Happy Anniversary - Fourteen Years of Blogger Bliss!

It was about fourteen years ago today that a recreational substance entrepreneur living just down the street from us successfully defended his home and hearth from four armed and dangerous miscreants at three in the morning - the usual time for such things.  

I wrote about it here, and actually got two hate comments out of the deal.  So, that was the beginning of Mad Jack's Shack - and fourteen years later, here we all are.  Main Lady and her three little darlings are history, and have been for some time.  She sold her home in Sylvania, packed up, and moved to Saint Louis, Missouri.  Flopsy lives in the Big Windy and is still duplicitous and spiteful as ever - she's single, her one and only romantic relationship having terminated in a messy, emotional scene in her living room when the love fatal attraction of her not-so-young life wanted sex more than once a month with, of all things, the lights on.  Can you imagine?

Peanut Gallery: I'd rather not.

Ahem.  Mopsy lives in Saint Louis, Missouri, and somehow, and I really and truly cannot understand how, managed to develop a personality and a set of ethics that would make her a welcome dinner guest or drinking buddy at anyone's table.  At least, anyone who reads this hound of a blog and doesn't need six milligrams of Xanax and snowflake therapy afterwards.  I actually suspect Divine intervention here, there being no other explanation.

Cottontail, the youngest of the three, is a vegetarian, veterinarian, and animal rights non-activist (meaning that the rules she follows regarding animals apply to her, and not everyone else).  She's a very accomplished veterinarian, I'll give her that.  Anyway, she got married to QB-One, who turned out to be a bit light in the loafers - 

Peanut Gallery: Light?!

Okay, then.  He's gayer than a Hello Kitty! vibrator.  They got divorced, and when I heard about the situation I offered the loan of a shotgun and a box of shells.  I reminded Main Lady that buckshot leaves no ballistics, but to police your empties.  She hesitated a bit too long, but didn't take me up on it.  Note that I did not offer the scatter-gun to Flopsy, and no one I know would.  The mental fallout after the shooting cannot be imagined, even by me, and I have a vivid imagination.  I note that one man whom I've known for years, and who is gayer than Liberace on steroids, called QB-One a real son-of-a-bitch and said he ought to be tied to a pickup truck and dragged down five miles of bad Wyoming road.

Cottontail recovered and is off and running strong, which is good.  QB-One is living under an assumed name in Cleveland.  She got the house and the car; he got the first shaft he never enjoyed.

As for me, I'm in Columbus, Ohio.  I live in a condominium just off machine gun alley.  We had another shooting last week, but so what?  The Columbus PD published their homicide statistics for this year, and out of eleven homicides only one was white - a road rage case.  One was Latino, and the rest were blacks, and I'm talking real pavement apes here.  I think two of these have been solved.  The rest are being investigated.  Well, whatever.

I have one aunt and uncle who moved from their two story home into a ranch style condo, then from there into an assisted living facility.  They should have moved sooner, and didn't.  Uncle isn't happy about anything, as a series of strokes has left him unable to do much of anything.  Standing and walking are major issues.  Aunt can't lift anything, and actually has trouble standing due to a bad back - and by bad, I mean seriously bad.  Weather permitting, they go for walks next to a forest, listen to music and watch the idiot box.  Somebody shoot me if I ever get like this.

Right now, I have a good life, for which I'm thankful.  Thanks for reading.

Can you hear me now?

 Yesterday morning (Thursday, February 22, 2024) the unthinkable happened: Cell service quit working.  No texting, no Internet, no email, no various social media sites, no nothing.  The various providers just shut down.

I'm going to pontificate about this for a little while.  Read and enjoy as you like.

Russia versus Ukraine: Where are we and what are we up to?

I've been following the Russia vs. Ukraine war on and off.  I lost a sawbuck when I bet that Russia would win a decisive victory in less than a year.  So, easy come, easy go.  Then I tripped over an empty bottle of gin and stumbled onto a piece by the irascible bleeding hearts at Human Rights Watch, and it got me to thinking - always a dangerous condition for me and anyone in the blast radius.

Why is Russia attacking Ukraine anyway?

Keep reading, including the bleeding heart snowflakes who would usually rather shove a handful of number two where the sun don't shine rather than read a paragraph of my insensitive ramblings.

A Speech Worth Listening To

People pass me links to speeches, sound bytes, books or articles being read aloud, and videos.  Lots of videos, all of which are dryer than my martini during happy hour.  Unless the video involves unpopular right-wing political opinions or firearms, I skip 'em.

Except this one.

This is Javier Gerardo Milei an economist who has served as President of Argentina since December 2023.   Milei has taught university courses in macroeconomics, economic growth, microeconomics, and mathematics for economists.  He is an author on economics and politics, and also hosted radio programs on the subject.  Milei's views distinguish him in the Argentine political landscape and have garnered significant public attention and polarizing reactions.

Here's his speech, translated into English (and several other languages) using HeyGen, an AI translator.  This is the best, most informative speech I've heard on government and economics in years, and I'm not exaggerating.  Give it a listen.

World Economic Forum Annual Meeting 2024

This is going to make professor Milei hugely unpopular with the moonbat set, but I really don't think the man loses much sleep over that.

Alec Baldwin Isn't So Cocky These Days

As most folks who read this hound know, back in October 21st of 2021, actor Alec Baldwin was plying his trade on the set of a western film, Rust.  The scene was shot, literally, when the six gun in Deadeye's chow hook went off and cinematographer Halyna Hutchins dropped dead from a forty-four (no Hutchins, no more).  Director Joel Souza sprung a leak.

Story and commentary to follow.  Trigger warning: Never mind.  Just keep plowing on through.

Okay, this is nuts...

I can't take credit for finding this one, and maybe that's just as well.  This story was passed along to me by Big Mike, and I cannot, for the life of me, imagine just how he stumbled across it.  He doesn't smoke pot or imbibe in any other hallucinogens.

Imagine you're going to college.  You're going to get an education that will be the ticket to a specialty - PhD, MD, ADD, whatever, that comes with benefits and a big ticket salary.  Which you'll need in order to pay off the loans you wish you'd never taken out to pay for college in the first place, and then there's your college educated wife's student loans, and the lease on the SUV, and her car, the Tesla, needs new batteries, and she's pregnant - again.  And to make matters worse...

You learn that your beer-swilling buddy from High School, the one who told the school councilor, "No, Mister Champion, you're the lucky one.  You can kiss my ass and I can't."  Yeah, that guy.  He became an apprentice plumber, then a plumber, then opened his own shop, and now he has three guys working for him and it looks like his house is paid off.

All those years you were going to college, drinking beer, screwing co-eds (which is how you got married), sweating exams, and racking up thousands in tuition bills and student loans, your old buddy was happily going to work and watching his bank account grow, and his wife doesn't have a lot of crazy ideas about diversity, inclusion, and equity (DIE).

I don't know how I got here.  Okay, below the fold you'll find two courses that are, for real, offered at a real university.  No, it's not from The Onion.

The Proof is in The Shooting

Or not, as the case may be.  Cutting to the chase, I posted a brief, opinionated essay entitled  Packing Heat, and got a lecture on societal norms and morals from Glen Filthie.  Naturally I suggested that Glen go boil his head, but upon reflection I think my northern neighbor may have an insight worth listening to.

Consider these two bits of news from commercial media.  Be aware that my opinion is not modified to accommodate SJWs, special little snowflakes, anti-freedom liberals of any stripe, or weak-kneed, bull-dyke fearing, door knob sucking douche nozzles.

Packing Heat

Our family has always had a loaded gun or two in the house.  Ever since I was a little kid, I remember the old man telling me in his best no-nonsense voice that this was real, this was not, and you don't touch the real gun.

I only made one mistake back then, and I didn't get larruped for it - although I might have, and no one would have faulted the parent.  My best friend, whose family were also gun owners, and whose older brother was a gun owner, questioned whether or not my father owned a pistol.  So I showed it to him.  I didn't pick it up, and I'd have stopped him if he'd tried, but we all know what we all know.  My thinking was that he was my best friend, and so qualified as a family member.  The aspect that applied here was that Timmy was something of a dunderhead, which I didn't realize until I was much older.  His father didn't think he'd make it through adolescence, and so took out life insurance on him.  His poor mother acquired more gray hair from Timmy's shenanigans than anything else.  The kid would try to beat out cars when crossing the street - I once saw a dump truck driver slam on his brakes, and another time my father did the same thing, in our driveway no less.  Then he severed several tendons while carving a pumpkin, and a few years later blew himself up while he and a like-minded friend screwed around with Sterno and live ammo Timmy had borrowed from his older brother.  There were other escapades, but I don't think they altered his mental process much.

I've digressed, but that was then and this is now, and the things people do still aren't predictable.  Which is why I'm packing my gat with one up the pipe.

Keep reading with the usual disclaimer about anti-freedom zealots and overly sensitive Lefties.

Things Your Dad Never Told You

 I got this off an FB page, and reading through got me to reminiscing.  Evidently, whoever wrote this was thinking about Ward Cleaver or Ozzie Nelson.  This isn't the way things worked when I was growing up.

I was raised on a horse farm.  My parents had palomino show horses when I was growing up, and I learned how to ride.  I never liked it.  We had ten to fifteen horses, and guess who got to take care of them - yours truly, that's who.  I cleaned stalls, fed and watered them, and was the chief hot walker (see the expression rode hard and put away wet).  I also hauled sand and gravel in a wheelbarrow, chopped wood, did any number of odd jobs and chores.  This ten point meme got on my very last nerve, and inspired a reality check.  I don't know who had a father like the one described above, but I sure as hell didn't.

My reality is below the fold.

Noise That Makes Me Nuts

I caught this on Knuckledraggin' and liked it.  These days it doesn't take much to drive me right out of whatever remains of my mind, but rather than focusing on me (kind of like being fascinated by a train wreck), I'd like to hear from anyone reading this hound.

But first, a little background.  The scientific name for this condition (I read about it on the Internet so it really does exist) is Misophonia, sounds that make you bat shit crazy.  This could be pretty much anything, from the sound of the cat yowling for heaven only knows what, up to and including the budding musical genius next door who is learning to make noise with a bassoon.

Do you have a noise that you absolutely cannot stand?

For me it's boom cars, bad table manners, and eating while talking on the phone.  That last item is extremely offensive to me, and I won't tolerate it for any length of time.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 This is the obligatory holiday social amenity.  Happy Thanksgiving!  

Theories, Conspiracy Theories, and Amusing Fairy Tales

Sixty years ago today, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy (May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963) was assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald, who was shot to death shortly thereafter by Jack Leon Ruby (born Jacob Leon Rubenstein) (March 25, 1911 – January 3, 1967).  Ruby was arrested, tried, and convicted of murder, then appealed his conviction successfully, and granted a new trial, but died of cancer before he could be retried.  For his part, Oswald denied shooting anyone.

Keep reading for my own twisted opinions on Our Government, JFK, Ruby, and a host of other things.

White Teenager Beaten to Death

I was reading Knuckledraggin My Life Away when I tripped over a dangling participle left by one of his many contributors and found this article.  I'm disgusted and enraged.  Standard disclaimer will precede my rant.

If you're a sensitive, thin skinned liberal, go no further.  You'll only get your tender little feelings injured to the point that you may not heal up again - which is not a bad thing in my book.  Anyone else, keep reading.

Election Results November 7, 2023

For Columbus, and Ohio in general.  This is your official standard warning issue: If you are easily offended, don't read any further.  Surf over to Hello Kitty! and indulge in some mental self-abuse.

Happy Birthday Shoot - 2023

I scored some free ammo courtesy of Ammo Man, so if you're in the market for ammunition, go have a look.  The prices are very competitive, and they've got a nice selection of calibers and brands.

I wouldn't exactly tell 'em Mad Jack sent me! and expect to get anything special.  For one thing, they don't know me all that well.

Ding Dong!

 Non-Standard Disclaimer: For those of you who voted for, or (Heaven help us all) actually supported Feinstein, pack up your preferred pronouns and go read I'm a Sensitive Zealot.  Believe me, we'll all be happier.

Okay, you've been warned...

Order Up!

 Unlike most of my contributions to the canon of western literature, this post will do nothing more that irritate, incense, and annoy the anti-freedom idiots who truly believe that owning an AR-15 is akin to burning not-a-president Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. in effigy while wearing a MAGA hat, singing The Star Spangled Banner, and donating to the President Donald Trump Reelection Fund.

That's a tall order, but I'm betting I could pull it off.

My Sincere Apology

Somehow, and I genuinely do not know how, about 75 legitimate comments got moved into the spam folder.  Some of these comments go back to the ice age, when I first started this hound.

If you were kind enough to post a comment and couldn't see it later on, it's because it got marked as spam.  I went through the entire list and marked all the spam as legit, so now the comments can be seen.  The only comment I deleted was posted by anonymous and notified the men on this dog as pigs.  I think this contributor is a deranged female who used to call herself Baked Brie - she posted a similar comment on my post about a massage parlor that closed up.

My apologies for the error.  I corrected it, and I'll keep a closer eye on things.

Nine-Eleven, The Day After

Since everyone knows what happened on September 11^th, 2001, I'm not going to write a repetition.  What follows is a brief personal opinion of the events that should have followed the attack.

Content Warning: If you're a thin skinned social justice warrior, LGBT - et al. member, follower, or supporter, or you're sensitive to racial slurs and easily insulted - keep reading.  You'll die of an apoplexy and the world will be a better place - to an infinitely small degree, maybe, but still a better place.

FREE BEER!

Awright, cut out the noise, sit up and stop mumbling.  That includes you, Glen Filthie - get your mind outta the gutter and pay attention.

Number One: Find all the anti-freedom fascist commie bastards and give 'em the bum's rush.  Out the back, Glen!  The back!  That includes everyone that ain't regular, and by that I mean regular.

The back door!  Ah... the boy's a slow learner, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm.  The rest of you folks make yourselves comfortable, because I have an announcement to make.