I Warned You

When I said that these assholes were going to start imposing their stupid religion on the rest of us, and we should just start shooting them dead in the streets and firebombing their restaurants, everyone said, “Oh noes, Kim… that would be Krool & Hartless!

I speak here not of Muslims, but of vegans:

The group is called Animal Rebellion and its quest to force Britons into compulsory veganism is about to become very high profile. Over the coming days, the organisation is expected to bring thousands of supporters onto the streets, potentially causing serious disruption to the country’s food supplies.
One speaker says: ‘It doesn’t matter if you are the nice one who didn’t want to get arrested, or you’re the one at the front who did. Everyone who goes down there [to London] has to be aware of that, and make sure it’s not going to be stopped by a few people getting pulled away [by the police].’

As the alien cockroach said to Vincent D’Onofrio in Men In Black, “Challenge accepted.”

Or, for those of us who are more old-fashioned in these matters and want to prevent Sherman engine emissions because #SaveThePlanet:

Your suggestions in Comments — and I would suggest that as these little totalitarian bastards get all upset at the sight of blood, the more bloodthirsty your solutions, the better the irony.  Have at it.

Gratuitous Gun Pic: Savage Model 99

American Rifleman magazine once put the Savage 99 in its list of “Ten Rifles Everyone Should Own“, and while I disagree somewhat with lots a couple of their choices, the Savage 99 is a slam-dunk listing — with one reservation, which I’ll get to in a while.  But first, let’s look at this rifle and see what all the fuss is about:

I’m going to make my prejudices known up front.  I think the “99” is hands down one of the most beautiful rifles ever made, period.  That swooping stock as it leaves the receiver, the way the lever snuggles into the underside of the stock… ooooh, mommy.  And if you can find one like mine, with the “schnabel” front stock…

…and that’s before we start talking about the brilliant rotary magazine, which, unlike for some lever rifles we could mention (Winchester, Marlin coff coff ), allows one to load this rifle with pointed (and not be limited to flat- or round-nosed-) bullets.

Which brings me to my only quibble with the 99.  While it can handle medium cartridges (.308 Win, .300 Savage, .375 Win etc.), I don’t think the recoil is worth it.  My .308 Win model is, honestly, painful to shoot.  The angle of the thin stock pushes it right into the soft part of the shoulder, and for me anyway, it’s owie  after four or five rounds.  I think the perfect cartridges for the 99 are either the .250 Savage, or if you want something a little cheaper, .243 Win.  Those, I can shoot (and have shot) all day.  (I could have put a soft rubber pad on the rifle but I didn’t because wrong.)  But the Savage is not an all-day shooter, anyway.  That thin, elegant barrel heats up really quickly, and it will start to whip on you after a dozen rounds or so.

What this exquisite gun is, is a hunter.  It’s light, accurate, quick to reload (in my case, about half a second or more quicker than my Mauser 98K), and quite honestly, I can’t think what more one could ask for a deep-woods rifle.

What sets Savage 99 owners apart from the rest is the fact that they love their 99.  In the Rifleman  article linked above, the writer laments:

I once had a lovely mid-50s Model 99 in .308.  It was my favorite Texas whitetail rifle and in a weak moment I traded it for some rifle I can’t even remember.  Lesson:  Never sell or trade a good gun.

I’m one of those losers, and what I should have done was sell my .308 and immediately got a replacement in .243.  But I didn’t because I’m an idiot.  I should have just gone without electricity for a couple months…

Because of all this, Savage 99 rifles are relatively scarce, and quite expensive.  Their owners don’t want to relinquish them, and anyone who’s ever fired one, let alone hunted with it, will know exactly why.

Forward Buying

This term defines when one buys something in greater quantities than normal, in anticipation of the supply thereof being interrupted, or to hedge against price increases.  Which was all brought to mind by this post of Insty’s:

“The U.S. plans to swiftly impose tariffs on $7.5 billion in aircraft, food products and other goods from the European Union after the World Trade Organization authorized the levies Wednesday, citing the EU’s subsidies to Airbus. . . . The Office of the U.S. Trade Representative said it would impose the tariffs starting Oct. 18, with 10% levies on jetliners and 25% duties on other products including Irish and Scotch whiskies, cheeses and hand tools.” [emphasis added]

In other words, this weekend should be devoted to laying in a hefty supply of yer favorite single malts, and those snot-textured Frog cheeses (if you’re that way inclined).

Aaaargh.  As always, this is never a simple operation for me.  Do I go for variety?

…or volume?

And don’t give me that “embrace the power of and ” nonsense.  If I do both, then I can’t buy any more of this:

It’s hell being in the working class, I tell ya.

Tripping Up

So BritPrince Rufus Castratus and his wife Caring-Slut head off to Africa to do Noble Things, said things including but not limited to hugging Black chilluns, waving their own baby around, and giving inspiring speeches to Third-World Yoot, telling them not to despair but to strive to achieve the kinds of things otherwise only available to people born into noble families, or married into them, or to those of inherited wealth.

The problem, though, is that the African Adventure was supposed to be a giant PR stunt to assuage the storm of opprobrium which burst out when the Royal Ginger addressed a climate-scold conference, telling everyone to lower their carbon footprint, when in fact he’d swanned over to the conference on a series of filthy, polluting private jets.

And the African Adventure certainly started out that way for them;  adoring crowds at every stop, lickspittle Press reports and millions of cute baby pics everywhere.


Because of royalty (his) and celebrity (hers), a certain amount of security would be needed because Africa, and (forgive the unconscious racism) there is no such thing as an “armored SUV” anywhere on the Darkie Continent except as owned by various criminal thugs of the Mugabe stripe who (quite sensibly) were not going to hand over their armored vehicles and leave themselves vulnerable to, well, the rest of Africa.

So the BritGov arranged for a few of these rhino-trucks to be flown over to Darkest Africa, creating in their wake a carbon footprint equivalent to the Krakatoa eruption (some slight exaggeration, but that’s the leitmotif  of the International Climate Fear Set, isn’t it?).  Needless to say, all the Perpetually Indignants are beside themselves with fury.

I kinda feel sorry for His Gingerness.  He’s tried so hard to Do The Right Thing (as defined by his Hollywood slutwife):  announced that they’re only going to have two children because social responsibility;  given up birdshooting, boozing, foxhunting, eating meat, carousing and all the other stuff which made him lovable, and gone pretty much Full Woke (and we all know what perils lie there).

And that’s the problem right there.  If you’re going to set yourselves up as the Duke and Duchess of Wokeshire, you’re always going to fuck up disastrously in some way or another no matter what you do, just because of the nature of your job (such as it is) and the minefield that is wokedom.

Stop to eat some local delicacy at a roadside vendor?  Don’t you know that the animal which gave up its testicles for you is on the U.N. Endangered Species List?
Attend a tribal dance festival, put on some of the dancers’ duds and join in the dance?  OMG that cultural appropriation is SO disrespectful!
Watch your cousin ride in some equestrian competition?  Don’t you KNOW how much the horses suffer?
And so on.

There’s a simple solution to all of this for old Harry:

  • ditch the slutwife, keep the kid (and I have some support for this)
  • start doing again all the things he used to enjoy before the Mulatto Actress Infatuation (boozing, bonking blondes, birdshooting, driving fast cars, doing all four of those things at the same time,  etc.)
  • tell the whiny wokescolds to fuck off — he’s a Royal, FFS, and he doesn’t need anyone’s approval to do anything

But he’s never going to go there, is he?  Because in terms of becoming King of Britishland, his brother (and his  expanding brood) has relegated Rufus pretty much to the 2nd XI, inheritance-wise;  and without being the Woke Prince, therefore, all he would have left to do is open supermarkets, attend formal balls, go to church with Granny, and hand out the trophies at the Upper Twittering Boys Athletics competition.

Just like all the other minor royals, in other words.

But at least he’d get his balls back.