Search Results for: suits ties

Small Limits

Gratuitous Gun Pics, The Gun Thing

Via Insty, I see this trend, and I’m not happy about it:

While data from 2019 to date shows the compact category has consistently had the greatest sales performance, hovering around 40%, the biggest changes have occurred in the micro-compact category. From 2019 to date, the micro-compact market has grown from an 18% to 25% share, making them a quarter of the 9mm semi-automatic handguns sold. Also notable is the fact that micro-compacts have taken a majority share in the combined sub-compact/micro segment.

Almost all, of course, in the 9mm Europellet chambering.

I’ve tried quite a few of these belly guns in the past, and never found one that suits me — unless in a smaller caliber like .32 ACP.  And frankly, if you’re going to use a belly gun (thus named because its use is to stick it into your target’s belly before pulling the trigger), I think the actual difference between calibers is irrelevant because a 1.5″ barrel develops no muzzle velocity past that created by the powder charge itself.

I understand that some people may find a large frame carry pistol to be too heavy and cumbersome and all that.  While I don’t have a problem carrying a 1911 myself, I can see that someone else might want something smaller but still retaining more oomph than a 1.5″ barrel throwing out [sic]  a 9mm bullet.

Allow me, then, to suggest something like Colt’s excellent Combat Commander, which differs from the full sized 1911 only insofar as it has a 4.5″ barrel, an inch or so shorter.

Longtime Readers will know that I dislike the “extended” grip safety which seems to be what all the cool kids are asking for these days:

…but which is easily swapped out for a normal one, the only irritant being to add about $50 to the cost of ownership.

The Commander-sized 1911 is pretty much the only compromise I’d be willing to make in the “ease of carry” argument, so forget those teeny lil’ pocket guns.  Especially in 9mmP.

If I wanted a real belly gun, I’d get a Bond Arms Derringer in .45 Colt / .410ga:

Now that’s going to leave a mark in some goblin’s belly, you betcha.  And it fits nicely into a pocket, too.

Just Be Careful, Kristi

Law and Order, The Gun Thing

In the face of L.A. cops being fired for refusing Rona jabs, SDGov Kristi Noem says:

“To LA County law enforcement officers facing potential firing: In South Dakota, you will not be fired for making personal health decisions. We respect law enforcement and everything you do to defend our freedoms. We would love to have you come join us.”

That’s all well and good, Governor, and let’s hope some of them take up your offer and come on up to the Mount Rushmore State.

But please make a few ground rules clear before you send them out to police your citizens, especially in terms of the Second Amendment.  While cops generally are quite conservative, I’m not so sure about California cops, because they’ve been enforcing some pretty shitty un-Constitutional anti-gun laws in the Golden Shower State and they’ll probably need a training course in SD gun laws to remind them of the “shall not be infringed” stuff.  They’ll also need to become free of the fear of seeing citizens carrying guns openly, never mind concealed.

Just a thought.

Thoughts On The Montana Thing

House & Home, The Gun Thing

Although I specifically asked for people not to comment on the land / house choices in this post, some people still did;  but then again, these are my beloved Readers [sigh]  who take orders from no man, and color over the lines whenever it suits.

Anyway:  the choice of land.  I wouldn’t want to live in the total boonies (I’d have picked Alaska, then), hence my choice of location.  The thought of being trapped in the house because of some sudden and massive snowstorm when I need to get my prescription filled at the drugstore does not not appeal to me.  So I’d prefer to live close-ish to a decent-sized town with at least some pretensions of sophistication because my idea of fine dining is not Applebee, and I’d like the local food stores to carry more than canned food and Kraft cheese.  It’s been a while since I was in Missoula and despite the presence of Lefties, hippies and suchlike filth, I enjoyed my time there.  (There’s no Dunkin, but that’s why online purchasing was invented and anyway, every time I go into a DD, I walk out with a dozen donuts and my doctor doesn’t support that action.)

160 acres, while sniffed at by some, would suit me because it can accommodate a 100-yard range without terrifying the neighbors.  Also, it’s a manageable size because I could put up signs on every other tree on the property line saying things like, “If you hunt past this point, you will become the prey.  Ask owner for details.”

I chose a log cabin because New Wife has always wanted to live in one.  I know about the upkeep issues, but I’d pay someone to take care of it.  As for the floor plan:  I’d use the walk-out basement for manly pursuits like cleaning guns and playing snooker.  The size works for the two of us, and it’s easier to heat or cool a smaller space.  My days of living in a 4,000-sq.ft. house are over.

I didn’t even mention my choice of truck because that would have given rise to a tributary of endless argument;  but here we are, so here we go:

 

Yes, Missoula has both a Mercedes and Toyota dealership for servicing and repairs, if needed.  I’d want a serious 4×4 in case of inclement driving conditions, and nobody has ever said the G550 doesn’t have the necessary oomph.  And the Toyota Tacoma/Hi-Lux is the pickup choice of revolutionaries all over the world, so ’nuff said.

At least nobody sniffed at my choice of guns (see below for the reminder). Read more

Taking A Stand

Culture, Food & Drink, Good Stuff, Travels

Now here’s a place I’d like to visit the next time I go Over There, because the owner seems to have the Right Stuff.

A pub boss has called last orders on customers in sportswear in a bid to drive out ‘chavs and roadmen with bumbags’ from his watering hole.
Landlord Brian Hoyle, who runs The Orange Tree in Hereford, has put a blanket ban on customers wearing hoodies, tracksuits and Stone Island clothing in his pub.
He is also barring under 21’s from the city centre pub at weekends due to youngsters being ‘unable to handle their booze’.

Needless to say, his dress code and age limit have aroused the anger of The Usual Suspects:

But the ban, which Hoyle says is aimed at making his watering hole a ‘proper’ Hereford pub again, has proved controversial among residents in the cathedral city.
Some of the residents have accused the policy of being ‘discriminatory’.

You see, this is what happens when you start ascribing motives to an ordinary word, used in its original (and correct) sense for centuries.

Let me say right now:  there’s nothing wrong with being discriminatory:  it’s a human trait that distinguishes civilized men from savages and animals, and helps us provide order in our world.

Sadly, of course, “discrimination” these days is used almost exclusively to demonize racial discrimination, which is not necessarily a Good Thing when applied purely as a measurement of skin color.  But historically, that is actually the least of the word’s many applications.  Here are a couple more.

When I say, for example, that I loathe “American” cheese (that orange paste stuff) and prefer to eat Jarlsberg, Cheddar or Emmenthaler, I am showing that I have a discriminating taste — just as is someone who would prefer to own and shoot a Colt Government over a Jennings Saturday Night Special, or prefers to own good knives made by Ken Onion over cheap brittle stuff made in China.  Nothing wrong with that.  Experience has taught you that stuff of inferior quality is not worth ownership or use.

When you prefer to invite people of your own sort to dinner parties, you’re being discriminating in your choice of friends — and once again, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So of course, our worthy publican in the above story is setting his preferences — because over many years and much experience, he had discovered that people who dress a certain way and/or of a certain age tend to abuse his hospitality, so he wants to preclude them from coming in and, let it be known, spoiling things for people with manners, respect and proper attire.

Somebody needs to put an end to the loutish, boorish behavior of the younger generation, and he’s chosen to make a stand.

And good for him, say I.  If I were in his shoes, I would do precisely the same.

Past Sins

Business

This one will resonate especially with my Brit and Colonial Readers.

It appears that the Rowntree company has discovered that O Woe their company depended on The Evil Slavery back in the days before steamships were built, and therefore they are prostrating themselves before the Gods Of Wokedom, rending their clothes, wearing hairshirts and putting out their corporate eyes in orgies of  self-abasement and atonement [some slight hyperbole there] :

Trusts created by British chocolate maker Rowntree have apologised after research into its own history revealed ‘shameful’ links to the slave trade.
The investigation into the company’s history was party prompted by the Black Lives Matter movement and revealed evidence that the famously philanthropic family business may have profited from the slave trade.

But it gets worse:

Research by the Rowntree Society, which promotes the history of the company, also uncovered allegations of racial discrimination and anti-union tactics at the firm’s South African subsidiary Wilson Rowntree during the apartheid era as recently as the early 1980s.

O noes!  Not the Evil Boers! 

Now I don’t wanna sound all uncaring and indifferent and stuff, but lest we forget, said horrors also enabled the following items of pure deliciousness to tickle our palates.

An aside:  alert Readers will note that many of the items below are labeled “Nestlé” because yea did Rowntree sell their chocolate business to the foul Swiss;  but thankfully, the cuckoo clockmakers have never used their own disgusting chocolate recipe, but stuck to the original Rowntree formulation (much like Hershey has done with Cadbury products Over Here).

Here they are:

Still one of the nicest chocolate bars ever made, the “bubbly” Aero is an automatic basket-filler when I go to World Market.

This is a staple in 7-11 and other convenience stores, and for good reason.  (The white-chocolate KitKat is even better.)

Beloved by small children (and by their parents, as bribe material), the tiny sugar-coated gelatin pellets are not only delicious, but addictive.  Not as addictive, however, as Rowntree’s

The Son&Heir is not a big candy consumer;  he doesn’t eat chocolate and hardly ever uses sugar with anything.  However, give him a tube (or large bag, it doesn’t seem to matter) of Fruit Pastilles when he comes a-calling, and the delicious things will have disappeared before he gets home.

These chocolate-filled sugar candies are what M&Ms are supposed to taste like, but don’t.  Unlike said Hershey horribles, Smarties give you a choice in the eating thereof:  you can crunch them up in your mouth and chew the thin candy slivers with the chocolate, or you can do what I do:  suck them slowly until the candy disintegrates, then be left with warm, melted chocolate that will coat the inside of your mouth with absolute indulgent pleasure.  (Yes, they do melt in your pocket;  which is why Smarties are typically sold in stiff cardboard tubes [see pic] so that they don’t.)

And then we come to the piéce-de-resistance (brace yourselves, this is going to cause mass convulsions among the Wokistas):

This cornucopia of delight was a staple among young men of my generation, serving as a fail-safe present for Mom on Mother’s Day / her birthday, and Valentine’s Day for the beloved girlfriend / wife.  (Yes, children, back in the day women actually ate chocolate without suffering agonies of conscience, and giving chocolate as a present did not engender [sic]  howls of accusation.)  You can get an idea from this wonderful launch ad:

Even better was that the inside of the lid gave a map to the contents:

Now I know that calling it “Black Magic” would nowadays be considered the Ultimate Rayyycism, but in those days — and yes, this is going to sound weird to the Youngins — black packaging gave products an air of class (see:  limousine colors, tuxedo suits, “black tie” dress etc.), so the brand name was that, and also gave the product a slightly “wicked” feel.  Because even back then, we knew that chocolate was an indulgence, and fattening, and so on.  (I know, I know:  we Whiteys appropriated Black people’s skin color for our own ends.  Talk about wicked.)

Delicious.

So, to return to my original thesis (after wiping the drool from my chin):  yes, the Rowntree company has behaved abominably in the past, etc. etc.

But I think I can safely say that out of the suffering of slaves did come some of the greatest snack candies of all time, and that should count for something.

Afterthought:  it’s probably a good thing I don’t do social media, as one can hardly imagine the response to a humorous post like the above on Twatter or Faecesbook.

Okay, I Guess

The Gun Thing

So with the NRA leaving the inhospitable climes of the North and moving to Texas, I have to say “Welcome” like all the others, but with a single caveat:  leave the people at our Texas State Rifle Association (TSRA) alone.

Over the years, the TSRA has been highly effective in killing all sorts of gun control nonsense (proposed by, duh, big-city Democrat politicos) and in general, keeping things running on the side of the righteous.  And frankly (unless someone from the TSRA tells me otherwise), we do not need the NRA throwing their weight around here like a clumsy bull elephant.

I have what I think is a common attitude towards the NRA among gun owners:  I support them in general terms, but I also think that on occasion they’ve behaved in a manner that sticks in my craw — and I’m not talking about Wayne LaPierre’s suits, either.  That enormous HQ building in Virginia is a case in point:

That is a lot of member funds spent, in one of the most expensive real estate areas in the world.  It made me think at the time that the NRA had its priorities wrong, and I haven’t much changed my opinion since.

So I say to the NRA:  y’all come on down, but behave yourselves.  It’s what I say to California transplants, and it pains me to have to say it to gun folks, but there it is.