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.

Not Diligent

I see that I’ve forgotten to itemize my non-vegan intake over the past two weeks.  I plead Old Fart Forgetfulness, so please forgive my sloppiness.  Here, however, is sort of a representative summary of my meals thus far:

Oh wait, there was some pulled pork in there too:

I’ll try to do better next time, promise.

Shaking Hands

Not the quivering that happens before hopping into bed with a first-time lover, or when about to shoot in competition against  (say) Jerry Miculek;  I’m talking here about shaking hands last Friday afternoon with two old friends:

…the Ruger Single-Six having been exchanged for my Ruger MkIV 22/45 (thankee, Reader Jerry!).  As such, this specific gun wasn’t an old friend, but I’ve owned a Single-Six before, so it was a familiar experience.  All shots were taken at 10 yards, and here’s what the target looked like, in overview:

First:  the Browning High Power.  As my delivery of practice 115gr ammo hadn’t arrived yet (some nonsense about needing an 18-wheeler), I had to go with ten rounds from an old box of Fiocchi I happened to have lying around in Ye Olde Ammoe Locquer — oh sure, like none of you  have any “orphan ammo” in your lockers, right?  The self-defense load tested was thirteen rounds of SIG V-Power 147gr.  I wasn’t trying for any serious accuracy with the 115gr. stuff;  it was just getting re-familiarized with the High Power’s trigger.  Here’s the result:

Shooting the 115gr was a breeze, and the three outliers were the first three shots taken, holding on the “8” in the target — trigger familiarization, folks.  Then I got a little more serious, and dropped the last seven bullets into the single hole, as shown.  A tad high, but next time I’ll hold at the bottom of the 8.

Then I changed to the SIG ammo, and I have to admit that the heavier 147gr. bullets took a little getting used to (the hold was on the X):

The 13-shot grouping wasn’t as tight as that of the lighter 115gr, but certainly in terms of self defense clustering, I wasn’t too displeased with the outcome.  (Only one  flier?  I must be getting better, or else the High Power is a better gun than I remember.)  It looks like the hold, as for the 115gr FMJ ammo, is at the bottom of the target circle.

I love my High Power 9mm, and once its carry holster arrives from Don Hume and the spare mags from [can’t remember] , it’s onto my waist it’ll be going, on probation of course. You may all reach for the smelling-salts now.

Next came the Single-Six (aiming at 2 1/2″ yellow targets), and I shot one cylinder each of .22 LR and .22 WinMag without too much regard for the grouping, just to get used to the single-action trigger.  Then I got a little more serious, and took my time with the next two cylinders, first with the CCI Mini-Mag .22 LR 40gr. solids:

…and then with the CCI Maxi-Mag .22 WMR, also 40gr. solids:

Hmmm…  thought I’d do better with the .22 Mags, as I was getting really used to the trigger by then.  So what does that mean, Readers? [3…2…1…]

“MOAR PRACTICE!!!!”

Can’t wait.  It’s a good thing I stocked up with .22 WMR during the Dubya Administration:  .22 Mag is more expensive than 9mm.

And yes:  a slow, deliberate, one-shot-at-a-time session with the single-action Ruger was just fantastic.

Monday Funnies

Yeeeeeaaaarrrrrgh it’s Monday already:

So what else to do but laugh?  Today’s theme:  excellent mothers.

(yes, that’s a mother-daughter pic).  Even worse is:

…and my favorite:

And for our Weekly Pick-Me-Up, it’s Penny Cruz’s kid sister Monica:

Travel Plans

As my own offspring have proved to be utterly shit in the Grandchild Production Process, I have had to resort to marrying someone whose kids (or one of them, anyway), has a clue.

Yes, Angie’s Elder Son has just given us a grandchild.

Sadly, however, he is not local to these climes;  in fact, he married an Oz-chick* a while ago, and… moved to Oz!

[pause to let gasps of horror die away]

You know what this means, right?  Yes… I have to go to Australia in April to wet the baby’s head.  And as any fule kno, this means being exposed to the various (and toxic) forms of Oz wildlife, such as the Brown Snake (and its buddies):

…the Funnel-Web Spider (and its buddies):

We all know about the Sand Tiger Sharks (and their buddies):

…and let’s not even talk about the other species of dangerous Australian fauna:

Thankfully, the last two species (sharks ‘n sluts) pose little danger to me as a.) I never swim in the sea, and b.) I’m taking my own woman with me.

So off I go, to wander ‘midst furriners again… [sigh]

Gah.


*Some people may wonder why I got involved with a family which is happy to consort with Australians, but hey:  my own Son&Heir has a Canucki-Girlfriend, so we try to be inclusive.  It’s all about Diversity!, isn’t it?