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.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Road Rage

I definitely need to try this next time I have to drive up to the DC area.



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Yeah, that's right. I'm throwing jokes and humorous videos up there in lieu of any real content.
I'm back on the grindstone, the treadmill, the hamster wheel, whatever you want to call it.

Why do they call Wednesday "Hump Day", if everyone usually gets laid on the weekend?

Oh, speaking of weekends, I heard my brother-in-law was hankering to hit the NRA range this weekend.
I'm betting I can arrange one day off. How about you, Andy?
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UPDATE: 4:30pm - Of course, I had to brag about getting a day off to go shooting this weekend. I swear sometimes my boss knows about my blog and just doesn't admit it.
He's going to "let me opt-in" on a great opportunity for me to "leverage our resources". This will require a minor "paradigm shift", so it's important to be "flexible".
(For a translation of the above statement into normal english, see this post)
What it boils down to is, I'll be out of town this weekend. With any luck, I'll be back Monday night.
Yes, I'm taking the laptop with me so I can keep blogging. Misery loves company.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Catholic humor

A Good Catholic Joke

The Pope and Obama are on the same stage in Yankee Stadium in front of
a huge crowd.

The Pope leans towards Mr. Obama and said, "Do you know that with one
little wave of my hand I can make every person in this crowd go wild
with joy? This joy will not be a momentary display, but will go deep
into their hearts and they'll forever speak of this day and rejoice!"

Obama replied, "I seriously doubt that! With one little wave of your
hand? Show me!"



So the Pope backhanded him and knocked him off the stage.

AND THE CROWD ROARED & CHEERED WILDLY and there was happiness
throughout the land!

Kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

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My Mother-in-law sent me that. She's such a card.
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and more..

A man goes to the confessional.
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

"What is your sin, my child?" The priest asks back.

"Well," the man starts, "I used some horrible language this week and I feel absolutely terrible."

"When did you do use this awful language?" said the priest.

"I was golfing and hit an incredible drive that looked like it was going to go over 250 yards, but it struck a phone line that was hanging over the fairway and fell straight down to the ground after going only about 100yards."

"Is that when you swore?"

"No, Father." Said the man. "After that, a squirrel ran out of the bushes and grabbed my ball in his mouth and began to run away."

"Is THAT when you swore?" asked the Father again.

"Well, no." said the man, "You see, as the squirrel was running, an eagle came down out of the sky, grabbed the squirrel in his talons and began to fly away!"

"Is THAT when you swore?" asked the amazed Priest.

"No, not yet." The man replied. "As the eagle carried the squirrel away in his claws, it flew towards the green. And as it passed over a bit of forest near the green, the squirrel dropped my ball."

"Did you swear THEN?" asked the now impatient Priest.

"No, because as the ball fell it struck a tree, bounced through some bushes, careened off a big rock, and rolled through a sand trap onto the green and stopped within six inches of the hole."

"Don't tell me, you missed the F***in' putt?" sighed the Priest.
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Jesus and the Democrat
A Republican in a wheelchair entered a restaurant one afternoon and asked the waitress for a cup of coffee. The Republican looked across the restaurant and asked, 'Is that Jesus sitting over there?'
The waitress nodded 'yes,' so the Republican requested that she give Jesus a cup of coffee, on him.
The next patron to come in was a Libertarian with a hunched back. He shuffled over to a booth, painfully sat down, and asked the waitress for a cup of hot tea.. He also glanced across the restaurant and asked, 'Is that Jesus over there?' The waitress nodded, so the Libertarian asked her to give Jesus a cup of hot tea, 'My treat.'
The third patron to come into the restaurant was a Democrat on crutches. He hobbled over to a booth, sat down and hollered, 'Hey there, honey! How's about getting' me a cold glass of Miller Light?' He, too, looked across the restaurant and asked, 'Is that God's boy over there?' The waitress once more nodded, so the Democrat directed her to give Jesus a cold glass of beer. 'On my bill,' he said.
As Jesus got up to leave, he passed by the Republican, touched him and said, 'For your kindness, you are healed.' The Republican felt the strength come back into his legs, got up, and danced a jig out the door.
Jesus also passed by the Libertarian, touched him and said, 'For your kindness, you are healed.' The Libertarian felt his back straightening up, and he raised his hands, praised the Lord and did a series of back flips out the door.
Then Jesus walked towards the Democrat. The Democrat jumped up and yelled, 'Don't touch me ... I'm collecting disability.'

Monday, February 27, 2012

Monday Motivation

"A few minutes later, I realized that I had unconsciously started saying “pork, pork, pork” over and over again, under my breath, and I’ve never been so glad to be surrounded by people wearing headphones than I was in that moment. But I mean, hey, it worked, and that’s all the matters. Coping mechanisms come in different shapes and sizes, and if you need to be the freak person who methodically chants the word “pork” to get through mile 10 of a half marathon, then that’s just the way it is."
~Nicole

Seriously. Go read the whole thing.

That's a funny lady.

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Christina, over at Tin & Phoenix, is giving away a couple books.

The combination of titles alone piqued my interest. (Bold emphasis mine)

"Since last month's book giveaway winner didn't claim his prize, and I never chose a new winner, this month I have two books up for grabs. Last month's title (LtCol Grossman's On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace) and another one, The Art of Happiness: A Handbook for Living by His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler, M.D.."
~ Christina

Reminds me of the "Duality of Man" scene from Full Metal Jacket. (video clip here)

Go over there and get your name in the hat. She picks the recipient from comments in just a few days.

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Sunday, February 26, 2012

Combat tour

"Abi! Abi! You want lighter?" He steps quickly from the alley to block my way. He can't be more than twelve; it's hard to tell with the way these kids eat.

*sigh* "What you got kid?" A small crowd of little urchins materializes around us. They all pat me on my arms and back, begging . Distracting me from the ones trying to get to my wallet. They are the reason I keep my cash and important shit in my boot.

"I have lots nice colors. What you want? You want red, blue? I have special for you. You buy red, white and blue lighters, all three only two dollars. All three them dude, you can't beat it!"
I look at the pile of lighters in his box, swiping absentmindedly behind me at the little bastard trying to lighten my back pocket.

"All Scriptos little man. No Bics. I only use Bic lighters."
 
He turns and yells to his friend just down the street. Turklish gibberish and street slang that I can't make out.
His friend saunters over to where we stand, and slips two Bic lighters out of his pockets, presenting them with a flourish worthy of old PT Barnum himself.
 
"Hey, Abi. How it hang?" Bic boy says, as he holds out his other hand for me to slap him five, like some classic Starsky and Hutch episode.
 
I bring my hand down across his, his tiny little hand dwarfed by my well-fed American paw.
 
"Bic lighters very nice man. You can have for one dollar each."
I reach out to pluck one of the lighters from his hand, but he deftly moves them back out of reach.
 
"I have to see them, Abi. You trying to cheat me?"
 
"I not cheat you man. These Bic lighters, top good stuff. Not this trash..." he says, gesturing to his cohort's box of lighters. This slight goes completely unnoticed by his competitor. Part of the patois they have presented to so many American GI's on this street.
 
"I hold one. or I no buy. I hold one first, or no sell." I give him my serious look. He rolls his eyes and holds out one of the lighters to me. A hearty sigh and shrug delivered to let me know how completely insulting I have been.
 
I hold the lighter up to the sky and flip the wheel to light it.
As I peer at the tiny bit of liquefied gas trapped in the bottom, the sun touches my face with it's heat and the temperature of the breeze seems to rise from 'hair-dryer' to 'standing next to a campfire'.
I snap my other hand around in a quick wave across my backside. Was that the slightest brush of fingertips I felt on my arm? I don't have the time or energy today to go through the ritual of buying back my 'found' wallet with a 'reward'.
 
"This lighter is almost empty, Abi. You stole this lighter from me last week."
 
"No No! Not stole! I use sometimes. Only once or twice. Still lots of good. You have a smoke?"
 
"You're too young to smoke, Abi. Stop stealing my lighters." as I hand his lighter back to him.
 
"I smoke! I show you. Give me a cig."
 
"I'm not giving you shit, Abi. I'll give one dollar, American...paper dollar..." I slip one out of my front pocket, one of the bills I keep there for this ritual. "...for both those Bic lighters."
 
"My mother, she will not..."
 
"Don't start with that shit about your mother, Abi...one paper dollar...both lighters. You take?"
 
Again the eyes roll, he heaves out another sigh and trades his treasure for a slip of paper.
"Good deal, Abi." I say as I drop the lighters in my pocket.
 
I ruffle his hair as I step around him. He ducks his head from under my hand and throws me an insolent sneer for my trouble.
 
I continue my stroll down the street, listening with one ear to the patter of feet dashing to get ahead of me again.
 
"Abi! Abi!" it's Scripto boy again, looking for his piece of the action. His small box of lighters has disappeared into the crowd somewhere."Thumb wrestle! You want to thumb wrestle me? I beat you, you give me a dollar!"
 
That one actually makes me stop. The swarm of urchins quickly surrounding us again.
 
"Thumb wrestle? Who the hell taught you to thumb wrestle? You don't have a chance against me, Abi."
 
"I beat you! I am the champion! No..." he stumbles for a moment, searching for the English, gesturing futilely to the world around him..."nobody beat me!"
 
I'm intrigued now. "Okay Abi, " I slip another dollar from my pocket. " You beat me, you get a dollar. Deal?"

His hand shoots out as if to give me a hearty handshake. I crumple the dollar and grip it tightly in my left fist, and reach out with my right to grasp his hand. As soon as our grip is locked, the match is on, with gusto.
 
I let him beat me, after toying with him for a few seconds, the time it takes me to realize he's occupied my hands and my attention long enough for one of his buddies to make another try at my wallet. The crowd of ragged children around us cheers wildly. Jumping in the air and laughing when he beats me. (It was harder than I expected. This kid has the strength of the streets in his hands. For a moment I am taken back to my young days.)
 
I roll my eyes and shrug to let him know how terribly I have been insulted as I hand him his dollar.
 
"Now fuck off somewhere Abi, it's too damn hot to be standing around in the street." Another swipe behind me smacks a forearm, and causes laughter to erupt from behind me. I make shooing motions at the lot of them as I step off down the sidewalk again.
 
"You hot, bro? You need cool drink? My uncle..." he says, walking backward next to me and pointing back down the street behind me. "I'm not going to your uncle's place to buy five-dollar ginger ales for some girl, Abi. I'm going to The Red Light for a beer."
 
"You want beer? What kind of beer you like? You like Heineken? I go to Red Light and get Heineken for you! What you say bro?"
 
"Yeah, sure Abi. You go to Red Light and get my beer ready."
 
He scampers up the street ahead of me and ducks into the bar just a few yards up the road. I stroll slowly along toward that shady haven, determined not to exert myself in any way in this awful heat.
 
I stand just inside the door for a moment as my eyes adjust to the dark. The place is tiny, no bigger than the average American living room. The bartender is setting my beer on the bar, condensation already beading up on the sides of the bottle. Andy and Will are already there, and from the sullen glance the bartender throws my way, I'm betting they're getting too loud already. Either that, or he's pissed about me telling a little street urchin to go inside his bar...probably both.
 
I step over to the bar and swipe up the bottle to my lips, I don't trust myself to talk yet. I can feel the gritty dust on my teeth and tongue washed away by the cold burn and brassy flavor of the beer.
 
"Good job, Abi..." I pull another dollar from my pocket and hold it out to him. "...now get lost."
 
My little entrepreneur snatches the dollar and neatly sidesteps a kick thrown half-heartedly at him by Andy. "Why d'you keep giving your money to these smelly  little wankers?"
The kid flips Andy the bird as he heads for the door.
 
"Andy, you really don't have a soul, do you? You ginger bastard." I retort.
 
"And what's with you calling me Ginger all the fucking time?" Andy is raising his voice. His already pink face getting redder to match the hair on his head.
 
"Calm the fuck down, Andy." I say quietly, as Will jumps in with his two cents. "How many lighters you buy this time?" he asks me with a snicker.
 
"Just a couple." I fish them out of my pocket along with my cigarettes. Trying to light one, I find out the blue one doesn't work at all, no flint. The orange one lights easily enough, and I drag deeply.
 
I lean across the bar and throw the blue lighter into the trash can as Will laughs outright. "You still got your wallet?"
I make a show of panicking a little and slapping my back pocket. "Yeah, still there."
 
I realize my beer is empty already. I raise it from the bar and waggle it at our host.
 
"Hooch!" Andy shouts, straightening up and slapping his hand loudly on the bar a couple times. "Come on, Abi! Set us up a round!"
I catch the bartender's eye and shake my head. "No more rotgut, Andy. That stuff will kill you. I think they make it from glue or something."
"Besides, Will leaves tomorrow. Don't you want to see him off?" I turn my attention to our host, and add "Just three more beers, Abi."
 
On the way back to the fenceline, the three of us walk alone as the sky turns orange and the narrow street becomes buried in shadow. I see Scripto-boy, the thumbwrestler, across the street. He does not wave or shout, just watching us from where he leans in a doorway.
 
Great, either their familiar with Andy's temper, or we're going to walk up on a fucking car bomb or a grenade.
 
I really, really don't like this place.


 
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"Sarge." A fist bumps my shoulder. "Sarge, wake up."
 
I open my eyes to the dim tent, lit only by the red Christmas tree lights strung around the door at one end. "Ungh...What time is it?"
 
Andy is snoring away across the tent, and Will is squatting next to my cot. "I'm hitting the road." he says.
"Better you than me." I reply. Will laughs softly, and then just squats there for a few seconds, looking at me, long enough for me to wonder what the fuck he wants. Just as I am about to ask him, he pops the question. "You'll write to my folks?"
 
"What the fuck, Will?" I ask.
 
"C'mon man. I don't want the Captain writing to my folks, the guy's an asshole, and he doesn't know me from shit." He holds out an envelope to me. "I put my own letter in there too."
 
"Christ, Will. You watch too many movies. You're in the Air Force, dickhead. That letter stuff is for grunts." I take the envelope from him anyway.
 
Will stands up and picks up his duffle. "See you around, then."
 
"Yeah, I'll keep the beer cold for you." I stretch halfway out of my cot, reaching over to where the lower half of my BDUs hangs on a nail. I fold the envelope over and stuff it into the cargo pocket. By the time I roll back onto my cot, Will is already stepping out the door of the tent.
 
I close my eyes and fall easily back to sleep, confident that I won't ever have to write to Will's parents.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Saturday morning coffee #6

First off, I must apologize to some of my blog buddies from the last Saturday Morning Coffee. (two weeks ago)

A couple of them somehow never made it onto my List of Awesomeness.
I'll blame it on blogger, no way it could be a result of my ham-handed computer illiteracy.
So, apologies to Bacon and Eggs and Embrace the Suck, you have been updated.
Keep up the great blogging!

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I finally got my 'Bloggers I've Met' list put together.
Check it out. A fine group of people.

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This week's additions to The List of Awesomeness:

North is someone a lot of you guys already know. His blog just turned one, so Happy Blog-Day North!

The Constitutional Insurgent is another Virginia boy. He comes up with some pretty damn intelligent stuff, for a former grunt. Isn't it time you stopped by Andy's and got your Hoplorati badge?
Hope you can make it to the next blog shoot.

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My first whole weekend off in three weeks!
Dinner last night was dill pickle slices and cream cheese on Ritz crackers. and beer.
Mrs B is still out of town helping her folks out. I've got some serious housework to catch up on this weekend.

If you guys don't hear from me tomorrow...call 911.
Tell them I'm trapped under a dishalanche in the kitchen. Send the Jaws of Life.

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The Friday night zombie movie was "The Zombie Diaries".
A British zombie film, from Off World Films and Bleeding Edge Films. Done up in the documentary style, kinda like the book, World War Z.

The Brits still turn out quality zombie movies. This one is nowhere near the hit 28 Days Later, but it definitely pushes all the right buttons. No runners in this one though, only shamblers.

Why is it when they do the "documentary style" films, they always give the camera to the guy with fucking Tourette's syndrome? Jesus, give me a fucking break. I had to turn off The Blair Witch Project and Cloverfield halfway through to keep from throwing up on the goddamn coffee table.
My daughter shoots steadier video when she catches me dancing in the kitchen, for chrissakes.

Overall, it was definitely worth the $2 rental. If you're susceptible to the motion sickness thing, you might want to watch it from a distance.

There are definitely worse things out there than zombies.

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Time for me to get to work on those dishes. There's a sink under there somewhere.

Inappropriate humor in  3....2....



 

WOW!                   Look at the size of that bottle of Jack!

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Breda stuck her head out of the bat-cave just long enough to thoroughly bust my chops


Friday, February 24, 2012

Meme time!

Got tagged with this one from Nancy, who got it from Jay G, who got it from here.

(This is getting around quicker than a STD)

"I will write down 5 things that indicate, to me, that a gun owner or shooter maybe is an honest one; I say 'maybe' because I have known some seemingly honest gun owners to tell some really tall tales. Then I will tag 5 other gun owners who are also bloggers and I hope each will play along, each listing, in their blogs, at least 3 things that are indicative a gun owner is an honest one, then sending the challenge of this meme on to 5 other gun owner who are also bloggers."

Ask, and you shall receive:

When you meet an honest gun owner for the first time, they will always extend a hand and say "Hi. I'm So-and-So." Etiquette is an important part of being an honest gun owner. (An armed society is a polite society) Keep in mind, they may not always add "It's nice to meet you." when they extend that hand for a shake, which leads to my next indicator of an honest gun owner...

An honest gun owner will tell you their opinion, regardless of whether you agree with it or not. Be prepared to be disappointed by an honest gun owner. They're going to tell you what they think you need to hear, not necessarily what you want to hear.

Honest gun owners measure their enjoyment of range time by how many other people have handled and fired their guns. Range time is not just time spent honing your awesome, ninja "operator" skillset. It is a social event. An honest gun owner wants to pass on their knowledge to the next person, whoever that may be. There are no secret handshakes or decoder rings. Just walk up and ask. (but I would think twice about asking the guy who's actually dressed as a ninja)

An honest gun owner can have a conversation about holsters until the cows come home. If they're in their house, they'll open up the 'junk' drawer in the kitchen and start pulling out examples... I once stood in a friend's kitchen, holding a ratty old nylon IWB holster and listening to my friend explain how it just didn't work on this model or that model... So I asked him why he still kept it, and he said "I might one day buy a gun it's perfect for. You never know..."

Now who to pass on this particular gem on to? Let me see...

I'll go with the ladies (maybe I should go back and delete the STD reference)






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I will actually have a Saturday morning coffee tomorrow. Work is letting up a little bit.

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Thursday, February 23, 2012

February 23rd, 1945



 

God bless the United States Marine Corps. The deadliest force walking the earth since 1775.

(You'll never hear me say that shit in public. So get your jollies now, Jarheads. Happy Iwo Jima day.)

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

For Andy

I'm working too damn much to have anything worth posting.
Any free time I get, I usually spend sleeping.

But I don't want Andy to have to go without his dose of foul language for the week, so....

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

So tired

Larry Corriea, where are you?

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Must have a day off soon.
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I'm not 25 anymore.
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Hell, let's face it, I'm not 35 anymore.
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Monday, February 20, 2012

February 20th, 1962

John H Glenn Jr, a USMC pilot (those goddamn Marines...) strapped his ass to a huge fucking metal column full of highly explosive fuel
...and lit that fucker.

The first American to orbit the earth, and the first to fly in space.
No bones about it, when his spacecraft's automatic control system went tits-up towards the end of his flight, he switched over to manual control and flew his craft to re-entry. Brass ones.


And then, in 1998, that crazy bastard did it again, at age 77. (They wouldn't let him drive, though...he kept leaving the damn turn signal on for miles and miles...)


It's worth your time to listen to this.



John Glenn was born and raised in Ohio....

He must be crying himself to sleep at night, seeing what has become of our space program today.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Sunday morning wake-up

Back to the 4am - 4pm grind again.
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That was the best day off I've had in a while. Got to go shooting at the NRA range, meet some cool people and bought a pair of NRA shotgun-shell shot glasses at the museum store.
The museum was about the most beautiful place I've ever seen, but walking around trying to hide my boner for a couple hours was getting difficult.
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I get to start a "Bloggers I've met" blog list now.

The Miller

In Search of the Tempestuous Sea

Excels at Nothing

United Conservatives of Virginia (cargosquid)

Legion's Fate

And there was a really nice couple there who's names I can't remember right now. Turns out they live in the old neighborhood where I grew up. Small world. Right?
Not only that, but she teaches at the high school I went to. (Okay, I went there for one year before I got in trouble and got sent to military school with the Finklestein kid)

I was a "problem child"....don't act so surprised.

Anyway, drop me a line bro, so we can keep in touch (and I can stop calling you "that guy" all the time)
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The final outcome of the blog shoot was that I was reminded why I wanted to start blogging in the first place.
So it's time for me to dedicate some real time to writing. Anyone who reads my drivel on a regular basis knows that my job has been getting in the way of my hobby quite a bit lately.
Things will smooth out over the next few weeks. I'll be keeping up the daily doses of this and that, but rest assured, I'm already working on some real writing as of last night.
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Last-minute updates:

Wow!!!!Elevenses!!!1!11
Check out this blog I found through Skidmark.

Please. Please. Please. Stop by and let her know she is not alone.
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DaddyBear brings the snark to the Start Wars saga: (Quote of the week)

Talking about Qui-Gon Jin -
"...he follows the battle plan of a teenage girl, fights an evil Sith that looks like he was born out of a Larry Correia fever dream, and loses because his devoted Padwan was never good at wind sprints. Obi-wan then goes on to finish the job by turning Darth Maul from an innie into an outie, saving the day. Obi-Wan makes a promise to Qui-Gon to teach Anakin Skywalker all of the skills he will need to bring down a democratic regime and murder just about everyone Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon know."

Go. RTWT.

...a Larry Corriea fever dream... *giggle snort*
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Saturday, February 18, 2012

Sexy pictures

Really. I'm out shooting this morning. Blogging doesn't even hold a candle to that shit.

Catch ya later.

Inappropriate humor, in 3...2...




Friday, February 17, 2012

Why? Why? Why?


Your stomach probably hurts because your life sucks, your pee smells, your cat bit you, and your dog is staring at you because your face is twitching. Too bad you can't see this post because your computer just froze up.
Better you than me, buddy.
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I'm excited about the blog shoot tomorrow at NRA Headquarters.
Like Andy said, everyone appears to be working their ass off this week. Hope my 'blog' friends can make it.

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Thursday, February 16, 2012

Murphy

Everyone has relatives serving "over there", even Murphy.



Man, look at that dog move.
I'm liking the parts where he chases the guy in the bite suit and leaves a little trail of dust behind him across the desert. Awesome sauce. (3:00)

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

It's February

Funny. The only people I hear joke about race are stand-up comedians and G.I.s.
Everyone else gets all uncomfortable and twitchy.

Caught his act in Baltimore about a million years ago.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Happy B.S. Holiday!

Wife is out of town, and I'm working 12 hour days all week.

FML
But I will be going by Starbucks on the way home tonight.



Monday, February 13, 2012

February 13th, 1945

Dresden, Germany

BEFORE

AFTER

The bombing started on the 13th, and continued for a few days.
It started with the Brits and their Lancasters on the first day, then we (the 8th Air Force) followed up for a couple more days to make sure the place was completely cooked.

I don't know if you've read Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut. If you haven't, you should.
It is a telling of his story as a soldier in WWII.

It's not completely accurate. The main character Billy Pilgrim, who most people associate with Kurt Vonnegut himself, is depicted as a bit of a dolt, who is simply carried along by the tides of war.
Turns out the reality is he was placed in charge of a large group of POWs because he could speak passable German.
He used used his passable German to explain to the guards just what he was going to do to them when they were liberated.
So they beat the shit out of him and put someone else in charge.

Ballsy fucker, right there.

For my concerned commenters:
Yeah yeah. I know he was a pinko liberal socialist whatever.
He earned the right to be whatever kind of commie fucker he wanted to be.
He went when he was called.

"I myself feel that our country, for whose Constitution I fought in a just war, might as well have been invaded by Martians and body snatchers. Sometimes I wish it had been."
~ Kurt Vonnegut, discussing the Iraq War

Hmmm.....

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Sunday morning sleep-in

Didn't happen.

Up early to cover another shift. One of my guys is having a baby. Never a dull moment around here.
Mrs B will have to see herself off later this morning. Drive safely Honey.

By the time I get home tonight, it'll be Swansons for dinner.
Oh well, Jack Daniels should wash it down OK.



UDPATED: It was a boy. 10 pounds, 4 ounces. and I'll be working 4am to 4pm all week.
But I will get next Saturday off to do the blogshoot at NRA HQ.
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Saturday, February 11, 2012

Saturday Morning Coffee #5

Updates to the "List of Awesomeness"

Odysseus - A Blahgger like me, with better bewbie pictures.  Win!

Bacon and Eggs - Prepper and Homesteader. This lady is living the life I would like to live. (If I wasn't so damn lazy)

Embrace the Suck - Gets the Quote of the Week
"My political philosophy boils down to a simple fact that hasn't been proven wrong yet. My idea is as follows...
You have to be an asshole in the first place, just to even think about becoming a politician. And to actually become one you have to be an epic asshole. And then in order to be successful enough to become a contender for the highest office in the land, you have to be a colossal asshole." Seriously folks, go RTWT.

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Mrs B's dad is in the hospital and it doesn't look good. His heart is going south, along with his kidneys.
She leaves tomorrow to go stay with her mom and help her out.

I'm always amazed watching her family at work. I didn't come from one of those huggy/kissy families where everyone talks to each other and communicates their feelings. Her family has this whole network thing going on.
I'm glad she doesn't work. She's able to drop everything and go. A blessing and a burden...

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My work has been "very challenging" lately. Ignore my blog post from yesterday, just venting.
The good news is, with Mrs B out of town, I'll be able to put in even more hours on site. Yippeee!
Seriously, I know with a couple weeks hard time, I can get things back on track. We're just running a little short-handed right now. I'm covering a shift in addition to my regular duties, until I get another guy vetted and hired.
The suck is strong, young paduan.

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On this day, in 1937, General Motors signed the first-ever union contract in the automotive industry. The rest is history...

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Um...OK.  Gotta see it.  Love the Spectre scene that flashed up there for a second. (0:24)
I went to the NCO Academy at Tyndall with a guy who was a loadmaster on the AC-130. (aka: Ammo Monkey)
A great guy with a great sense of humor, who ALWAYS TALKED A LITTLE LOUDER THAN EVERYONE ELSE.

H/T to JayG for the video.

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Friday, February 10, 2012

Don't blog while you're angry

This week is turning out to be a real doozy. Major suckage.

I'm talking thermonuclear shitstorm. A veritable barrage of syphilitic donkey balls.* Hairy ones.

People suck, generally.
Present company excepted. I'm sure all my readers are very nice folks.




Hat Tip to Tam, who also brought us the gem "Douchnozzle"

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Modern-day parenting

and DaddyBear thinks he's got it tough.


My 19 year old daughter got a new App for her smart phone.

Last night she announced "Cool! I'm ovulating February twelfth through the sixteenth!"



Fuck. My. Life.


At least I know when to keep the shotgun upstairs...

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The Liebster Award


I got this Liebster (not Bieber) Award from Nancy over at Excels at Nothing. Thank you very much, Nancy.

Here are the rules:
1. Copy and paste the award on our blog.
2. Link back to the blogger who gave us the award.
3. Pick our five favorite blogs with fewer than 200 followers, and leave a comment on their blog to let them know they have received the award.
4. Hope that the five blogs chosen will keep spreading the love and pass it on to five more blogs.

I took a couple days to get back to spreading the love around, and found out this baby is making the rounds like wildfire.
Here's my five bloggers off my 'Daily Read' list I think should keep this baby rolling.

Tin and Phoenix - This young lady has only been blogging for a short while. Take the time to go back and start reading from the beginning. Powerful stuff. You'll be hooked.

The Mellow Jihadi - Not sure how many followers he has (Wordpress), but any Navy blogger deserves an award with a cute little heart on it.

The Combat Medic - Unvarnished reality. Hang on to your hat.

Stroud is all over the place - Great writing. Great food. (Looks like Brigid's got some competition)

Knuckledraggin my life away - Wirecutter barely makes the "less than 200 followers" rule. (188 last time I checked) This cranky, Okie, politically incorrect, threeper, survivalist, and all-around crazy fucker doesn't have a hair on his ass if he doesn't post this award on his page. (Just sayin')
 

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Invictus - 7 February 1943


"For conspicuous gallantry and valor above and beyond the call of duty as Commanding Officer of the USS GROWLER during her Fourth War Patrol in the Southwest Pacific from 10 January to 7 February 1943. Boldly striking at the enemy in spite of continuous hostile air and anti-submarine patrols, Commander Gilmore sank one Japanese freighter and damaged another by torpedo fire, successfully evading severe depth charges following each attack. In the darkness of night on 7 February, an enemy gunboat closed range and prepared to ram the GROWLER. Commander Gilmore daringly maneuvered to avoid the crash and rammed the attacker instead, ripping into her port side at 17 knots and bursting wide her plates. In the terrific fire of the sinking gunboat's heavy machine guns, Commander Gilmore calmly gave the order to clear the bridge, and refusing safety for himself, remained on deck while his men preceded him below. Struck down by the fusillade of bullets and having done his utmost against the enemy, in his final living moments, Commander Gilmore gave the last order to the deck, 'Take her down.' The GROWLER dived; seriously damaged but under control, she was brought safely to port by her well-trained crew inspired by the courageous fighting spirit of their dead captain."
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus; William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

Monday, February 6, 2012

Happy Monday! Now F*ck off!

I ate my Super-Bowl chili with no utensils whatsoever.
I spread the chili out in a wide shallow bowl, covered it with a healthy dose of jalapeno slices, then melted cheddar cheese over it.
Then I ate the whole thing by scooping it with spicy nacho doritos.

Like a boss.

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The best commercial was the Audi one with the vampires exploding. Now that's funny.

The Oikos yogurt spot came in a strong second.

The game itself was meh....no Redskins were playing.

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Well, FMS (Fuck me Sideways)

I've won the Liebster (not Bieber) Award from Nancy, at Excels at Nothing.

We'll come back to that in a day or so to reciprocate.

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Wrong season, but it's still one of my favorite pieces to come out of the magic black box.

It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers.
BY Colin Nissan (<---- MSgt B loves this guy's fucking writing style!)

I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.

I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”

Carving orange pumpkins sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-gourd reenactment of an episode of Diff’rent Strokes—specifically the one when Arnold and Dudley experience a disturbing brush with sexual molestation. Well, this shit just got real, didn’t it? Felonies and gourds have one very important commonality: they’re both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that’s upsetting, but I’m not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore.

The next thing I’m going to do is carve one of the longer gourds into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I’m going to do lines of blow off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it’s fall, fuckers.

Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well then you’re going to fucking love my house. Just look where you’re walking or you’ll get KO’d by the gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards swinging from above. And when you do, you’re going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned.

For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel shirt, some tattered overalls, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer.

Welcome to autumn, fuckheads!


Check out McSweeney's, an awesome collection of prose (among other things)

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Sunday morning sleep-in

Wow. Managed to sleep in until 6:30 this morning. That's pretty amazing for me.
Freaked the dog out too. He woke me up by coming around to my side of the bed and sticking his nose in my face.
Probably the only member of the household who has worse morning breath than I do.

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The big police action in McPherson Square yesterday was kind of a let-down. I was hoping for some quality taser action, or maybe a video of a classic "hickory shampoo"...nothing. Just some occutards yelling stupid shit and the cops being reasonable and authoritative. Booorriiiing!

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Ice-Nine!



Cute little grade-school girl comes up with a new way to construct a high-energy molecule that could possibly be used in explosives. Skip forward to about 1:45 to hear her say "I could sell it to the military and make lots of money"
YEAH!! You go girl!
That's a future capitalist war-monger right there. It warms the cockles of my imperialist running-dog heart to hear stuff like that. What a beautiful Sunday morning this is turning out to be....

H/T to Peter, who always comes up with the coolest stuff.
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A Marine squad was marching north of Fallujah when they came upon an Iraqi terrorist who was badly injured and unconscious.
On the opposite side of the road was an American Marine in a similar but less serious state. The Marine was conscious and alert, and as first aid was given to both men, the squad leader asked the injured Marine what had happened.
The Marine reported, "I was heavily armed and moving north along the highway here, and coming south was a heavily armed insurgent. We saw each other and both took cover in the ditches along the road. I yelled to him that Saddam Hussein was a miserable, lowlife scum bag who got what he deserved. He yelled back that Barack Obama is a lying, good-for-nothing, left wing Commie who isn't even an American!”
So then I said that Osama Bin Laden dresses and acts like a frigid, mean-spirited lesbian! He retaliated by yelling, "Oh yeah? Well, so does Nancy Pelosi !"
"And, there we were, in the middle of the road, shaking hands, when a truck hit us!"

I heard it from PISSED, who heard it from Pitdogga, who heard it from.....
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I've got a great crew working for me. One of my guys jumped in and worked Sunday so I wouldn't have to. Which leaves me puttering around here on my blog without being prepared in any way whatsoever.
Alright, it's obvious I've really got nothing to say, and I'm running late today anyway.
So here's your dose of inappropriate humor, and I'm off to do chores.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Saturday Morning Coffee #4

A lot of additions to the blogroll this week. I realize that some of these guys are serious professional gun bloggers who've been in the game for some time. And yes, it's embarrassing to just be getting them on my List of Awesomeness now.

The Anti-soma - Guns and Writing. Need I say more? She actually teaches writing, and has her students do blogs that get graded. I've been stressing over the fear that she might actually read my blog. I keep checking comments for a GPA.

Down Range Report - Duke has been keeping us up to date on Stephen's status while he's been in the hospital. Thank you Duke. We should all have friends like you.

Great Satan Inc. - This is one of those serious professional gun bloggers I was talking about. Way out of my league. This is where I go to get info on the latest thing in guns.

Corn, beans, spent brass, an empty page and a deadline - Another professional. See above. In addition to that, the guy's name is Frank James. How cool is that?

The Madness of the Combat Medic -  A smart guy who also happens to be a veteran. He puts the truth to the whole "PTSD danger" fairy tale. Be ready for a healthy dose of reality.

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My new "Hoplorati" badge in the sidebar came from the awesome computer-fu of Andy at In Search of the Tempestuous Sea. I bet if you ask nicely, he'll make one with your state's silhouette on it. Let's start a meme.

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"You should certainly be aided by all the constitution-writing that has gone one since the end of World War II. I would not look to the US constitution, if I were drafting a constitution in the year 2012. I might look at the constitution of South Africa. That was a deliberate attempt to have a fundamental instrument of government that embraced basic human rights, had an independent judiciary. It really is, I think, a great piece of work that was done. Much more recent than the U.S. Constitution: Canada has a Charter of Rights and Freedoms. It dates from 1982. You would almost certainly look at the European Convention on Human Rights. Yes, why not take advantage of what there is elsewhere in the world? I'm a very strong believer in listening and learning from others."

Ruth Bader Ginsberg*, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, in an interview on Egyptian television when asked if other country's constitutions should be used as a model for the new Egyptian constitution.

Friday, February 3, 2012

I have nothing to add

Just found out that I get to work through the weekend! W00t!!
Maybe I'll get lucky and get the chance to get something good written, but I doubt it. Blahgging is going to be mostly short blurbs like this one.
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That's a C-17. I like the nice wide-body style it has. I'm sure the grunts do too.
On the old C-141, we used to have to walk on top of them to get from the front to the back of the cargo box.
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Quote of the week:
And, remember, kids. You’re not Facebook’s customer. You are its product. ~ Say Uncle
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Found this in my funny video folder. Can't remember who posted this first, so, no hat tip or anything.
I should keep better notes.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Greenbacks

Dollar bills or dollar coins?

I rather like the dollar coins. If the treasury could start producing enough of them, and make different enough in size and color from the old quarters, I wouldn't have a problem getting rid of the bills completely.

Many years overseas got me accustomed to carrying around some change in my pocket. Change that could actually buy something, like a soda or a sandwich. Back home now, any change I end up with at the end of the day just goes into the jar. and that happens less and less now, as I get used to just carrying around a debit card

My favorite was the British pound coin. A nice chunk of pot metal with some brass cladding, not too large, but thick and weighty. It felt like it was worth something.

When was the last time you were walking around with change in your pocket, and feeling like you actually had some money with you?
 


Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Jimmy Storie - Enjoying your work

Having another fun-filled week at work.
Quote of the week: "You know you're having fun, when you don't want to touch your face with your own hands."
~My Ops Support Engineer

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Rest in Peace, Jimmy Storie.
Peter has a good write-up about the man, the legend.

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I promise I won't finish the "misogynistic fecal opus" war story.
I'll start over again on something else.