Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
SWAT Combat Stack Appreciation Day
Whatcha Call 100 Armed Lesbians?
I know, I'm going to hell for that (and fixing the graphic).
Got back into playing Steel Panthers: MBT until the early morning again. I've been playing one African "banana republic" against another in the mid-70s; Zimbabwe vs Tanzania the latest. Lotsa green troops in Chinese armor against mostly old Russian tanks...and mobs of motivated militia with AKs and RPGs. I've won all my battles with Marginal Victories...I always got there "the fastest with the mostest," but despite the withering firepower I could lay down, some knucklehead with an RPG-7 would slip through and attrit my armor. There's a lesson in modern warfare for ya; I sliced, diced, and jullienned his armor with brutal efficiency, but "quantity has a quality all its own." (Google is split on Stalin or Lenin saying this, but I think they read it from Mao's Little Red Book.) Wave attacks against stationary armor always get through if you have the grunts to spare.
Around 2 a.m., I decided to prove the opposite: Quality has a Quantity All Its Own--and I wanted a quick game with a big victory to sleep on (I saw exploding tanks in my dreams). I played the American Army against North Korea in 2020. Even with all the points I got, I could only afford an abbreviated company of M-1s, and mech platoon of Bradleys, two batteries of 155-mm Paladins, a Forward Observer track, an unarmed Kiowa helicopter, and a cheap sniper to use the last points. Most of the NK horde met its death at its starting position as the Kiowa peeked at their layout from high altitude, and the FO called in many armor-piercing submunitions down on their soft upperbellies. The M-1s and Brads raced across the snowy battlefield and mopped up the dazed surviving vehicles. The game hasn't declared an end yet, as there are many objectives I need to take with only a few vehicles--so there's still a chance that Luke the Gook can puke a nuke like a spook--not really a nuke, but one lucky shot that'll kill an Abrams and crew, disenchant the media, alarm the Democrats, who'll declare the game a quagmire, and order my immediate withdrawal. Well, that's a lot of AI to put in a game.
Update: Finally reaching the far side of the battlefield, I waxed a platoon of tanks the computer sent in as reinforcements, then--wouldn't ya know it--an RPG team exploded one of my Bradleys! My other two losses were two Paladins to counterbattery fire. Guess I should have heeded that other Army axiom, "Shoot and Scoot."
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
More Impressive Than the Israeli Girls
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
You Want an Oscar?
How My Brain Cells Died This Weekend
Jon has the meticulous temperament ("anal" in a good way) necessary for good beermaking, and boy, is he good!
So was the Robust Porter!
Ever mindful of the benefits of sharing her life with a good brewmeister, Jon's wife Kirsten has been very supportive of his hobby. I think much of this equipment has appeared under the Christmas Tree over the years.
And dig the cool keg fridge! It's the legendary type that used to lure children to a horrible death by suffocation! Oh, the 50s and 60s were an exciting time to be a kid! It hasn't worked on any of the neighbor kids yet, only because Jon doesn't leave his garage door open for long. I bet a trail of Twinkies leading to the fridge would trick a yard ape or two....
Anyway, much porter-fueled geekiness went on this weekend.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
I've Been Away for a While
Friday, March 24, 2006
It's All About the Benjamin
Bison 2 SMG...New to Me!
It's got a 67-round (9X18 Makarov) helical magazine. Looks like a lot of fun!
Light Posting This Weekend
3 Outta 4 Ain't Bad
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
I hacked off my long hair just before the 3-Gun Match a coupla weeks ago and fortunately didn't need sunscreen much for the back of my neck (though I could feel a light burn from Day One). Now that it's Springtime, I ditched the Grizzly Adams look and trimmed the beard down to a small goatee (smaller than the one shown...think Val Kilmer in Tombstone). (Or Colonel Sanders, if you must.) I'll keep it that way until I get bored, lazy, or the groupies demand a change.
Oh, yeah, I also finally threw out the 24-year-old Sony Trinitron Dust Magnet. Bemember those days before cable when you had to program the channels into the buttons? On this one, one button was stuck on down, so I programmed it for Channel Three and made it my VCR-watching TV. "VCR...what's that, Daddy?" I told you it was collecting dust!
It's not like they're swapping spit in the hot tub, while Captain Hero looks on while playing with his own nipples! Come on, you people! What gives? This is the internet-- there's real pr0n0gr@phy out there! Why are you coming to my PG-13 (usually) blog to get your cartoon bimbo fix?
Or do you like it for the same reason I do, the
My favorite lines:
Spanky Ham: Nothin reminds me of my first time like a chick crying!
Wooldoor Sockbat: If anyone needs me, I'll be in the Clock Tower.
[cocks a sniper rifle]
Princess Clara: Have you noticed we didn't get any screen time this week?
Toot Braunstein: Well, uh, duh! That's because we've been in the basement all week making this awesome potato gun!
Ling-Ling: Ling-Ling find great new shampoo... also worst lingual nightmare.
[trying to pronounce the brand name Prell]
Ling-Ling: P... Plerr...
Once, I get back and get a handle on my financial needs (like, do I start classes *this* year? Or slough off for another year?), I'll still hold off on getting another firearm. But why not accessorize a firearm I already own? The temptation is overwhelming. My 9-mm AR is the best candidate for a new look; I'm thinking EOTech Holosight 552 (takes AA batteries) and a GG&G (They're in Tucson!) Back-up Iron Sight--damn you Kevin Baker! Still don't know if I should get the barrel threaded for a muzzle brake. And Jon will still beat me with his KelTec Folder!
I Get Dizzy Just Watching
Swiped from The Attic Downstairs.
Doctor Binker to the OR, Please
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Counterdemonstration in Tucson
Crafty Chris Muir
Sucking up to the Gunblogging Community for links!
It's working, Chris! It's working!
Monday, March 20, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Buy a Gun Day - April 15
It's that time of year again! For Democrats (and porkophile RINOs), April 15's the day they celebrate the bloated State bellying up to the trough and gorging itself on the public dime. For fiscal conservatives like me (what's more fiscally conservative than scrimping by on an E-7's pension for a year?) it's the day to take our money that the government's been hoarding all year and buy something that'll really piss off the Dems--a firearm...the more evil-looking, the better!
BAG Day is Aaron's baby, and so hoark his graphic (don't hotlink!) and spread the word! Aaron points out Congressman Stearn's Right to Carry Bill, legislation that would require nationwide reciprocity for state-issued concealed carry permits. Hey, Massachusetts! If you recognize my CCW license, I'd recognize your gay marriage license! As if.
No, I haven't done my taxes yet. It's not April 14 yet! I won't be able to afford a big ticket firearm like last year's Springfield SOCOM-16 this year. In fact, I might have to label the February purchase of the SKS as my early BAG Day gun. I've still got to get my sick Remmie 1100 fixed, get BoG Robar-coated, and do something about my AR Build hankering (now BOF: Box o' Furniture). All this and finance another roadtrip to finish Mom's sidewalk.
And now, a little culture...
by Jon Copeland (with profuse apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over a crossword puzzle of modern knowledge and forgotten lore,
While I struggled with word matching, suddenly there came a scratching,
Or perhaps someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my puzzle surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain Rustling of each yellow curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came scratching,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a scratching, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something lurking,
For I hear a faint low “urking”, so I must be brave and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
"Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the portal, and beheld a tiny mortal,
In stepped a prancing ferret, a clown and threat no more.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with frenzied haste, dashed madly about the floor.
And leaped upon the lounge chair, just inside my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this sable ferret beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the masked and fuzzy features of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
And not the ghastly, grim, and ancient raven from the poem before.
I saw the creature tense, so I threw it a treat upon the floor."
Quoth the ferret, "Feed me more!"
Much I marvelled this yokel weasel to hear discourse so vocal,
Though its answer was demanding, no politeness did it bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with hearing a ferret by his chamber door,
Bird or beast perched upon the chair by his chamber door,
Demanding extra treats, "Feed me more!"
But the weasel, sitting lonely on that cushioned chair, spoke only
That one phrase, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then he spoke; in the air his muzzle poked;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the ferret said, "Feed me more!"
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Feed me--- feed me more!"
But the ferret still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of weasel, and chair and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what passed awhile before --
This comic, fuzzy, creature came prancing on my floor,
Demanding, "Feed me more!"
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the ferret, whose beady eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, “Feed me more!”
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the ferret, "Feed me more!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if rat or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the ferret, "Feed me more."
"Be that word our sign of parting, rat or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black turd as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the chair beside my door!
Take thy muzzle from out my heart, and take thy form beside my door!"
Quoth the ferret, "Feed me more."
And the ferret, sometimes “urking”, but mostly silently lurking,
Between the bed sheets or perhaps underneath upon the floor;
And his eyes greenly gleaming with the thoughts of devious scheming.
As my flashlight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
After capturing the little heathen, he’s caged and quickly dreaming,
Of future crimes and adventures on the bedroom floor.
I cannot help but smile, because tomorrow we’ll play this game once more!
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Pimp My AR
I Want One
I better get a job first.
Here's the story.