No Big Deal

From indefatigable Reader Mike L, I get the news that three containers of ammo appear to have been stolen in North Carolina.

At first, I rushed to make sure that I had an alibi for the times in which the crimes were committed, but when I learned it was all Winchester White Box 9mm FMJ, I pretty much quit, because even the BATF/FBI spies lurking around this website should have realized by now that I’m never in the market for that silly stuff — not even to sell, let alone possess.

Probably an inside job, I’m guessing.

But that reminds me… I need to get to the gun store to buy some more ammo.  Manly stuff, not that Euro nonsense.

“French soldiers training with handguns”?


I’m not talking about the socialists, I’m talking about this little event:

The Epoch Times is reporting that embalmers from around the nation are speaking out about strange blood clots they have been finding in the bodies of the deceased since around 2020 or 2021.
The clots are said to be white, fibrous, and rubbery and can be the size of a grain of sand or as long as a human leg. They can be as thick as a pinky finger. One embalmer claimed they can be “nearly the strength of steel.” Embalmers across the nation are contending that these clots are not normal.
Some bodies have so many clots that the embalmers are forced to drain blood from several points instead of just one. The embalming process takes roughly two hours but can take four hours if the bodies have a lot of clotting.
“Prior to 2020, 2021, we probably would see somewhere between 5 to 10 percent of the bodies that we would embalm having blood clots,” licensed embalmer Richard Hirschman told The Epoch Times. Today, Hirschman, who embalms in Alabama, claims that 50% to 70% of the bodies have clots.  “For me to embalm a body without any clots, kind of like how it was in the day, prior to all of this stuff, it’s rare,” Hirschman continued.  “The exception is to embalm a body without clots,” he added.

Mike Adams, who runs an accredited lab in Texas, tested one of the clots Hirschman discovered against blood from a living, unvaccinated person and found the clot was almost completely lacking in potassium, iron, magnesium, and zinc.
“Notice that the key elemental markers of human blood such as iron are missing in the clot,” Adams told The Epoch Times, referring to a chart of his findings. “Similar story with magnesium, potassium, and zinc. These are clear markers for human blood. Live human blood will always have high iron, or the person would be dead. These clots have almost no iron, nor magnesium, etc.”

And it’s not just in the U.S., as the article notes.

I know, I know… the immediate response would be to ascribe this to either the ‘Rona, or else to the “vaccines” that were foisted on us.  But as the article notes, the embalmers don’t know the vaccination status of the corpses, nor if they died of Covid.  But if ever there was a study that needs to be made, by a competent organization (i.e. not the CDC), then this would be it.

In the meantime, I’m going back to daily (as opposed to occasional) low-dose aspirin, just in case.

That’s The Stuff

It used to be called “Bulldog Spirit” — i.e. digging in your heels and refusing to take crap from anyone.

And this fine restauranteuse is a wonderful example of the above:

An award-winning restaurant has hit out at ‘holier-than-thou’ vegan customers after it received backlash over its new menu, which does not include any main courses suitable for them.
The Kitchen at London House on the Isle of Wight took to social media to defend itself against ‘nasty’ and ‘bullying’ vegans who were outraged at their decision to refuse to cater to their diets.  The popular high street restaurant in Ventnor said that while it used to serve some vegan food they decided to stop due to a ‘militant minority’.
‘We have in the past catered for vegans. Everything from Vegan cream teas, even had special Vegan bacon made so they could enjoy BLT’s amongst other things.
‘We stopped. Why? Because we got fed up with the arrogant, ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude.
‘Please, vegans, it is not a given that we should adapt our menu to suit your preference.
‘If you want vegan food, go to a vegan restaurant – which incidentally if I went to one and asked for a steak I wouldn’t get one, nor would I expect to.
‘You have chosen your lifestyle, it’s not a medical condition that you’ve been forced to endure through no fault of your own.
‘Your choice does not fit with our style of cooking. We respect your choice, and expect that you respect ours.

I would have just told the all veganists to fuck off, but this lady is cut from a different cloth than I am.

Forcing the world to change just to suit your personal preferences is the worst kind of solipsism and narcissism, and good for Our Heroine for standing up to them.

I Hate This

From City Journal:

Restaurants supply physical nourishment, but their ultimate contribution to life is spiritual. From the bonds forged with dining partners to the camaraderie shared with fellow patrons to the banter exchanged with staff, dining out is a social, aesthetic experience. But QR codes are ruining it. More than a superficial nuisance, they are a sign of cultural decline.

Whenever I go to a restaurant and am confronted with this nonsense, I ignore it and demand to get a paper menu.  Usually, I get strange looks from the staff and eventually get a plain photocopied list, with no pictures of the dishes.

Suits me fine;  I know what a burger looks like, ditto schnitzel, ditto spaghetti bolognaise, ditto pretty much everything I care to eat.

Although it hasn’t happened yet, if I’m ever told that I can only order a meal through my phone, I’ll get up and walk out.  I hate using my fucking phone at the best of times, and to sit there squinting at a list of dishes in tiny type with microscopic pictures is guaranteed to put me  in a terrible mood — not the ideal customer a restaurant wants, because then I’m going to find fault with almost everything that happens thereafter.

I’ve already griped about concrete walls/floors and loud music, so I’m not going to repeat it all here.

I know all about the cost of labor and the difficulty in finding decent waiters and waitresses nowadays, and I don’t care.  I want the personal touch when I go out to eat, and you can forget that drive-through shit, too — hell, if I ever go to a fast-food restaurant (a highly infrequent event), I park the car and walk inside to place my order.

I was never a fan of “casual dining” to begin with, other than as a family/friends event, or being out of town where I have no option.  But as this move towards impersonal- and remote service seems to be growing, the less likely I’m going to be found eating out.

A pox on all of them, and on this so-called modern life.

No Wonder They Lost The War(s)

My plan this afternoon was to go and set up a new bank account to handle the dollars that my Kind Readers are going to support me with, and buy a few groceries from the Kroger across from there.

“Hello, Tiggy,” says I to the VW.  “Ready to go on a little trip?”
“Sorta.”  Some miles go by.  “Nope, sorry, let me show you my check engine light, and if that’s not enough, I’ll throw in a little juddering and unresponsive throttle.”

125,000 lousy miles, lovingly looked after, and it does this to me.  (see title)

I just made it to Mike The Mechanic (actually Chris, but that lacks the alliterative impact) who, when I described the symptoms, gave a merry laugh and called his wife to book that trip to the Bahamas.

Even better, I’ll only get it back next week, as they’re as busy as Hunter Biden in a whorehouse with a wallet full of taxpayer money.

Which means that for the foreseeable I get to chug around in Sputum:

Not that I mind, though, although it does mean that I will have to ferry New Wife to and from The Job.  Or just stay at home, drink gin and growl at my screen.

Wait:  what was the first option again?


Here’s the background to this story.

A town put on a carnival, which featured a parade of bands, floats, and so on.  The usual.

A bunch of pranksters decided to pull a fast one, and entered their own (and unapproved) float.

The float featured a sign declaring: ‘Of course we’re women, we sit down to pee’ and ‘Olympics 2024 woman’s 100m final’ – referencing the recent decision from FINA, world swimming’s governing body, who recently adopted a new policy to prohibit transgender women from competing in women’s races.

Three men ran behind the float, which was not officially entered into the carnival and secretly joined the procession on the day of the event, dressed in sports-bras and Speedos while wearing comedy wigs.

They were joined by five women running alongside them, who laughed as they followed the homemade float, which featured a toilet and a man standing in a white coat – appearing to pose as an official referee.

Funny as hell.

All went well until — you guessed it — a passing tranny saw the float, and of course took offense:

Trans stand-up comedian Donna Landy attended the Great Torrington Mayfair and Carnival in Devon back in May and blasted a float for being ‘offensive’ and highlighting a backwards’ viewpoint on transgender issues.

I thought being a comedian required having a sense of humor, but clearly not.  Anyway:

‘I was going to the Torrington Carnival to see my daughters, who were in the parade. I got there a bit late and was just catching up with the procession when I came across this float, the last one in the parade, and was a bit puzzled.

‘When I caught up with the float and read the sign my heart sank, it was clearly mocking trans athletes in sport and by extension all trans people, really.’

Ms Landy said she was worried she ‘could get attacked’ at the event because people could have began ‘mocking her’.

Of course:  afraid for your life, you were, what with Great Torrington being internationally renowned for being a hotbed of tranny oppression.

Needless to say, the carnival issued a groveling apology — despite the float being a “non-approved” entry.  Whatever.

My question for our frightened tranny comedian is quite simple:

Do your daughters call you “Mom” or “Dad”?

I’m guessing “Mom”, as you clearly have no balls.