No Fun Anymore

I used to play golf, a long time ago, and I quite enjoyed it because while I wasn’t that good, at least I was good enough not to make a fool of myself at company golf days, or playing with clients — a competent social golfer, in other words, with some really good shots and not too many abysmal failures.

The problem was that I had to play a lot of golf (at least three rounds a week) to keep that standard up.  And as time went on and I moved into upper management, there was less and less time to play.  Three times a week turned into every other week, then once a month… and my game went to shit.  So eventually I stopped playing, because the most frustrating thing is to know what shot to play, but no longer being able to play it;  and I was just making a damn fool of myself by even trying.

I’ve reached that point with shooting.

People sometimes say that a bad day at the range is still better than a good day at the office, which is total bullshit, of course:  I’ve had days at the range where equipment broke, where I’ve arrived at the range but forgotten my ammo at home — you all know what I’m talking about here.  And I’ve had some days at the office which were pretty spectacular, both from a career perspective and just feeling the satisfaction of having done a really good job that day.

But in my whole life, I’ve only done things until they stopped being fun anymore;  and I’ve reached that point with shooting.  I’ve always been a competent handgun shooter, and a little better than average with a rifle, but I’m no longer either.  My eyes are absolute shit — despite several surgeries, I have advancing glaucoma (which is incurable, and can only be arrested with prescription eyedrops) and even worse, my always-severe astigmatism  seems to be getting worse with advancing age.  Crosshairs in a scope now appear to be two overlapping sets of crosshairs:


and a red-dot sight looks like a Mastercard symbol:


When trying to place a shot into a 1″ target at 100 yards, it’s almost impossible to shoot consistently because sometimes the left-hand image is in focus, and other times the right-hand one seems to be the one to use.

Frankly, after squinting and refocusing for what seems like minutes, I sometimes just pull the trigger to get it over with.  With predictable — i.e. shit — results.

It’s no good using the best equipment either, because no matter how good, the results are going to be terrible because I just can’t shoot for shit anymore.  And I get no joy out of shooting the good stuff anymore either.

I’m not looking forward to this year’s Boomershoot, where the ranges start at 400 yards, and go out to 900.  If I hit one Boomer over two days, it’ll be a miracle.  And that’s no fun at all, especially when I’m not some newbie shooter — not after sixty-odd years of shooting — even though my targets look like one.

And I’ll be trying like hell not to have to drive at night to get up to Idaho, because:

Last Thursday I was at the range, doing some final adjustments to both Boomershoot rifles — the .308 Win CZ 557 Varmint (this year’s ULD raffle prize) and my 6.5×55 Swede 550.  When I finally gave up, checked out and the counter guy asked me if I’d enjoyed the session, I replied, “No.”  Then I added, “I think my shooting from now on is going to be Coke cans at 25 yards.”  And as I said that, I realized that this really is going to be the case.

I’m done with the Gun Thing.  This will be my last Boomershoot, I won’t be hunting deer in Scotland or birds in Devon with Mr. Free Market, and most probably not even sporting clays.  My only shooting will be to keep in training with my self-defense guns, and a little plinking with .22 rifles at large targets (cans, oranges, that kind of thing) at close range.

I will probably be selling most of my guns — details to be announced later — keeping only a very few that I’m comfortable shooting.

It’s just not fun anymore, so shooting is going to go the way of golf.

Gloves Off

So here’s a cute little thing on Twatter:

What amuses me is that the people who post shit like this are not going to be the ones throwing bricks.

Okay.  So if you’re going to resort to hurling dangerous-if-not-lethal objects at us, then you’ll have no problem with us using dangerous-if-not-lethal bullets against you?

I repeat, for the umpteenth time:  are you Leftist lunatics absolutely sure  you want to start down this road?

Happy Easter

I know, you’re asking yourself:  “Why is this atheist wishing me well over a religious holiday?”  Silly rabbits;  we’re looking at how other people  started the Easter celebrations — which, as our trip takes us to Newcaste-On-Tyne, Britishland, means…

Train Smash Women!!! (and play this as background music for this post)

And who better to kick off the parade of unfortunate choices, regrettable mistakes and foolish behavior which characterize the species, than this creature:

Is she not magnificent?  But let me not pause the entertainment:

And last, but by no means least:

That said, their dates (when they had them) were not exactly prime beef either:

I once referred to Liverpool as Train Smash Central.  If so, they have a serious challenger for the title in Newcastle.


The late (and much-missed) Col. Jeff Cooper once said this about violence:

“One bleeding-heart type asked me in a recent interview if I did not agree that ‘violence begets violence.’  I told him that it is my earnest endeavor to see that it does.  I would like very much to ensure — and in some cases I have — that any man who offers violence to his fellow citizen begets a whole lot more in return than he can enjoy.”

[pauses to let the applause die down]

So when you set yourself up as a “saboteur” — of a perfectly-legal institution, mind you — and part of your modus operandi  is violence, do not be surprised if violence is visited on you in turn.  Such as in this instance:

Hunt saboteurs claim they were attacked after one suffered a bloody eye as violence broke out between supporters and placard-wielding protesters during traditional Boxing Day hunts around the country.
Riders with packs of hounds – following scent trails laid in advance to comply with the 2004 Hunting Act forbidding the hunting of foxes with hounds – set out under cloudy skies this morning in order to maintain the tradition.
But scenes of chaos erupted in Elham, Kent, as a saboteur was hospitalised after allegedly being thrown in front of a passing car ‘that deliberately swerved’ before being punched and kicked by a group of hunt supporters.
A hunt saboteur posted an image of his bloodied eye after allegedly being ambushed by ‘two or more men’, according to the Hunt Saboteurs Association.
A spokesperson for the group said: ‘A group of drunken hunt supporters attacked the saboteurs and their vehicle as they tried to leave’.
And the group claimed a 19-year-old female demonstrator was allegedly punched in the face by a hunt supporter in Tenterden, while a band that had turned up to play reportedly had their equipment damaged.

And we have this as evidence:

But let’s make sure that we don’t just see pics of the loonies.  Here are a couple of the hunt supporters:

And for my Murkin Readers unfamiliar with the ancient custom, let’s make one thing perfectly clear about all this protesting:  it has nothing  to do with protecting foxes, although that’s the pretense.

It has everything  to do with with abolishing an activity largely enjoyed by the upper- and upper-middle classes — in other words, it’s a class  issue.

The very fact that hunting was originally banned by a Labour government headed by the loathsome Tony Blair is sufficient proof thereof.

And all I can say to the hunt supporters is:  keep up the good work of thrashing the “sabos” at every opportunity.

Not So Fast, Fritzie

Sayeth Victor Davis Hanson:

Every 20 to 50 years in Germany, things start unraveling.  Germans feel aggrieved.  Ideas and movements gyrate wildly between far left and far right extremes.  And the Germans finally find consensus in a sense of victimhood paradoxically expressed as national chauvinism.  Germany’s neighbors in 1870, 1914, 1939 — and increasingly in the present — usually bear the brunt of this national meltdown.

Well, yeah;  except that in 1870 they had just unified Prussia’s army with those of the other German states, in 1914 they had the Imperial German Army and in 1939 they had Hitler’s Nazi war machine to boss their neighbors around.

Nowadays?  LOL.  The Alabama National Guard could whip the Bundeswehr and still be home in time for dinner.

This time, the Germans should direct all their energies inward, to fix their festering immigration population, the unions’ stranglehold on industry and the country’s  1920s-style social decadence — but they don’t have the balls to do that, even.  And I don’t see anywhere a potential  Bismarck to try it all, let alone a Hitler.

It’s not often I disagree with VDH, but this is one time I do.