Latest Posts

Counting Blessings

Mocking Furriners

The other day I was in the car and, tiring of my own thoughts, turned on the radio — a BIG mistake if ever there was one.  What a load of shit, never mind the channel, and for the umpteenth time I mourned the passing of Rush Limbaugh.

Still, could have been worse:  I could live in the Orkney Islands.  Courtesy of Mr. Ishmael comes this little diatribe:

The local, PBC Radio Morning Abo, it is unimaginably hateful to me – cod accents, stagey linguistic anachronism and that hissing, Presbyterian bigotry and racism, the moral compassing of the amoral Gordon Snot, that sort of snooty, son of the Manse preachiness – and the English on that show are even worse, they all sound like David and Ruth Archer, relentless, sinister bullies, determinedly earnest and sanctimonious, people Living the Quality of Life Dream, living in a hovel, with a rusty Land-Rover, vile children and a couple of sickly goats which they should be banned from keeping. They all go back South, these people, lacking the inner resources required for island life, vulnerable beyond the fortifications of the M25 and the M42. The Radio Orkney news is generally along the lines of There’s a big puddle on the road to Stromness; sheep are fetching X poonds at the mart; for the fourteenth year in succession, Mrs Annie Scragg has won the neeps’n’tatties pie-making competition at the Mucksville Women’s Guild; fairmers have expressed concern aboot the geese annoying the coos and eatin’ the seed and the weather is set to be sunny, windy, wintry, fine, warm, very cold with sleet and snow, calm with gale force winds.

I have felt and seen hypodermic needles injecting anaesthetic into my eyeballs and so I know of what I speak when I say I would rather stick pins in my eyes than listen to Radio Orkney.

The evening show is worse; they have music on it, local music. I saw it once, in a community hall, that Jimmy Shand Polka music; I thought, not for the first time, that I had wandered into a horror film; there was a skeletal old woman, must’ve been eighty, thumbing away, deftly, at a huge Fender Precision bass guitar, a wee fat man wrestling with one of those fucking awful Hohner piano-keyed accordions, not a concertina, a big, shiny fuck-off thing, the only appropriate setting for which is in an Austrian Nazi oom-pah band – quite how that is traditional to the Northern Isles I’m buggered if I know – and there was a weedy teenager, snapping a Polka beat from a tiny wee snare drum. It is a matter of taste, of course but I enjoy many, many types of music, from all over the world and have even heard some amazing world music right here and yet I couldn’t find a space in my mind for this stuff. I couldn’t move, I felt as though I had been turned to lead.

Good grief;  Jimmy Shand?  [no link, for humanitarian reasons]

Not even Mark Levin or Sean Whatsisname can cause such anguish.

Range Report: Howa HCR (.308 Win) & Meopta Optika6

Boomershoot, Gun/Ammo Tests, The Gun Thing

Here’s this year’s Boomershoot rifle — headed towards one lucky Reader after the event:  the Howa HCR 1500 (.308 Win), topped with the Meopta Optika6 3-18x50mm glass.

So postponing my Breakfast Gin, I hie’d me off to the range.

Some background:  I popped the scope on last night without boresighting it — just bolted it on, and trusted to luck and the several craftsmen who had built this rig.

Here’s the gun’s very first target (point of aim was the black diamond, at 100 yards):

Explanation:  Shot #1 was actually an accidental discharge because the trigger caught me by surprise (despite having dry-fired it a dozen times the night before).  Anyway, I cursed a little, and then took some care and touched off the next 9 shots (#2-#10).  I should remind everyone that all these came from an unsighted scope and a cold virgin barrel.

So I adjusted the scope, and of course Stupid Kim can’t tell right from left, hence the appearance of #11 and #12 way off to the right.  So I said some Bad Words again, and clicked back to the original setting (#13), then adjusted the reticle to the left this time, and a tad upwards (#14-#16).

The target was starting to look a little cluttered, so I put up a new target, sent it out and popped off the last four boolets in the box — but alas, at this point the barrel was hot — way too hot, because I was getting excited — and the group opened up with the last two shots.

Lesson learned:  in future, only five shots at a time before letting the barrel cool properly.

Still, I was moderately pleased.  I came home and gave myself a reward:

Some additional thoughts:

Holy crap but this Howa is a sweet gun.  (Here’s a pro’s take.)  Everything works as advertised, BUT:  the stupid plastic adjustable stock is a little loose, and I can’t get it tight.  (Wouldn’t have happened with a proper wood stock, of course, but these are the times we live in.)  Still, I’d prefer a regular-style stock over this “chassis” thing… even a plastic one like the Hogue:

There is apparently little difference between this gun and the Weatherby Vanguard as they’re made in the same factory. No prizes for guessing which one I’d like.

Okay, enough about the gun.

The Meopta scope is likewise a gem.  Crisp, clear sights (I forgot the battery, so no illuminated reticle, but it didn’t matter), and the clicks are positive and accurate.

Ammo was the excellent PMC Bronze 147gr FMJ/boat-tail.  I’m not going to try anything else, for obvious reasons.

The entire rig cost a tad under $1,500 — and I have to tell you all, I would have to spend a LOT more to get even marginally better results than I did, because it’s far more accurate than I can shoot it.

In Mae’s words, if war were declared, I’d take this rig off to battle, without hesitation.

Blades Of Grass, Trees Of Pine

Military

Via Insty comes this report:

In Finland, adolescent males report for a short and intense period of military training, followed by shorter refreshers for most of their adult life. The training is not, as in the Israeli model, a few years of dedicated service. Nor does it emphasize military discipline, such as keeping one’s bunk tidy and shoes polished, or the Prussian-style transformation of citizen-recruit into fighting machine. Instead, it prepares civilians to be ready to join their unit and harass and kill invaders. A country of Finland’s size can rapidly field nearly 1 million trained soldiers.

And they’re doing this right now.  One of my Loyal Readers has a spy at Sako, who tells him that we’re not going to be getting new Sako rifles in the U.S. anytime soon, because their entire production is being directed towards “local consumption”.  As I posted earlier:

Insty’s final comment on the report is absolutely on the nail, by the way:

“America should do this too.”

I’ve been trying… A Nation Of Riflemen, remember?

Stolen Vote!!!

Elections, Politics, Two-Minute Hate

I arrived at the polling station in a good mood, having established beforehand that yes, I was a registered voter and registered to vote in 3rd District TX withal.  Also, I found the address of the nearest polling station and off I went, all ready to cast my primary vote against that little crapweasel Rep. Van Taylor and for the righteous judge, Keith Self.

My good mood evaporated when I got my ballot paper.  There, at the top of the list were three names I’d never heard of before.  So I went back to the polling folks and said, “I think there’s something wrong — these aren’t the 3rd District Republican House candidates.”

“Oh,” came the reply, “you’ve been redistricted into the 4th District.”
“No I haven’t.  I checked on the official TXVote.org website just a couple hours ago, and according to them, I’m registered in the 3rd.”
“Ah,” came the airy reply, “I don’t think the website was updated in time.”

I didn’t do what I wanted to do because I’d left my guns in the car and anyway, I think it may be illegal to destroy those poxy voting machines with gunfire.

So I didn’t vote for any of the strangers, because I don’t know them.  I did, however, vote for the Usual Suspects — Jim Abbot, Ken Paxton and the other top Republican worms, and pretty much nobody else except the names I already knew from previous elections.  (I nearly voted for ex-LTC Allen West instead of Abbott in protest, but he can run again, and then I will.)

I was going to write to the Governor demanding heads on pikes, or worse, for the incompetent assholes who are supposed to do this stuff — aren’t computer systems wonderful? — but I had to allow my wrath to cool, because apparently it’s against the law to say some of the things I was going to say.

Anyway, all has ended well, because the little crapweasel has canceled his reelection campaign, no doubt because he was only going to lose the runoff to Judge Self as more and more voters realized what a little crapweasel he really is.  Strange that in an ultra-conservative district, voters aren’t going to take too kindly to his support of anti-Trumpers and shagging some houri  extramaritally.

Which means that a former LTC and -judge and staunch conservative is going to Washington on our behalf.  I mean their  behalf, because I’ve been shunted out of his district.  I have no idea what the 4th District is all about, and now I know how the Wandering Jew felt.

By the way, in learning about the candidates, I discovered that two of the Democrat nominees are an ex-Californian and ex-Bostonian respectively.  Fuck me, that didn’t take long.

And thankee muchly to the Loyal Readers who emailed me about Crapweasel’s withdrawal.