What's All This Hub-Bub...

...about armored vehicles?

Neither eye nor ear protection!  That's dangerous!

Who knew 55 gallons of Hi-Test Texaco had HE/armor-piercing properties?

And why does Kojak's .30 cal. sound like that?

Is it a groovy real-world custom one-off hand-fabricated suppressed Browning .30 caliber machine gun?

I dunno, but we're gonna need cats like Kojak if tanks and armored cars are on our streets.

Like that could ever happen...

Anyhoo...I seem to recall being taught something in boot camp about a Hell-Bomb, but damned if I can remember exactly what it was.

Where's my Guidebook For Marines?

I never throw anything away.  

I know I have it here somewhere.

Getting old and forgetful is hell.

Shit.

Never mind.

I'm gonna take a nap.

Wolverines!

NASCAR, Indy, and Respect

The NECKCAR turds came-a-calling to my beloved Indianapolis Motor Speedway recently.

Them good ol' boys like to play that they have a deep respect for the Citadel Of Speed.

They wax poetically about their reverence for its history and tradition.

But what they say...and what they actually do...are two completely different things.

It's kinda like this:

Imagine YOUR teen daughter is dating a guy, and while the two of them are sitting in YOUR home...on YOUR couch...in YOUR living room...he tells you how much he respects and admires YOUR daughter...all the while having his hand up her skirt.

Knuckle deep.

Jimmy Johnson needs to reconsider parking his sled crossways on MY racetrack with his nose up against MY wall and then doing a disgusting and defiling and desecrating burnout on MY sacred bricks. 

Hey Jimmy.

Your hero and four-time Indy 500 winner Rick Mears never did any shit like you pulled Sunday.

He had too much class.

Fuck Jimmy Johnson.

Fuck Hendrick Motorsports.

Fuck NECKCAR. 

Some of you might be saying, "But...but...but...Zoomie!  You are being a classless boob yourself by using coarse language and cussing out the premier NECKCAR team in a public forum.  You are a hypocrite!"

Yeah...maybe.

Whatever.

But this is MY house, and I can say whatever the fuck I want here.

You don't like it, you can get the fuck out. 

NECKCAR can do the same fucking thing. 

Stay off MY bricks.

Assholes.

My Nephew

Just got word my nephew, who is an Army medic in AssCrackistan and got hit by IEDs twice and shot at (and survived intact) on the same day just prior to Independence Day, lost six of his unit killed in another IED attack a couple of days ago.
 

I spoke to his parents at my July 4th party.  

I was semi-sober and angry.

What else is new...right?

Anyhoo...this is what I told my nephew's folks:

Any (honorable) way you can, convince him to get his narrow ass home ASAP.  

He and his buddies are getting fucked up and killed for nothing but bankers, Wall Street, and the free flow of opiates and oil and arms.  

He's not protecting me or defending the United States.  

It's all bullshit, just as my service in GW1 was.  

My eyes are open now, and I have learned a lot these last ten years or so.  

He should be home, married to some sweet young thing, making babies, and working a good job.

Get him out of that fucking Army!

The young lad's folks seemed to pretty much agree with me.

They said they think the luster of the Army has worn off for the young man.

It was ironic that the last time I spoke to him was at Easter (...or was it Thanksgiving?), and he was all fired up and gung-ho about going over-seas.

I was horrified.

(I mentioned this to my wife, and she said, "You were the same way for Desert Storm."  I said, "I know, but I was a young dip-shit at the time!")

I told him to be careful about what he wished for, take care of himself and his troops, don't volunteer for shit anymore, and get himself home ASAP.

Yes.

I am the angry, cynical, hypocritical uncle.

He's a bright kid and extremely motivated, and has very much impressed me these last few years after graduating high school and since enlisting.

He has a promising future ahead of him.

I just hope to God he survives this fucked up bullshit to enjoy it.

Please...if any of y'all are the prayin' type, please send a few my nephew's way.

Thanks.

Godspeed, nephew.

You are in my thoughts daily.

And Now...A Word From Our President On This Independence Day Holiday...(and some other stuff)

BTW...the stick-figure man above is the extent of my free-hand artistic abilities.

Most of what you fine folks see here is shit I've stolen and adapted and manipulated for my own use.

I am so ashamed...

 

I present the following with apologies to DC Comics, Sergeant Rock, and Russ Heath...

Right click, open it in a new tab, and expand it to get the image in all its intended glory.

Doing all that shit kinda blows...I know.

A good concept poorly executed...

I suck.

Number One Son Graduates High School And Makes Dad Look Like A Genius!

I can fuck you up in any number of ways.  Just give me a second to get out of this goofy outfit first!

Number One Son graduated from his high school yesterday.

Seventh in his class of approximately 200…

One of those moments in life where I think all the constant nagging from my wife and I (parenting) has paid off.

One of those moments that make me think, “Fuck!  He actually listened to some of the shit I told him!”

I have often told him and his brother and sister to NOT do what I did.

"Study.  Work hard.  Don’t half-ass anything you do.  You are responsible for you, and you have nobody to blame but yourself for your failures.  Educate yourself and learn a skill that will allow you to earn a decent living.  Nobody owes you a living."

I am so proud of him the buttons on my shirt are popping off like an M-16 on full auto.

His good grades seemingly came easy for him. 

Math subjects like algebra and calculus, which, in ancient times caused my brain to shut down and my eyes to glaze over in glorious stupidity, were no great problem for him.

Finite math was another story, apparently, and he had to devote some actual study time to pass this course.

When I attempted finite math, I smoked bowls on the walk to class and arrived thoroughly baked.  I eventually dropped the course in order to avoid receiving my well-deserved F.

There’s a reason they call it “dope”…

I told all my kids early on that it would behoove them to learn Spanish as the country was being over-run, and having this skill would most likely end up being beneficial for any number of reasons.

Number One Son also excelled in Spanish language, although I have rarely heard him speak a word of it around me unless it was a Spanish curse word of some sort.

I think this is because I’ve always encouraged my kids to speak “American” at home, and that I constantly ask them to report to me any devious goings-on of their Commie-loving, Chavez-nut-gargling, Castro-ass-kissing, Che-worshipping Spanish teacher.

I REALLY hate that bitch.

Anyhoo…after years of prodding and listening to me tell him how NOT to do things, (and that there was basically no way I was going to be able to fund a college education for him), Number One Son decided to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and pursue the computer field.

No dumb shit like truck-driving for him…

He will be attending the local satellite office of Purdue University.

He received a small education scholarship or two, and took out a student loan in his own name.

Apparently, these facts, according to some, make my son and I members of the tax-devouring Free Shit Army, and we are to be despised and loathed by all true and real American patriots.

I dunno about all that. 

He earned the scholarships with his good grades, and he will repay his loans through working while/after attending school.

So…therefore…I don’t give two stinking shits what anybody says about my son and I being leaches on the system.

Fuck you anyway.

Besides all that, I taught him to shoot at an early age.

Another lesson from me he took to heart…

He is a crack shot with a handgun and a rifle.

He can fuck up your world with lead, and, someday, with computers…a frightening combination.

Yes.

I am a bad dad.

Congratulations, son.

Well done. 

I couldn’t be more proud of you.

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.

###

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.