Giant Counting Robots!
3 weeks ago
Thursday, July 30, 2009
shiny
Yesterday I got a new gun. I'm not going to ruin the surprise just yet, but it rhymes with Bolt Nikon. Also, last week I got a gun that's older than my dad and would have been really cool for somebody with the initial K to get for their 22nd birthday. Pictures and range reports to come.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
MHI
Once there was a man, and his name was Larry. That man had a vision, and he grew that vision until it became, well, umm, a book. But book is only a four letter word, and four letters just can't contain the amount of awesome that is Monster Hunter International.
First off, Larry has credentials. He's a competitive shooter. He sold machine guns and other goodies. He's a B movie fan. So when he sat down to write, Larry didn't give us the sissy vampires that have become fashionable. He gave us scary super vampires bent on bringing about world domination. When his hero picks up a gun, it's not a generic .45, but a custom double stack built on an STI frame. (as an aside, I bought an STI from Mr. Correia once, and it's my favorite .45) When our hero needs a new shotgun, it's a custom Saiga 12 with a bayonet and an underslung grenade launcher. Instead of just writing that the good guy shot the bad guy, we get the sort of shooting detail you would expect from a man who knows his guns.
Anyway, aside from the firearm sweetness, each character is unique. The good guys are likeable. The bad guys are dispicable, not just because they're called the bad guy, but because they do bad things and deserve to be called bad. I wanted to mention my favorite hero in this very sentence, but as it turns out there is about a five way tie, two of them not even being entirely human. One caries a .45-70 though, and as those who know me can attest, that's my pick for supernatural Alamo time.
Anyway, nothing I can write in this review really does the book justice, so go pick up a copy for yourself, then tell all of your friends to go read it.
First off, Larry has credentials. He's a competitive shooter. He sold machine guns and other goodies. He's a B movie fan. So when he sat down to write, Larry didn't give us the sissy vampires that have become fashionable. He gave us scary super vampires bent on bringing about world domination. When his hero picks up a gun, it's not a generic .45, but a custom double stack built on an STI frame. (as an aside, I bought an STI from Mr. Correia once, and it's my favorite .45) When our hero needs a new shotgun, it's a custom Saiga 12 with a bayonet and an underslung grenade launcher. Instead of just writing that the good guy shot the bad guy, we get the sort of shooting detail you would expect from a man who knows his guns.
Anyway, aside from the firearm sweetness, each character is unique. The good guys are likeable. The bad guys are dispicable, not just because they're called the bad guy, but because they do bad things and deserve to be called bad. I wanted to mention my favorite hero in this very sentence, but as it turns out there is about a five way tie, two of them not even being entirely human. One caries a .45-70 though, and as those who know me can attest, that's my pick for supernatural Alamo time.
Anyway, nothing I can write in this review really does the book justice, so go pick up a copy for yourself, then tell all of your friends to go read it.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Why it takes more than one amendment
It seems that the folks in DC have trouble counting all the way to 10.
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people
-The Tenth Amendment of our Constitution
Of course they must have had trouble counting to two for there to even be an ATF.
A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.
-The Second Amendment of our Constitution
Seems clear to me.
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people
-The Tenth Amendment of our Constitution
Of course they must have had trouble counting to two for there to even be an ATF.
A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.
-The Second Amendment of our Constitution
Seems clear to me.
And the 2009 Hugh Glass memorial trophy goes to...
this man, for his continuing excellence in the field of badassedness. We salute you, Mr. Chainsaw-wielding-attempted-cougar-meal.
Out of respect, I won't even point out that he should have had a .45-70 handy.
Out of respect, I won't even point out that he should have had a .45-70 handy.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
That son of a bitch ain't been born
Today I tried reading what was intended to be an uplifting and inspirational tail about a family's journey. Instead I got to this line:
One important segment of an American family's journey from the humiliation of slavery to the very top of the nation's ruling class.
and stopped.
Ruling class? What the hell are they talking about? Where did I wake up this morning? No matter what some people may think, we don't have a ruler, we have a president. Somebody who presides. Somebody who serves the citizenry. Not a king. Not a grand poo bah. Not a high priestess in charge of blood sacrifices. The way Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin had it planned out, we would elect people to represent us, and we'd let them do so if it suited us.
In the last part of the 19th century it became popular among some segments of wealthy European society to purchase large ranches on the American frontier. Books could be filled with the many examples of the two different cultures clashing, but the story I like best fits my view of this situation and politics in general. Most versions have it taking place up in the Panhandle.
A proper Englishman rode up to a dusty ranch house and found a cowboy shoeing a horse. "I say good man, might there be something available to drink, my throats quite parched?"
Talking out from between the nails he was holding in his lips, the cowboy pointed and said "The well's right there."
The foreigner repeated his statement, but this time the busy Texan only had time to jerk his head in the direction of the well.
When his demand for his horse to be held was met only with a glare, the flustered Englishman said "Tell me, where is your master?"
Spitting the nails from his mouth and standing straight, the dirty cowboy told him "That son of a bitch ain't been born yet."
One important segment of an American family's journey from the humiliation of slavery to the very top of the nation's ruling class.
and stopped.
Ruling class? What the hell are they talking about? Where did I wake up this morning? No matter what some people may think, we don't have a ruler, we have a president. Somebody who presides. Somebody who serves the citizenry. Not a king. Not a grand poo bah. Not a high priestess in charge of blood sacrifices. The way Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin had it planned out, we would elect people to represent us, and we'd let them do so if it suited us.
In the last part of the 19th century it became popular among some segments of wealthy European society to purchase large ranches on the American frontier. Books could be filled with the many examples of the two different cultures clashing, but the story I like best fits my view of this situation and politics in general. Most versions have it taking place up in the Panhandle.
A proper Englishman rode up to a dusty ranch house and found a cowboy shoeing a horse. "I say good man, might there be something available to drink, my throats quite parched?"
Talking out from between the nails he was holding in his lips, the cowboy pointed and said "The well's right there."
The foreigner repeated his statement, but this time the busy Texan only had time to jerk his head in the direction of the well.
When his demand for his horse to be held was met only with a glare, the flustered Englishman said "Tell me, where is your master?"
Spitting the nails from his mouth and standing straight, the dirty cowboy told him "That son of a bitch ain't been born yet."
aggie jokes
They write themselves really. And as far as I am concerned, anybody living in Bryan/College Station is an aggie. So this counts. It's like God's own aggie joke.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
While we're on the subject...
I'm reminded of the story of the old time circuit preacher who wore a Colt on his hip as he rode the range. When asked why he carried a gun, didn't he believe that when it was his time to die it was only God's will, he replied, "Yeah, but it might just be the other guy's time."
Signs of the times
You know, I have a tendency to read about the past and lament the way things are. One of the problems I see with the world today is the way things are sugar coated so as not to hurt anybody's feelings.
Sometimes, you've just got to call a son of a bitch a son of a bitch. The truth of the matter is, a socialist is a socialist. It doesn't matter if they come across as nice guys. It doesn't matter if they are a polio stricken cripple or an enlightened, Peter principled Chicago politician.
Sometimes, you've just got to call a son of a bitch a son of a bitch. The truth of the matter is, a socialist is a socialist. It doesn't matter if they come across as nice guys. It doesn't matter if they are a polio stricken cripple or an enlightened, Peter principled Chicago politician.
Brushes with the dark side
This happened a couple deer seasons back, but this post made me think of it again. It happened on opening weekend, and I had a head cold. Meaning elves had poured concrete into my head and it was setting up slow, so they were doing demolition derby with the trucks to pass the time.
Anyway, I was sneezing and sniffing and my ears weren't working very well. So when I went out for the afternoon I found a spot where I could sit facing upwind with my back to a tree surrounded by cows. I figured their noise would help hide the fact that my face was exploding on a regular basis. It didn't take long and I had a dozen or so does grazing in front of me. About an hour before sundown I heard squealing and grunting off in the brush to my right. It sounded as if Satan had launched his invasion, and the landing party had opened up their interdimensional portal only to find themselves doing battle with Texas brush that was meaner and pointier than they were. Or maybe it was a hog fight. Ordinarily I would have gone to see, but I was pretty miserable by then and didn't really care either way. It lasted a minute or so and then somebody squealed loud and long, so I made note of the fact that there seemed to have been a loser of some sort and went back to my misery. When I did I found out that a couple small bucks had wandered out into my clearing, so things were interesting again.
My stealth cows had been walking on the rocks behind me all afternoon, making sort of a clicking sound, and all sorts of other noises in general. So I didn't really pay attention to any new noises until they started getting closer and faster. Finally I decided to peak over my right shoulder and take a look.
Turns out there really had been a loser, and his retreat had brought him downwind of me. Those fast clicks weren't the cows, they were one of the devil's minions clicking his tusks. Fifteen feet away. He was squinting my direction and sniffing the air, waiting on the breeze to come his way again so he could make up his mind. When I turned my head he caught the movement and trotted a few more steps to get directly behind my tree.
I was pretty sure when he figured out what I was that he'd head for the hills, but then again he might not. I wanted to know and be prepared either way, so I stood up as quickly as I could manage, and turned my rifle in his direction. I was a little stiff and I really didn't manage much quick. I leaned out past the tree right as all hell broke loose on the other side. Ol' Satan made another devil noise and thundered my way. I missed badly with my one leaning, off balance hip shot from the .270 (who knew I needed to practice that maneuver from a scoped bolt gun?) and sidestepped as he came around the tree.
I'm not a genius. I don't always have the answers. Plus, my head hurt. So as Lucifer came around that post oak, all I could think of was to put a size 11 Wolverine into the side of his head. He wasn't expecting anybody to be channeling Chuck Norris. Instead of continuing on around the tree he kept on his strait line for the brush. I was thankful for that and managed to take a breath and put a 150 grain soft point behind one shoulder and out the front of his chest. He rolled to a stop and lost about three hundred pounds as he died. I swear he was a 500 pound demon monster before I shot him, but somehow when I got to the body it was only a 180 pound boar hog. No clue how that happened, must have had something to do with that interdimensional portal. Come to think of it, the portal is probably also how he snuck up on me. Has to have been the portal.
Anyway, I was sneezing and sniffing and my ears weren't working very well. So when I went out for the afternoon I found a spot where I could sit facing upwind with my back to a tree surrounded by cows. I figured their noise would help hide the fact that my face was exploding on a regular basis. It didn't take long and I had a dozen or so does grazing in front of me. About an hour before sundown I heard squealing and grunting off in the brush to my right. It sounded as if Satan had launched his invasion, and the landing party had opened up their interdimensional portal only to find themselves doing battle with Texas brush that was meaner and pointier than they were. Or maybe it was a hog fight. Ordinarily I would have gone to see, but I was pretty miserable by then and didn't really care either way. It lasted a minute or so and then somebody squealed loud and long, so I made note of the fact that there seemed to have been a loser of some sort and went back to my misery. When I did I found out that a couple small bucks had wandered out into my clearing, so things were interesting again.
My stealth cows had been walking on the rocks behind me all afternoon, making sort of a clicking sound, and all sorts of other noises in general. So I didn't really pay attention to any new noises until they started getting closer and faster. Finally I decided to peak over my right shoulder and take a look.
Turns out there really had been a loser, and his retreat had brought him downwind of me. Those fast clicks weren't the cows, they were one of the devil's minions clicking his tusks. Fifteen feet away. He was squinting my direction and sniffing the air, waiting on the breeze to come his way again so he could make up his mind. When I turned my head he caught the movement and trotted a few more steps to get directly behind my tree.
I was pretty sure when he figured out what I was that he'd head for the hills, but then again he might not. I wanted to know and be prepared either way, so I stood up as quickly as I could manage, and turned my rifle in his direction. I was a little stiff and I really didn't manage much quick. I leaned out past the tree right as all hell broke loose on the other side. Ol' Satan made another devil noise and thundered my way. I missed badly with my one leaning, off balance hip shot from the .270 (who knew I needed to practice that maneuver from a scoped bolt gun?) and sidestepped as he came around the tree.
I'm not a genius. I don't always have the answers. Plus, my head hurt. So as Lucifer came around that post oak, all I could think of was to put a size 11 Wolverine into the side of his head. He wasn't expecting anybody to be channeling Chuck Norris. Instead of continuing on around the tree he kept on his strait line for the brush. I was thankful for that and managed to take a breath and put a 150 grain soft point behind one shoulder and out the front of his chest. He rolled to a stop and lost about three hundred pounds as he died. I swear he was a 500 pound demon monster before I shot him, but somehow when I got to the body it was only a 180 pound boar hog. No clue how that happened, must have had something to do with that interdimensional portal. Come to think of it, the portal is probably also how he snuck up on me. Has to have been the portal.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Service to make you pull your hair out
A while back I needed a half inch coarse threaded die on a Sunday. The good tool stores were all closed so I crossed my fingers and went into a big chain home improvement store. I wondered around the tool section for a few minutes with no luck before a guy in a vest asked if he could help me. Since he was stationed in the tool section I gave him the benifit of the doubt and told him what I needed.
"What color do you need?"
That stumped me for a second, since I didn't know it mattered. "Umm, steel grey? Stainless maybe, whatever you've got."
Now it was his turn to look confused, "Man, you really ought to try Bob over in the paint department. He knows more about that than I do."
"Can't you look in a computer or something and see if you have one?"
"If we do it will be in paints."
"But it's a tool."
"What's it do?"
"Cleans up bolt threads."
"You may have to try a chemical specialty store. Our dyes are more for staining wood. I'm not sure about one that stains less."
I really think I watched Hank Hill go through almost the same thing once.
"What color do you need?"
That stumped me for a second, since I didn't know it mattered. "Umm, steel grey? Stainless maybe, whatever you've got."
Now it was his turn to look confused, "Man, you really ought to try Bob over in the paint department. He knows more about that than I do."
"Can't you look in a computer or something and see if you have one?"
"If we do it will be in paints."
"But it's a tool."
"What's it do?"
"Cleans up bolt threads."
"You may have to try a chemical specialty store. Our dyes are more for staining wood. I'm not sure about one that stains less."
I really think I watched Hank Hill go through almost the same thing once.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Nothing new under the sun
Tomorrow is Independence Day. The day we celebrate the actions taken by founders of this country so that we could be free from tyranny.
Meanwhile, off to our south, Honduras had a single ruler who wanted to illegally remain in power. Their Congress, Supreme Court, and military said "not so fast" and shipped him out of there. Our president says it was done illegally.
I wonder what King George thought of the legality of our revolution?
Meanwhile, off to our south, Honduras had a single ruler who wanted to illegally remain in power. Their Congress, Supreme Court, and military said "not so fast" and shipped him out of there. Our president says it was done illegally.
I wonder what King George thought of the legality of our revolution?
You can lead a horse to water...
but you can't make people face the facts.
Mr. Allen makes a good point. Have you ever tried explaining the truth to somebody who refused to budge from their own personal mountain of falsehoods? The Brady Campaign is the Edmund Hillary of that mountain range.
Mr. Allen makes a good point. Have you ever tried explaining the truth to somebody who refused to budge from their own personal mountain of falsehoods? The Brady Campaign is the Edmund Hillary of that mountain range.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Inspiration
This post from JayG got me thinking about getting pumped up. I know the obvious song is something like "Eye of the Tiger," but for me nothing touches the works of William B. Travis.
Commandancy of the Alamo
Bexar, Feby. 24th 1836
To the People of Texas &
all Americans in the world --
Fellow citizens & compatriots -- I am besieged by a
thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna --
I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannon-
ade for 24 hours & have not lost a man -- The enemy
has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the
garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken
-- I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, &
our flag still waves proudly from the walls -- I shall nev-
er surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name
of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the Amer--
ican character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch --
The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no
doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five
days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain
myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never
forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his coun-
try --
Victory or Death.
William Barret Travis
Lt. Col. Comdt.
Commandancy of the Alamo
Bexar, Feby. 24th 1836
To the People of Texas &
all Americans in the world --
Fellow citizens & compatriots -- I am besieged by a
thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna --
I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannon-
ade for 24 hours & have not lost a man -- The enemy
has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the
garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken
-- I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, &
our flag still waves proudly from the walls -- I shall nev-
er surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name
of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the Amer--
ican character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch --
The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no
doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five
days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain
myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never
forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his coun-
try --
Victory or Death.
William Barret Travis
Lt. Col. Comdt.
Gee,
you think?
Yeah, it's sport and competition and all that. That matters to the people out there playing. It's on tv because it's entertainment. Tv exists to sell advertising. The hardcore tennis fans will be watching it anyway. This way gets a lot more guys watching.
Yeah, it's sport and competition and all that. That matters to the people out there playing. It's on tv because it's entertainment. Tv exists to sell advertising. The hardcore tennis fans will be watching it anyway. This way gets a lot more guys watching.
So that everybody knows...
if I were to die, and anybody decided to stencil "in loving memory of Keith" on the back window of a 1983 Dodge, I would be coming back to haunt them. Guaranteed.
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