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Shootin’ Time

Shootin' Time, Two-Minute Hate

Try this little bit of fuckery on for size:

“I came out at the end of a funeral service. I saw the traffic warden there, and he got his little pad out to start ticketing us, and I said ‘you’ve got to be joking’. I said ‘we’re only going to be 10-15 minutes more, can you just go for a walk round the block?’ He said ‘no’. I said, ‘have a bit of compassion, this is a funeral.’ And he started remonstrating with me.”

And then when someone, overcome with grief, snaps and starts killing these pathetic little officials, it’s the gun’s fault.

 

Jag-who?

Bad News, Drive Time

Proving that any corporation can become unhinged for no good reason, we have this bit of news:

Jaguar will scale back new car production to just SUV models in 2024 as the British brand ramps-up its preparations to become an electric-only luxury car maker from next year.

So what the hell.  From making cars (not SUVs) that once were the envy of other manufacturers, Jaguar will become just another factory for boring SUVs, and no-demand electric ones at that.

I will say no more, but just show what kind of thing we were treated to, back when Jag had balls and a brain.

…and that’s just some of them.

Bah.  I hope their factory catches fire from one of their silly batteries and burns to the ground, along with whichever marketing / financial “genius” signed off on this latest move.

Cretins.  They don’t deserve their storied heritage.

Small Wonder

Morons & Idiots, Retailing

The last time I was in an office supply retail store (Staples, Office Depot etc.) was shortly before I took down my consultant’s shingle and beat a client to death with it.

A frequent customer of such establishments, therefore, I am not.

So when New Wife asked me to swing by one and buy a half-dozen plastic clipboards while she was doing the laundry, I obliged with pleasure.  Here’s the item under discussion:

I know, we could just have bought the things from Satan’s Warehouse Amazon, but they were needed urgently, i.e. the next day, so we would have to buy at full retail.  But the price stuck in my mind, because that meant that the clipboards would price out at just over a couple of bucks each.

So I went over to Staples, who had the product not at all, nay even unto other colors.  “Maybe next week?” was the helpful response from the stock clerk of whom I made the request.

No big deal:  this is America, land of choices sufficient to make you puke.  So pausing only to knee the surly peasant in the groin, I went over to Office Depot, literally across the road.

Okay, they didn’t have any blue ones in stock (school uniform color, in case you’re interested).  But they did have clear ones which, when I checked with Herself, were judged “satisfactory” albeit grudgingly.

But no price in the shelf, so I grabbed a passing flunky by the ear and told him to scan the UPC code with his little scanner thingy, which he did after only a little moaning.

Then he told me the price of the piece of plastic with tin clip up top:

Thirteen (13) U.S. dollars… EACH

…and then it was my turn to do the moaning.

Fucking hell.  If a piece of mass-produced-made-in-China shit can cost in-store what can be purchased online at one-sixth of the price, something is wrong somewhere.  It could be the office supply store’s pricing policy, it could be the cost of shipping, it could be that the price was entered into the store’s price file at 10x the intended (that added decimal place matters, you know), it could be any number of things.

Anyway, New Wife was as appalled as I was, the teachers will just have to settle for something other than a blue plastic clipboard, and I’m sure that Office Depot’s fire insurance policy can replace the store… or not, I don’t care.

Because it will be another decade before I bother to set foot inside one of them again.

More And More

Gratuitous Gun Pics, The Gun Thing

From the NSSF:

In 2021, according to the findings, more than half of the 21,037,810 total firearms made available for the U.S. market were either pistols or revolvers. In all, 12,799,067 were handguns, 4,832,198 were rifles and 3,406,545 were shotguns. The figure includes firearms domestically produced plus those imported (minus exported firearms).

We should be doing better, of course, but that’s a topic for another time.

Some more good shooty news:

28,144,000 modern sporting rifles (MSRs) have been put into circulation since 1990. [that they know about — K.]

Loyal Readers will recall that I don’t have too much time for that “modern sporting rifle” euphemism but hey, as long as more of ’em are getting into citizens’ hands, you can call them butternut squashes as far as I’m concerned.

Hubba hubba.  Of course, neither of the above are mine, no sir not me.  I’m old-fashioned, as any fule kno.

Just like our Founding Fathers used…

Simultaneous Catastrophes — Update

Bad News

The response to the hard-luck story below has been wonderful.  I was able to make the appointment for Tiggy’s repairs and the dryer issue will likewise be resolved this week.  Depending on the car repair bill, I should be able to get Sputum her new treads as well, and I may even get a “new” (replacement) laptop later this week.
I hate to push my luck, but there’s still the matter of the IRS/ObamaCare fiasco…

I have the best Readers on the Internet.

At any given time, things break, we fix them / get them fixed and get on with life.

However, we should always be cognizant of that old bastard Murphy, the corollary to whose Law states that if things can go wrong, they will always go wrong in the order which will provide the greatest damage or catastrophe.  Or, in the sub-corollary, that all will occur more or less at the same time.

Wanna hear mine?

In the past seven days:

  • The Tiguan’s rear suspension and brakes need replacing (at only 135,000 miles, go figure).
  • When New Wife went to get the Fiat’s tires pumped during the recent cold weather, the tire guy said that her car won’t pass the next inspection because of tread wear (after 30,000 miles, go figure again).
  • Our tumble dryer has ceased to both tumble and dry — “What about the warranty?” you ask;  why, the 5-year warranty expired a year ago because the appliance is over six years old.  As such, repairs will cost more than simple replacement.
  • Speaking of old things: my 6-year-old laptop’s chassis has given up the ghost completely — I can’t close it without causing irreparable damage, and it’s being held together with Ye Olde Ductte Taype (pics on request).
  • Still on the laptop:  the power cord has become loosened to the point where I have to use the above to keep it in place, and even then if I move too suddenly, the connection ends and Ye Olde Batterye takes over, for about an hour before it too goes bye-bye.
  • Uncle Shylock has decided that some of  my 2013 deductions were not acceptable, and I have to repay some ungodly (for me) amount.
  • So does New Wife, who upon becoming salaried as opposed to hourly, decided to enroll in the company medical plan — but whoopsie! that incurs an ObamaCare penalty (don’t ask me for the details;  my tax preparer explained it to me, as much as one can politely explain getting bent over a desk by the Gummint, and the penalty actually dwarfs my tax deduction repayment).

Ordinarily, I could handle all the above individually:  schedule payments to the IRS over the next year, for instance;  and all the others could be put on the credit card.  But doing the latter en masse  would make the monthly repayments unaffordable.  And thanks to Bidenflation (of which I may have made some mention in the past), our monthly expenses are already at the nostrils-occasionally-underwater stage.

I have already sold everything that is saleable in my house.  That includes most of my gun collection, and the few pieces that remain I need (for obvious reasons) and aren’t worth that much anyway.

Whenever someone helpfully suggests that I get a job, I point out that this blog is my job.  It’s the only one I can do, given my advanced age and health condition, and the only way I can help myself is to depend on the kindness of others as they regard the worth of my writing on this website.

For the most obvious of reasons, I can’t open up an OnlyFans account like this tart did.  Most distressingly, the market for the model in the pic below would be embarrassingly small.


…even though I’ve lost quite a bit of weight since then.  And I think I’ve punished my tiny pool of Lady Readers enough anyway.

You all know what to do.  My sooper-seekrit mailing address for Going Paper is:

6009 W. Parker Rd, Ste 149-141, Plano TX 75093

…and then there is Venmo (no PayPal, sorry) or Zelle via [email protected]

Anything you can send will be hugely appreciated, because quite frankly, this is the only way out for me if nothing else comes to the fore (e.g. a lottery win, and you know the odds against that).

Thank you all in advance,