Smoke on the Water

The Highway Patrolman

My guns don't have names.

That said, yesterday, Kim DuToit posted a request of his readers to write a bit about The .357 I Couldn't Do Without.

Like I said; my guns don't have names.  But, there is one which holds the title of Utterly, Absolutely and Completely Irreplaceable.

My Smith & Wesson Model 28-2, Highway Patrolman.  It is a .357 Magnum six-shot, with a four inch barrel.

The Highway Patrolman....no; my Highway Patrolman, is the anchor of my battery of arms.  It is the gun which knows not failure or alibi.  It simply works, each time and every time the finger asks it to work.

That it does so with the utmost in accuracy and tightness of action which is nothing short of astonishing, is testament to the workmanship executed in Massachussetts well over forty years ago.  That the action cycles with the smoothness of oiled glass is testament to several hours of careful, painstaking work on my part one bright afternoon, almost exactly thirty years ago.

Blued in the dull polish which is the hallmark of this model, my Highway Patrolman is fitted with a set of Pachmyer Gripper Professional neoprene grips which seem to have been custom made just for me.  The Model 28 used to be the issue arm of the Texas Department of Public Safety, and of many other State's Highway Patrols and countless municipal P.D.s nationwide.  Based on the timeless "N" series frame, it features a S&W's superb double or single action mechanism, a traditional tapered barrel, an ejector-rod shroud and the excellent S&W adjustable sights.

Being an older "dash two" one finds not only a barrel pinned into place in the frame, but the counterbored chambers which were the hallmark many pre-1980s Smith & Wessons.   The "N" frame's heritage goes clear back to the .45 ACP revolver of 1917.  The Highway Patrolman draws not only on that fine point of origin, but is itself a less expensively produced version of what many consider THE pinnacle of Smith & Wesson excellence; the .357 Registered Magnum, which later became the exsquisite Model 27.

When I take hold of my .357, it becomes an extension of myself, balanced beyond perfection and aligning to with the eye and to the target as naturally as the act of looking itself.

In my hands, this .357 Magnum has won a dozen or so trophies, as well as the trophy of a Texas Hill Country whitetail doe, felled with one clean shot to the heart at forty-two measured yards.  And, under more benign conditions, this .357 has felled an average of 4 out of 6 bowling pins, when fired over sandbags on a solid bench.

Twenty-five rounds, .38 spl, 148gr hollowbase wadcutter.  One second per shot, double action, range; seven yards. 

With factory-stock iron sights.  At a full one hundred yards.  That this was witnessed by Kim, Doc, Airboss and others at Area .45 remains a singular, fond memory which shall remain with me, always.

In my hands, this large revolver has twice been instrumental in prevailing in the very circumstances for which it was manufactured.  And thankfully, the mere threat which was conveyed from the dark cyclops of the this Model 28's muzzle sufficed to resolve the matter, without need for the giant to have spoken aloud. 

The first instance occured in days of yore, when I bore the badge for a small 'burb near San Antonio.  That the second of these instances required disarming my older, and sadly felonious brother, does not lessen my appreciation for the effect that the dark muzzle and six bright 145 gr. Silvertips effects on the subjects thereof.

And it is with this .357 Magnum, that I am working even to this day to increase my skills in the area of speed, accuracy and repeatablity.  Though I practice the same with my .45 Colt Commander, I know that if it should come that the chips are well and truly down, and when the shooting is for real.

It will be then, that I pray that I shall again have in my hand, my Smith and Wesson .357 Highway Patrolman.

Surely, my Smith & Wesson Model 28, Highway Patrolman, is The .357 I Couldn't Do Without.

Rosie O'Meltdown

Wasn't it only a few weeks back that Rosie O'Pig opened her stupid pie-hole on national teevee, and claimed something along the lines that "fire has never melted steel?"

Then explain this, you fat moronic sad excuse of a sentient being.

Firefighters investigate a crumbled section of freeway ramp which connects Interstate 80 to Interstate 580 in Oakland, Calif., after a tanker carrying gasoline exploded on Sunday, April 29, 2007. In the resulting blaze, a section of freeway that funnels traffic onto the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge collapsed. The truck's driver walked away from the scene and called a taxi, which took him to a nearby hospital with second-degree burns. (AP Photo/Ben Margot)

A section of freeway that funnels traffic off the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge collapsed early Sunday after a gasoline tanker truck overturned and caught fire beneath it, authorities said.

The heat was intense enough to melt part of the freeway and cause the collapse, but the truck's driver walked away from the scene with second-degree burns.

That's right, Rosie.  A mere 8,800 gallons of ordinary gasoline, burning freely in the open air, between two freeway decks on an Oakland, CA freeway, generated enough heat to not only cause the concrete to harden, spall and separate, but to so soften the steel inside that concrete that it weakened to the point of collapse. 

Softened, warped, bent, collapsed and yes, even in some places, melted.  Melted steel, you stupid, vacuous bag of walking ignorance and hate!

The fire melted a second interchange from eastbound I-80 to eastbound I-580 located above the first interchange, causing a 250-yard section of the roadway to collapse onto the roadway below, according to the highway patrol.

In comparison, the Twin Towers fires easily generated at least the same amount of heat as the this morning's overpass fire in Oakland. 

The reasons are evident to anyone who has ever worked with a forge or smelter.

Each of the Twin Towers became self-structured, thousand-foot tall chimneys, fueled not by only 8,800 gallons of gasoline, but by over ten times that quantity of Jet-A, just for starters.  Add to this hundreds of thousands of tons of various combustibles such as carpets, papers, plastics and the like. 

And finally, create a ferocious vertical airflow, just as a chimney, created by the steel and glass curtain walls of the Twin Towers.

When a chimney draft is thus created, the amount of oxygen being fed to the fire is not just the mere amount available at ambient atmospheric pressure.  No, what occurs in this case is that the hurricane of updraft from the fire's heat convection creates a vacuum at the base of the chimney, thus sucking ever more air in, at higher and higher speeds as the heat and intensity of the fire increases.  And correspondingly, the chimney quite literally spews the ejected smoke and heat from the top of the stack.  Just as occurred in the Twin Towers.

It is in fact a viscious cycle; a perfect firestorm if you will.  Which is why chimneys of all types have various dampers, ranging from the simple one in your home fireplace, to the complex baffles and controls of furnaces found at steel mills and the like. To prevent such a runaway scenario from happening.

I've no doubt that the fires in the Twin Towers were considerably hotter than today's Oakland Overpass fire. 

Both fires melted steel and shattered concrete.  Today's fire melted steel and shattered what little credibility that Rosie O'Pig might have purported to retain.

If this were to be properly publicised, today's fire should put paid to what little standing Rosie O'Pig might have held among even the blithering idiot class morning teevee viewership.

But then, that'd like waiting till pigs fly.

And Rosie's flying on a Gulfstream to worship at Al Gore's Church of Gaia just isn't the kind of flyin' pig I'm talking about, ifyaknowwhatimean.

We now return you to our normal programming.

A Small Event

Whoever this hit came from, I wish to offer my sincere thanks for being the three-hundred-thandandth hit on Smoke on the Water.

THANK YOU!

Domain Name		wright.edu ? (Educational)
IP Address		130.108.192.123 ? (Wright State University)
ISP		Wright State University
Location		Continent : North America Country : United States (Facts) State : Ohio City : Dayton Lat/Long : 39.7505, -84.2686 (Map)
Language		English (United States) en-us
Operating System		Microsoft WinXP
Browser		Internet Explorer 6.0 Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; .NET CLR 1.0.3705; .NET CLR 1.1.4322; .NET CLR 2.0.50727)
Javascript		version 1.3
Monitor		Resolution : 1024 x 768 Color Depth : 32 bits
Time of Visit		Apr 29 2007 11:53:32 am
Last Page View		Apr 29 2007 11:53:32 am
Visit Length		0 seconds
Page Views		1
Referring URL		http://www.nicedoggie.net/2007/
Visit Entry Page		http://smokeonthewat...newsweek_nonsen.html
Visit Exit Page		http://smokeonthewat...newsweek_nonsen.html
Out Click
Time Zone		UTC-5:00
Visitor's Time		Apr 29 2007 12:53:32 pm
Visit Number		300,000

Frankly, given the inconsistent manner of my posting over the past year and a half, the fact that I continue to have any traffic and readership at all, simply amazes me.  But please do feel free to stay for more than "zero seconds".  Seriously, there's nothing here to hurt the unsuspecting reader!  *grin*

That said, do note that I am indeed, duly and humbly, thankful.

Now maybe, if I keep writing a bit, it won't take three and a half more years to hit the next few hundred thou?

The voyage, continues.

Coincidence

No, not a conspiracy.  A coincidence.

Conspiracy just isn't required of the left.  They're indoctrinated by universally leftist colleges, take in from a universally left-wing media, and universally share a leftist delusion of utopian fantasies.  Especially when that fantasy dances with the thought of confiscating guns. 

Found at Captain's Quarters, we have here Mr. Dan Simpson, who is on the editorial board of the Toledo Blade.  Mr. Simpson fantasizes about the processes for disarming America.

Dan's fantasies are already in action in Illinois, as illustrated in the preceeding post.

Coincidence.

The disarmament process would begin after the initial three-month amnesty. Special squads of police would be formed and trained to carry out the work. Then, on a random basis to permit no advance warning, city blocks and stretches of suburban and rural areas would be cordoned off and searches carried out in every business, dwelling, and empty building. All firearms would be seized. The owners of weapons found in the searches would be prosecuted: $1,000 and one year in prison for each firearm.

Clearly, since such sweeps could not take place all across the country at the same time. But fairly quickly there would begin to be gun-swept, gun-free areas where there should be no firearms. If there were, those carrying them would be subject to quick confiscation and prosecution. On the streets it would be a question of stop-and-search of anyone, even grandma with her walker, with the same penalties for "carrying."

Sounds disturbingly like the CAGE unit and it's systematic effort to disarm as many Illinois residents as possible. 

The Chicago Police Department and the Illinois State Police have teamed up to make good on Mayor Daley's pledge that, if it were up to him, nobody would have a gun. Daley and his elite "CAGE" unit are apparently taking advantage of gun privacy loopholes to pinpoint certain individuals for inclusion in the confiscation program.

Mr. Simpson does indeed not only forget that pesky Second Amendment, as Captain Ed so adroitly points out. 

What he also forgets is that out of the hundred and fifty some million gun owners in the United States, that a small but significant percentage of us won't just stand there and passively accept confiscation.  Call us One Percenters, ifyou will.

That's about one point five million pissed off, armed and highly motivated Citizens.

Once again, it bears repeating:

Molon Labe, assholes!

Illinois Statewide Gun Confinscations

Remember the confiscations of lawfully owned guns which New Orleans effected in the wake of Hurricane Katrina?

The Federal Courts have thorougly bitchslapped numerous New Orleans and Louisiana officials, for both the initial confiscations and for their having failed utterly to return those arms to their rightful owners.

You'd think that such an example would serve as a warning to other cities and states, to not mess with the Constiutional Rights of Citizens to Keep and Bear Arms.

Someone forgot to give 'em the memo in Illinois.

An elderly first-generation Chicago resident was recently paid a visit by an Illinois State Police trooper. After asking to come inside the man's home, the trooper asked if the man owned a gun - to which he replied yes. The trooper then directed the individual to surrender the firearm. The man complied with the officer's demand and the trooper left with the gun. And the story gets better...

The gun in question was purchased legally by the man in the 1970s shortly after he became a U.S. citizen. When Chicago's infamous gun registration scheme went into effect in the early 1980s, the man registered the firearm as per the requirement. However, over the years, the fellow apparently forgot to re-register the firearm, and forgot to renew his Illinois FOID Card.

So...what does this all mean?

What it means to me is simply this.

Molon Labe, assholes!

Those of you who prefer freedom who are still living in the People's Soviet Collective of Illinois, need to just the the hell out of that socialist cesspool.

(UPDATE:  I stand corrected, and am advised that for now, this appears to be confined to the Chicago area.  But as it's a cooperative effort between Chicago and the State of Illinois, I rather doubt it'll be long before the effort seeps into the whole of the state.)

Kindly burn the bridges behind you when you come.  I don't want any of the commie fucktards you'll be leaving behind to follow.

as found at SondraK ....thank'ya, ma'am!

Newsweek Nonsense

You know, normally, encountering a piece of crap like this report from Newsweek would result in my bursting out of the proverbial blood-pressure cuff, in a fit of cold and offended rage.

Well, let me tell you.  The cold is there.  And so is the offense.  Rage?

No.

Mere contempt.

Journalistic Integrity and Newsweek.  Now there is a true Oxymoron, as illustrated by a magazine published by Omni Morons.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh.  Not on Newsweek.  On morons.  I ought not insult their limitations by comparing them to such an impaired entity as that corrupt, biased rag.

Story of a Gun

It's sleek, light and frighteningly lethal. How the 9mm became the weapon of choice for cops and criminals, civilians and soldiers—and a sick young man in Virginia.

By Jerry Adler
Newsweek

As you'll see, this really won't be a Story of "a" Gun, not really even of how the 9mm became the choice of (per Newsweek), cops, criminals, civilians and soldiers.  Or even a sick young man in Virginia.

Cuba Nostalgia '07

Val's Final Push.

Look y'all.  Donate now, this year.........

............'casue I don't think we're gonna have ol' Fidel to kick around next year.

Which will be cause for great celebration.  But please, as long as the bearded tyrant is still (allegedly) alive, won't you please help Val with this year's Cuba Nostalgia?

Know that every dollar you contribute helps make the event all that much more successful.  And given that the progress of Cuba Nostagia is undoubtedly reported to that murdering dictatorial pustule, your efforts further the cause of making his last days on earth, the living hell that they need to be.

After all, hell on earth is just a warmup for what awaits him in the world to come.

Give, till it hurts.......till it hurts Fidel so bad that he screams.

Public Service Announcement

Given the oncoming (and mostly media-created) hue and cry regarding gunnnnnn controllllllll following the horrific massacre at Virginia Tech, I had a bit of an epihphany.

Thus, rather than denigrating my hoplophobic fellow citizens, I thought it prudent to ascend to a higher, more peaceable road; a road where we might walk together on common ground, as it were.

Prior to the carnage at Virginia Tech, one of the foremost topics in the news, opinions, editorials and even at the Oscars, has been the oncoming, unstoppable juggernaut which is Global Warming.  And, even though I disagree with the premise itself, I must admit that the proponents thereof have hit upon a magnificent marketing plan scam in support of their cause.

The idea of assuaging one's guilt by the purchase of indulgences is hardly new.  In fact, that was once a feature of the early church, before being at long last halted by in  Sixtus IV  in 1478.  In today's cult of Gaia worshippers, these heretofore restricted indulgences have reflourished in the form of Carbon Offset Credits, which is perhaps the greatest fund raising idea fraud and swindle since the development of the Nigerian 419 scam. 

You see, the way that Carbon Offset Credits work is sort of like this:

1.  You must first feel a tremendous amount of personal guilt regarding your wanton descrution of the Planet Earth Mother Gaia.

It Can't Be Said Any Better

Until this morning, I was wondering just how I'd organize my thoughts to counteract some of the recurring memes from the sniveling, anti-gun crowd.

Scratch one post in progress.  It's in the delete bin, even now.

Why?  Because LawDog did it firstest and by far, bestest.

Think about it.

We give a drivers license to every seventeen-year-old high school student who can pass a lowest-common-denominator Drivers Ed course. A course that can be successfully passed by a lobotomized chimpanzee.

You know you've just gotta go and read every word of it.

Damn well done LawDog, and please accept my heartfelt thanks for your heartfelt words.

Virginia Tech

I.

Today is a day of infamy, to be sure.  Due to the pace at work, I have not had the opportunity to comment on the acts of an evil, evil man in Virginia today.  Sadly, because my comments earlier at work truly were but prayers for the dead, the wounded and for their families, friends and others touched by their lives.

They did not deserve to be slaughtered as sheep, but it was as sheep that they were reduced to, by the very institution which obligates itself to liberate the mind of the student. 

But instead, makes but mental slaves of them.  And in enslaving their minds, holds their bodies captive to the culture of helplessness and victimhood which results from their pursuits.

II.

Yet, the institution is ultimately, not the guilty party in this tragedy; only the hellishly demonic and evil actor, who, weilding his Glocks with a singular, deadly focus, killed some thirty-one (as of this writing) people today.

The thirty-second death wasn't a victim.  No, he was just an evil man, duly halted by means of death.  Those he killed are the victims, as are those who loved them.

The University, and with it the State Legislature of Virgina though, are accessories before the fact; their complicity residing in their having successfully fought against the proposal that free citizens ought be empowered to excercise their right to keep and bear arms on campus.

We will never know what the outcome might have been had there been but one armed, trained, licensed and able person there near to the shooter's path. 

But it is certain, that we know what occured without such a Citizen.

Pity.  Their Todd Beamer did not appear.

III.

We now hear the cries from the aforementioned Bedwetting Liberals, and their ilk.  Sadly, many of them aren't truly BWL's, as much as they are numbered among the classically uninformed.  Think of the unthinking herds of erstwhile "soccer moms"; the kind that voted their hormones for Slick Willie.

Twice.

It is this kind of unthinking feelism to which the always thinking, always calculating factions of the anti-gun left cry their appeals.  "Give us Reasonable Gun Control", they plead.  All the while ignoring the fact that there are over twenty-thousand gun control laws in existence on the Federal, State and Municpal books.

A great many of those laws are anything but reasonable. 

How, might I ask you, is it reasonable to deny a fine, upstanding citizen the very means by which to defend his or her life? 

It isn't.  It damn near never is, and those who claim that they're being reasonable, only say so for their reasons; the hope of an utterly disarmed, and defenseless society.

The only reasonable Gun Control is rapid and accurate Mozambique.

IV.

At both Columbine and now at Virginia Tech, we witnessed the abysmal failure of those who the anti-gun left proclaim to be our sole recourse, our protectors against all harm.

The complete incompetence of the local Law Enforcement response is neither unexpected or surprising.  If you've made the decision to stake your life on the competence, ability and speed of the Law Enforcement response, such is your right. 

But don't be upset if I don't share the same roll of the dice with you.  I'll gamble on my own .45, skills and experience.  Yes, experience.  No, this isn't the time to regale you with war stories.

V.

The only known Unarmed Victim Zones have been created by Government Decree, under the guise of "Gun Free Zones".

It should not be thus surprising to find that virtually all mass gun-homicides are committed in such locales.  After all, if you're going to "shoot fish in a barrel", the place to go, is the barrel Gun Free Zone.

VI.

Even in the absence of firearms, it is still evident that a culture of submission, when confronted by overt evil, can not survive. 

The only true weapon is the mind.  Everything else, guns included, is but a tool.  A prepared mind knows that a fire extinguisher is a bludgeon, that a laptop power-supply is a flail and that countless pens and pencils are lethal dirks in the hands of a determined survivor.

Interestingly, there were survivors.  Some dove out of windows, heedless of the lesser injuries cuts and of broken bones.  And they survived!

Others, trained to the sound of the gun, scurried to the sounds of the shots, and rescued those injured survivors, dragging them to cover and greater safety.

Sadly, at the last, a sizeable group of victims paid the ultimate price of a culture which no longer values the warrior, which denigrates the Wolf and venerates the Sheep.  Perhaps knowing no alternative, they did the only thing they knew to do.  Crowded together against doors chained against their escapce, they submitted.  And together, in unbeliving horror, they died.

Such a terrible, needless, unnecessary tragedy.

Conclusion.

We must learn to not be victims.

Never Again!

Bought not Banned

My Contribution to the Dehydration of Bedwetting Liberals!

Given the sad results of last November's elections, the sweep of the incoming Dem-Cong have already served notice as to their intent to gut the Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.

We just got rid of Slick Willie's misnamed Assault Weapons Ban Outlawing Guns That Scare Libtards, and good riddance to it. 

As a result, the observant among us duly noted the distinct lack of blood running in the streets, a dearth of dead cops shot-through their ballistic vests and somehow, a complete vacuum of confrontations in the OK Corrals of this great land.

But then, facts never stopped a Dem-Cong from demogouging an issue, so,  just as expected they've rolled out H.B. 1022, which is but the AWB on Crack & Steroids, and and who knows how many other draconian anti-gun measures into Congress. 

Hey, they had to look like they were doing something in their first 100 days, right?

I mean, besides betraying our troops and selling down the rivers of Dem-Cong traitorous insanity.

Well, tomorrow is Buy a Gun Day, 2007.  And given the Dem-Cong's declared and proven emnity to my Second Amendment freedom, I have altered my aquisition plans, accordingly.

Meet my new JDL PTR-91 EVIL BLACK RIFLE, in the dreaded 7.62x51 caliber.  Complete with the death-dealing Pistol-Grip, the bloodletting Bayonet Lug, the ultra-deadly Flash Suppressor and even  *gasp!* some frightfully wicked Large Capacity Detatchable Magazines!

NANCY PELOSI......  READ IT N' WEEP!

SCREW YOU AND YOUR GUN-GRABBIN' WAYS, DIANE FEINSTEIN!

Even better, it's original plastic buttstock and forend have been replaced with some original H&K hardwood pieces, and an original H&K leather sling.  A TREE AND A COW DIED FOR THIS RIFLE! 

OH!  THE!  HORROR!  AIIIEEEEEE!!!!!!   (not)

CHUCKY SHUMER, I BOUGHT THIS 'CAUSE O' YOU, TWERP!

YOU'RE THE "LADY-KILLER", TEDDY *hiccup!* KENNEDY!

'CAUSE SARAH BRADY SAYS I SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO!

THERE'S MORE WHERE THIS CAME FROM, DALEY!

Still though, I expect that I'll manage to get over the anguish and come to love the feel of the recoil resonating up through the well-oiled birch into my cheek, as I repeatedly touch the trigger, sending blazing-hot bits of Dem-Cong nightmares screaming downrange, 150 grains at a time.

Might give them nightmares..... but I'll sleep better knowing that, (thanks to the loving contribution of my precious love Iris), there's one more weapon of liberty in the hands of a free man, and not in the clutches of a tyrannical gun-grabbing elitist.

I really wouldn't mind if the very thought of that keeps them up at night, pissing themselves in terror.

After all, that is what the Second Amendment is for, people.  Keeping government in it's rightful place as the servant of the people, and not their master.

It's the guns that let us keep it that way.

A Pain in the Ass

The first time it manifested over a year ago, I thought it was a spider bite.  Living aboard ship at a rustic marina, it was not unusual to find one's self in (too) close proximity to many crawly critters of both the six and eight legged varieties.

Having received training from the USAF on recognizing and treating such bites, the first attack appeared so much a spider bite that even my doctor concurred, treating it as an infected example thereof.  And indeed, the symptoms abated.

Only to appear in various places two or three more times in the past year.  Treatment again and again, with the same results.  It goes away, but why does it keep coming back?  I'm not not exactly overrun with spiders these days, you know.

A change of doctors and a proper lab-culture later, the answer is clear.  A persistant staph infection, most likely contracted via the community bathroom & shower facilities.  Given the large number of commercial fishermen who utilize the marina, this is not surprising; it is about the most contaminated occupation under the sun.

So now, I am on a course of treatment of elephant-killing antibiotics, for nearly a month.  And I've a quarter-sized divot in my hindquaters which is healing nicely, thankyouverymuch.

But the journey between discovery and relief has been one of incredible pain.  I nearly lost my life in a '98 motorcycle accident, and still have the five rather large stainless screws in my left anke to show for it.

If that injury and subsequent surgery registered a 10 on the pain scale, this staph infection is it's equal in severity.  Yes, it makes me walk funny.

One effect of the vicodin I can attest to.  It not only relieves the pain, but I can also clearly discern that it slows the congnitive responses, seemingly slowing the very synapses themselves.  A bit of a fog, as it were.

Well, at least now I know what it's like in the brain of a liberal.

And you can be sure of this:  You can keep the vicodin, I don't want one milligram more than was needed to get me to this point.

I think I'll be okay from here on out. 

Read the Whole Thing

Read the Whole Thing.

That's the "out-line" for countless thousands of blog-posts, where in the reader is admonished to click an executable link, taking them to another post, article or photo.

Most often, it's written either as a throw-off line; a point of departure for the writer to end his or her post by way of refering the reader to a complete version of what it is they're linking or have excerpted.  And, it seems a tidy way of ending many an otherwise longer post, thus easing the writer's toils at the keyboard.  *sigh*

But in this case, Read the Whole Thing is the headline, the body and the avidly made admonistion TO GO and Read the Whole Thing.

Why?  Cause it is a list of Thoughts which are anything but Random.  It's actually a damned well thought out list of intertwined synaptic expressions of a sane, thoughtful and reasonable mind.

The United Nations can kiss my ass.

I support Israel 100%.

Pelosi is a traitor.

I think it should be law that every American household should, at least, have a shotgun.

It is some Bad, Bad Juju.  And yes......

go, and.........   Read the Whole Thing!

A Well-Lived Life

Please join with me in expressing condolences to Citizen Smash and his family, upon the passing of his magnifcent Grandmother.  Grandma Smash, (1907-2007)

At 99 years old, she was the last of her generation, and is survived by two children, five grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren.

In her life, Dolores was:

a mother for 67 years;
a little sister for 60 years;
a teacher for 40 years;
a grandmother for 38 years;
a hospital volunteer for 30 years;
a wife for 18 years;
a great-grandmother for 10 years; and
a widow for half a century…

…but tonight, after 50 years apart, Dolores and Filmore are together at last.

That is a lady I would have liked to have known.  You would be very well served to read the whole thing.

Godspeed, Grandma Smash.

Forty Niner

Kind of fits, doesn't it?  Forty Niner.  That's the monniker often associated with the grizzled old sourdoughs who were often charaterized as representing the California Gold Rush, resulting from the find of a gold nugger at Sutter's Mill.

Ol' John Sutter died broke and alone.  But I'm not quite broke, and I'm far from alone, thanks to family, Iris, Harley and all of you.  (okay, all six or seven who still read Smoke on the Water)

However, it would seem that I am rapidly approaching the grizzled old sourdough stage of things, this being the advent of my Forty Ninth anniversary of my first lap around the Sun.

It's been a roller coaster of a life thus far, but I'm grateful for where I'm at.  I've had too many friends awaken with six feet of dirt on their face, and I'm far from ready for that.  I'm grateful for my love, Iris, and the joy and light she brings to my life.  And I'm grateful for our home, and happiness.

I'm grateful also for Smoke on the Water, small though it has become.  I can still speak, and shall.

For tonight; Maker's Mark and a fine cigar, in the company of my precious and lovely Iris.

Here's to another lap around that big Gold Nugget in the sky.

The 500

Well, you've maybe seen the epic film "The 300".

This isn't about that actually.  Though you might say that the very fact we enjoy the freedom to write such things is due in no small part to the sacrafice which was Leonidis and his 300 at the pass.  The glory which was Greece in the hundred and fifty years after that battle laid the groundwork for much of what became the classic thought as reflected in the Western Canon.

Without The 300, there would be now no 500th post here at Smoke on the Water.

And this.... this is that 500th post.

Now, I know I've been far outpaced by many who started blogging at about the same time as me.  Or later.  I find this most satisfying, as I know that their success is proof that my earlier efforts and successes were not in vain.

I have posted but a fraction of my more productive counterparts, which fault is but mine alone.  But still, I stumble along from desert to oasis, back and again.  I'd far rather type from the comfort of the oasis, via the comfort of a good job, a snug home and a loving mate.

Happily, I enjoy the great satisfaction of having all three in my life for the past year, and I'm far the better for it.  Especially, for her.  Thank you, Iris.  I love you with all my heart.

Today, I received a very special gift of recognition, being linked by Phil at Random Nuclear Strikes, and my longtime friends Misha of the Anti-Idiotorian Rottweiller and Kim DuToit, of the Other Side of Kim.

I take neither their friendship nor the honor of their sharing their readership for granted.  Thank you, gentlemen.

And thank YOU, one and all; all who have, do or one day might read Smoke on the Water.

You've been the calming oil upon many a tempestuous sea, and you've made my voyage a pleasure.

I hope to give 500 more, and then some.

Welcome aboard, again.