In 1977, I almost bought a yellow one like this (for $900). Yeah, I woulda dropped a 327 in it:
One, two, three - good thing they don't live at the far end of the block:
Even without the Don't Mess With Texas bumper sticker, I'da knowed they was from Texas. I needa pickup again. And a filly to ride in it - ...little white tank top sittin right there in the middle by me:
Bud's been comin home late from the Loving Community Center for the last three nights:
Sounds like one of those swingers' dens!
So Sissy's gonna make sure his butt's in the pew Sunday morning at Loving Baptist Church:
Recently, Mossberg announced its 464 SPX - what appears to be a Win '94 style action, mated to a composite stock. It is butt-ugly, but may be just the thing for dealing with the undead:
Certainly it speaks to the timeless appeal of the lever action.
Nonetheless, for the tradition minded such as myself, there's a more refined approach, steel and walnut, stag and leather. Either of these specimens would serve equally well dispatching the brain-suckers, but just in case, they're prepared with Hornady Zombie-Max 160s:
Because you can never be too sure.
With all due respect to John Moses, the lower rifle is the better action, but hey, everyone should own a '94, right?. Knife is a CRKT Kommer Brow Tine.
Or, Hop-Sing say maybe reason Pa Cartwright never re-marry.
Anyway, I may need some of that stuff (the muscle reliever, not the gay), as Daughter and I have been on three bike rides in as many days.
We've seen a ton of soccer moms - they all seem to have high-pitched squeaky, Valley Girl type voices, though I suspect some were only being born during the Valley Girl days.
We also saw this along the trail:
Daughter spotted the reptile. Normally, she picks up grass snakes and garter snakes in my backyard, but she noted that this one was different. Good thing. It had quite a bit of spring in it - could strike out about 5" (and was only about 8-1/2" to begin with).
Venomous snakes and women - different, but similar.
We stopped at a playground. As we left, a group of young people (looked like junior high kids) were nearby, with an older teenager holding a clipboard, who spoke as we passed, "Sir you look like the kind of person who would like to sign a petition (thought bubble:you've gotta be [kidding] me...) against restaurants that discriminate on the basis of sexual...
I don't know why he thought I looked like I wanted to sign his petition, but without slowing our bikes or even turning to look, I simply said "Uh, not so much."
I don't know if he was the same pixie who tried to get a local Mayor and Council to sign his petition. I wasn't in the mood to debate the issue, or looking for confrontation, but had he pushed his luck, I would have artfully articulated, yea gleefully, the argument against his 'victimhood' cause.
While the economy crumbles, 'activism' is apparently a growth industry.
Perhaps the human pharmaceutical industry is slowing - is Fido pharmacy the next frontier?
Probably just selling them to their friends in the kennel.
Had to install word verification - the spam comments were coming in over the transom, and I don't need any C.alis, Vjagra (their spelling, not mine).
Daughter learned to ride a bike this week. We rode about 6 miles yesterday.
One segment was along a golf course fairway. About 25 yards away, a golfer teed up his drive. As we continued riding, we passed a copse of indigenous trees, between us and the golfer.
"Thwack!" After waiting three or four milliseconds, I 'stage-shouted' a muffled "Ow!", to sound like I was farther away. Daughter, who was ahead of me, asked if I was OK. "Yes." "Oh, were you just faking, then?" "Yes."
Saw a woman in some jeans that looked like a whitetail deer. The back of the jeans had a couple of narrow panels either side of the centerline that were slightly lighter denim than the rest. I wasn't close enough to smell if she was also wearing Eau de Doe. Anyway, the gal wearing them was kinda cute, 40-ish.
Later, we stopped at a playground. As Daughter climbed the rock wall, I sat on a park bench, joined by some soccer moms.
One was a ringer for Jennifer Garner. When her two-ish son came over to the bench, she asked him if he wanted something-or-other. "No!", he said, growling, stomping his foot, hitting her on the knee, and hurling his sippy cup to the sidewalk, as Mommy pleaded "Collin Richard¹, please don't act that way."
I've got a big picture of that relationship as he gets older.
Guys - Here's what happens when your wife goes to that class reunion.
Say, did they play this at your church this morning? Brian and Josiah were at it again this morning, performing this song every bit as good as (or better than) the original. The harmonies were exquisite and Josiah's fretwork and tone bending were awesome.
I think there was something Dr. Claude Thomas said that reminded me of this song that I remembered from the early '70s - probably one of the first songs I'd heard of what would become 'outlaw country':
We used to sing praises to The Almighty for the bountiful blessings of our nation and people.
But now, it seems we just can't seem to get enough of the gay.
Last week, Sandra Fluke, a liberal activist parading as a Georgetown University law student, testified before Congressional Democrats that indigent college students would be traumatized if they had to pay for their own contraception, and that the cost should instead be borne by you and I, the taxpayers.
Afterward, radio megalomaniac Rush Limbaugh, he of little nuance, launched into an ill-conceived (if you'll pardon the term) and base tirade against Ms. Fluke on his syndicated radio program.
Mr. Limbaugh's personal attack on Ms. Fluke was utterly classless, yet it is absolutely correct to unapologetically denounce her cause, as it is fundamentally, morally, ethically repugnant for certain people to demand that other people fund their recreational sex habits. But in Obamanation (yes, there's a certain onomatopoeia in that term), personal responsibility is not considered a virtue.
You might ask yourself: where is that large automobile what next? Well, it seems that in addition to her testimony to try to get you and I to fund contraception, Ms. Fluke's main gig is in trying to get us to fund lifestyle benefits for folks of the 'LGBTQ' (isn't that that Wise county lawyer's blog?) persuasion[s], up to and including 'gender re-assignment' operations. How's that grab you?
And closer to home, at a recent Keller City Council meeting, some [presumably færie] high school activists spoke in the comments portion of the meeting, requesting the Mayor and council to sign a pro-gay marriage proclamation. The ringleader apparently leads protests or petitions against restaurants that refuse to serve gay folk.
I dunno, maybe it's because I'm so incontrovertibly heterosexual, that I've never been asked my sexual preference before ordering a Jumbo Jack, Cheddar Melt, or Panda Bowl. For a wider perspective, we could go to field correspondent Dew, quien es menos macho, though probably straight, to see if he gets asked. But, I'm really not aware of any restaurants refusing to serve those who play for the other team, as restaurants' economic imperative trumps any bias they might have.
I know they're [the Qs] here, they're proud, and we're all supposed to get used to, or over it. All well and good. But would it be too much trouble to ask them to just get on with their lives instead of trying to get the rest of us to pay for it?
Actually, that's the song that was playing as I walked into Church yesterday - not on the radio, not in the lobby, but by our Praise Band, in an arena-worthy version every bit as good as the original. It was a tie-in to the Love is a Battlefield series, and is not found in the Methodist Hymnal. The next two or three songs were standard modern worship tunes.
Then, after the band had left the stage, the lead vocalist and lead guitarist (who did lead vocal on the Bon Jovi number) returned, performing You're the One That I Want from Grease. Only it wasn't in bubble-gum pop style, but at a slower, ballad, tempo, just vocals and acoustic guitar. The words were modified so it wasn't two dudes singing to each other like Danny & Sandy (Keystone's not that kinda church), but as a man would sing to his true [woman] love. A very interesting arrangement.
Oldest son got the cellphone situation resolved today. I spent an hour the phone last night with two representatives. One sounded Pakistani/Indian, the other Asian; the first was transferring me to a supervisor when the call got 'dropped' (I don't think it was intentional) - when I called back to ask to go directly to the supervisor, I had to recite the whole story again, but ultimately the second rep worked with the super to satisfactorily resolve my issue. I think.
I'm going to have to tell Mr. Edwin Moore, a refugee from Ghana, that I cannot in good conscience accept his offer to manage his $35 million portfolio. I was a bit surprised that, with all the well-qualified (with all the appropriately impressive initials after their names) investment advisers out there, he would choose me, but I guess he's a good judge of character. Nonetheless, I think it's best for both of us that I decline.
I had the day off today, so I invited my Dad to go to the shooting range this afternoon. I had some errands to run, so we agreed on a time for him to come by my house. He arrived before I thought he would, and in my haste (or lack of prior planning) I forgot to pack the percussion caps for the blackpowder revolvers I'd planned to shoot. Bummer!
Due to owner's forgetfulness, this one didn't get to play today.
Not to worry, I'd tossed a .22 in my range bag.
Dad had developed some .45 ACP target loads (using 3.5, and 4.0 grains of Trail Boss behind a 192 grain hardcast SWC). He wanted to make sure they would cycle the action of his WWII-era 1911. They worked flawlessly - no misfires or stovepipes, and very, very mild recoil.
While we were there, there were three 'hot chicks' on the pistol range. The Range Officer stayed with them, coaching.
At first, I was amused, thinking the R.O. doesn't usually spend this much time down here on the pistol range, and those girls are young enough to be his granddaughters. But I later surmised that they were not actually members, and the R.O. and another shooter were actually being hospitable toward 'newbies', something that doesn't happen at every range.
Here's some precision shooting:
Made a batch of potato/carrot/celery soup tonight. Delicious. Campbell's would love to have my recipes - but the truth is, I don't have any - I'm a Steinsuppe kinda cook, and just use what I have on hand.
I hate wire shirt hangers - you try to get them off the closet rod and they all want to bind up.
Will probably end up with more of them soon. I have to take several shirts to the tailor for new buttons since my dry cleaner has broken so many. Yeah, I suppose I could sew them on myself.