More Problems With Blogger

As some of you know, I've been having problems with blogger.  In particular, anything I post in the comments section at Filthie's Thunderbox tends to turn up in eastern electronic thombolia, never to be seen again.  Well, sort of never to be seen again, as both the owner of the blog, the inimitable Glen Filthie, and the owner of the comment, your humble host here at Mad Jack's Shack, both see the elusive comment echoed to our respective email addresses.  The comment itself, however, is gone.

I wrote about this before in Problems with Blogger, and found a similar topic over on The Silicon Graybeard who wrote about his tribulations in Any Fellow Bloggers Having Problems with Blogger Itself?.  I responded that I was, in fact, having problems, but no-one suggested a solution.  I tend to think that a few readers may think that I'm blogging in an impaired state, and so my observations are incredible at best.  I now have proof, in the form of a couple screen shots.

Here we see a typical erudite, cultured post by Glen.  I was inspired to write a comment, and did so.  Here's the proof. 

Thread with Comment by Yours Truly

I then clicked on the homepage for the Thunderbox, and much to my chagrin noted that my comment had vanished.

Missing Comment

This doesn't happen to all comments, and it doesn't happen all the time.  For a long while, things were working just fine.  Now this.

So if anyone has any suggestion about a way to fix this problem, or who to complain to, please sound off in the comments section.

President Trump and the State of the Union in 2018

I watched President Trump's State of the Union speech last night.  The moonbats refused to applaud or even rise when the President entered the room, and most of them looked too sour to make lemonade with.  Under other circumstances, I'd find their behavior funny.  This, however, is the federal government, and the rest of the world is watching.

Canada Gets Invaded

For reasons best known to my headshrinker, I accept questions from Quora in my email.  Occasionally I answer one or two, mainly for my own amusement, and mainly because questions asked on Quora are dumb - as are the associated inquisitors.

This one put me in mind of Glen Filthie, operator of Filthie's Thunderbox - Where Great Intelligence Goes To Be Insulted.   I can't say just why this association was triggered, but since I was out at Big Mike's house last night watching hockey, eating pizza, and drinking, perhaps it's just as well I move right along and get to the point for once.  At once.  Whatever.

The proposed question is: How could Canada defend itself against a hypothetical invasion by the USA?

Given that this is not one of the dumbest questions I've ever seen on Quora, I decided to decompose an answer. Here's my response, less the ad homonym attacks and personal insults based on heredity:

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

• Free beer. The invaders will drink it, and the hangover they get from that swill is guaranteed to kill the weak ones, and send the rest into the hospital with damage to the digestive system.


• Brutally cold winter weather in the middle of summer. Those that didn’t succumb to the elements during winter, spring, and fall will be killed and eaten by the black flies sometime during the three days of summer.


• The threat of electing Justin Trudeau into office. It doesn't matter which office, just the thought of Trudeau occupying an office in the government would be enough to send any sane, intelligent U.S. citizen back to Florida.  Or North Dakota.  Wherever.  Everyone who learns of this threat and remains in Canada as a part of the invasion force can stay there as part of the occupation.  Give 'em a year, and they'll be a burden to the Canadian taxpayer instead of the U.S.

And that’s how Canada would defeat a multi-trillion dollar U.S. invasion.

The Night at Natalie's

I went to Natalie's Coal Fired Pizza and Live Music last night.  The food and service were excellent, as usual.  The band was a little slow.

Problems with Blogger

Here's the deal.  Glen Filthie over at Filthie's Thunderbox will, occasionally, post something that isn't an obvious troll or click bait or... whatever.  Whenever I'm inebriated impaired enough to rise to the occasion and contribute my two cents, it's a crapshoot as to whether or not the comment will vanish.  I've noticed that the same thing is true on other blogger sites, although I Glen's is the only site I've really tested.  I think I've lost comments on Bayou Renaissance Man as well, although given my kind, considerate and sensitive nature I'm sure that no right-thinking blog owner would ever think of deleting my timely contribution.

As if.

I also posted on Old NFO's site: Nobody Asked Me... without a problem, but he isn't on Blogger.

The Internet in general seems to be slow, Blogger especially.  Posting a comment takes 30 seconds or more.

So if anyone can shed any light on this, by all means sound off.  If you'd like to post a test comment on my site to see what happens to it, help yourself.

Thanks in advance.

Worthy Read on Feminism

I occasionally read According to Hoyt, the blog by novelist Sarah A. Hoyt, who, by her own admission, is taking over the world and leaving it ruthlessly alone. Every once in a while Sarah really hits one out of the park.

It’s like Robespierre stopping at the top of the steps to the guillotine and going “how did things get like this?” - Hoyt
To which the executioner replied, "It's a long story, and we haven't the time. Now if you'll just step this way, please..." - Mad Jack

This quote is from Sarah's latest contribution to the war on weak minds, Wrong Battle, Insane Tactics. 

For reasons that are completely unclear to me, Sarah decided to read Am I a bad feminist?, an opinion piece by Margaret Atwood, which evidently inspired her to comment on the current state of Atwood's mind.  You see, an elite cadre of Atwood's fans mysteriously turned on her, surprising no one except Atwood, which causes her to wonder aloud - What would a Good Feminist look like, in the eyes of my accusers?

The narcissistic, self-evident answer is, literally, Margaret Atwood, but I suppose any notable anti-freedom zealot who lacks wedding tackle will suffice.

Sarah, being on the sunny side of the bell curve as well as being a gentlewoman and a scholar, puts the lie to Atwood's ramblings. I think it's a worthy read.

The Misguided Police Action on Drugs

Well, the war on drugs is back.  Since upper management of the United States never declared a cease-fire or offered to negotiate a peace treaty or terms of surrender, I would guess the war never really stopped. There was a kind of lull during the reign of the Ayatollah Obongo, but now that Grand Slam has taken up residence in the big white double-wide on Pennsylvania Avenue, the circus is back on the road again.

Wind Chill

This just in from the friendly, helpful folks at the global warming office, who, due to funding cuts, are not able to provide the residents of the mid-west the kind of temperatures we'd enjoy getting used to.

Five Biased Anti-Freedom Commercial News Media Sources

My thanks to Old NFO for posting this.  Here are two links to the top five worst fake news gun reports published by commercial media in 2017.  The sources are worth noting, along with the commentary.

Top five… by OldNFO, which includes a link to this article, Here Are the 5 Worst ‘Fake News’ Reports on Guns in 2017 by Emily Miller at The Daily Signal.


I stopped reading The Economist after their blatant anti-freedom articles appeared.  I'm saddened by this, as this publication was once an even-handed, reliable source of information.  I guess everything changes - and often not for the better.  Micro$oft Windoze, for instance, has been improved since version 3.1, but not all changes were obvious improvements.

The publication that really concerns me is Associated Press.  Virtually everyone on the sunny side of the bell curve reads and believes whatever the AP publishes.  Not good, and I note by their actions that the staff at AP feel no sense of responsibility.

On The Road Again

I've spent an inordinate amount of my lifetime traveling and living in different places.  My home is in Columbus, Ohio, but that wasn't always the case; I was born and raised on a horse farm in Sylvania Township, Ohio, near the Michigan line.

Old Grandpa Parsimonious had a very colorful life.  He served in WWI in the US Navy as a radio operator, and as a result learned how to repair a radio and could send messages in Morse code (actually International Morse, or International Code).  When he got home from the war, he went to work for the Kroger company, then opened his own truck line, which he later sold.  After the truck line he worked for the Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC).  If you were in the trucking business and you wanted to haul freight, the route had to be approved by the ICC.  Hence Grandpa Parsimonious got a collection of various items (and probably cash) with the idea that we're all pals here, and from one old buddy to another maybe you could see your way clear to approving this particular route.  The old boy spent a good deal of time in Washington D.C., and he used to be able to point out various elected officials and tell you what it would cost to buy them.  No, I'm not kidding.  When that little misunderstanding known as Watergate hit the TV airwaves, the old boy knew some of the people involved and knew they were crooked.

Humor

I found this one at Knuckledraggin' My Life Away, where bad choices make good stories.  I thought it was too good not to pass along.

Trigger Warning!  Not safe for Liberals or SJWs.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Somewhere Else

Reminiscing over my morning bourbon, I recalled that at some point in the 1990s I found a copy of the infamous Cooperative Writing Assignment.  The story goes that an English teacher pairs two students and instructs to write a story together.  One student will write a paragraph, then pass the work to the other student, who will write the next paragraph, and so forth.  This is done through email, with the instructor CC'd on every email.

Snopes lists this as a legend, but there's a certain amount of proof that it actually happened.  Check Tandem Story Writing Assignment from Snopes as you like; I've copied the text and republished it without permission.

Christmas Card

One man who really know how to write the blues is Tom Waits. Here is, I hope, a song I don't spend a lot of time listening to, Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis.

Latest News and Reviews

A few of you may have noticed that Mad Jack's Shack may have been a mite slow to load recently. The site is now fixed, thanks to the kindness and generosity of JR, SysOp of ToledoTalk and programmer extraordinaire.

 Thanks JR.

While I'm at it, I'd also like to thank the elite QC team over at ToledoTalk for their lightning fast response and succinct missives.

Thanks guys 'n gals, ladies and gents, madams and monsieurs. I really appreciate the help.

What have I been up to? Well...

Thanksgiving Day 2017: Survival of the Bourbon Lover

I've been gone a while, but I'm back.  For those of you who hoped that I'd finally met my demise, or at the very least suffered enough brain damage to render me illiterate, I'm happy to inform you that I'm alive and my mental faculties are as sharp as ever.

You guys in the back row can stop laughing just about any time.

Worthy Cause

On Thursday, November 16^th 2017 at 2:00 AM, the Toledo Police executed a search warrant on the residence of a piece of human garbage, Jamaine Hill.  When he heard the SWAT team outside, Hill shot through the door and managed to hit Detective Jason Picking in the face.  Detective Picking is in the hospital in critical but stable condition, and is scheduled for a long list of surgeries to repair as much of the damage as possible.

When she heard about the shooting, Danielle Dressel, officer Keith Dressel's widow, went to the hospital to give aid and comfort to Jason's wife Kristen and their family.  Having been through this experience before, Danielle knew what the family would need by way of support.

Here is a message written by Danielle, and reprinted here without permission:

Asking for help for Detective Jason Picking, his wife Kristen and their 4 children. What happened to them is completely tragic and devastating. Thank God he will eventually recover, but it’s going to be a very long and painful process. He is out of state at a hospital undergoing the difficult surgeries that his injuries require. That means lots of traveling and time away from home and family. If you would like to help ease their difficulties, you can do so one of three ways.

1. Give a donation at the Toledo Police federal credit union. There is an account set up for the Picking family.

2. Send me a gift card from gas stations, to help with traveling or restaurants so they don’t have to worry about meals. Suggested restaurants; Panera Bread, Starbucks, subway, pizza places, jimmy johns, and Tropical Smoothie. (Jason won’t be able to eat solid foods for a long time!) Gift cards to Amazon are a suggestion as well so Kristen can do Christmas shopping from the hospital. And

3. Simply send a card or note. Trust me when I say, those small gestures are so uplifting, appreciated and needed!

You can mail notes and gift cards to me at:

Danielle Dressel, C/O, The Toledo Police Academy, 30439 Tracy Rd., Walbridge OH. 43465.

One last thing please, say a prayer for Jason and Kristen. Thank you everyone for taking the time to read this.

You can read about the story at these links, courtesy of WTOL:

Detective's wife comforted by widow whose husband was shot, killed in line of duty

TPD officer shot in west Toledo, in 'critical but stable' condition

I'm not a strong supporter of charities. I give financial support to my Church, the Salvation Army, and to a no-kill animal shelter.  I think this is a worthy cause.

Detective Jason Picking is facing an uphill struggle.  He has a wife and four kids, and being shot is going to leave him incapacitated for a long while.  Worse, some of the damage will be permanent.  If you can spare a sawbuck or two, please send it to the family via Danielle.  If not, take a few minutes and send a get well card with a few words of encouragement.  Your generosity and consideration will make a big difference to the Picking family.

Most importantly, if you're religious please pray for them.  Thank you.

Current Crises

This morning, right in the middle of the good old morning coffee, I detected the gentle strains of a jackhammer operating in the immediate vicinity.  Since there have been a few problems with the local water lines in our little enclave, I paid it no never-mind.

Big mistake.

Big, big, mistake.

In Support of the Right to Defend Yourself, Your Family, and Your Loved Ones

I think it's safe to say that everyone has seen or heard about this, the latest act of terrorism in the United States: At least 26 killed in mass shooting at Texas church. This is a truly terrible, cowardly act, and the first question everyone asks is, 'Why?'

I, personally, don't care why.  All I really care about is that the law abiding population - hell, even the gangsters - realize that it's going to happen again, and when it does there's only one real response: fight back.

Ignore the anti-freedom fascists who demand sensible gun control.  Pack your pistol with you, and when shit comes to sweat, pull out your gat and put some lead in the air.

This happened in a church building on Sunday during services.  There is no more unlikely time to encounter a terrorist intent on a mass murder than church on Sunday.  Yet there we have it, and I believe that it will happen again.

I have a CCW license for Ohio, but license or not, pack your pistol and make sure you can hit something with it.

I Support Intolerance

I support intolerance, and always have.  There are certain things in this world that I won't tolerate, won't accept, and won't make room for.  No, we can't just agree to disagree.  You're wrong, I'm right, and you can take your new social experiment and stuff it where the sun don't shine.  Use a bucket of sand to make it easier.

Death Penalty: Time is Everything

I found the straight skinny on the efficacy of various death penalty methods, although several methods are not covered. Being boiled in oil, for instance, is not even given honorable mention although there was a time when it was used often enough.  Here is a list of methods and the time it takes the prisoner to expire, courtesy of NBC.

Death Penalty: When it Should Be Permanently Removed

Enough verbiage about the death penalty has been written to fill a small building, assuming legal size paper and 12 point type, double spaced.  Maybe two small buildings.  I've read enough about appeals and new evidence to be convinced that our court system has absolutely no business sentencing anyone to death.  Too many exceptions exist, new evidence is discovered, and the courts often refuse to test DNA evidence.  Heaven help us all if one of these judges should assist in wrongfully convicting someone - which has happened so often that it's no real surprise anymore.  But I'm not going to write about that part, mainly because I have no good solution and I'm neither an attorney nor a doctor of philosophy.

Church Scandal in Toledo, Ohio

You just about need a program to keep the players straight in this holier-than-thou church scandal involving three Toledo area pastors and the Lucas County Administrator.  Keep reading at your own risk with the usual warnings about insensitive, politically incorrect vernacularisms, harsh criticisms and blatant insults (racial and otherwise).

Mark Your Calendar

Mark your calendar for November 4^th, 2017.  That's when the protest begins, if you believe Antifa anyway.  They've thoughtfully published a list of places to be.  Since Columbus, Ohio isn't on the list, I'm staying home and will watch the entire fiasco from the comfort of my living room.

A related group, the Revolutionary Abolitionist Movement (RAM) have passed the word to Antifa groups nationwide to support them in a Deface Columbus Day event, where members and supporters plan to deface evidence of Christopher Columbus in their local neighborhoods.  By all accounts, RAM is a militant group that advocates for redistribution of property and for the abolition of gender (their words, not mine).  RAM members prefer to use violence to achieve these and other goals.

So I suppose this would be two days to be extra careful about where you go, and to remember to hold your pistol steady should it come to that.  Me, I'm staying inside.

Ethics Question: Answered

About a week ago I posed a question to everyone with abundant ennui and enough free time on their hands to read my blog.  For reference purposes you can read the original post here, at Ethics Question.

Not entirely my solution, I dropped a dime on her.

Las Vegas Shooter

As of this writing, Stephen Craig Paddock and the notorious Las Vegas shooting have been discussed and speculated upon until there is obviously nothing left to do but wait for factual results from law enforcement officials.  If we ever get any, that is.  I'm betting that some of the facts will never be released to the public for political reasons, and because law enforcement doesn't have to release everything.  They often play their cards close to the vest, and never show the hole cards unless they need to.

Ethics Question

Generally speaking, I'm a live and let live sort of fellow.  If my neighbors vote the straight moonbat ticket, that's their problem.  Ditto with the wingnuts.  Discounting violent crime and legislation designed to make my life more difficult than it already is, the one thing I have trouble with is copyright infringement.  Plagiarism.  Hot software.  Whatever it is, some poor schmuck (maybe figuratively speaking here) worked hard on this project, and if you can afford to buy it and pirate it instead, you're stealing from him and that bothers me.  Because, see, if you'll do it to him, you'll do it to me.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.  Keep reading or not as it amuses you to do so.

Rifle Question

In an attempt to make me start drinking earlier than usual, Glen Filthie (owner and operator of Filthie's Thunderbox, where great intelligence goes to be insulted) posted a picture of this antique rifle, then refused to identify it.  Glen claims he doesn't know what it is.  I think he's mangling the truth.  I think he does know, and is deliberately, and malicious aforethought, withholding the information because he knows it makes me nuts.

It seems to me that I saw this on some history show recently, but my memory isn't what it should be.

Mystery Rifle

If anyone reading this piece knows what this rifle is, will you please post the make and model?  Thanks in advance.

Morning at the Range

Big Mike called me last night at quarter to ten, identified himself (overreacting to the Experian data heist, I imagine), and informed me he was going shooting at 9:00 in the AM tomorrow, the implication being that if I could drag my fat, hungover, old ass out of bed that early then I could join him.

Caution and trigger warning: politically incorrect, insensitive, and profane language ahead.  Read at your own risk, and if you whine about anything I'll make fun of you.

Anthony Lamar Smith, Victim and Drug Dealer

There's a hot time in the old town tonight, and for the past three nights, if you live in St. Louis, MO that is.  Anthony Lamar Smith, street level heroin dealer and general all around criminal was shot to death by St. Louis police officer Jason Stockley after a high speed chase.  Hint: Anthony wasn't driving through St. Louis at 90 mph because he was late for choir practice.

All that being said, here are my objections to this particular circus.  Trigger warning: profanity and racial slurs ahead.  Proceed at your own risk.

Automobile Question

Mystery Car

I found this over at Filthie's Thunderbox - The Art Of Speed. Can anyone tell me what kind of car this is?

Unpopular Opinion

My Internet friend Got A Beating Over At WC's..., which, in my own arrogant opinion, he didn't deserve.  Over half of the guys that post over there are bullshit artists anyway, and one reader actually called 'em on it.  He was ignored.

Idiocy Online

During a moment of inebriated ennui, I subscribed to Quora.  People (presumably people, although after you read a few of the questions you begin to wonder) pose questions that they desperately want answered, and as fate would have it, I am often unassigned for the ten minutes or so that a fairly dry answer requires.

Councilwoman Yvonne Harper Behaving Badly

Toledo city Clowncil Yvonne Harper open her fat mouth to the wrong person, and now she's on the ropes.  Again.

Charitable Donations

As I remember it, I was 21 when I was first pressured into donating money I didn't have to the United Way.  Now that I think about it, it may have been MDA, but no matter.  My manager attempted to coerce me into making a sizeable donation, then attempted to shame me into making a donation.  His tactics didn't work.  The only charity I supported then is the same one I support now, the Salvation Army.  I also support Planned Pethood, which I consider a worthwhile charity.

Gun Question

I got this photo from Glen Filthie over at Filthie's Thunderbox. I think it's cool looking, but when I asked what kind of gun it was all I got was dead digital silence - not even crickets.  I suppose it's possible he's ignoring me, but it's equally likely he doesn't know, and rather than admit his ignorance and have everyone know for sure, he's elected to remain silent and leave some room for doubt.

As if there is any.

Mystery Gun

I have no idea what sort of pistol this is, but I'd like to know.  Would someone please enlighten me?

Why I Left Toledo - One Reason, anyway...

I'm living in Columbus these days, and the more I hear about my old home town, the better I feel about leaving.  Just look at the latest idea from Mayor MacCheese of Rossford (look it up on a map), who wants to build an aerial gondola from Rossford, a town no one has ever heard of, to Toledo, a gravel pit many people wish they'd never heard of.

Extended Election Casualties

Anyone not interested in the trivia of my daily existence can skip this one.  The rest of you, don't say you weren't warned.

Election Casualties Continue

On November 8th, 2016 Donald Trump won the popular vote election for our next president.  On December 15th, 2016, the Electoral College did what they were supposed to do (surprising me slightly) and elected Mr. Trump to the White House.  On Friday, January 20th, 2017, Donald Trump was ceremoniously sworn in as President of the United States.  Anyone with any sense at all poured themselves a stiff one, either in celebration or dismay, and listened to the dulcet voice of the fat lady as one era closed and the next act was ushered in.

Charlottesville, Peaceful Protesters, and Our Government

Two blogs that I read on a regular basis are Bayou Renaissance Man (Peter Grant) and Nobody Asked Me… (Old NFO).  Both wrote about the situation at Charlottesville, VA.  Peter wrote Racial and extremist violence in Charlottesville, VA, which I'm in disagreement with, and Old NFO posed a good question in Thoughts on Charlottesville…. Read them or not as it amuses you to do so.

Happy A-Bomb Day!

On December 7^th, 1941, the Imperial Japanese Navy Air Service attacked Pearl Harbor without warning. In plain old English, we got japped.

Wakey Wakey!

Wakey wakey! Hand off snakey!

CCW Reciprocity and The Crime that is Never Reported

A relatively short time ago, Senator John Cornyn, R-Texas, and Representative Richard Hudson, R-North Carolina, introduced the S.446 - Constitutional Concealed Carry Reciprocity Act of 2017.  The anti-freedom moonbats instantly had a severe mental breakdown, which was unfortunately cured by government funded mental health services, some involving primal scream therapy.

Film Review: Dunkirk (2017)

Film Review: Dunkirk (2017)

Trigger Warning: No spoilers ahead.  The safety is on, so it can't go off.  See?

The Murder of Justine Damond and Dealing With My Own Prejudice

On Saturday, July 15^th, 2017 around 11:30 PM, two Minneapolis MN police officers responded to a 911 call reporting a possible sexual assault.  The caller, Justine Damond, met the officers in an alley behind her home.  She approached the patrol car and started talking to the driver, officer Matthew Harrity.  While she was talking to the driver, officer Officer Mohamed Noor, who was riding in the passenger seat of the police car, shot her to death.  Noor fired at least one shot, possibly more, across officer Matthew Harrity's chest and out the open window.

Busted Chops in Columbus, or, Tooth Number Four Where Are You?

On Wednesday, the nineteenth day of the month of July in the Year of Our Lord two-thousand ten-and-seven during the day season, and in particular the hours of the mid-late-morning, I was passively gathering wool, slowly succumbing to the inanity of the talking heads on the idiot box, and idly wondering if anyone took any of their jejune notions with sobriety and a straight face, all while enjoying a leisurely breakfast consisting of a marinated portabella mushroom, onion, and cheese omelet, whole wheat toast with butter, black coffee, and a mildly strong bloody mary, when it happened.

An Interlude, or Reminessing about the Bad Old Days in 1957

I graduated in 1970 and a half, mainly because the school system was sick and tired of me and most of officialdom hoped that I'd get drafted and sent to Vietnam, where I'd get shot and killed, or blown up by an anti-personnel mine, or burned alive, or something.  Sadly for them, none of that happened.

R.I.P. Zeus

Mister Zeus, my little tuxedo cat, hasn't been doing well lately.  His digestive system wasn't working the way it should; he'd eat, but there would be no weight gain.  He'd be hungry all the time, but feeding him whenever he felt hungry was a bad idea, as he'd end up regurgitating the food.  He also had trouble getting around.  His joints were too stiff and sore to allow him to groom himself.  He negotiated the stairs on step at a time, pausing to rest about halfway up.  Although he hated being picked up and carried, he enjoyed it when I carried him up the stairs.  He'd lost so much weight that he was little more than fur and bones.  And he could no longer play with Danté, his buddy cat.  Danté would offer to play with him, and Zeus couldn't.

Gaming Night

I'm a gamer.  Board games, traditional games, FRP - I've played a lot of it.  When I moved to Columbus, Big Mike was kind enough to include me in the Bored Gamers, a group of men that meet on Monday nights to play games and have a good time.  Last night was no exception.

We congregated at Lash's house around 6:00 PM.  I was a bit late, coming in at 6:30.  Anyway, Big Mike, Lash, Marky-Mark, and yours truly ended up at a table playing Catan, while the rest of the players were at another table trying in vain to colonize Mars.  About an hour into the game, one of the players from the other room (followed by two others) comes in and asks Lash if he's got any beer.

"Yeah, in the fridge." Last replied.
Player One rummages in Lash's refrigerator and comes up with a bottle of Miller.
"Miller?  That's all you've got?"
"It's not mine." Lash starts to explain.  "Some guys left a six pack here last week."
"Miller?" Player One continues to complain.  "I can't believe it.  I drank this swill back in high school."
Big Mike looks up from sorting his commodities into promising groups, and addresses Player One.
"Let me get this straight," Mike begins. "You come into this man's home, you accept his hospitality, then you raid his refrigerator looking for beer, and then you have the audacity to complain about the brand of the free beer?  You, Sir, are a Dick."
Other players start to laugh.
"Yeah," I say, "Just put a six of Miller down on Short North and see how long it lasts."
More laughter.  I felt that Lash was vindicated.

I won Catan quite neatly, by the way.  Big Mike was counting on Lash to keep me in check, and he didn't.  So right out of the blue, surprise-surprise, I won one.  Driving home, I reflected that I don't win all that often.

A Brief Interlude

Main Lady had just announced that she was leaving for St. Louis just as soon as she could sell the familial palace in Sylvania, Ohio, and pack the six over-loaded moving vans full of crap that she'd accumulated over the past ten years, more than half of which she inherited from her dear old mother's estate.  So I'm not only single, I'm single and completely unattached.  Moreover, I have no baggage - I'm not going to let her rent space in my head.

Happy July 4th - 1776 to 2017

On Thursday, the 4^th Day of the Month of July in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Seven Hundred Seventy-and-Six, a group of erudite, audacious, white men assembled and with all due ceremony, signed the United States Declaration of Independence.  You can read about it at this link: The Declaration of Independence from US History.  I claim to be distantly related to one of these men -  Thomas Jefferson, who drafted the Declaration of Independence, became the third U.S. president, and was responsible for the Louisiana Purchase.

We can only imagine the thoughts that were running through the minds of the men who signed this document, which amounted to a strongly worded shout of defiance to King George III, coupled with a coarse gesture generally reserved for divorce lawyers, rude drivers, and I.R.S. agents.  They knew they were in for it, and they knew that a significant portion of the local populace was against them.  Being fairly intelligent, they likely also knew that the vast majority of people didn't give a tinker's damn one way or the other.  Looking back, that may be hard to believe, but that's the way it was.

The good guys won that one, and it wasn't easy, and it wasn't any fun.  Most times it was pure misery, and Lord help you if you stopped a rifle ball, because if the ball didn't kill you, the doctor would.  Those that the doctor missed or couldn't get to often died of infection.  You could also cash in your chips from exposure, meaning the environment killed you.  Some people froze to death, a few drowned.  Then there was good old fashioned, everyday illness.  The common cold could advance to pneumonia, which was often fatal.

Right in the middle of this hard life, people got together and started a revolutionary war with a larger country.  I can't help but think that they had to be pretty tough.

So today I'll raise my glass and toast those tough men and a few women who prized freedom from oppression so much that they were willing to suffer for it.  Any fool can die for it; but to get up every morning and get right back to working on the revolution took a rare type of individual, and that's what I admire most.

Here's a tip of the old fedora and a hoist of my afternoon bourbon glass - here's to freedom!

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, a Prince once asked a beautiful Princess, "Will you marry me?"

Coffee

I've mentioned before that Big Mike doesn't just make a cup of coffee; he buys green coffee beans, roasts them himself, and proceeds from there.   Glen, the proprietor of Filthie's Thunderbox heard about this and was on it faster than a Jack Russel Terrier after a big, fat, rat.  What follows is a link and a second hand lecture about coffee beans, roasting, and brewing your own coffee.

Security and Shooting

Some time back, Big Mike attended a public event of some kind (maybe a hockey game, but who knows?) at a major stadium in Ohio (notice how vague I'm being - it's intentional).  The promoter of the event decided for reasons of sanity to shake everyone down with a metal detector prior to allowing them inside.  Any recreational substances or prohibited items found during said shakedown would become the property of the shakedown artist private security personnel.  Mike was carrying a nice, razor sharp Spyderco knife that he didn't feel like giving to some dumb rent-a-doughnut-muncher, so he cheated and smuggled it in.  I should note at this point that as a result of Mike's timely defeat of the so-called security system, nothing bad happened.  Well, who would have ever thunk it?

His LAST Round of Golf

While golfing, I took a quick turn to avoid hitting a chuck hole, and accidentally overturned my golf cart.

A very beautiful and attractive golfer, who lived right there on the edge of the golf course, heard the noise, came running out of her villa and shouted, "Are you okay?"

As I looked up I noticed she was wearing only a silky see-through bath robe which was partially open, revealing what appeared to be a VERY nice figure.

"I'm okay I think," I replied as I pulled myself out from under the twisted cart.

She said, "Please follow me to my villa so I can clean and bandage that nasty scrape on your head, then you can rest a while, and I'll help you upright the cart later."

"That's mighty nice of you," I answered, "but I don't think my wife will like me doing that!"

"Oh, come on now," she insisted. "We need to see if you have any more scrapes and treat them if so."

Well, after all, she was really pretty and very, very persuasive. Being sort of shaken and weak, I finally agreed, but repeated, "I'm sure my wife won't like this." We walked to her place just a 100 yards away, and after a couple of Scotch and waters and the bandaging, I thanked her and said, "I feel a lot better now, but I know my wife is going to be really upset, so I'd better go now."

"Don't be silly!" she said with a smile, letting her robe fall even more open. "Stay for a while. She won't know anything, and by the way, where is she?"

SJW / Moonbat Rant

I don't know how I managed this one, but somehow I wound up looking at Cosmopolitan, possibly because they featured an article entitled, Seven New Positions That Are Pure Hospital Bait - Illustrated!  Which is enough to interrupt my tenuous grasp on whatever I'm supposed to be doing.  This led me to an article written by a completely rabid bitch on a stick, which cried out for an inebriated fisking.  Continue reading at your own risk.

Origins Gaming Convention 2017 and the Pipesmoker's Parade

I went to the Origins Gaming Convention this year with Big Mike. Both of us are in Columbus, both of us are avid gamers, so why not? Besides, after the game at the convention there's drinks and dinner in Short North. I started out with breakfast at Big Mike's house. As usual, Mike's hospitality is truly beyond the pale.

Revenge on a IRS Phone Scamming Company - Call Flooder

Imagine that you're expecting an important call from, say, a client, your employer, a prospective employer, your MD calling with the results from your latest STD test... okay, whatever.  So the phone rings, you snatch it up, and it turns out to be some stupid towel head trying to run a Windoze support scam, a transfer funds out of Nairobi Bank scam, or the old I.R.S. scam.  If you're anything like me, you'd like to crawl through the wires and rip his tonsils out, then take an axe to his equipment.  But he's in India and I'm in the U.S.

The War on Drugs: Profit and Loss

Peter Grant wrote a post about drug abuse, addiction, and overdoses entitled Ohio ... will see 10,000 overdoses [resulting in death] by the end of 2017, which I think is worth reading. Some of the commentary is easily as good as the article.  Peter Grant is, among other things, a retired Pastor who used to work with a prison population, and has a lot of experience with the effects of drug abuse.  Borepatch, another blogger, read it and started to write an insightful comment which turned into a post on his own blog, which you may read at your leisure: The Stupid "War on Drugs".  This activity served to rattle Glen's cage, so he naturally volunteered his own take on the subject, Your Right To Destroy Yourself And Your Family Will Not Be Infringed.  Again, a decent piece and worth reading.

One of the few things all these erudite people can agree on is that the official United States War on Drugs isn't working, and we've been fighting a losing battle for years.

Well, no shit.

DUI in Ohio

Paging through the local bird cage liner, I came across this little gem:

Sandusky Man Loses Driver's License, Sent to Prison After 12th DUI

With his 12th drunken driving conviction, a Sandusky man today lost his driver's license for life and was sent to prison.
Lucas County Common Pleas Judge Gary Cook sentenced Johnnie Cross III, 59, to four years in prison and ordered him to pay a $2,500 fine, and participate in alcohol addiction treatment.

My question: Why does this confirmed drunk still have a license after 12 DUI convictions? 

How well do you suppose he drives when he's sober?

You know how completely hammered you have to be to actually get pulled over for drunk driving?  And then you have to do something incredibly stupid to get the cop's attention.

Okay, that's more than one question, but the first question is the one I'm actually interested in.  Any and all of you that have some knowledge of the system, feel free to sound off.

Kathy Gets Some Head

Stumbling around this morning until I could find my coffee and splash a shot of eye-opener into it, I fat fingered the keyboard and ended up at Filthie's Thunderbox, as written by your noble Canadian host, Glen Filthie.  I like reading Glen. He portrays himself as an average man (he isn't, and doesn't know it), and he generally gets it right, albeit sometimes by accident rather than on purpose.  Still, he gets there.

Some assembly required...

Inspired by Storing Your Emergency Supplies by Peter Grant, the Bayou Renaissance Man, and needing some shelving for my basement in the worst way imaginable, I ordered three sets from Amazon.  Here's a review of the good and the bad.

Whatever happened to...

For reasons that even I can't comprehend, I decided to start some 'way past due maintenance on the list of sites that I read.  I started by deleting sites that are no longer with us, or that have fallen into complete disuse.  Which led me to the topic of this post: Whatever happened to (name of the site)?

Here's an exhaustive list, along with the reasons that the site slid into the electronic junkyard:


A Tenderfoot in Tombstone
No real reason given, just no news.  Too bad, as I enjoyed the author's writing.

Beat and Release, Charleston Thuglife, and Garro's Games.
All these sites were blogs from the same man, whose name may or may not be Garro.  He seemed to be doing pretty well, then just dropped off the Internet without warning.  I never met him in person, but I liked him and I hope he's doing well.

Full Metal Patriot
No real reason given, the blog just died out.

HistoryMike
I happen to know History Mike, who really does teach college level history.  He tends to bite off more than he can comfortably masticate, which is what happened here.

Hooda Thunkit
Hooda just vanished one day.

Northwest
Nothing to see here, and I do mean nothing.

Stephanie M. Loree
I suspect that the blog was sacrificed due to work and family.  Stephanie is a professional writer / editor, and the last I knew she was doing well.

Graveyard Dog
I was sorry to see the Dog stop posting, as he was a very entertaining police read.

The P.O.P. Factor
Again, just faded away, although there may have been mitigating factors.

Thurber's Thoughts
The author, Maggie Thurber, is alive and well in Toledo, Ohio.  I suspect she got tired of writing a conservative blog and getting screamed at by SJWs and similar pests.

If anyone knows what happened to any of the bloggers or what they're doing now, please don't hesitate to comment.  Thanks!

News... from Columbus, Ohio

I finally managed to get an account opened at a local credit union, although I now wish I'd chosen some other facility.  Wright-Patt Credit Union has the lowest rates on services, which is easy to understand because the service you, the customer, are privileged to receive from Wright-Patt makes the DMV look good by comparison.  I sat in the lobby for half and hour listening to the paint on the walls dry before some mouth breathing idiot took me into the back and, 45 minutes later, I had a nice, new checking account and a savings account, and not a red cent in either one.  The oh-so-eager-to-please management put a ten-working-day hold on the checks I deposited, in spite of the fact that both were from a Columbus bank.

I went to lunch to try and cheer myself up a little, and when I get back to my car, what do I find?

Bastards!!!

The meter maid gave me a ticket for not having a license plate on the front of my car.  My car lacks a bracket for a front plate, and I haven't wanted to screw the thing up by putting a plate on the grill.  Plus, I now have an extra plate, so if mine ever gets stolen I'm not completely out of luck.
By the way, the meter still had 40 minutes left on it.

Fifty simolians it's going to cost me to pay this off.  That seems like a lot of scratch for such a minor violation.

Little prick.  I hope he tries to hump a woman who moves, and he humps a cactus instead.

So last night I hit the sack around 11:00 PM.  I've been working on the basement most of the day, my lower back and shoulders are killing me, and I'm tired.  At 11:05 I was really sawing the old wood, really copping the Zs, so at 2:00 in the AM, what happens?

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! 

Likely there were six shots, but I missed the first.  The shots sounded like a .38, and they sounded close.  I looked out the window.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  Not even a light going on.

I went back to bed, and ten minutes later I was sawing the old wood again.

This afternoon I called the Columbus Police, trying to be civic minded and all, and reported shots fired.  The lady that answered the phone told me that they couldn't do anything about it now, too much time had passed, I should have called immediately, yada yada yada.  I apologized for bothering the police.  I thought someone would at least take a report, but not a chance.

And that's the latest.

Happy Mother's Day 2017

Happy Mother's Day to all those nice ladies out there who, against all odds, managed to raise us from infants into whatever we are now.  I remember one mother commenting, "You'd think by the time they hit 35 they wouldn't need you anymore, but..."

"But" indeed.  Every so often we, the great unwashed deplorable men of this world, encounter a problem that only another woman will understand, and only Mom is willing to explain.  Such is the penalty for having a mother who will raise a little boy to become a man, that is, a male.  It ain't easy, but it can be done.

Thanks Mom, and to all the other mothers out there, for all your patience and perseverance.

New Hate Mail

I got some unexpected hate mail today, or hate comment to be more precise.  I couldn't understand how this person tracked down a post written some five years ago.

The Publishing Game

With the advent of the Kindle and Amazon's advertising, the publishing world has been turned on its ear.  Traditional publishers are likened to dinosaurs uneasily watching the sheen of ice that forms on the swamp every morning and wondering if maybe they should consider relocation to a spot closer to the equator - about a one day lumbering walk south of home sweet home.

Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: The Departure

I took a few photos of the old homestead on my way out.  I spent a good portion of my life here, and although the place has changed a bit over time, it's still the old homestead.

The Old Homestead

Back in the bad old days we had ten acres between my paternal grandparents who lived next door and my family.  About an acre of that land had to be mowed once a week, and that included trimming around the trees.  The only job I despised more than mowing the lawn was shoveling the snow, which I had to do for both houses.  I think I should mention that I have exercise induced bronchial asthma, and the winter air felt like a handful of razor blades had gotten loose inside my lungs.

Quora Question: How did dancing start?

I subscribed to Quora some years back.  I can't remember why I did this, and I probably didn't know then.  I don't let things like this bother me.

Most questions on Quora are stupid beyond repair; about one in a hundred is worth reading, and that's on a good day.  I'm a little bored today, so when I got this question as asked by some nameless genius, I decided to knock out an answer.  Here we go:

How did dancing start?

Dancing started six million years ago, give or take a hundred thou, when Og broke a bicuspid on his evening meal (Ranga-Tanga Bird on a spit), and in a fit of rage started pounding the food substance with a rock.  Imitating his (we suppose) father for no particularly good reason, his son Foj picked up two sticks and pounded them together, simultaneously inventing the claves and providing a back beat.  Lacking a noisemaker and the wit to use it, Og’s wife Bog jumped to her feet and started hopping around in time to the racket, losing most of her saber tooth tiger skin in the process.  Then when Og’s neighbor Steg offered Bog a clam to lose the rest of the skin, dancing, the strip tease, and the jealous husband were all invented at the same time.

And that's how dancing started.

Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: The Shoot

As most of you know, I'm relocating to Columbus, Ohio from my home in Sylvania Township, Ohio.  My official sayonara, so long, farewell, goodbye and good riddance celebratory shoot was on Saturday, May 6th.  A few people from the local message board Toledo Talk showed up.  My thanks to Trilby, Solleks, and Solleks's Wife, Hot Stuff, all of whom made this a memorable occasion.

Inside the Mind of a Liberal

This is a bit long winded, but unless I set the stage and the characters nothing I write will make any sense.

Eats, Shoots, and Leaves

Cross posted at that august establishment of empirical, dialectic discussion, Toledo Talk, where the elite of the Toledo metropolitan area converge to discuss local issues (political, economic, and otherwise), and where the loons of another local message board (which name I won't mention) tread softly or not at all.

Having received a half-dozen offers on the old homestead in as many days, one individual met the asking price without batting an eye. There are a few conditions, but I expect to close in 30 days or so.

Saturday, May 6^th, 2017 is the farewell shoot and lunch.

My intention is to load a select portion of my personal arsenal into my trunk along with a hundred pounds of ammo and head out to Shooters of Maumee at 10:00 AM. I'll stay until noon or until I run out of ammunition.

After shooting comes a nice, leisurely lunch somewhere. I'm open to suggestions, although I'm thinking Swig Restaurant (219 Louisiana Ave, P-burg) is looking pretty good, and it opens at 11:00 on Saturday. We'll stay until lunch is over.

Any farewell angst or tearful good-byes can be offset by remembering my somewhat inflammatory ad hominem sociopolitical comments. Likewise, anyone who is happy to see me go needn't get their hopes up too high - I still have a few friends and family in the Toledo area, and I'll be back from time to time.

So if you intend to show up, please post or email me at Mad Jack's Shack (get the email address from this site). I'll make reservations at the range and the restaurant.

For all those attending the alternate party (I'm glad the SOB is gone!), I hope you break an axle on the AWT during rush hour love you anyway.

Mad Jack Take the Snowflake Test

Some readers and a few patrons down at the local watering hole have accused me of being a bit flakey.  I vehemently deny this.  I'm as solid as an iceberg waiting for a passenger liner.  But to provide a little proof, I have decided to take the original Snowflake Test.  This is, by the way, an actual test given to prospective employees and designed to weed out the whiny, self-pitying, professional victims, SJWs, feminazis, and other undesirables before they have a chance to infest your workforce and turn the office into a non-productive study in social interactions exemplifying why it's perfectly acceptable to hate a sub-class of people based on the screeds of a subculture that should have committed mass suicide three years ago.

Headline: Security beats the snot out of an uncooperative airline passenger. United Airlines is at fault!

While reading the local scandal sheet, I came across the brawl on Flight 3411. One way or another, I came across an interesting blog entry that inspired me to a fisking.

Want to Change the World?

You can begin by changing the language.

“But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.”
 - George Orwell, 1984

I should put that in large, bold text, but I won't.  People either understand it, for good or ill, or they don't.

Trigger Warning: Profanity and Politically Incorrect and Offensive Speech Ahead.

California Guitar Trio (CTG)

Sunday night I went out to Natalie's Coal Fired Pizza and Live Music to see the California Guitar Trio (CTG), and the company, the music, and the venue all came together like the smoothest bourbon you ever tasted. Yeah, it really was that good.

Vigilante Justice

Pursuing the headlines today brought this story to the top.


Trigger warning: Profanity and violence ahead.
Micro-aggression warning: Probably micro-aggression ahead.  If you can't find one, let me know in the comments section and I'll add it.

Walther Recall and Ramifications

My thanks to Old NFO at the The Gun Blog Black List for these two timely bits of information.  If you own a Walther, I'm envious.  However, there is a recall on CCP models.  You can read about it here: The Gun Blog Black List: Walther Recall.   Basically, if you chamber a round, put the safety on, then drop the pistol, there's a chance the damned thing will go off.

Trigger Warning: Bad language ahead.  Proceed at your own risk.

Final Exams Have Been Canceled

Imagine this: You're working on your master's degree, or maybe your doctorate.  You take the necessary classes, you do your research and under the guidance of some aged professor, you write your thesis.  You defend your thesis in front of a small group of erudite men and women, and at the end of it all you are awarded your degree.  Your professor invites you out for a drink or two to celebrate.  Everyone slaps you on the back, shakes your hand, and wishes you well.

One week later the Powers that Be announce that the writing of a thesis is no longer required.  In fact, all that is necessary is that the candidate prove that sha-he (or whatever the PC gender neutral pronoun is these days) prove that sha-he attended the required classes and passed them - 65% grade point average or better - and that would be good enough.

So where has all your hard work gone?  How, exactly, precisely, do you feel about that?

Trigger warning: Profanity and racial, sexual slurs to follow.  Read at your own risk.

Bad Service and Resentment

I went to Kroger today for the usual reasons, and because Kroger has a liquor store attached to it, and me being fond of my spirits, I paused briefly to pick up a bottle of gin.  Actually, I bought two, one of which is a brand I'm unfamiliar with and will taste test in about thirty minutes, which is when Happy Hour starts at feles domum.

Trigger Warning: Profanity and racial slurs follow.  Continue reading at your own risk.

Shameless Plug - Not All Deviant Minds Think Alike by Momma Fargo

My Internet friend Momma Fargo, AKA Kathryn Loving, has written a nice article on the psychological state of a typical police officer who is used to seeing such things as would send even a hardened SJW around the bend (permanently, we hope).  I found this missive to be a nice read, and you might find it so as well - Not All Deviant Minds Think Alike.

Having read the article, I really don't think I'd make a good cop.  My inclination to save the government the cost of a trial, or trials, and the subsequent jail time would eventually get the better of me, and I'd end up with a mess on some dark county two lane blacktop.

Surburbia Rising

Yesterday the Bayou Renaissance Man linked to a few articles and briefly pontificated on the end of civilization as we know it in The Death of Suburbia.

Counter Phish

I was out with two friends at BW3 the other night, and mentioned the phishing site that I posted about in Support Question (2017-02-21) .   My buddy Lash has the perfect solution.

Prayer Request

From Jeff Riddle over at Stylos, we've got a prayer request. You can read about it here: Update: Continue to Pray for Pastor Raymond Koh, Abducted in Malaysia.

The long and short of this is that Pastor Raymond Koh was professionally abducted about three weeks ago. You can read more about it here: Malaysia: More Questions Than Answers in Kidnapping of Pastor Raymond Koh

Since there haven't been any ransom demands, most people think that the Pastor is dead. That doesn't make much sense to me. Why kidnap him if you're going to kill him? But then, I'm not an Islamic terrorist, which is very likely the group that is holding the Pastor.  Given that the government in Malysia is Islamic and therefore intolerant of Christianity (and pretty much everyone else), I think it's likely the government has the Pastor and is busy extracting a confession from him.

In any event, your prayers will be appreciated.

General Headaches and Pains

I have a hard time believing that the moonbats are still in high dudgeon over the presidential election, but the proof is in the talking heads that pollute the airwaves (showing my August years here) and suck up perfectly good bandwidth with false news reports and empty headed screeds.

Support Question (2017-02-21)

In the normal course of things, I generally stay away from problem sites (wait for the laughter and clever comments to die down).  All that being the case, I got this screen a few minutes ago and don't quite know what I should be doing about it, if anything.

Could some kind soul please enlighten me as to what this is?  Firefox stopped responding and I had to shut it down via the task manager.  I'm running Windoze 7.

Thanks in advance.

A Few Worthy Read 2-11-17

I enjoy reading the Bayou Renaissance Man, who is not only a good writer but has a good intellect and a genuine sense of humility.  Here are a few stories and links I stumbled across on Peter's blog which I think are worth reading.

An interesting perspective on what may be a new American Revolution

Situational Assessment 2017: Trump Edition

This led me to another article from reddit, a site which I seldom read.  This article is a real keeper, and I recommend it to everyone.

Why Hollywood is really freaking out over Trump on reddit by NotJaffo.

And finally, an answer to that eternal question from reasonably intelligent people everywhere:

Why the left hates Trump so intensely

If I'm in the mood, I'll write a little more tomorrow.

White Walks, McCloskey Doesn't

Unrepentant ex-police officer Thomas White, who shot motorcyclist Mike McCloskey in the back, walked out of the courtroom a free man as the result of a plea bargain with Lucas County Ohio Common Pleas Court Judge Gary Cook.  Here's the story from The Toledo Blade: Ottawa Hills Police Shooting Case Ends in Plea Agreement

From his wheelchair in a Lucas County courtroom Thursday, Michael McCloskey didn’t mince words: He forgave the former police officer who shot and paralyzed him in 2009 and gave his blessing to a plea agreement that ended the case.
Mr. White, who was looking at a second trial on a more serious charge of felonious assault for shooting Mr. McCloskey in the back during a traffic stop, pleaded no contest to assault, a first-degree misdemeanor.

On May 23^rd, 2009, in an act of cowardice, Ottawa Hills police officer Thomas White shot motorcyclist Michael McCloskey in the back, paralyzing him from the waist down. Thomas White is completely unrepentant.  I wrote about the case here, Cop Shooting - (ex) Officer Thomas White is Still Free, and here, in Ottawa Hills Shooting.

On December 15^th, 2016, (7 years, 6 months, and 23 days later) the case was finally resolved.  White got a plea bargain, pleaded no contest, was found guilty by the judge and got a 90-day jail term, sentence suspended, and one year of probation.  White also had to surrender his peace officer certificate.

White has never done any jail time.  He remains a free man, completely unrepentant, likely congratulating himself on a job well done.

This no good SOB belongs in prison, doing 25 to life at hard time.  I always suspected something like this would happen, and my suspicions were well founded.

Gun Question

I'm a gun owner and a shooter, and I like odd firearms.  I found this picture by accident and am using it without permission.  My question is obvious: Does anyone know what this crazy thing is?

Thanks in advance.

Election 2016 and The New World Order

Donald Trump has won the election, and unless we have a truly unprecedented number of faithless electors (which is what the rabid Left is praying for), he'll take office in January.  I find it humorous that the very same people in commercial media who repeatedly predicted Hitlery's victory are now trying to explain just what went wrong and how Trump will ruin the United States.  I note that the Ayatollah Obongo had eight years to ruin the US and he's failed to do so.  If you believe the moonbats, Obama is a great president and an individual being we would all do well to emulate.

Last Saturday (yesterday) I slept late, and decided to go to Bob Evans for breakfast.  It being a bit brisk in Columbus, I put my hoodie on, which is a bright international orange.  I walked in to Bob Evans, and the three employees at the hostess station stared at me.  Time passed and they continued to stare.  Finally one of them asked the number of people in my party - one, naturally.  I was escorted to a table and wordlessly dropped off.

And that was that.

There were plenty of free wait people.  Some clustered around the order window, talking and laughing.  Others walked around the tables, taking orders, refilling coffee, busing tables.  No one so much as looked in my direction.  I waited ten minutes and left.

I note that the staff is black.  African American, if you will.  People of color.  I counted three that were obviously homosexual.  I'm an old white guy.

Welcome to the new world order.

The Voyage of the SS Highball

Back in the early 1980s, a good friend of mine who we'll call Chuckles bought himself a brand new speedboat.  Not second hand, mind you.  Brand new right off the showroom floor.  He christened his new pride and joy Highball, after his soon-to-be favorite cocktail (which is whiskey, club soda and ice for anyone who doesn't know or can't remember), and made plans for the good old maiden voyage.  This was in the middle of August, when the air conditioning is the only thing that saves you, the bread winner, from coming completely unglued over the last little stunt the oldest has pulled with the family car, or the teenage daughter's incessant whining about unchaperoned overnight parties and what all the other girls get to do, or the old ball and chain who is agitating for a new dishwasher.  The August heat is palpable.  It stays in the triple digits during the day and barely cools off at night.  Lake Erie looks very promising.  A speedboat is just the thing.

The Highball was 28 feet of bright white fiberglass and chrome, with a small cabin that encapsulated a kitchenette, a marine head with shower attachment, and a settee that converted into two bunks.  The beast was powered (maybe over-powered) by an inboard GM 455 with two four barrel carburetors, and an outboard drive.  The engine compartment was just forward of the stern, and had a pair of nifty trap doors you opened up to look at the beast - and make no mistake, the 455 is a real beast.

So invitations are distributed, and I managed to land one that is good for two people.  I suspect the motivation for inviting me had a lot more to do with the girl I was casually dating at the time than anything else.  Ditz, the love of my life, was 5'4" and stacked.  She was the kind of girl you don't take home to mama, and she favored bikinis that were illegal in 12 States.  Ditz had a real attitude, too.  One time when some old bag told Ditz that she objected to Ditz's somewhat abbreviated swimwear (bare butt), Ditz obligingly removed her top and asked her detractor if she looked better now.  I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?

So it was me and Ditz, Chuckles and his own ball and chain, Chiclets, who tolerated Chuckles right up until... never mind.  And two more couples, Greaseman and his wife Monster, and the other couple Lightweight and Brilliance.  Greaseman (not his real name) was a mechanical engineer by trade and by accident; his wife Monster was a jealous, overly possessive little twist who possibly suffered brain damage at some point in her life, and was now a full blown psychotic.  No, I'm not kidding, and no, I haven't been drinking.  Monster would continually berate Greaseman for looking at other women and thinking thoughts about them, when the reality was just the opposite.  Go figure, right?  As for Lightweight, two beers put him under the table.  He was also an engineer of some stripe, but I never learned what kind.  Brilliance was the only person on board that I thought was pretty much okay.  She was attractive in that better than average, polite sort of way.  I think she was a nurse or something.

So that Saturday morning we managed to assemble at the Harbor View Yacht Club in Point Place, where we had to convince some kind of rent-a-cop that we really did belong there, and we were looking for the Highball, and no, we didn't mean a morning snort.  I finally found Chuckles (he was wandering around the marina looking for us), and we got everything sorted out.

I believe I should mention at this time that none of us has any experience with boats or the water, except maybe Ditz who said she dated a guy for a while that had a nice boat, but he turned out to be married, and she was smoking a lot of weed back then anyway so she never remembered much.  I can really pick 'em, right?  To be fair, my own experience was limited to a canoe and various rivers in Michigan, and that's it.

We piled in, got the five dollar tour, then Chuckles fired up the mill and headed out from the dock.  There was a sharp jerk and funny snapping noise, then the Highball went sideways and smacked into the boat next to us.  It turned out that Chuckles had forgotten to cast off (untie the ropes that keep the boat from drifting away from the dock), and the line at the stern broke the cleat.  We got the line at the bow untied, then we putt-putted sedately over to the gas station without smacking into anything else.  Chuckles asked for a full tank, and when the meter on the pump topped $150 without slowing down, I started to have second thoughts about this entire business.  Too late.  Chuckles passed the hat for gas donations, and I ended up paying $75.  The other couples kicked in over $100 each, and Ditz just pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing the top of her bikini, and confessed she didn't have any money with her.  Monster got a sour look on her face and whispered something to Greaseman, who just shrugged.  Monster folded her arms, glared at the water and started to sulk.

We finally finished fueling up and headed out to sea, following the coast line around to the right when Chiclets pointed out that if we got out of sight of land, we wouldn't know where we were.  That's about the time that I realized that I, personally, could never in a million years find my way back to the Harbor View Yacht Club.  Everything looks different from the middle of the lake, and there aren't any street signs.  Chiclets produced a AAA map and showed us that if we followed the coast we could eventually reach our destination, Put-In Bay (which I misinterpreted as Puttin' Bay, and so couldn't find it on the map).  I remember this map business pretty clearly, as this was the moment I chose to break out the Irish coffee I'd been saving for the morning cruise.  I passed the Irish around, and very shortly everybody really started to get into the swing of things.  Then another speed boat passed us throwing a pretty good rooster tail, and Chuckles hit the throttle.

I don't know if any of you have ever been on a real deal, sit-up-and-stop-mumbling power boat captained by an amateur, but I have and I'm never doing it again.  The back end sank, the front end reared up, and anyone who wasn't anchored to a seat came within an ace of getting left behind in the wake.  I lost my coffee, but I managed to grab the back of a seat with one hand and Ditz with the other before we both went over the stern.  Then the Highball slammed into a wave kicked up by the other boat, and our knees buckled.  Then we were airborne again, then we hit the water (again), and it kept going like that.  I looked back and saw that Lightweight and Brilliance were sitting on the deck in the stern, holding on to the sides of the boat and getting smacked every time the Highball hit the water.  I looked forward and saw Chiclets shouting something at Chuckles, who was laughing like a maniac, one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle.  Between the racket of the engine and the constant slamming into the water, you couldn't make yourself heard, and as fast as we were going I figured if we hit anything our number was up.  Then we passed our opponent.

I'll never forget this man's expression as we went by him.  A kind of cross between Holy Hillbilly Hell and May God Have Mercy On All of Us.  Chuckles waved and blew the horn a couple times, and - just as we were maybe 20 feet ahead of him - Chuckles cuts over right across his path.  The guy lays on his boat horn and hits his brakes, and we missed him.  I don't know by how much, but we did.

'That's it,' I think, 'We're done here.  I want out.'

But I had a problem.  We were still slamming along, and the ride was so rough that I couldn't make my way to the driver's seat, where I could employ a blunt instrument on the skipper and, in an act of justifiable mutiny, get us all back to good old terra firma.  I tried shifting around a little, but Ditz had me in a death grip and her feet were planted.  There wasn't anything to do but wait until Chuckles got bored or the Highball broke into pieces and sank.  As it turned out, I didn't have to wait all that long.

We slowed up, thankfully.  The stern came up a little, the bow came down a little, and we stopped slamming along the water.  Lightweight crawled on all fours to the seats and slid into one.  Ditz got hold of Brilliance and helped her up, then we sort of passed her along until she could sit down next to Lightweight.  I got Ditz settled in the seat across from them, then I got myself forward to have a little talk with Chuckles.  I've read that there are such things as belaying pins, and that these pins make excellent clubs.  We didn't have a belaying pin on the Highball, but I figured that a beer bottle would work just as well in a pinch.  I got up there just in time to hear Chiclets giving Captain Bligh some serious hell.

"I kept yelling at you to slow the fuck down! What is wrong with you? Seriously? Are you fucking crazy?"

Chiclets paused for breath and Chuckles laughed.

"Look, chill out.  Go have another beer or somethin',"  he told her, then looked over at me.

"Hey Jack.  What's up?"

"I'll tell you what the fuck is up.  I've had a-fucking-nuff, is what's up.  You take us back to the dock, and if you go over fifteen miles an hour you're swimming and I'm driving, and I mean it."

"What are you so pissed about?"

"You about killed us, and that pisses me right off.  I'm just whacky that way."

"Well, I think we got problems.  The engine isn't running right.  I've got it wide open, and all it'll do is three grand."

I take my mind off Chuckles and listen.  He's right.  The mill is missing like crazy and threatening to stall out.  While I watch, the tachometer drops to fifteen hundred, and some black smoke rolls out the exhaust.

This leads to a major discussion about what do we do now.  I look around and realize that the closest boat I can see is the guy we pissed off, and he's pulling away from us without looking back.  I see a few other boats, but they're miles away and most of them are sailboats.  Finally Brilliance cuts through the chatter with a suggestion.

"You know, my car got flooded out once in the rain, and it sounded a lot like this."

This gets a few derisive replies, because we're in a boat and how could the water get to the engine?  It couldn't, so you don't know what you're talking about.  Just like a woman, right?

While the others are banging their chops about the fix we're in, I listen to the mill, and she's right.  It sounds like the plugs and points are wet.  So while Ditz fires up a joint (no, I'm not kidding), Brilliance and I open the trap doors to the engine compartment, which is a lot easier to write about than it was to do.  The latches are stiff, and I don't have a screwdriver to help me, but we finally get one door open.

Holy shit.

The engine compartment is half full of water.  That means...

"Hey Skipper, come over here and look at this shit,"  I yell, heading for the cabin.  Because, you see, if the engine compartment is flooded out, there's every chance in the world that the nasty water is in the cabin, which it is.  The cabin floor is covered in several inches of water, sloshing around as the boat rolls.  And right then the engine conks out.  I come up the cabin steps faster than I went down.

"Hey!" I yell, "We're sinking.  The whole place is full of water."

Ditz wordlessly offered me her joint.  When I declined she offered it to Monster, who shrugged and took a hit.  I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?

We tried the radio, but it turned out that while we could hear other people talking, they either couldn't hear us or were ignoring us.  Chuckles said something about a flare gun, but he couldn't seem to find it.  Chiclets found a plastic bucket and started bailing water into the little kitchenette sink.  After about thirty minutes of this, Brilliance pointed out that the water was rising, and then it was discovered that the little kitchenette sink wasn't hooked up.  Any water you put down the sink emptied into the cabinet under the sink, and ran back out to join the water on the floor.

We formed a bucket brigade, and after an hour's hard work we got the water low enough to fire up the engine and head for shore.  That's when I learned a hard lesson about human kindness and generosity.

I can't say for sure just where we were.  By the time we reached land, it was maybe 2:00 PM, and that August sun was hotter than hell.  Ditz stripped down to her string bikini and oiled herself up, then started an animated conversation about tan lines with Chuckles and Greaseman.  Somewhere along the line Chiclets made a mad dash for the rail and almost made it in time, so there was a mess to clean up.  Then, right on cue, Monster said something to Greaseman, who said something back.  Then right out of the blue, without any warning at all, Monster turned around and daintily ralphed into the cooler.

As I remember all this, I don't know, I truly do not know what exactly happened next.  Chuckles got as far as saying, "Son of a -  " and Ditz pushed past him, grabbed Monster and pushed her over the rail.  Maybe Ditz was trying to help get her pointed in a safe direction, I don't know.  I only know that Greaseman reached out and grabbed her by her waistband, and her pants came off.

So he's got hold of her Daisy Dukes, but they're down around her knees and her bare butt is right on the rail, right up there, with the rest of her hanging over the side in the water.  She's screaming bloody blue murder, and there's a long beat while everyone is drawing a breath - then we all start to laugh.  I couldn't help it.  I actually felt sorry for her, but the more she and Greaseman struggled, the longer it was taking to get her up and get her pants on.

Monster finally got her Daisy Dukes sorted out, and she and Greaseman separated to opposite ends of the boat.  Ditz tried to cheer Monster up a little by telling her a story about when she, Ditz, forgot to put her panties on and was at a real high class cocktail party, when... but I don't think Monster was getting the point.  That's about the time Greaseman started drinking in earnest, and Ditz broke out another joint.

We still weren't running on eight cylinders, but after an eternity or two of rough running we got within a hundred yards or so of the land, and we saw a dock.  We're saved!

No such luck.

We pulled up to the dock, and there's a guy there.  He's short, kind of old, and he's dressed in shorts and a tee shirt.  He's got a pole with him, with a nasty looking hook on the end of it.

"This is a private dock.  You can't dock here."

"We're sinking!" Chuckles yells, "Give us a little help!"

"Nope.  Get out of here.  This is a private dock."

And so help me, he thumps the sharp end of the pole into the side of the Highball, braces himself, and pushes us off.  What the hell is this shit?

"Look," I say in my best reasonable, charming voice, "we really are sinking.  We've got water coming into the boat, and the engine is going to stall out."

"Not my boat, not my problem.  This is a private dock.  You can't dock here."

"So what do we do?"  Chuckles says, sounding a little desperate.

"I don't care, so long as you do it somewhere else."

And that was that.  I'll spare you the parting comments, none of which bear repeating and all of which promise bad luck on the dock owner.  We kept going, staying within sight of land and bailing the boat out.  Between the heat, the beer, and the pot, it's a wonder one of us didn't come down with heat stroke.  But when you're young, you can do all kinds of foolish things and nothing much happens.

But enough is enough, and after a few hours of bailing we gave out.  There wasn't one of us with the energy to bail the water out anymore, and twenty minutes later the engine quit for the final time.  I got up and started bailing again, but it was all I could do to lift half a bucket of water.  We tried flagging down other boats, but when they saw us the boaters would smile cheerfully, wave, and keep right on going.  It wasn't until Ditz pulled off her top and waved at three teenagers in an aluminum dingy that we got some help.

The three boy goggled at Ditz, laughed at us, and towed us to a marina.  Not the place we started from, but one a long way away.  (Ed's Marina? I don't remember the name.)  From there, Chuckles put a few hundred bucks on his credit card getting the Highball out of the water, and then we found the cause of our misery.  It turns out that all boats have a plug in the stern, and our plug had fallen out.  That was were the water was coming in, you see.  The plug.

We must have looked pretty sorry, because a guy coming in from a fishing trip offered us a ride to the Harbor View Yacht Club in his pick up truck.  We rode in the back, and Ditz, being no dummy, rode in the shotgun seat.  She kept her top on.

Before we left, Chuckles started making noises about chipping in on the repair bill, and I actually laughed.  He looked a bit pissed about it, but in truth what I really wanted was a sack and twenty-five pounds of cement.  Some assembly required.  I did get a certain amount of payback, because Chiclets made a fuss about feeling sick and not liking the water anyway, and climbed into the bed of the pickup with the rest of us.  Chuckles was left to sail the Highball back to the Harbor View Yacht Club by himself.  He watched us pulling out with a look of complete disbelief on his face until Chiclets flipped him the bird.  I had a feeling that relationship had hit a turning point of some kind.

And that's the voyage of the SS Highball.

Election November 8, 2016: The Winners and Losers

Donald and Melania Trump will be moving in to the double-wide on Pennsylvania Avenue sometime in January of next year.  At least, that's the plan.  The real sequence of events is the pre-campaign, during which time money is counted, a campaign team is assembled, and a consensus to run for the office is made.  If you're going to back out, now is the time.  Then the campaign for the official primary, where Trump neatly won the Republican party nomination, causing several notable Republicans to back out and state publicly that they wouldn't support Donald Trump for various reasons, notably injured egos, sore toes and bent noses.  Then comes the official, vote-for-me campaign, during which Trump was attacked by commercial media every chance they got, ambushed by lying women making various claims of sexual abuse, locker room talk accidentally picked up by a live microphone, and debates with an opponent who had been fed at least half the questions well in advance.  But the slugger came through, didn't he?