Jeff Dunham

Will open his show, 'Controlled Chaos' here in the River City February 10th. The guy cracks me up.

Here's a classic from a couple of years back....

Tickets are on sale in about an hour...I'll bet you a case of .223 it sells out in ten seconds.

Stephen

Sleep of Tears

On those nights she sleeps between us, a warm soft bundle of love. She's such a tiny little girl she shares my pillow. I'm not sure when it happens but early on she'll gently worm her way inside my arms and snuggle. This pleases me.

It's difficult for me, sleep. It takes forever for my mind to allow the peace of rest to approach and shut out the demons of life. So I'm alert to her sleep patterns. As I wake, through out the night, I give gentle butterfly kisses and place my cheek to hers and listen and wait.

It always begins with her throwing out her arms, a jerk, a soft soul searing moan. Sometimes, a very very barely audible, "Oh, Papa." or "Nana." Then she'll begin to cry. This, does not please me. It rips out my heart.

I speak as soft as possible directly into her ear, "It's okay, Sweetheart, Papa's here, you're safe." And I use that 'shushing' sound in an attempt to lull her back to sleep. I kiss her and stroke her little arms. And, all the while asking God, why...why....why.

Most of the time my efforts work. She'll let out a gentle, 'ah' and return to dream land. Sometimes she takes my hand in hers and whispers, 'Papa.' I hold her tight and ask the Almighty to give this child, this angel, peace.

Many nights after these sessions I glance over and see her Nana wide awake with a look of sorrow in her eyes. We'll both stroke her, apply those butterfly kisses she so enjoys...."Papa, butterfly kisses are the way I know you love me."

She sleeps alone when she's away from us. Even now I hear her cries of nightly terror.

They haunt me.


Stephen

Tamara

Study in keen wit.

My thanks for the loan of this photo to, VolkStudio.blog. If you haven't visited you're missing out on some fine photography, pure art, of firearms and other subjects with a heavy emphasis on your rights under the Second Amendment.

Visit the lovely Tam, she'll make your day.

Stephen

Gotta Love It

Too busy to blog at the moment. So until later I give you....

Quote of the Day: Michael Z. Williamson

You live in a city. You don't know how to change a tire or oil. You don't know how to build a fire.  You can't communicate without a cell phone. You can't fix your plumbing. You can't set up your own wifi. You're untrained in basic economics, chemistry, physics and history.  You can't prepare food without packages, and aren't even aware that food has to be processed from root or bone before that. You only know and get paid for one very specialized task.

Yet you call me a "hick."

 H/T RobertM

Stephen

Book For Kindle

I downloaded, A Measured Response, a few days ago and have just now gotten around to the first couple of chapters. I like it, different. My kind of reading.

It's written by the nice lady at, The Female Survivalist. The story is, as you've probably guessed, set in America after that 'day.'

Give it a try, and hey, give her blog a try too.

Stephen

Sixbears

Has written a most fine article this morning. Go forth and read.

Good Thing Most People Are Still Asleep

Sixbears has a fine blog and it should be a daily read anyway, so there.
Tell him Stephen sent you.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

I've done away with that silly 'sign in word doohickey' thing that pops up after a nice person leaves a comment on my blog. It always drives me nuts when I find it on other's blogs. So, it's gone from mine. Just leave your comments and rest assured you'll not be asked to jump through hoops for your kindness.

Another pet peeve of mine is the 'your comments will post with blog owner approval.' What's with that stuff? You either want me to comment are you don't. Make up your mind. If some idiot has the balls to leave obscene wordage on my blog, guess what, if I haven't the time to track you down and mash your face into the sidewalk, then I'll just ban you forever....but approval...give me a break. Rant complete.

This morning, as usual, I rise, shower, dress and drive to Little Bit's house and take her to school. We stop for breakfast and a chat first. We're eating among a group of Coast Guard personnel, discussing their jump suits when Little Bit said, "Papa, why did I have to dress this morning and why did you come get me?"

Blink-blink.

"Because, my love, you need to go to school. It's, after all, Wednesday."

"Not really, Papa."

"Not really what? Wednesday?"

She laughs, darn near spits a mouth full of orange juice all over me, then, "No, Papa, you didn't have to get me today 'cause school's out for the rest of the week."

Me, mouth wide open, vacant glazed eyes, slightly redden faced, "What." In a rather loud voice. And, I catch myself just before letting out a few choice curse words. I do a one tenth second draw with my cell phone and call her so called father.

"Duh, yeah."

"Boy," I said (and yes I called him, boy) "Is Little Bit's school in session today?"

"Well, duh, yeah, I suppose so...?" How the kids today raise the last vowel on their sentence. "Why?"

I drop the call and phone her school. It's out. Teacher conference stuff. Sixteen mile round trip drive for nada.

I bring her back here to my office and she sweeps it clean..."Papa, I want you to keep this place clean, do you hear me."

"Yes, Sweet Heart."

I made her so called mother get out of bed and drive down here. Makes you want to slap someone....

Not this angel, others....

Ping, change of subject...

I've accepted the offer of writing a review for Lucky Gunner. So in the near future a box of .45 ACP should arrive in the mail and I shall blast the heck out it. What the heck, right, a chance to sling lead downrange, then write my thoughts in hopes some of you will purchase a fifty round box. Shame the pain I put myself through for the good of mankind.

Anyone have one of the these they'd like me to wring out....

Later,

Stephen