The First Indiana Domesticated Terror-Fest Is Complete

So the Hoosier Terror festival is complete.

A pleasant time was had by all.

About a dozen total in attendance (by some who traveled great distances), graciously hosted and much appreciated, in a remote and secure area.

It is sufficient to say that I pity the fool who tries to infiltrate this particular compound.

Trusting friendships were created and strengthened.

Much cursing, smoking, sedition, and seriously frightening gun-play took place.

Not trying to brag, but I am most satisfied that I have seemingly not lost the rifle marksmanship skills taught to me by Uncle Sugar so many years ago.

It is also a comfort to know that those in attendance are as good, if not better, than I with a firearm.

Again, I thank all in attendance, and especially our host.

It has been a long time…20 years or more…since I have experienced that kind of camaraderie.

It felt good.

If you haven’t attended a Terror-Fest/PatCom, get it done folks.

You won’t be disappointed.

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This is the Zoomie Hilton at the Indiana Terror-Fest.

It was fancy and comfortable.

Sorta.

Yes. I drive a bitch car, but it was filled with guns, ammo, a hatchet, a vintage WW2 E-tool, beer, and a dead battery.

So fuck you.

The first night a pack of rabid and terrifying coyotes ran through the perimeter yipping and howling and waking me up and sending shivers of unbridled fear down my aching spine which was cracking because I'm old and haven't slept on the ground in 20 years because I'm delicate and stuff.

Too bad KnuckleCutter wasn't there.  I hear he enjoys killing innocent fuzzy cute feral wildlife like coyotes.  KnuckleCutter is a horrifying domesticated terrorist out in California, so he probably wouldn't drive to Indiana to satisfy his carnal blood-lusts.

He's kinda lazy like that.

Maybe.

Some of those in attendance stated that they were surprised at my scrawny, emaciated, compu-geek appearance...and that they figured I'd be "bigger" because of my shitty attitude and mouthy, know-it-all intardnets presence.

Then I flexed for them and got all swoll and demonstrated a thing or two on the rifle range, and they kinda backed down and slowly moved away from me.

I guess I showed them, the big dopes.

I brought a mess of cold beer, but apparently patriots don't like beer too much these days, so only a couple of us drank any, which means more for me now...so it's all good.

A couple of guys tried to show me cool fire-starting shit, but I'm a city boy and pretty dumb sometimes, so I brought a Bic lighter and some sterno and had hot coffee any damn way.

Another cat knitted a groovy para-cord bracelet for me, so now I can strangle a Commie fool with it and nobody will know how I did it because a para-cord bracelet would never be suspected in a good old-fashioned Bolshevik throttling scenario.

This one dude, who was on Deep Purple's sound crew and a Marine all at the same time, showed me how to spot and dial in a scoped, high-powered rifle equipped with menacing attachments that curve up.

Or something.

He was an active duty type back in the old days, so he had a natural hatred for reservist pukes like me who skated all the time and got all the girls stateside while he risked his ass for me and everything good and beautiful and righteous and holy.

In spite of this, we got along famously.

Then there was this one person who plays it like he's just a regular Joe civilian maintenance man or something, but few know that he is a stone cold killer with a firearm....and he never got stupid and joined the military to learn this talent either.

No.  He did it on his own, on his own dime, and was not a tax-devouring government goon at any point in his life.

I saw him shoot the asshole out of many bulls-eyes with various and sundry long and short guns.

He is a natural.  He is frightening to me.  The authorities should be informed.

Maybe.

I probably shouldn't say much more about anybody else at this event, because they made it clear to me that if I fucked up their Operational Security by posting stupid shit and photos of them on the intardnets, they would slowly...and with much glee...gut me like a carp or field dress me and string me up in my own front yard.

Such an experience would be heinous and below average, so I had better shut up now.

Thanks again to all.  It was a pleasure and honor to spend the weekend with you.

Semper Fidelis.

Scary Pictures Part 2

New thread, same old shit.

More as I come up with them.

Inspired by Free For All... 

The following Geronimo posters were inspired by Elton John's "Indian Sunset."

A line from the song really gets to me.  It says, "I think it's time I strung my bow and ceased my senseless running."

You've probably discovered by now that I listen to and am inspired by music...much of it old.

Indiana Terror-Fest And Patriot Convention Swap Shop?

I will be attending the Indiana Terror-Fest And Patriot Convention.

I have some M1 carbine crap, detailed here, which I'd be willing to trade for some shit I need.

The ammo, although old (1970s vintage would be my uneducated guess), is in decent shape.

The mags, which I cleaned up and inspected, are in good condition...not beat up, and seem to have good springs, floor plates, and followers in them.

What I'm looking for is a real GI cartridge belt and suspenders, one plastic canteen, and maybe a medium ALICE pack.

Yeah...I know...all that shit is readily available all over the fucking place, but I'm too gawd-damned lazy to trudge off to a surplus store and look for it, and I damn sure am too much of a cheap bastard to shell out cash for it when I have some shit I can barter with.

And yeah...I know I should have stolen all that shit from Uncle Sugar when I mustered out...but fuck that too.  I am too much of an Honest Injunn for that.

And I am also aware that there is some new cool high-speed modern gear available, but fuck that...I want what I used back in prehistoric times.

So...I figure I can do some horse-trading with somebody who could use the M1 carbine stuff I own for which I have no real use.

I'm not looking to screw anyone over.  Most folks who know me or have dealt with me on the intardnets will tell you I'm kind of an alright guy.

Maybe. 

Anyhoo...I'll bring my carbine shit to the meetup, so if you have any real GI deuce gear to trade, bring that stuff and we'll work something out.

Oh My Goodness!

This is awful.

^^^link^^^

Click the link above.  I am not responsible for the image.  I did not make it.

I'm just passing it on and making you aware of its horrificness.

We Interrupt This Program...

Some of you people probably didn't know I am a sensitive softie sometimes.

I bet you think that I am so full o' bile and hate that I could never sit back and simply enjoy what life brings to me and appreciate stuff.

Well...in answer to that I would say you are wrong and that you should take a spool of corroded concertina wire...and gingerly...and with much zeal...go fuck yourself.

I am not mean.

So eat me.

Anyhoo...I came home from work a couple of days ago and these were exploding in my neglected garden.

Aren't they stunning?

They are poppies, but they are not they variety one produces hallucinogens with.

No.

They are poppies to look at and thank God about in bewildered wonderment.

The red petals are said to represent the blood spilled in wars.

The black center is said to be a cross signifying God or a grave marker.

Or something.

Maybe. 

Poppies are very popular in the United Kingdom with people who are in the "forces" and with folks there who remember the cream of a generation being mowed down wholesale for no good reason by German machine guns.

It is very sad to think about it sometimes.

In the UK, people who still speak English and are patriotic and are not Muslim wear poppies in November to mark Remembrance Day.  It's kinda like our November Veterans Day or our May Memorial Day here in the US, but a little less arrogant.

My poppies bloom every May.  With Memorial Day coming, it is very appropriate.

That's what I think.

I've heard that poppies grow abundantly in disturbed soil, and that old European battlefields which were churned up by artillery fire are now blanketed with poppies.

It's almost as if all the souls of all those young men violently snuffed out...for imbecilic reasons, or no purpose at all...are reaching out and saying, "We were important.  We meant something.  We had beautiful potential.  Remember us."

I remember.