Note: A preview from my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Trucks
Redneck farm boys, if they love one thing, they love their trucks. And that is an interesting psychological phenomenon, considering the hard use to which those trucks are regularly put, both on road and off. My current hunting/fishing truck, the inestimable Rojito, has seen a fair amount of such hard use, but it has always been my contention that an honest working 4×4 wears its rock chips and branch scrapes with pride.
But there were times, especially in our younger years, where we got a little carried away. And, to be fair, sometimes when we were old enough to know better, as well. Which takes me to:
Somewhere south of Tucson:
It had been raining all day.
The Dark Horse, in a rather Spartan elk camp.
It doesn’t rain much in Arizona, especially down on the border south of the hamlet of Arivaca where some friends and I had spent several days hunting javelina. But in February, when stink-pig season is open, it sometimes rains rather a lot, and that is what happened to us on this trip. I had driven myself and two of my buddies down from Colorado in my ’92 Bronco, the Dark Horse (yes, I name my trucks) only a few days before. We had been enjoying a pleasant, shirt-sleeve temperature hunt for those few days, and already had several small desert almost-pigs hanging in camp. And then the rain moved in.
We woke up about midnight to hear a downpour on the canvas roof of my pop-up tent trailer. “Hope this blows over,” I heard my buddy Carl mutter. His brother Dick just rolled over and resumed snoring. Dick had already tagged a pig, and so was not too concerned about the weather. Carl and I had yet to score.
When the morning dawned gray, drizzly and cold, we decided to take a day off from hunting. We went down to Nogales, crossed the border on foot for some souvenir shopping, a cheap lunch, and a few beers. Late afternoon found us in the local watering hole in Arivaca, gassing with the locals. There we stayed until about nine that evening, not thinking about what the rain would be doing to the creek we had to cross on the way back to camp.
Finally, we bid the colorful desert folks a fond farewell and remounted the Dark Horse. It was just as well that we only had to traverse desert tracks and not actual roads to get back to camp, as all three of use were a little the worse for wear, but the trip through the dark, dripping landscape went without incident until we came to the creek.
The ford lay just beyond a bend in the trail, down a small slope, where in the morning, bound for Nogales, we had crossed a rocky dry run with only a little trickle of water. But now, after a day of rain, the creek had grown into a heaving, rushing torrent of dark, muddy water, moving at an incredible clip, threatening at any moment to overflow its banks.
“Well,” said Carl, “what now? Looks like we’re sleeping in the truck.”
“Oh, hell no,” I replied. The brothers looked at me expectantly.
By Way of Background:
While I started my (legal) driving career in a car, I have been a truck guy most of my life. Prior to obtaining the coveted driver’s license at sixteen I regularly drove my Dad’s pickup and his big dump truck around on chores. I was driving tractors at ten, as soon as I was big enough to reach the pedals. Like lots of small-town and rural kids, I was driving agricultural machinery and earth moving equipment at twelve or thirteen.
While that first vehicle was a car, most of my friends and most of their Dads drive trucks. I have described my friend Jon’s infamous Dodge van, but there are a few other examples that loom large in my memory, and one of these memories belongs to a local guy names Mark Mallek.
Mark was big even for our local brand of cornfed farm boys. He stood six foot seven, and weighed about two hundred and sixty pounds, almost all muscle. Mark was a friendly, gregarious young fellow; you just kind of automatically liked him, and for those few that did not, his size put him firmly on the “don’t mess with” list. And, for a vehicle that suited his size, Mark drove a 1966 one-ton International pickup, which he called the Behemoth.
Not the actual Behemoth, but much the same.
The Behemoth, and its driver, were the subject of several local legends. I was present for one of them, when one late night after the bars closed my pal Dave and I squeezed into the cab of the Behemoth alongside Mark to do a little off-road tooling in an area along the Cedar River known as the Pits.
The Pits were something of a local legend themselves. A large tract of sandy bottomlands along the Cedar was owned by a local concrete maker; this area was prone to flooding every spring, which replenished the supply of sand that was one of the primary ingredients for the Redi-Mix cement that was the company’s primary product. Even though the wooded tract of bottomland was dotted by deep holes where sand was extracted, which gave the area its nickname, the company that owned it did not begrudge local youths access to the area for purposes of fishing, off-roading, keg parties or whatever else entered our heads. Mind you, this is a situation that almost certainly would not obtain today.
Only a week earlier, on another rollicking, post-bar trip through those same Pits in that same truck, we had shot between two trees that were close enough together to rip both side mirrors off the doors. When Mark got the Behemoth stopped, he collapsed in laughter, explaining “you know, we were completely out of control when we went between those trees!”
But on this night, we were traveling more sedately, having not yet gone into the Pits proper. To enter the Pits, one had to go down a gravel road, under an old overpass locally known as the Tunnel of Darkness, across a high embankment where the Illinois Central tracks ran, and then down into the Pits. A bit fuzzy from drink, the three of us, and so Mark was driving so as not to attract attention.
At least, until we got to the tracks.
The railroad embankment here was high enough that many a happy Sunday afternoon was spent jumping trucks over what was, effectively, a ramp that Evel Knievel (or maybe Super Dave Osborne) would have envied. Many a truck was wrecked, many an axle broken on that road. On this night, though, as we were lost in conversation, Mark approached the tracks slowly, cresting the rise, his front tires bumped on the tracks… And then we heard it.
HWOOONNNNNNK!
Sitting as I was by the passenger door, I looked to my left, to the source of the horrible sound, to see the headlight of the locomotive passing over the top of the cab.
Fortunately, Mark was fast on the gas pedal. He floored it, gravel show away, and the locomotive only barely clipped the back of the truck, managing to rip the back bumper off but harming driver and passengers not at all.
While that was as close as we came to fatality in a truck, it sure was not the only time were, shall we say, a bit rash.
This One Time:
Not the actual Green Machine, but much the same.
My first signs of maturity, such as it is, came when was 1) in my thirties, b) responsible for a family, and ii) supposedly learning from previous experience. Case in point, an incident on a jeep trail somewhere north of Fairplay, Colorado:
“Are you sure it’s OK to go down there?” Mrs. Animal asked.
“Sure,” I replied. “Piece of cake.”
We were seated in my ’74 Bronco, the Green Machine, on a 4×4 trail. At that moment we were perched only yards from where the trail diverged from a well-traveled Forest Service road, right before said trail descended at a rather precipitous angle through a stand of aspens. There was a small bench I could just see, maybe two hundred yards down the trail. There the trail leveled out for maybe twenty yards, after which it dropped off into a stretch of dark timber.
I wasn’t too worried. The Green Machine had good tires, good brakes, and a fair amount of engine power. I had a come-along and a high-lift jack in the event we got bogged down in mud or high-centered on a boulder. The little truck had shown great capability in the few years I had owned it; there were times I was convinced that the rugged little thing could go up and down trees. I had managed jeep trails and even ATV trails in the little green utility, sometimes pulling the side mirrors off on trees; I carried a bunch of sheet-metal screws, a screwdriver, a few big nails and a hammer in my tool box, and when a mirror was pulled off, I used the nail and hammer to pound some new mounting holes in the door and screwed the mirror back on.
That was the rugged old Ford we were in that day. Behind us, two little girls, one eleven and the other not quite a year old, waited expectantly. Even the baby was by now used to the adventures found off-road, and she shifted impatiently in her car seat while I looked down at the trail, evaluating the state of the path. I did not see any deep ruts, no big rocks that could high-center the truck.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll go on down.” I pushed in the clutch, stuck the transfer case into 4L, put the truck in first gear, and eased on forward.
Down the trail we went, winding through the aspens. At one point, Mrs. Animal had both hands braced on the dashboard, holding herself up as the truck descended almost vertically. I was fortunate to have the steering wheel to lean on; I stole a glance over my shoulder to see one girl holding herself braced against the back of Mom’s seat, while the baby was hanging from the straps in the car seat.
We got to the bench just in time to meet a white Toyota 4×4 coming up from the dark timber. The Toyota, like the Green Machine, was obviously the veteran of many a rough trail; chipped, dented, with a brush guard mounting a winch and a length of chain, and big off-road lights on the cab.
The Toyota pulled up to us and stopped. The driver leaned out, his face white as bed linen. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the trail as it descended into the dark timber.
“Do not,” he said, in a tone that would not have been out of place in a horror film, “go down there.”
We didn’t. I let the Toyota pass, then backed around and went back up the hill, to find a gentler trail. Mrs. Animal was pleased, I think, with my new-found discretion.
Back to the Story:
Like this, only in the dark.
Then, about five years later, I found myself in a different Bronco, in a different state, facing a different obstacle – remember that flooded creek? I was facing that flooded creek.
“So, what are we doing?” Carl asked again.
I put the Dark Horse in reverse. As I backed away from the creek, Dick chimed in: “There’s no way around that creek, you know.”
“I know.” I backed off about fifty yards, put the transfer case in 4H, put the truck in Drive.
“Oh, no,” Carl said. “Tell me you aren’t…”
I floored it. The Dark Horse shot forward, into the night, down the bank, and into the water. I kept the gas pedal slammed down hard and fought with the wheel as the Dark Horse bucked and bounced and, I am sure to this day, skipped across the flood waters like a flat rock across a pond. We landed on the far bank about thirty feet downstream of the road and had to engage 4L to crawl back onto the trail.
“Well, that worked out all right,” I opined as we proceeded towards our camp.
The brothers had other opinions, and made those known to me at a considerable decibel level for the rest of the drive, but I was unfazed; I reminded them of a saying I had learned in the Army, “if it’s stupid but works, it ain’t stupid.” The brothers were not convinced.
The whole thing blew over quickly and was in fact mostly forgotten on our trip home from Arizona, during which trip Dick and I almost managed to get Carl deported; but that is a story for another day.
These Days:
Moving into late middle age tends to settle a guy down some. As I approach the six-decade mark, I know that I have become a little more cautious than I was in my youth, when bumps and scrapes to my carcass didn’t seem to hamper me as much as they do these days.
But sometimes we backslide, just a little. A couple of years back, during elk season, loyal sidekick Rat and I were sitting in Rojito, contemplating a snow-covered trail that, we knew, led to some promising elk country.
“Snow looks no more than knee-deep,” Rat opined.
“Pretty steep drop-off there on the left,” I added.
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t drop off very far before those trees would catch you. Think the come-along will pull the truck back up to the road?”
“If it’s right-side up. Maybe. I’ll be careful.” I pushed in the clutch, stuck the transfer case into 4L, put the truck in first gear, and eased on forward.
I floored it. The Dark Horse shot forward, into the night, down the bank, and into the water. I kept the gas pedal slammed down hard and fought with the wheel as the Dark Horse bucked and bounced and, I am sure to this day, skipped across the flood waters like a flat rock across a pond. We landed on the far bank about thirty feet downstream of the road and had to engage 4L to crawl back onto the trail.
“Well, that worked out all right,” I opined as we proceeded towards our camp.
Not bad.
Good Times Animal!
/’76 Dodge Ram Charger 4×4
I don’t remember what year this one was but I saw this video last week. Kind cool.
Oops forgot the link
https://youtu.be/XRNklUztcEM
Great story.
Did you all see the new Bronco. It’s quite a trail vehicle.
https://www.caranddriver.com/news/a33277335/2021-ford-bronco-specs-revealed/
I’ll go look when they hit the dealership we use. I’m prepared to be disappointed, but if I’m not, who knows?
I’m exited that they offer a 7 speed manual trans and the same 2.7L V6 turbo in the F150 310hp. 1st is a super low crawl gear.
The pics of the 2 door look great.
I’ll want a towing package, but yeah, those are the interesting bits. I’d prefer manual windows and door locks, but it doesn’t look like that will be an option.
You can’t get the manual and the V6 together. Only the 4 cylinder gets the manual.
But it is the ecoboost 4, which is pretty powerful.
Great story, Animal. You don’t mind if I get out and walk and catch up at the bottom of the hill though, do you? I was always the cautious guy but we would try old logging roads and get stuck on occasion and have to walk somewhere to find someone with a tractor. Not really dangerous but stupid.
I successfully burned out the clutch in the sand with my Dad’s Chevvie, dropped a drive shaft of his ’49 Ford, 4th gear on the Allis, speed shifting on the ice. I had to go halfies on the tractor repair, I learned a lot right there.
Thanks for taking us along on your trips. Vicariously is the safest way for me to have fun these days.
Me too. Even when I’m doing that through tales of my younger self.
have to walk somewhere to find someone with a tractor.
I took a 1990 Honda Accord out on some ATV trails right after a rain storm. I had 6 young ladies crammed in the car with with. We had to get someone with a tractor to pull us out too.
There’s a small chance a few cocktails might have been involved.
with me*
Why would you endanger your children like that? Where was their mother?
during my honeymoon, we were going to climb some small mountain in a state park in NH… I picked the exact wrong place to flip the little hatchback rental around on the path, and ended up putting a rear wheel in a culvert.
didn’t need a tractor, but the tow truck got there 4 hours later.
Good impression on a brand new wife…
this is to American for me. Cannot relate. NOT INCLUSIVE.
364 cubic inches ~ 5 964 cc
375BHP ~ 280kW
$2.00/gallon ~ 0.45€/liter
so you’re included
but it’s still too American for you 🙂
Last week at the landing some yahoo showed up with some fancy pickup that was totes the greatest outdoor vehicle ever. Sorry, I have no idea what make or model it was. It did have a genuine snorkel on it so that he could cross rivers. And it had a fancy rack over the back where he had strapped jerry cans to it as well as lots of cables and other stuff you would need to survive in the wild suburbs in Minnesoda.
The extra gear did get in his way when he was trying to get his kayak off the top of the rack, so maybe I don’t need to rush out and buy any racks.
The owner of the truck was also decked out stylishly in designer outdoor wear from head to toe. Not a single stain or rip to be seen.
Animal has made Monday my favorite day.
Not Q?
Would.
Probably NSFW, but none of you work anyway.
it is almost 20:00. Work, as it is, is behind.
I’m working for some definition of working.
Ditto.
Then: 1969 C10 in 514 red; 358cui (76cc heads with 2.02″ valves, 750CFM Qjet, double roller timing set, headers, 9:1 pistons, 4-bolt mains, 0.454″@292° Crane cam), THM400, 3.08 12bolt rear; ran low 14s and still got 14MPG, probably in the 375lb*ft range, so 425BHP @ 6,000RPM neighborhood. I got it over 120 a couple of times on flat ground but didn’t accomplish anything but shattering several stock 1.52 rocker arms.
Now: 2003 1500HD in pewter; LQ4 = 364cui stock; 4LE80 0.75 O/D x 4.11 ring = 3.08 overall drive; 380lb*ft @ 4,200 RPM per Chevy, so figure maybe 330BHP @ 6,000 in stock trim.
correct 1500HD link
Rev limiter on the HD stalls you about 95; with tall Michelins, that would be a bit over 100; six liters are barely challenged at that load: it’s all wind noise
I’m confused by the new moniker
Lobot was talking about the AnCap flag Friday night, so I added it to my avatar in his honor
and added some irrelevant nomenclature because I’ve never figured out his nomme de plume
Ahh. I missed it. Was that on the Zoom chat?
yeah: I stayed on the call ’til 1pm CDT, so I might have been a wee woozy and more susceptible to silly shit than usual
Aww, shucks. You’re the best, Don. (smiles in mute cyborg)
For Animal:
Scout rifles in African game cartridges
Steyr continues to prove that a rifle can be high quality, well made and useful, and still be as ugly as a mud fence. Granted that’s a very subjective evaluation, but if I’m paying that much money for a rifle, it better be beautiful.
Lieben mein gewer!
Weatherby.
Before the accident I had a .270 Weatherby, LH, with a custom Bishop stock. I also like slim girls, or did before Mrs Fourscore took me out of circulation. Still has a bark with its bite, though.
There was a time when I would probably have assumed this was a prank.
More than 1,700 people have signed a petition urging Trader Joe’s to change the labeling of some of its international food products, calling the grocery chain’s branding “racist.”
“The grocery chain labels some of its ethnic foods with modifications of “Joe” that belies a narrative of exoticism that perpetuates harmful stereotypes,” the petition, which a California high school senior launched two weeks ago, reads.
It cites “Trader Ming’s,” the grocery chain’s label for its Chinese products, “Arabian Joe,” for its Middle Eastern products, “Trader José,” for its Mexican products, and a handful of others as examples.
“The Trader Joe’s branding is racist because it exoticizes other cultures – it presents ‘Joe’ as the default “normal” and the other characters falling outside of it,” the petition says.
C’mon, Zardoz. What are you waiting for?
CLEANSE.
For god’s sake, just tell the high school kid to fuck off. Corporations don’t even have the balls to call a damn stupid idea that will effect their bottom line stupid anymore. It’s beyond pathetic.
Removing non-Caucasian people/symbols/logos/mascots from everything seems racist to me. It’s something actual white-nationalists would do.
Remember when we celebrated diversity?
Back in the racist past of earlier this year.
Also, if they sold ethnic food items under the “Trader Joe’s” name, that would definitely be called cultural appropriation.
There’s no winning with the SJW Left. Like Stinky Wizzleteats said above, just tell them to fuck off. If just a few corporations gave a firm “no” to these stupid demands, the SJWs would cower and run away to an easier target. Once everyone sees how little backbone they actually have, this shit would come to an end in a flash.
They’re not publicly traded; I hope they do.
“Arabian Joe,”
Wait, that’s Me!!!
“The Trader Joe’s branding is racist because it exoticizes other cultures – it presents ‘Joe’ as the default “normal” and the other characters falling outside of it”
How does he know that? Maybe Trader Jose is the deafult normal, and Trader Joe’s is being exoticized.
I need to apologize. I have been saying that the white nationalist movement has been overstated, and that there are not many real white nationalists in the country. I have been wrong. as evidenced by the need to eliminate anyone who is not white from being represented by buisnesses, and keep white people from selling non-white food, it is clear that the white nationalist movement is strong and dominant part of leftist ideology.
There is a video on Twitter to this effect, but I swear some of this stuff sounds like it came from a Klan brochure.
Update: caved.
https://ktla.com/news/nationworld/trader-joes-responds-as-thousands-sign-california-high-school-students-petition-for-company-to-change-its-racist-packaging/
Fake FedEx driver was actually an attorney, and just like Epstein, “killed himself.”
https://www.app.com/story/news/crime/jersey-mayhem/2020/07/20/suspected-gunman-north-brunswick-shooting-allegedly-found-dead/5471019002/
That’s some speedy detective work.
Allegedly found or allegedly dead? Or allegedly the patsy for the Clinton hitman?
“We must only allege that there is an age difference between Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky.”
— PJ O’Rourke to Sam Donaldson interviewing him at the beginning of the scandal
I didn’t know that local news outlets let hobos work as on-air reporters.
mad about something regarding the judge?
I do not reside in the same reality as this person.
Wajahat “Wears a Mask Because of a Pandemic” Ali
@WajahatAli
I hope people realize that there are many white Republican voters in this country if they’re given a choice between renting a room in their house to a person of color or burning down the house, they will elect to burn down the entire neighborhood. It’s not just a small fringe.
I get the feeling that Wajahat isn’t talking about ‘renting’ in the way that you and I would think of it.
So they are liable to choose an option that wasn’t even presented to them? I think that is called out of the box thinking.
I think it’s called, someone needs to up his Xanax script…
If anyone comes to me and says “Rent a room to this person (of whatever color) or I will burn down your house” I am shooting the speaker low in the belly and watching them die.
Yeah like, that motherfucker comes to my door and says “rent your back bedroom to this guy or I’ll burn your house down” well, there is a third option there.
You don’t want to be the proud owner of a flophouse?
As proof, he points out that Democrats closed public pools right after segregation ended. How can you fail to be convinced by such compelling logic?
I’ll keep saying it: Twitter is a refuge for idiots. No one who wants to have an intelligent discussion would hang out there. It’s for snark, shitposting, and trolling; unsurprisingly, it’s where politicians and the Media spend most of their time. The amazing part is that some people seem to think it has some tie to reality; it doesn’t even have a nodding acquaintance with it.
It also has boobs. https://twitter.com/HotBabesWorld1
Yes.
Meh. I’ve had good discussions on Twitter. Like will to like and we find each other and discuss things.
Yay! My body armor finally shipped!
I’ll have to get some eventually but I did laugh a Clint Smith line.
Something like “You have to hope that a good shooter is shooting at you, not some jerking jerk who blows your balls off or hits you in the femoral artery.”
Whereas without armor, you have to hope the other guy is a really bad shot who misses you completely…
Yep. Added bonus – walk up hills regularly wearing it will be wonders for your legs and conditioning.
Word. Walking around the neighborhood with a backpack for of weight plates a few times a week, had been my C-19 workout program.
What was the lead time? What did you get?
Order any Hawaiian shirts? ?
I got a Level IIIa concealment vest from AT Armor. Great folks to deal with.
Lead time was about six weeks.
Order Hawaiian shirts? What do you think I am, some kind of fucking casual? I *have* Hawaiian shirts.
I am thinking about ordering a balaclava and an Adidas tracksuit, though.
John haz a sad.
Bought 5 ammo boxes from Brownells and a Pelican case from Amazon prime. If none of my siblings buys it for me off of my wishlist, I’ll order a SEMA backpack in a few weeks.
John has a sad.
Trucks, yay! Good story, Animal!
I hope people realize that there are many white Republican voters in this country if they’re given a choice between renting a room in their house to a person of color or burning down the house, they will elect to burn down the entire neighborhood. It’s not just a small fringe.
Yup. Happens every damn day. That’s why there is a housing shortage.
If it’s not just a small fringe, name six.
The Kamala Harris bot appears to be glitching.
That’s not disturbing at all.
What horror holds in store for Wednesday?
Xanax Mode Engaged!
Good lord…
So she’s really Max Headroom ?
Hilary hasn’t quite worked out how to operate the new skin suit?
Someone on the AM Lynx was trying to trap some rodents. I’m happy to report that after putting some cardboard under my chipmunk trap, I got another one, again within an hour.
Show off.
I’m giving all the credit to the trap. They do make versions for other animals.
Chipmunks can’t dig through cardboard?
Apparently they’ll take the easiest way in, and with the cardboard under the trap, the door becomes the path of least resistance.
Interesting. I wonder what it’s like later in the year. Once weaning is over, I’ve heard chipmunks are murderously territorial. Catching two at a time might be bad.
Moving your problem 3 miles? The other guy is moving his 3 miles,too, in your direction.
Just solve the problem. Maybe that’s why you are having chipmunk problems.
Hawks need lunch too.
I’m leaving the trap out for a few hours after the first one is caught, but they make so much noise I can’t imagine another one wouldn’t be scared away. Catching one at at time this fast is fine by me.
UCS, if you’re out there, I’m hearing reports from the Reopen NH group folks that Hannaford’s in NH is only asking people to wear masks and handing them out at the door. If you don’t want to wear it, no problem. There is a Hannaford’s in Keene at 481 West St, Keene, NH 03431.
Glibertarians.com. Where they engage in mutual assistance of locating non-mask grocery stores. And the occasional Beer it Forward (pandemics permitting).
We’re a minority. We need to look out for each other.
Also, Keene has been talking about a mask mandate ordinance but as far as I know the city government has not moved on the ordinance.
Does Hannaford have anything, though? They haven’t had liverwurst for months, as well as coffee filters for the 5-cup coffee makers. Last week they didn’t have the 12-grain bread, so I had to pick up plain wheat.
Now I’m not saying I would have driven down there, but I would have gone on foot just to take a look.
I was on a trail and saw up on the saddle I was making for another truck, so I was reasonably sure I could make it. The point that had me doubting was the rise/drop-off where all I could see out the windshield was air and out the side window was an impressive decline.
The Washington Post finally addresses something of real importance:
About 82 percent of Americans who are 50 and older say they have experienced prejudice, discrimination and stereotyping based on their age, according to new research. Ageism, as it is commonly called, can occur as jokes about memory or hearing, comments about difficulty using cellphones or computers, or even passively through advertising and other forms of messaging about undesirable signs of aging, such as wrinkles or gray hair.
The poll was conducted by the University of Michigan’s Institute for Healthcare Policy and Innovation, along with AARP and Michigan Medicine. One of the researchers described ageism as “one of the most common and socially condoned forms of prejudice and discrimination.”
OK Boomer.
What? I can’t hear you………………
Now I have something else to worry about. I could understand people not liking me but now its prejudice?
Go sit down and eat some Applesauce Old Timer!
That must be why that teenage girl looked at me and said “ewwwwwww”
Was it one of the Lakers Girls?
+ Paula Abdul
I thought it was because your pants were at your ankles.
I thought that was the fashion these days.
At least you’re not invisible.
#KillOldie
That’s a bit extreme. Odie wasn’t nearly as annoying as Nermal.
I’ve been graying since I was in my 30’s. No wonder I’m not a billionaire by now. It’s all the fault of systemic ageism.
Ageism? I scoff at that. Let’s talk about handedness. That’s the real systemic bigotry in this society.
You must be one of them sinister bastards. 😉
Ahhh man, got that too.
My department announced today that they’re going to be rolling out some huge I&D initiative soon “so that we don’t miss the opportunity to make great strides along with society”.
I’m going to end up dead next to the path to a re-education camp with a bayonet up my ass, aren’t I?
Wasn’t that the motto of the Judenrat?
I thought their motto was “If we just do what they want, I’m sure it will be fine.”
You will be…until they destroyed all of their enemies.
I&DExclusion and divisivity.
make great strides along with society
You mean like a great leap forward?
It’s probably best to fall on the sword now.
Only if you’re lucky.
I used to remember hearing people say that the activists on campus will never find jobs and won’t be a problem after we graduate. That was a lie. They are now infesting our HR departments.
At my previous job, they wanted to take some photos of the accounting department and of course they asked me and some other black dude to be in the picture,. I must have been in a mood because I responded that I’m busy and that they already had a black person in the photos thus fulfilling their diversity quota.
And this may be anecdotal but the black coworkers who always went on and on about diversity where usually the ones who were at best mediocre and at worst terrible at their jobs.
I’m dealing with the grievance studies majors who happened to go to law school after college.
I’m not really sure what more we could do. they already pay managers more for promoting diverse people over white folks. besides just laying off white people because they’re white, I’m not sure what’s left to do. we’ve done all the bullshit training. we’ve had all the bullshit struggle sessions.
I think what’s going to happen is management will be filled with incompetent people and worker bees like yourself will be expected to clean up their mess or occasionally fall on their sword. (Which isn’t much different than now I guess, lol)
I also feel bad for those who are considered a minority and made it to the top by having a good work ethic and being smart but always having that doubt on whether they were promoted because they were good or because of some quota.
+1 Justic Thomas’ self doubt
and that they already had a black person in the photos thus fulfilling their diversity quota.
ROFL!
Follow up from this morning since I can finally get a cup of coffee- anyone have experience with astigmatism and red dot optics? Reading reviews for the one EvilSheldon posted and that’s a potential problem
https://www.primaryarms.com/holosun-hs403b-red-dot-hs403b
Some of the other Holosuns apparently don’t have that problem, or to a lesser degree. Or Primary Arms’ own cyclops optics.
I have a very minor uncorrected astigmatism. I don’t have any trouble.
Thanks. Make and model? Some apparently are better than others, even in the same manufacturer.
Sparc AR, Romeo 5 & Primary Arms.
I have moderate astigmatism which is mostly corrected by my glasses.
I have a Burris red dot (3 MOA I think) on my Ruger PC9. The dot is slightly fuzzy, but clear enough to shoot accurately with.
For those not suffering from defective eyes.
https://youtu.be/RipNFrIF2V4
I have corrective lens but it’s bad enough that contact lens fitting is…difficult.
Yep, I have some mild astigmatism, and many red dots look like blurry streaks. It’s a thing. How much of a thing, depends on the optic, the gun, and what use you’re gonna put it to. I can put ten rounds in the center of a BC target at 300 yards with a dot that looks like a red comma, so it’s obviously not a crippling disadvantage.
Price and quality don’t seem to have much to do with how much the reticle fuzzes out – I have two Aimpoint T-1s with terrible streaking. Red dots with etched reticles don’t streak at all, but are generally expensive and have lousy battery life.
One trick for the AR shooters – flip up your rear iron sight and look at the dot through the aperture. It acts as a diopter, and will clean up most of the fuzz.
Thanks. Still on a learning curve with red dots. I grew up on iron sights and got out as we were just starting to use red dots so never got proficient or confident with them. Since them, irons have been adequate for knocking holes in paper or steel plates.
Yes, I have astigmatism, to the point that my SIG Romeo 5 is unusable unless I am wearing my glasses.
I am far-sighted. So things far away (20+ ft or more) are relatively clear, but things up close (the iron sights on my pistols) are very blurry.
So I have green lasers on both of my carry pistols.
Even without my glasses, I can easily see a green dot in the center of mass at the target.
So, this means my red dot is no better than iron sights if I am not wearing my glasses.
With a scope, I can adjust the focus on the reticle to overcome not having my glasses.
If you say so…
Jemele Hill
@jemelehill
If you vote for Donald Trump, you are a racist. You have no wiggle room.
See last time they didn’t do enough to make people realize how bad they were for voting for trump. This time they will make sure people know, and they will clearly want to repent and change their ways so that they can be accepted again.
If Trump wins, i imagine we will see calls to make ballots not secret anymore, so that people can know who the racists were.
If you vote for Joe Biden, you are a communist. You have no wiggle room.
Yeah. They don’t see that as a bad thing.
https://www.outkick.com/jemele-hill-calls-all-trump-voters-racist-turns-out-her-mom-voted-for-him/
Her mom’s a racist.
Always count on a conservative to be a little whiney wormtounge when it comes to excusing the left. No she can think properly. Her whole purpose is to demean voting for Trump as racist and that anyone who does it for racist reasons. Stop making excuses for people who want you dead.
^^
I used to think it was ignorance as well. But at some point, ignorance isn’t an excuse. If you honestly think all 60 million people who voted Trump are racists, then the term has no meaning.
So what? I don’t care.
So XY is doing handy-man type jobs to earn some money because he can’t mow because he broke the lawnmower. Again. (Third time’s the charm, right?)
Anyway, he told somebody he could clean their gutters. Now, the house is a McMansion (high eaves). It’s clear across town. He needs a ride and our extension ladder to do this, and didn’t say a word about it to us until he needed the ride over there. He quoted it without looking at it first (which he should know better because he’s been burned before), much less asking us first.
Now he’s upset because I said no for reasons that should be obvious, but he appears not to get it. He is angry because I am in the way of his goal and is quibbling (“well, ackshually”) about it.
But what I want to know is, are you REALLY going to hire a 14.5yo with a ladder to do your gutters? If I hire someone to do my gutters, they better have a bond and be insured and over 18.
do they know he’s 14?
Now, that, I don’t know. I told him to tell them his mom said he couldn’t.
Heh.
Right?!
Kid’s got hustle. Gotta love that.
I do. Very much so.
What I do not love is his treating MY equipment like crap. The stuff he paid for magically doesn’t break.
Tragedy of the commons. Not limited to 14 year olds, unfortunately.
Yeah that’s an awful lot of derp on both sides of that transaction.
Huh. The Feds aren’t so dumb after all.
https://www.oregonlive.com/crime/2020/07/feds-conduct-surveillance-from-downtown-courthouse-analyze-social-media-videos-post-undercover-agents-in-crowds-records-show.html
I’ve been giving the article the benefit, because why would i trust the feds, but there is a part of me that questions some of what has been claimed in portland.
Well, part of the problem (mentioned in passing in the article) is the catch and release of criminals. Fed judges are letting the rats run right back to the riots.
I wonder if they really posted undercover agents in the crowd or just said to make the paranoid?
All you need is a few feds to go and then accuse other people of being Feds.
They want to idolize the Jacobins? let them have Jacobin Bullshit.
It was posited on last night’s Beauty & the Beta podcast that the people being picked up might be undercover agents or informants. The evidence being the seeming willingness with which the people goe off with the Border Force. The one fellow doesn’t seem at all surprised to be stopped by an unmarked unit and doesn’t offer more than token resistance while the folk around him shriek.
https://twitter.com/bon_demi/status/1285298696620584960
The next time they have a spat, she’s gonna call in a red flag order on him.
The fact that Some gubmint savior would leap at the opportunity to grab his guns is scary.
“He threatened to kill me, and he has a lot of guns, hes very into guns, I’m so scared.”
*judge signs the order*
*3AM no knock raid*
Look something about the Millenial generation, but when i commit a felony, i don’t advertise it on social media.
If i were to commit a felony.
if I had a Twitter, I’d share it with the USPS enforcement division, whatever their name is
I follow, reply to, and retweet a roughly equal number of DOD components/military think tanks and trans girls (some of whom are sex workers). Have fun with that mess FedGov/5-EYES monitors.
I hang out here…….
Wonder what she would do if she accidentally got her neighbors mail in ballot?
One of the best ways to do voter fraud would be to “accidentally” deliver registered GOP ballots to their Dem neighbors. For early voting.
I once mistakenly received somebody’s advertising for quack libido boosters. 😮
I read “quack libido” and involuntarily imagined a duck puffing out his chest and doing wing curls to impress the ladies.
Cool links, bro!
In early June I requested a refund of the Athletic subscription renewal through my credit card. Today it went through and I got a $59.99 statement credit. Sweet.
BLM is 100% right. No way this Christian cracker would have survived if he had been black.
I had a ’74 Dodge D150 that I did a lot of this shit with. Got it stuck twice.
Both times were pulling up to something and saying…”hmm that looks a little too much, maybe I’ll turn around”
In one case the turning around resulted in me high centering both axles when I fell into the ruts cut by an M60 tank. Took a tow from a HMMWV to get me out.
The other time I backed into the ruts on the trail, which were maybe 3 ” deep, but the mud was like marbles. I just spun and spun. Walked home for a shovel and 15 minutes of digging.
I went out to a hiking trailhead in AZ a few years ago when it had been raining pretty hard all morning. The dirt road was really muddy, on the way in I came across a pickup that had been going too fast, lost control, and was upside down. On the way out I was going slow, and 4wd engaged, but still lost control twice.
My tires weren’t designed for mud at all, but I realized then that I have no idea about mud driving
I’ve enjoyed these stories. I hope you do get them published someday. 🙂
I can’t claim to have grown up on a farm, but I did have access to a few (family owned and later friend owned), so I got to fish, feed cattle on a frozen day, chop ice, and put up barbed wire fence. Branded, vaccinated, dehorned, and neutered cattle. Learned to handle firearms and use them. Rode horses, stacked hay, helped out in innumerable ways.
I wouldn’t trade it, and I wish I’d had the chance to do more.
A big brother/ big sister program that took city kids out to the country a few times would be cool.
I left out most of the stupid stuff we did, like spotlighting skunks.
A friend had a little freshwater tank that he populated solely with little fishies we got seine fishing. Little glass shrimp, trout, perch, and my favorite, a little gar, just 3 inches long and every bit as prehistoric looking as the adults.
Another favorite was harvesting mistletoe, which is easily accomplished by shotgun. A Thanksgiving/ Christmas tradition.