Author: Kim du Toit

Gratuitous Gun Pic: Brno Mod 22F (8x57mm)

Gratuitous Gun Pics

Long Time Readers will know of my fondness for full-stocked rifles like the SMLE.  Try this beauty on for size, at Steve Barnett’s Very Very Bad Place:

Okay, it looks beautiful, and the chambering is of course excellent — the 8mm Mauser cartridge is adequate for almost any purpose, like its Murkin .30-06 counterpart — but I have a couple of reservations about the Mannlicher flat or “butter-knife” bolt handle.

You see, it’s lovely to look at and of course it works very well;  but after more than half a dozen shots, that sharp edge starts to hurt your hand.  Granted, in the hunting activity, you seldom have to shoot more than a couple of times in a row — unless things are going very, very wrong — but I must say I prefer a regular rounded bolt handle like this one to the butterknife above:

But would I shy away from the Brno (later named CZ) if offered?  Hell, no.

And this little short-barreled carbine would be extremely handy in the field.

My Favorite President

Good Stuff, Patriotism

Who else but Calvin Coolidge?  Watch this video, and realize two things:

Our current problems are neither new nor exclusive.  Immigration, taxation rates, federal spending, employment, whatever:  they existed in the 1920s, and Coolidge addressed them all, and properly.

Character matters.  Character, public character, matters.  Compare and contrast that of Coolidge with any modern president (i.e after Eisenhower), and realize how rare it is to find someone who can govern on principle — principle based on the Constitution and not on some other basis.

At the end of the above video, one of the commentators says, “He is exactly what we need at this point in time.”

I beg to differ.  We need such a man all the time, every time, to be our President.

I want all our future presidents to be more like Coolidge.  So does Amity Shlaes.

End of story.

Ker-Chunk

Drive Time

Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk

Irritating, isn’t it?

So that’s why, whenever I have to drive more than a few miles on U.S. concrete-paved roads, I arrive at my destination in a mood that can best be described as “Gimme that puppy, I’m gonna bite its fucking head off.”

Look, I understand the installation of concrete roads instead of ordinary (smooth) tarred roads.  I know that tarred roads wear out more quickly than concrete slabs, and I know that replacing broken concrete is easier / cheaper than resurfacing tarmac.

Yet I wonder how it is that South Africa — which is just as hot as Texas, and can have temperature fluctuations just as extreme — can get by with smooth tarred roads over similar long distances, carrying about the same weight of traffic, and yet their roads are, if anything, better than ours to drive on.

The reason for all this rage is that a couple of days ago I went looking for a new apartment located closer to New Wife’s place of work, and had to drive there and back after, it should be said, great success.  (Cliff Notes: much cheaper than Plano, acceptable compromises and a better kitchen than our current apartment.  We move on June 1.)

When I got home at the end of all this, I had driven back the dozen-odd miles along the Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk road, and the closer I got to home, the more I wanted to rub a cheese grater over my scrotum because New Wife has had to endure this torture for the past two years.  That’s 125 miles a week along the Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk roads, and in Sputum, her Fiat 500 with its pathetic excuse for suspension withal.

Small wonder she’s sometimes kinda grumpy at the end of the day.  I myself would be reaching for the puppy the minute I walked in the door.

What’s even more interesting is that Plano has started to lay tarmac over some stretches of its concrete roads, and I have to tell you that this is in no small part why I get into such a bate about the fucking concrete Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk roads — the contrast is unbelievable, and I have been known to drive somewhat out of my way just to enjoy the noiseless travel over tarmac.

I should also point out that the very first time I visited this country, back in 1982, I drove from New York City to New England, back to New York and thence to Disneyworld, over to New Orleans and back to NYfC, over a period of about 3-4 weeks.  I-95 north and south, and I-10 / whatever I took back to New York put me in a fearful mood, and every time I could dump the interstates and head along back (tarred) roads, I took the opportunity to do so.

Small wonder, then, that my honeymoon (with Wife #1, a youthful mistake anyway) turned out to be, shall we say, less than a resounding success.

There’s nothing like having a running argument over the Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk-Ker-Chunk noise, for three full weeks, to doom a relationship.

I’m just lucky that New Wife is made of better stuff than I am, and I am horribly chagrined to have taken this long to improve her lifestyle.