I just read

 where a trio of Russian girls just scammed ISIS out of some money through the internet.

I wonder how the Russians are going to punish them. It may prove to be interesting.

I know how Judge Piccolo would punish such an evil wrongdoing.

"Guilty. Disorderly conduct. Five dollar fine. Two minutes of community service. Here, empty my wastebasket...Thank you. Community service served. Give the clerk a five on the way out....Next!"



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One

 of the little things I am grateful for is that the members of a certain internet board treat me well.

It's a police board and as you can imagine, they are to a small degree clannish. This board actually isn't too bad. They try and answer serious questions and for the most part simply ignore the troublemakers and trolls.

Of course, if you are a reader of this blog you will know I am a compulsive smug smartass. Then again I do try and avoid the cheap shot.

Still, it is funny every so often to watch a newbie take the bait. Then again, sometimes whan I troll they troll me.

Recently one officer mentioned buying a Fisher Space pen, a pen popular with officers because it will write on just about everything in almost all conditions. I guess they run about $15 and up.

I told him that he ought to not hand it to people to sign tickets with and said I had 74 of them at last count. I ended with "Why? Any of you guys need one?" 

Of course I was treated to a tongue in cheek instant message asking me how much I wanted for one.

Another time a cop mentioned a certain brand of handcuff key and someone else said they were a couple bucks on eBay.

I chimed in with "You mean anyone can buy one? I wish I'd have known that earlier! Every time I escape after being handcuffed I wind up busting about 15 or 20 of those little Dremel grinding wheels getting the damned things off!"

I gotta admit, cops have a pretty good sense of humor because several guys gave me a number of tips and pointers for removing them without a key.

It hasn't all been peaches and cream. Over time I've had a couple lively discussions but I have to give the guys credit that they have never taken a cheap shot or maliciously taken my words out of context.  

Still, even when some of us disagreed they always managed to keep things civil. Most of them took their time to expain their point of view pretty carefully. Communication has been excellent.

You would be surprised to find out how many cops are pretty adamant about playing by the rules. The overwhelming majority of them are.

I'm pretty grateful the cops on the board are good to me.

Thanks, guys.




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Well, here's another shot at States Rights.

Seems Congress is trying to make it illegal for the states to require labeling on GMOs.

What bullshit!

The American people have every right to know what is in their food and the states have every right to require proper labeling.

Congress is over reaching with this one and needs to be reined in. 

That and every congress person should be required to wear a NASCAR type jacket with the name of everyone that has given them anything embroidered on it. It may not change a whole lot but at least the public will be able to know who bought them.



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I was talking to a college age kid

 that had been out partying a bit the night before. He told me he was generally pretty careful of where he goes. He said he started taking precautions since he had a close call with getting thrown in jail.

Smart kid. He seems to learn fast.

Of course, I am a smartass and replied "I hate getting thrown in jail. It seems that every I get thrown in the slam I wind up in a cell next to some kind of lunatic. The last one two weeks ago was a pyromaniac that kept setting his bedding on fire."

"Really?" he asked. "How often do you get arrested?"

"About every five or six months. Usually for drinking and tearing stuff up," I replied, casually. "I got nailed for homicide once but they couldn't make it stick. That and the arson bust they took me in for. I was refilling my lawn mower when the cop showed so I poured gas on him and chased him with a lighter. He got away. The grass caught fire so they charged me with arson. They couldn't make it stick so I paid $10 for not having a permit for an outside fire."

He looked shocked.

"Generally speaking, when I get drunk the cops usually overlook it unless I get particularly nasty because they don't like hauling me in. It generally takes five or six of them to settle me down. For some reason pepper spray doesn't bother me any."

"How often does that happen?" he asked, shocked. He looked like he was talking to Charles Manson or some hatchet murderer.

"About every coupla weeks," I replied, casually. "I like to party. Last time I was driving home and they stopped me with a beer in one hand, a hypodermic needle in the other and a joint in my mouth. The cop was having a rough night and wasn't in the mood to fight so he let me go."

He looked at me like a man that was seeing dawn and suddenly blushed.

"You are a smart man," I said. "It does take you a while to see through the bullshit in life, but at least a close call with an arrest for drunken stupidity has turned you into a cautious man. You ought to make out OK."

"Seriously," he asked. "How many times have you been arrested?"

"Once, really," I replied. "It was a case of mistaken identity for a two-bit armed robbery. I sat in the can about an hour before I was released. I suppose the parking ticket that went to warrant could make it twice but I was never even booked for that one. I just coughed up my $25 bond, forfieted it and ended it there."

Truth of the matter is that this young man should plan for encounters with the law in the future. He's a good guy and not a trouble maker but things are changing.

It seems easier and easier these days to run afoul of the law. I don't blame this on the police. I blame it on both the lawmakers and the states and municipalities that are desperate for the revenue that they can get from fines.

If they would stop squandering our money they would not have to resort to things like this.




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The Grandfathers Club did it again a couple of weeks ago.

 We recklessly endangered the lives of young, innocent children by taking them for a ride in the back of a pickup truck through farm country.

The oldest of the lot now has a driver's license and is the designated driver after we have out post mission snort. I've posted that it doesn't mean we get plastered but it does mean we relax a bit more.

It was a sultry night when we took the kids for the ride. We pulled over and looked at the sky for a while. The light pollution of the Pittsburgh metropolitan area obscures a lot of the view of the heavens. It's great to see the sky out in the country.

 I think we'll do it again in August. 

What surprised me is that one of the older girls asked if she could bring her boyfriend along. We agreed if he swore to secrecy and promised not to run his mouth off about it.

It never ceases to amaze me that the kids haven't seemed to outgrow enjoying a ride in the back of a pickup on a sultry evening. When they hit their teens they generally don't want to do things with adults.

I think that a part of this is that they don't want to do things with their parents. This is normal and to be expected as they grow older and start to show their independence.

I guess it's OK when you skip a generation, though. After all, grandparents are not your day to day supervisors, wardens and keepers.

There have been three of us that run this show but sadly there will soon be two. One of the guys has health problems and has been told to get his affairs in order.

When he told us that this was likely his last summer I simply told him.  I'd make sure his two grandkids would be invited along next summer.

He smiled. "I'd like that," he said. Then he grinned. "I'll leave you $20 for gas.



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I am following the Sandra Bland death, but not in great detail.

Sorry, people. It's getting more and more difficult to get excited over someone that started trouble with a police officer to begin with. Or for that matter, anyone who starts trouble with anyone else without a damned good reason.

I heard in the video where the cop told he to put her cigarette out in an angry tone of voice. Apparently she had just blown smoke in the officer's face.

Had she done that to me I simply would have returned to the cruiser, gotten a fire extinguisher and put the damned cigarette  out myself. There's no call for that kind of behavior.

(I wonder what she'd have done if the cop had produced a SuperSoaker and hosed her cigarette down. That's kind of like something I'd do. It's one reason I am not a cop.)

We have had recent riots over people that did nothing but bring trouble onto themselves. Ferguson was caused over the shooting of Michael Brown after he attacked a police officer. Brown certainly doesn't sound like the kind of person I would want to go to bat for.

Truth is that every one of the people that have come into the limelight recently over being killed, injured or beat up by the police appear to have one single thing in common.

To put it quite mildly, they have been rude individuals. They have all attacked or fought with police officers in one way or another. 

I think I am going to sit this one out. 

The truth is I am getting pretty sick and tired of people like that who go looking for trouble and then get more than they were asking for.

The thing I wonder about is the black guy a while ago in Florida that got shot by a police officer. 

He was in his own driveway trying to get into his car. If I recall he had locked his keys in his car and a passing cop saw him and assumed he was trying to steal it. He wound up getting shot, but not fatally.

This would have been a reason for people to get upset but it never made the mainstream news. My guess is that it didn't fit their agenda.

What got me about this is that this guy was truly innocent of any wrong doing and didn't attack the cop. This sort of shooting  would have been a slam dunk for getting the ire of the public up.




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Ya know, now that I think about it,

People up in Massachusetts have a lot of damned gall telling the people of South Carolina to take down their flag.

The Massachusetts State flag has an Indian...whoops...Pardon me for living, but the graveyard was full when I woke up this morning. Let's start over.

The Massachusetts State flag has a Native American on it with a sword hanging over his head. I guess some of the Native Americans don't like it very much and are offended.

Before the good people of Massachusetts start telling other people what to do they might clean up their own back yard.

Now I am a Pennsylvanian and have no right to tell a bunch of Massholes what to do and I won't. They can keep their flag any way they want. It is none of my business. 

I will, however, suggest that they quit picking on the fine people of South Carolina and tend to their own problems.

If they do that then they can solve their own problems and not create problems for South Carolina. 

Incidentally, I left the Commonwealth of Massachusetts when I went into the army and never looked back. It was one of my better decisions. If I didn't have a couple of family members there I would never bother to visit there again.




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Liberty is a bitch.

It is a real double edged sword. It limits what someone can tell you what to do, how to act or what to say.

On the other hand it means you are pretty limited on running someone else's life for them. If you don't like the way they are living you really can't do a whole lot about it.

Most people want liberty for themselves but not the other person.

Of course, anyone that has lived in an HOA knows how that works. As a member they give up the liberty to decorate, maintain, paint or landscapeto the rules imposed by the HOA.

There really not a whole lot of members of an HOA that at some time or another don't wish for at least a while that they didn't have the HOA to deal with. Some people flat out move to escape the tyranny of a strict HOA.

Right now there appear to be too many Americans willing to take someone else's money and liberty. Some take our money through so-called social programs, others demand legislation be enacted to regulate the behavior of others.

Of course when someone tries and take their money or liberty you can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth for blocks.

You get to hear the whiney war cry of those that get what they have coming to them.

With a look of astonished outrage and shock they cry out, "That's not fair!!"

Nine times out of ten it IS fair. They are getting just what they voted for.



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I was traveling yesterday and lost two tires in transit.

On the turnpike I was driving and felt my passenger's side rear go out on me and hit the breakdown lane. 

By the time I got off the pike the tire was a mess.

Unlike a lot of people today, I am an old man and therefore knew how to change a tire. I was ready to roll in 12 minutes flat.

I had a gut feeling and decided to check the front tire and sure enough, there was a nasty cut in it. I set the GPS for the nearest tire shop and drove in the breakdown lane slow to the next exit.

I got off the pike and made my way to the place. 

The GPS told me that I was there but did not specify it the place was on the right or the left. I saw a garage and pulled in and started talking with the owner who happened to have the same tire  that I have on the truck in stock at a ten minute away warehouse and offered me a fair price on a pair of them. I accepted.

As I was waiting I looked out the window and saw the tire place I was originally looking for across the street but set back a bit.

I do believe this was luck as I wonder if the tire shop across the street had what I wanted in stock. Still, I got what I wanted at a fair price so I can't gripe at all.






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Guy cleaning tips

A friend of mine commented that the tub and tiles always look pretty good except when there is an orange film in it.

I told him the orange film is Zep orange degreaser.

Every other day or so I simply spray the tub and tiles in the tub area with a mist of the stuff and the next time I shower the tub gets an automatic cleaning and looks pretty good.

It beats letting it get all soap scummy and having to scrub it.

Why bust your ass?








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I didn't even have to fill out my own paperwork to sign in at Camp Perry.

Upon arrival I checked in with Celeste Dennison at CeCa on Commercial Row. It's always my first stop. Celeste makes ear plugs and has since Teddy Roosevelt commissioned the National Matches.

We yakked a few minutes and it was time to check in with the match people. 

When I arrived young Sp/4 filled out the necessary forms for me.

I cased had the joint out before I entered through the windows and saw it was the same as it usually is and entered with a white cane and sunglasses. 

The young Sp/4 was with a PFC sitting behind the desk and she hopped up and she gave me her arm and led me to her spot and went back around, took a form and asked me my name. She started filling out the forms without a second thought. She simply asked me the pertinent questions and filled out the form as I answered.

It is amazing how professional the young soldiers are these days. She didn't bat an eyelash. 

She wasn't fooled, though. After we were finished with the paperwork she gave me her arm and took me to the 'moving chair line' and sat me down.

Along the way she proved to me that she was nobody's fool. She whispered to me that it was the best attempt she had seen at trying to 'buck the line' and sat me down. I waited like everyone else. 

The shooter next to me saw my charade and grinned that  it was the best case of proactive cover your ass in case of a lousy score he had ever seen.

When it was my turn to head up to fill the 'hold harmless' paper the Sp/4 was there like a mother hen and suppressing a smirk led me to the CMP woman. She had a pleasant L.A. (Lower Alabama) accent.

She guided my hand so I could sign on the line but I don't think she was really fooled, either.  

After that it was housing time and nothing was open. A couple of quick phone calls fixed that. One of the state teams had a spare bunk in a hutment and it was mine for the asking. It would have been a freebie but I insisted on paying for it, or at least donating 'to the cause'. (Thank you, Gunny.)

Then it was off to the Marine barracks to deliver my annual case of iced beer. The Marine barracks served as my hideaway for a lot of the time I was there. The first evening I was there I watched them coach a few juniors behind the barracks. The Marines are pretty good about that and do a wonderful PR job and make the Corps look pretty good. 

I ran around for a couple hours, got in touch with my host for the evening. We visited a team off post, grabbed a quick bite, returned to post and hit the rack. 0400 comes early and we both had an 0545 appointment on Viale Range for the Garand Match.

We woke up in the dark and used cell phones to get ready. As soon as I was geared up I grabbed all my stuff) and crammed it into my pickup and fired it up. I was headed to breakfast but changed course. 

Shooters tend to be early and I realized I'd not get a parking place on Viale unless I skipped breakfast. Instead of biscuits and gravy I slammed down a couple of diet shakes to kill the hunger pangs I knew were coming. It proved to be a good decision.

I got a good parking spot and didn't get the 10 AM hunger pangs.

We both opted for the 3rd and 4th relay. He wanted to get the Garand match over with early as he had another match schedules right afterwards. I wanted to get pit duty out of the way when it was still cool out. Another good decision.

We pulled targets for the 1st and 2nd relay and when the pits were cleared we shot. My friend shot first, me second.

He won a silver, much to his disappointment. He's usually a gold medal winner.

A few years back the most recalled comment of the President's match was made by an old man. He was shooting a pretty good knot in the 8-ring at 6 O'clock. The Marine he was squadded with told him if he'd set his rear sight a couple of clicks up he'd be tearing up the ten ring.

The old man looked at the young Marine and said, "Young man, I am 76 years old. That target is 600 yards away and "I'M HITTING IT!"

I felt pretty much the same way.

I had not fired a rifle in several months, a Garand in two or three years and that Garand in particular in well over a decade. It is possible it has been fifteen years since the rifle has been fired.

I got all of my rounds safely into Lake Erie which means a perfect match. As for my lousy score, I was actually somewhat surprised.

As I have often said, my offhand is usually lousy and I jerked two rounds off during the offhand. One landed outside of the scoring rings and was scored as a miss. Go figure, the other one I jerked landed in the X-ring.

Leave it to me to jerk one into the X-ring.

After that my friend and I parted company as he had another match to shoot.

All in all I met a bunch of old friends and made a couple of new ones, had a pretty good time and got to unwind a bit from the same old same old.

My regret is that before I left, Celeste had shut her doors and I didn't get to check in with her before I left.

If anyone reads this and is at Perry now, please tell her the Hyman Skrunkle guy wishes he had the opportunity to check out with her.

Thanks,

Pic












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AT Camp Perry

Will post the details tomorrow



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An interesting Lincoln quote

"Any people, anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have

the right to rise up and shake off the existing government, and

form a new one that suits them better. This is a most valuable,

a most sacred right, a right which we hope and believe is to

liberate the world"

- Abraham Lincoln




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I finally got pissed off and let fly at someone.

I was traveling and in a major airport recently.

I didn't believe what I saw. Some mid 40s burnout hippie chick walked up to a total stranger and told him he found his shirt offensive. A quick glance told me it was a WW2 nose art T-shirt. Over the years I have had a couple.

This was nothing more than a bathing beauty in a one piece bathing suit sitting on a blockbuster. Typical subdued WW2 nose art. There was nothing offensive about it as far as I could see. It irked the holy hell out of me.

I could see it if it was even remotely smutty. It wasn't. It was simply a piece of innocent WW2 nose art. If any of you readers know what the Memphis Belle nose art looks like it was even slightly less revealing than that. The Memphis Belle nose art is definitely G-rated.

The guy wearing the shirt was a hell of a lot more civil than I would have been. He simply said he had a flight to catch and kept moving.

At the very least I would have told her she was jealous because she never looked that good in her entire life. I said that once to some junior apprentice social justice warrior at an air show some years back that griped about the nose art on a B-17.

That would have been if I was feeling merciful. 

So anyway, I watched as the woman went into a news stand and bought something or another. I sat down with Mrs Pic at the gate.

The woman came out and sat down at the next gate. We were on the edge of the gate. The woman was near the edge of her gate. We were maybe thirty feet apart. She started opening a musical instrument case.

Just then Mrs. Pic told me she needed to use the ladies room and I knew I had ten minutes to myself. As Mrs. Pic entered the ladies room the woman started to play a mandolin. I got to my feet and walked over to her.

"Put that away," I said. "I'm not listening to that for the next forty-five minutes."

"But.."

"But nothing. I'll call a Statie," I said. State policemen are known as 'staties' in that neck of the woods. They provide security at that airport.

She drew in a breath and exhaled loudly. "But...," she tried again.

"What you call music I call unwanted noise," I said. "I find it very offensive."

She put the mandolin away and I returned to my seat.

Mrs Pic returned a few munutes later and sat down next to me and we listened to the silence and hustle and bustle of the airport.

What I did was mean and mean spirited. I'll admit that and make no bones about it. Still, it was because I had finally had it with people like that. They want everything one way.

Part of the reason we're in the midst of this is because conservatives generally take the high road. They ignore the minor aggravations that are heaped on them. 

Many of us have nobody to blame but ourselves for not taking action in the beginning. We've let too many people get away with too much.

It was interesting to see how easily the woman caved in when I took it home to her.

Maybe it's time for the rest of us to be assholes and stop tolerating the bull$hit.



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Twice I have

 recently run into educated blacks that said they preferred living in the South as opposed to northern cities and probably for good reason.

It has been said that in the South they hated blacks collectively but loved them individually. Whereas in the North blacks were loved collectively but hated individually.

Personally I'd take my chances in the South as an individual.

Interesting point. Both of these men were educated and were likely respected for it and given a fair shot in places like Atlanta, Norfolk or Charleston. One was an attorney that was doing well. I don't recall what the other man was.

Incidentally, both said that they thought that Boston would be a fun town for whites. I was surprised. I'd never given it much thought. One of them asked me why Boston was that way and I told them that it was likely because of the Irish population.

Right after the Civil War many blacks moved north and into the cities. They were willing to work for less money than the Irish were and wound up taking jobs from them.

I pointed out that the Irish have a 'best friend, worst enemy' attitude and that they never forget and that many of them flocked toward government jobs. For generations there were a lot of Irish cops and firemen in Boston and likely are today.

It created an Irish power block of sorts. Hence while it was not open, there was and likely remains a lot of predjudice.

He nodded. His wife said that it wasn't right. I pointed out that I wasn't talking about right or wrong but just telling it like it is.

He nodded. He knew where I was coming from. I was simply telling the truth.

I'll tell you a little story of my misspent youth.

Scituate, MA was and to a certain extent was known as the Irish Riviera. Back in the 20s when an Irish family became successful they bought a cottage along the beach. When school got out, day would drop off the kids and go home to Southie in his Model T and come down weekends, returning to work Sunday night. Come September they would pack up and come home in time for school.

Most of the cottages on Cedar Point still have Irish surnames on them.

Just before the Boston Busing attempt at desegregating the Boston public schools took place a number of people saw the writing on the wall and left Boston for the suburbs. A number of these were Irish from Southie. 

One family were the Sheas (name changes here). There was a pretty girl named Theresa Ann and  on a impulse I asked her out to a lecture by some street priest. (He is currently in the joint after being busted as a pedo.) I figured it was safe and mother approved. I just wanted to check her out.

Of course, had I known what kind of third degree I was going to get from her mother when i picked her up I wouldn't have bothered. Still, being the old smoothie I am I passed with flying colors.

I went out with her and left her at home afterwards and drove off with a "Yeah, so" attitude. She was nice but there was nothing too interesting about her. I never went out with her again.

Later I heard her mother was always asking about me. I knew that a big part of why the mther asked about me was that I was both Irish and a Catholic.

A few years later I think I was a GI on leave and was downtown in Scituate Harbor when I saw her mother and said hello and asked her how Theresa Ann was doing. I think she knew I was married to my first wife at the time.

"How's Theresa-Ann?" I asked. 

The mother's face turned rock hard.

"She married a colored," she said. "We don't do that kind of thing."

I shrugged. "I always figured you married who you want," I replied. "I hope he's a decent guy that treats her well and I wish her happiness."

She scowled. "You'd marry one of them?"

"I suppose that if my wife were black it wouldn't really have made much of a difference," I said. "However, she's peaches and cream which cost me a fortune in sun screen when I take her to the beach" I chuckled. "Too bad she wasn't at least Italian or maybe Spanish."

"You're married?" she asked.

I told her I was.

"Well, it's too bad she didn't marry you instead of marrying a colored," she said and walked off.

I thought for a minute. I really believed she would have rather had her daughter marry a drunken Irishman that beat her weekly instead of a black that probably treated her like a well.

I walked away feeling sad for both Theresa-Ann and her mother. It must be sad being married to a man that is not welcome into the family and it's sad seeing an older woman consumed with that much hate.

I never gave it much thought until several decades later. I realized the family had moved to Scituate to escape Southie and the oncoming school desegregation and predicted trouble that was sure to come with it.

When the desegregation order to bus students to other schools came down I really didn't think much of it. I still don't today.

One of the reasons people move to certain places is for the quality of education their kids receive as well as their safety. I sure wouldn't want to bust my ass to pay higher school (property) taxes just to have the city bus my kids across town to a school of questionable quality and in an area that was likely to be unsafer than the neighborhood I had moved to.

It isn't a matter of color, but of what is best for my kids. We want what's best for them. It's really that simple. Being dragged across town to fill some government quota isn't my idea of something that is good for them.

I mentioned this to the black attorney and asked him how he felt about it. He agreed and pointed out that a big part of the reason they moved to the suburb they lived in was the school system. He wouldn't want his kids bussed, either.

For what it's worth I never found out what happened to Theresa-Ann. Last I heard she and her husband were living in Vermont. I still wish her happiness.




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I am renewing my credentials and it gets harder and harder every time.

While the renewal process is probably one of the few things the government should be doing, it seems like they make it harder and harder with each renewal.

When I first went into this business it was fairly simple to renew. You reported to the Regional Exam Center with a letter of service and a passport photo and walked out with a renewed license or document.

Now the process takes weeks and costs upwards of $100 or more.

For the most part it is now a faceless on-line and through-the-mail process.

Back in the day it was kind of a fun process. You went to a big, old Federal building and met some fairly cheerful Coasties. The Coast Guard  did a halfway decent job of screening out the idiots, with an occasional exception here and there. Still, the Chiefs did a good job of keeping the idiots where they could do little harm and when they did, they generally came to the rescue.

Back in the day as an Ordinary Seaman I wanted to upgrade ti Lifeboatman. There was a seldom used rule permitting people with 60 or 90 days sea time I forgot which) to upgrade if they had taken a Lifeboatman course. Without the course you needed a year's sea time.

Most of the guys just took the Lifeboatman's part with their Able Seaman's test. 

I had taken the course in Alaska and wanted to be an OS Lifeboatman. I figured on getting that part of the AB test out of the way. I applied to take the test.

Some runt of a Coastie that should have been punted about thirty yards babbled that I was ineligible as I didn't have 360 days of sea time.

I pointed out that the exception was having a course approved by the Commandant under my belt. The runt still refused and the Chief nearby that was doing something else didn't even look up.

"Show this man the appropriate regulation," he ordered. Then he looked up and me and smirked.

A minute later the little dweeb was reading me the regulation and got to the part where it said 'or 60 days sea time with a Lifeboatman's course approved by the Commandant'. He looked embarrassed and the Chief looked up and smiled at me.

Ten minutes later I was in the examination room taking the written and twenty minutes after that I was taking the practical and I walked out an OS/Lifeboatman with it on my Z-card.

When my document was ready the Chief handed it to me. I asked him a question about my sea time and he one-upped me.

"Give it here," he said and sat me down.

I handed him my paperwork and he went through it and announced I was closer to being able to sit for my AB ticket than I thought.

He looked up at the runt. "This is what we do," he said. "We HELP people. This man is going to be eligible for AB sooner than he thought."

Of course, things changed at that particular REC with the advent of some civilian help added to the staff. I had my file yanked from that particular REC and sent to one a little closer to home where they still help people.

These days most people mail their stuff into the REC. I won't.

Even though it is a three and a half hour drive to the REC I will hand my packet in personally and have one of the women there go through it before she ships it off to West Virginia. She'll check and make sure every I is dotted and every T is crossed so it will go through smoothly.

It's worth the extra effort and will reduce the time needed to get things processed.






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a tip for lousy typists like3 me.

I had a reader mention that when writing on a netbook that the Caps Lock key is a pain in the ass. 

I agree and I just found a simple way to disable it. 

I just downloaded 'KeyTweak' and in a couple of seconds and a reboot Caps Lock is now disabled. It does nothing.

On second thought it does do something. It stays the hell out of the way.



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One of the things I remember in high school

 is the time we sent a different kind of kid to represent us at some statewide thing called Good Government Day. Maybe it was Student Government Day. It was long ago and my mind might have slipped a bit.
Back in the day the high school had 4 courses of study. College prep, Business, General Studies and Industrial Arts.

As usual, a lot of people tended to sell the guys in the industrial Arts program short. Actually a lot of the guys that took the Industrial Arts route have done quite well for themselves. Looking back on things the instructors in the shop part of the Industrial Arts program taught wood and metal shop but ours taught more than that. They taught craftsmanship.

While wood and metal skills are valuable, craftsmanship is priceless.

I was in college prep because my mom was insistent that the only way a person could be a success was by getting a degree. She was wrong.

It always seemed that the college prep people got handed all of the goodies and were sent off to represent the school. Generally it was a select few of the administrations pets. It wasn't right but I think it was that way all over.

Since the beginning of time people believe that the best and brightest wind up in college but it really isn't always true. There are a lot of bright kids that opt to make their living on their feet instead of sitting on their asses. I went to school with a number of under rated kids. A number of them went on to excellent useful careers.

It was the time to send someone to Good Government Day and something seemed to grow out of nowhere and took hold and went 
back to where it came from and truly pissed off the administration.

A guy from the Industrial Arts program. (It may have been Business or General, actually) course threw his hat into the ring as a candidate for Good Government Day. Not only was he an Industrial Arts guy but he had a reputation for being a smart ass, too.

Generally his smartassedness was a result of being fairly bright and seeing through some teacher's BS and saying something. Nothing the administration hates more is some kid making a fool out of a teacher.

When word went out that he was running it started as a joke. In an instant it changed from a joke to a mutiny. A lot of us wanted to see what the administration would do if we elected someone that wasn't in their little list of approved school representatives.

He won in a landslide.

I really believe that back then the administration wasn't above stuffing a ballot box to further their little agenda but the results of the election were so lopsided that the administration knew they didn't stand a chance trying to tamper with the election results. It would have seriously incited a riot. I saw one of the administrators look kind of sick.

I remember going up to the guy and telling him, "Now REALLY piss the administration off by getting in there, showing leadership and doing a good job!" He grinned and told me it was part of the plan.

We sent him off and shortly after he returned there was some kind of assembly for one thing or another.

He was called up on stage and it was announced that he had gotten several honorable mentions for various things. It was the first time I recall anyone ever getting any of those accords for that program before. The entire student body went nuts and cheered. We were pretty proud of him. Of course, the administration didn't like him at all.

The look on the administrator's face as he shook his hand reminded me of the Mayor of New York having to give the key to the city to a stinking  wino. He really didn't like to admit that a smart ass from the Industrial arts program was capable of doing  good job of anything.

A lot of people looked at him in a new light and I suppose his teachers treated him with a little more respect. I'll bet you that when they did treat him well they found out he wasn't nearly as much of a smart ass.



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Watching the tube

I am watching a TV show called 'Pawn Stars' and it is about a pawn shop.

Unfortunately the shop appears to buy most of their merchandise and reselling it instead of doing what pawn shops generally do which is make loans.

Pawn shops have a reputation of being places that prey on the hard up people of the world. In the movies, for example, you see a desperate woman pawning her wedding ring.

What people do not realize is that years ago pawn shops supplied the public with more short term loans than the banks did. They were a whole lot easier to deal with. 

One simply brought an item of value in and got a loan on it. The pawnbroker generally gave the person a loan based on about half of what he felt he could sell the item for if the creditor didn't redeem it within the  proscribed time, generally 90 days depending on local rules. 

For the creditor to redeem the pawned item he had to come up with the loan plus interest inside the proscribed time. Of course, the pawnbroker held the item as collateral. The time limit can usually be extended simply by paying the interest.

It's a fairly simple system and most pawnbrokers really do want the  creditor to redeem his item as it was a whole lot easier than having to resell the item. They'd rather have the loan redeemed and make the profit through interest and have a repeat customer.

Pawn shops have a reputation for being places to peddle stolen items but any honest pawnbroker knows he'd lose his license if he got caught dealing in stolen goods on top of the other criminal charges. A stolen item is a pawnbrokers nightmare because it is simply impounded by the police and he loses out.

Pawnbrokers also have to be pretty sharp to avoid losing money by buying counterfeit items. They have to be able to spot fakes. It requires a pretty broad knowledge of things. 

Occasionally a pawn shop may specialize in an item of family of items. I knew of one pawnbroker that dealt entirely in firearms. When I decided to hitch hike to Alaska that pawnbroker gave me a pretty good deal on a WW2 Mauser that I took with me. He even threw in a case. I think I paid $50 for it. It was a WW2 bring-back.

In the southwest part of the country silversmiths actually used to make large pieces of turquoise and silver jewelry that Indians bought simply for when they needed a loan in hard times.  It was portable wealth and could be used as collateral for a secured pawn loan and redeemed after the crops came in or the sheep were sold or shorn.

These days pawn shops generally do what they used to do and that's supply people with fast cash, either by buying an item or floating a loan against an item.

Some of them are often pretty good places to get deals on things that the borrower has defaulted on. Generally they are pretty flexible on prices and will take less than the price they have on the tag.

It's too bad that the Pawn Stars show doesn't show a little more about the operations that they perform instead of just focusing on buying stuff for resale. It strikes me that the rest of the operations they go through would be interesting to watch.



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The Godfather

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Someone plays the race card and fails.

I know someone that was the head of a small depertment in some kind of a loan outfit. I don't really know the details of what she does but she her own hiring and firing.

About six months after she hired this black woman she was approached and told the department head she was being treated unfairly because of her color.

The department head nipped that one off at the bud by simply asking the complainer "What color were you when I hired you?"



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SO I cut myself shaving and some idiot of a woman

got nosy and asked me what happened. There was something irritating in the tone of her voice. We were at a Home Depot service desk. I was returning a leftover from a project.

"I got in a knife fight," I replied.

"Oh God!" she replied.

"I was out partyin' with my mom after she won $600 in a wet T-shirt contest. We were sitting at the bar doing lines of blow together when some guy tried to grope her. I took exception, knives came out I got cut and I cut him up real good."

"Really??!!" she asked.

"Oh, yeah." I replied. Never a dull moment when I go out partyin' with my mother."

She took her return slip and walked off leaving me in front of a middle aged woman that cracked up laughing.

I think one of my better ones was right after Mom died and some nosy person that had never even met my Mom asked what she died of.

"Her parachute didn't open," I replied.

"You mother was a skydiver?" he asked.

"All her life," I replied. "She started in 1942 when she enlisted in the 82nd Airborne. She made 4 combat jumps. Of course, she was a guy at the time. After the war she had a sex change operation and shortly after that she married a former flyboy and they had me."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "Anyway, the Golden Knights-the Army skydiving team- found out she was the remaining WW2 vet still actively jumping so they offered her a HALO jump. High Altitude, Low Opening. She punched out at about 25,000 feet. Her 'chute failed and she augered in."

"Wow!" he replied. "How old was she?"

"She'd just turned 90," I answered. "It was in the news."

"I must of missed it," he said and I ambled off.

About a month later he passed me again and gave me a dirty look.

For the past couple of years I have figured that anyone stupid enough to believe something like that gets what they deserve. Lord knows I leave enough holes in the story.















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Ever notice that the 'Save the World' types can't even take care of themselves?

Shortly after I moved in there I sort of became a hero of sorts, at least until people wondered what I would do to them if they crossed me.

The guy down the street stopped on his way somewhere while I was in the front yard painting a handrail to make it look nice. It was pretty scruffy when I moved in.

Anyway, he pulled up and I recognized him right off. He was the guy with the protest signs in his junk-filled yard.

He started to introduce himself. I headed him off.

"I know who you are. You're the guy down the street that can't take care of himself but is trying to save the world," I said.

He looked shocked but recovered and in an angry tone asked me what I meant by that.

"Saving the world begins at home," I said. "You like in a damned dump. Before you decide to run around saving lettuce pickers in Arizona you ought to pick up your own yard."

"There's a lot of social injustice in the world," he said.

"And you're creating some of it," I shot back. "It really isn't right that you inflict the rest of us with your vermin ridden piles of trash all over your yard. Howzabout starting your war on social injustice by being a good neighbor and cleaning up that pig sty?"

I generally don't like telling people how to live. However, I figured this guy was going to be a pain in the ass if I didn't alienate him right off the bat. I knew he was going to be a pest.

The guy across the street heard it and smirked. He didn't like him, either, apparently.

The guy looked at me. "You know, the lettuce pickers in Arizona are trying to support families on seasonal jobs," he said.

"Don't they have noses?" I asked.

"Noses?" he asked back, confused.

"Yeah, noses. Do their employers amputate their noses?" I asked.

"Not that I know of," he replied.

"Then they have something to pick in the off season," I shot back.

It was a rude, calloused comment but I really didn't care. The guy across the street laughed outright and the slob looked angry.

"Now I'll tell you what," I said. "You clean up your yard and when it looks halfway decent you come and tell me which brand of lettuce to buy and I'll actually listen to you. Until that, I'm going to buy whatever is on the shelf. You help save the neighborhood and I'll help you save the world."

A few days later I saw the entire family out in the yard picking it up. The wife looked happy. She was actually planting a few flowers to boot.

I drove by a few hours later and the place actually looked presentable. The pile of trash in the driveway would likely be hauled off by the trash guys. 

Seeing the trash guys picked up my stuff before theirs I figured I'd have a quiet word with them. I broke out a couple of 4 ounce bottles of Jim Beam as a present for them.

A couple days later I caught them, handed each of them a small bottle and asked them to haul off ALL of the guy's trash. They did.

I was good to my word. After the place was cleaned up I bought whatever lettuce he told me to, carefully looking for the union label. 

The wife would smile at me when she saw me. I think she was grateful I had told her husband off.

I knew I had gotten lucky here because half of the people that are trying to save the world are totally incapable of saving themselves. At least this guy was capable. All he needed was a nudge.

The last time I ran into a teenager that wanted me to help him save the world I told him to start by cleaning up his room.












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One of the things I have noticed over the past several years is the way smokers are treated.

Back in the service people smoked everywhere. From battalion headquarters down to the squad bays. Nobody complained. The EM, Officers and NCO clubs all permitted smoking. 

In the mid 70s the college classroom allowed students to light up. It was common to see ash trays in supermarkets, restaurants and of course, bars. Even most church halls had ash trays in them.

People lit up almost everywhere.

It didn't take long, only a few years for smokers to become pariahs and now you see them sneaking around outside in hidden nooks and crannies.

I recall several years ago touring a submarine and commented that I could picture the guys in it getting depth charged and that the cigarette smoke was likely so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Some hippie kid went agape and made some kind of comment. He said something uppity in reply. I grinned and told him not to worry as his entire mentality and attitude precluded him from submarine duty to begin with. (Submariners are psychologically evaluated for tolerance of other before they are even allowed to enter the program) The tour guide actually laughed outright when I said that. Apparently he was an old submariner.

Of course, the smokers that are outside away from everyone else are still subject to people coming up to them and harrassing them. 

Like most things, I figure that things sometimes go to far. 

The way I see it is that if a smoker has gone outside and around a corner to avoid bothering someone he ought to be left alone. He's been fair and done his part.

Anyone that follows him around the corner, chases him down  and takes issue of a person puffing away is a malicious person that is simply looking for trouble. They really deserve to find what they are looking so hard to seek.

People that maliciously track a smoker down like that ought to be rewarded for their efforts with a lungful of smoke blown in their face. That's what I'd do if I were in that position. Fair is fair and enough is enough.

I'm not writing this to get into health or social issues and take sides on this issue. It is just an observation of changes I have seen over time.

It is also an observation of those that insist on chasing people around looking for trouble. 

I used to hate people that went looking for trouble. Now I look forward to meeting them because it gives me someone deserving to take my hostilities out on.



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I get tired of people that miss the point.

The other day someone asked me why I think the Klan should be able to hold a rally. I told them for the same reason that the New Black Panther Party should be able to.

And the Communists and the Gays and the Slobovian Liberation Front, and, yes, the dreaded Illinois Nazis.

The right to assemble is for everyone, and not just one side. It is for everyone irregardless of your view.

When one group tries to take someone else's rights away they give government a leg up to taking THEIR rights away. 

I learned this as a youngster from my father.

This is an old memory and the details are not there but the principle is. I believe it was in 1968 but I am not sure. I do remember that there was a to-do over the ballot for the '68 election.

George C. Wallace was at the time one of those mad men on the courthouse steps. He was Mister Segregation then, segregation now, segregation forever.

He wasn't too popular in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and the powers that be were trying to keep his name off of the ballot.

There was a petition to put Wallace's name on the ballot and somewhere along the line dad and I ran into someone circulating it. 

He asked Dad who picked up a pen and signed it. I was aghast.

The guy with the petition asked Dad if he could expect his vote in the upcoming election.

"Certainly not," said Dad. "I'm not voting for that dirty bastard. I signed it simply because I believe people have the right to vote for him."

The petitioner looked confused and a little weirded out but said nothing. To him what Dad had just done made no sense.

A few days later at a gathering a guy up the street named Ed mentioned that Wallace trying to get on the ballot and how they were trying to fight it in Boston. He said there was a petition going around.

"I know. I signed it," said Dad." The place went silent and everyone turned and looked at Dad. 

"I never knew you were a segregationist," said Ed,

"That's a cheap shot," Dad retorted. "I didn't say I was voting for him. I'm not. I simply think the people in Boston are wrong in trying to keep him off the ballot. He has every right to run. Boston is trying to deny him his right to be a candidate."

"Yeah, but he's..." said Ed.

"A segregationist? So what? I don't care what he is. Those clowns in Boston are trying to deny him his rights," said Dad. "They're behaving just like the people in the south were when they didn't let the colored people vote. You remember I supported the Freedom Riders?"

The place was quiet for a minute as people sat there thinking. The silence was broken.

"You know, you're right," someone said to Dad. "They are trying to cheat Wallace. Personally I can't stand the guy but they are trying to cheat him."

"So if we let them get away with this, what's next?" asked Dad. "Most of you are Democrats. How would you like it if they decided to keep Humphrey off the ballot?"

"Yeah, but the man's an out and out segregationist." said Ed.

Thad spoke up. He was a bear of a man with a deep voice and spoke slow. It sounded slow but belied a sharp mind.

"Justice denied anyone is justice denied all of us. Is that the way you see it?" Asked Thad.

"Damned right," said Dad.

"Good point," said Thad. His wife looked at him thoughtfully. 

"How about the anti-war protesters on the Common?" asked Ed. 

"How about them? I don't like 'em. They got a right to be there, though." answered Dad. "Even though I don't like them very much I'll support their right to be there."

"How do you explain this to Ray and Elsie?" asked Thad's wife. Ray and Elsie were a black couple that lived nearby.

"Simple," said Dad. "You tell them you signed the petition for the same reason you supported the Freedom Riders a few years back. You signed it to insure all Americans are given their rights. Not just a few. Ray's as sharp as a tack. He'll understand and so will Elsie."

And that is the story of how my father saw things.

Somewhere along the line his son picked up on it.

I don't even remember if Wallace got on the ballot but I do remember this part well.

Incidentally, Nixon won the general election in '68.



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Lick it.

I have just gotten an email from some grammar nazi regarding the blog.

I have offered to refund his money. In fact, as an unprecedented offer of generosity I am going to double his money back.

One has to remember that this is not a professional publication that one pays for. This blog is what it is.

If you want to read something a little more polished than open your wallet, let the moths fly out and cough up for it.

It is the grumblings of an Old School wayward sailor.

That is all it is, nothing more, nothing less.

One thing the complainer has done, though is prove to me something I have said many times over the years.

Some people can screw up a free lunch by asking for change.



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Someone once asked me about the Confederate Air Force.

He was one of those dimwits that generally misses the point. He wanted to know if they were a bunch of people that were still fighting the Civil War.

Of course, I saw I had a live one here and told him a story of the exploits of the original Confederate Air Force.

In late1862 the CAF started a campaign of strategic bombing of the North that was unprecidented and the record lasted until it was broken by the 8th Air Force in 1943.

The biggest mission they ever flew was on July 18, 1863 and it's called the Gandy raid.

The Gandy Tool Company had factories in Chicago manufacturing railroad equipment which the North needed to build railroads to supply Yankee troops. The South believed  strategic mission would help in cutting Northern supply lines.

A squadron of B-16s, predecessor to the famous B-17s of WW2 fame took off from Rebel Field, Texas. They proceeded toward Chicago on the long mission loaded with bombs and auxillary fuel tanks. When they reached Chicago the target appeared to be socked in so they tried a lower level approach.

They braved anti-aircraft musketry on the second pass and successfully obliterated the target. This in effect cut Union suppy lines for the rest of the war. 

The planes headed for Kansas where, under the protection of Quantrel's raiders, they landed and refueled. They then took off and returned safely to Rebel Field. The only causalty of the raid was that one plane suffered a single bullet hole. This was believed to have come from a well placed shot from a Sharps buffalo rifle.

During the entire Civil War the Union never managed to shoot down a single Confederate Air Force bomber. Their hot air balloons proved to be very ineffective against the B-16s of the CAF. 

In fact, the CAF had and still has the only perfect safety record in the history of military aviation. They never lost a single airplane in either training or combat.

Of course, watching the look of growing confusion on they clown's face was very satisfying. He looked lost.

I continued.

On St. Patrick's Day, 1864 the CAF pulled another daring raid. They plastered the whaling port of New Bedford, Massachusetts. Whale oil was used for lighting at the time. They successfully fired all of the storage tanks of whale oil, plunging the entire northeast part of the country into darkness for quite some time. They didn't recover until long after the war.

This later led to a search for an alternative energy source and led to the Rockefeller empire as he got the monopoly on kerosene, but I digress.

The fact that the raid was pulled on St. Patrick's day had far reaching consequences. Morale in the Irish enclave of nearby South Boston went down into the basement and enlistments into the Union army dropped to nothing. Five hundred dollar enlistment bonus offers were ignored.



President Lincoln finally had to resort to paying Clancy, the Southie bartender off to give free beer to enlistees to get enlistments out of the demoralized Irish of South Boston.

Incidentally, early in the war a number of South Boston Irish mistakenly thought that Southie was a part of the South. They hopped on their horses and rode down I-95 to Virginia and enlisted in the Confederacy.

The look of confusion on the man's face turned from confusion to embarrassmant to anger.

"The airplane wasn't invented until the 20th century!" he shouted. "There was no Confederate Air Force!"

"You don't say!" I replied. "Really? Whoda ever thought such a thing?"

"You can't go around changing history like that!" He shouted.

"Why not? The left has been revising it for decades," I replied. "Besides, before you start bad-mouthing the Confederate Air Force you might hit the keyboard and Google it to see what it's all about. Either that or buy mint flavored shoes. That way you won't have to taste the dog $hit you stepped in every time you put your foot in your mouth!"







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A while ago I had to put a cat down

. It was time and I knew it. It sucked but it had to be done.

I took the cat to the vets and he laid on my lap as the vet administered the shot and the hapless animal slipped off into lifelessness while sitting on my lap. As he passed he looked up at me with a look of gratitude for putting him out of his pain.

I'll admit, I welled up and shed tears as he passed.

I sat there and cried a bit and wrapped him up in a chunk of blanket, took him home, buried him and made a simple headstone for the little guy.

He was a good cat while he was alive. He was good to me for the time I had him and it was my turn to be there when he needed me. It was the right thing to do.

I do not see how anyone can simply drop their friend off at the vet's, tell the vet to put their pet to sleep and leave. To me it's gutless and speaks volumes of their character or lack thereof.



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Dammit! Klansmen.

Why did he have to be Klansmen? I HATE the Klan.

Over the years I have found myself defending the rights of the Nazis, SDS, the Klan, Charles Manson, the John Birch Society, the gay rights community, Sons of Slobivia, Sons of Bitches and a plethoria of other people I have no use for.

It sucks.

So far over the past couple of weeks I have had to defend the rights of the people of South Carolina to fly whatever flag they want over the Confederate Memorial.  Now I am forced to defend the rights of the Ku Klux Klan. Again.

Like it or not, they have a right to privacy just like everyone else. Seems the president wants to make them identify themselves.

How about no?

How about you leave them alone.

What's actually going on here is the old tyranny game of divide and conquer. You find an unpopular group like the Klan and take their rights away from them. That makes it easier to take the rights away from the next unpopular group that comes down the pike. After all, the precedent has been set.

After that it becomes a hell of a lot easier to take everyone else's rights away.

I just saw something on Facebook that made a whole lot of sense. It was actually posted by a liberal. It is likely one of the few things I agree with that he has posted.

Don't like Gay marriage? Don't get one.
Don't like cigarettes? Don't smoke one.
Don't like abortions? Don't get one.
Don't like sex? Don't do it.
Don't like drugs? Don't use them.
Don't like porn? Don't watch it.
Don't like alcohol? Don't drink it.
Don't like guns? Don't buy one.
Don't like your rights taken away?
Then don't take away someone else's. 

Anyone that thinks that taking away someone else's right is going to make them safer is nothing but a damned fool. By taking away someone else's rights you're making t a whole lot easier for Big Brother to take away YOURS.

Incidentally the Klan wants to hold a rally at the South Carolina state capitol in a couple of weeks. My guess is the governor or whomever will try and stop them.

We'll hear the same tired lame excuses used to try and prevent it. We'll hear that they are a hate group which is true. However, hate groups have rights, too.

The next step will be that they will refuse them because they are afraid of rioting. That's another BS argument. The nation can survive an occasional riot but it can NOT survive having rights taken away.

Of course, there is a way to prevent the rally. All South Carolina has to do is to tell the Klan that they are responsible for cleaning up after themselves afterwards.

They're going to be responsible for making one hell of a mess and they should be responsible to clean up after themselves.

I would imagine that produce vendors are now leaving all sorts of vegetables out in the sun to get really ripe in anticipation of the rally. That's what I'd do.

Rotten vegetables command a premium price the day before a Klan rally. If you're sharp you can contribute to the failure of the rally and make a few bucks while you're at it.

Ben Franklin said that those that give up their liberty for a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety. He was right.

As for Big Brother that wants to take the right to privacy from the Klan? Go piss up a rope.

Those jerks have the same rights the rest of us do. Taking theirs away is paving the highway for getting our rights taken away.





To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY