Creature Comforts

According to reports, BritPrince Harry will be living with his new Hollywood wife in a tiny village in the Cotswolds area of Oxfordshire, out in the west of Britishland — and from personal experience, I can attest to the place’s extraordinary beauty. There is a silver lining to his cloud (the cloud being his bossy, oh-so modern and trendy spouse): his “local” will be the Falkland Arms, and a pretty place it is too…

Alert Readers will notice the presence of Britain’s best brewery on the sign, which means that Harry, a renowned drinker in his youth, will be able to drink pints of Wadworth 6X… assuming his health-Nazi wife allows him to ever visit the place, that is.

Let’s Hear It For Violence

I was recently triggered by an article (linked by Insty) which contained this little gem:

Here’s the actual bullshit, in its entirety:

“We stand in solidarity with the Red Guards and principally Maoist collectives who are working towards the creation of the Maoist Party. We stand in solidarity with Maoist parties across the world who are committed to building socialism and fighting revisionism through People’s War!
“What needs to be done is the concentric construction of the three weapons of revolution: the Maoist Party, the Maoist People’s Army, and the Maoist United Front. What needs to be done is to militarize the masses and all the pre-Party Maoist formations!
“We must prepare today, yesterday and tomorrow for the prolong confrontation, the protracted war, against the capitalist state. We must carry out military actions against the enemies of the people!”

Ummm when I said I was “triggered”, that doesn’t mean I was offended or whatever the snowflakes normally mean. What happened is that I burst into great shouts of laughter which frightened the neighbor’s cat off the fence.

Listen, you little Maoist pricks: do you know that the “masses”, as you call them (about a hundred million people), are already pretty militarized? More to the point is that when you start carrying out “military actions against the enemies of the people”, tens of millions of your “enemies” will probably shout in a single voice: “The day has come, hallelujah! It’s Zombie Killin’ Time!” whereupon you sorry little bunch of insects are going to see exactly what “violence” means.

Do you actually have any idea what kind of whirlwind you pathetic Commies are going to reap? Do you have any idea how many goobers (like me) have been just waiting to settle that old argument once and for all? (The old argument being: “which would be more effective in killing Commies: the AR-15 or AK-47?”)

The problem is that you Communist tools are still stuck in the past, when the peasants were unarmed and only a few of the “vanguard” were necessary to terrorize the population (with the help of the army). Now, however, after over 100 million deaths caused by Communism, we know exactly who the enemies of the People really are: they’re the Communists, and the army is on the side not of you Commies, but on the side of your supposed “enemies” — the capitalists. If you don’t believe that, you have a rude awakening coming on the Glorious Day. (It’s gonna be glorious, all right — just not in the way you think.)

So good luck with that, assholes. Me, I’m off to the range. My sniper rifle isn’t going to zero itself, nor will my AK be able to dump a full mag into the sweet spot of a (human-shaped) paper target without the shooter (that would be me) being completely “regulated” in its use. (You may want to look up the actual meaning of the word “regulated” in its original placement in the Second Amendment, by the way.)

Don’t get me started on my 1911, which has been looking at me piteously for two whole weeks, begging for an outing.

Hmmm… maybe I was “triggered” after all; certainly my trigger finger started to itch uncontrollably as I read their little manifesto.

Maoist collectives? Pathetic twerps, more like.

Another Frigging Moron

I have often said that had I been Rick Blaine in the movie Casablanca, I would have arranged to have Major Strasser send that Commie rat Viktor Laszlo off to a concentration camp, then spent the rest of the war in Casablanca making boatloads of money from the bar and lots of babies with Ilsa.

I grant you that in my scenario above, Casablanca would have been somewhat different from the version as released, but that’s just me. Others, however,  are drawn to adventure, like this fool who is currently climbing Mt. Everest:

His name is Ben Fogle and he is an “adventurer”, which is all well and good while you’re a single young man with no responsibilities (which is why his counterparts in, say, the Marine Corps are considered expendable).

But Fogle leaves this behind to go on his adrenaline-junkie escapades:

It’s not just the fact that Marina Fogle is drop-dead lovely (which she is), but there are children involved. So when Daddy plunges to his death / gets eaten by a shark / dies of some hideous disease in a poxy jungle in some shithole country, these beautiful kids will have to come to terms with the fact that their Daddy thought that his adventures were more important than they were (which he clearly does).

Frankly, were I Mrs. Fogle, I’d ditch her selfish husband and hook up with someone more responsible. He wouldn’t have to be an accountant or lawyer or some equally-dreadful nebbish, just someone with a greater sense of familial duty than her existing husband. That she doesn’t do this makes her a better person than he is.

Nevertheless, Fogle will doubtless meet a pointless death like that Aussie idiot who was always playing with dangerous animals, and Mrs. Fogle can get on with her life. It’s just too bad that the kids have to suffer along the way.

So Much For The Army

Oy. The story is as follows: female recruit can’t handle bayonet training, gets cussed out by the instructor, bursts into tears — and the instructor is now facing a court-martial because feewings.

I’d put in a little excerpt from the article, except that it would cause all veterans’ blood pressure to soar and the howls of outrage would upset all the other people in the cubicle farm*.

And the Brits expect their army to go to war… it is, as they say, to laugh.


*I know that most of you read this website at work. Don’t bother lying to me.

…And So Much For All That

I remember people welcoming the advent of driverless cars with exclamations of: “I can take a nap!” or “I can catch up on my work!” or “I can play online games!” or “I can go out and get plastered and not worry about breathalyzers!”, all while being driven to the office / home / airport etc.

Sadly, as with so many things, it’s all bullshit because of Nanny Government:

Drivers of self-steering cars such as Teslas will be ordered not to take their hands off the wheel for more than a minute.
The new regulations from the UK government will target drivers who let go of the steering wheel thanks to lane steering, cruise control or emergency braking features.
Motorists who break the new rules will face points on their licence, a potential £1,000 fine and even prison.
It comes after legislation requiring cars manufacturers to install a feature to alert drivers when they have not touched the wheel for 15 seconds.

So the attraction of driverless cars is… what, exactly? Forgive me while I snort with derision.

Ahhhh, let’s forget about all that driverless crap and gaze upon a car which absolutely mandates self-driving, a 1957 Maserati 3500 GT:

None of that no-drive nonsense here: the 3500 line features a six-cylinder 3.5-liter engine driven with a four- or five-speed manual transmission, and it was in production for eight years (a long time for Maserati, in those days), attesting to its popularity. And if that pic wasn’t enough to persuade you, here’s the convertible version:

Those of you wanting one can form a line behind me.

Trifecta

I am often asked why I prefer movie stars of yore to today’s offerings. Allow me to explain, using but a single picture taken sometime in the 1950s:

That’s Jane Russell on the right, Debra Paget (I think) on the left, and I don’t know who’s in the middle.

None of that is important. As long as you’re prepared to overlook the hot dogs, that is.