Is This Wrong? Volume Five.

If so, I am extremely apologetic and I will endeavor to correct my errant ways of doing stuff.

This Made My Fucking Day!

So...I'm off work today, and that gave me a chance to be a good dad for a change and attend an event at our local high school honoring my incredible daughter because she is...well...incredible.

After the event, my wife and I walk outside, and because I am keenly observant, I see this almost immediately and laugh my ass off.

 It's a police car, if you couldn't tell...

Another parent walking nearby saw it also and said a photo of it should be put on the intardnets with much haste.

I replied, "What a stupid idea!  Are you fucking retarded or something?  I bet you voted for O'Vomit, didn't you?  Disappear, you treasonous bastard!"

Yes.

I am a people person. 

Within minutes, the image was on my FacePlant page.

I am happy to know that there are kindred spirits within the ranks of my small town.

My happiness is of paramount importance.

Don't you agree?

Is This Wrong? Volume Four.

If so, I am sorry and I will delete it.

__________ 

One or two of you miscreant vagabond domesticated terrorists out there have expressed some interest in wearing the above abhorrent image on your skuzzy bodies.

That would be silly and I will have none of it.

Get back.

I bid you good day. 

Candy Cane Of Death

Today was the day to take down Christmas decorations at my crib.

Some old broken stuff and other debris was getting shit-canned.  I noticed a bit of it, and my demented mind began to wander.

This is what I came up with.

It is what I call the Candy Cane of Death®, and it has many useful purposes.

Especially these days...

What could be better than a candy cane full of ammo?

Nothing.

That's what.

Skittles?

Bullshit.

Sell it to Trayvon.

Wait...

I may market this genius idea next year during the holidays, if...God willing, I am still above ground.

Happy New Year.

_____ 

Edit:  Because I am a giving and loving person, I have decided to give you all a GIF version of my much beloved Candy Cane of Death®.

This piece of art is large and in-your-face, and it should be nice and crisp.

If it isn't, I am sorry and I will refund your money.

With this GIF image, you should be able to open it up to its full glory and right click and save and paste it on to the background image of your choice and be creative and make agitation propaganda (agitprop) and attract the attention of the authorities and get stacks of heavily armed government goons on your door step. 

What you do after that is entirely up to you. 

If you use this Candy Cane of Death® elsewhere, I would appreciate a little acknowledgement...but I'm not gonna have an aneurism if you don't.

I hope I have been helpful.

You're welcome. 

A Half-Grin And A Gleam In The Eye

I wanna tell y’all a story about the house-man blues.
I come home one particular Friday and had to tell the landlady I done lost my job.
She said, “That don't confront me, as long as I get my money next Friday.”
Now…next Friday come I didn't get the rent, and out the mother-fuckin’ door I went.

Wait… 

That’s not the story I wanna tell y'all.  That’s a Johnny Lee Hooker/George Thorogood song.

I got my ass kicked once.  Once...

The story I wanna tell y'all is true.  

It happened way back in olden times when I was in high school.

It is kinda like a parable or a fable, and maybe you can learn something from it and apply it to what’s going down today.

I’m pretty sure I was Senior at the time.

I was tall, but I couldn’t have weighed more than a buck thirty soaking wet, with a neck that looked like a crooked stack of dimes.

I was not an imposing figure.

I still ain’t.

There was this one kid…I’ll call him Scotty…an under-classman, whom I didn’t think showed the proper respect and deference due me.

He was short and stocky and somebody I thought would be easy pickings.

I was a Senior.  A member of the “King-Shit Club.”  Seniors rule!  All must bow down to us!  

Right?

This Scotty kid didn’t get the memo, and for some reason I felt that I needed to put him in his place.

Now…why I felt it was my duty to do this, I have no earthly idea.

Maybe it was youthful exuberance and the feelings of superiority and invincibility and hormones and stuff like that.

I dunno.

My old man hated a bully, and he beat it into me at an early age that he would not cotton to me being one.

I guess I was hardheaded, and had to learn some lessons first-hand.

Anyhoo...after a couple of days of thinking about Scotty and how much it pissed me off that he was mouthy and smart with a much-vaunted Senior, I decided I’d had enough and that today was “show-time.”

Between classes, I noticed Scotty in the hallway.

As we passed each other, I threw a shoulder into him, hoping to start some shit.

He spun around and said something like, “Hey mother-fucker!  What’s your problem?”

I said, “You’re my problem, asshole!”

We were about six feet apart.

I threw my handful of books to the floor and advanced on him.

He squared up.

He had kinda a sly half-grin on his face and a gleam in his eye…as if to say, “I didn’t ask for this, and I really don’t want to do this, but keep coming and I’m really gonna kinda enjoy this.”

It was unfortunate for me that at that point in my life I didn’t pay real close attention to the ways of the world and to body language and to the little hints folks give off when shit starts getting froggy.

Looking back on it now, I didn’t read Scotty very well at all.

I never saw that shit coming, and to this day I don’t even remember which fist he used.

He popped me hard right square in the mouth, and sent me reeling.

My glasses went flying and were merrily kicked down the hallway by my loving classmates.

I got my shit together in about three seconds, and then it was like the Charge of the Light Brigade.

I banzai-rushed Scotty, knocked him to the floor, got him in a headlock, and proceeded to wail on his face like it was a piñata.

It was too fucking late, because Mr. Smith, the history teacher and ex-Marine, broke it up before I exacted a satisfying amount of my (un)just vengeance.

My upper lip was splattered all over my face, and I was leaking like a mother-fucker all over the floor and myself.

I don’t remember if it was this incident or some fucking movie I’ve seen, but I seem to recall that Scotty said something like, “Yeah!  Fuck with me again asshole and you’ll taste more of your own blood!”

What a fucking dumbass I was. 

This had to be the low point…up to that time…of my pretty much unremarkable and disgraceful life.

I tried to bully a kid and got my clocked publicly cleaned for my troubles.

I was humiliated and felt ashamed of my actions and the way the West was really won.

Wait…that last part was a Mellencamp song.

Forget that part.

I went to the restroom and cleaned myself up the best I could.

My shit was fucked up, and I wanted to crawl under a fucking rock and disappear.

Mr. Smith came into the restroom and asked me if I was OK, but I don’t remember what I said to him.

I just knew I had to get the fuck out of that school as fast as I could.

We weren’t allowed to just leave the school whenever we wanted, but I said ‘fuck it’ and didn’t care.

I bolted, but I came back to school later in the day because I knew if my folks got wind of me cutting classes or ditching they’d be pissed off royally.

So there I am at school the rest of the day with my head down and trying to hide my swollen mouf.

Gawddamn that was embarrassing!  I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such a colossal dickhead since.

I’ve come close a time or two.

Maybe.

Anyhoo…I found out later on that this Scotty cat was a Junior Golden Gloves Boxing Champion or some shit like that!

Motherfuck!

Can somebody out there please pass on pertinent info like that?

This would have been great intel to have prior to my engagement with Scotty.

I would have changed my tactics, perhaps.

Or not…

I ran into Scotty on the streets of my small town a few years later.

As I walked up to him, I could tell he was a little bit wary of me.

I said, “Hey Scotty!  Remember me?  The guy whose ass you kicked at school?  Just wanted to tell you…I had that shit coming ‘cuz I was an asshole.  I ain’t mad atcha.  No hard feelings.”

I don’t remember what his reply was.

Hells bells.  I think we even shook hands.

I’ve never been the kinda guy who holds a grudge.

Now…some of you might be saying, “Zoomie!  What the fuck is this rambling bullshit?  You were a punk douche-bag when you were a kid and you got your ass kicked something proper!  Then you kissed Scotty’s ass and groveled like the big pussy you are!  So what?  How does this crap relate to what’s going down today?  Fuck you.  You suck.  Please hurry up and die already!  Asshole.”

Whatever.  Guilty, I suppose.

But…as I think about the commie-libs and their looming attempts to further regulate firearms and wipe their collective asses with the Bill of Rights and the Second Amendment, my point is this:

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

Don’t under-estimate your opponent.

Beware of the sly half-grin and the twinkle in the eye, ‘cuz very bad shit could be heading your way.

I get the feeling that the Patriots and gun-owners of this nation are saying to themselves, “I didn’t ask for this, and I really don’t want to do this, but…as sick as it may sound…keep coming…and I’m really gonna kinda enjoy this.”

Folks seem to be resigned and resolved to what’s coming, and it don’t confront them none.

With a half-grin and a gleam in the eye…

Merry Christmas...In Spite Of Everything

I have no real pithy or brilliant comments this Christmas morning.

My family is together and healthy and in a warm and peaceful place.

For now, I am employed and able to provide their basic needs.

I could ask for nothing more.

I am thankful, but I wish my father was still around.

I miss him.

The Currier and Ives image above always reminds me of the Christmases of my youth and the care-free, home full of love he and Mom provided.

I hope that my wife and I have been able to provide the same to our children.

Merry Christmas.

A Heart-Warming Yuletide Father/Son Talk

I had to take Number Two Son to high school today because his morning vocational classes were cancelled due to winter weather.

He is a cool kid.

He is handsome and smart and athletic and popular with the ladies.

In other words, he is nothing like me.

I don’t know where he gets it.

I need to have a talk with my wife.

Maybe.

Anyhoo…yesterday, apparently, his vocational school was put on “lock-down” because a business across the street was armed-robbed.

I said, “Cool!  How did that go?  Were you waiting for a disgruntled, short-dicked psychopath to hose down the school with an evil AR15?”

Number Two Son said, “It was funny.  Earlier in the day we had a lock-down practice, and then later in the day we had a lock-down for real.”

He went on:  “They had us shut off all the lights and computer monitors, lock the doors, and hide under our desks.”

I said sarcastically, “Oh really?  Wait for the bullet like a helpless lamb and do nothing?  How’s about bum-rush the motherfucker and stab him in the neck with a pencil?  Or throw computer monitors at him?  Anything but sit there and wait to die like an asshole…”

Number Two Son:  “Yeah…Coach…(swim team coach and West Point/Army veteran, deer hunter, gun freak)…said we should assault through the ambush!”

I remarked, “Yep.  Coach is exactly right…and he would know.  Gang tackle the bastard and fuck him up something proper.”

At about that time, we arrived at his school, said our good-byes, and parted company.

It is this kind of intimate father/son moment that really brings a tear to the eye.

Touching, isn’t it?

Bringing Back An Oldie But A Goodie

Now's as good a time as any to bring this motherfucker back.

Click on it and save it.  

It should be big enough that you can print it and it will look good, then plaster it all over the place.

Churches, schools, shopping malls...whatever.

 

Vigilance And A Duty To Protect

Michael Savage was right.
(ETA:  He's wrong about a lot of other shit, though...like drum magazines and "assault weapons.")

Liberalism/progressivism is a mental disorder.

The gore had not even started to coagulate in Connecticut, and every Commie-lib from President O’Vomit on down gnashed their collective teeth and wailed about new gun restrictions and “doing everything possible to prevent such evil from happening again.”

These motherfuckers live in a fantasy world.

Is the nation awash in guns?

Fuck yes it is, and there’s nothing that will ever make those guns go away.

It is a statistical impossibility to rid this nation of firearms.

Most gun owners won’t give them up anyway.

Ain’t gonna happen, and there will be a big-ass fight if it is attempted.

But the Commie-Lib doesn’t understand this.

The Commie-Lib believes there are two resolutions to the mass-shootings problem:

-Confiscate all guns.  Stricter gun control.

-Build an impromptu display of Mylar balloons, teddy bears, artificial flowers, and over-sized sympathy cards at the scene of the crime.  Light candles.  Cry.  Hold hands.  Hope this evil never happens again.

Bullshit.

Hope in one hand.  Shit in the other.  See which hand fills up faster.

Evil will happen whether we want it to or not, and the only thing that would have stopped this satanic cocksucker from hosing down that elementary school would have been a strong and righteous man or woman armed.

Prepared.

At the scene.

Period.

End of fucking story.

The cops can’t be everywhere at once, and if you think they exist for the purpose of protecting you and yours, you are a delusional fuck.

As I, and countless others, have said before…most times Johnny Law shows up after the smoke has dissipated…just in time to string up the pretty yellow tape and draw chalk lines around the innocent victims.

with apologies to Norman Rockwell

So what’s it gonna be, America?

Are you gonna wait around for Occifer Friendly to stop the carnage? 

He will be late to the party.

Meanwhile, the body count is rising. 

You’d better shit a decision. 

What the fuck are you gonna do?

I sure as fuck know what I’d do, and it’s not sit around afterwards with my thumb up my ass and cry and sing Kumbayah.

Am I pissed off?

Gawdamn right I am.

Why am I pissed off?

Maybe it’s because the most innocent amongst us are unprotected from evil, and an inanimate object takes the blame.

An inanimate object, which in righteous hands, could have prevented this evil.

An inanimate object which has been regulated to the point that it cannot be legally used by the righteous to protect those most innocent amongst us.

I’m just a dumb truck driver, and I’m probably not expressing myself clearly, but it all doesn’t make sense to me.

Everything is ass-backwards.

Why does evil happen?

Ritalin?  Video games?  Broken homes?  Public education?  Lack of religion?  Hollywood?

I’ll be dipped in shit and rolled in crackers if I know, and I really don’t give a fuck as to why…

What I do know is that we cannot sit on our ass and let it happen.

Nor can we be denied the use of the tools to prevent it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Remembering My Grandfather And His Brother On This Pearl Harbor Day

The first two photos are of my Grandfather who left a wife and young daughter (my mother) behind and served as a US Navy SeaBee in the Aleutian Islands.

The last photo of the sailor with the Springfield 03 is his brother, my Godfather.

I never met my Grandfather.  He died before I was born.

Much to my shame, I did not stay in contact with my Godfather, who is long gone also.

I have often wondered what these two gents would think today about the country they served way back then...

Knowing a little bit about both men from family stories, I'm pretty sure they would be saddened and disgusted.