Author: Kim du Toit

Speaking Of Simplicity

Drive Time

Harking back to last Saturday’s post, here’s one way to “simplify” a classic car:

Looks purty, dunnit?

Of course, this E-type’s about like Washington’s axe — all that’s left is the name (in this case, the body) — but at least this new version has a cold-start percentage greater than 30% (the old E-type’s average) and the lights and windshield wipers can work simultaneously (to mention just some of the features).

The price paid for this restomod actually set a new record for nosebleed — although it’s in the same range as all other E-type restomods — but even if I had the money, I think I’d prefer something else.

I remember once thinking that the ultimate restomod would be a Dino body stretched over a Porsche Cayman, but that would probably cost less than a restored Dino, from what I’ve seen.  (Nearly half a million bucks for Ferrari’s “entry level” car from the late 1960s?  Are you kidding me?)

And returning to the above XKE, I have to think that I’d prefer to lose the rocket launch geegaws and stick with the original six-cylinder 3.8-liter Jag engine.  But that’s just me.

The Market

Marketing / Advertising, Men & Women, Whores

Here’s an interesting development in the OnlyFans business:

From Deansgate Square in the south to Collier’s Yard in the north, this is the extraordinary story of how Manchester’s new breed of ultra-luxury apartment blocks became playgrounds for a new generation of social media star.
‘This is where the magic is made,’ Jordan Smith, the 30-year-old founder of Rebel – a content creator agency – told the Mail. ‘Manchester has become a hub for creators. It’s well connected, there are investors and opportunities here. But it’s also great for creators as they can collaborate and make content with one another.’
One of Jordan’s most in-demand clients* is Harry Bourne, who strips off online under the stage name ‘Haxzy’.
‘London is more for the older generation,’ Harry tells the Mail, reclining on an armchair in his 35th-floor luxury apartment in the north west of the city. ‘Manchester is the home of the future.’
At the age of just 19, Harry has been ‘modelling’ on OnlyFans for the best part of a year. His success has been remarkable: 800 people pay £9.99 a month for his basic content. But, he assures me, ‘you won’t even get to see my “bulge” for that. Everything is extra.’  Indeed, more graphic content can cost an awful lot more. ‘I’m not one of these influencers** who will sell their whole kebab for five quid,’ Harry admits. ‘I’ll go fully naked, but only for the right money.’
It all means that Harry, who describes himself as an ‘actor***’, makes a staggering £30,000 a month – of which Rebel takes 30 per cent. ‘Other agencies**** take up to 70 per cent,’ he says, with a knowing look.  Harry is a straight man, claiming that he sleeps with up to ten different women a month. However, apart from ‘the odd female subscriber’, the majority of his audience are gay men. ‘I work about an hour a day,’ he boasts. ‘But I do stay productive. I like going out in my car, picking up birds… in my heart, I’m a good lad and I look after myself.’

Seems like it.  Here’s a quick glossary of the terms used:

*clients:  hookers
**influencers:  whores
***in the old days, “actor” (or “actress”) and “whore” meant the same thing.  Looks like we’ve regressed.
****agencies:  pimps

I am so glad I’m not part of this world.

Underrated Guns

Gratuitous Gun Pics, The Gun Thing

Looking back for something else in my archives, I stumbled across this 2020 article about underrated guns.  I’ll spare you the details (follow the link if you’re interested), but the guns are pictured below:

 

  • I have no experience with the R22, but it’s a T/C, looks nice and uses 10/22 mags, so how bad can it be?
  • I’m not a fan of the Savage Apex line, because I had a terrible experience with one once, because that skinny little barrel starts to whip after more than a few rounds.  But it’s a decent budget hunting rifle.  I honestly prefer the 110 Hunter line — more expensive, to be sure, but I think a better rifle altogether.  I’ll always suggest the 110 for a starter rifle, because at any price, it’s wonderfully accurate, and their adjustable Accu-Trigger is the bee’s knees.
  • If I were looking for a “mid-price” 1911, I’d go with one of the Springfields purely because of long experience with my GI model.
  • I carried a Charter Arms Bulldog (.44 Spec) for years, until I got my 1911.  Nothing wrong with it — I think I’d take the Undercover over one of the Rossi or Taurus cheapies, to be honest.
  • I like the Bersa Thunder, and if I were restricted to the .380 ACP, it would probably be my first choice too.
  • Not a fan of the Tomcat, even though I love most Beretta handguns.  I think it’s the .32 ACP chambering that puts me off, although his rationale for the piece is quite acceptable.  I’d certainly take it over any of the teeny pocket pistols out there, just for the reliability factor.

The article got me thinking about the topic, so in days to come I’ll put up my half-dozen choices of underrated guns, just for the hell of it.  Try to contain yer anticipation.

Weak Neethe

Health

Back when Longtime Buddy Trevor and I were doing our first trip around the U.S. (1985), we stopped in a little store somewhere in New Hampshire — don’t remember which town, and probably a convenience store.

The cashier was a young guy in his late teens or early 20s, and he was a giant — I mean, well over 6’5″ and 300lbs.

Trevor (who has no problem with asking total strangers personal questions):  “Wow, you’re a big dude.  Did you ever play football at school?”
Kid: [headshake]
Trevor:  “Why not?”
Kid:  [in a high, childlike squeak]:  “I got weak neethe.”

We collapsed with laughter when we got outside, because the high voice and lisp coming from this man-mountain was just too incongruous.

I thought of this story the other day at the Sooper-Seekrit Mailbox Place.  You see, whereas it used to be quite close to my Plano apartment, now it’s a long drive over from Allen, and a long drive causes me all sorts of problems.

Many years ago, I was having problems with my knees.  In retrospect, this condition was probably being caused by my being grossly overweight.  Anyway, I complained to the doctor about it, who agreed with my diagnosis — the first time he ever used the immortal words:  “If you don’t lose some weight, you’re going to die, you fat bastard.”  Anyway, he sent me to get X-rays done, just to see what was going on in there.

The X-ray doc looked at the pics, and asked:  “Are you in the flooring business?  No?  That’s interesting, because I normally see knees like this in older men who’ve been installing carpeting for years.”

As a result, my doctor gave me the letter to show the licensing folks that I qualified for cripple (okay, disabled) plates on my car, which I’ve had ever since.

When New Wife came over for the first time, she called me out as a fraud because I appeared in perfect health, belying my “cripple” status.

Well, maybe not.

You see, while my knees are a lot better now that I have lost some weight and am no longer a “Fat Bastard”, they still give me trouble if I’m immobile for longer than a few minutes.

So when I pull up and park in my Disabled parking spot, she always worries that people are going to think, “What’s wrong with him?  He looks perfectly healthy!”

…until I get out of the car with my weak neethe, and hobble around like a bona fide cripple for those first few dozen steps (then they loosen up, and I can walk more or less normally).  Which is what happens when I make the 30-minute drive to the Sooper-Seekrit Mail place and park outside.  Those first steps… bloody hell.

By the way, my left knee is particularly troublesome because I tore it up while hunting in the Highlands of Scotland with Mr. Free Market back in 2017, and while it did get better, it occasionally locks up worse than the other one.

So I can’t play football either.

LOL Of The Day

Funny Stuff, The Gun Thing

Once more with feeling from the Comment section at Knuckledragger’s:

That’s also sorta true with chastising people who use “bullets” when they mean “cartridges”.  Yes I know, the bullet is really the part that leaves the casing and comes out of the naughty end of the gun (oops I mean barrel), but saying “I’m outta cartridges!” just doesn’t have the same ring as “I need more fuggin’ bullets!”

I’d rather just chastise someone for not having enough ammo.

Also:  far be it for me to say this, but we really shouldn’t be guided by anything the Army says, because their fuckup rate in all things is phenomenal.  And that’s true of any army.

Finally, A Decent List On Eeewww Choob

Music

10 UNDERRATED Guitarists Who Changed Rock Forever

Okay, to just about any musician and relevant band fan, none of these guys is a stranger;  we all know who they are (or were).  It’s just nice to see Robert Quine, Jan Akkerman and Roy Buchanan get a little respect, for a change.  And all the rest are total monsters.  (Kath?  Ronson?  Lifeson?  Barre?  Have mercy.)

Enjoy.  My only quibble is that the video should have been a couple hours long.