Add high schools to that, and there won’t be a next generation of Commies. As it is, however…
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Monday Funnies
As you contemplate your achievements of last week, here are a few things to help you make it through this one:
And finally, some obligatory skin, starting with a “Before & After” pic:
And that’s enough of that.
Hopeless Crush
In looking back over the posts I’ve put up since I returned to blogging, I see that I’ve inexplicably given short shrift to a woman I’ve had a crush on since… well, since I first became aware of her back in the 1980s. In fact, when I did speak of Olympic skating gold medallist Katarina Witt on these pages, I relegated her to a backup reservist among my Desert Island Dames.
That’s just wrong.
So herewith a short pictorial on this German hottie:
And of course, there was that unforgettable Playboy pictorial, at the ripe old age of 33:
I am so weak…
Concept Album
The Small Faces made probably the finest album of 1967 (excepting Sergeant Pepper), and certainly my favorite. Enjoy the ramble through the psychedelic thoughts of Steve Marriott, Ronnie Lane, Kenney Jones and Ian McLagan, ending with the Stanley Unwin recitation of the story of Happiness Stan.
Brilliance on so many levels and way ahead of its time, musically speaking.
And a bonus: Itchycoo Park.
Simple Solution
This is being reported as a thing:
Protests descended into violent chaos yet again in Portland over the weekend, as protesters targeted the federal courthouse and reportedly hurled Molotov cocktails toward federal officers.
There’s no “reportedly” about it: the Pantifas are trying to set the cops on fire. The question is: what should we do about it? Here’s my humble suggestion:
(That’s a Swiss police sniper, but you get the idea. If all the cool kids — and especially the ever-neutral Swiss — are doing it…)
There’s probably no need to go Full Mosul on the thing, but whatever.
And the rules of engagement (ROE) should be quite simple: the second the bomb leaves the thrower’s hand — establishing a prima facie offensive action — open fire. Ditto the little shits letting off commercial fireworks (rockets) aimed at the cops.
I’m done being all patient and indulgent. Let’s see how the rioters’ nail-studded plywood shields stand up to a .308 bullet.
Nope, Nope, Nope And Nope
John Hawkins loves him some new offering from SIG:
In a world full of consumers seeking out pocket pistols, sub-compact daily carriers, and snub-nose revolvers built with a minimalist design, the Emperor Scorpion stands out as an ode to one of the most iconic, full-sized guns ever made. And thanks to Sig Sauer, the Emperor Scorpion not only captures, but actually surpasses, all the wonder and awe you and I felt when we shot the 1911s our grandpas owned.
One more point: The Emperor Scorpion is made in the U.S.A.
Well, allow me to retort. [/Jules Winnfield]
Things that put Kim off from buying a new-style 1911:
- front-slide serrations: never needed them, never will, and they wear on leather holsters
- ditto serrations on the front of the grip: chafes the hand after about 100 rounds, and I don’t suffer from sweaty hands anyway
- raised nubbin on the grip safety: these are for people who aren’t holding their guns tightly enough
- camo-Barbie color: ’nuff said.
Oh, and lookie here:
Finally: I’ve always made fun of SIG, S&W and Glock for their impenetrable model-numbering systems (in SIG’s case, 225, 226, 229, 232 etc.) but that does not give them an excuse to make their latest 1911 sound like a character from The Lord Of The Rings. “Emperor Scorpion”?
Call that the fifth “nope”. If I’m going to shell out over $1,300 for a 1911, it has to have more class. Kinda like this one:
‘Nuff said. And it too is made in the U.S.A.
No doubt some teenager running SIG’s marketing department would write me off as just another old asshole who’s going to die soon anyway — it’s far sexier to chase after the “youth” market, after all.
Except for one thing: I have probably another two, even three more 1911 purchases left to me before I shuffle off this mortal coil, and yet another one as a present for the Son&Heir, maybe as soon as his next birthday, even. None of those will be this Chief Insect 1911, though.