Smoke on the Water

Men's NoWearhouse

So, Mr. Zimmeran's business values hordes of stinky, non-suit-wearing-slackers more highly than he does his own customer base.

Obviously, I found the above link at the usual place...  that's all well and good, but click that link, read the updates,and you'll also find this:

 

UPDATE:
Men’s Wearhouse CEO George Zimmer is a confirmed liberal, putting his money where his mouth is. Since 1989, according to the website Newsmeat.com, he has made $304,000 in political contributions. $1,500 of it (less than 0.5%) went to Republicans.

(h/t Nathan Wurtzel)

 

Count that as one establishment that'll never see another one of my dollars, ever again.  And yes, I do have some of their finer wares hanging in my closet.  I've long been a customer, and am on their e-mail list.  I think their next e-mail to me will receive one helluva reply.

I'll shop suits at Goodwill before I ever shop at MW again.

I guarantee it.

 

 

In the news: The Arms Room

Taking my nightly tour of the web, I found this at Instapundit:

 

October 26, 2011

NEW INNOVATIONS IN RETAIL SPACE: “I’ll tell you one thing, I don’t have to worry about getting robbed, that’s for sure.”

 

That link takes you to an Ann Althouse link, (I know, what a surprise from Insty, eh?!), but this one is well worth your click, and your time: 

October 25, 2011

 

"New Tricks for Old Malls... Gun Ranges, Aquariums, Go-Carts."

The WSJ reports:

Jin Dong, the manager of a Mattress Giant store that shares a wall with the Arms Room, is one of the gun range's happy neighbors.  (continued at linked article)

 

Speaking as a frequenter of The Arms Room, let me commend Mr. James for a job very well done.

 

The WSJ article didn't mention Mr. James' son, Travis.  A master guru of the AR-15 platform in all it's variations.  He built mine to order on a Rock River Arms receiver, and it's a 1/4" MOA rifle with the right ammo.

(continued, below the fold........)

 

Underachievers

One of the benchmark tenets of Communism is the moldy olde quote from Karl Marx, to wit:

"From each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs."

Classic.

So now, we have the so-called "99 percenters" descending upon Houston to make their demands upon the productive class.  Recently, one of the "99'ers" published a list of "demands", which pretty well reflects a short distillation of the countless causes represented among the disparate rabble who are currently serving as bedbug chow in New York, Boston and other previously targeted cities.

Looking at those demands, it's evident that these punks fall well short of measuringup to Marx's dictum.  They're not even interested in the "From each" part of the equation, whining endlessly about wanting the "to each" portion of things.  They want the fruits of society's labors, all while striving for not much more than achieving a storied career as a part time barrista or some comparable version thereof.  All while expecting a standard of living reflective of one who has done what it takes to earn an upper-middle class income.

Putting it bluntly, in the social and economic scheme of things, they don't even rise to the level of a straight-up Communist.

 

 

 

Jay's Biggest Fan

And no, it's not one of his countless readers. 

Stage IV Beverage Alert in effect.  You've been warned.

 

 

You Meet the Nicest People.............

At the Shooting Range!

At least, that should be the case, but all too often, isn't.

In a very brief, but insightful post, Shelley Rae of GunNuts.net, writes of dealing with rude jerks, know it alls and other assorted bad representatives of the shooting sports.

"As gun owners, as shooters, as people who have even a passing interest in firearms or shooting sports we represent a community. As part of this community we are accountable for conducting ourselves in way that represents our hobby well and is welcoming for potential new shooters. It’s not difficult to conduct business in a friendly and un-intimidating manner.

I honestly get confused by gun owners who are gruff and flat-out rude. Conducting oneself in a way that has the possibility to negatively impact an entire community is irresponsible and frankly not likely to accomplish anything."

She's correctly identified the problem, but I'm guessing she's a wee bit young to flashback to what might just be the path to a very appropriate solution.

much more follows in the extended entry........

Miss-Leadership

Via Drudge:

 

Barack 0bama Justin Bieber wears what's comfortable -- it's as simple as that. The pop sensation rocked the red carpet at Dolce & Gabbana's Fashion's Night Out event in New York City, where he spoke about his own fashion choices, including women's jeans.

Bieber spoke to Life & Style magazine about his affinity for ladies' jeans. "I've worn women's jeans before because they fit me. It's not a trend; it's just, whatever works, works." Again, Justin says this isn't a trend, so if everybody starts wearing Not Your Daughter's Jeans, don't blame him.

 

Shouldn't be too much of a surprise here. After all, Bieber is just emulating The Prissident.

First the Boat, then The Captain

As sad as tale as the demise of the New Dawn, I think today's news just may be even sadder.

No, I'm not shuffling off to Davey Jones' Locker.  You'll have to decide if that's the good news, or the bad.  The real news is perhaps, even worse.

As children, we all grew up being regaled with heroic tales of history's Great Captains.  The courage of Nelson, the resolve of John Paul Jones, the unrivaled courage of Farragut.  Countless are the boys who sailed the seas of imagination with Horatio Hornblower, who sought the Great White Whale with Captain Ahab, and even those who sailed the darker seas with the likes of Hook, Blackbeard and LaFitte.

There is one Cap'n though, who has touched the lives of more children than all of the above, combined.  For decades, he has steered his course across the milky seas, finding favor everywhere, save for those cruel shores where he and his kind were never welcomed.

Scorned by the humorless scolds who find pleasure in nothing and evil in all, the number of ports offering him welcome dwindled in numbers ever less, until it came to pass that he was Cap'n without a flag, navigating the doldrums of bottom shelf passages, endlessly adrift as a merchantman's worst nightmare, a cargo without a market.  Unwanted, unwelcome and turned away nearly everywhere, his once bright career ended, with hardly a ripple to compare with the mighty waves his ship's bow once displaced, everywhere he sailed.

It is with great sadness, that I mark the passing of this once great Cap'n, and mourn forever the void that his passing brings.

Sunk New Dawn

Some who read and comment at many of the same sites and blogs I often visit, may have noticed that a couple years back, I changed my "signature" from "Sloop New Dawn", to "Sunk New Dawn".

You can thank Hurricane Ike for the demise of the New Dawn.  What follows are some photos of her as she was found after the storm, about 300 yards inland from her former berth.  My thanks to Captain Rhonda Cummins for taking these photos before the salvage crews hauled the New Dawn off to the boneyard.

Being beaten ashore by wind and wave, she is known to have rolled at least twice.  Once certainly, between two large houses, which is where her mast and rigging was torn asunder.  She suffered terminal hull-deck separations, forward of the chainplates on the port side.

 

In the above photo, she doesn't look too bad, does she?  But, the mast is broken and twisted into a triangular pretzel.  It was torn out of it's tabernacle, pretty much destroying the upper cabin roof.  A testament to the strength of the design, the chainplates remained intact at the hull attachments.

More, below the fold............

To The Shores of Tripoli

Heard on the radio this morning, that four Americans, missionaries, were slaughtered by pirates who had boarded and hijacked Americans' yacht Quest, off of the coast of Somalia.

There is only one remedy for this, and we'd not put a single Marnie's life at risk while inflicting this punishment on the Somali villages from whence the pirate's "mother ships" embark on their murderous voyages.

We don't need to storm "The Shores of Tripoli".  First, that'd be nearly a thousand miles off target.  Second, we have the means and technology to inflict the suitable punishment with virtually no risk to U.S. personnel.

It is time to conduct a live "field test"with the MOAB on the specific village which is the homeport of the pirates responsible for this atroccity.

Will our current C in C have the historical clarity, the courage or resolve to do so?  Of course not.

Now then, my apologies for well over a year of absence.  Those of you who read the blogs know that I've always been hangin' out at various comment threads and the like.  But, after losing both my Dad and my cat in the space of three short months, I just didn't have the gas to motor forward here.

The post previous to this will show that I lost my beloved Harley in November of '09.  My Dad passed in January of '10, very shortly after returning to Orlando, from a Christmas road trip that brought him here to Galveston, onward to my Step-Mom's family in Oklahoma, and then returning to Orlando.  He made that drive on nothing but courage, nerve and faith, as his heart kept trying to "die" on him, pretty much the whole trip.  It was his last hurrah, and he knew it.

I'll type more of him later, but I'm proud of him, and always will be.

Things are good here at home.  Iris and I managed together, to rebuild the house from the damage inflicted by Ike.  I'm doing work that I enjoy, and that pays well.  We're again "staff" to a pair of cats, brother and sister which we took in as wee kittens.  They're a year old now, and have turned out to be tremendously entertaining, loving furballs.

In the days to come, I'll post the last photos extant of the New Dawn, as she lay shipwrecked, grounded an eighth of a mile inland, in the aftermath of Ike.

So, the murder upon the high seas of four of my fellow Citizens has drawn me from my seclusion, to once again take keyboard in hand, and say my piece here in this moribund space.

Fortunately, I only lost my boat to a storm.  The four American missionaries lost their lives.  And to do so at the hands of known barbarians was preventable, and is punishable.

I understand that the U.S. Navy has captured a few of those responsible.  Those should be summarily executed, strung up by the neck on the ship's upperworks, and sailed close ashore to Somali villages.

The sad thing is, the C in C could do this with no real political fallout.  No nation on the planet would sincerely mourn a Somali pirate village, and the support for so doing here at home would be overwhelming.  Likely a 20 point bump in the polls within 12 hours of the blast.

What he does next will speak volumes as to his fealty to the Citizens of the United States of America.  Personally, I'm not holding my breath that he'll in any way exercises his powers to bring about an honorable solution.

Meanwhile, I bow my head and pray for the families and friends of the lost yachtsmen.

And, for the future of our country.

Harley, R.I.P.

I lost my best friend of fourteen and one-half years today.  Harley, beloved yellow striped cat.  Diabetes and a failing liver; he fought a valiant fight.
 
Loving always, and brave to the end. 
 
He was in my lap at the vets, with Iris who loved him, alongside.  Gently, he slept, and sleeps now forevermore.
 
No better friend.  No finer shipmate.  Never a love more loyal or true.
 
 

Harley

Beloved Yellow Cat

Made of Pure Love

R.I.P.

March 15, 1995 - November 9, 2009.

 

 

For Love Of Country 2008

This was first posted way back on May 28, 2004.  I've put it up every year since, without changes.  It becomes more meaningful to me, with every passing year.

For Love Of Country

And of our fellow man.

In the face of this electoral season's acrimony, it behooves us all as Americans to every now and then declare a truce, step back from the brink and to take stock of this awesome Nation of ours.

Of all of ours.

Be you Raving Liberal or Vast Right-Wing Conspirator, this time is not about you. Or about me.

It is about Them.

It is for The Fallen.

Each year the soldiers of the Third United States Infantry Regiment ("The Old Guard") take part in the ceremony called "Flags In." Just before Memorial Day, each grave in Arlington National Cemetery is decorated with a small American flag.

The flags remain in place until the conclusion of the Memorial Day Weekend when they are all removed. It is the only time during the year when American flags are permitted at all gravesites in the Cemetery. The "Flags In" detail took place this year on Thursday, 27 May 2004.

Personally, I believe deeply that we lose something vital to our survival as a Nation when we forget the blood of patriots.

Words, symbols, heated rhetoric and clever argument all pale when measured against the brilliance of the white of marble, the emerald carpet of living grass borne over they who rest beneath, forevermore.

And the fields and fields of flags upon each, bearing quiet witness to the precious, eternal value of that sacrafice.

Dignity, honor, respect and a day of rememberence is all that they ask now of us.

Especially, rememberence.

So, this weekend, set aside if only for a day, thoughts of (D) or (R). Rail not against your fellow American, nor wish harm to him, his party or his creed.

Not on this day.

The men and women in those graves are no longer Democrats or Republicans. They are still and eternally though Americans, and are forevermore worthy of this day given but to them.

Honor the Day. Honor Them.

From their dark and silent graves, they give more honor to our Nation than any one politican, party or officeholder dares ever imagine.

Dignified beyond words, with nobility above the highest offices of government, these silent warriors speak loudly of what it is to be American.

They did not die for the Republicans. Nor for the Democrats, Greens or Libertarians.

Whether in combat, or fifty years later surrounded by only the memories of comrades long since passed, the men and women resting forever under those flags once marched proudly under that banner. They have earned nothing less than the unqualified respect of a grateful Nation, and her grateful people.

The last full measure of devotion is an awesome, terrible thing. Yet, magnificent; and it is upon the altar of their sacrafice that we enjoy the freedom of the greatest Nation in the history of the world.

Stand and salute, and remember them.

For our own sakes, and especially for theirs.

REMEMBER THEM!

And of our fellow man.

In the face of this electoral season's acrimony, it behooves us all as Americans to every now and then declare a truce, step back from the brink and to take stock of this awesome Nation of ours.

Of all of ours.

Be you Raving Liberal or Vast Right-Wing Conspirator, this time is not about you. Or about me.

It is about Them.

It is for The Fallen.

Each year the soldiers of the Third United States Infantry Regiment ("The Old Guard") take part in the ceremony called "Flags In." Just before Memorial Day, each grave in Arlington National Cemetery is decorated with a small American flag.

The flags remain in place until the conclusion of the Memorial Day Weekend when they are all removed. It is the only time during the year when American flags are permitted at all gravesites in the Cemetery. The "Flags In" detail took place this year on Thursday, 27 May 2004.

Personally, I believe deeply that we lose something vital to our survival as a Nation when we forget the blood of patriots.

Words, symbols, heated rhetoric and clever argument all pale when measured against the brilliance of the white of marble, the emerald carpet of living grass borne over they who rest beneath, forevermore.

And the fields and fields of flags upon each, bearing quiet witness to the precious, eternal value of that sacrafice.

Dignity, honor, respect and a day of rememberence is all that they ask now of us.

Especially, rememberence.

So, this weekend, set aside if only for a day, thoughts of (D) or (R). Rail not against your fellow American, nor wish harm to him, his party or his creed.

Not on this day.

The men and women in those graves are no longer Democrats or Republicans. They are still and eternally though Americans, and are forevermore worthy of this day given but to them.

Honor the Day. Honor Them.

From their dark and silent graves, they give more honor to our Nation than any one politican, party or officeholder dares ever imagine.

Dignified beyond words, with nobility above the highest offices of government, these silent warriors speak loudly of what it is to be American.

They did not die for the Republicans. Nor for the Democrats, Greens or Libertarians.

Whether in combat, or fifty years later surrounded by only the memories of comrades long since passed, the men and women resting forever under those flags once marched proudly under that banner. They have earned nothing less than the unqualified respect of a grateful Nation, and her grateful people.

The last full measure of devotion is an awesome, terrible thing. Yet, magnificent; and it is upon the altar of their sacrafice that we enjoy the freedom of the greatest Nation in the history of the world.

Stand and salute, and remember them.

For our own sakes, and especially for theirs.

REMEMBER THEM!

Lost; A True Lady

As anyone who puts a blog out here knows, it is often the encoragement of others which motivate us to move from merely commenting on blogs, to starting and keeping one's own.

When that encouragement comes from such blogosphere icons as Baldilocks, Key, Misha and Kim, well, one becomes both excited and humbled.  The praise from those held in such esteem, invigorating.  The feeling that what you put out there being not as good as you wish you could make it, humbling, to be sure.

One such was Acidman, who was directly responsible in demanding that I get this blog going.  And sadly, he's gone from us, too soon, too tragically.

Today though, I learn of a loss of equal heartbreak.  And I grieve the loss of one of a rare and passing breed.

A True Lady.

Barbara Manning.

We knew her as Indigo, of Indigo's Insights.

And now, she's Pussyfootin' around Heaven, reunited with her husband who preceeded her some time ago.

It's not for me to fully eulogize Barbara here.  Our correspondence in the days when she wrote to me in encouragement and coaching are and shall remain reserved.  Suffice to say that she was always and without fail, a friend.  A lady of grace, class, substance and style.

She made a lasting legacy here, and among many. 

I will leave with one of her favored expressions.

Godspeed, Indigo. 

Over the Hill

It's official.  I am now a certified Old Fart, having progressed from Jr. Geezer to full-fledged Geezer.

The Big Five-Oh has arrived, and I don't mean the ones who drive up in black and white Fords.

Yeah, it's been forever and a day since I last posted, but I'm still around.  As to writing more productively, we'll see.  That's a hurdle, but I've cleared a few of those in my time.

Anyway, I'm just sayin', it's good to be here. 

Inadequate Words

Words fail when you wish for them to express your shock, sorrow and condolences..... and you find that words are indeed, inadequate, at the very best.

Christiana Hendrix, 1974-2007

Mike’s wife Christiana was killed Friday afternoon while riding her Sportster. Mike was on his own bike and wasn’t injured. Stunned and heartbroken doesn’t begin to cover this. Words always feel so useless and empty when someone you love dies, but I hope Xenia and Martin know their remarkable daughter was very much loved by her extended family, too.

We miss you terribly, C. And you know we’ll take good care of your four-legged friends for you. Requiescat In Pace, my beautiful friend.

Mike, my prayers are with and for you, sir.  And for your beloved Christiana.

I hope you'll find solace in the more eloquent words of so many others.  And please forgive me the inadequacy of mine here.

I pray for you peace, in this time of pain.

The Day the MuseSick Died

I'm posting this late in the day on the 26th, so you might call this "A Year and a Day".  I'll just call it a year though.

Back in the '70s, one of the best songwriters of the era laid down an epic track, celebrating the music and mourning the loss of Buddy Holly.  American Pie, by Don McLean remains high in the pantheon of superior songs, and it is a fitting parallel to this annerversary.

The Day the MuseSick Died.

For that atrocious pun alone, Rob would have me dragged off and shot.

I can think of less praiseworthy forms of demise.  Seriously, I can picture Rob chortling and laughing his patented "Buwahahaa!" as he'd watch me trooped off to the post and blindfold for Abuse of the English Language.

A few days short of one year ago, I wrote this eulogy in tribute to a man who's impact on my life is mirrored in the lives of dozens of other writers, and quite literally, thousands of other readers. 

My closing words from that year-ago eulogy are no less fitting today, than then.

Now, a final word.  I've been as maudlin, emotionally torn-up and just flat-out shattered at Rob's demise as imaginable.  I've shared tears with friends on the phone, swapped some war-stories of Rob and most sadly, have been the bearer of the bad news to three who had not yet read of his death.  Those were the worst moments of all.

But now, it's time to move on.  Rob wrote often of his football days, of playing through the pain, of hustling through the hurt.  So, we've got it to do.

Life goes on.  Shitty things in the news which would've pissed Rob off still need ranting.  The laughable idiocy of the Left still need lampooning.  Bourbon needs be sipped, cigars need be smoked, hogs must be roasted and fresh green peanuts need their boiling. 

It falls to us to do all that, lest we be dragged off and shot.

Goodbye, Rob.  Adios, Acidman, you cranky old bastard.

Your friend,

Jim

Sloop New Dawn

Galveston, TX

And to that, may I get an Amen?

Updated, ten minutes after initial post:

Some of you might wish to revisit what many other bloggers had to say a year ago.  Ain't none of us going to fill the hole Rob left.  None, of us.

Old Spice

The classic scent of the common man.  Common many years ago and less so now, but not a forgotten fragrance either.  It is still spashed daily by thousands, upon a like number of wizened, grizzled mugs.

A scent considered dated, passe' and far out of style, yet which still sells millions of dollars worth annually; the men who wear it are to those who love them, absolutely never dated, passe' or out of style.

This evening, I read the following comment in response to this post by the always read-worthy Law Dog Files.

Arfin Greebly said...
LD,

Dammit.

You made my eyes water, and I'm not eating anything hot.

If I somehow managed to grow into my father, I would consider it an honor.

I have long felt those were shoes I could not fill.

Every time I review the integrity with which he has lived his life, I find myself wanting.

I hear ya, Afrin.... and raise you an "amen".

So, though while Law Dog's post speaks of an entirely different sort of spice, he speaks the common language of sons who come to know thier fathers later in life, and surprisingly, in their own lives as they live them.

A bit melancholy, to be sure.  But not sad.  No, not sad at all.

Indeed, every morning that I drag the whetted steel across my own aging jowls, I find myself more and more to be shaving the face of my Father.

So, Mr. Greebly?  Don't feel bad, mate.  I know I can never fill my Dad's shoes.  Not even close.  I'll be happy if I can be merely half the man my Dad is, and even that is to aspire to fight above my weight.  For all his flaws, mistakes and shortcomings, he's lived a life which far outstrips mine in accomplishment, experience and integrity.

I admire him beyond words, and love him beyond measure.

And shall, always.

Happy travelling, Dad, and Happy Father's Day!

addendum: 

By the way, I come to my love of black pepper quite of my own volition.  I can remember quite cleaerly, the four of us (Dad, my late Mom and (now estranged) brother, dining at the Western Steak House on Orangethorpe Ave in Fullerton, CA.  And my folk's watching in astonished amazement as I quite literally blanketed my steaks (we ate there often enough), in a good solid layer of black pepper, relishing every bite.  I was in the 2nd grade then.

And while I've never came to appreciate any sort of bell pepper or hot chili peppers, I still loves me a well peppered steak.

The Bastidge

Writing like this is what hooked me on reading blogs, and in no small part, why I started blogging lo those many years ago.

Don't stop there however.  Keep reading each preceeding link.  I think you'll like what you read.  I also think you'll like the man behind that keyboard out there.

Meet The Bastige.  And welcome to the blogroll, Larry.  This former USAF cop, salutes you.

This Memorial Day, 2007

Looking back over the past four years of Smoke on the Water, this remains my favorite post.  I believe in it, and I stand by every word.  Then, as now.

Sadly though, traitors who seek vainglory and high political office today betray our fallen heroes, all in the name of personal gain, political advantage and a sick, twisted belief that all that is wrong in this world can be laid at the feet of the United States of America.

They are wrong.

The brave men and women who served our country, and who now lie at eternal rest, are not to be cast aside as mere pawns by those who betray their very sacrafice.  Not deny it; betray it.

A few days ago, the United States Senate passed the bill fuding the troops engaged in the Iraqi Theatre of Operations.  The vote was 80-14.

Of those fourteen; I no longer consider them worthy of the sacrafices made by our warriors.  Regardless of party, they have in my consideration, forfeit that which has been won for them by the blood and lives of the men and women I write about in the following post. 

The honor due our fallen soldiers can be upheld in large measure, by seeing to it that those fourteen traitors who at present, bear the title United States Senator, do so no longer at the first electoral opportunity.  I'll deal with them later.  They don't even deserve to have their names mentioned in this same article which is dedicated to heroes felled in the cause of freedom.

Our troops; past, present and future, deserve better.

They deserve our all.

And now, please let me once again give to you what I'd first written and posted on May 28, 2004.

For Love Of Country

And of our fellow man.

In the face of this electoral season's acrimony, it behooves us all as Americans to every now and then declare a truce, step back from the brink and to take stock of this awesome Nation of ours.

Of all of ours.

Be you Raving Liberal or Vast Right-Wing Conspirator, this time is not about you. Or about me.

It is about Them.

It is for The Fallen.

Each year the soldiers of the Third United States Infantry Regiment ("The Old Guard") take part in the ceremony called "Flags In." Just before Memorial Day, each grave in Arlington National Cemetery is decorated with a small American flag.

The flags remain in place until the conclusion of the Memorial Day Weekend when they are all removed. It is the only time during the year when American flags are permitted at all gravesites in the Cemetery. The "Flags In" detail took place this year on Thursday, 27 May 2004.

Personally, I believe deeply that we lose something vital to our survival as a Nation when we forget the blood of patriots.

Words, symbols, heated rhetoric and clever argument all pale when measured against the brilliance of the white of marble, the emerald carpet of living grass borne over they who rest beneath, forevermore.

And the fields and fields of flags upon each, bearing quiet witness to the precious, eternal value of that sacrafice.

Dignity, honor, respect and a day of rememberence is all that they ask now of us.

Especially, rememberence.

So, this weekend, set aside if only for a day, thoughts of (D) or (R). Rail not against your fellow American, nor wish harm to him, his party or his creed.

Not on this day.

The men and women in those graves are no longer Democrats or Republicans. They are still and eternally though Americans, and are forevermore worthy of this day given but to them.

Honor the Day. Honor Them.

From their dark and silent graves, they give more honor to our Nation than any one politican, party or officeholder dares ever imagine.

Dignified beyond words, with nobility above the highest offices of government, these silent warriors speak loudly of what it is to be American.

They did not die for the Republicans. Nor for the Democrats, Greens or Libertarians.

Whether in combat, or fifty years later surrounded by only the memories of comrades long since passed, the men and women resting forever under those flags once marched proudly under that banner. They have earned nothing less than the unqualified respect of a grateful Nation, and her grateful people.

The last full measure of devotion is an awesome, terrible thing. Yet, magnificent; and it is upon the altar of their sacrafice that we enjoy the freedom of the greatest Nation in the history of the world.

Stand and salute, and remember them.

For our own sakes, and especially for theirs.

REMEMBER THEM!

Smoke off the Water

Far too much time has passed since a cigar post has been featured here at Smoke on the Water.  What!?  You thought this blog was named for the song!?  Think again!

Someone needs to buy out the nail salon that sits between the other two stores in the following picture.

 

And then put a liquor store in it's place.  Now that would be a perfect Trifecta.  How sweet it would be to go one-stop shopping for Alchohol, Tobacco and Firearms!

Coming from Houston's Reliant Center after enjoying the rather large gun show there, I ventured over to Richmond Avenue Cigars.  Which convienently happens to be two doors down from the fabled Collector's Firearms.

Woe is me; I've already spent too much at the gun show, now I've leapt from the frying pan and have lit the fire on one helluva fine cigar.  The Edge, which carries cigar legend Rocky Patel's name.  A fine maduro wrapped cigar in the size he calles The Missle.   It's a 5"x48 ga. product, which would usually bring it in as a short Corona, but for the torpedo-type taper at the head.

More on this fine cigar later, after I've smoked more than the first inch which I've quite enjoyed thus far.

Glad Tidings of Great Joy

I left this comment over at Bill Whittle's place, roughly, 'bout ten minutes ago:

Welcome back, from just one of the countless blogs you directly inspired.

Please accept my sincere thanks for all that your blog was then, and even the moreso for your return now.

The trite thing would be to say that the timing of your return is splendid, and not a moment too soon. Truth is though, the time is always right for your voice to be heard.

Always.

Welcome back. Hopefully, evermore.

Jim
Sloop New Dawn
Galveston, TX

I mean every word of that.  If you're not familiar with Rachel Lucas, hie thee hence and go visit, and read.

Often.

Very often.

It'll be worth your time, or your money back!