At least 100 rounds of your favorite centerfire ammo; at least 500 rounds of rimfire.
…and forget not that it’s my birthday too; so if any Kynde Soulle wants to send a token gesture of appreciation out to the sooper-seekrit mailing address, it would be much appreciated.
There’s apparently been some nastiness between Taylor Swift and her erstwhile recording company which has turned even more unpleasant since Swift egged her fans on to torment said record company.
I don’t claim to know all the ins and outs of this issue, but the rule of thumb in any imbroglio of this nature is that the money people (in this case the record company) are always going to try to screw the ideas people (that would be Swift, here); so the default position in all this would be to think, with lots of justification, that once again, the record industry is trying to chisel the artist. (Think of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s John Fogerty not able to perform Proud Mary for years because of the record company bastards and publishing deals.)
That said, however, this is the serial feuder and generally-spiteful Taylor Swift we’re talking about, so I think I’ll reserve judgment, just this once. Millionaires squabbling with millionaires:
No, I’m not talking about the Republican Party (although I could be). I refer here to a comment from last week’s post about traffic:
Unfortunately the only “foreign” traffic design feature that the local traffic “engineers” are looking to implement are traffic circles.
Yeah, I see a couple of these foul things have appeared just north of me, in Frisco TX.
Traffic circles work only under two sets of circumstances:
Don’t even get me started about New Fucking Jersey, where (unlike anywhere else in the entire world), cars entering the circle have the right of way over cars already in the circle. How I survived that day is almost enough to turn one into a theist (guardian angels, etc. etc.).
And if any Murkin starts preaching at me about the superiority of circles over regular intersections, I invite him to rent a car in Paris, drive around the Arc de Triomphe, and emerge unscathed (in mind as well as vehicularly).
And anytime someone has a bright idea about “improving” traffic conditions in the U.S., I feel they should first test them on the Long Island Expressway, during rush hour.
Actually, I think the so-called “brass” need to be hammered flat like their namesake metal, but let’s move on.
During the awful Obama years, it became obvious that soldiers were not, in fact, supposed to really act like soldiers. And when they did, the criteria for punishment were not “this is what happens on a battlefield” but instead, “it’s not a battlefield, it’s a garden party.”
Soldiers got prosecuted for shooting bad guys because said bad guys hadn’t actually done anything bad, yet. In WWII terms, this would have equated to not gunning down a column of advancing Nazi bastards because they hadn’t started shooting, yet.
Which as any fule kno, is ridiculous except when Obama-era senior officers say it isn’t. Here’s the story behind the conviction of one unfortunate officer:
He ordered his men to shoot three Taliban insurgents who were charging at his platoon on a motorcycle in Afghanistan on July 2, 2012.
The Taliban did not heed orders to stop. Lorance could have let them men pass and possibly kill some of his own American soldiers by blowing themselves up with a suicide bomb (as has happened in other cases) or by gunfire. He chose to stop them and save American lives.
Sending a soldier to prison for defending his troops in a war zone should never have happened and should never happen again.
God-Emperor Trump, however, seems to know what’s what, and has pardoned or reinstated those unfortunate soldiers who fell foul of the Obama milquetoast rules of engagement.
And it’s about time. He should have done it on Day One of his presidency, is my only criticism.
Now the next item should be to go after the fucking officers (up to and including generals) who approved both the rules of engagement and this travesty of justice — it’s the .dotmil, there’s a signature on a document somewhere — and either demote them or toss their asses out. And the sooner the better.
We need fighting spirit in our senior officer corps, not rules-bound wokeness and pussyfooting.
Ah good grief, it’s that time of week again already, and for some of us, too soon:
So let’s do some remedial laughing.
And now it’s time for a little Monday morning eye-opener:
Who she?
Granted, she has piss-poor taste in men, but then again, that’s quite common among Australian women…
“Dear Dr. Kim,
“For some reason, or maybe because I’m an old lady in my late sixties, fashion designers and haute couture houses no longer want to ‘dress’ me for media events like movie premieres and other red-carpet affairs. I think I still look quite nice (see attached pics). What should I do?”
— James Bond’s Former Bedmate
Dear Bedmate,
I wouldn’t worry about it. Frankly, you look better at 70 than 99% of today’s younger tattooed prostitutes who try to pass themselves off as “models” or “actresses”; and among the older ones like Hanoi Jane Fonda and Titsy Mirren, you look better still.
My suggestion is that you go somewhere like Top Shop or some little boutique in Chelsea, and pick your own red-carpet outfit from among their wares. (Don’t worry if the things don’t look so good; after all, Helena Bonham Carter has been dressing like a bag lady for years, and the glitterati all think she’s “charming” and “eccentric”, when you and I both know she’s simply as crazy as a sackful of wet cats and probably has a naked body which, very unlike yours, looks like a plastic bag of warm rice pudding.)
Then you can just laugh when hundreds of women storm the place where you bought your outfit, all hoping that if they buy and wear the same thing they’ll look as good as you did at the red-carpet shindig. (They won’t, don’t worry.) Then, when Vivienne Westwood or Paul McCartney’s daughter come crawling back to you to wear their latest foul offerings, tell them you prefer the Top Shop / little boutique’s lines over their overpriced dreck, and they can all fuck off.
Frankly, me sexy old darling, long after everyone has forgotten who all these pretentious little fag designers and stupid lesbo poseurs ever were, you and your movie roles will still be causing pup tents to spring up in men’s beds all over the Western world — and isn’t that a better thing, really?
— Dr. Kim
Attached pics:
