Nitpicking

Via Insty, I read yet another one of Larry Correia’s inspired rants (go thou and read it too, yea even before thou readest further in this here Blogge), but this did catch my eye:

As a former accountant, please allow me to explain why all of today’s newly formed tax experts are fucking morons, and we should metaphorically put a brick in a sock and beat them over the head with it until they shut up.

Far be it for me to gainsay anything that the Mighty Correia has said, but even a half-brick  in a sock will only yield a couple of whacks before the sock frays and breaks.  (And yes, I know he said “metaphorically”, but I’m a literal kinda guy.)

For sustained head-whacking with enhanced hosiery, I suggest a good old Idaho potato, the fresher the better.  When the potato starts getting mushy with use (which takes a surprisingly long time), it’s a matter of a moment to replace it with a fresh one.

And if the local supermarket is closed and a potato is not to hand, gravel or beach sand will work equally well, especially if dampened before half-filling the sock. And if all else fails, take a D battery out of your MagLite, and insert into the Sock Of Doom.  (The D is the optimal size — larger will break the sock, smaller doesn’t achieve the proper velocity or momentum.)

Don’t ask me how I know all this.  We can discuss at some other time whether your Easton Marlowe is better than Calvin Klein, or whether dress socks are a better fit [sic]  for purpose than athletic ones.

No need to thank me, it’s all part of the service.

Warm-Up

Every so often I get it right.  A few years ago, Mr. Free Market decided that he wanted to go hunting in Africa — South Africa, as it happened — and asked me for any tips I might have which would make his trip more successful.

There’s not a whole lot I can tell Mr. FM about hunting — he’s an excellent shot, has hunted all over Europe and despite all his skill, he’s always willing to learn more, whether from his guides or from other hunters.  Needless to say, he’s a very successful hunter, as I’ve occasionally noted on these pages.

I thought about it for a while, and really had only two pieces of advice:

Use enough gun.  African game is unbelievably tough, and what would be a killing shot on a North American whitetail with a .30-06 will not anchor a similarly-sized antelope (e.g. blesbuck) on the African continent.  Even a tiny warthog, when whacked with a light cartridge like the .30-06, will run for over a quarter-mile before dying.  The very fact that a .30-06 is characterized as a “light” cartridge should be a warning.  I used to hunt with either .308 Win or 7mm Mauser, but if I was going to shoot anything large or dangerous, I used borrowed rifles in either .375 H&H or (only once, because owie) .458 Win Mag.
But Mr. FM had that covered, using a .375 H&H Magnum chambering which could handle pretty much anything short of elephant or rhino.

The next piece of advice had nothing to do with hunting.

Get a suntan before going over.  Nothing quite prepares you for the African sun, especially if you’re hunting at higher altitudes than a few hundred feet above sea level.  You would think that as you go higher, the weather becomes cooler;  no, it just gets less humid.  (Think:  Arizona high desert vs. South Texas Hill Country, only with Arizona about ten degrees hotter.)
And Mr. FM is a Brit, with the typical fair skin — not, thank gawd, the fish-belly white of the Irish — that has led to all Brits being known colloquially as “Rooineks” (red necks, from the sunburn) by the locals.

So he did, visiting a tanning salon every other day for a couple-three weeks before setting out.  And on his return, Mr. FM said that of all the advice he’d been given, that was the best.  And even after arriving in South Africa with what he thought was a deep tan, he went still several shades darker after a week in the bush.  Had he not had the tanning sessions, he admitted that he’d have been confined to the indoors after the first day’s hunting.  And that’s no way to go through a hunting trip, son.

So why am I talking about this?  Because I was reminded of the topic by this picture, seen in The Sun [sic] newspaper:

In Africa, the girl on the right would burn slightly after a couple hours outdoors;  but the pale one on the left would blister after maybe fifteen minutes.  Yes, it’s that bad.

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim,
“Last week I was out for my daily 5-mile walk when some woman shouted at me for not wearing a face mask.  Some background:  it’s not a crowded place — in fact, most days I don’t see anyone at all out there — so I really don’t see what the fuss is all about.  My question:  what’s the proper response when someone scolds me for not wearing a mask?  Should I apologize, or just say nothing and move on?”
— Ashamed, Oregon

Dear Shameful,

You have two problems here;  one is low self-esteem, and the other is aimlessness.  In the first case, the proper response to one of these Karens is to shout “FUCK YOU!” back at them, as loudly as you possibly can.  If they respond, or start getting silly about it, then shout, “I’m so glad you’re wearing a mask, because I bet you’re fucking UGLY underneath that thing.”  Then, as a last resort, pepper-spray them in the face if they get close to you in an aggressive manner.

As for your other problem:  what the fuck are you doing walking around with no destination in mind?  Just so you know:  a five-mile walk to a decent pub is fine — a little excessive, maybe, but if the pub is good enough, worth the sacrifice.  Ditto, a five-mile stalk while hunting is also permissible because there’s a chance of a dead animal at the end of it — but a five-mile walk just for the sake of walking is a total waste of time and for that, you should be ashamed of yourself.  If you really have to walk that far but don’t drink [shudder] or it’s not hunting season, then take up golf.  Ordinarily, I don’t recommend golf to anyone because, well, golf;  but yours is an extreme case — and  I guarantee you:  nobody you meet on the golf course is going to scold you for not wearing a mask.

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim:
“I recently won a large lottery, and now I’m being inundated with offers of sex from women.  While this is very flattering and all, I’m starting to get sick of it.  What can I do about the situation?”

— Oversexed, Rochdale UK

Dear Over,

Firstly, I have to chastise you for announcing that you’d won the lottery before you’d put your new stash into a super-secret trust fund, untouchable and unreachable to strangers.
Secondly:  with tens of millions in the bank, you advertised for dates?  I was going to ask if you’re fucking stupid, but there’s no need:  you are.  But anyway, that bullet has gone through the church and now all the little gold-diggers in the world have crawled out of their holes, wanting a piece of your action, so to speak.

Here’s what you should do.  Call a news conference and tell them that you’re going to abstain from sex until your AIDS test has come back negative.  Complain that the labs have put your test at the back of the queue because of all the coronavirus testing they have to do, so it’s gonna take a while.  In the meantime, anyone wanting sex from you in the future needs to bring a recent STD test before you’ll even consider bonking them.  (This isn’t a bad thing to do, anyway:  most of the totties in your age group seem to have some kind of pox or other.)

Good luck.  You’re going to need it.  Oh, and any future consultation with me will carry a bill for a million bucks.

Dr. Kim

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim.
“I’m so worried about getting the coronavirus.  What can I do?”

— Paranoid, Chicago

Dear Para:
Do all the stuff that people have been telling you to do:  wash your hands thoroughly and often, cover your mouth when you cough and sneeze, wear a face mask if you’re forced to be in close contact with other people, and don’t touch steel surfaces like handrails without cleaning your hands immediately afterwards.
Oh, and shoot all Chinese people on sight.

— Dr. Kim

 

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim,
“Yesterday I ate some Chinese food, and today I’m not feeling well. Could I have caught the coronavirus?”

— Hyper Kondriac, Illinois

Dear Hyper Moron:
Never mind. I’m sure you’ll be better by November, when you can vote Democrat.  And even if you die before then, the fucking Democrats will register your vote anyway.

— Dr. Kim