Thursday, January 31, 2013

Awful, Just Awful

As is our habit, when we work late, we dine out. Tonight we decided to try a new Italian place. I ordered chicken cacciatore and an appetizer of fresh water mussels.

By far the worst meal I've ordered in years. Both the mussels and pasta were so over salted I couldn't eat either.

A few minutes after our meals arrived the chef walked out and asked if we were, basically, satisfied with our food. I mentioned the mussels and pasta were over salted. Sweet Wife agreed.

Now get this, the chef said it was impossible. He had not added salt to the dishes. I said sorry, but he was wrong and to taste the mussel sauce. He dipped a piece of my bread then said, it's fine. Argued with me.

The chef neither asked if I'd like a replacement nor did he offer a discount or adjustment to our bill. We were his only customers.

Ask me if I'll return.


Bits & Pieces

The construction workers have returned in force. I should just flip the closed sign and drive home. At least this time around they were kind enough to allow traffic to reach my building. As all traffic has been diverted, perhaps I should find a local night club and hire their off duty pole dancers. I'd have them dress skimpy and stand out front in this cold wind and wave to the passing motorists.

Then again the cost of their services would easily nullify any profit. 


Our weather has finally turned cool. Windy as all get out. I like it.

I have a camping trip planned next month. We hope all members of 'The Group' attend. I hope to bottle this weather and release it the night of just after our fire is laid and lit. I hate to camp in warm weather.

If, and it's a big if, the weather cooperates on this future camping trip, I plan to pack my little .410 and do a bit of squirrel hunting. Don't say it. I hear you...shotgun for squirrels. Yes. This dense Florida brush requires it...that's my excuse and I plan to stick with it. You young punks with your baby fresh eyes...


I have a contract with a fire extinguisher service. Once a year, as required by law, they arrive at the shop and take my extinguisher out to their service vehicle and brush the dust off, attach a new tag, and return and charge me darn near fifty dollars for three minutes of their time.

They just arrived.

As much as I hate to pay for this service, guess what happens when the state inspector knocks on my door and the little tag hasn't been properly stamped. Another form of tax at gun point.

Pure rip off.


Here's an old expression - 'just got a hair up my butt.' Google that one. Anyway, with the high volume of noise outside, I thought, hey, target practice.

 Loaded a few CB shorts, stepped out back and placed target and had a few minutes of fun. Kinda nice. Took a cup of coffee and grabbed an old plastic chair and just popped, pop, pop. The squirrels hid.

Talk about breaking a few laws...

Firing a gun within city limits is a big no-no, but I know the locals just think it's area democritters exchanging fire.

I'm a bad boy.

See you later, and hey, be careful out there.


Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Oh, no

Okay, I still feel like death warmed over but I'll relate this:

I drive home tonight and as I make my turn into the driveway I see our garage door is open. I think, great, Sweet Wife is home. Normally she's the last through the door by a wide margin.

Then, as I get close enough to see inside the garage my heart drops. Her car isn't parked inside. The garage light is out. Not good.

I step out and quickly scan the garage. My range bag is still on the bench. The tools are where they should be, as is my tool box. The lawn mower is parked in its normal space. I pull my carry piece and open the door to the laundry room and walk into the house.

In our family room my old double barrel shotgun still sits atop the fireplace mantle. The widescreen and sound systems are in place. Quick as a cat I rush to check my gun too is fine and in place, unmolested. Then into our office - all is well. Still I clear the house, one can never be too careful.

When my stress level has lowered, and with a few deep breaths, it hits me. One of us had not properly lowered and locked the garage door, and it wasn't me...

Our home stood unlocked and unprotected all fricking day. Thank goodness our house is located in a quiet area far from the busy streets.

I haven't said a word to Sweet Wife. She doesn't need the stress nor guilt. We had a quiet dinner and now she's at church in bible study.

Tomorrow, I'll make sure I stay behind and lock the heart doesn't need this kind of workout.

Now, if you'll excuse me I need to sharpen a couple of my new (old) knives.

Take care.


Tuesday, January 29, 2013


I'm just very tired. I'll see you tomorrow.

Take care.


Monday, January 28, 2013

I Like

What a neat little firearm. Its called Little Badger. Sold by Chiappa Firearms.

Check it out.


Up to my ears today. I'll try and post something, later.


Sunday, January 27, 2013

If You Ever

Run across this fella on your blog, smile, then use reasonable discourse and slam his butt in the mud.

Much like our friend DaddyBear.

That is all.

Oh, forgot, spread the word.


Bits & Pieces

Our wind chimes are in full song. Our weather has turned with pregnant gray skies filled with dark clouds and the wind has increased and it's slightly cooler.This new weather is a very welcome change.

I mentioned, just a few minutes ago, on Rev. Paul's blog that we have azaleas in bloom which signifies our weather is far too warm for the season. My truck is now painted a sickly green from pine pollen. Young women bandy about in bikinis.

Okay, it isn't all bad.


As I've mentioned in past pieces I seldom attend church with my lovely wife. I've know for a very long time she's felt abandoned on the pew. A few days ago a young minister came into the shop and we had a cup of coffee and as is the way of some clergy he asked if I attended worship services. He didn't flinch at my response.

I refrained, as he was a customer, from asking him to mind his own business; besides he seemed like a nice man. Soon enough he asked the same question of my family. I excused myself and jerked another cup of coffee returned and took a seat alongside and explained my situation. Guess you could say I felt guilty. So be it.

Since he was young and eager I related to him as I have to you, dear reader, and we chatted for several minutes. Long story short I went to church this morning.

She'd left the house for 'Sunday School.' I hadn't yet resolved to a plan of action. I had a coffee, read my morning paper and soon, in my minds eye, pictured my lonely wife pewed in sorrow. I sighed, rose and hit the shower. I selected a wool tie (with a waterfowl pattern if you really need to know) grabbed one of my camelhair sport coats and sent her a text. It read, 'be there soon.'

I parked under an oak and stepped from my truck and slipped a small carry piece on my belt and walked toward the church. Up the steps and there she stood, all smiles. She'd waited. She took my hand and lead me towards the middle of the church. It's a big church. I glanced back at the rear row. I felt vulnerable.

The candles neither flickered nor dimmed.

When the congregation stood for hymns she sang like a angel. Her visage glowed. She was happy and we held hands.

Then, the power failed.

There was a momentary stunned silence before the group in unison continued the song. Afterwards, in the dim light of the stained windows, Sweet Wife turned to me with a look...

I said, "I warned you."


Saturday, January 26, 2013

Unified Front?

Here's an article by Rob Pincus that should have you deep in thought for the rest of the day, if you'll take the time to read it.

I'm in full agreement with him.

Please, read.

H/T, Mad Ogre.


Montster Hunter to Defender of the Second Amendment

Watch this video, please. It'll be the best ten minutes of your day.

You're welcome.


Welcome Aboard

Here's a big thanks and welcome to my new friend and follower, Well Seasoned Fool. My friend, I promise to always answer your comments. Please don't time me. It might take a few hours, and in rare cases, days but I shall reply.

Grab a chair and let's have a cup of coffee.

Again, thanks and welcome.


Friday, January 25, 2013


Usually my breakfast consist of a cup of coffee, and if I'm lucky, a Kashi bar. Early this morning before sunrise Sweet Wife rose from bed and eased into the kitchen and made pancakes. I wasn't aware of her labors.

After my morning routine I walked out to find her and a stack of beautiful blueberry pancakes. She smiled and said, "Sit down."

"Can't, I'm late."

Without further insistence she gathered a few and placed them on  a paper plate and covered the bundle in foil. In the meantime I laced my boots. She placed the package in my bag and with a goodbye kiss I was off.

Let me tell 'ya...those pancakes smelled, well, great. I smiled all the way to work. I chanted, pancakes for breakfast, pancakes for breakfast, and they're hot.

What are pancakes without syrup - a rounded stack of bread. So I was careful to grab a small bottle of maple syrup from the freezer, you know, those little bottles given when you order pancakes from Cracker Barrel...I always take mine home and store them in our freezer for just such an emergency.

My truck closes in on my shop and the anticipation of hot blueberry pancakes and maple syrup is about to kill me. I'm ready for a fine morning meal.

I arrive to find three trucks in my drive. Early bird customers in wait. Three.

I leave my truck with satchel, keys, and my wonderful bundle of homemade pancakes as the three men wait in line behind....I wanted to scream.

Are you aware it's awful handy to have a miniature microwave located in your office.

 (Thank you, Sweetheart.)


Thursday, January 24, 2013

Sonofabit*h, Updated

The state of Florida in all its wisdom has shut down any access from the street to my business. For all intent and purposes I'm out of business for two days, or longer.

Damn near came to blows with the construction foreman a few minutes ago. He insisted it wasn't against state law to block commerce. I believe he's wrong. We'll see.

I shall now begin the process (fight) with the state for business loss compensation. Wish me luck.

I'm in such a good mood.

*I was correct. After a call to the city they sent representatives and the police and made the crew open egress and ingress to my parking lot. Their actions were illegal.Still with all this huge equipment and activity I doubt I'll do much business today or tomorrow.


Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Are You Aware

That disgusting show known as American Idol is back on the boob tube? Well, trust me, I do.

Sweet Wife has it on as I write. My ears hurt.

Now get this: I complained. Asked her to please lower the volume on the screen. She said, are you ready for this....leave the room.

To me.

I can't escape it. Surely God has decided I need punishment for past sins.



I have this thing about knives. I own more than I'll ever need, yet I still make excuses to collect one more example when the urge hits me.

I cannot pass on any fine example of an American made Schrade Old Timer. I like the early Old Timer Walden models. If you're interested, Google it, as I'll not take the time to explain the history of Schrade knives. The company went out of business in 2004. Any current knife with the Schrade logos are now made in China. If you find USA or USA NY stamped at the base of the blade it's fine, and should never have stainless blades.

Anyhow, found this baby late last evening.

She's a Muskrat model 787 with nickle/silver bolsters. Rare. I hope to own her very soon. Silver....
can you believe it, they actually used silver in her bolsters. She isn't from the Old Timer line but that's fine with me. She'll look nice in my collection.

Hey, I know. Boring stuff. I'm just excited.


Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Lest Ye Forget

You really didn't think I'd allow you to forget your weekly obligation in your fight for our rights, did you.

Remember the couple down the street with the dog on the chain that barks all night...yeah, them. I'm sure you've sent a letter in their names, haven't you. Your old liberal professors from junior college...them too.

I'll send another letter today for my cat, Patches. Check your cell phone and any email addresses listed should, by now, have had a letter sent in their names. It's easy. Do it, please.

Click, here.

They, are organized. They, mean business. Fight back.

I'd like to once again thank the good people of Ruger for providing us this wonderful and easy service. Well done.



Monday, January 21, 2013

Just An Old Foot Stool

I rest my weary feet upon an antique. Just an old foot stool we purchased about thirty years ago; a aged piece of furniture with its history reflected in scratches and torn fabric. After a very expensive trip to the local upholsterer, it and its matching chair are now my boon companions.

When the newly recovered stool was delivered I discovered it had a nice storage space beneath its cap. It collects my bits and pieces, or junk, as described by the wife.

Over the years I've stashed odd knives, pipes, various magazines, whetstones, diamond sharpeners, long unused Zippo lighters, a single chamber adapter loaded with a single .45 round, a coil of 550 cord, two laser sights, and various amounts of random caliber ammunition. There's even two cans of mink oil and an emergency candle. There is a small Beretta tucked inside just in case some critter decides to commit suicide.

All this to say - I need to organize my stuff. Sweet Wife should arrive home soon and I'm worried. She gave me instructions to sort and discard the excess as its too heavy for her to move around when she cleans. She further instructed the job should be completed before she arrives home. She did so as she tapped her toe....that's, serious.



I walk into the confessional. The priest slides the shutter aside, then, "Please, Father, hear my confession."

"Yes, my child, pray continue."

"I must confess Father, I have sinned."

"What are your sins, my child?"

"I'm so sorry, Father, but during a weak moment this morning,  I watched the Presidential Inauguration of  President Obama."


I broke into a hard sweat.

Then, "I'm so sorry child but I cannot help you."

"What will happen to me Father?"

"Like the rest of the poor sinners of the world, you shall burn in hell. Please, leave now."


Sunday, January 20, 2013

After Action Report

We arrived to a brisk cool wind and gray skies. Perfect weather for a day at the old farm. Pirate Jim and I arrived first and the first course of action was to build a fire. I wore a heavy black hooded sweatshirt and still the chill seemed bone deep. Out with the lighter.

So, I made a small campfire. Thankfully Pirate Jim had thermos of good hot coffee.

Our plan of the day was simple. Finish a bit of light construction on our 'shooting shed.' Remember the flood of last July had taken our shed, and well, slapped that sucker to the ground. We've since improved the shelter, enlarged it and now it needed shooting benches and gear tables. After, we'd spend the rest of the day on the firing line.

When the rest of the crew arrived we stood around the fire and chewed the fat. We had a good long heated (all agreed on the issue) debate about gun control and the actions of the fools in our nation's capital. Then we set to work. Above Senior and our resident hippy, Rebel, as they measure and cut lumber.

When six men work in harmony it doesn't take long to finish a task. We used scrape lumber salvaged from the old structure and from long discarded piles left at the farm and before long the yell, 'the range is hot,' was accompanied by live fire. It felt so damn good.

In this next picture notice the pair of legs just beyond the open ammo can. The ammo can belongs to me and is filled with nine millimeter Luger...the open puke green range bag and legs belong to my friend, Duke. Keep your eyes on the range bag....I had plans.

We intend to cover the two boards, our new bench rest, soon. The Ruger LC9 is my new, and very inexpensive, baby and she was put through her paces. She functioned very well indeed.

Above, as the men worked, Senior and Pirate Jim took it upon themselves to paint target stands on the range. According to them they 'zombiefied' the range. Our long term goals for the range are to build stations for combat shoots. Between continued improvements on the Boar's Nest and the range we have a heavy workload. (I used the word, range, four times. Shameful.)

Below, a random selection from my gun safe. Even though it hurt I ran thirty rounds of 5.56 (yes, I own many evil thirty rounds mags) thru her. Oh, the pain. With every shot I kept a tally of cost. Still, it sure was fun. 

Ah, the prize in sight. Duke's range bag. Look very carefully...see the old Smith .38.

Now, notice how its stocks are visible above the rim of the bag. As MLK said, I have a dream.

Duke is easily distracted. One can point towards a rare bird or offer him a bottle of water or ask him a question, and poof, he's deep into a fog.

Notice how the Smith has worked its way to my side of the bench. The ammo can gives concealment. Step two was a complete success. Sorry for the blurry picture but I was, you understand, in a hurry.

In the meantime, Senior prepares his Ruger 10/22 for a workout. He has a tendency to 'tactical the heck' out of his firearms. You should see his childhood Red Rider. It has a light and siren. Thing is, his stuff works. The purple velvet bag belongs to Pirate Jim. He slurs his speech. But, that's fine. He's also our medic and a damn good one. He'll hit you square between the eyes at four hundred yards then save your life.

This next shot is of ShooterSteve's station. He's far too alert for one to gather needed items.

Now we have Pirate Jim's range bag. He'd just broken out a very nice Ruger MKII, which reminded me Duke owned a nice MKI.

Just a box of ammunition. For those of you new to the gun culture guess its purpose. 

Duke's Ruger...isn't it pretty. Yes, its blue is worn, but it has the patina of grace which makes it a beautiful piece of history.

Duke's Ruger in my range bag. He'll never miss it....

He's so easy. Once, when his back was turned I used forefinger and thumb to pinch a couple of extra 1911 mags. Don't tell him...

(boys and girls, I do not recommend you pinch items from range bags when the owners of said bags hold fully loaded rifles and handguns. Wait until they reload. The above demonstration is for training purposes only.)


Welcome Aboard

Once again I have the honor of extending a big warm thanks and welcome to a new friend and fellow blogger, Garland Girl. GG writes the blog, Crap Happens Acres.

My new friend I promise to always answer your comments. If my big toe itches and distracts me my reply could take several hours or even, in rare circumstances, days. But be assured I shall respond.

Again, thank you so very much and welcome. You are now among friends.


Friday, January 18, 2013


Want to know what really ticks me off....when in between customers I walk back to my office to pull a cup of coffee and find the pot empty. That, isn't good.


The windows of the shop shake from the gusty winds we have today. It's also pleasantly cool. Sunny, but brisk. Nice change of pace.

Tomorrow I shall close my business and burn gun powder and hammer a few nails and sit and chat with my friends. Our group will assemble at our bug out location and finish work on our firearms range.

My good friends, Senior and Duke will attend along with the rest of our friends. We're a bunch of misfits, all veterans, that enjoy a day of fellowship and all things firearms related. I will pack along one of my AR's and have Duke clean the gas port and I'm sure Senior will put a fine shine on my boots. Since I'm the oldest 'old fart' in the group the boys take good care of my needs, as befits my status.

I'll write an after action report. Standby.


Sunday morning, after church services, Sweet Wife will abandon me. She has plans to drive north and visit her elderly mother. I said she should just call her. She told me to mind my business and be a good boy. She called me, boy.

I informed her since I'll be alone Sunday night I'm hitting the town with bad intentions. She gave me, the look.

Guess I'll read.



Welcome Aboard

I'd like to extend a warm thank you and welcome to two new followers. The first is Muddy Valley of The Good Life.

The second new follower is my new friend, Six. Six is a co-writer of the blog, The Warrior Class.

I promise each of you, if you leave a comment, I shall respond. To my other long time friends, please, drop by and say hello.

Again, thank you and welcome. You are now among friends.


Thursday, January 17, 2013

From the Horses Mouth

PawPaw has a point on the 'You Don't Need' aspect of the current debate on gun control.

Please, sally forth and read.

Tell him I said hello.



A Shield of Children

Do these pictures remind you of anyone...

Yep, thought so.


Wednesday, January 16, 2013

The Dogs of War

Once more dear friends. Let slip the dogs of war.

Click here. If you have the email addresses of your parents, uncles and aunts, children over the age of one, nieces and nephews, grandparents or neighbors - send a letter for them too. I'm sure one of them owns at least a sling-shot.

Seriously, fight.

Thank you.


Mr. President, This is my tongue

Mr President, picture me with my tongue, in all its glory, protruding from my mouth in your direction.

Just to show you how much I don't care I made every effort to order a couple of spare twelve (that's 12) round magazines for my daily concealed carry handgun.

I forgot, you're a liberal bean sprout munching poodle walker so I shall write this in Ebonics...ready?

Today I told you to kiss my butt and purchased two more 'high capacity bullet holder clips.'

By the way I shall leave these nice normal capacity magazines in their packaging because as soon as your restrictions take place they will triple in price. So not only will I disobey your silly unconstitutional laws but will profit from the same.

I must admit my search for the two spare magazines took me a few minutes and three websites but find them I did, in stock no less. They should arrive soon.

Trust me, your disregard for our nations Constitution and God given rights has created a nation of outlaws.


(For those in the know - Numrich.)



I stepped from the shower this morning and felt good. After a quick shave and slap of smelly stuff I dressed quickly and walked out to the kitchen. Sweet Wife had lunch bags ready. She turned to greet me with a big smile plastered on her face. Then she began to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

She placed a hand over her mouth, and I swear, was red in the face. After a few seconds she regained her composure but continued to giggle.


"Oh, nothing. Are you ready for work?"


"Are you sure? Haven't forgotten anything, have you."

My satchel is where I'd placed it the night before and I see my carry piece and spare mags are on the counter. My boots stand in the laundry room where I'd left them and my hat and cover shirt are in place, ready. I was fairly certain I could hit the street and boogie as soon as my boots were laced and had the truck keys in hand.

Again, she doubles over in laughter. I can't help but smile, after all, I'd had a full nights sleep; the first in days and I felt good. Why in the world was she laughing at me.

Screw it, I thought, and turned and gathered my boots ready to stitch the laces. Back in the kitchen screams of laughter continued. Enough.

I walk back and stand like a chastised child and in my most sincere voice plead, "Please, Honey, why are you laughing at me?"

Between snorts, she walks over and gives me a sweet gentle kiss and said,

"Sweetheart, perhaps you should put on your pants."