Month: December 2025

Bondi Reflections

Anarchist thugs, Muzzies, Psychos, Resistance

Right up front, I’m going to say that I hope I’m never in a situation like one of the several mass shootings we’ve just seen.  I’m no hero, I’m too old for that kind of thing, and there are too many bad outcomes (for me) should I get involved with — i.e. by shooting back at — asshole gunmen on a spree.

That said, I also hope that if the situation is inescapable that I will have the gumption to perform my civic duty, i.e. by not running away and hoping that law enforcement will take care of everything, and doing my level best to end the threat.

I also hope I don’t get shot by the frigging cops, which is what seems to have happened in Sydney because to the untrained and panicked eye, the target becomes any guy holding a gun (or, in the case of the OzCops) and even standing next to the gun he just used, with his hands in the air.

What a shit show.

For those who think that I’m being silly to imagine such things happening, living as I do in north Texas:   let me remind everyone that there was just such a mass shooting at an outdoor mall in Allen, just up the road from my house, only a couple years ago.  (What makes it all the more chilling was that both New Wife and Mrs. Doc Russia had gone out shopping in Allen, and might well have ended up at the mall in so doing.)

So no:  if we’ve learned one thing from all this, it’s that this shit can happen anywhere.  And we would do well to be prepared to deal with it.

Once again, I’m absolutely not hoping that I get involved in some of this mayhem;  but at the same time, I will admit to doing some mental role-playing in my head, dredging up all the old “Coinops” (counter-insurgency operations) drills I learned back in those far-off days when we all carried muskets and bayonets.

One thing is for sure, though:  I will not be a helpless victim.

Malice Aforethought

Journalist Scum, Legal Stuff, Trumpism

I haven’t been keeping up with the Trump vs. BBC saga much, because as a rule trials make my eyes glaze over.  This one, however, may be different:

MAKE no mistake, Donald Trump’s $5billion (£3.7billion) defamation lawsuit against the BBC, filed yesterday, is a formidable document: it is a tightly constructed, meticulously argued claim that accuses the Corporation not merely of error but of intentional deception on a scale that, if proven, could be the most damaging legal defeat in its history.

Filed in the US District Court for the Southern District of Florida, the complaint names the BBC, BBC Studios Distribution, and BBC Studios Productions as defendants. It seeks $5billion in damages for defamation and for alleged violations of Florida’s consumer protection laws.

What makes the filing so potent is that it weaves the BBC’s factual admissions, internal whistleblowing, patterns of bias in BBC coverage, timing, motive and governance failure – caused essentially by the BBC acting as its own judge and jury – into a coherent narrative of wrongdoing.

…and the article just gets better and better as Dave Keighley lays it all out for TCW’s Brit readers.  Read the whole thing.

Best part of all this?  The suit has been filed in Florida, where Trump’s a longtime resident (at Mar-A-Lago, for my Brit Readers).  In Florida (as opposed to NYfC or Kollyfornia) the jury is going to be made of Floridians, nay even a goodly number of Trump voters who, if all goes Trump’s way, will deliver a sound financial wacking to the BBC’s corporate pee-pee.

Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of smug, Leftist assholes, who will have their bias and underhanded skulduggery exposed to the entire world.

It’s just too bad that in the end, the financial penalty will be borne by the BBC’s license holders, i.e. the public, rather than by the BBC executives who perpetrated this travesty.

But hey… all the more reason for the Brits to dump the whole licensing bollocks altogether.  The public hangings can come later.

Light Posting

Anarchist thugs, Illegal immigrants, Psychos, Terrorism, The Gun Thing

Sorry about the paucity of posts today, but I was busier than a $5 whore during Fleet Week yesterday, only not engaged in any sexual congress, of course.  (New Wife is out of town, and I’m just too damn old for such shenanigans.)

Anyway…

What kept me busy yesterday was that after seeing the news for the past few days (Bondi Beach Escapades, Brown University Learning Experience, Turtle Island Liberation Fun & Games, etc.), I decided that it was time to up my game.

Now should any trouble come to my door, so to speak, I am reasonably confident that I could give a good account of myself in the sense of repelling boarders.  (Cue the Son&Heir:  “Pity the fool.” )

But even though I don’t leave the house to drive around that often, the fact is that I do occasionally have to venture out Where The Wild Things Are.  And if the past week has shown us anything, it’s that The Wild Things can be just about anywhere.  I mean, if the International Asshole Set is going to sprinkle bullets around Bondi fucking Beach, FFS…

…so I decided to fortify the old Tiguan (just went over the 140,000-mile mark, it did) with something a little more than my 1911 and backup trunk gun.  Ergo:

Yup, if I’m going to have to own a damn Mattel gun chambered in 5.56 poodleshooter, then what better location for it than as a replacement for Ye Olde Trunke Gunne (of ancient vintage and slow rate of fire)?

One would think that I would have in my possession the proper-sized gun bag to hold the poodleshooter, but this proved not to be the case [sic]  when I went rummaging around in the Gun Accoutrement Closet — don’t ask — because all I had on hand was a collection of gun bags suitable for scoped bolt-action rifles and shotguns, which were all hopelessly too long.

So… off I went to find a suitable carrier, dimensions: 36″x12″.  (I know, I could have just ordered one online, but I prefer to shop for stuff like this in a store so I can handle the thing and check it out for durability, defects, etc.)

Oy.

One thing I knew for sure is that I do not want to look like some tacticool G.I. Joe:



…because apart from making me look like an idiot, those things are a.) too damn expensive, b.) too heavy and c.) too easily visible through the car windows, tinted though they are.

What I wanted, therefore, was something akin to the above, but smaller and black.  But “hen’s teeth” and “honest politician” are the mots justes  when it comes to those size/color specs.

So what did I end up getting?  This, a Ruger 10/22 “Flagstaff”:

It’s actually 40″ long, but what that does is allow me to stow the first (of several) spare mags in the toe of the thing, which makes the loaded bag more balanced to carry.

All I have to do is apply some matte black spray paint over the red bits, and I should be good to go.

So to speak.

(For those interested in such minutiae, my “load out” is 100 rounds, i.e. what you see there plus three other 20-round mags in the bag’s pockets.  Way I see it, if I were to need more than a hundred rounds — plus whatever I carry on me for the 1911 — then I won’t have been doing my job properly and deserve to die.)

It’s Not Hyperbole

Food & Drink, Marketing / Advertising, Patriotism, Trades

When I first referred to Jeremy Clarkson as “The Greatest Living Englishman”, it started off as a nod to his unflinching honesty when it came to everything he looked at, such as his (non-)review of some Vauxhall car model back in the 1990s:  “If they’re not going to bother to make an interesting car, I’m not going to bother to review it.”

That caused Big Business (in this case, Vauxhall’s then-parent company General Motors) to go apeshit, because that’s not the way car reviewers are supposed to behave.

It’s that same unflinching honesty that he displayed in his first bumbling efforts at farming which turned his Clarkson’s Farm TV show into a runaway smash hit, and along the way almost single-handedly changed the way the British regard both food and the farmers who produce it.

So when he turned that same agricultural ignorance towards brewing beer — simply because he had a barn full of unsold barley which he needed to sell — one might think that it was just another celebrity using their name to sell a product.

In this case, one would be not only wrong, but spectacularly wrong.  And if you want to see a case study in marketing that, in hindsight, never had a chance of failing, then I implore you to watch this video.

Time and time again, “the experts” believed that Clarkson was making a mistake, and every single time he proved them not only wrong, but spectacularly wrong.

He turned a few thousand pounds’ worth of unsold barley into a £75 million company, and in the process, changed the way British people think about farming, about beer and about the people who farm and the people who brew beer.

And he did it all with his usual unflinching honesty and openness, which gave the lie to the usual corporate veneer of respectability and care for both their employees and their customers.

Which is why he truly is the Greatest Living Englishman.

I can’t wait to try it the next time I go over to Britishland.