Sunday, April 01, 2012
Butt-ugly house.....
..... But you can shoot a coyote anywhere on the property from any room in the house, plus there's convenient overhangs for your skinning gambrels with room there for some beams and tables for fleshing the hides out. Then there's that nice empty wall that you can tack the hides to.
Yeah, I can work with that.
Somebody somewhere will get a nut over this
Nice looking babes but worth rubbing one out over? Nah.......
Well, maybe the one in green.
Cell phones & the police
WASHINGTON — Law enforcement tracking of cellphones, once the province mainly of federal agents, has become a powerful and widely used surveillance tool for local police officials, with hundreds of departments, large and small, often using it aggressively with little or no court oversight, documents show.
The practice has become big business for cellphone companies, too, with a handful of carriers marketing a catalog of “surveillance fees” to police departments to determine a suspect’s location, trace phone calls and texts or provide other services. Some departments log dozens of traces a month for both emergencies and routine investigations.
UDATE: As always with an "instructional" like this, read the comments. Sometimes readers come up with ideas that I overlook or don't know about. For instance Kerodin mentioned synching your bluetooth to both phones accidentally. I don't own a bluetooth, refuse to own one and don't know shit about them.
The practice has become big business for cellphone companies, too, with a handful of carriers marketing a catalog of “surveillance fees” to police departments to determine a suspect’s location, trace phone calls and texts or provide other services. Some departments log dozens of traces a month for both emergencies and routine investigations.
With cellphones ubiquitous, the police call phone tracing a valuable weapon in emergencies like child abductions and suicide calls and investigations in drug cases and murders. One police training manual describes cellphones as “the virtual biographer of our daily activities,” providing a hunting ground for learning contacts and travels.
*****
And this is the reason why you need a throw-away cell for your truck if you don't want Big Sis up in your fucking business tracking your day-to-day travels.
Go down to your local Radio Shack (wearing your ball cap and sunglasses of course) and check out their pre-pay phone and plans. Seeing as you're only going to be using this phone for calls and text (use your smartphone for accessing the internet and shit like that), keep it simple and cheap. You can find a phone ranging anywhere from 97 cents to $299 but what the fuck, we're not talking status symbols here, we're talking about simple comms. Besides, all the expensive phones allow you to access the internet and email and as soon as you sign into anything that's connected to you, the phone number that you accessed if from is now officially yours in the eyes of the law. Buy a phone with talk and text only for 10 bucks.
When making your decision, check the brochures and find out which systems has the best network coverage for your area. AT&T has pretty good coverage for the entire nation as does Sprint and Verizon. Virgin and Boost Mobile, not so good but their rates are cheaper.
Check the brochures for rates, minutes and expiration dates. You can buy minutes for small amounts like $5 to $20, but those minutes will expire after 30 days. At about 25 bucks and above, you get 250 minutes and they don't expire for 90 days. Some plans offer minutes that don't expire for a year for $100. A good choice for somebody such as myself (I use less than 100 minutes a month on my contract phone) would be the $25 plan.
I should say now that if your minutes run out, you're not obligated to run right out and buy minutes to keep the number active. You can throw that motherfucker in a drawer for months and you'll still have the same number when you add minutes again.
I should say now that if your minutes run out, you're not obligated to run right out and buy minutes to keep the number active. You can throw that motherfucker in a drawer for months and you'll still have the same number when you add minutes again.
Also consider how easy it is to refill or add minutes to your phone. At the Radio Shack, you can buy the minutes WITH CASH and the clerk can add them for you or you can buy them at a different location every time and add them yourself for security purposes.
Pick your phone and minute plan, inform the salesdude of your choice and head to the counter feeling all sneaky and covert and shit. When you get rang up, the clerk will activate it for you. He'll ask your name and phone number. Give him a fake name and for the phone number, be a smartass and tell him that you don't have a phone, that's why you're buying that one and then look at him like he's fucking stupid or something. Or make up a number.
Pay attention to this part: When it comes time to pay - and if you paid any attention at all to what I just told you it'll be less than a pair of twenties - PAY CASH. Remember, you're trying to keep Big Sis off your ass and out of your business. PAY FUCKING CASH. Never use you credit or debit card on anything to do with this phone. Ever. Always PAY CASH.
Okay. after you've PAID CASH, you'll find your phone number on the receipt. The first thing you're gonna want to do is call it from your contract phone to make sure it works. Do not do that. I will repeat: Do. Not. Do. That. Do not connect your new Secret Squirrel phone to yourself in any way.
So now you've got a phone that you can use while you're out and about while Big Sis thinks you're sitting on your ass at home watching Predator Quest.
Nothing here is illegal, risky or unusual. You see poor folks and homeless people with cell phones? That's how they got 'em.
Thugs and dope dealers have been doing this for years and years for conducting business on phones that can't be traced back to them. Remember years ago when you only had your connections' pager number and he'd call you back from a phone booth and then suddenly he gives you his phone number so you can call him direct? It wasn't because he developed a new level of trust for you, that's when he got a throwaway cell phone.
If you decide to use your phone for taking care of business, you can take the extra step of just buying a new phone and tossing your old one out when your minutes run out or expire instead of buying more. You'll get a new number and you'll have to pass that on to your contacts but if it's for something slightly illegal or underhanded (not that I would condone such a thing) you shouldn't have more than a couple of contacts anyway. Besides, they'll be doing the same thing to keep shit secure.
So there's your lesson for the day.
Remember, no form of communication is completely secure but nobody says you gotta make it easy on the bastards. Make 'em work for it, man.
UDATE: As always with an "instructional" like this, read the comments. Sometimes readers come up with ideas that I overlook or don't know about. For instance Kerodin mentioned synching your bluetooth to both phones accidentally. I don't own a bluetooth, refuse to own one and don't know shit about them.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
It's getting close
All right, only a couple more hours til the Big Event and I'm a married man again.
I slept pretty good last night, got up at a decent hour this morning and got shit ready.
Things are actually looking pretty good except for the storm front that moved in a while ago.
Miss Lisa spent the day yesterday tightening up the house and when she got up she started in again. Then she got some of those Scentsy things that you put over a low heat and it stinks up the house with shit like Rose, Vanilla and other assorted stink-ums.
I fired up the smoker and took care of that shit real good. The wind shifted and started blowing the smoke right into the house so instead of Vanilla, the house smells like a patch of mesquite caught fire. Much better......
But yeah, I'm as nervous as an altar boy at a monastery. I'd rather face down a 12 gauge than stand in front of a bunch of people while trying to be nice.
I slept pretty good last night, got up at a decent hour this morning and got shit ready.
Things are actually looking pretty good except for the storm front that moved in a while ago.
Miss Lisa spent the day yesterday tightening up the house and when she got up she started in again. Then she got some of those Scentsy things that you put over a low heat and it stinks up the house with shit like Rose, Vanilla and other assorted stink-ums.
I fired up the smoker and took care of that shit real good. The wind shifted and started blowing the smoke right into the house so instead of Vanilla, the house smells like a patch of mesquite caught fire. Much better......
But yeah, I'm as nervous as an altar boy at a monastery. I'd rather face down a 12 gauge than stand in front of a bunch of people while trying to be nice.
Friday, March 30, 2012
This is good. Real good.
Here is another fact that I know in my heart: When people like you and me decide to act, we will bring more intensity, power, and determination to the fight than will they. They have numerical superiority, and they have Techy advantages, at first.
But they do not have Principles for which they will die...only for which they will send others to kill.
Read the entire article over here at Sam's blog.
Principles for which they will die..... Man, I'm seriously beginning to wonder if that's even passed down from Father to Son anymore.
Every great once in a while I'll run into a young man that impresses me but they're far and few between anymore.
But they do not have Principles for which they will die...only for which they will send others to kill.
Read the entire article over here at Sam's blog.
*****
Principles for which they will die..... Man, I'm seriously beginning to wonder if that's even passed down from Father to Son anymore.
Every great once in a while I'll run into a young man that impresses me but they're far and few between anymore.
NAACP to Sharpton: Fuck off
SANFORD, Fla. - The Rev. Al Sharpton said Friday his National Action Network will “move to the next level” if George Zimmerman is not arrested in the shooting death of Trayvon Martin.
Sharpton called for an escalation in peaceful civil disobedience and economic sanctions, although he did not say what those sanctions might be.
Turner Clayton, the Seminole County chapter president of the NAACP, reacted immediately to Sharpton’s warning, saying, “We hope that the citizens of Sanford will govern themselves accordingly. We are not calling for any sanctions, against any business or anyone else. And, of course, what Rev. Sharpton does, that’s strictly the [National] Action Network. We can’t condone that part of the conversation, if that’s what he said.”
Clayton said he believes that the expected 3,000 people who will attend Saturday’s march and rally in Sanford will realize the difference between Sharpton’s message and the NAACP’s mission.
“I don’t think they can confuse that,” Clayton said. “It’s just that they will have to make a judgment as to whether they want to follow the mission of the NAACP or follow what the Rev. Sharpton said.”
www.weaselzippers.us
Hey, back a few years ago when I was doing advocacy with the homeless and I had the opportunity to attend a couple of NAACP meetings, I was really impressed with the agenda of the local chapter. There was none of the race baiting or hatred that I expected, they discussed stuff that any neighborhood meeting would have - what to do about a rising crime rate in their communities, how to help fun church-run youth programs, grafitti abatement, stuff like that.
Now, this was the Modesto chapter - I can't speak for any of the other ones.
Sharpton called for an escalation in peaceful civil disobedience and economic sanctions, although he did not say what those sanctions might be.
Turner Clayton, the Seminole County chapter president of the NAACP, reacted immediately to Sharpton’s warning, saying, “We hope that the citizens of Sanford will govern themselves accordingly. We are not calling for any sanctions, against any business or anyone else. And, of course, what Rev. Sharpton does, that’s strictly the [National] Action Network. We can’t condone that part of the conversation, if that’s what he said.”
Clayton said he believes that the expected 3,000 people who will attend Saturday’s march and rally in Sanford will realize the difference between Sharpton’s message and the NAACP’s mission.
“I don’t think they can confuse that,” Clayton said. “It’s just that they will have to make a judgment as to whether they want to follow the mission of the NAACP or follow what the Rev. Sharpton said.”
www.weaselzippers.us
*****
Hey, back a few years ago when I was doing advocacy with the homeless and I had the opportunity to attend a couple of NAACP meetings, I was really impressed with the agenda of the local chapter. There was none of the race baiting or hatred that I expected, they discussed stuff that any neighborhood meeting would have - what to do about a rising crime rate in their communities, how to help fun church-run youth programs, grafitti abatement, stuff like that.
Now, this was the Modesto chapter - I can't speak for any of the other ones.
Gotta maintain a sense of humor, man.
All right. We're fucking done here. The house has been cleaned over and over, the yard has been cut, the lists have been checked and double checked, the guest bathroom is sealed off, I got about $100 worth of pig in the icebox to go in the smoker later tonight, we got salad for the token gay couple, and I had the presence of mind to stash quick reloads of various calibers around the house and put a razor's edge on my KA-BAR in case of trouble.
I'm ready to get married tomorrow.
I had to run into Modesto earlier today to return a book to the libarry and drop off my monthly check at the bank for my ex-wife (if I'm not late, I don't hear from her), plus a couple odds and ends.
I hate going into Modesto even though the town I live in is basically a suburb of it. As soon as I cross the river, the fucking idiots started coming out of the woodwork.
Just coming off the bridge, I got behind a car that was doing about 15 mph and swerving from one side of his lane to the other. He comes to a stop in the middle of the road, opens his door and blows bacon. Then he notices a hooker walking down the median as he's wiping the vomit from his mouth and calls her over. Still pukey and he's looking for a blowjob.
Then I'm turning the corner off J Street to get to the Wicked Witch of the West's bank, they's got the fucking road closed off for a street fair that DRAIL (Disabilty Resources and Independent Living) is putting on. I park a couple of blocks away and when I get back to the street I cross from the corner and when I get about halfway across I angle off towards the bank and the street fair.
"Hey, get back in the sidewalk" barks a cop that didn't look more than 16.
What the fuck? I look over at the crowd at the street fair standing in the middle of the street not 50 feet away. "Are you fucking kidding me, Junior?" I pointed over at the crowd. He started to say something, then looked sheepish and turned his back. That's when I saw he wasn't carrying a gun. Fuck, he wasn't even a cop! He was an Explorer Scout. He WAS 16!
Great. This one's getting badge heavy before he even goes to work at the cop shop.
I get out of the bank and start checking out the street fair which I have to admit was pretty goddamned entertaining. Remember that this was put on by a Disabilities advocacy organization? These guys do pretty good work in the community for a bunch of lefties- they advocate for disabled folks as far as services and housing, shit like that. Not only that but it's run by a bunch of cripples. So yeah, the street fair was pretty fun - couple of blind motherfuckers wandering around aimlessly, people cripping into tables and shit, retards smearing ice cream all over their faces and bibs and a handful of people in the street with their helmets all askew trying to dance. At least I think they were trying to dance, they might've been just spazzing out. Or maybe Junior the Cop tazed a couple of them, I don't know.
So I got bored with that after awhile and headed back to the truck, laughing at all the soccer moms at the sidewalk tables outside the cafe clutching their purses closer and crossing their legs as I walked by with the camera turned on my phone, scouting for a camel toe.
After I got back underway, I pulled back into traffic and made a right turn, almost getting hit by a woman making a left in front of me while talking on the phone. Not only did she almost hit me but she didn't even slow down as I stomped on my brakes and leaned on the horn. When we ended up next to each other at the next light I rolled down my window and she did the same, oblivious to the fact that she almost wrecked my truck and pissed me off mightily in the process.
"I hope to fuck you're calling a goddamned driving school for lessons, Lady" I hollered. She just smiled, waved and drove off, still talking on the phone.
Fucking people - how in the hell did they survive without their electronic leashes?
Finally, my last stop was at a store where I needed to buy some III shit that I never bought before and wasn't sure how to go about buying it. So I go in and talk to the salesman and I make it very clear that I'm wanting to pay cash because I don't want a paper trail on this. I find what I need and go back up to pay for it and the first thing the motherfuckerfucker does is ask for my name and phone number. Oh, man.......
"Thomas Jefferson, 555-1776." Just like that. I used the 555 prefix.
"And how do you spell your last name, Mr. Jefferson?" Didn't say a thing about the 555 prefix.
Really? Are you fucking serious? Motherfucker, you just took US Government last semester!
Fuck, it was good to get back home. And Miss Lisa wonders how come I'm so cynical when it comes to my fellow man.
I'm ready to get married tomorrow.
I had to run into Modesto earlier today to return a book to the libarry and drop off my monthly check at the bank for my ex-wife (if I'm not late, I don't hear from her), plus a couple odds and ends.
I hate going into Modesto even though the town I live in is basically a suburb of it. As soon as I cross the river, the fucking idiots started coming out of the woodwork.
Just coming off the bridge, I got behind a car that was doing about 15 mph and swerving from one side of his lane to the other. He comes to a stop in the middle of the road, opens his door and blows bacon. Then he notices a hooker walking down the median as he's wiping the vomit from his mouth and calls her over. Still pukey and he's looking for a blowjob.
Then I'm turning the corner off J Street to get to the Wicked Witch of the West's bank, they's got the fucking road closed off for a street fair that DRAIL (Disabilty Resources and Independent Living) is putting on. I park a couple of blocks away and when I get back to the street I cross from the corner and when I get about halfway across I angle off towards the bank and the street fair.
"Hey, get back in the sidewalk" barks a cop that didn't look more than 16.
What the fuck? I look over at the crowd at the street fair standing in the middle of the street not 50 feet away. "Are you fucking kidding me, Junior?" I pointed over at the crowd. He started to say something, then looked sheepish and turned his back. That's when I saw he wasn't carrying a gun. Fuck, he wasn't even a cop! He was an Explorer Scout. He WAS 16!
Great. This one's getting badge heavy before he even goes to work at the cop shop.
I get out of the bank and start checking out the street fair which I have to admit was pretty goddamned entertaining. Remember that this was put on by a Disabilities advocacy organization? These guys do pretty good work in the community for a bunch of lefties- they advocate for disabled folks as far as services and housing, shit like that. Not only that but it's run by a bunch of cripples. So yeah, the street fair was pretty fun - couple of blind motherfuckers wandering around aimlessly, people cripping into tables and shit, retards smearing ice cream all over their faces and bibs and a handful of people in the street with their helmets all askew trying to dance. At least I think they were trying to dance, they might've been just spazzing out. Or maybe Junior the Cop tazed a couple of them, I don't know.
So I got bored with that after awhile and headed back to the truck, laughing at all the soccer moms at the sidewalk tables outside the cafe clutching their purses closer and crossing their legs as I walked by with the camera turned on my phone, scouting for a camel toe.
After I got back underway, I pulled back into traffic and made a right turn, almost getting hit by a woman making a left in front of me while talking on the phone. Not only did she almost hit me but she didn't even slow down as I stomped on my brakes and leaned on the horn. When we ended up next to each other at the next light I rolled down my window and she did the same, oblivious to the fact that she almost wrecked my truck and pissed me off mightily in the process.
"I hope to fuck you're calling a goddamned driving school for lessons, Lady" I hollered. She just smiled, waved and drove off, still talking on the phone.
Fucking people - how in the hell did they survive without their electronic leashes?
Finally, my last stop was at a store where I needed to buy some III shit that I never bought before and wasn't sure how to go about buying it. So I go in and talk to the salesman and I make it very clear that I'm wanting to pay cash because I don't want a paper trail on this. I find what I need and go back up to pay for it and the first thing the motherfuckerfucker does is ask for my name and phone number. Oh, man.......
"Thomas Jefferson, 555-1776." Just like that. I used the 555 prefix.
"And how do you spell your last name, Mr. Jefferson?" Didn't say a thing about the 555 prefix.
Really? Are you fucking serious? Motherfucker, you just took US Government last semester!
Fuck, it was good to get back home. And Miss Lisa wonders how come I'm so cynical when it comes to my fellow man.
Can you say POISON?
BELCHERTOWN, Mass. (AP) — State wildlife authorities are investigating the grisly discovery of 14 dead coyotes at a Belchertown lumber yard.
Janis Sugrue, owner of Native Lumber Co., says she informed state environmental police on Monday after a neighbor riding her horse on her property, saw, and smelled, the carcasses.
Environmental police and a representative from the state Division of Fisheries and Wildlife visited the site Tuesday.
It is unclear where and how the animals died. Officials say there was no obvious evidence of gunshot wounds or trapping.
Ralph Taylor of the State Division of Fisheries and Wildlife says coyote hunting season ended on March 8 and noted that the dumping of animals is illegal.
Predator Xtreme
Looks to me like somebody's herd or flock has been fucked with by coyotes and the problem was taken care of with poison, which is a shitty method of dealing with a problem like that.
Doesn't Masschusettes have Predation Permits that allow hunters to shoot problem animals even if they're not in season? Wait - we're talking Massachusettes here...... I forgot. Sorry.
Poison might have taken care of 14 coyotes, but it also took care of any loose domesticated dogs and any other animals that fed on carcasses that were missed being picked up. Hunting is a much more humane method of dealing with predation.
Janis Sugrue, owner of Native Lumber Co., says she informed state environmental police on Monday after a neighbor riding her horse on her property, saw, and smelled, the carcasses.
Environmental police and a representative from the state Division of Fisheries and Wildlife visited the site Tuesday.
It is unclear where and how the animals died. Officials say there was no obvious evidence of gunshot wounds or trapping.
Ralph Taylor of the State Division of Fisheries and Wildlife says coyote hunting season ended on March 8 and noted that the dumping of animals is illegal.
Predator Xtreme
*****
Looks to me like somebody's herd or flock has been fucked with by coyotes and the problem was taken care of with poison, which is a shitty method of dealing with a problem like that.
Doesn't Masschusettes have Predation Permits that allow hunters to shoot problem animals even if they're not in season? Wait - we're talking Massachusettes here...... I forgot. Sorry.
Poison might have taken care of 14 coyotes, but it also took care of any loose domesticated dogs and any other animals that fed on carcasses that were missed being picked up. Hunting is a much more humane method of dealing with predation.
I know, I'm letting you down.
As most of you are well aware, my White Trash self is getting married tomorrow at 2 PM.
Because of all the little things that have to come together, posting is going to be very light today and tomorrow. I'll get some in tonight and maybe tomorrow in the morning, but there's not going to be a lot of midday posting. I hope y'all understand.
Fuck Obama.
Because of all the little things that have to come together, posting is going to be very light today and tomorrow. I'll get some in tonight and maybe tomorrow in the morning, but there's not going to be a lot of midday posting. I hope y'all understand.
Fuck Obama.
Filling in the blanks
It’s spring break for the Obama daughters and mom has taken them West for the week. Michelle Obama and her daughters visited Mount Rushmore Wednesday to see the monument where four U.S. presidents are immortalized in stone on the soaring mountainside. She's probably there to see if there's room for a fifth, or maybe remodel one of the others to make it into a great big presidential idol.
Now the Obamas have arrived in Las Vegas for a private family visit. Never mnd that Vegas hates Obama because of his remarks about blowing money in Vegas.
At the depths of the recession, President Obama seemed to disparage Las Vegas visits, at one point warning hard-pressed Americans, “You don’t blow a bunch of cash in Vegas when you’re trying to save for college.” Try something to lower the price of gas, I can send 3 or 4 kids to college then.
There is lingering dismay in the Las Vegas travel and tourism industry but, during the political campaign which started in 2009, Obama has been a frequent visitor on official and political trips to the swing state of Nevada. He's been a frequent visitor to everywhere on his fundraiser tour. All on our dime.
The first lady’s private schedule with Sasha and Malia in Las Vegas is short. They travel on to California for publicly announced events, including a San Francisco political fundraiser Friday (what, again?), the Saturday commissioning of a new Coast Guard ship in Alameda, the USGS Mooch, and then a chance to meet music sensation Taylor Swift, who ought to tell her to fuck off.
Now the Obamas have arrived in Las Vegas for a private family visit. Never mnd that Vegas hates Obama because of his remarks about blowing money in Vegas.
At the depths of the recession, President Obama seemed to disparage Las Vegas visits, at one point warning hard-pressed Americans, “You don’t blow a bunch of cash in Vegas when you’re trying to save for college.” Try something to lower the price of gas, I can send 3 or 4 kids to college then.
There is lingering dismay in the Las Vegas travel and tourism industry but, during the political campaign which started in 2009, Obama has been a frequent visitor on official and political trips to the swing state of Nevada. He's been a frequent visitor to everywhere on his fundraiser tour. All on our dime.
The first lady’s private schedule with Sasha and Malia in Las Vegas is short. They travel on to California for publicly announced events, including a San Francisco political fundraiser Friday (what, again?), the Saturday commissioning of a new Coast Guard ship in Alameda, the USGS Mooch, and then a chance to meet music sensation Taylor Swift, who ought to tell her to fuck off.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
III Gear
I've made it a little easier for you to shop the III Gear shop featured in a post earlier today. If you'll go to my sidebar you'll see a new button like this:
Click on that button and you'll be redirected right to the site where you can score some cool shit and help to advance our cause at the same time.
Hey, I own at least one of everything sold there (I'm still waiting on a couple of newly introduced items) and I can personally attest to the quality of the goods that I have received. No cheap shit here, folks. You've got my word on that.
So stop by, put some money towards our Cause and thumb your nose at the feds by wearing our Brand.
Consider it as investing in our futures.
If you're a Conservative or a III Percenter blogger and you don't have a button to donate to III Gear or 527America, please consider putting one up. Let's get some traffic headed that way and raise a few bucks for 527America. It won't cost you a dime but it'll damned sure put a dollar where it's sorely needed right now.
Earl Scruggs dead at 88
Earl Scruggs died at the ripe old age of 88.
Mr. Scruggs was best known when he teamed up with his buddy Lester Flatt who died in 1979 or 80 as I recall. Their most memorable tune was "Orange Blossum Special" and I think they also did the theme for The Beverly Hillbillies.
Mr. Scruggs brought to light a little known method of finger picking a banjo instead of stumming that motherfucker with a claw and influenced many of todays' banjo players, they're finger picking instead of strumming. If you listen to Jerry Garcia playing hillbilly banjo music and then Earl Scruggs, you can hear a huge similarity in their music, except Jerry's finger picking has that lope in it on account of his missing bird finger.
I don't recall the first time I ever heard Scruggs & Flatt, we had that kind of music playing in our house all the time when I was a kid, but I do remember the first time I ever bought one of their albums - January of 1977, the week after we moved out here from Georgia and I was fucking homesick. I needed some barbecue and some downhome music. Never did get that barbecue.....
You know, I feel ashamed of myself. I read that in the paper this morning and meant to post something but I just got caught up in other things. Sorry 'bout that.
Mr. Scruggs was best known when he teamed up with his buddy Lester Flatt who died in 1979 or 80 as I recall. Their most memorable tune was "Orange Blossum Special" and I think they also did the theme for The Beverly Hillbillies.
Mr. Scruggs brought to light a little known method of finger picking a banjo instead of stumming that motherfucker with a claw and influenced many of todays' banjo players, they're finger picking instead of strumming. If you listen to Jerry Garcia playing hillbilly banjo music and then Earl Scruggs, you can hear a huge similarity in their music, except Jerry's finger picking has that lope in it on account of his missing bird finger.
I don't recall the first time I ever heard Scruggs & Flatt, we had that kind of music playing in our house all the time when I was a kid, but I do remember the first time I ever bought one of their albums - January of 1977, the week after we moved out here from Georgia and I was fucking homesick. I needed some barbecue and some downhome music. Never did get that barbecue.....
You know, I feel ashamed of myself. I read that in the paper this morning and meant to post something but I just got caught up in other things. Sorry 'bout that.
Bacon. Mmmmm, bacon......
Maybe you can take it with you. With the new bacon coffin, you'll spend eternity with your favorite cured meat. What could be better?
Though not literally made from bacon, the bacon coffin is painted to look as if it is covered in savory strips. An article from Seattle's King5.com reports that local company J&D's Foods created the casket. This isn't the first time the company has found inspiration in bacon. J&D is also responsible for unleashing Bacon Salt and Baconnaise on the world.
Fucking A, Al. Thanks for thinking of me, man.
Though not literally made from bacon, the bacon coffin is painted to look as if it is covered in savory strips. An article from Seattle's King5.com reports that local company J&D's Foods created the casket. This isn't the first time the company has found inspiration in bacon. J&D is also responsible for unleashing Bacon Salt and Baconnaise on the world.
A bacon coffin doesn't come cheap -- $2,999.99 plus shipping. But the interior does come with a bacon memorial tube and a bacon-themed air freshener. So you'll have that going for you ... which is nice.
SOURCEFucking A, Al. Thanks for thinking of me, man.
III Gear link
Hey folks, I don't know if you've been to III Percent Gear or not yet, but if you haven't go over and check out some of the neat shit you can buy so you can stand up and be counted. Here's a sampling, plus there's new stuff showing up all the time.
Zoomie's Art on stickers
A bad-ass flag
Velcro backed patches (much clearer than the picture)
Hoodies - again, better looking in real life, all one color with the patch jumping out at you.
Zoomie's Art on stickers
T-shirts
Mugs
And hats with patches
So this is the kind of gear you can get HERE. All the profits go right back into America527.org which is dedicated to getting the III Percent message out to people that think like us.
And of course, if you want to help but don't want to buy anything, there is a 'donate' button at the site.
Credit cards and Paypal are accepted.
My day - so far.
Man, here it is 2 days away from my wedding and the last day of work before my vacation. I'm usually scheduled for Friday (Niggas) but I took a paid day off to start my second vacation of the year (I'm starting to sound like Mooch-elle, huh) early so we can wrap up any loose ends before the big day on Saturday. Either that or I'll wire the garage or something.
But anyways, the last fucking place I wanted to be was at work today so as soon as I walked in the door I signed up for an early out, know that Thursdays are slow but Fat John likes to start them out with a bang. I figured on loading anywhere from 6 to 15 trucks today before he decides he can afford to cut any loaders loose. You gotta sign the list if you want to go home early with no penalty and once you're on the list it's done by seniority and classification.
Allow me to wander for a moment. We have a motherfucker out there - we'll call him Art, because that's his real name - that is a fucking worthless sonofabitch. He's a loader but he refuses to load. If he can't get a position on the dock running bread flats or full pallets and has to load trucks, he'll go home sick or on FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act) for one of the 5 family members that he's been approved for FMLA.
It's funny, but the only time he or one of his family members gets sick is when he has to load trucks. So what we have is a loader that cries like a little bitch when he has to do his job and he's got the backing of the State of California backing his ass up.
Today Art was happily running his full pallets and I was getting ready to load my third truck of the day, about an hour into the shift. I looked at the paper work and it was routed for 27 pallets - how they come up with that, I don't know. A 50' trailer only holds 24. My paperwork says there's 29 pallets coming to the door which means I have to combine 5 smaller pallets to get it to fit. I look at the load and figure that even though the pallets will be so tall I'll have to scrape them motherfuckers into the trailer, I can do it. I am an ace when it comes to loading a truck.
So I stack all the shit up and get ready to load it when I hear Fat John paging me to the office. He says I'm done, thank you very much, and that Art will be taking over my doors in 5 minutes. I started laughing and asked if Art knew that yet and he said no, so I asked him to wait 15 minutes before he told him that he was going to have to actually do a little work today.
Then I went back to the load and unstacked every bit of the shit I combined together. Brian and Greg were loading on either side of me and was fucking dying laughing. They knew what the deal was. Fuck that shit, I'm not making it easy on that lazy motherfucker. He wants to be a loader so he can have choice days off, he can take the bad with the good.
Then I hotfooted it back to the office to clock out and my timing couldn't be better. I got my handshakes and congratulations on the wedding from all the floor bosses and got to watch Fat John tell Art to go load my doors for the rest of the day.
I was out the door by 8 AM and it was cloudy, making it seem a lot earlier. I took the long way home hoping to spot some coyotes on the way, probably drove 60 miles instead of my usual 40, but it was nice not having anyplace to be and plenty of time to get there.
I did see a couple of coyotes out and about today - not as many as I had hoped but the dominate females should be whelping right about now - a coyotes gestation period is 53 days and they mate in late January so the last of the litters should be being thrown right about now. So the breeder's aren't out mousing right now. They're denned up with a litter of squealing, squirming little targets.
So, that's my day so far - pretty damned good if you ask me.
But anyways, the last fucking place I wanted to be was at work today so as soon as I walked in the door I signed up for an early out, know that Thursdays are slow but Fat John likes to start them out with a bang. I figured on loading anywhere from 6 to 15 trucks today before he decides he can afford to cut any loaders loose. You gotta sign the list if you want to go home early with no penalty and once you're on the list it's done by seniority and classification.
Allow me to wander for a moment. We have a motherfucker out there - we'll call him Art, because that's his real name - that is a fucking worthless sonofabitch. He's a loader but he refuses to load. If he can't get a position on the dock running bread flats or full pallets and has to load trucks, he'll go home sick or on FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act) for one of the 5 family members that he's been approved for FMLA.
It's funny, but the only time he or one of his family members gets sick is when he has to load trucks. So what we have is a loader that cries like a little bitch when he has to do his job and he's got the backing of the State of California backing his ass up.
Today Art was happily running his full pallets and I was getting ready to load my third truck of the day, about an hour into the shift. I looked at the paper work and it was routed for 27 pallets - how they come up with that, I don't know. A 50' trailer only holds 24. My paperwork says there's 29 pallets coming to the door which means I have to combine 5 smaller pallets to get it to fit. I look at the load and figure that even though the pallets will be so tall I'll have to scrape them motherfuckers into the trailer, I can do it. I am an ace when it comes to loading a truck.
So I stack all the shit up and get ready to load it when I hear Fat John paging me to the office. He says I'm done, thank you very much, and that Art will be taking over my doors in 5 minutes. I started laughing and asked if Art knew that yet and he said no, so I asked him to wait 15 minutes before he told him that he was going to have to actually do a little work today.
Then I went back to the load and unstacked every bit of the shit I combined together. Brian and Greg were loading on either side of me and was fucking dying laughing. They knew what the deal was. Fuck that shit, I'm not making it easy on that lazy motherfucker. He wants to be a loader so he can have choice days off, he can take the bad with the good.
Then I hotfooted it back to the office to clock out and my timing couldn't be better. I got my handshakes and congratulations on the wedding from all the floor bosses and got to watch Fat John tell Art to go load my doors for the rest of the day.
I was out the door by 8 AM and it was cloudy, making it seem a lot earlier. I took the long way home hoping to spot some coyotes on the way, probably drove 60 miles instead of my usual 40, but it was nice not having anyplace to be and plenty of time to get there.
I did see a couple of coyotes out and about today - not as many as I had hoped but the dominate females should be whelping right about now - a coyotes gestation period is 53 days and they mate in late January so the last of the litters should be being thrown right about now. So the breeder's aren't out mousing right now. They're denned up with a litter of squealing, squirming little targets.
So, that's my day so far - pretty damned good if you ask me.
Don't mess with Obama's bucks
OPINION – Most Americans have never heard of former Las Vegas businessman Robert Kahre. The fact that he is locked away in a federal prison has a lot to do with that. But those who understand Kahre’s story tend to view money as well as our justice system in a different light.
Kahre was convicted in 2009 of conspiracy to defraud the Internal Revenue Service, tax evasion and hiding assets. But his real crime was something far more serious in the eyes of the IRS and federal prosecutors. Kahre paid his employees as independent contractors rather than salaried employees and he paid them in gold and silver coin.
By doing so, he brought unwelcome attention to the ongoing official debasement of our money supply. This action is what brought the full might of the federal government crashing down upon him.
Kahre offered to pay his workers in face value of federally issued gold and silver coins. These coins are legal tender at their face value. For instance, a one ounce gold American Eagle coin has a face value of $50. The actual value today of a one-ounce coin of fine gold is closer to $1,685 ±. If a person wished to pay for a tank of gas with an American Eagle at its $50 face value, they have a perfect legal right to do so. Of course, the wiser thing to do would be to sell the coin for its value in Federal Reserve notes and pocket the $1,635 in cash.
When Kahre offered to pay his workers in gold and silver, the legal tender laws should have considered those coins at face value. This means that an employee receiving 50 American Eagles annually would be making only $2,500 at face value. Therefore, the employee’s wages would fall below the threshold of reportable income.
Of course, the IRS takes umbrage at the thought of someone earning roughly $83,000 in Federal Reserve notes and not paying what the tax collectors consider their “fair share.” But there remains the issue of legal tender laws that clearly state that those Eagles are worth $50 face value.
If the federal government makes gold and silver coins that are legal tender, then why punish those who use them at face value? So which standard are we to follow? For that matter, why are there two different standards in the first place?
These troublesome questions are likely what prompted federal prosecutors to go after Kahre with a vengeance.
A federal SWAT team (A SWAT team? Seriously?) crashed through the gate of Kahre’s business with an armored vehicle and held Kahre’s employees at gunpoint for hours when the feds made their move. Kahre was charged with 49 counts of failure to collect or pay employment taxes, four counts of tax evasion, two counts of attempting to interfere with IRS laws and a single count of wire fraud. An uninformed jury convicted him on the judge’s instructions and he was sent to prison for 15 years and ordered to pay millions of dollars to the IRS.
The judge who sentenced him actually had the audacity to caution Kahre’s wife that allowing the couple’s children to develop a negative view of the federal government’s actions would be a grave injustice.
It’s hard to imagine how the government’s actions can even begin to square with the concept of justice. What Kahre and his employees did was hardly illegal. It did, however, expose the growing official debasement of our irredeemable paper currency when compared to sound money.
Most Americans have forgotten that our nation was founded upon a monetary system of gold and silver coin. For many years, paper currency was forbidden because, historically, it allowed government officials to plunder the public through inflation.
With the creation of the Federal Reserve nearly a century ago and the subsequent abandonment of a precious metal-backed currency, inflation has steadily robbed the dollar of roughly 95 percent of its purchasing power since 1913.
When a gold $50 American Eagle is worth far more than fifty paper dollars, it should be clear to all but the most obtuse that something fraudulent is happening to our money. Robert Kahre earned the wrath of the federal government by allowing its currency debasement to be brought to light.
SOURCE & credits
- Stuart
Kahre was convicted in 2009 of conspiracy to defraud the Internal Revenue Service, tax evasion and hiding assets. But his real crime was something far more serious in the eyes of the IRS and federal prosecutors. Kahre paid his employees as independent contractors rather than salaried employees and he paid them in gold and silver coin.
By doing so, he brought unwelcome attention to the ongoing official debasement of our money supply. This action is what brought the full might of the federal government crashing down upon him.
Kahre offered to pay his workers in face value of federally issued gold and silver coins. These coins are legal tender at their face value. For instance, a one ounce gold American Eagle coin has a face value of $50. The actual value today of a one-ounce coin of fine gold is closer to $1,685 ±. If a person wished to pay for a tank of gas with an American Eagle at its $50 face value, they have a perfect legal right to do so. Of course, the wiser thing to do would be to sell the coin for its value in Federal Reserve notes and pocket the $1,635 in cash.
When Kahre offered to pay his workers in gold and silver, the legal tender laws should have considered those coins at face value. This means that an employee receiving 50 American Eagles annually would be making only $2,500 at face value. Therefore, the employee’s wages would fall below the threshold of reportable income.
Of course, the IRS takes umbrage at the thought of someone earning roughly $83,000 in Federal Reserve notes and not paying what the tax collectors consider their “fair share.” But there remains the issue of legal tender laws that clearly state that those Eagles are worth $50 face value.
If the federal government makes gold and silver coins that are legal tender, then why punish those who use them at face value? So which standard are we to follow? For that matter, why are there two different standards in the first place?
These troublesome questions are likely what prompted federal prosecutors to go after Kahre with a vengeance.
A federal SWAT team (A SWAT team? Seriously?) crashed through the gate of Kahre’s business with an armored vehicle and held Kahre’s employees at gunpoint for hours when the feds made their move. Kahre was charged with 49 counts of failure to collect or pay employment taxes, four counts of tax evasion, two counts of attempting to interfere with IRS laws and a single count of wire fraud. An uninformed jury convicted him on the judge’s instructions and he was sent to prison for 15 years and ordered to pay millions of dollars to the IRS.
The judge who sentenced him actually had the audacity to caution Kahre’s wife that allowing the couple’s children to develop a negative view of the federal government’s actions would be a grave injustice.
It’s hard to imagine how the government’s actions can even begin to square with the concept of justice. What Kahre and his employees did was hardly illegal. It did, however, expose the growing official debasement of our irredeemable paper currency when compared to sound money.
Most Americans have forgotten that our nation was founded upon a monetary system of gold and silver coin. For many years, paper currency was forbidden because, historically, it allowed government officials to plunder the public through inflation.
With the creation of the Federal Reserve nearly a century ago and the subsequent abandonment of a precious metal-backed currency, inflation has steadily robbed the dollar of roughly 95 percent of its purchasing power since 1913.
When a gold $50 American Eagle is worth far more than fifty paper dollars, it should be clear to all but the most obtuse that something fraudulent is happening to our money. Robert Kahre earned the wrath of the federal government by allowing its currency debasement to be brought to light.
SOURCE & credits
- Stuart
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
My Army days. From what I can remember anways.
I was in a tactical signal unit when I was in the Army back in the late 70s, early 80s. My MOS was 36D20, Microwave Antennae Installer Specialist. That's a fancy name for microwave tower construction. Gotta build the towers first before you can install them high-speed miccawave antenners, right?
Anyways, when I graduated firmly in the middle of my class I was assigned to D Co 26th Sig Bn in Heilbronn West Fucking Germany where I built microwave towers all fucking winter long. No shit, we went out in October for 30 days, came in for 5 days to DX and re-fit and then it was time for ReForGer. Then it was WintEx. Then it was Operation Boot-in-your-nuts or whatever, and all of these motherfuckers were back to back. And because nobody could do shit until the towers were up, the tower teams always went out about a week before to set up which was cool with me. We'd knock that shit out in 3 days and then spend the next 4 scouting out gasthouses for when my partners showed up.
I fucking loved it. I loved the field, working 7 days a week, no formations, no fucking petty bullshit, wear damned near anything you wanted as long as there was something green over it, nobody fucking with me.
Once the tower was up and all the shots oriented in, there really wasn't anything for a 4 man team to do so we did odd jobs around the site. I got to be the courier due to rank, my knowledge of the German countryside and locations of all the sites, plus the fact that I was assigned the fucking jeep and nobody else was going to drive it. So when I went to the field we would set up the tower, bring in the shots, then go find something else to do for the next 3-4 weeks until it was time to tear it all down. I'd drive all over Central Germany with another NCO delivering mysterious files to different sites. It was a fucking blast, being paid per diem and eating schnitzel and saurbraten and sleeping in gasthouses 2 or 3 times a week instead of eating C rations and sleeping in tents.
The shortest I ever spent out in the field was 33 days and the longest was 57 days - in for a week to get some stitches out and a little rest then back out for 45 more days. Then the bastards caught on to me and made me go back to the Kaserne. Hey, I was Section Chief, I needed to keep up with both tower teams, right?
But the really good times came after coming out of the field - Party Fucking Time. The Battalion Sergeant Major would throw a huge barbecue and beer bash when each company came in and considering the 26th had 5 companies of about 150 men each, the MPs had their hands full for about a month. Our barracks faced theirs and the fucking assholes actually had the nerve to complain that the number of drunks vomiting out of the windows was excessive and repulsive.
Our beer blasts were generally 2 or 3 day events, generally winding down when all the kegs were gone. By then our own indivdual parties were going pretty good and we had whiskey and hash so we'd party like hell up in our rooms and only go down to the company party when we started to get too fucked up and needed to mellow out by switching to beer for a while.
After dark the families would go home and the shit would start. Some drunk young Pfc would decide it was time to whip his Platoon Sergeants ass. The young Pfc was usually in for one hell of a thrill too, because hardcore NCOs don't get to be that way by being pussies. Then there were the bare knuckle fights - sporting, not malicious - where entire paychecks would pass hands. Baton battles were great fun too, but the morning after those really sucked.
We had an NCO that would lick his finger, grin and stick it in a light socket - 220 volts in europe, not 110. Another guy that swore he could kick the ceiling (fuck, he could barely stand up!) and then knock himself out when he fell on his head. Every time. I must've seen him try it a dozen times and knock himself cold every time. We'd just drag him to a corner of the room and Charlie Mike. Fucking guys falling out of 2 and 3 floor windows and getting up and walking away because they were to drunk to realize they were injured. Fire extinguisher fights - not spraying each other with them, using them as weapons trying to clock each other with them. Then of course there was the mandatory gassing of the Officers Club and occasionally the NCO club and a couple of times, the barracks themselves.
When we came in, we'd pitch our tents on the green next to the barracks for about a month to let them dry out real good. For about the first week after we came in, you'd see men sneaking into the barracks from the tents right about dawn. Motherfuckers couldn't go to sleep without the smell of oil soaked canvas and anybody that's ever been in a GP Medium knows what the fuck I'm talking about.
Our shower rooms were just that - a room about 20' x 10' with a drain in the floor and a shower head about every 2 feet on the wall. When we'd come in that room would be packed with fully dressed men washing the mud and crud out of their TA-50.
Later that night, though was paradise. About 2 or 3 in the morning when everybody was passed out, I'd go in and turn on every fucking shower in the room and stand in the middle and let the first hot water I'd seen in a week or two beat me to putty.
Me and Gregg (Motor Sergeant) got drunk one night and took all the shower heads off and threw them away so we'd have steady streams of hot water instead of sissy sprays. That pissed the First Sergeant off, so he had them replaced. We got fucked up and took them off again, this time leaving them in a pile in the Orderly Room, or so we're told. I personally have no recollection of it. Well, Top blew his fucking stack but couldn't figure out who did it so he took his shit out on the shower heads. He replaced them but this time epoxied the heads back on.
So we got fucked up again and went to the motor pool and got a couple of pipe cutters and took care of that shit real quick. Top had the entire company locked up in formation the next morning but nobody gave us up. Hell, we ALL enjoyed getting beat up by scalding hot water.
Top gave up.
Speaking of Top, I remember one time waking up one morning after a company party with Gregg staring at me, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer.
"What the fuck man, do I have another black eye or something?"
"Naw" he drawled "I just wanted one long last look at my best buddy."
Uh-oh. This can't be good.
"Shit, I can't remember anything past 6 last night. And maybe 8 and it seems like I was drinking with Top at some point." I was seriously trying to remember all the events of my conscience and coherent moments but that was a waste of time. I didn't have many moments like that which was the whole point of partying, right?
"You, you stupid motherfucker, ought to be shot." Gregg blows a smoke ring and smiles. He's obviously enjoying himself so I wait for it. By the way, ought to being shot is Greggs' standard punishment for everthing from dropping a cigarette butt in his motor pool to committing murder. Kind of a catch-all punishment, you know?
He continues "You were sitting there drinking with Top and you told him that he reminded you of an old dog you used to have. He wanted to know if it was because he kept trying to run with the pack but you couldn't leave well enough alone, you said no, it was because that fucking dog was so ugly you shaved it's ass and taught it to walk backwards because it was better looking that way. Said the dogs' name was Queenie and you kept calling him that."
"Nooooooo......." I said while at the same time little bits and pieces started coming back.
"Yeah, and Top got pissed off and told you to shut up and you kept whistling and snapping your fingers going 'Here Queenie. Come on, Queenie. Quit licking your ass, Queenie.' It was fucking great, man. Can I have your Triumph?"
Shit. I was in some serious trouble. Oh well, what's done is done, face it like a man. So I got all fucked up again.
Monday morning finds me in front of Tops' office door, fucking boots are shined, creases are straight, hair's greased back. I ain't even waiting for him to call me. I'm going to go in and take my medicine like a man.
I rap 3 times, get permission to enter and find Top with his boots off drinking a glass of tomato juice, heavily hung over. Hmmm, looks like I'm not the only one that went on a weekend drunk.
"What the fuck do you want so godamned early in the morning, Lane?"
"I'm here about what happened Friday night First Sergeant, and....."
"What did I do now?" he says "I was got so fucking drunk I can't even remember getting home."
"You know, when..... " and then my fucking brain wakes up "you know what Top, you are right. You did have a load on. Shit happens, I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are."
"Yeah, whatever. Thanks. Don't shut the door too loud when you leave. That's a hint. Go away."
Okay, that's enough about my army memories. Didn't mean to bore ya.
Anyways, when I graduated firmly in the middle of my class I was assigned to D Co 26th Sig Bn in Heilbronn West Fucking Germany where I built microwave towers all fucking winter long. No shit, we went out in October for 30 days, came in for 5 days to DX and re-fit and then it was time for ReForGer. Then it was WintEx. Then it was Operation Boot-in-your-nuts or whatever, and all of these motherfuckers were back to back. And because nobody could do shit until the towers were up, the tower teams always went out about a week before to set up which was cool with me. We'd knock that shit out in 3 days and then spend the next 4 scouting out gasthouses for when my partners showed up.
I fucking loved it. I loved the field, working 7 days a week, no formations, no fucking petty bullshit, wear damned near anything you wanted as long as there was something green over it, nobody fucking with me.
Once the tower was up and all the shots oriented in, there really wasn't anything for a 4 man team to do so we did odd jobs around the site. I got to be the courier due to rank, my knowledge of the German countryside and locations of all the sites, plus the fact that I was assigned the fucking jeep and nobody else was going to drive it. So when I went to the field we would set up the tower, bring in the shots, then go find something else to do for the next 3-4 weeks until it was time to tear it all down. I'd drive all over Central Germany with another NCO delivering mysterious files to different sites. It was a fucking blast, being paid per diem and eating schnitzel and saurbraten and sleeping in gasthouses 2 or 3 times a week instead of eating C rations and sleeping in tents.
The shortest I ever spent out in the field was 33 days and the longest was 57 days - in for a week to get some stitches out and a little rest then back out for 45 more days. Then the bastards caught on to me and made me go back to the Kaserne. Hey, I was Section Chief, I needed to keep up with both tower teams, right?
An AB-216/U Tower at Kist woods, D/26 Signal. That tower was 180' tall, notice all the radio vans covered in camo clustered at the base.
Our beer blasts were generally 2 or 3 day events, generally winding down when all the kegs were gone. By then our own indivdual parties were going pretty good and we had whiskey and hash so we'd party like hell up in our rooms and only go down to the company party when we started to get too fucked up and needed to mellow out by switching to beer for a while.
After dark the families would go home and the shit would start. Some drunk young Pfc would decide it was time to whip his Platoon Sergeants ass. The young Pfc was usually in for one hell of a thrill too, because hardcore NCOs don't get to be that way by being pussies. Then there were the bare knuckle fights - sporting, not malicious - where entire paychecks would pass hands. Baton battles were great fun too, but the morning after those really sucked.
We had an NCO that would lick his finger, grin and stick it in a light socket - 220 volts in europe, not 110. Another guy that swore he could kick the ceiling (fuck, he could barely stand up!) and then knock himself out when he fell on his head. Every time. I must've seen him try it a dozen times and knock himself cold every time. We'd just drag him to a corner of the room and Charlie Mike. Fucking guys falling out of 2 and 3 floor windows and getting up and walking away because they were to drunk to realize they were injured. Fire extinguisher fights - not spraying each other with them, using them as weapons trying to clock each other with them. Then of course there was the mandatory gassing of the Officers Club and occasionally the NCO club and a couple of times, the barracks themselves.
When we came in, we'd pitch our tents on the green next to the barracks for about a month to let them dry out real good. For about the first week after we came in, you'd see men sneaking into the barracks from the tents right about dawn. Motherfuckers couldn't go to sleep without the smell of oil soaked canvas and anybody that's ever been in a GP Medium knows what the fuck I'm talking about.
Our shower rooms were just that - a room about 20' x 10' with a drain in the floor and a shower head about every 2 feet on the wall. When we'd come in that room would be packed with fully dressed men washing the mud and crud out of their TA-50.
Later that night, though was paradise. About 2 or 3 in the morning when everybody was passed out, I'd go in and turn on every fucking shower in the room and stand in the middle and let the first hot water I'd seen in a week or two beat me to putty.
Me and Gregg (Motor Sergeant) got drunk one night and took all the shower heads off and threw them away so we'd have steady streams of hot water instead of sissy sprays. That pissed the First Sergeant off, so he had them replaced. We got fucked up and took them off again, this time leaving them in a pile in the Orderly Room, or so we're told. I personally have no recollection of it. Well, Top blew his fucking stack but couldn't figure out who did it so he took his shit out on the shower heads. He replaced them but this time epoxied the heads back on.
So we got fucked up again and went to the motor pool and got a couple of pipe cutters and took care of that shit real quick. Top had the entire company locked up in formation the next morning but nobody gave us up. Hell, we ALL enjoyed getting beat up by scalding hot water.
Top gave up.
Speaking of Top, I remember one time waking up one morning after a company party with Gregg staring at me, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer.
"What the fuck man, do I have another black eye or something?"
"Naw" he drawled "I just wanted one long last look at my best buddy."
Uh-oh. This can't be good.
"Shit, I can't remember anything past 6 last night. And maybe 8 and it seems like I was drinking with Top at some point." I was seriously trying to remember all the events of my conscience and coherent moments but that was a waste of time. I didn't have many moments like that which was the whole point of partying, right?
"You, you stupid motherfucker, ought to be shot." Gregg blows a smoke ring and smiles. He's obviously enjoying himself so I wait for it. By the way, ought to being shot is Greggs' standard punishment for everthing from dropping a cigarette butt in his motor pool to committing murder. Kind of a catch-all punishment, you know?
He continues "You were sitting there drinking with Top and you told him that he reminded you of an old dog you used to have. He wanted to know if it was because he kept trying to run with the pack but you couldn't leave well enough alone, you said no, it was because that fucking dog was so ugly you shaved it's ass and taught it to walk backwards because it was better looking that way. Said the dogs' name was Queenie and you kept calling him that."
"Nooooooo......." I said while at the same time little bits and pieces started coming back.
"Yeah, and Top got pissed off and told you to shut up and you kept whistling and snapping your fingers going 'Here Queenie. Come on, Queenie. Quit licking your ass, Queenie.' It was fucking great, man. Can I have your Triumph?"
Shit. I was in some serious trouble. Oh well, what's done is done, face it like a man. So I got all fucked up again.
Monday morning finds me in front of Tops' office door, fucking boots are shined, creases are straight, hair's greased back. I ain't even waiting for him to call me. I'm going to go in and take my medicine like a man.
I rap 3 times, get permission to enter and find Top with his boots off drinking a glass of tomato juice, heavily hung over. Hmmm, looks like I'm not the only one that went on a weekend drunk.
"What the fuck do you want so godamned early in the morning, Lane?"
"I'm here about what happened Friday night First Sergeant, and....."
"What did I do now?" he says "I was got so fucking drunk I can't even remember getting home."
"You know, when..... " and then my fucking brain wakes up "you know what Top, you are right. You did have a load on. Shit happens, I'm willing to forgive and forget if you are."
"Yeah, whatever. Thanks. Don't shut the door too loud when you leave. That's a hint. Go away."
Okay, that's enough about my army memories. Didn't mean to bore ya.
"If I had a son" says Obama...
He's probably be just like Trayvon and me.
A product of media myth-making ...
a felon ...
with sealed school records ...
messed up parents ...
dope smoker ...
enjoying perpetual dispensations for his actions ...
a victim of dem evil evil whitefolk ...
given cover by PC-BS white guilt metro soyboyz and girls in the media supported by a monolithic, devolved black cohort.
- Murray
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Google Earth and the A Shau Valley
I love to read. I don't read everything I can get my hands on, for example science fiction - I need some basis of reality. One of my favorite subjects is the Vietnam war - I read almost anything I run across about that particular conflict. Why not? I went in shortly after it ended so I understand the weapons and tactics, and I've heard war stories all my life from Pops and his friends as well as from friends of my own after I went in.
Anyways, in every fucking book I've read, there's been an air strike and arc lights (carpet bombing by B-52s) are described as leaving a swath of destruction "2 miles long and 6 city blocks wide". That's a lot fucking damage and disruption, man.
Now I'm also a big fan of Google Earth and it's not unusual to see me reading a book and using my laptop at the same time so I can get a fairly detailed birds' eye view of the area concerned.
I've got stickpins all over Vietnam marking different battles, locations of Fire Support Bases, cities, all kinds of interesting-to-me shit.
Sometimes it's kind of difficult to find a specific site though. GIs didn't always use the correct spelling of a town in their books or it's been obliterated or it's a region known by it's nickname (Iron Triangle or Ho Bo Woods for example) and when that happens I generally rely on clues from several sources.
Take the A Shau valley, for instance. Hamburger Hill was a pretty famous battle fought just north of it, but try and find that valley on Google Earth if you don't have any idea where it's located. I found it using descriptions from several different books written by Forward Air Controllers and SF and Ranger recon members.
Okay, hang on. I'm fixin' to tie air strikes and arc lights and Google Earth and the A Shau valley all together in a nice package and then show you some pictures.
Okay. So I kept hearing about all this air damage to Vietnam so I go to GE and find some rural areas that I know were hot hot hot areas and I zoom in looking for evidence of bomb craters. Nothing. I go to Hanoi and I look all around bridges and railroad marshalling yards, all prime targets. Again, nothing. Okay, I'm not real fucking stupid - I know that urban damage was rebuilt and rural bomb craters were grown over but damn, with all the iron we dropped over the years you'd think I'd be able to find at least one fucking hole in the ground. Shit, when I was a kid in Germany we used to play army in real shell holes and bomb craters in the woods. If a developed country like Germany still has 'em, how come I can't find any in shithole Vietnam?
Wait a minute. The A Shau was remote and got the shit bombed out of it over and over.
The A Shau. Stronghold of the Enemy. It was a rare recon team that stayed undetected for it's entire mission. With a valley floor that was said to be flat and almost manicured to steep hillsides surrounding it, said to be the home of dragons.
Spooky shit, man.
So I go to the A Shau and started zooming in. Bomb craters? Holy fucking shit. Keep in mind that the majority of those craters could swallow your house. And this is just a small piece of the valley floor.
Four pictures, altitudes are displayed in the lower right.
Anyways, in every fucking book I've read, there's been an air strike and arc lights (carpet bombing by B-52s) are described as leaving a swath of destruction "2 miles long and 6 city blocks wide". That's a lot fucking damage and disruption, man.
Now I'm also a big fan of Google Earth and it's not unusual to see me reading a book and using my laptop at the same time so I can get a fairly detailed birds' eye view of the area concerned.
I've got stickpins all over Vietnam marking different battles, locations of Fire Support Bases, cities, all kinds of interesting-to-me shit.
Sometimes it's kind of difficult to find a specific site though. GIs didn't always use the correct spelling of a town in their books or it's been obliterated or it's a region known by it's nickname (Iron Triangle or Ho Bo Woods for example) and when that happens I generally rely on clues from several sources.
Take the A Shau valley, for instance. Hamburger Hill was a pretty famous battle fought just north of it, but try and find that valley on Google Earth if you don't have any idea where it's located. I found it using descriptions from several different books written by Forward Air Controllers and SF and Ranger recon members.
Okay, hang on. I'm fixin' to tie air strikes and arc lights and Google Earth and the A Shau valley all together in a nice package and then show you some pictures.
Okay. So I kept hearing about all this air damage to Vietnam so I go to GE and find some rural areas that I know were hot hot hot areas and I zoom in looking for evidence of bomb craters. Nothing. I go to Hanoi and I look all around bridges and railroad marshalling yards, all prime targets. Again, nothing. Okay, I'm not real fucking stupid - I know that urban damage was rebuilt and rural bomb craters were grown over but damn, with all the iron we dropped over the years you'd think I'd be able to find at least one fucking hole in the ground. Shit, when I was a kid in Germany we used to play army in real shell holes and bomb craters in the woods. If a developed country like Germany still has 'em, how come I can't find any in shithole Vietnam?
Wait a minute. The A Shau was remote and got the shit bombed out of it over and over.
The A Shau. Stronghold of the Enemy. It was a rare recon team that stayed undetected for it's entire mission. With a valley floor that was said to be flat and almost manicured to steep hillsides surrounding it, said to be the home of dragons.
Spooky shit, man.
So I go to the A Shau and started zooming in. Bomb craters? Holy fucking shit. Keep in mind that the majority of those craters could swallow your house. And this is just a small piece of the valley floor.
Four pictures, altitudes are displayed in the lower right.
Fuck you again, Holder.
DETROIT — A federal judge on Tuesday gutted the government’s case against seven members of a Michigan militia, dismissing the most serious charges in an extraordinary defeat for federal authorities who insisted they had captured homegrown rural extremists poised for war.
U.S. District Judge Victoria Roberts said the members’ expressed hatred of law enforcement didn’t amount to a conspiracy to rebel against the government. The FBI had secretly planted an informant and an FBI agent inside the Hutaree militia starting in 2008 to collect hours of anti-government audio and video that became the cornerstone of the case.
“The court is aware that protected speech and mere words can be sufficient to show a conspiracy. In this case, however, they do not rise to that level,” the judge said on the second anniversary of raids and arrests that broke up the group.
Roberts granted requests for acquittal on the most serious charges: conspiring to commit sedition, or rebellion, against the U.S. and conspiring to use weapons of mass destruction. Other weapons crimes tied to the alleged conspiracies also were dismissed.
“The judge had a lot of guts,” defense attorney William Swor said. “It would have been very easy to say, ‘The heck with it,’ and hand it off to the jury. But the fact is she looked at the evidence, and she looked at it very carefully.”
The trial, which began Feb. 13, will resume Thursday with only a few gun charges remaining against militia leader David Stone and son Joshua Stone, both from Lenawee County, Mich. They have been in custody without bond for two years.
Prosecutors said Hutaree members were anti-government rebels who combined training and strategy sessions to prepare for a violent strike against federal law enforcement, triggered first by the slaying of a police officer.
But there never was an attack. Defense lawyers said highly offensive remarks about police and the government were wrongly turned into a high-profile criminal case that drew public praise from U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder, who in 2010 called Hutaree a “dangerous organization.”
David Stone’s “statements and exercises do not evince a concrete agreement to forcibly resist the authority of the United States government,” Roberts said Tuesday. “His diatribes evince nothing more than his own hatred for — perhaps even desire to fight or kill — law enforcement; this is not the same as seditious conspiracy.”
U.S. Attorney Barbara McQuade declined to comment. Two years ago, when militia members were arrested, she said it was time to “take them down.”
The FBI had put a local informant, Dan Murray, inside the militia in 2008 and paid him $31,000. An FBI agent from New Jersey also was embedded. Steve Haug, known as “Jersey Steve,” posed as a trucker and spent months secretly recording talks with Stone. He even served as Stone’s best man at his wedding, a celebration with militia members wearing military fatigues.
Haug repeatedly talked to Stone about building pipe bombs and getting other sophisticated explosives. The FBI rented a warehouse in Ann Arbor where the agent would invite him and others to store and discuss weapons.
Haug told jurors he was “shocked” by Stone’s knowledge of explosives, noting it matched some of his own instruction as a federal agent.
Stone was recorded saying he was willing to kill police and even their families. He considered them part of a “brotherhood” — a sinister global authority that included federal law enforcers and United Nations troops.
He had bizarre beliefs: Stone suspected Germany and Singapore had aircraft stationed in Texas, and thousands of Canadian troops were poised to take over Michigan. He said the government put computer chips in a flu vaccine.
He had a speech prepared for a regional militia gathering in Kentucky in 2010, but bad weather forced him and others to return to Michigan. Instead, he read it in the van while a secret camera installed by the FBI captured the remarks.
“It is time to strike and take our nation back so that we may be free again from tyranny,” Stone said. “Time is up, God bless all of you and welcome to the new revolution.”
Swor said Stone is a Christian who was bracing for war against the Antichrist.
“This is not the United States government. This is Satan’s army,” Swor told the judge Monday, referring to the enemy.
Militia members cleared of all charges were Stone’s wife, Tina Stone, and his son, David Stone Jr.; Thomas Piatek of Whiting, Ind.; Michael Meeks of Manchester, Mich.; and Kris Sickles of Sandusky, Ohio.
“It’s hard to believe it’s over,” said Tina Stone, crying as she spoke by phone. “Thank God we live in a country where we do have freedom of speech.”
Joshua Clough of Blissfield, Mich., pleaded guilty to a weapons charge in December and awaits his sentence. Jacob Ward of Huron, Ohio, will have a separate trial.
SOURCE
U.S. District Judge Victoria Roberts said the members’ expressed hatred of law enforcement didn’t amount to a conspiracy to rebel against the government. The FBI had secretly planted an informant and an FBI agent inside the Hutaree militia starting in 2008 to collect hours of anti-government audio and video that became the cornerstone of the case.
“The court is aware that protected speech and mere words can be sufficient to show a conspiracy. In this case, however, they do not rise to that level,” the judge said on the second anniversary of raids and arrests that broke up the group.
Roberts granted requests for acquittal on the most serious charges: conspiring to commit sedition, or rebellion, against the U.S. and conspiring to use weapons of mass destruction. Other weapons crimes tied to the alleged conspiracies also were dismissed.
“The judge had a lot of guts,” defense attorney William Swor said. “It would have been very easy to say, ‘The heck with it,’ and hand it off to the jury. But the fact is she looked at the evidence, and she looked at it very carefully.”
The trial, which began Feb. 13, will resume Thursday with only a few gun charges remaining against militia leader David Stone and son Joshua Stone, both from Lenawee County, Mich. They have been in custody without bond for two years.
Prosecutors said Hutaree members were anti-government rebels who combined training and strategy sessions to prepare for a violent strike against federal law enforcement, triggered first by the slaying of a police officer.
But there never was an attack. Defense lawyers said highly offensive remarks about police and the government were wrongly turned into a high-profile criminal case that drew public praise from U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder, who in 2010 called Hutaree a “dangerous organization.”
David Stone’s “statements and exercises do not evince a concrete agreement to forcibly resist the authority of the United States government,” Roberts said Tuesday. “His diatribes evince nothing more than his own hatred for — perhaps even desire to fight or kill — law enforcement; this is not the same as seditious conspiracy.”
U.S. Attorney Barbara McQuade declined to comment. Two years ago, when militia members were arrested, she said it was time to “take them down.”
The FBI had put a local informant, Dan Murray, inside the militia in 2008 and paid him $31,000. An FBI agent from New Jersey also was embedded. Steve Haug, known as “Jersey Steve,” posed as a trucker and spent months secretly recording talks with Stone. He even served as Stone’s best man at his wedding, a celebration with militia members wearing military fatigues.
Haug repeatedly talked to Stone about building pipe bombs and getting other sophisticated explosives. The FBI rented a warehouse in Ann Arbor where the agent would invite him and others to store and discuss weapons.
Haug told jurors he was “shocked” by Stone’s knowledge of explosives, noting it matched some of his own instruction as a federal agent.
Stone was recorded saying he was willing to kill police and even their families. He considered them part of a “brotherhood” — a sinister global authority that included federal law enforcers and United Nations troops.
He had bizarre beliefs: Stone suspected Germany and Singapore had aircraft stationed in Texas, and thousands of Canadian troops were poised to take over Michigan. He said the government put computer chips in a flu vaccine.
He had a speech prepared for a regional militia gathering in Kentucky in 2010, but bad weather forced him and others to return to Michigan. Instead, he read it in the van while a secret camera installed by the FBI captured the remarks.
“It is time to strike and take our nation back so that we may be free again from tyranny,” Stone said. “Time is up, God bless all of you and welcome to the new revolution.”
Swor said Stone is a Christian who was bracing for war against the Antichrist.
“This is not the United States government. This is Satan’s army,” Swor told the judge Monday, referring to the enemy.
Militia members cleared of all charges were Stone’s wife, Tina Stone, and his son, David Stone Jr.; Thomas Piatek of Whiting, Ind.; Michael Meeks of Manchester, Mich.; and Kris Sickles of Sandusky, Ohio.
“It’s hard to believe it’s over,” said Tina Stone, crying as she spoke by phone. “Thank God we live in a country where we do have freedom of speech.”
Joshua Clough of Blissfield, Mich., pleaded guilty to a weapons charge in December and awaits his sentence. Jacob Ward of Huron, Ohio, will have a separate trial.
SOURCE
Monday, March 26, 2012
But I thought he was an angel? I mean before last month.
SANFORD — Miami Gardens teenager Trayvon Martin was suspended from school in October in an incident in which he was found in possession of women’s jewelry and a screwdriver that a schools security staffer described as a “burglary tool,” The Miami Herald has learned.
Trayvon, who claimed that an unnamed friend had given him the jewelry, was not disciplined because of the discovery, but was instead suspended for graffiti, according to a Miami-Dade Schools Police report obtained by The Miami Herald.
A lawyer for the dead teen’s family acknowledged Trayvon had been suspended for graffiti, but said the family knew nothing about the jewelry and the screwdriver, calling the information in the report an attempt to “demonize” the youth.
According to the report, on Oct. 21 staffers monitoring a security camera at Dr. Michael M. Krop Senior High School spotted Trayvon and two other students writing “W.T.F.,” an acronym for “What the f—,” on a hallway locker, according to schools police. The security employee, who knew Trayvon, confronted the teen and looked through his bag for the graffiti marker.
Trayvon’s backpack contained 12 pieces of jewelry, in addition to a watch and a large flathead screwdriver, according to the report, which described the screwdriver as a burglary tool.
Trayvon was asked if the jewelry, which was mostly women’s rings and earrings, belonged to his family or a girlfriend.
“Martin replied it’s not mine. A friend gave it to me,” according to the report. Trayvon declined to name the friend.
School police impounded the jewelry and sent photos of the items to detectives at Miami-Dade police for further investigation.
“Martin was suspended, warned and dismissed for the graffiti,” according to the report prepared by Miami-Dade Schools Police.
That suspension was followed four months later by another one, in February, in which Trayvon was caught with an empty plastic bag with traces of marijuana in it, the boy’s family’s attorney has confirmed. A schools police report obtained by The Miami Herald specifies two items: a bag with marijuana residue and a “marijuana pipe.”
www.weaselzippers.us
Trayvon, who claimed that an unnamed friend had given him the jewelry, was not disciplined because of the discovery, but was instead suspended for graffiti, according to a Miami-Dade Schools Police report obtained by The Miami Herald.
A lawyer for the dead teen’s family acknowledged Trayvon had been suspended for graffiti, but said the family knew nothing about the jewelry and the screwdriver, calling the information in the report an attempt to “demonize” the youth.
According to the report, on Oct. 21 staffers monitoring a security camera at Dr. Michael M. Krop Senior High School spotted Trayvon and two other students writing “W.T.F.,” an acronym for “What the f—,” on a hallway locker, according to schools police. The security employee, who knew Trayvon, confronted the teen and looked through his bag for the graffiti marker.
Trayvon’s backpack contained 12 pieces of jewelry, in addition to a watch and a large flathead screwdriver, according to the report, which described the screwdriver as a burglary tool.
Trayvon was asked if the jewelry, which was mostly women’s rings and earrings, belonged to his family or a girlfriend.
“Martin replied it’s not mine. A friend gave it to me,” according to the report. Trayvon declined to name the friend.
School police impounded the jewelry and sent photos of the items to detectives at Miami-Dade police for further investigation.
“Martin was suspended, warned and dismissed for the graffiti,” according to the report prepared by Miami-Dade Schools Police.
That suspension was followed four months later by another one, in February, in which Trayvon was caught with an empty plastic bag with traces of marijuana in it, the boy’s family’s attorney has confirmed. A schools police report obtained by The Miami Herald specifies two items: a bag with marijuana residue and a “marijuana pipe.”
www.weaselzippers.us
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)