Latest Posts

What The Hell?

Bad News

Okay, will somebody ‘splain to me why so many women are having sex with underage boys these days? Here’s one:

A British mother-of-three who performed a “dreadful catalog” of sex acts with underage boys was sentenced to seven years’ in prison on Friday. The court heard that Amanda Tompkins performed a ‘striptease’ and sexually abused the boys while her own children were inside the house. The 39-year-old was sentenced for 10 counts of physical and sexual abuse of six boys.
According to reports by the Mail Online and the Mirror, the court heard that Tompkins invited the group of boys between the ages of 13 and 15 to her home, furnishing them with marijuana and alcohol, before engaging them in oral sex and full-on intercourse. She also told one of the boys that he’d gotten her pregnant and that she needed an abortion.

Really? And then there’s this priceless princess:

A young teacher has been criminally charged with having sex multiple times with a 15-year-old student – and may be pregnant by him. Katherine Ruth Harper, 27, was arrested in Denton County, Texas, after the boy told police about their alleged relationship.
…
A police arrest warrant says she sent naked photos to the boy and drove to his house where she plied him with alcohol and engaged him in sexual congress.
The warrant includes the boy’s explicit description of one sexual encounter: “One thing led to another and she told me to ‘put it in’ and I did,” he said.
Harper allegedly taught the boy when he was younger, but he later moved schools.
The warrant claims the lovers repeatedly had sexual intercourse during the 2016 summer vacation.
Their amorous relationship allegedly ran from the beginning of July and ended on July 31st – eight months ago.
Harper is now eight months pregnant – though the legal documents do not comment on the child’s paternity.
…
She has been charged with conducting an improper relationship between an educator and student – a second-degree felony which carried a maximum punishment of 20 years in prison.

Now I have to admit that in the past I was one of those “Where were these teachers when I was in school?” guys. But there’s something deeply disturbing about older women giving young boys booze and drugs, then having it off with them.

What angers me the most about these cases is that so few of these women get serious jail time — in fact, they generally escape with suspended sentences. And we all know that if the roles were reversed and it was older men doing the same with underage girls, there’d be strident calls from womyns and feministicals for castration or worse.

Here’s the thing: in this country, the law should apply equally to everybody, regardless of race, creed, color or gender. In fact, that’s actually what the U.S. Code states. Except that women in the last category are getting away with it. (The British bitch in the first snippet is only going to get seven years in prison, because Britain. I bet she gets sprung after one or two.)

Back in the U.S., I won’t be happy until tarts like the Harper woman in the second snippet actually get twenty-year sentences, and serve most of them. Because this is bullshit.

But I’m still trying to see what motivates these women to do what they do because honestly, I’m stumped.

My Real Hero

Culture

From last week’s post about well-dressed men (or rather, men who dress like slobs), I don’t want anyone to think that Don Draper is any kind of hero to me, other than as it pertains to his clothes.

My real hero in the Mad Men series would have to be Roger Sterling, he of the peerless quips and observations, and serial seducer and womaniser, a sublime mixture of sophistication and dissolution. How could you not be in awe of a man who says things like: “I like redheads; their mouths are like a drop of strawberry jam in a glass of milk” and  “Have another [drink]. It’s 9:30, for God’s sake.”

I never wish that I could be another man; but if I did, it would be Roger: utterly charming, cynical and right, every time. And even when he knows he’s about to make a catastrophic mistake (e.g. marry a much-younger woman), he just shrugs and does it anyway, fully aware of the consequences.

“Have a drink. It’ll make me look younger.”

Every single woman I’ve ever spoken to about Roger Sterling thinks he’s an utter bastard. And every single one of them admitted they’d probably let him have his way with them anyway. We mere mortals can only aspire to such greatness.

And for those Readers who wanted to see Joan Holloway, here ya go:

And Roger’s comment: “Has anyone even seen this baby, with you walking next to him?”

 

Dept. of Righteous Shootings

Righteous Shootings

As I’ve said earlier, I have little interest in firing up old themes in this, the latest incarnation of my rants and scribblings.

However.

When I see joyous news snippets like this one, I have no alternative but to announce the return of the Department of Righteous Shootings, wherein I catalog the efforts of private, law-abiding citizens to drain the gene pool of miserable criminal scumbags. Here’s the latest:

Authorities in Oklahoma are investigating after a man armed with an AR-15 opened fire on three intruders who forced their way into his mother’s Broken Arrow home Monday afternoon.

According to the Wagoner County Sheriff’s Office, the three suspects were pronounced dead at the scene and a fourth suspect, who acted as the getaway driver, is now in police custody.

Three shots fired, three goblins dead. Somebody buy Our Hero a marksmanship badge.

But that’s not the best report out of this little comedy. Try this one:

The grandfather of one of the three armed home invaders who were shot and killed breaking into a home in Broken Arrow (OK) earlier this week laments that the resident’s AR-15 carbine wasn’t fair against the knife and brass knuckles carried by the mask-wearing criminals.

You can all stop that unseemly laughing now. No… on second thoughts, carry on.

Dead Goblin Count: 3

Side By Side

The Gun Thing

I can’t afford a new shotgun, or even a decent second-hand one, but I am going to need one for High Bird Shooting (and Missing) later in in the year, so I’ve been looking in more or less a dilettante fashion to see if I can get one that is acceptable but which does not require the sacrifice of a firstborn child. I have a shotgun already, of course, but it’s an old, ugly thing of uncertain provenance and even more uncertain performance — and it’s in the much-derided 16-gauge chambering, which would cause untold me embarrassment if uncased on Lord Whatsit’s estate (for ’tis there where I will be shooting in early November). Hence my problem. Even worse is that, current no-name El Cheapo shotgun aside, I do have some fairly rigorous standards about shotguns I want to shoot, let alone own.

And here are the details of the features I’d like:

1.) Side-by-side barrels, at least 29” long. Longtime Readers will remember that as an old-fashioned man, my motto about shotgun barrels is that they should be placed side by side, like a man and his dog, and not over and under like a man and his mistress.

2.) Concealed hammers. I’m not that old-fashioned.

3.) Boxlock action. Okay, I am that old-fashioned. I just like the looks of the boxlock. (Here’s a fine summary of the differences between boxlock and sidelock actions. I should note that with modern steel, a boxlock action is every bit as strong as a sidelock, and the boxlock shotgun weighs considerably less than a sidelock.)

4.) Double triggers. I prefer knowing that when I pull the rear trigger, the left barrel will discharge first. This is especially important if some time has elapsed since firing the first shot, or if one has to replace a dud cartridge.
Here’s a pic of all my desired features so far:


To continue:

5.) Full choke in the left barrel, Improved/Modified in the right. (“Full” and “Three-quarter”, for my Brit readers.)

6.) Chambering: 20ga. I know, I know… it’s not the mighty 12ga, but Mr. Free Market shoots the 20ga (for medical reasons), and I’d far prefer to mooch ammo off him Over There, rather than going through the schlep of carrying 500+ U.S.-bought shells over The Pond into Britishland.

7.) Little or no engraving on the receiver/barrels or checkering on the stock. Actually, I’d prefer no carving at all. I love the feel of smooth steel and smooth wood, and my hands don’t perspire, so there’s no danger of the stock “slipping” in my grasp. And speaking of stocks, I want an English-style “splinter” (small, tapered) fore end.


…and a “straight” stock (no pistol grip), which is also sometimes called an “English”-style stock:


8.) Safety: Not automatic. An “auto safety” on a shotgun typically engages [duh] automatically when you open the action for loading. Thank you, but I’m fully capable of deciding for myself when I want the safety engaged or not. When I load a shotgun, I want to shoot something, and when I close the action, I want to be ready to go.

9.) Ejectors: Adjustable. There are times when you don’t care where the empties go, and you have to reload quickly, and on those occasions a “full-eject” is desirable. Then there are times when you need to remove the fired cartridges manually, and put them away in a bag or something, so you don’t have to go grubbing around in the dirt for the past mile you’ve walked, looking for the spent cases. Also, if you haven’t fired and need to extract the live cartridges, it’s far better not to have them drop into the mud.

Not that I’m picky, or anything.

Sadly, there are few such animals on the market at the moment, so I’m going to be searching for some time — especially considering my parlous financial state, which will require some kind of bargain before I purchase one. Unfortunately, most shotguns of such beauty and features are seldom “on sale” because of their relative scarcity and high demand (see here for one such “bargain”, or here for another ), so it’s going to take me a while, and I may have to sell if not the firstborn, then at least the Forgotten Middle Child Whom Nobody Loves.

This being poor thing really bites.

Intemperance

General

And lo did the Combatte Controller and his fair bryde venture unto the castle of the Physician, where they mette with the man they call Evil Kim. After supping upon the flesh of dead bullock did the carousing beginne, with the drinkynge of much ale and strong spirits. And there was raucous laughter, and loud conversation, and foulle language, and fondling of weaponry large and small, more loud laughter and carousing, and did I mention drinkynge?

By the light of the dawn did Evil Kim awake, with throbbynge head from the liqueur and sore stomach from all the laughter, because he had to penne this blogge, and lo did the bright rays of the Sunne afflict his eyes. In vain did he plead with the others, whose bodies are clearly more accustomed to such debaucherie, to keepe their voices down lest his pore head explode. And loudly did they laugh at Evil Kim’s predicament, callynge him ugly names such as Olde Fartte and worse (which I dare not mentionne here lest the Ladies reading this sorry tale be offended). Even the Physician, who should knowe better, did mock the ailments of Evil Kim and gave him not of his potions to ease the pain, and did cackle upon hearing the groans of sufferynge, the Foul Bastard (for such did Evil Kim call him).

Whereupon did the groaning elder member of the group repair unto his bedde until such Tyme would pass that the hobgoblins would cease their clogge dance in his head, or merciful Death arrive to claim his ravaged body. Should the first come to pass, and not the last, will Evil Kim (now called Nice Kim) penne further tales for his Loyal Readers, but ’twill occur most lykely in the morn.

 

French Friday I: (Re-)Intoduction

Friday Feature

One of the many things I enjoyed about my old blog was something I did on Fridays, wherein I featured three items from a particular country. I don’t remember what I called it, but today marks its return, wherein I feature some fine things from la belle France. So who or what prompted the return of this (quite popular, as I recall) feature?

Juliette Binoche, that’s who. Here’s a (recent) pic of this magnificent French creature, at age 53:

Are you kidding me? I’ve had girlfriends in their twenties and thirties who didn’t look this good. And yes, lighting, flattering camera shot blah blah blah. Here’s a closeup from that same occasion:

Yeah, a few more wrinkles… and she still doesn’t look like a woman in her fifties. Now we all know that movie stars are not uncommon visitors to the plastic surgeon’s operating table, but the best part of Ms. Binoche’s appearance is that she hasn’t had any cosmetic surgery — in fact, she’s gone on record as hating the idea. All that, and she’s a brilliant actress too. The hills are alive… with the sounds of ordinary women chanting their envious hatred.

Speaking of hills, and to switch gears for a moment, as it were: here’s a French car I think looks quite sexy too. It’s the Alpine 110 Berlinette of 1968, which makes it a bare four years younger than Juliette:

The original 110 had a tiny 1.1-liter rear-mounted Renault engine, but later models (as pictured) sported a larger 1.3-liter block, and these would dominate the World Rally Championship (WRC) for several years — their reign ended only by the mighty Lancia Stratos in 1974.  I have to tell you all: I love the look of this little beast. It’s quirky and sexy (like Juliette Binoche), and I’d love to drive one around a track — maybe somewhere in the south of France.

And as a final segue in this post, talking of Provence reminds me of possibly my favorite modern movie of all time. It’s Ridley Scott’s A Good Year, starring Russell Crowe and the exquisite Marion Cotillard (Mlle. Binoche’s only contemporary competition in the “Gorgeous French Actress” category). The story is about how a driven, ruthless futures trader (Crowe) inherits a piece of property in Provence, and how the country, the place, and its people change him forever.

I watch this movie about every three months or so, or whenever I want to submerge myself in romance. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should.

La belle France, indeed. And I didn’t even touch on French wine, cheese or bread. Those may come in a later post.