Month: August 2018

Best Comedy TV (Part 1)

Entertainment

I know that what constitutes the “best” of anything is very much a personal issue, especially as it pertains to entertainment — Mel Brooks’s Blazing Saddles has been hailed as one of the best movie comedies ever made, for instance, yet I can’t watch it past the first five minutes — but I think when to comes to TV sitcoms, it’s not too difficult a job to create a list of at least eight which could be classified as “really, really good, if not the best”.  So here’s what follows for the next eight Saturdays:  my personal favorite TV sitcoms, being defined as those which I could watch (and sometimes have watched) from Episode One through Episode Final, and which I can safely call “the best”.  They are in no specific order, and as with all my lists, their popularity is irrelevant:  I  happened to love them, and that’s all that counts.  Note too that the list doesn’t include many (or any) of the newer shows, simply because I gave up watching TV to any degree in about 2005.  And I’ve excluded cartoons (with one exception), because I’ve only ever watched a few, and none all the way through. Here goes with 1…

Cheers
As ensemble casts go, this one pretty much had it all.  Almost every character was funny and outrageous, and they seemed to take it in turns — sometimes within the same episode — to make the viewer roar with laughter.  My absolute favorite character was George Wendt’s Norm, whose comebacks on entry were one-line classics:

“Hey Norm, how’s the world been treating you?”
“Like a baby treats a diaper.”
and:
“Can I pour you a draft, Mr. Peterson?”
“A little early, isn’t it Woody?”
“For a beer?”
“No, for stupid questions.”

And finally, I will be forever grateful to Cheers for introducing me to Kirstie Alley:

 

5 Worst Life Lessons

Friday Feature, The Worst

Ranked in ascending order of bad:

  • All guns are always loaded.
  • Speaking your mind at your job may make you feel all righteous and stuff, but the boss may not feel the righteousness.
  • Ditto your wife.
  • You will not be respected in the morning.
  • Despite all the hoopla about it, sex with a virgin is terrible, with all that pain and crying, regret and recrimination.  And it’s even worse with a girl.

Your suggestions in Comments.

Don’t Think So, Simon

The Gun Thing

According to this guy, the only three chamberings one needs to hunt everything in the U.S.A. are the following:

  • 6.5 Creedmoor
  • 12ga
  • .338 Win Mag

To paraphrase Sheriff Margie in Fargo, “I’m not so sure I’m agreeing with your rationale, there.”

I don’t agree with the rifle choices (the 12ga. is a no-brainer), for the simple reason that they don’t pass the “To Be Found On The Shelves Of Bubba’s Bait & Ammo Store In Bumfuck, Anywhere” test.  Granted, the 6.5mm Creedmoor (a.k.a. the “flavor of the month” cartridge) and .338 Win Mag are fine cartridges, but are they sold everywhere?  I doubt it.

Also, two chamberings aren’t enough.  We can sit and argue the point all day about which rifle cartridges are the best — and I have no problem with entertaining said discussion in Comments, of course — but I am of the opinion that the “hunt anywhere / anything” criterion in the U.S. of A., given the wide variety of terrain and game we have, cannot consist of fewer than three centerfire rifle chamberings, to whit:

  • .25-inch (.243 Win, .270 Win etc.)
  • .3x  (.30-30, .308 Win, .30-06 etc.)
  • .3x magnum  (7mm Rem Mag, .300 Win Mag, etc.)

…and a credible argument can be made for an additional, larger cartridge for grizzly in deep brush, such as:

  • .4x (.45-70 Gov, .458 Win etc)

I know, anything a .308 can do, a .300 Win Mag can do better;  but let’s just add a little real-world experience by acknowledging that the .300 Win Mag costs twice as much as its little cousin, and also because recoil / owie shoulder.

All that established, feel free to suggest your three favorite rifle chamberings in Comments, especially when taking the “Bubba’s Store” criterion into account.  Explain your choices, if necessary.  I’ll be adding mine later.

Bye Bye Bunting, Daddy’s Gone… Wait A Minute

Africa

I’ve never accompanied Mr. Free Market and Doc Russia on their South African safaris because as much as I’d love to share the experience with them, quite frankly I’ve been there, done that, and can’t afford it anymore.

Now it looks like nobody’s going to be doing much hunting in the near future, because of ANC policy:

THE South African government has begun the process of seizing land from white farmers.
Local newspaper City Press reports two game farms in the northern province of Limpopo are the first to be targeted for unilateral seizure after negotiations with the owners to purchase the properties stalled.

Africa wins again.

And I may consider calling South Africa “Zimbabwe South” in the near future.  Feel free to explain to me why this isn’t justified.

Kicking Down Fences

Modernism, Politics

I read this article via Insty a few days back, and it’s stayed with me ever since because it’s becoming an increasingly-familiar feeling:

Would you feel comfortable wearing a MAGA hat? Or would you worry you might get assaulted?
…
The Democrats are now embracing “democratic socialism.” Their activists are dressing up in hoods and masks and terrorizing citizens.
…
But we’re not supposed to complain about it. It’s getting dangerous to speak your mind. Dangerous to your career, and even to your safety.
…
I worry about how free America still will be in six years because the Democrats… they’ve got an agenda. They want to narrow the range of acceptable opinions. To cow us, restrict us, make us scared to speak. From day to day, Americans are getting bullied, browbeaten, and herded like sheep. The Democrats are driving us into the narrow, reeking pen of political correctness. Its fences are constantly moving, and in only one direction. They are closing in on us.

Here’s what worries me about this.  I don’t worry about being assaulted for wearing some kind of “offensive” clothing.  I don’t worry that my car will be keyed because I have an NRA/TSRA decal on the back window.  I don’t worry about being screamed at or spat upon because of [insert Lefty outrage here].

I don’t worry about any of that.  I worry about how I’ll react to any of the above.

I don’t want to beat the shit out of some snotty punk screaming insults into my face, or break someone’s hand when they’ve just keyed my car.  And if some Pantifa asswipe comes at me with a bike lock or pickax handle, I sure as hell don’t want to shoot the little prick in the face.

But I might well do any or all of that — and then have to face the legal consequences.

It’s all very well to say, “Oh, but you were in the right:  you were justified in responding to [whatever just happened to you].”  I might be in the right, but there will still be a mountain of legal crap to be endured, lawyer’s fees and all that nonsense.  It’s like having a car accident when the other guy ran the red light:  he’s in the wrong, but you’re still the one with a wrecked car.

That said:  I think these little Lefty shits need to face up to something:  it’s all very well to play these little games, but I don’t think they realize that our patience may be great, but it’s not limitless.

It’s only a question of time.

But in the meantime, I find excuses not to go to Austin, even though I have close friends there I want to visit, because Austin TX is Loony Lefty Central.  I sometimes worry about that NRA sticker getting me a bad Uber review from a passenger (I’m a  “five-star” driver, which has its privileges).  I worry about some SJW waiter spitting in my food after overhearing my dinner-table conversation.  And those are just the things that trouble me off the top of my head.

As the linked article suggests, they and all the other little micro-terrorisms are all fences.  And I’m starting to resent them.  Greatly.