Walter Zoomie's World

Move It Over A Knuckle...Or Something...

2012-01-27T17:12:00.000-05:00

I'll get me coat...

I Am Sorry...

2012-01-26T13:41:00.000-05:00

...wait a minute.

No I'm not.

Never mind.

Strangers In The Night: An Epic Zoomie Meltdown

2012-01-23T13:25:00.000-05:00

I've had several nosy visitors thelast few years.

It all started at just about thetime I went public with the dreaded Blood-Soaked Dog Massacre Incident…one of my pivotpoints.

Since that time, the governmentcomes-a-callin' here two or three times a month...just to check up on little ol'me...a dumb-ass, harmless, know-nothing, no-readership blogger who apparentlyposts some key words here and there.

Well…looky here, ass-bags.

You got nothing better to do thanspy on a blog that says mean and hurtful things about you and your treasonousgoings on?

…a miserable little blogcontaining stories bragging about my teenaged children and their achievements?

…a trivial intardnets presencedetailing the trials and tribulations of a worn-out and exasperated truckdriver?

Come on and get you some if youfeel froggy.

Assholes.

Take your NDAA and shove it.

Sideways.

Without lubricant.

I love my country, but I hate mygovernment and all you fuck-stains for what you have done to it.

My hate is a seething white-hothate.

…a hate so hot it vaporizes theblood.

…and I ain’t the only one.

Trust me.

You call me a domesticatedterrorist because I own guns.

Well…I DID own guns until Ilost them all in a heinous water skiing accident…but that’s another story foranother time.

Now I am cowering and defenseless.

You call me a domesticated terrorist because I support Ron Paul.

Well...the Republican nominee debates are a fucking joke.

Except for Paul, the rest of these assholes don't take this shit seriously, and they act like it is a late night talk show.

Whoever has the sharpest tongue, whoever delivers the cleverest putdown, whoever has the nicest haircut and most fashionable clothes wins.

Ron Paul is mostly ignored, laughed at, or called dangerously nuts for being Constitutionally-grounded, non-interventionist, financially sound, and pro-life.

Paul was booed for advocating the Golden Rule, for God's sake!

Now I ask...who is it that is REALLY dangerous and insane?

You call me a domesticatedterrorist because I am a veteran.

Well…I took AND observed myoath. I served honorably and without(much) complaint in one of your glorious wars for oil. It was another one of my pivot points, and Ihave learned much since then.

You call me a domesticatedterrorist because I fly a Gadsden flag.

Well…I am justifiably pissed offat you. It’s my way of being peacefullydefiant. What do you expect? What would you rather me do? Something senselessly violent? That’s exactly what you want me to do so youcan finish putting the hammer down for everyone’s safety.

I’ve said it before.

I am a man of peace.

I wish to live freely and be leftalone, but I won’t stand idly by while me and mine are being vigorouslyass-raped.

That’s it.

Don't start nuthin,' won't be nuthin.'

It is not difficult to understand.

You are creating and exacerbatingthe problem.

Unintended consequences, Ibelieve it is called…

Blow-back.

Keep nudging, motherfuckers.

Keep poking your bony finger intoour chests.

Keep demanding we respect yourauthority.

Keep telling us that your agentsjust want to go home at the end of their shift.

Keep demanding we make yourenforcers feel “comfortable.”

Keep demanding that we help make theirjobs “easier.”

Keep telling us that they are just doing their job...that it is difficult andfrightening and stressful sometimes…and that is why they beat and kill withregularity.

Keep telling us that we are notdoing enough to assuage your enforcers’ fears.

Go on.

Keep that shit up.

I despise a bully, and I ain’tafraid to risk it by popping a bully in the mouth.

…and I ain’t the only one.

Trust me

There is a whole fucking mess ofus out here who are fucking fed up with your bullshit.

Normally law-abiding, hard-workingmotherfuckers are cherry picking which of your multitude of edicts we feellike following…and basing these decisions on some silly crap like…oh…Idunno…the fucking CONSTITUTION and the BILL OF RIGHTS!

Try it.

Slicker Than Whale Snot Out There Today!

2012-01-19T15:05:00.001-05:00

A slight dusting of snow, and every stupid bastard on the planet runs outta talent.

The snow was just starting to stick on the road surface.

My drive tires were losing traction intermittently, and I could feel the empty trailer getting ignorant, so I backed out of the throttle.

I don't have a CB installed, so I had no idea there was a problem ahead as I listened, blissfully ignorant, to my treasonous right-wing Sirius talk radio.

I damn near wiped out avoiding Billy Bigrigger who slammed on his brakes in front of me, but I let loose a string of glorious profanity, gathered her up, got her stopped, and sat on my ass motionless for an hour on the interstate.

I love my job!

Every day is like The Rapture!

Or something...

This is what the crash scene looked like when I finally got rolling again.

A van, an SUV, a "big truck," and a pickup pulling a U-Haul trailer got together on the bridge.

The U-Haul trailer was destroyed, and its contents strewn all over the interstate.

No serious injuries from what I could tell.

Better them than me.

Dumb-asses.

I gotta install that CB.

...and hold the camera horizontally next time!

You never know when I might need to film a VIPER Squad or some other government thugs.

That's what I think.

Tim Tebow

2012-01-15T12:40:00.000-05:00

In case you don’t know, I am a Believer.

…an incredibly flawed Believer, but a Believer nonetheless,and I don’t give two shits who knows.

Some of you might be saying, “But…but…but…Zoomie! You cuss and say ‘god-dammit’ all thetime. You have pervy thoughts. You pick your nose. You shoot innocent fuzzy puppies. From time to time you drink alarming quantities of alcohol. You rarely go to church. You are a hypocrite!”

Guilty as charged.

That said…I think Tim Tebow is pretty cool.

The best thing about him is how the godless heathen liberalprogressive communists get their skivvies in a bind about him because he wearshis faith on his sleeve.

Every time he thanks his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ forwhatever, you can just hear the groans, eye rolls, and under-thingies gettingbunched and knotted in an uncomfortable manner.

I love that shit, and I think Tebow does too.

He knows that when he goes full-bore nitrous-injected Jesus on a fool, it’s as if he’s pissing on a Taliban corpse in front of a hi-defcamera which beams directly to the 108” big screen TV in the standing-room-onlyrecreation center in downtown Mecca.

Sorta.

He is saying, "Fuck all y'all."

He wouldn't say such things, but I would, so I'll do it for him.

I like to help a brother out when I can.

In a time when the NFL is mostly populated by thugs, shit-heads,and juicers, I find Tebow extremely refreshing.

Yes. He and his team got their asskicked by the evil and despicable Patriots last night.

Shit happens…

But I doubt very much that we’ll be hearing Christ In Cleatscomplaining about it or placing blame.

One thing bothers me about Tebow, though.

I think he really needs to reconsider playing like a runningback.

Forget the college bullshit and the option play.

He’s in the NFL now, and, for the most part, the NFL islegally sanctioned, exquisitely violent physical assault.

He’s a big boy, but he’s gonna get his fucking head torn offif he keeps running the ball himself.

Pass it or hand that fucker off.

I’d like to watch him play for many years to come.

Yours in Christ,

Zoomie

Three Cats In The Cradle...And The Swimming Pool

2012-01-15T09:15:00.000-05:00

With my fucked-up work schedule, I get to see my three kids forabout five minutes on any given week.

When I’m sleeping or at work, they are at school.

When they go to bed, I’m just getting up for work.

I’m lucky to bump into them in the hallway and get a “what’sup?” from them during the week.

It sucks, but what’s a guy to do? Go on the government tit so I can stay home?

The purple-tongued stutterer would like that, but I don’tfucking think so…

Even with all this bad timing, I still manage to stay involvedin my kids' lives.

I was lucky enough during the recent holiday season to beable to attend one of their swim meets.

All three of them are on their high school’s varsity team.

All three of them are multiple varsity letter winners.

All three of them are head and shoulders above where theirold man was at their age.

When I was their age, I was on my high school’s swim teamalso.

I never earned a varsity letter.

Shit. Another fucking reservist!

I was pathetically slow and uncompetitive during my glorious2-½ years of participation in the sport because I basically didn’t give a fuckabout anything except drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and being a generalshit-bag.

I was eventually kicked off the swim team for showing up ata school function one evening with beer on my breath and purposely emphasizingthat fact by conversing with one of my assistant coaches.

My late father, a guy who always had my back regardless ofthe circumstances, confronted the assistant coach at the school the next day.

The incident turned loud and physical, but my status as aformer member of the team was not to change.

My old man was a hard-ass…and I will always love him…but asI think back on it now, maybe he should have paid a little more attention tothe shit I was getting into.

I’m not blaming him, but maybe he shouldn’t have given me somuch freedom to fail on my own and learn from my mistakes.

I guess maybe I was the type of kid who needed a little moreone-on-one personal guidance.

Anyhoo…I believe parenting is a learn-as-you-go typething. Take from your parents what youthink works, leave the rest behind, and add your personal touch to the process.

Whatever…

It’s all water under the bridge now.

My kids laugh at me when I tell them stories of my youthfulindiscretion, and they probably sometimes think I’m a fuck-up…but then I remindthem that they can’t kick my ass, and things turn back to normal.

They know all about my high school days, and I’ve made it apoint to make sure they don’t do the same stupid shit I did.

Mission accomplished, I think.

Some of you might be saying, "Zoomie...you are projecting your failed miserable life onto your kids and you forced them to swim because you sucked so bad and you are living a dream-like state through your poor abused children! You are a Nazi. I am going to inform the authorities!"

First of all, I would say "go fuck yourself," then I would tell you to mind your own fucking business and go ahead and send your government goons. I'll be waiting patiently.

Then I would tell you that these kids were encouraged to participate in extra-curricular activities...and not forced...but that they would finish what they started, put forth maximum effort, and not quit.

They are all anchors for their team…consistently finishingat or near the top in their events, and setting, or nearly setting, schoolrecords in the process.

Watching them perform is amazing.

They are powerful, dedicated, motivated athletes.

They keep their bodies and minds clean and strong.

I couldn’t be more proud of them.

###

All action photos by Mr. Cross courtesy highschoolsports.net.

Used without permission.

Sue me.

Fuck Obama.

Just What I Need…One More Thing To Piss Me Off !

2012-01-03T11:29:00.000-05:00

Most of you who have been paying attention know that I drivea tractor-trailer for a living.

I will not tell you the company…nor will I tell you exactly where Iply my trade…because I know some of you out there are donut-assaulting government spies orsnitches and that you would use that information against me because you think Iam a domesticated terrorist and then you would help set up an unconstitutional VIPER Team so that I would step off my porch and act warlike and get shot multipletimes by jack booted thugs who would giggle maniacally as they did it.

Anyhoo…I received this little note in my paycheck last weekregarding a new Federal law, commercial drivers, and the use of cell phones.

I don’t know why this shit bothers me, but it does.

Maybe it’s because I’m old and curmudgeonly and sensitive and I don’t likegovernment assholes telling me what to do.

Maybe it’s because I hate talking on a fucking cell phoneany damn way, and I avoid it at all costs.

Maybe it’s because…although I’m just a dumb-ass truck driverwho makes more money than I ever dreamed and has earned the respect andadmiration of the general public because I am like a chivalrous knight on thehighways…I take pride in my work and I take it very seriously and I don’t needanother fucking law to tell me what is and is not a good idea to do behind thewheel of a big rig.

I’ve been doing this shit for twenty years.

I don’t claim to know everything about my job, and I’malways willing to listen and learn new things.

But…why do I need another new law when there are already amultitude of laws regarding distracted driving?

If I were a mordant skeptic, I would almost think that thiswas Big Brother getting in my ass once again.

Or that maybe Big Brother cut a sweetheart deal with theexpansive and evil BlueToof technology lobby.

Or that maybe it was another way for Government to fleeceAmerican trucking companies and their drivers through fines.

Or that maybe our Government hates American truck driversand the American trucking industry, and that this is another way to regulatethem into oblivion in order to make it easier for foreign companies and driversto slide in and take over at slave wage rates.

But, to think like that would be crazy conspiracy theoryshit, wouldn’t it?

All I know is that I had to buy a $60 plastic pygmy dick tojam in my ear so that when my boss calls and wants to know where the fuck I amI can be a good little serf and be compliant.

Maybe my company will reimburse me for being required byFederal law to purchase an anodized electronic cockroach to stuff in my head.

Maybe I will simply toss my cell phone and BlueToof deviceout the fucking window at 65 mph in some Midwestern state at 2 am whilereciting blood-stirring Patrick Henry quotes to myself.

Or maybe not…

Wolverines.

Fuck Obama.

Flashback Twenty-One Years...

2012-01-01T08:48:00.000-05:00

Here I am after single-handedly capturing an abandoned Iraqi armored vehicle. No magazine was inserted in that AK47 because I was a reservist, and reservists can't be trusted with mags inserted. Any dumb-ass knows that.

Twenty-one years ago today, I set foot on foreign soil...Saudi Arabia.

What a fucking shit-hole that place is...

My mission...and I had no choice about accepting it or not...was to "maintain the free flow of oil at market prices."

(And to maintain the free flow of communications so the captain could call his old lady back in the States whenever he wanted some fun sexy phone time...)

How fucking cool is that?

I got to go to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia...a fucking KINGDOM...to support, protect, and defend my country and its Constitution from its various sundry evil enemies...because the Saudis and Kuwaitis either wouldn't, or couldn't, or didn't feel like it 'cuz they were too busy blasting through the desert in their fucking air-conditioned Bentleys to be bothered.

Such an honor...to be sent to a place in order to make sure the oil companies and the bankers and the arms manufacturers get theirs.

SALUTE! Motherfuckers.

We have learned so much in the last twenty years.

I can't wait until MY kids get to do the same shit.

Yeah. Right.

Over my dead fucking body.

Some of you might be saying, "But...but...but...Zoomie! You were so gung-ho about it all back in 1991!"

I was a young and ignorant dumb-ass back then.

I am old and wise and curmudgeonly now.

Fuckin' A Skippy Trieger...

One or two of you motherfuckers will get that last line.

Happy 2012!

Goodnight Bill Of Rights

2011-12-31T23:14:00.000-05:00

Well.

Looky here.

The purpled-tongued stutterer Obama signed this bullshit NDAA into law today.

Awesome.

He had "serious reservations," though...so it's cool.

Treasonous bastard...

Happy fucking New Year.

Stock up and hold on to your false teeth, ladies.

2012 could get rough.

It's 30 minutes to midnight, and I feel like a door has been closed.

I worked all day, and the kids are off at a party somewhere, so it's just me and my wife to ring in the New Year by ourselves for the first time in almost 20 years.

I can't help but think about what kind of future my children are facing.

I am not optimistic, but I'll be damned if I blame myself.

R-R-R-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-G-H-T !

2011-12-26T08:43:00.000-05:00

U.S. District Court Rules Iran Behind 9/11 Attacks

How convenient...

Just in time to spool up the war machine once again...

I mean...with Iraq and Afghanistan winding down, the arms manufacturers need to sell more weapons.

Right?

Iran is as good a place as any to open up a new market, I guess.

Right?

This American government is beyond corrupt and immoral.

Right?

A solid year of campaigning ahead, and then this little party with Iran will kick off right after the purple-tongued stutterer declares himself the popularly elected victor.

Maybe.

This shit sickatates me.

I'll be God-damned if I'll send my sons or daughter over there to get their asses shot off or blown up.

Smedley Butler was r-r-r-r-i-i-i-i-g-h-t.

Sometimes, Folks Need Killin'...Even On Christmas!

2011-12-24T11:52:00.000-05:00

On December 25, 1776, Washington and his troops crossed the Delaware River to kill up a shitload of Hessian mercenaries.

Nothing says Merry Christmas like sneaking up and slitting the throats of and/or capturing 900 hungover krauts!

It's Yuletide stories like this that make me feel all warm and gooey inside, and bring visions of sugar plumbs, candy canes, and bayonets dancing in my noggin.

Or something...

Merry Christmas to all my intardnet buddies.

Keep your powder dry.

Satanic, demon-possessed gingerbread warrior, equipped with candy cane sword and cinnamon roll shield, prepares to open up a 55 gallon drum of whup-ass on Nazi storm troopers. Artwork done many years ago by my son Willie. It hangs on our Christmas tree!

Fuck A Bunch Of MOPAR

2011-12-18T18:40:00.002-05:00

Look who checked in! ^^^^^^

I kill me sometimes.

I did a complete front brake job on the wife's family truckster today…a 2001 Dodge Grand Caravan…in the driveway in near-freezing temperatures because I’m hard like that.

And a cheap bastard…

MOPARS suck. Did I tell you that recently?

Why do I have to replace front pads and rotors every two years?

Back in the day with non-computer-designed vehicles, brakes would last forever, and a guy could get rotors and drums turned or resurfaced, and that shit would last ten years.

I made three trips to the parts store to do this project because the parts-number-reading chick behind the counter gave me the wrong shit.

She said I gave her bum scoop as to the brake setup on the car.

Looky here, bitch. I’ve owned this sled for ten fucking years, and I can do a front brake job with my eyes closed, my pecker in one hand, and a beer in the other.

I know what I have, and I know what I told you.

Thanks for nothing.

Girls should not work in auto parts stores.

Girls should be at home wearing frilly clothing and making sammiches for their men.

That’s what I think.

Caravans=bad design.

Front heavy sons-a-bitches eat brakes like it's cool.

Front suspension components not up to the task either.

Light, stamped bullshit with cheesy rubber bushings and no grease zerks…designed and built by union commie heathen Canadians from Canadia.

I am so happy we bailed out Chrysler.

Fuck Obama. Thanks, WireCutter.

I figure I saved at least $200 by doing it myself...which means more money for ammo and the upcoming apocalypse.

My wife is happy, and that’s all that really matters.

###

As I worked on the van today, a Blackhawk helicopter buzzed over my house...probably to do a flyover for the Colts game...and check up on me.

I flipped him off.

Wolverines.

Wake The Fuck Up, America!

2011-12-15T14:04:00.001-05:00

Update:

Well...this bullshit passed the House, and that stuttering, Akita-tongued, treasonous, cocksucker Obama has indicated he will sign it!

What. The. Fuck?

I am filled with sadness and anger on this day...the 220th birthday of our Bill Of Rights.

Bury that motherfucker.

It is dead and putrefying.

This is a goddamned funeral.

Benedict Arnold has a boner

It is unbelievable to me that Republican Indiana Senators Lugar and Coates voted FOR this unconstitutional abomination, while my Representative...Democrat uber-Lib Andre Carson...voted AGAINST it.

I sent Andre Carson a note of thanks. I don't have a history of sending Mr. Carson pleasant missives.

The world is upside down, my friends.

Pardon me while I go vomit.

###

You think this shit can't happen again?

If it does, you can bet your ass they won't let you just stroll out of their camps and go back home...that is...if you even still HAVE a home to stroll back to when it's all over...that is...if it ever IS all over.

Maybe you'll get reparations.

Yeah. Right.

This bill, the National Defense Authorization Act, has already flown through our treasonous Senate and goes to the House next.

It must not pass!

It pretty much puts the USA in a state of perpetual war and makes the USA a battlefield, and allows for all kinds of unsavory un-Constitutional shit to go down with our military gettin' all war-like in places it's not supposed to get all war-like.

All just so we can be safe from terrorists an' shits...

Fuck that noise.

Kiss your rights of a speedy trial, a warrant, and probable cause goodbye.

The Constitution will "mean whatever they say it means."

Oh...and the new law will also make it cool for our guys and gals in uniform to blow goats. Isn't THAT special?

Assholes!

Don't tell me I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about because I'm just a dumb-ass truck driver either.

I have eyes that see and ears that hear, gawd-dammit. I know fucked up shit when it is presented to me.

I can sense that shit, so don't parse words with me and tell me I'm getting fucking hysterical.

Fuck you. I don't need a lawyer or a degree to know when I'm about to be vigorously ass-raped.

Y'all best be writin' some serious shit to your representatives.

In the meantime, I would stock up if I were you.

Merry Christmas.

I'm Sorta Famous...For My Potty Mouth!

2011-12-12T15:46:00.004-05:00

I told you people I was an intardnets legend.

Maybe next time you will believe me when I tell you something.

Or maybe not...

Here's the link from Lone Wolf Distributors.

I could probably get all kinds of free shit and hawt, scantily-clad gun show chicks from Lone Wolf now, but that's not how I roll.

Besides, my Glock is pretty much good to go at this point, and I don't think I need any more go-faster parts for it to tart it up.

It's not my style.

I am grey-man.

I keep a low profile.

Or something.

Combat Antenna Part 2

2011-12-01T23:45:00.002-05:00

About a year ago I posted some dark shit I was feeling in a screed I called Combat Antenna.

It may or may not be helpful for both of my fans to read it before you go any further.

The following will make sense to some, and not so much to others...and it sure as hell is going to furrow a brow or two with some of my dear family members.

Whatever.

I sometimes have a hard time expressing myself when I'm not being the silly class clown, but here it goes...

Many in the patriot/constitutional restoration/militia community (understandably) whine and cry about poor turnout at our events, and wonder why attendance is so sparse.

I suppose there are many reasons for light attendance.

In my own piss-poor way, I will put forth a reason or two I came up with…

Rightly or wrongly, the movement is portrayed as a bunch of angry old racist southern rednecks running around in the woods with guns.

I, for one, have no problem with “rednecks.”

Hell…I’m a born and bred Hoosier, so it would be hypocritical for me to hate on rednecks, as I pretty much consider myself one.

In fact…I have been called a redneck more than once in my life, and I never took it as an insult.

And guns? Well…I kinda LIKE guns!

Old and angry? Yeah…you got me there.

I suppose I am also a Yankee, but over the years I have found that I have more in common with southern folks than not.

What I’m saying is that I don’t consider angry old racist rednecks to be exclusive to the south.

Clear as mud? Probably not…

That said, I have absolutely no interest in standing shoulder-to-shoulder, risking my ass, breaking bread, or sharing brotherly/patriotic moments with a fucking racist.

If you hate blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Asians, or Indians just because they are blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Asians, or Indians, then I won’t help you, and I sure as fuck ain’t gonna risk my ass along side you.

You better find a better reason to hate a fool, or I won’t help you, and Lord knows we have plenty of solid reasons to hate on the government assholes that tread on our rights and subvert our Constitution like it is cool.

That’s enough hate to last a man a lifetime.

If you are a Kluxer, I won’t help you.

If you are a Nazi, I won’t help you.

If you are a Commie, I won’t help you.

If there is one thing I learned while briefly dabbling in all things Marine Corps-ish, it is that if you have a job to do and your ass is on the line, you don’t give a damn what color of skin the guy has in the hole next to you…or where he’s from.

All you know is that you both have skin in the game.

You both have something to lose if you don’t hold up your end of the bargain.

Kinda makes things nice, clean, neat…and “moral.”

If we don’t have moral…we ain’t got shit…and I, personally, won’t help.

We must have moral leaders also.

I won’t follow any leader who has the morals of an alley cat.

That’s the kinda shit that got us into this mess in the first place.

I ain't steppin' off no porch...and I ain't goin' to no green...and I ain't standin' shoulder-to-shoulder...with a fucking asshole.

So there.

And to all you government douche bags checking out this blog...

dErp

2011-11-19T20:11:00.004-05:00

derp:

A simple, undefined reply when an ignorant comment or action is made. Brought to life in the South Park series, when Mr. Derp made a guest apperance at South Park Elementary as the chef for a day, followed by hitting himself in the head with a hammer and exclaiming "Derp!"

After almost five long ghastly years, this site is under re-construction

Please excuse the mess.

While trying to freshen up the look of things around here, I fucked up royal.

Yes.

I am a big dumbass.

All the crap will remain while I work to fix things, but it will look like shit and probably be hard to read.

Fret not. I'll have it all back more better and brighter than ever.

It will be swell.

Maybe.

Benched

2011-11-06T07:08:00.006-05:00

You all know by now how I’m pretty much an old school kind of guy.

If it’s dusty, rusty, and in need of some tender loving care…I like it.

Cars, trucks, firearms, bikes (motorized or not), houses, buildings, bridges.

Today I will specifically discuss older vehicles, because something happened recently which brought the thought to mind.

I’ll get to THAT eventually.

Maybe.

Back in the day, it was relatively rare for a vehicle to have bucket seats unless you are talking about a Corvette or some kind of queer Eurofag car.

It was all bench seating, all the time.

I don’t think I ever owned a vehicle with bucket or split front seats until several years into my marriage, (and by then it didn’t matter anymore!)

All modern vehicles have split front seating now.

Shit…even heavy duty dump trucks and semi tractors are outfitted with lavish interiors that would make a 1960s homeowner jealous.

I believe there are a number of reasons for this.

I will enumerate those reasons for you now:

A- The typical American ass is enormous and requires king-sized LazyBoy type furniture to accommodate it.

B- The typical person now carries along so much shit with them to make it through the day that massive center consoles the size of home entertainment centers are required to store all the crap.

3- Daughters.

I have vague foggy fond memories of going on car dates back in the day.

If my date slid over next to me immediately after getting in the car, I knew the girl was cool and wanted to be with me. (I can recall a time or two when I actually wondered why the girl agreed to go out with me because of the way she behaved once we were on the date. I appreciate a little enthusiasm.)

Sliding over is not possible with bucket seats, or with huge refrigerators and workstations in the way.

It’s a damn shame.

Sorta.

Or not.

Flash forward to current times...

My daughter has a new boyfriend.

He is a fine young man

He seems pleasant and polite enough.

He has read my make-believe screed about dating my daughter.

I think he is relatively clear about things.

He picks my daughter up for a date yesterday.

He comes to the door properly.

They go to his vehicle…a beat up 90’s model Chevy short bed pickup (I approve) with a bench seat.

He does not open the door for her. (I do not approve)

He gets in. She gets it.

They pull away from the curb in front of the house, and before they clear the next-door neighbor’s property line, I see my daughter quickly slide over.

It was cute...

Fuck.

I should probably recommend a nice new modern Japanese coupe to the young man.

Mom and Dad always said I’d “get mine” some day when I had children.

I think I’ll go clean a rifle.

It's good for the soul.

Rupert Boneham, Libertarian Candidate For Indiana Governor?

2011-10-23T07:47:00.002-04:00

Rupert Boneham, Libertarian candidate for Indiana governor?

Come on. You’re kidding me, right?

I don’t watch much TV, and I’ve never watched Survivor, so I don’t give two shits about all of that.

My first thoughts were, “Dude looks like a bug-eyed, speed-freak refugee from a Grateful Dead road tour. This cannot be serious.”

Then, my disgruntled revolutionary self takes over and I think, “Hell…why not? He would be better than the douche-bag lawyer types from either party who don’t give a damn about anything except re-election and act like the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are items in their personal hygiene DOP kit.”

Besides all that, the weasel dick twerp we have in the Indiana governor's mansion now looks like a poseur ass on a Harley-Davidson.

I am all in.

Rupert Boneham, Libertarian candidate for Indiana governor!

Please get a haircut and a shave, however. Don’t cut all of it off. Just trim it back some. You look like a lunatic!

Dan Wheldon

2011-10-17T08:11:00.013-04:00

I ain't no racin' expert, and this is the only place I can say this without being crucified...

I watched it unfold live on television.

Only a handful of laps into the race, and there had already been a tire rubbing incident.

I thought, "Oh fuck. This is really outta hand."

Then they switched to Wheldon's in-car camera.

You can see a puff of smoke off in the distance, and I was thinking at that moment, "Back out of that shit now!"

Wheldon backed out of it a moment or two later, but it wasn't enough.

From the aerial shots, it looks like he damn near went balls to the wall into that mess.

You suppose he thought he could worm his way through that shit?

Was his reaction time too slow?

Am I an asshole?

Who knows?

Either way...it sucks.

Even though I have spent alarming and ridiculous amounts of time at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway over the years, I never had an up-close and personal interaction with Dan Wheldon at Indy during the month of May.

I tend to observe and take mental notes and pictures, and I don't act like an asshole and pester drivers for autographs and other bothersome favors.

Except for this one time a few years ago...

I had consumed inordinate amounts of beer that day, and I was strolling through the garage area with a couple of my racin' buddies.

This was immediately after Wheldon had his new teeth installed. His chompers were so new and gleamy white that their reflection would blind ground squirrels on a sunny day.

Soon...here comes Wheldon cruising through the garage area on a golf cart.

In a moment of somewhat youthful drunken exuberance I shouted out, "TOOOFUSSES!"

My buddies were guffawing themselves senseless.

Dan had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face as he drove by, and just shook his head in delighted feigned disgust.

That's how I will always remember Dan Wheldon.

A Father's Fictional Interview With A Daughter's Fictional Prospective Boyfriend

2011-10-16T11:18:00.005-04:00

First of all…I remember what it was like being a raging hormonal teenaged boy/ young man. Deep down we are/were a bunch of no-good rotten sons-a-bitches…

With that in mind, let us commence with the interrogation.

Why do you want to date my daughter?

What is it that attracts you to her?

If you are a smart lad you will not answer, “…her smokin’ body.”

You will answer something about her intellect, her sense of humor, her musical and athletic ability, her leadership skills, or her strong-willed and independent personality.

Those would all be excellent answers.

How do you think she got to be the person you so admire?

I’ll tell you how. It’s because her mother and I raised her that way.

That said…you had better show respect to her mother and I for how we raised our daughter, and you had better respect our daughter and treat her with the respect SHE deserves.

If you do not, you will not be seeing my daughter socially, and you and I will have a big problem.

You may be asking yourself, “Mr. Zoomie…exactly how should I show that respect?”

Be a man and a gentleman at all times.

You should be old enough to know what that means, especially if you were raised by a proper father. However…these days, I cannot assume this is the case…so I’ll try to help you.

You will speak to my daughter as you would your own mother. (I’ll assume you show your own mother respect and courtesy.)

Ghetto parlance, trash talk, insults, and put-downs are not acceptable.

Pretend I am standing within earshot when you speak to my daughter, and you should be good to go.

You and I both know there are a lot of punks, assholes, and predators out there. I’ll assume (for now) that you are not one of them, as otherwise my daughter wouldn’t have chosen you to date.

Do you know how to fight? Have you ever been punched in the face? Are you at least WILLING to fight?

You had better be willing to fight if you are going to go out in public with my daughter. It will be your job to protect her and defend her honor when I cannot.

A dramatic representation of what I'm talking about

If you must defend my daughter, I expect you to fight like a lion. I don’t expect you to be Bruce Lee, but I expect you to put in one hell of an effort. If you don’t believe you are willing and able to do this, then I can’t help you, and you can’t date my daughter.

I am willing to take a bullet for my daughter.

Are you?

You cannot possibly know what it is like to be a father, but I’ll ask you this.

Do you have a sister who you love? Would you want a young man like you going out with her? How would you want a young man to treat your sister?

A father feels the same way about his daughter, only a thousand times more.

There will be no drugs, booze, or weed while you date my daughter. I know what all three look like, taste like, and smell like. Back in my rowdy younger days, and unlike President Clinton, I inhaled.

These days, from what I am led to believe, much of your generation considers oral sex akin to a good night kiss…no big deal and commonly expected.

Guess again.

Oral sex IS sex, despite what President Clinton says, and there will be none of it either.

My daughter is precious to me. She is no one’s plaything or sex toy. If she is abused, I will return the abuse ten-fold to the abuser.

That is a promise, not a threat.

I am very sneaky, and although I am old, I know my way around computers and the Internet. If you ask any of my children, they will tell you that I have discovered many things they really didn’t want me to know about.

Because I am old, I am wise.

Because I am old, I also know many treacherous dirty tricks.

You should remember three things about me:

-I am fiercely protective of my family.

-I have a good-sized firearms collection.

-I practice.

I hope you and my daughter have an enjoyable date.

I expect her return no later than 11pm.

Rules For Dating This Marine’s Daughter (revised)

-original author unknown

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there are dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. On issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a SCUD missile coming in over a sand dune near Kuwait. When my Post Traumatic Stress starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Fuck A Bunch Of Che Guevara

2011-10-10T10:26:00.001-04:00

Because I am a realist and I don't like to waste valuable time learning shit that is pointless, (and I freely pass on my life philosophies to my offspring), I recommended to all of my children that they take Spanish language courses in high school.

A couple of summers ago, I accompanied my kids on a tour of their high school as they were going to be new incoming freshmen.

In their Spanish language classroom, I noticed a 8X10 painting of Che Guevara.

My kids had no idea who Che was, so I edumacated them a little on the subject.

Then, I emailed the instructor and asked her what the idea was behind displaying the painting of Che in an American classroom, and whether she was aware of the atrocities Che committed.

She replied that the painting was done by a student, that she was aware of the truth about Che, and that she uses the painting as a tool to teach her students the entire truth about him.

Somewhat satisfied with her answer, and pleased with myself for being an uppity parent, I dropped the matter and went on about my business.

Later on during that school year, I asked my children if the teacher ever waxed poetically or romantically about Che, (or ever mentioned their uppity dad), and my kids said she has never mentioned the commie bastard (or me).

Since that time, I've been monitoring the subjects of the written reports the Spanish teacher assigns my kids during the school year.

My findings include:

Hugo Chavez.

Fidel Castro.

What. The. Fuck?

Apparently, there are no other non-communist Spanish-speaking heroes about whom this teacher's students can write papers.

Interestingly, my own quick online search revealed dozens of names of Hispanic Americans who were awarded the Medal Of Honor.

I suppose these heroic Americans don't rate a report these days in American public schools.

Perhaps a face-to-face conference with this teacher is in order, but, at this time, I am not certain I would be able to conduct myself like a gentleman should.

I am not convinced this teacher is not a commie-loving hippie.

Maybe it's just me...

Dear Occupy _______ (fill in the location of your choice) Protestor:

2011-10-07T19:44:00.006-04:00

Dear Occupy _______ (fill in the location of your choice) Protestor:

You go on ahead and have your protest.

It is your right, as you well know, but I thought you should know something…

I am a man of peace.

I am legally armed.

I have a deep love for my fellow citizens.

I have a capacity for violence.

I enjoy life.

I intend to pursue happiness for as long as possible.

You should know something else about me.

Should you decide to go feral, as your European and Middle Eastern counterparts have recently gone…

Should you threaten me, my family, or my property…

I will fucking kill you.

It is my right.

I thought you should know.

Have a nice day.

Sincerely,

Concerned American

Ausgezeichnet!

Where Were You On 9/11?

2011-09-11T08:53:00.006-04:00

Where were you on 9/11?

Who gives a fuck, right?

Well, I’m gonna tell you where I was.

Give a fuck or not.

It was a beautiful cloudless early fall day…one of those fall days where the faint smell of autumn leaves is in the air…bringing thoughts of football games, warm sweaters, bonfires, whisky flasks, and shapely coeds.

But I digress…

At the time, I worked a four-day workweek (nights, as usual), and Tuesdays were my mid-week day off.

My wife and kids were off to school by the time I dragged my sorry ass out of the rack.

My plans for the day were not earth-shattering: Shit, shower, shave, do some yard work at my elderly mother and father’s home on the other side of town, and search for some small parts for my 1968 Chevrolet Chevelle I was in the extremely slow process of restoring.

I never turned on a radio or a TV while preparing for my day.

I hop into my Oldsmobile and immediately pop in a Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette. (I know…a cassette? Lynyrd Skynyrd? An Oldsmobile? Fuck! How old ARE you, grandpa?)

First thing I had to do was fuel my car, so on the way to my parent’s house, I stopped at a truck stop.

It was here that I first sensed that something was awry.

At the pumps, people looked more angry, shitty, and pissed off than usual…but I thought nothing of it at the time.

Inside at the busy cashier’s counter, I detected the same thing.

Nobody was talking.

You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Walking out to my car I thought, “Something is up. Something bad has happened. I better eject the Skynyrd tape and listen to the radio.”

No more “Mississippi Kid” for today…

Out on the interstate I hear some shit about planes hitting the World Trade Center buildings. One of the towers has already collapsed. The second tower is expected to fall at any moment.

What. The. Fuck? What kind of asshole flies airliners into skyscrapers? It is an attack. It is war. It is my Pearl Harbor moment.

As soon as I get to my parent’s house, I run in and loudly ask Mom if she’s got the TV on. She replies that she does not.

I tell her, “Turn it on! We’re under attack!”

As soon as her old Philco warms up, we are amazed by what we are seeing.

What. The. Fuck?

Mom doesn’t say such things, but I do.

My father strolled into the house, and I asked him what he thought. I told him I thought it was this generation’s “Pearl Harbor” moment.

I don’t remember Dad’s exact words, but it didn’t seem to me that he was all that shocked and emotional as I was.

“Yeah…that’s really sumpthin,’ isn’t it?”

Maybe it was because he had better things to worry about…like maybe the lung cancer that was killing him. In six months, he would be dead. What the fuck did he care about some shit like Muslim motherfuckers vaporizing Americans wholesale?

He was probably more concerned about his next breath…and I don’t blame him one bit.

Over the next few days, the rage and anger in me rose to stratospheric levels…almost to the point where I could not function normally.

Frustration.

I wanted someone to hate. I wanted someone whose neck I could wrap my hands around and slowly squeeze the life out of.

But who? Nameless, faceless, goat-humping Islamic dickheads without a country. How in the hell do I, or anybody, fight that?

I bought a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag. (I’ve flown it every day since 9/11. It makes me feel better. We all must do our part.)

Went to church that Sunday. It was not a pretty sight. I broke down right there in front of my family, my God, everybody…sobbing…with tears of rage…asking for relief from the hatred that was eating me alive.

Went to my old Marine Corps Reserve unit to ask them if I could re-up to get some payback.

They said, “Thanks, but no thanks, old-timer. This war will be a young man’s game. Try the National Guard.”

At work, I generously suggested to my boss that he should use company funds to erect a flagpole in front of the facility in order to display our patriotism and solidarity and togetherness.

He agreed, and within a week the pole was in place and I was given the honor of being the first to hoist the colors.

I was a big hero. Sorta.

The pole was installed by patriotic workmen who seemingly forgot to use a level.

The pole was crooked. Pretty much.

USA! USA! USA!

All of this reminds me of the national feelings of “patriotism and solidarity and togetherness” of those early days after the 9/11 attacks.

Sure…it lasted…what…three days…a week?

Then it was right back to the politics and finger pointing…enough to make a guy vomit.

2011.

A decade has passed.

Big Brother is tightening the noose.

Frogs in a simmering pot.

The Constitution and the Bill of Rights are being used as ass-wipe.

Multiple, never-ending wars with uncounted lives and treasure squandered.

The country is broke and then some.

Its citizens are more polarized than ever before.

The Free Shit Army is set to unleash blitzkrieg.

Bin Laden’s brain-pan has been ventilated, and he sleeps with the fishes.

Yet he wins.

Cinematic Recommendations For Patriots, 3 Percenters, and Other Rabble-Rousing Revolutionaries

2011-08-26T13:33:00.012-04:00

I've said it before...

Life is too short for bad cinema.

The following are some movies I've watched recently on Netflix.

I give all of these flicks a four out of a possible five stars.

The subject matter of these films is kinda dark, so you probably won't be wanting to watch them with your best girl or anything.

Or small children...

This is guy stuff for the most part. These movies will get your blood pressure up and flowing.

Trust me on this. I don't recommend shit that sucks.

Check them out if you haven't seen them and are so inclined.

These movies will give you many interesting things to think about.

Maybe.

Feel free to add your own recommendations in the comments section...and I mean different stuff...not the run-of-the-mill bullshit.

Yes. I've seen Red Dawn...

No. I don't think I'm Siskel or Ebert...

Dicks.

_____

Michael Collins

1996 Rated-R

-Julia Roberts is in this. I find it amusing how her "Irish" accent comes and goes. She does have a purty mouth, however. The scene at the "footy match" is especially brutal, and will piss a guy right off...

"Neil Jordan directed this powerful biopic about the rise and fall of Michael Collins (Liam Neeson), the charismatic leader of Ireland's fight for independence. Collins and his companions de Valera (Alan Rickman), Broy (Stephen Rea), Boland (Aidan Quinn) and Kitty Kiernan (Julia Roberts) used guerilla warfare to attack the British. The eventual treaty was seen by many as a weak compromise, and Collins was branded a traitor to the Irish cause."

Flame and Citron

2008 Rated-TV-MA

-English subtitles are only mildly annoying. Intrigue, skullduggery, double-crossing, and exquisite violence. Kill a Nazi for Mommy, won't you?

"Based on actual events, this exciting drama tells the story of World War II Danish Resistance fighters Flame (Thure Lindhardt) and Citron (Mads Mikkelsen). Taking orders from Resistance leader Aksel Winther (Peter Mygind), the two systematically assassinate Danish collaborators and Nazi officers. But they are far from heroic in their personal lives, and filmmaker Ole Christian Madsen explores the serious flaws of these complex men."

The Wind That Shakes the Barley

2006 Rated-TV-14

-probably should have English subtitles because the Irish brogue is pretty heavy. Watching government agents and traitors "getting theirs" will make your heart soar. Maybe.

"As political tensions brew in early 1920s Ireland, brothers Damien and Teddy (Cillian Murphy and Padraic Delaney) abandon their civilian lives and take up arms to liberate their country from the oppressive "Black and Tan" squads of Britain. Winner of the Palme d'Or at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival, Ken Loach's provocative drama examines a microcosm of civil war in Cork, Ireland. Liam Cunningham co-stars."

Defiance

2008 Rated-R

-James Bond takes on the Nazis and helps the Polish Jews escape the ghetto and certain extermination. The guy who plays his brother enjoys nothing more than gunning down Nazis wholesale. Who could blame him? What fun!

"Daniel Craig stars as Tuvia Bielski, one of four Jewish brothers who escape from Poland into the forests of Belarus during World War II to lead a band of resistance fighters and create a safe haven for Jewish refugees. The real-life sanctuary established by the Bielski brothers saved more than 1,000 Jews from persecution and death. Liev Schreiber, Jamie Bell and George MacKay also star in this moving historical drama based on actual events."

______

I took the movie descriptions verbatim from Netflix because I'm lazy, I couldn't be assed to write them myself, and because I've never had an original thought in my life.

Sue me.

Go watch the fucking movies!

A Brief Bit Of Mosin Nagant Madness

2011-06-19T08:06:00.001-04:00

My son fires his birthday Mosin-Nagant at Atterbury.

A serious good time was had by all.

We shot everything. Mosins, handguns, shotguns (clays).

The two Mosin rifles performed flawlessly, with over 100 rounds per rifle.

Accuracy was very good.

Recoil is outta hand with these things.

Yes. I'm old and my shoulder hurts and I'm a pussy, but the sons had all they could stand as well. None of us have a lot of meat on our bones.

Will be investigating some sort of recoil padding.

The Mosin kick truly is BRUTAL!

BTW...this is a very nice shooting facility. Reasonable rates, well-run, polite staff.

It seems they keep the idiots and rabble away.

Part 11- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Coda

2011-06-05T07:21:00.001-04:00

Just a quick post race wrap up here…

Sorry, but I’ve been busy working and haven’t had time to do this up right.

In fact, I don’t know that I’ll ever again have time to do this Indy 500 blog thang right.

So…now is as good a time as any to say that I won’t be doing this shit again.

It’s just too much like work and ponderous with the small amount of time I have.

If I can’t do it right, I’m not gonna do it at all.

It’s been fun, and I am thankful for the people I have met and the propers you have given me.

This years version of the Indy 500 was one of the best in recent memory, and my son and I had a most excellent time of it.

A rookie damn near took all the marbles, but he got excited and lost it in the final corner on the final lap IN the marbles.

Dan Wheldon, aka “Toofusses,” brought home his second Indy win.

Congrats, and I take back what I said about you not being an Indy legend.

Thanks to all who have helped me out along the way.

Mike, Curt, Darc Marc, Trevor, Grover, Glenn, Tommy, Pat, Camp & Brew (I’ll miss youse guys), Trackforum, PT, and all who have expressed enjoyment from reading my foolishness.

Bob Messick photo

I will now return to trying to save our Republic.

Stock up, and have a nice day.

See you next year.

Maybe.

Part 10- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: The International Release Of My Paul Tracy Interview Video!

2011-05-24T12:12:00.003-04:00

Here it is.

I am sorry in advance.

However, my fetid visage could be useful in keeping rodents away.

Thanks to Glenn Harm for the video camera work. Thanks also to Marc Bever, Pat Caporali, Mike Cockrall, and to Paul Tracy for his patience.

Part 9- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Bump Day At Indy

2011-05-23T19:40:00.000-04:00

Bump Day at Indy has always historically been a hoot for me because it is another opportunity for me to abuse my body with exotic intoxicants and make an ass out of myself.

This year’s version of Bump Day at Indy was no exception.

I arrived relatively early and found a front row spot in the Third Turn infield to park the Paul Tracy Commemorative Beer Wagon.

Because I have issues, I quickly power-slammed a 16-ounce Coors and then secreted several more in my camera bag so that I could stealthily evade the prying eyes of the yellow shirted government agents.

I rode the tram to the Vigoda Plaza, disembarked, and stumbled over to my normal perch located atop the F1 garages in the First Turn.

There, I found my usual racin’ buddies absent because they were being wholesome elsewhere trackside, and they didn’t want me to embarrass them with my semi-drunken shenanigans in front of their elderly parents or innocent young children.

Whatever.

So…I just sat there, basking in the glorious sunshine and watching fast and shiny and real Indy racers practice for the pants-wetting drama that would be Bump Day.

I had another beer too.

All was right with the world until I heard a heinous POP that indicated to me that someone had taken an improper and imprudent line through MY Turn One.

As it turns out, the Lucky Dragoons racer piloted by Pat Carpenter was what I heard kissing SAFER barrier. The car was reduced to ruins and its shattered remnants were quickly deposited in Indy’s now infamous Hurt Locker.

Fortunately, Mr. Carpenter was relatively OK as the result of his running out of interest in pursuing an approved line though MY corner at Indy.

Unfortunately, Team Lucky Dragoons was then fresh out of shiny and not-so-fast Indy racing machines because their other driver, Chinese Indy Racing Legend Ho Chi Minh, destroyed their other car a day earlier.

Subsequently, Team Lucky Dragoons had to pack their shit up and head out of town in complete disgrace.

Maybe next year.

Or something.

Things got kinda slow on the racing surfaces, and I soon found myself Tweeting insulting one-liners on Twatter. If anyone was offended I am sorry and I will delete things later.

Maybe.

It was apparent to me at about this time that The Indianapolis Motor Speedway was not going to entertain me by forcing drivers against their will to get on track and risk further near-certain death, so I took a quick stroll through the garage area.

There, I saw nothing of interest or unusual…just a whole ass-load of Honda/Dallara/Firestones. Nor did I run into any of my racin’ buddies.

I was quickly getting lonely and depressed and despondent. I felt I could snap at any moment, but I knew the remedy.

Yes.

I would go over to the Vigoda Plaza, plop my narrow ass down on a concrete wall under a shade tree, and drink another beer.

I told you people I had issues.

Maybe next time you will listen to me.

Anyhoo…as I sat there, I was treated to an interview with black Indy Racing Legend Willy T. Ribbs on the RC Cola and MoonPie Stage.

Willy told the enthusiastic throng gathered before him that Danica Hospenthal was his hero.

Willy also said that he and his son were accomplished shot-gun shooters, and that all us thin-lipped, white-bread, honkie motherfuckers better think twice before we go messing with either one of them because we would get our fool cracka-ass heads blown clean off if we did.

Damn. Lighten up, Willy. Ain’t nobody here rayciss an shit…

Soon, I got a phone call from one of my dear racin’ buddies. He told me he would join me shortly in the Vigoda Plaza, and that he would be bringing good tidings and cheer.

And beer.

When a person says he is bringing you beer, you know that person is cool.

In this case, I also knew that my cool friend knew that I might have an interview with Indy Racing Legend Paul Tracy later on, and my friend knows that if he and other folks ply me with enough beer that I will become even more funnier and talkative and that I will provide them with copious amounts of excellent intardnets fodder later on.

Yes. I am being used.

Use me…until you use me up.

Kinda.

It was almost time for qualifying to begin, so we went to or usual spot for this event…the Tower Terrace seats right next to the entrance of Gasoline Alley.

This is a most excellent place to sit for Bump Day because you can watch the teams get nervous before a qualifying run.

Or, you can watch as they slit their own wrists when they get bumped out of the field.

Or, you can cheer a heroic and damn near suicidal attempt to make the field.

Or, you can heckle and shout out stupid shit to drivers and celebrities.

It is all quite enjoyable no matter what you decide to do or how you wish to conduct yourself.

I heartily endorse these activities.

I will not bore you with the intricacies of what went on during qualifying. It would be ponderous for me. If you are really interested you can find that information elsewhere.

Before too long, a typhoon rolled in, all track activities ceased, and we were forced against our will to exit the grand stands.

More jack-booted thuggery from armed government agents, I suppose…

Here is a platoon of sluts parading at Indy after the storm.

The storm departed, the track was dried, and more qualifications happened.

Again…I will not detail these events for you.

Deal with it.

Finally, the field was filled and Bump Day was officially over.

But not for me, because the planets had aligned and it looked like I was definitely going to interview Paul Tracy.

After getting things squared away with PT’s handlers, I lined up expert still and video photographers.

We waited patiently outside PT’s garage.

The interview went off pretty good, I think, even though I looked like a troll and sounded like a Hoosier hill jack.

Oh well…it was honest, and I didn’t try to pull off any idea that I am some kind of important, pretentious asshole.

God knows we have enough of those at Indy

PT was cool to put up with my bullshit.

Thanks PT.

The interview should be on YouTubes soon.

I hope you all enjoy it. It didn’t go exactly as I had envisioned, but I think it’s an honest representation of who I am and what my deal is.

Yes. Bump Day at Indy was fun and exciting.

Pretty much.

Part 8- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Paul Tracy Interview

2011-05-23T07:58:00.007-04:00

Paul Tracy interview happened and is in the can!

Video to follow.

He was cool and more than gracious.

I most likely looked like a douche-nozzle.

It was epic.

Maybe.

Photos by Marc Bever.

Marc is an excellent lensman...one of the best. However, these photos demonstrate that even highly skilled photographers cannot possibly make me look attractive in any way.

Good God in heaven I am hideous.

I should have stayed with radio.

I have been asked about the release date of the ground-breaking video.

All I can say is this:

I have absolutely no control of the creative process for this project. I was just the performing monkey in front of the camera.

The owner of the video has you at his mercy.

Sorta.

Part 7- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: I Missed Pole Day Because I Suck

2011-05-22T07:13:00.001-04:00

OK..so...like...I've been working like a sled dog all week and I've gotten SOME beauty rest.

Watching pole day from the couch really blew, but going to the track yesterday would not have been good for anybody. I was tired and cranky, and I would not have been pleasant to be around, so I just Tweeted some insulting crap on Twatter, scratched myself, and made plans for Bump Day.

Yes. I'm going to be track-side today for Bump Day. I will be in better spirits. Maybe.

The beer is iced down. No Molsons or Labatts, though. PT will have to suffice with American beer, sorta, and I'm not buying any cigars. If PT doesn't make the field, I'm not going to contact his handlers because I don't want to deal with an attitudinal Indy racin' legend.

Anyhoo..if you see me, say hi or something and don't take any spy pictures of my fetid ugliness.

Sorry for the short and disappointing blog thang, but I told you people it would suck this year.

Maybe next time you will listen to me .

Part 6- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Experimenting And Stuff...

2011-05-16T23:27:00.000-04:00

Short day at the track today...just a few hours...but I managed to snap a few pictures and get my ass kicked while testing out my new Ipod video thingy.

I saw this today and I chuckled.

One has to be stealthy, and at the same time quick, when one uses a camera in a public men's room.

Part 5- My 2011 Indy Blog Mess: Paul Tracy Interview?

2011-05-15T17:15:00.024-04:00

Today was a complete washout at IMS, so I thought I'd let you, my valued readers, in on something that may or may not be going on.

There is a real possibility that I could interview Paul Tracy this month at Indy.

Maybe.

The thing is, I'm a little hesitant to do it.

Maybe it's because I'm a pussy.

I don't know.

I don't want my interview with PT to be structured and rigid.

I want it to be mellow and relaxing, just two guys having a beer and cussing and talking racing and other stuff.

I don't want it to resemble work for either of us.

If it is to become a hassle or a pain in the ass, I'm not interested, but it could be a cool thing.

I understand PT's a busy guy with important shit to do.

I'm not in it to make PT look stupid or foolish.

Hell...I'm willing to look stupid and foolish. It's part of my schtick.

Anyhoo...here are some PT interview questions I came up with.

Let me know what you think.

_____

-I read some of your Champ Car race history, and it seems as if Wally Dallenbach had a hard-on for you back in the old days. Do you still want to punch him in the face?

-Do you still want to kick Alex Tagliani’s ass?

-Does the nickname "The Thrill from West Hill" piss you off? I think it sounds a little gay personally, but what the hell do I know? I bet you didn’t pick that nickname anyways…probably a dumb Canadian marketing "genius" did.

-I’m not stalking you or anything, but I understand you have a couple of kids…Alysha and Conrad. Are they teenagers yet? I have three teen kids. They’re pretty cool and smart, and I love them, but they are a trial sometimes. Are your kids cool?

-So...you live in Vegas or Arizona somewhere now? Do you have a green card…and can I see it? Are you like an honorary American now? You speak American pretty good for a Canadian from Canadia.

-Since you’re in America now, you don't have to deal with stupid Canadian gun laws. Most real Americans love guns and own lots of firearms. Do you own any firearms, or do firearms frighten you?

-When you were an unsavory wild youth in Canadia, did you go to Lakeside Park with your buddies and drink lots of Molson’s beer and chase hot Canadian chicks?

-Do you still celebrate Bastille Day even though you live in America now?

-Is July 4^th an annoyance for you?

-How many times have you seen Rush live in concert? Triumph? The Jeff Healey Band? Bachman Turner Overdrive? April Wine? Neil Young? Pat Travers?

-What did your mom and dad do for a living? Were they wealthy and did they spoil you rotten? Or, did they make you get a job to help pay for your hobbies and all the other crap you wanted to do

-What kind of jobs, if any, did you have other than racing when you were a punk kid?

-Do you have siblings?

-What was your first street car when you first got your driver’s license?

-Turning wrenches on your own crap is cool. I know you have lots of toys now like hotrods and boats and shit. Do you work on them yourself, or do you pay somebody else to fix your personal shit when it breaks?

-I think NASCAR really REALLY REALLY sucks...don't you?

-A lot of people, like the seething-with-rage ChampCar fans, give you shit for when you said you would never drive a “crap-wagon.” I really don’t give a damn because it was a long time ago and a man’s situations can change, and I think it’s OK for a guy to change his mind if he wants. I figure that racing is what you love to do most, so screw what people say and follow what you love. Your thoughts?

-You and me are a lot alike, I think. You are only six years younger than me. We both are professional drivers, and we both worked for Penske at some point in our illustrious careers. I know Penske is kinda supposed to be like the top company to work for, and they have some pretty cool equipment for us to work with…but I still think they kinda sucked when I worked for them.

Did driving for Penske kinda suck for you too?

-I’m not going to bother asking you about the 2002 Indy 500 because that horse has been beaten to death and it was a long time ago. All I know is I was watching the live timing and scoring that day and it originally showed you as the winner. Even though everything that happened in 2002 must have really sucked for you, you continue to come back to Indy and give it a try.

Hell…last year I watched as you almost killed yourself trying to get back into the field after withdrawing a good time and one of those asshole KV mechanics fucked up your transmission gearing ratios or something.

Did you ever kick that guy’s ass?

Does your wife ever want to kick your ass after seeing you almost kill yourself on a racetrack?

Part 4- My 2011 Indy Blog Mess: Opening Day Shennanigans

2011-05-15T07:56:00.002-04:00

Curt Boggs Photo

I am never late to opening day at IMS, but I gotta pay the bills.

I arrived late at this Opening Day at IMS because I had to work.

The National Anthem was playing as I drove the Georgetown Road tunnel under MY racetrack.

I flashed my bronzed badge thingy to the underpaid yellow shirted government agents.

I was pleasantly surprised by the light traffic.

I crested the hill of the tunnel road and immediately noticed that my convenient ingress to the third turn infield parking and party zone was blocked by that stupid fucking Hotwheels ramp thingy.

Curt Boggs Photo

Motherfuckers.

This impediment to my parking spot is an improper and imprudent grave injustice…and it will not stand…for long…because I’m going to knock that stupid fucking thing down and get it out of the way and out of MY racetrack.

It looks ignant, and God knows there is enough ignant stuff to look at these days.

Anyhoo…I zig-zag around the Hotwheel thang and park the Paul Tracy Commemorative Beer Wagon.

I power-slam a Coors real quick because I have issues, then I load up for the trip to the Vigoda Plaza.

As I am doing this, the track goes green for the first time. The sounds of real and shiny and fast Indy cars fill my ears. My heart soars. I think to myself, “Damn…this has been a long and shitty winter!”

The permanent scowl on my face disappears…temporarily.

I get to the Vigoda Plaza and notice many vintage cars parked haphazardly everywhere. This is because it has been declared that Opening Day will be a celebration of the automobile.

Or something.

Al Gore silently weeps.

Maybe.

Curt Boggs Photo

Then, I head out to my super-secret Turn One roost where I figure I will find some of my racin’ buddies who are camera dorks and wish they had my skills with an Instamatic.

My camera dork racin’ buddies have long, “go-to-hell” lenses for their fancy cameras.

I bet it’s because they are over-compensating for deficiencies elsewhere in their pitiful lives.

That’s what I think.

Anyhoo…there’s a big brew-up with much cursing and smoking and backslapping, and I really don’t pay much attention to what’s happening on the racetrack. I’m too busy catching up with my bros and being a general embarrassment to them.

It was fun.

Pretty much…until I ran into Grover.

Fuck him! He was all sheepish and stuff, and he wanted none of me. My beer was safe. For the time being…

My truck driver's back started screaming at me, as did my full bladder and empty stomach, so I strolled down to the Vigoda Plaza for a pee and a beer and a couple of overpriced horse-meat hamburgers.

There, I saw Lindy Thackston, who is a world-renown female version of a TV reporter for the Verses Network. She is a broadcasting legend, and I told her so.

Paul Dalbey Photo

I told her that I thought she did great work on TV and that she came across as a knowledgeable fan and a corn-fed Indiana gal with a Hoosier twang who wasn’t a bimbo and didn’t go around having sex with IndyCar drivers.

And if you know me at all, you know that I would not say such things if I did not mean them sincerely.

She seemed appreciative, if not somewhat wary of me and my comments to her, and she slowly backed away.

She is a smart lady, who was raised by concerned parents.

Stay honorable, Lindy.

It wasn’t long before the rains came.

Rain don’t befront me none, as long as I get my rent money by next Friday.

So…it was time to stroll the garages for the first time to see what I could see.

I saw many Honda/Dallara/Firestones.

That’s what I saw.

However, this is something else I saw…

Apparently, Chip Ganassi has more money than he knows what to do with, so he has formed a satellite Indy Racing team.

This outsourced proxy Ganassi team gets the junky broken parts that Dario Judd and Scott Dixon throw away.

Probably.

This is a team of mercenaries, and with Chip paying the bills, they apparently think they can do whatever the hell they please and get away with it.

They need to get up a little earlier to fool me, however.

When I saw them wheeling this Chevrolet engine block into their garage, I knew something was amiss.

I yelled at them. Loudly.

I said, “You can’t use that engine block! That is against the engine lease program rules and stuff! I’m tellin’! I’m calling the cops!”

They were scared.

Part 3- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Politics And Indy

2011-05-08T08:34:00.001-04:00

cartoon by Gary Varvel

Well…lookie here…Donald Trump got his ass fired for driving the pace car!

Serves him right, the big dope.

The Donald said he had a scheduling issue and couldn’t do the pace car gig.

Yeah. Right.

The fact that the Indy 500 faithful of all political persuasions were up in arms about your stupid ass defiling our sacred race had nothing to do with it.

The Donald is all about himself and about how much face time he can get and how much he can control shit.

Lord knows I’m no fan of President Obama, but Trump’s birth certificate witch-hunt was an infantile and ridiculous waste of time and a distraction.

Hell…even noted Canadian from Canadia, Paul Tracy, said it would be improper for a hack semi-political figure like Trump to drive the pace car at Indy.

This is one more reason why Paul Tracy is sorta cool.

We should make Tracy and honorary American.

Or something.

Maybe.

The Donald should forget all about running for president and go get the Freedom Tower built.

That’s what I think.

Anyhoo…it has been decided that AJ Foyt will drive the pace car this year.

This is prudent and proper.

Even though AJ is kinda old, he’s a tough bastard, and as long as he doesn’t have a thrombo, I think he is up to the task of pacing 33 of the fastest and finest drivers in the world.

AJ Foyt will probably have to go through a rigorous astronaut-like physical exam before he assumes his pace car driving duties on race day.

I’d hate to be the doctor who is tasked with that procedure.

In other news, seems as if there is some bitching going on about the new racing unit which will show up for next year’s racing season.

Spreading this hate and discontent is none other than Roger Penske, apparently.

I’m not real sure what Penske’s major malfunction is, but, whatever it is, it probably has something to do with HIS bottom line and what is best for HIM.

Screw the series, the rules, and the fans.

Penske wants the power and the control, and he is spreading the hate and discontent to the other teams.

Roger and Donald Trump are a lot alike if you really stop to think about it.

The last time the open-wheeled racing team owners got all uppity, things didn’t turn out so swimmingly.

Maybe…just this once…Roger should just shut the fuck up and go along with the plan.

Hey Roger…I don't work for you anymore. I'm a free man and I can say whatever I want.

Go manage your truck fleet.

Buy some Freightliners. Paint ‘em that gawd-awful yellow, and quit fucking with my racing.

Dick.

Sorta.

Bin Laden Is Dead: We Got Him

2011-05-02T08:41:00.004-04:00

Hahahahahaha!

Good riddance motherfucker.

Hope you enjoy the unquenchable fires of hell.

That said, I’m not gonna go out into the streets chanting, “USA USA USA!”

Fuck that. It’s not my style.

Let’s move on to the next terrorist scum target.

“We” didn’t get anybody.

Most of us “we’s” were sitting our collective somewhat fat asses on the couch eating Cheese Nips and watching TV when it all went down.

Navy SEALs got Bin Laden, and it pleases me to no end the way in which the SEALs dispatched the bastard.

No laser guided bombs from 50,000 feet.

No Predator drones.

No.

It was up close and personal most likely.

A bullet to Bin Laden’s brain-pan delivered by a US sailor.

Perfect.

Before he drew his final bit of oxygen, Bin Laden probably was able to look into the determined eyes of that US sailor.

Maybe Bin Laden could even smell the coffee and stale tobacco smoke on that sailor’s breath.

Beautiful.

Perhaps the sailor even said a few smart-assed words to Bin Laden before he delivered the coup de grace.

Pure poetry.

They say Bin Laden’s carcass was brought back to the US Navy ship, and his ID was confirmed through DNA testing.

Then, Bin Laden’s room temperature corpse was reportedly given a respectful burial at sea according to Islamic traditions.

I don’t believe a word of this, but that’s just me.

I bet Bin Laden’s body is now in a freezer deep underground somewhere in Virginia…wearing lipstick and a lamp shade.

That’s what I think.

Part 2- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny

2011-05-01T20:10:00.002-04:00

This year is the third year of the Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny.

It’s party time in Indy, and if you know me, you know I like a good party with guns and booze and drugs and chicks and fire trucks and all the other things that make life worth living.

Yes. 100 years, give or take, of pants-wetting open wheeled excitement at the palace of speed.

I say, “Give or take,” because maths is hard for me.

Actually there were a few years from 1911 until now when the track was closed for wars because it was deemed improper and imprudent to gobble up petroleum products and other vital natural resources at alarming rates for the amusement of the general public.

During World War One, we were a little late to the party and we stepped in to smack the dog shit out of the Germans. So…for 1917 and 1918, we did that instead of having races.

A few years later, the Germans and the Japanese got all uppity.

We allowed them to have their fun for a couple of years, but then we put our foot down.

From 1942 until 1945, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was silent while we went ruckus on the Germans and the Japanese.

Things are cool as fuck now, and we no longer have any problems with the Germans and the Japanese. In fact, we are all the bestest of buddies and we share beer, girlfriends, and nuclear technology.

Can you imagine what would happen today if it were decided that we would not hold an Indianapolis 500 Mile Sweepstakes because we were having a war or three?

Or that because of a war or three, I-Pads and gasoline were not available, or that Dancing With The Stars would not be televised because it was deemed detrimental to morale?

There would be civil unrest and rioting in the streets.

It’s a good thing gasoline is cheap and plentiful.

Anyhoo…by my estimation, we are roughly six Indy 500s shy of one hundred.

Whatever. I flunked just about every math subject known to man except for geometry, so who am I to complain about the “centennial” thing?

I understand there are going to be many different things going on in celebration of the “Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny.”

Apparently, there will be a life-sized Hot Wheels track installed in the fourth turn infield.

It will be several stories high and will include a big orange plastic loop-de-loop thingy which will most likely propel a full sized NeckCar pick ‘em up truck into the crowd causing grievous death and dismemberment.

Damn. What a buzz-kill THAT will be…

I just hope this cheese-dick monstrosity publicity stunt doesn’t ruin my site lines from J-Stand on race day. I will be extremely irate if it does.

Also, I heard Donald Trump is going to drive the pace car.

This too is a grave injustice and will not stand.

I’ve said it before. The pace car should be driven by somebody cool like an ace fighter pilot or a former Indy 500 winner or somebody who is savvy.

The Donald may be savvy in getting shit done like building a skyscraper. Hell…he would have had the World Trade Center rebuilt twice as tall 5 years ago…but he is not savvy or cool enough to drive the pace car at Indy.

Photo courtesy hamtramck-historical.com

Trump is bound to go all Eldon Palmer and fuck this up just like all wealthy douche bags fuck shit up when they get in over their heads.

Photo courtesy moparaction.com

I am right about this, and there can be no further discussion.

There might be other tourist attractions during the two weeks of May Centennial Era Indy 500 Jamboree and Hootenanny celebration, but quite frankly, I can’t be arsed to look them up because it would be ponderous.

I suggest Google for further information if you are so inclined.

Part 1- My 2011 Indy 500 Blog Mess: Mailing It In?

2011-05-01T11:05:00.005-04:00

Well…It’s May 1th again here in Indy, and it’s raining. That means it SHOULD be time for them to open the gates of MY racetrack in order to entertain me.

Instead, the fast and shiny Indy racing machines are down in Brazil running on the twisty bits.

This is a grave injustice and will NOT stand!

But, what the hell can I do about it?

Nothing. That’s what.

So…I guess I’ll start my 2011 Indy 500 Blog mess by stating that this year I’ll probably have to kinda mail it in.

Or something.

Maybe.

See…in the last year or so since we last met up, lots of sorta unsavory things have happened in my life that maybe you should know a little something about.

I will enumerate those things for you now.

1- I shot a neighbor’s dog in self-defense. It is a clammy tale. You can read about it here if you want.

2- A grown-ass man attempted to do something heinous with one of my children. If you should know one thing about me, you should know that I am fiercely protective of my family. I will not delve further into this topic. Suffice to say that I was homicidal.

3- Due to political events and concerns that my country is being led purposely into the shitter by Communist progressive hippie ass-bags, I’ve become a rabid radical Libertarian Constitutionalist gun-owner. I’ve been investing my disposable income in lead and lead accelerators in preparation for the upcoming apocalypse.

Thanks asshole

4- I've had a new job since last September. Therefore, I have no vacation accrued to burn. Trust me. The job change weighed heavily on my mind because of this. Do I give up 4-5 weeks of paid vacation for the new gig and lose my ability to spend unreasonable amounts time at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway drinking alarming quantities of beer during the month of May? Yes. Yes I do. That's how much it sucked working for Teamster Penske. Ask Paul Tracy. He knows.

Anyhoo…many of my fans…both of them…have expressed displeasure and sadness that I will not be able to be trackside much this year.

Thanks all for your concerns, but I'm just a local douche with a camera and intardnets access. No great loss if I do an abridged version of my foolishness.

Don't worry about it. You'll be fine.

I'll probably get track-side once a week only. Sundays.

Maybe.

I'm not even getting a bronze badge this year. Why bother if I'm only at the track about 2 or three times before race day?

The desire to do the blog thang is still there.

I'll think of something.

Even if it's wrong.

Especially if it's wrong...like maybe getting a couple of my racin’ buddies, who don’t work much, and use them as if they were my unpaid mercenaries. They could take cool, jaw-dropping photos and gather groovy insider stories and feed them to me so that I can embellish them and think up stupid crap to say.

Yes. Zoomie’s Proxies.

There may or may not be some other special things in the works, but as a real kinda cool racin’ insider who knows how to keep his mouth shut, I can’t talk about it right now.

Stay tuned…

Hot Russian Twins Come Home With Me!

2011-04-09T15:56:00.008-04:00

That’s right. I did it. Today I picked up two hot Russians…and they’re twins!

It was a mind-blowing experience.

First, I looked them over real close.

My eyes caressed every square inch of their curvy and well-oiled bodies.

Then, I ran my trembling hands up and down and all over them, and I felt their smooth lines.

Both of them responded eagerly and hungrily to my violation of their personal space.

They were perfect for my sick, twisted purposes.

I also took a peek inside them, and I was satisfied with what I saw.

Both moved smoothly and gracefully. I could tell by their actions that they were going to be a handful.

I didn’t care. I would die with a smile on my face.

I paid the agreed upon price and loaded the twins into my car for the short ride home, confident that many stimulating days and nights awaited me.

Yes! Twins! Russian twins. What could be hotter?

Nothing.

That’s what!

No…not this kind of Russian twins. Perverts.

Get your freaking minds out of the gutter.

This kind of Russian twins!

Because I sorta kick ass at work, I received another bonus check.

As I have so eloquently stated in the past, bonus money ain’t got no home, so bonus money goes to gun stores.

Pretty much.

Today I purchased two Mosin-Nagants for my sons from Indy Trading Post (ITP).

I have nothing but great things to say about ITP…fantastic sales people and reasonable prices.

I got what I think was a tremendous deal on my Mosins and a spam can of ammo (with opener). I will most definitely shop there again. Thanks again Brian Ludlow and crew!

You rock!

The first Mosin went to my youngest son Willie. It is a numbers matching hex receiver dated 1928.

The second Mosin went to my older son Ricky. It is a numbers matching round receiver dated 1941.

Both rifles come complete with accessory kits and spike bayonet.

Very cool.

Every teen boy should have a rifle with a bayonet.

That's what I think.

You should have seen how I played the gifting of the rifles.

First, I called Willie into the kitchen and acted like I normally do…all pissed off about something he did or did not do. I told him to sit his ass at the kitchen table.

Then, I reached out to the back porch and put his boxed Mosin on the table and told him great job on the last report card and happy early birthday!

He had a feces-eating, ear-to-ear grin on his mug, as he pulled the rifle out of the box and got Cosmoline all over himself.

Groovy!

Ricky was watching all this and getting jealous and disgusted, because he loves shooting also.

I said, “Ricky…you know the good thing about Mosins? They reproduce all on their own.”

I reached out to the back porch, grabbed the other boxed Mosin, and put it on the table.

“Great report card and happy early birthday,” I said.

He about pissed himself with excitement.

Then, I went out to my car and came back in the house and said, “Oh yeah. Mosins ain’t no good without plenty of food, so…here!”

Bang! Down goes a spam can of ammo.

My younger boy said, "Hey Dad. We're ready for the upcoming apocalypse now."

Kids say the darndest things.

Yes we are.

I have my own in-house fire team.

Now we gotta bone up on Mosins and get ‘em all cleaned up.

Range time!

Fire balls!

Vintage Soviet battle rifles in the hands of teen boys!

I am a bad dad.

_____

The restification of the 1941 round receiver Izhevsk Arsenal numbers matching Mosin is complete.

It's not perfect, but what 70-year-old rifle is?

It turned out OK in my opinion. I think it looks rather Mauser-ish. I don't like the original Commie, reddish/orange stain, so I went with a dark walnut color.

My oldest son Ricky seems to REALLY like the rifle. He works the bolt with a gleam in his eyes and a grin on his face, and he can't wait for some range time.

I'm now working on the other rifle...a 1928 hex-receiver Tula Arsenal, also numbers matching. From the looks of it, it will turn out better than the first rifle.

I'm thinking I need to get one for myself soon.

_____

I finished the restification of my younger son's #'s matching 1928 hex Tula a week or so ago, but today we finally got some great afternoon light so I could take a picture!

The front hand guard had some repair work I didn't discover until I had degreased and stripped it. It is a smooth quality repair, and seems sound.

I found a few specks of rust on the outside of the barrel underneath the hand guards, but it cleaned up with oil and steel wool.

I think it looks sexy. My son seems pleased. They can't wait to go shooting.

Taurus 738 TCP Range Report And Review: M1 Garand Also Tags Along For A Test Drive

2011-03-07T11:19:00.118-05:00

Since I kick ass and I'm sorta cool and stuff, I got a bonus check from work.

Everybody knows bonus money ain’t got no home, so I gave half of it to my darling wife, and the other half I decided to buy me a new .380 pocket rocket for the upcoming apocalypse.

I went to Beech Grove Firearms, (BGFA), because they are cool, and I looked at the KelTec P3AT, the Ruger LCP, and the Taurus 738 TCP .

The KelTec felt like cheese-dickery in my hands.

No.

The Ruger was OK, but it only came with one magazine, and its trigger felt like chunky monkey snot.

Negatory.

The Taurus fit my massive but girlie-like delicate hands OK, has a nice trigger, two magazines, and a groovy man-purse, so...I laid some cashola down for the Taurus, and hurried back home to be horrified at some of the early heinous reviews I found on the intardnets.

I'm such a douche...

Luckily, I found out that Taurus has good customer service, that my new pistol has the coveted "A" at the end of its serial number...indicating it is newer, more better and cooler than the old shitty ones, and that Taurus got its shit in one sack and fixed all the bugs.

I told the gentleman at BGFA that if the pistol sucked I would be back in and throw it at him.

He was scared.

Sorta.

_____

I put 200 rounds through the Taurus TCP...Winchester white box (WWB) ball round stuff.

No failures to feed.

No failures to extract.

Had probably two-dozen failures-to-fire due to what looks like light primer strikes.

I hear tell that WWB ammo is known for very stiff primers...that they need a good kick in the ass from the firing pin to get going. I don't know, but it makes sense because I also ran a dozen premium borrowed hand-loads with no problems. (Thanks, Jay)

The light primer strikes/misfires appeared to happen when I didn't allow the trigger to fully reset after firing a round. (Thanks, Jon)

When I was conscious of my trigger control and allowed it to reset fully, I had almost no problems.

Brass ejection often was straight up out of the gun, and many casings bounced off the top of my stupid head.

I'm not quite ready yet to carry this piece on a daily basis. I think I need to try some different brands of ammo first.

The sights, which are small and sorta hard to see, and are molded into the slide, really kinda suck, and my crappy eyes lost sight picture a few times.

I'm thinking about dabbing some white paint on them to see if that helps.

But...then again, with a gun like this and the situations in which it might be used, who has time to aim?

That said...accuracy was OK...not jaw-dropping...but acceptable. At about seven yards, most of my aimed fire fell within the space the size of a sheet of typing paper...

I'm not totally disgusted with the TCP's performance yet, but I'm not jumping for joy either.

Ammo seems to be the biggest issue.

More testing to follow...

_____

In other news...

The Taurus performed flawlessly in drop-testing.

While exiting my vehicle recently, it slipped out of my coat pocket and hit my concrete driveway.

It had one in the throat, and was holstered in a crappy and cheap and embarrassing Uncle Mikes nylon thingy.

The Taurus did not discharge, much to my delight, as my neighbors, formerly known as the Rottweiler Watchers, were outside doing yard work.

Oops.

Guess I'm not a civilian operator after all...

_____

Do you you clean a new gun?

Yes.

Always.

My 738 was "new,” and I questioned the sales guy about it because it was so dirty.

Apparently, in my case anyway, Taurus test fires their guns, then boxes them up and ships them without cleaning them.

On the inside… when I bought it, mine looked like it had been drug down five miles of bad road.

_____

How is the trigger action on the Taurus?

Regarding trigger pull: Dry firing the Taurus...pull is long but smooth, and something I can live with, I think.

Besides, if I'm using it for real (saving my ass), I'll be yankin' on that sum-bitch like the pull-rope on my Lawn-Boy, so I don't figure to be noticin' trigger action too much.

_____

I heard Taurus guns suck major ass. Why on earth did you buy a Taurus? Are you stupid?

Fuck you! Nobody tells me what to do. Not even me.

I'll try anything once, but, rest assured...if the Taurus sucks, I'm telling THE WORLD!!!

But…I'm really digging its small size.

It will go anywhere effortlessly compared to my other hand-cannons….perfect for those times when one wants a gun and one is not supposed to have a gun!

I'm really hoping it turns out to be a good firearm.

Overall...I'm a little disappointed in the Taurus 738 TCP so far, but I think I need to try different ammo before I finally decide if it sucks or not. I think more break-in shooting is required with these little pieces. I hear polishing the feed ramp is helpful.

Also, I think it's important to realize these pocket guns aren't like our full size quality Glocks, S&Ws, Colts, and Springfields.

__________

M1 Garand Gets A Test Drive!

Getting jiggy w/Miss G.A. Rand

I finally did it. Put about 8 clips through my M1 Garand!

Wow...is all I can say.

Never experienced anything like it.

It bucks like a mule on steroids, and functioned flawlessly.

No thumb injuries.

A couple of buddies gave me one bandolier of GI ball ammo, and twenty armour piercing rounds.

Ping! Everything was perfect.

One guy well versed in Garands, said the rifle was a real thing of beauty, and questioned whether I should be shooting it because of how nice it is. (I told him I was going to use it, not abuse it nor hang it on a wall) He said the trigger action was beautiful. He was very impressed, as were the others at the range.

Several folks present had great info and pointers for me, and they were very jealous.

Many thanks to those who contributed ammo and knowledge.

We'll do it again soon.

_____

Where’d you get the M1?

I've had it for about a year.

You can read all about it here.

It was originally purchased by my uncle from a Muncie, Indiana gun store about 30 years ago...for $345 !

I have the receipt.

He never fired it in all that time, but he was aware of how much I coveted it.

He unexpectedly gifted it to me.

I was floored, of course!

I sent him an e-mail detailing my deflowering of his rifle.

He seemed pleased!

During this recent range session, I was interested to be informed that this rifle is equipped with "match" sights.

I don’t know about all that, but the knowledgeable person who told me this stated that he believed the entire rifle was of "match" quality due to the fact that it is also equipped with a National Match operating rod.

I told him that I didn't think it was an actual "match" rifle, but a mix-master comprised of some VERY good components.

These are great times we live in, brothers and sisters.

Great times indeed.

Combat Antenna

2010-12-19T17:42:00.049-05:00

Back when I was a kid, I read a lot of the DC war comic books.

Sgt. Rock was one of my favorites.

Whenever Sgt. Rock and his platoon were patrolling and he sensed danger, he would say something about his “combat antenna” going off.

The grizzled sergeant didn’t have actual antenna sprouting from his steel pot, but what he did have was experience and a self-preservation instinct…things that kept him and his platoon alive during combat.

Some of you that may know me in person, or from FacePlant, or here, or other places on the intardnets, might be wondering just what the hell is going on with me.

What’s up with all the right-wing militia and war-like posts and images?

Well friends, I’ll tell you.

I’ve got a real bad feeling.

Maybe I’ve been listening to too much talk radio.

Maybe I’m reading too many right-wing websites.

Maybe my brush with “The System” this summer has something to do with it.

Maybe I’m finally waking-the-fuck-up.

My spider senses have been very accurate lately, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short 48 years converting oxygen to carbon dioxide, it’s that I need to follow my gut instincts.

Due to recent events, I've started having real thoughts of Shit Hitting The Fan (SHTF).

I don't really consider myself a "prepper," and the fact is that I can barely afford to live day-to-day as it is where I am in the suburbs, and I realize I'm a little late to the party.

But...I had a VERY interesting discussion with a brother-in-law, (former Army tanker), who lives in Kentucky and recently purchased 30+ acres of land out in the boonies.

We discussed SHTF and how I would like to displace to this area if necessary.

He was VERY agreeable to this, and he showed me the Google Earth image of the property.

My first comment upon seeing the image was something like, "Nice! One way in, terrain easily defensible on three sides due to natural obstacles, a fresh water source, room for a shooting range, livestock, gardening, etc..."

I asked him, "When can I and my family move in?"

I was mostly serious, and I'm pretty sure so was he.

Am I losing it?

What’s going on in this country is not good.

It didn’t start with Obama, but it is steam rolling now, and the signs are everywhere if one is paying attention.

I won’t bother to list these indicators for you.

There are many sites and sources available done by guys and gals who are much smarter and more capable than I.

Look for them.

Read them, and get ready.

If nothing else, be prepared mentally for what is to come.

That’s what I’m doing anyway.

I can’t financially afford to store more than a week’s worth of food, nor can I afford to purchase stockpiles of whatever I may need to protect my family and myself for long periods.

But, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I have some plans…which is more than half the battle in my opinion.

I’m at least thinking about it seriously.

I am peacefully waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I hope it never happens, but, in another way, I almost wish it would hurry up and happen, and we could get down to business.

Hurry up and wait.

The suspense is killing me, I guess.

In the meantime, I’ll stay vigilant, watch what’s going on around me locally, and pay attention to national and international events.

If it happens, it won’t be good.

It will probably be messy.

Some of us might not make it.

Some folks say, "Why worry about it? Vote for the candidates who best reflect your ideas and values and move on with life. Go to protests and demonstrations and make your thoughts known to the powers-that-be."

A couple of years ago, I attended one of the first national Tea Party/9-12 events ever held here...the first one Glenn Beck got going.

There was sobbing and bullshit grandstanding, along with the local organizer surreptitiously pimping his plumbing business.

It felt like a high school pep rally.

All this is fine, I guess, but not what I was looking for.

It didn't get my blood flowing.

I was in the mood to hear a fiery speech and kick somebody's ass, but they wanted to hug each other and hold hands.

Fuck that.

Regarding attendance at protests and demonstrations...the commie-libs gather in large numbers for their causes because most of them don't WORK for a living like WE do.

I suppose if I sucked on the government teat to support my family, I'd have more time for rabble rousing.

I ain't afraid of shit, but I need to feed my family.

If/when the ruckus starts, I'll meet you all on the village green...right after I shoot a few squirrels out of the trees for my family's supper.

Keep your powder dry.

Semper Fidelis.