold, wet or dry, day or night.
You often hear people toss around the question, "If you had one hour/one day/15 minutes to get out of your house, what would you take with you?"
Well folks, been there done that. We spent a lot of time scrambling around, moving things up above the estimated flood depth, and tossing crap we considered "irreplaceable" into our truck. (No, it was not New Orleans) When we returned home, we had an uncomfortable week until things began to return to normal. No electricity, non-potable water, unreliable sewage, the works.

Now I know what the answer is. The BoBs and guns go in the truck first, the other 50 minutes are all icing on the cake.

and people look at me like I'm crazy?

Friday, November 18, 2011

Edumacation

I mentioned that my lovely daughter spent a couple years in British public schools, and I'd like to waste some of your time expounding on that a little bit.

I think there are a whole lot of things that the Brits are doing wrong.

Parliamentary Monarchy? Well, I think we settled that one when we sent their boy Cornwallis packing. (With the help of some Frogs...Oh, sweet, sweet irony.)

Disarming the populace? Have you noticed the excerpt from the Va State Constituion at the top of the page? M'kay, 'nuff said about that.

The list goes on and on...

But they do at least one thing right. (No, it's not the food)

We lived in East Dereham, Norfolk, England for a couple years. Courtesy of the U.S. Air Force.  I say "we" but the truth is, as a member of the "Liberty Wing", I cumulatively spent at least a year of that time deployed somewhere else.

Imagine this if you will, folks. In order to graduate 5th grade, my daughter had to learn how to swim. Not "understand swimming as a concept", not "observe swimming done by a professional on a closed course with safety observers", but actually swim. A lap end-to-end and back was one of the requirements for graduation. (I'm using the American equivalent here. In England, it's the 4th grade. I'm calling it 5th so Americans can get the age spread right.)

My son also had to endure what I'm sure most would consider a horribly unfair graduation requirement for 7th grade (American equivalent again). He had to read and follow a map...with a compass...in the woods. This wasn't an elective. He wasn't in the Boy Scouts. (Do the Brits have a Boy Scouts organization?)

All of this on top of a sturdy foundation built on the Three R's, an affinity for the paddle (Yeah, that's right, the "swat your ass" kind), and ZOMG!..."religion class" once a week.

The public schools my children attended were run by The Church of England, and I gotta say they did a pretty good job. (and my son still knows how to play Cricket, God bless him)

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Out the door early

My boss is on site for the day. Gonna be a long one.



Got it from MadOgre on FB. Go check out his blog.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

ND in Spotsy County

By now, you all should know my feelings about the Austrian Face Grenade.

There are lots of pistols out there designed to make stuff like this a lot less likely. Most of them don't have a "Safety Trigger".

I feel bad for the guy's family. A bunch of kids, all under 12. That sucks in a big way.

On a side note: More splodey goodness, brought to you by my unfavorite gun manufacturer.

Signed,
Ruger Fanboi

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Mice and Who?

How the hell did my daughter graduate high school without reading Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck and Red Badge of Courage, by Stephen Crane?
Playing Hearts around the dining table with the wife and daughter, and somehow the conversation ended up with me making a glove and Vaseline comment referencing "Curly" from Mice & Men. (Don't ask) then going into my Lenny impersonation (from the 1992 version with John Malkovich. I'm not THAT damn old) and making rude comments about rabbits. We've got a half-dozen living in the back hedge.

My wife snickered (cause I'm a really funny guy, NOT because she was just being polite)
My daughter rolled the results of her entire public high school and ongoing community college education into an articulate and appropriately meaningful response.

"Wha?"
Okay. In her defense, two years (5-6 grade) were in British public schools. Maybe Red Badge was assigned during those years in American schools. I don't know...I'm betting Mice & Men wasn't.
Being able to explain the differences between Whigs and Tories during the Victorian era was tres cool, but not much help in Civics class when we came home to the states. (Sorry Honey)
Further discussion revealed that George Orwell's Animal Farm was required, so high school wasn't a TOTAL loss.

Shows you how much I paid attention while the kids were in school. Yeah, I'm not waiting by the door for my "Dad of the Year" award.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Quote of the Week

 PawPaw

"If my kid was at an Occupy protest, I would have already sold his bed, taken his clothing to Goodwill, and changed the locks on the house."

Never met him and I like him already. Although, as he's a dedicated copper, I'm not holding my breath waiting for him to join my 12% movement.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

I'm Starting a Movement

I AM THE 12%

Way back when I was learning to drive, the national speed limit was 55mph. Everyone considered it an unimportant inconvenience literally as soon as the law went into effect, so I was taught to never travel more than 12% over the posted speed limit. That's right...pay attention folks...not AT the speed limit, not UNDER the speed limit, but just far enough over it so you wouldn't get in trouble.
I have found that rule still holds true over many years now, even after speed limits have risen back to what they used to be across the country.

Go ahead and try it. You can drive right past just about any cop in this country, and as long as you're not going more than 12% over the posted limit, they won't bother to ticket you. Everyone speeds just a little bit, and the scale of fines for speeding has grown to reflect that norm.
It is literally not worth the time for that law enforcement officer to pull you over.

Real money would be spent on wear-and-tear on his vehicle, labor costs (including the labor cost of having someone process the ticket through our court system), even the cost of the gasoline the law enforcement officer would burn just to run you down to ticket you.
That amount of money adds up to more than you could legally be fined for travelling something like 62mph in a 55mph zone. The law enforcement apparatus in this United States would have to operate at a net loss to enforce our current speed limits.

There is a large movement of people in the streets today who are demanding that our government do something. They are demanding that our government should step in and tell banks how to do business, that our government should step in and excuse student loans, that our government should step in and provide people housing that they can't afford, that our government should indefinitely support people who can't (or won't) find a job to support themselves...I could go on for quite some time...the list of demands you see coming from the "99%" is long and varied. It all boils down to one thing, people want their government to take care of them.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. No one is going to take care of you.** The United States is the place where you take care of yourself. It's called Freedom. You are free to succeed or fail on your own ability and/or perseverance.

An increase in government regulation of the way people live their lives is just not the answer. We are already seeing regulations concerning what light bulbs one can buy, what health care one must buy, who has to be hired, who shouldn't be hired, what kind of car can be sold...the list gets longer every year. Our government will continue to cram these penny-ante regulations down our throats, and the great unwashed (and ignorant) masses will continue to beg for more.

Here's the other little secret. The more you try to regulate the way someone lives their life, the more effort they are going to put into finding exactly how far they can push against such control. This is simply human nature. In time, all those regulations will become a joke.

Inconsistently and ineffectively enforced....much like speed limits today.

I AM THE 12%

** If you want to live in a place where the government will take care of you, you can go to Jollye Olde England if you like. Just write a quick note to Her Majesty apologizing for all that revolution stuff and explaining how it wasn't your idea anyway, etc. etc. and I'm sure they'll let you in. Leave your guns at the door on your way out. (That one's for you guys, Trauma Queen and InsomniacMedic)


An increase in government regulation of the way people live their lives is just not the answer. Regulating what light bulbs one can buy, what health care one must buy, who has to be hired, who shouldn't be hired, what kind of car can be sold....the list gets longer every year.

People will continue to push the limits of those types of laws, it is our nature. In time, all those regulations will become a joke. Inconsistently and ineffectively enforced, much like speed limits today.
I AM THE 12%about any cop in this country, and as long as you're not going more than 12% over the posted limit, they won't bother to ticket you. It's not worth the effort I guess.

An increase in government regulation of the way people live their lives is just not the answer. Regulating what light bulbs one can buy, what health care one must buy, who has to be hired, who shouldn't be hired, what kind of car can be sold....the list gets longer every year.

People will continue to push the limits of those types of laws, it is our nature. In time, all those regulations will become a joke. Inconsistently and ineffectively enforced, much like speed limits today.
I AM THE 12%

Friday, November 11, 2011

Happy 'My' Day!

Paul Airey grew up in Quincy, MA, so he was used to the smell of the sea and the bustle of the dock yards. Not much of a student, Paul dropped out of high school and took himself down to the Navy recruiter's office to join up and see the world. Well, after hanging out and chatting with the Navy recruiter, he soon realized what an arrogant fucking prick the guy was and became concerned that if he joined the Navy, he might become a godamn douchebag. He quickly ditched that sorry fucker and jumped over to the U.S. Army Air Corps recruiter. After talking with the Army Air Corps guy for a little while, he realized that the Air Corps was a place where a stupendous badass such as himself would fit right in. He signed up right away.

He always said that he owed that Navy Petty Officer a helluva lot for changing his mind.

Paul quickly honed his awesome ass-kicking skills in basic training and  was volunteered for training as a radio operator. Afraid that he might not get the opportunity to slaughter Nazi shitheels, he quickly wangled himself a slot on B-24's, which also allowed him to get trained on aerial gunnery. That's right baby, a full auto .50 cal was his weapon of choice for keeping the skies safe for Democracy. He was assigned to the 485th Bomb Group and was sent to North Africa in 1944.

Paul flew 27 glorious guns-blazing, Nazi crushing, blowing-shit-up missions over the next few months. He must have had a terrible time controlling himself not to get a stiffy while mashing the paddles on that big .50 and sending Nazi shitheads to Valhalla in a screaming mass of twisted metal and blazing fire. That just shows what phenomenal cock control a true badass really has.

On his 28th mission, the commissioned officer piloting the plane flew it right into a big ball of flak and totally FUBAR'ed that big bitch. (Everyone knows if it had been an enlisted guy behind the wheel, he would've totally juked that ball of flak like a star running-back and swung around to drop some iron on those lead-spitting Nazi bastards to teach them a lesson.) It is what it is, so Paul had to get the fuck out of the B-24 flaming ball of death quick, fast and in a hurry.

No problem for our hero. He went straight out the camera window like an Olympic diver, only he was at 18, 000 feet with no oxygen...Fuck it...Breathing is for pussies.

After our boy redeployed his theater of ass-kicking operations into a German cornfield, he got into a heated discussion with several German farmers. He tried very nicely to explain to them that his title of "Ultimate Badass" required him to bury his foot up to the knee in Nazi asses at every opportunity. They disagreed with his viewpoint, and punctuated their discussion by whupping on him with some farm implements for a couple hours. They then turned him over to their Nazi overlords, who locked his ass in Stalag Luft IV. (English translation: The place where we try to starve our prisoners to death because we're dickheads.)

Of course Paul's awesome band of Army Air Corps buddies were still busy stomping Nazi asses all over Europe and winning the war virtually single-handedly (with a little help from some grunts...see also, "bullet-stoppers") So soon his evil Nazi captors had to move all the badasses they were trying to starve away from the front lines. They forced our hero and about 6,000 of his buddies to march more than  400 miles over 90 days to Stalag IIB, near Berlin. They fed them about 700 calories a day, and shot stragglers regularly. Paul and his buddies ate whatever chickens, dogs, cats, even rats that they could steal from farms along the way. They could rarely make a fire to cook whatever they stole, so, in true badass fashion they chowed down on raw rat like it was a fucking filet mignon.

In May 1945, Paul Airey was liberated by his Allied forces badass buddies while they were flattening Berlin. He weighed about 100 pounds. They sent him back to the States for 90 days of R&R. When he reported back for duty they told him, since the war was over, he could go back to being a civilian if he wanted to. Paul said "Hellz no Beyotches!" (or something like that), and re-upped for another term of badassery with the U.S. Army Air Corps.

With no war going on, Paul knew the only place a true ball-stomping badass would feel at home in the Air Corps was in AIRCRAFT MAINTENANCE, and he totally ran that shit. Getting medal after medal for being totally awesome and not letting aircraft break down. If the pilots couldn't get it in the air, Paul would just go out there and stare at that bitch in a threatening manner and it would start up and take off before he could stomp it into scrap metal.

After 20 years of that shit, the Army finally understood that they just couldn't keep up with so much supreme badassery and begged the Air Corps to become its own separate branch. (As long as they took Paul Airey with them, because he was making them look like a bunch of window-lickers with very small penises.) Once the Air Corps was its own branch of the Armed Forces, they went looking for a true man's man to be the #1 top enlisted guy for the U.S. Air Force. They didn't have to look far.

On April 3, 1967 Chief Master Sergeant Paul W. Airey was installed as the very first Chief Master Sergeant of The Air Force.



I had the opportunity to meet the man and tip back a few beers with him about 10 years (or so) ago, while I was down in Panama City, Florida on business. That man lived and breathed Air Force until his dying day. I will always be proud to say "I served in the same Air Force as CMSgt Paul Airey....I even met him once, let me tell you a story..."

Hat Tip - I shamelessly stole the writing style from The Amazing Ben Thompson, who runs the Badass of the Week website. I just heard around the water cooler that he lost his day job and is going to try to make a living on his writing alone. What a set of balls that guy has, eh? Go buy some of his books or something. And OBTW, this is my favorite Badass of the Week

Thursday, November 10, 2011

A Title? Really?

The intertubes are completely jacked up this morning. Can't seem to get to half my "Daily Reads".
Seems the elves that work inside the little black box that brings me my internets are having a hard time waking up.
I'll try pouring some coffee in there for them.





Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Not today

I'd hate to have my interesting and witty ruminations interrupted......


Come back tomorrow, after the smoke clears...



Sunday, November 6, 2011

Let's talk about guns

I'm going to lose my Conservative Blogger street cred if I don't start posting about guns. So here goes...


What is it with Glock?  (AKA "The Austrian Face Grenade")

Is it such a superior handgun?
Not really.


The action is 'clunky', way too heavy for such a lightweight plastic (Ahem, sorry...Polymer) frame.


The grip angle is all wrong. Admittedly, this is a personal preference thing, but I'm on a roll here.


Can it fire your favorite +P++, sooper-dooper tactical nuclear handgun bullets? Not if you want it to stay in one piece...along with your hand, by the way

 









Who came up with the idea "Supporting this portion of the cartridge casing just isn't that important"?

And don't even get me started about the 'trigger safety', what a joke...Do I need to embed that "I'm the only one professional enough" video? Sorry, the cringe factor is just too much on that one.
 





So, what is it?

It's advertising...that's all.









For instance, let's take a look at Budweiser...

Is it packed with full-bodied flavor, with a mild citrus aftertaste? No....
Is it brewed in a secret location in the Alps? Stirred by the feet of Bavarian virgin milkmaids? Not quite.....
In fact, it's what many beer aficionados refer to as....wait for it....



'PISS'


But who doesn't like those cool horses?
Every time I see them in a commercial, I want to run out and pound down a six-pack of that awesome all-American brew. Yum!


I can brew better grog in my basement. I know lots of people who do just that, but Anheuser-Busch is raking in obscene amounts of money selling that swill.


Stop wasting your money. Buy a Ruger, and with what you save, you can get a home brewery for your basement.


Hat Tip to The Gun Zone for the awesome pics. Go check out their Glock kB! FAQ page.




Practicing video embed




Thanks, Breda
Now every time I log into YouTube, my "recommended videos" is infested with rodents.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

A very cunning hat



....damn few left


Made it back alive. Our Honoree had a fantastic ceremony; and we had a great time meeting his extended family, catching up with old friends, drinking ridiculous amounts of adult beverages, and telling tales out of school.
Most of those tales will never be shared in a forum as public as this blog, but I'll throw you a few titles.

Okinawa: Heaven on Earth, brought to you by the USAF

Stunts you can make aircraft do when you're not paying attention
I was not in charge.

Hydraulic fluid as a fashion statement
He was in charge, or so he thought.

"Heated discussions" with Jarheads US Marines
Note the plural. You can't have a "heated discussion" with just one Marine. They've always got a couple friends who want to hold you still while they discuss things with your face. You should reciprocate.

Ex-wives
I don't have one...but get a bunch of old vets together and this topic inevitably comes up. Sad but true.

The pissed off Chief

PADI dive certification
Eels are people too

Amazing things Japanese cops can do with those extendable batons
You should not reciprocate. Don't even try it. No way.

I'm too small for prison

Friday, November 4, 2011

Hire a Veteran

No, not me. I've got a good job.

After all the excitement of my very first blog post EVAR, I'm going to take a couple days off.

Headed down to that base where I used to be stationed to watch another old buddy step up to the podium and get his flag. I get all teary at those things, like a girl at a wedding.
Going to be some serious beer drinking and tale telling this weekend.
Although our honoree made us promise not to get drunk enough to hit on his mom, so there ARE limits.
When I get back, I'll try my hand at posting pictures.

He's going out west somewhere. NO job prospects yet that I know of, I don't think he's even started looking. I fear for him, but there are some great organizations out there helping vets find work.
Bradley Morris Inc. - A great company. Even though they have a picture of a CPO on their website. Seriously guys, Air Force uniforms are sexier. They got me my job a couple years ago. They give a great crash course to G.I.'s on "How to be a Civilian at an Interview" (Hint: "Clusterfuck" is not used in everyday conversation.), and then they get their candidates past the HR hurdle and into interviews within a month or two. Everyone who's been job-hunting knows this is one of the toughest barriers to cross. They do it at no cost to the veteran. They are paid by the companies who don't have to do the HR work themselves. It's a win-win-win.
If our President holds true to his promise of getting all our kids back here by the end of the year, those guys at Brad-Mo are going to be swamped.


A BIG THANKS goes out to my peeps who gave me a shout-out on their blogs. I got all excited when my hit counter got to something like 90+.
Then I realized that every time I went back to my own page just to go "Wow, dude, I've got a blog. That is soooooo cool" it got counted.

So....something like 75 of those hits were just me being a dork.
A dork with his very own blog!  Saweet!