What in the hell is going on?! If there is one crisis there’s twenty. Data overload is the goal and I am saturated. Life has been one cat herding trailride after another lately so I shall have to present things to you in bits and pieces. First, I have been trying to keep up with all my good friends and their words but time is hard to find to keep up with it all. However, this piece was quite a good bit of work. (Thanks, Joan, for the link.) As I’ve noted here before – people think they can vote their way out of this – you are a fool to think you’ll be permitted that pleasure. Once that power is acquired, they will not let it go. Some think Progressives are the same animal as Liberal – as in the olde tyme Liberal. Progressives will make houseboys of those liberals and laugh at their begging for crusts. And, of course, Tam smacks it outta the park. (The comments are amusing as hell, too. DIRTCRASHR – damned beverage warning was needed for that.) Not as relatedly, there is an author who wrote the best snark back in the day. His books are Gutenberg’d. Read. Enjoy. Damned amusing and we need the laughs these days. I am confident the things download into whatever magic device you youngin’s are carrying these days. Billy will recall the one bit – “If my blood counts, there are at least three corners in the County that are forever England.” I spent some of the weekend driving this thing. I love it. I simply love it. There is nothing like a machine that goes and does where and what you tell it to…I cannot wait to start digging up dirt and planting with it. Just imagine the chaotic rows I’ll manage on my first try. From the air it’ll be all Nazcan. (It’s a word. I say so.) I finished knitting my very first bit of clothing – a sweater – which is not bad at all. (No, not a codpiece though I was tempted! Yes, there is a pattern. Adjustable. Ahem.) Texas has kindly chosen to give us a bit of a chill so I can actually wear it tonight. Then, into the drawer until winter. It only took me a year, off and on. Damned cables.
Trooper has been lumberjacking lately – gets him all het up, it does. I may have to get him a nice Husqvarna for our anniversary. He has managed to impress a podiatrist with the size of his Haglund’s Deformity. Not even in his clinical work had he seen any as…well, mighty. On both feet. But its the horn of a bone spur on the bottom of his heel, carving a lovely notch into the muscle on the bottom of his foot, that is making life oh-so-hellish for the man. Steroids for now. But likely a surgery in his future with a six week rehab of single footedness. I could put him in a wheelchair and hook the dogs to it. Walkies!
Seriously, it’s a difficult time for him – he has to use the foot, daily, and he cannot do the job in kinder, gentler shoes. He’s been soldiering on for months, now. When the man winces, you can bet your ass I’d be shouting in agony.
We had company recently and gave new shooter smiles to mom, dad, and young man. I can only imagine what his “what I did for my spring break” story said. “Then he let me shoot the SOCOM! But I liked the AR best.” In truth, the boy listened carefully and took on every single weapon we brought. Guess which he liked best – yes, the FN Five-SeveN. Good taste. We were able to get his father to understand that at his experience level a shotgun was more useful for defense. Plenty of time to move to the M4. He bought one before he even left the state. The .22 convertor for the 1911 worked like a charm – lets newbies handle the heft of a semiauto without the “ooh skeery” recoil. In fact, the young man took to Texas so well that he is looking forward to spending a week here. Trooper is already lining out his education – tracking, archery, more shooting…
(Just between us…it makes me hate that POS uterus I had. Trooper would have been a great dad.)
As you can tell, that is just the skinny layer of jam on top of the global crap sandwich. I really don’t know what more there is to be done. It is obvious, the whole carnival of delights they planned and are executing. What say you we all go Wisconsin on their asses at the local IRS offices on the 15th? “You can’t get blood from a turnip, you low life sonsabitches!” Wait – that doesn’t rhyme. Slogans, people. Slogans and chants. That and an extension form.
We here in our corner of the world hope your corner is pleasant and full of good condiments and stored foodstuffs.