Varmints

This report comes out of Florida, but we face the same issue:

Coyotes have learned to thrive in the same urban development that has caused other predator populations to decline. They can cross bridges, swim canals, and navigate sidewalks while hunting for food.
A coyote’s dream home, though, would be in a suburb like Bloomingdale, where densely packed developments are surrounded by farms and pastureland — a small taste of the open range prairies they used to roam.

In Plano, there’s an abundance of wild rabbits about the place, so where there’s food, there will be predators.

My apartment building lies less than a hundred yards from a heavily-wooded creek, and I must have seen coyotes crossing the road bridge about half a dozen times since I moved here.

This is somewhat problematic because I go for walks along a trail which follows said creek bed for over a mile.  Needless to say, I never walk unarmed — I never leave home unarmed, period — and even though coyotes prefer to be out and about at night time or at least dusk / dawn (when I don’t walk), I like the feel of the S&W Airweight in my pocket anyway.

I have a .38 Special shot shell lined up for trigger-pull #1, and hollowpoints for the other four.

  

(The shot shell is in case I get close to a snake — we have rattlesnakes, cottonmouths and  water moccasins in the creek area, and I hate the bloody things.)

Of course, it’s illegal to discharge a firearm in city limits, but I’d rather argue with a judge than be bitten by a rabid coyote or fucking snake.  Don’t even mention the chances of encountering some choirboy who might imagine that this fat old man is a ripe target for a little involuntary financial redistribution.

Tragedy

As Longtime Readers may know, one of my favorite stops when I’m in Britishland is Patisserie Valerie, which makes some of the best pastries I’ve ever tasted (along with outstanding croissants at breakfast time).  Apparently, quality merchandise hasn’t been enough:

Patisserie Holdings plc announces today that, as a direct result of the significant fraud referred to in previous announcements, it has been unable to renew its bank facilities, and therefore regrettably the business does not have sufficient funding to meet its liabilities as they fall due.
As a consequence, the directors have appointed partners at KPMG as administrators to the company and its various subsidiaries.
The Chairman Luke Johnson has personally extended an unsecured, interest-free loan to help ensure that the January wages are paid to all staff working in the ongoing business.
This Loan will also assist the administrators in trading as many profitable stores as possible while a sale process is undertaken.

Needless to say, stores will be closed and people will lose their jobs.

This after one of its senior executives siphoned money out of the place to support his jet-set lifestyle.  And if I could get hold of the asshole, his legal and financial problems would be the least of his problems.

Yes, I take my pastries that  seriously.

Crime Update

With all this matrimonial nonsense, I forgot to post an update on an earlier Bad Thing.

Loyal Readers will recall that a few weeks back, Doc Russia’s Doom Wagon was stolen from outside the hospital where he was working.

Among the contents:  a semi-automatic rifle, a Glock and his emergency medical bag.

Less than a week later, the Doom Wagon was found undamaged (other than the window broken to gain access).  Missing was the medical kit, the Glock and the jerrycans of gas attached to the rear door.  The rifle had been undiscovered, and was still in its hidden compartment.

Four days later the Glock was recovered, still unfired, at a crime scene.

Of course, the medic bag was gone (Doc is still hoping the thieves shot up the Lidocaine in their enclosed syringes — it’s mortally toxic when thus administered).

Nevertheless, the Wagon has been completely fixed up and is now in its original condition other than with the addition of various anti-theft devices (which I may not describe for legal reasons).

A round of applause for the Dallas P.D. is called for.

Dumping The Spouse

Here’s a little bit of cheery goodness for you.  In the Ultra-Self-Centered Wing of the Museum of Solipsism, you may find this:

One in ten women admit they would DUMP their partner in return for more free hours in the day — as most confess they need an extra 82 minutes every day
2,000 American women aged 18 and over took part in the study, which looked at their average daily routines
The average woman said she needs an extra 82 minutes a day to accomplish everything she wants to get done
If they had more free time, 36% said they would use it to read, and 29% would use it to work out
Over 30% said they have less than 30 minutes to themselves each day
Due to lack of time, half of those surveyed have given up hobbies
22% would use their time to learn a new skill like knitting or photography

How precious.  Momma wants more time to improve herself, even after admitting to this:

30 per cent of women would give up social media and TV for more free time

Here’s an alternative statistic for you.  If women weren’t so stupidly obsessed with social media bullshit and their appearance, 100% of men wouldn’t leave them.

Or something like that.

 

Threatening

Although I seldom go out of doors without a hat of some kind, I don’t wear baseball caps because a.) I’m not a baseball player, b.) they’re uncomfortable in hot weather (synthetic material makes me perspire), c.) I’m not eight years old and d.) I’m not a farmer.

However, if it turns out that wearing one of these foul things “triggers” the political sect whom I hate and despise, I might break with a lifelong tradition.

I’ve always been just ornery enough that when someone tells me not to do something, and that thing seems quite innocuous, then I’m driven to do it.   And if the forbidder is a total whackjob, the urge simply intensifies.

I just wish “MAGA” was printed on a fedora or decent straw Panama hat… if anyone knows of such a thing, I’ll wear it.

And as for someone threatening me with violence for wearing the blessed thing… it is, as the kids say, to LOL.

Bite Me

I hit a link at some website, and encountered this:

Simple response:  Never mind “No thanks” — it’s “fuck off and die” , because I don’t pay for bullshit.  I last went to the National Review Online website independently (as opposed to following a link) back in, I think, 2009 (before they fired the brilliant John Derbyshire).  They’re a bunch of pantywaist wannabe-conservative NeverTrumpers, and with the possible exception of the late Charles Krauthammer, I wouldn’t shake hands with any of them if I were being paid to do so.  William F. Buckley would have thrown the lot of them out in the 1970s, when NR was a magazine worth reading.  At least the magazine had a little edge when Ann Coulter and John Derbyshire were staff writers, but with their firings, NRO soon turned into a soggy vanilla pudding laced with diarrhea.

The poxy fucking rag needs to fold up its tents and disappear, and the sooner the better.