So I'm at school this afternoon, in the middle of a break, in the middle of the second most worthless class I've ever paid money to be aggravated by, and I decide to check my AOL mail, check the shipping number that a certain online distributor of fine gun products gave me, maybe see if my package has been delivered.
It has. I spend the next two hours in as close to happiness as I ever get in the Festival Of Frustration(TM).
When I get home, I'm surprised at how small the box is. But yeah, all the parts are in there, including the $35 dollars worth of 922 compliance parts I ordered. Grrr...
With the help of my brother, mother, a hammer, and a socket set, I have transformed my previously innocent looking BAG day gun into a decent entry into the Evil-Feature contest. Bayonet, handguard, pistolgrip, detachable mag, grenade launcher, collapsible stock, all on a semi-auto. That's six evil features out of something like 8 possible.
DANG!
Gotta take it out to the range soon. Oh yeah and, I've gotta name it. I'm thinking about the President Bush Commemerative Rifle. What's funny is, both of the Republican named guns are named for men. Both of the Democrat named guns are named for women. Weird.
Anyhoo, I'm ecstatic about this conversion. All that's left is take part of the handguard out to the gents at Gander Mtn and see if I can pay them less than $60 to hammer out a pin, replace the wood with a supplied piece of plastic, and hammer the pin back in. THEN it'll be finished.
If I get another one of these guns with my tax return, I'll have to do the same mods. Which reminds me, despite how sad I am that my project is now over, I still have my home-defense rifle build to do.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Saliva - Blood Stained Love Story
I LOVE this CD. Has sort of a classic rock feel, and Here With You reminds me of Christmas music. Very inventive, yet common, yet accessible lyrics, and some decent pop rock music behind it.
I've, ah, procured most of it, now I need to buy the hardcopy and give these deserving artists my money.
I've, ah, procured most of it, now I need to buy the hardcopy and give these deserving artists my money.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Awww...Isn't She Cute...
This is a humbling moment for me. This proud new father would like to welcome home the newest member of his family...
At around 7pm this evening, I brought home my newest battlerifle, Carolyn "The *edited*" McCarthy. She weighed in at around 9lbs and probably 32 inches long. Kinda homely, in a Git 'R Done sort of way, but she's got her own special charm. Sort of like a newborn baby, so ugly they're cute. At least, most people tell me they're cute, I just see the "so ugly" part.
Anyhoo, I took the last 2 hours cleaning her up. The techs who assemble these particular rifles (of which I now have 3) have been charitably compared, online, to a band of drunken monkeys. My first battlerifle (John Kerry) was manufactured during the ban, and was in as good or better condition than most of the ARs and M1As I see. The second one (Nancy Pelosi) was dirtier, and the wood was worse, but the metal was higher quality. Carolyn was fantastically dirty - I ran the cover underwater for about ten minutes and it's still slick with paint. There's metal shavings all over the inside of the gun, even the barrel. The handguard doesn't fit quite right, and the wood looks like fiberboard. Metal's nice though. The overall quality has gone up, but quality control has hit the skids. I did what I could, but she's getting a gasoline bath once I start modding her.
And hoo boy, do I intend to mod her. Kinda cute now, like I said, in a homely way, but this is going to be my goto gun, what I keep under my bed for home defense (and no, rifle rounds aren't any worse at overpenetration than pistol rounds, go look at the http://www.theboxotruth.com). Anyway, the first thing that's gonna get added is a folding stock. Perfect for under-the-bed storage. A nice quick-detach sling will get connected to that. Then a new ergonomic pistol grip, a quad rail set, and a front pistol grip. Maybe a flashlight too. Lessee here...that's 1, 2, carry the 16...that's 4 total evil features on one gun, and one that's been specifically targetted for elimination too.
Take that, Carolyn McCarthy.
You...witch.
(Yes, WITCH was the word I was looking for, NOT the one that rhymes with it! Nope, it was witch!)
At around 7pm this evening, I brought home my newest battlerifle, Carolyn "The *edited*" McCarthy. She weighed in at around 9lbs and probably 32 inches long. Kinda homely, in a Git 'R Done sort of way, but she's got her own special charm. Sort of like a newborn baby, so ugly they're cute. At least, most people tell me they're cute, I just see the "so ugly" part.
Anyhoo, I took the last 2 hours cleaning her up. The techs who assemble these particular rifles (of which I now have 3) have been charitably compared, online, to a band of drunken monkeys. My first battlerifle (John Kerry) was manufactured during the ban, and was in as good or better condition than most of the ARs and M1As I see. The second one (Nancy Pelosi) was dirtier, and the wood was worse, but the metal was higher quality. Carolyn was fantastically dirty - I ran the cover underwater for about ten minutes and it's still slick with paint. There's metal shavings all over the inside of the gun, even the barrel. The handguard doesn't fit quite right, and the wood looks like fiberboard. Metal's nice though. The overall quality has gone up, but quality control has hit the skids. I did what I could, but she's getting a gasoline bath once I start modding her.
And hoo boy, do I intend to mod her. Kinda cute now, like I said, in a homely way, but this is going to be my goto gun, what I keep under my bed for home defense (and no, rifle rounds aren't any worse at overpenetration than pistol rounds, go look at the http://www.theboxotruth.com). Anyway, the first thing that's gonna get added is a folding stock. Perfect for under-the-bed storage. A nice quick-detach sling will get connected to that. Then a new ergonomic pistol grip, a quad rail set, and a front pistol grip. Maybe a flashlight too. Lessee here...that's 1, 2, carry the 16...that's 4 total evil features on one gun, and one that's been specifically targetted for elimination too.
Take that, Carolyn McCarthy.
You...witch.
(Yes, WITCH was the word I was looking for, NOT the one that rhymes with it! Nope, it was witch!)
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Congresscritters
Write the House Judiciary Committee:
http://judiciary.house.gov/CommitteeMembership.aspx
Write your "Representative:"
http://www.house.gov/writerep/
Write your Senator:
http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm
I thought I'd push up some contact information, in case my handful of readers wants to write their Congresscritters. Be firm. Do not be afraid to hook your fingers into their nostrils and scream in their face. Just do it politely.
http://judiciary.house.gov/CommitteeMembership.aspx
Write your "Representative:"
http://www.house.gov/writerep/
Write your Senator:
http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm
I thought I'd push up some contact information, in case my handful of readers wants to write their Congresscritters. Be firm. Do not be afraid to hook your fingers into their nostrils and scream in their face. Just do it politely.
Fighting Dirty
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=88508969
Following the career suicide of Jim "Terrorist rifles" Zumbo, it was noticed that the Brady Campaign *hack, spit* had latched on to it as proof of a hole in the armor of the gun-owning world. They had apparently uploaded an essay on it to the above Myspace page. Further essays were found on said page, waxing moronic on bolt-action rifles, shotguns, and .22s.
The internet was abuzz with the essays, and it copies of them were distributed far and wide, as proof that the Brady-ites did indeed want ALL private weapons made illegal. This very official looking site went along way towards mobilizing the online gunnies.
According to the good and kind folks at http://www.thehighroad.org, this page is a forgery, placed upon the internet by a former troll, booted from the site and now angry at the proprietor, Oleg Volk, who's name you might notice appears in my list of links.
However, it also appears that links to this Myspace page appear on the Brady website, and owner of the page even congratulated Oleg for reaching out to the victim-disarmament community when he alerted them to fact that their page may have been hacked.
Whether the page is real or not is up in the air right now.
I've not heard this sentiment echoed online before, but quite frankly: I don't care if it's real or not.
I'm not a reader of comic books, but I remember a quote from The Punisher, something about when you're fighting a losing battle, you don't fight dirty, you do things that make fighting dirty look good.
Another quote I read once stands out as well: "Sometimes in a fight you have to get dirty to win, the only real shame is to allow yourself to be beaten over false notions of honor." I don't know who said it, but bless their heart for saying it.
When you're fighting a war to preserve your culture against barbarians, and possibly even your life, is there ANYTHING you should not say?
Is there anything, short of harming truly innocent people, that you should not do?
I don't think so.
Their lies and dirty tactics get a free ride from the whole world, I kid you not. They have carte blanche to say or do anything they want to get their agenda across. Gunnies only write letters when new legislation to destroy our rights hits Congress.
Fighting is not about good or evil, right or wrong. It's not about being kind or just or fair or sporting or truthful.
It's about winning or dying.
Following the career suicide of Jim "Terrorist rifles" Zumbo, it was noticed that the Brady Campaign *hack, spit* had latched on to it as proof of a hole in the armor of the gun-owning world. They had apparently uploaded an essay on it to the above Myspace page. Further essays were found on said page, waxing moronic on bolt-action rifles, shotguns, and .22s.
The internet was abuzz with the essays, and it copies of them were distributed far and wide, as proof that the Brady-ites did indeed want ALL private weapons made illegal. This very official looking site went along way towards mobilizing the online gunnies.
According to the good and kind folks at http://www.thehighroad.org, this page is a forgery, placed upon the internet by a former troll, booted from the site and now angry at the proprietor, Oleg Volk, who's name you might notice appears in my list of links.
However, it also appears that links to this Myspace page appear on the Brady website, and owner of the page even congratulated Oleg for reaching out to the victim-disarmament community when he alerted them to fact that their page may have been hacked.
Whether the page is real or not is up in the air right now.
I've not heard this sentiment echoed online before, but quite frankly: I don't care if it's real or not.
I'm not a reader of comic books, but I remember a quote from The Punisher, something about when you're fighting a losing battle, you don't fight dirty, you do things that make fighting dirty look good.
Another quote I read once stands out as well: "Sometimes in a fight you have to get dirty to win, the only real shame is to allow yourself to be beaten over false notions of honor." I don't know who said it, but bless their heart for saying it.
When you're fighting a war to preserve your culture against barbarians, and possibly even your life, is there ANYTHING you should not say?
Is there anything, short of harming truly innocent people, that you should not do?
I don't think so.
Their lies and dirty tactics get a free ride from the whole world, I kid you not. They have carte blanche to say or do anything they want to get their agenda across. Gunnies only write letters when new legislation to destroy our rights hits Congress.
Fighting is not about good or evil, right or wrong. It's not about being kind or just or fair or sporting or truthful.
It's about winning or dying.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Did My Part, The Third Of Many Parts
Wrote both my Senators today, along with every member of the House Judiciary Committee that would allow email from people out of state. Here's the text:
Hello:
My name is *edited*. Unfortunately I am not one of your constituents, being a resident of the state of *edited*, however, I write to you today, not as a resident of this state, but as a citizen of the United States of America.
I would like to bring to your attention a bill now in the House Judiciary Committee, HR1022, the reauthorization of federal Assault Weapons Ban, amended to contain new, more restrictive provisions. This bill is totally destructive to the fabric of this nation - it is a violation of multiple human rights enumerated in the Bill Of Rights. Its passage will make criminals out innocent free men and women, and do positively nothing to curb the actions of real, violent criminals.
We were promised in 2004, that the expiration of the federal assault weapons ban would mean soaring crime rates and blood flowing freely in the streets. Nothing of the sort happened, and numerous studies before and after the expiration, conducted by federal and state governments show that neither its passage nor expiration had effect on crime.
It is your duty as a member of the federal government, someone who swore an oath to uphold the United States Constitution, to do everything in your power to make sure this bill does not become law. Anything less would be a total violation of that oath. Please do your duty as an elected representative and as a human being: Defend the United States Constitution, the human right to keep and bear arms, and do not let this bill leave your committee.
Sincerely,
*edited*
---------------------------------
Congresscritters, doing their duty? Upholding the Constitution. Not bloody likely, but I'll see what kind of mail I get back from these people.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
...that even a God-King can bleed...
http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/300/trailers_player.php?IGNMediaID=1912040&playerType=playlist
As Lawdog would say, Hie Thee Hence and watch. Every single clip.
Yes, I know this is not an accurate representation of Spartan life, law, beliefs, morals, culture or battle-tactics. They'd all have rotten teeth too.
The point is the retelling of a story few people have heard, and possibly exposing millions to the concept of individual liberty and the rightful defense thereof.
As Lawdog would say, Hie Thee Hence and watch. Every single clip.
Yes, I know this is not an accurate representation of Spartan life, law, beliefs, morals, culture or battle-tactics. They'd all have rotten teeth too.
The point is the retelling of a story few people have heard, and possibly exposing millions to the concept of individual liberty and the rightful defense thereof.
Did My Part, The Second Of Many Parts
My Beretta and battlerifle mags arrived UPS this evening. I now need to buy a new rifle case to house A.My second battlerifle Nancy Pelosi, and B.The five 30rd mags that don't fit in the case occupied by John Kerry.
The Beretta mags were a *edited* to load. New, factory mags, 20rd capacity, and I can feel every one of those 40 rounds in my hands right now. About 8:30PM I developed a blister on my left thumb the size and consistency of your average water balloon. Spent the rest of the night randomly poking holes in said thumb with a needle.
Oh happy evening.
Anyhoo, I've placed another Internet order for more goodies. New stock (and compliance parts *hack, spit*) and 2 mags for my BAG Day Gun. We'll see how those work. If they don't, I've got 90 days to mail 'em back.
Oh yeah and, I got my old job back, tenatively. I'd been transferred to a new department (read:dragged, kicking and screaming) because of a theft issue they resolved by switching out the old staff and putting in new people. My boss pulled some strings with his boss, traded out an employee who didn't like her job for me, so, I'm back...I think. It means working until midnight at least one night a week (not cool), but there should be 24 hours a week of work, and that's a not inconsiderable jump up from the 8 I'm getting now.
More money.
What do you think I'm going to do with it?
PS I'm writing pretty much every member of the House Judiciary committee tomorrow, and expressing to them that it would be treasonous to let HR1022 (the new AWB, basically the People's Republic Of California version, with some venomous stuff about registering standard-caps) out of committee.
The Beretta mags were a *edited* to load. New, factory mags, 20rd capacity, and I can feel every one of those 40 rounds in my hands right now. About 8:30PM I developed a blister on my left thumb the size and consistency of your average water balloon. Spent the rest of the night randomly poking holes in said thumb with a needle.
Oh happy evening.
Anyhoo, I've placed another Internet order for more goodies. New stock (and compliance parts *hack, spit*) and 2 mags for my BAG Day Gun. We'll see how those work. If they don't, I've got 90 days to mail 'em back.
Oh yeah and, I got my old job back, tenatively. I'd been transferred to a new department (read:dragged, kicking and screaming) because of a theft issue they resolved by switching out the old staff and putting in new people. My boss pulled some strings with his boss, traded out an employee who didn't like her job for me, so, I'm back...I think. It means working until midnight at least one night a week (not cool), but there should be 24 hours a week of work, and that's a not inconsiderable jump up from the 8 I'm getting now.
More money.
What do you think I'm going to do with it?
PS I'm writing pretty much every member of the House Judiciary committee tomorrow, and expressing to them that it would be treasonous to let HR1022 (the new AWB, basically the People's Republic Of California version, with some venomous stuff about registering standard-caps) out of committee.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Richard Marx - Someone Special
So here's the other song I was going to post to depress both my readers on That Accursed Holiday.
Richard Marx - Someone Special
I've lived my life in a single room
Hiding my scars from the moon
I dream my dreams in the light
Rehearse the lines I already know
Basking in the tvs glow
And pray that tonight is the night
Ooh, theres gotta be more than this
A future hanging on a strangers kiss
Could it be I'm not so alone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
I guess the joke hasn't hit me yet
Cause I'm still waiting on my Juliet
She must be held up somewhere
Ooh, she will be the air I breathe
She'll come for good and never want to leave
And I'll love her only, I swear
People say there must be something wrong
For me to be all alone so long
And their words hit me like a stone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
Lying in bed in a cold, cold sweat
Dreaming bout women I'll never get
I wont always be sleeping alone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
-------------------------
As with most of Mr. Marx's work, I listen to it and I'm of half a mind to slap him and say "Be a man, Richard!" Lots about "my pain" and similar themes, and it draws the same reaction as when I listen to anything My Chemical Romance.
Ignore the verses, and the chorus really stand out. 8 lines, and it wraps up hope, loneliness, despair, love, a whole lot of emotions, and does so simply and with some very interesting phrasing. "I'm someone special/I'm just in disguise." That's twisting of a phrase right there.
Richard Marx - Someone Special
I've lived my life in a single room
Hiding my scars from the moon
I dream my dreams in the light
Rehearse the lines I already know
Basking in the tvs glow
And pray that tonight is the night
Ooh, theres gotta be more than this
A future hanging on a strangers kiss
Could it be I'm not so alone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
I guess the joke hasn't hit me yet
Cause I'm still waiting on my Juliet
She must be held up somewhere
Ooh, she will be the air I breathe
She'll come for good and never want to leave
And I'll love her only, I swear
People say there must be something wrong
For me to be all alone so long
And their words hit me like a stone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
Lying in bed in a cold, cold sweat
Dreaming bout women I'll never get
I wont always be sleeping alone
I'm Someone Special
I'm just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyone's eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
There's Someone Special
Waiting out there for me
-------------------------
As with most of Mr. Marx's work, I listen to it and I'm of half a mind to slap him and say "Be a man, Richard!" Lots about "my pain" and similar themes, and it draws the same reaction as when I listen to anything My Chemical Romance.
Ignore the verses, and the chorus really stand out. 8 lines, and it wraps up hope, loneliness, despair, love, a whole lot of emotions, and does so simply and with some very interesting phrasing. "I'm someone special/I'm just in disguise." That's twisting of a phrase right there.
Nickelback - Someone That You're With
I was gonna do this and the next one for Valentine's Day (otherwise known to me as That Accursed Holiday). Two songs that sum up my take on the whole festival of pink and red. So, here are my depressing picks.
Nickelback - Someone That You're With
I reside in 209, you're in 208
You moved in last Friday night
And I just couldn't wait
So I tried to call across the hall
To ask you out someday
But a lineup formed outside your door
And I was way too late
Well I'd rather start off slow
This whole thing's like some sort of race
Instead of winning what I want
I'm sitting here in second place
Because somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I wanna be that Someone That You're With)
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God I wanna be that Someone That You're With
Well I hear your favorite songs
You sing along with everyday
And I borrow things that I don't need
For conversation's sake
Last night I heard your key
It hit your lock at 4 AM
Instead of being out with me
You must be out with them
Because somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I wanna be that Someone That You're With)
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
Well somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God, I've got to be that someone that
I wanna be that someone that
I've got to be that Someone That You're With
----------------------------------------------
Not something I'm posting FOR or about someone, but dang if that overused cliche "Story of my life" doesn't fit this.
It's almost a techno song, very fast, sort of throbbing beat. Not typical Nickelback fare, for either their entries into the ballad or rock genres, thought it fits both or either. A great song, one of those that you "feel" and then you hear it on CD, and say "So that's it..."
Nickelback - Someone That You're With
I reside in 209, you're in 208
You moved in last Friday night
And I just couldn't wait
So I tried to call across the hall
To ask you out someday
But a lineup formed outside your door
And I was way too late
Well I'd rather start off slow
This whole thing's like some sort of race
Instead of winning what I want
I'm sitting here in second place
Because somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I wanna be that Someone That You're With)
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God I wanna be that Someone That You're With
Well I hear your favorite songs
You sing along with everyday
And I borrow things that I don't need
For conversation's sake
Last night I heard your key
It hit your lock at 4 AM
Instead of being out with me
You must be out with them
Because somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I wanna be that Someone That You're With)
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
Well somewhere the one I wanna be with's with somebody else
Oh god, I wanna be that Someone That You're With
And I can talk about it all day long
'til I run out of breath
But I still wanna be that Someone That You're With
(I've got to be that Someone That You're With)
And I'm pacing by the phone
'Cause I hate to be alone
And if you're out there with him somewhere and just about to kiss
God, I've got to be that someone that
I wanna be that someone that
I've got to be that Someone That You're With
----------------------------------------------
Not something I'm posting FOR or about someone, but dang if that overused cliche "Story of my life" doesn't fit this.
It's almost a techno song, very fast, sort of throbbing beat. Not typical Nickelback fare, for either their entries into the ballad or rock genres, thought it fits both or either. A great song, one of those that you "feel" and then you hear it on CD, and say "So that's it..."
Tales From Retail Pt6
6.When last we left the good (or would he prefer “bad”) Rev, he was giving me grief for not processing his CD purchases for his Satanic church as tax exempt.
Fast forward. It is now January, and we have hours before been informed that we are going to be closing our gates forever in just a few weeks. Not only that, but our store is going to be occupied by a women’s clothing store, which sets everyone’s teeth on edge.
So. With a few days left before the clock strikes midnight, who should come waddling through the door, but the one man guaranteed to cause a few laughs…Rev.
He rolls his girth up to counter and demands that we refund the discount card that one of our staff forced upon him…back in September. A few words on his discount card. He’d used it between then and now. He’d benefited from it. He had renewed it of his own free will for the fourth year in a row back in September.
He doesn’t have a receipt. He has no transaction number, absolutely nothing to make our job of returning this discount card any easier. And he’s being a jerk about it besides – making repeated references to how we knew about closing long in advance (back in September, if he was to be believed), we forced him to take it, we lied about not closing the store, we’ve been lying to everyone who comes into the store, and isn’t it humiliating to be run out of the mall by a women’s clothing store.
I said no, I wouldn’t return it. I said I’d go get another manager. That manager said no, and laughed at this fat, little lisping ball of indignation. The assistant manager gets called, and after all three of us listen to Rev whine and carry on, she finally returns it to get him out of the store. She shouldn’t have.
The next day, he came in, grabbed a Texas Chainsaw Massacre DVD, and ran out with it. Aside from making me extremely mad, I find that quite funny - this little blob of Danny Devito shaped lard bobbling out of the store like a bat ouf heck with a DVD tucked under his arm like a running back. I wasn't there, but I can picture it greatly.
Oh yeah, and he tried to cast a spell on the store manager.
So I start work at my new job (the one after the cell phone gig), and according to the store manager (who had come over a few months before from my old job), Rev is now shopping there, complaining loudly and vociferously “I’m thick of thith. I’m thick of the way you treat me here.”
No matter what he’s doing when next I see him, I’m calling the managers and reporting that he stole something. Even if he didn’t.
Fast forward. It is now January, and we have hours before been informed that we are going to be closing our gates forever in just a few weeks. Not only that, but our store is going to be occupied by a women’s clothing store, which sets everyone’s teeth on edge.
So. With a few days left before the clock strikes midnight, who should come waddling through the door, but the one man guaranteed to cause a few laughs…Rev.
He rolls his girth up to counter and demands that we refund the discount card that one of our staff forced upon him…back in September. A few words on his discount card. He’d used it between then and now. He’d benefited from it. He had renewed it of his own free will for the fourth year in a row back in September.
He doesn’t have a receipt. He has no transaction number, absolutely nothing to make our job of returning this discount card any easier. And he’s being a jerk about it besides – making repeated references to how we knew about closing long in advance (back in September, if he was to be believed), we forced him to take it, we lied about not closing the store, we’ve been lying to everyone who comes into the store, and isn’t it humiliating to be run out of the mall by a women’s clothing store.
I said no, I wouldn’t return it. I said I’d go get another manager. That manager said no, and laughed at this fat, little lisping ball of indignation. The assistant manager gets called, and after all three of us listen to Rev whine and carry on, she finally returns it to get him out of the store. She shouldn’t have.
The next day, he came in, grabbed a Texas Chainsaw Massacre DVD, and ran out with it. Aside from making me extremely mad, I find that quite funny - this little blob of Danny Devito shaped lard bobbling out of the store like a bat ouf heck with a DVD tucked under his arm like a running back. I wasn't there, but I can picture it greatly.
Oh yeah, and he tried to cast a spell on the store manager.
So I start work at my new job (the one after the cell phone gig), and according to the store manager (who had come over a few months before from my old job), Rev is now shopping there, complaining loudly and vociferously “I’m thick of thith. I’m thick of the way you treat me here.”
No matter what he’s doing when next I see him, I’m calling the managers and reporting that he stole something. Even if he didn’t.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Steven Avery Trial
I don't know if y'all remember this, but around Samhain 2005, a local feral predator by the name of Steven Avery abducted a photographer, and with the help of his 16yo nephew, tortured and murdered her.
Steven's on trial presently. Day one of the trial another nephew got up and told the jury Steven asked him to help hide a body. Defense asked for a mistrial, because they'd neglected to talk to the kid who'd given the testimony.
Denied. First rule of committing a crime is to NOT talk about it, or at least that's what I keep hearing.
I hope we never see Mr. Avery nor his feral nephew, Brendan Dassey on this side of the bars again. These two need to go away for the rest of their lives.
Steven's on trial presently. Day one of the trial another nephew got up and told the jury Steven asked him to help hide a body. Defense asked for a mistrial, because they'd neglected to talk to the kid who'd given the testimony.
Denied. First rule of committing a crime is to NOT talk about it, or at least that's what I keep hearing.
I hope we never see Mr. Avery nor his feral nephew, Brendan Dassey on this side of the bars again. These two need to go away for the rest of their lives.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Did My Part, The First Of Many Parts
If the victim disarmament folks inhabiting Washington want to get guns out of our hands, they need to shut their fat yaps, 'cause every time they go about opening them, they sell more guns than if they'd kept quiet.
I didn't exactly go buying guns, but I put in an order this morning for 2 20rd mags for my Beretta 92, and 5 more mags for my battlerifle. Get this equalled out in the checking account with a check or 2, and then I'm converting my BAG Day gun into another battlerifle. Might pick up another one of the same kind for BAG day this year (with my tax return *hack, spit*), and then it's on to my Home Defense Rifle build.
That's not counting ammo buys.
See what happens when you talk about banning guns?
I didn't exactly go buying guns, but I put in an order this morning for 2 20rd mags for my Beretta 92, and 5 more mags for my battlerifle. Get this equalled out in the checking account with a check or 2, and then I'm converting my BAG Day gun into another battlerifle. Might pick up another one of the same kind for BAG day this year (with my tax return *hack, spit*), and then it's on to my Home Defense Rifle build.
That's not counting ammo buys.
See what happens when you talk about banning guns?
Random Reflections Pt19
81. The worst thing in the world is wanting something to or not to happen, and not being able to do a damn thing to cause or forestall it. I think that’s why I have a somewhat irascible and anarchic personality – I hate not being in control at all times.
82. A bill proposed in Wisconsin would have any citizen fined $250 dollars for asking publicly nursing mothers (even on private property) to be a little more demure in their exposure of themselves. No matter the language, no matter the tone, no matter nothing, ask a woman to cover up some while she shares a Close Moment™ with her child, and you’re a criminal.
No one’s yet addressed how this would be enforced, or what to do with all the maliciously false “complaints” that will undoubtedly arise.
The ugly part of this is, there ain’t a person talking about it who’s not in favor of it.
Has the whole world gone crazy as an outhouse rat?
83. It is humbling and awe-inspiring to see in others the values and virtues you always hoped and believed you possessed. Especially when this other or others are reputed to have very little in the way of values, virtues, common sense, and responsibility in the first place.
84. It is horrifying to learn that those you trust deeply can be completely and absolutely wrong about something. Equally horrifying is seeing how those same people can use their power capriciously, over that which they are wrong about.
85. Riffing on Q-Tips.Seen on a box of Q-Tips: “Satisfaction guaranteed. Return for refund or exchange.” How can you not be satisfied with the performance of a Q-Tip, and if you’re not satisfied, why would you exchange it for exactly the same product? How do you prove you weren’t satisfied?
Why are they called Q-Tips? Aren’t they tipped with cotton? If it’s based on shape, shouldn’t it be called an I-Tip? That sounds like an invention by Apple Computers.
82. A bill proposed in Wisconsin would have any citizen fined $250 dollars for asking publicly nursing mothers (even on private property) to be a little more demure in their exposure of themselves. No matter the language, no matter the tone, no matter nothing, ask a woman to cover up some while she shares a Close Moment™ with her child, and you’re a criminal.
No one’s yet addressed how this would be enforced, or what to do with all the maliciously false “complaints” that will undoubtedly arise.
The ugly part of this is, there ain’t a person talking about it who’s not in favor of it.
Has the whole world gone crazy as an outhouse rat?
83. It is humbling and awe-inspiring to see in others the values and virtues you always hoped and believed you possessed. Especially when this other or others are reputed to have very little in the way of values, virtues, common sense, and responsibility in the first place.
84. It is horrifying to learn that those you trust deeply can be completely and absolutely wrong about something. Equally horrifying is seeing how those same people can use their power capriciously, over that which they are wrong about.
85. Riffing on Q-Tips.Seen on a box of Q-Tips: “Satisfaction guaranteed. Return for refund or exchange.” How can you not be satisfied with the performance of a Q-Tip, and if you’re not satisfied, why would you exchange it for exactly the same product? How do you prove you weren’t satisfied?
Why are they called Q-Tips? Aren’t they tipped with cotton? If it’s based on shape, shouldn’t it be called an I-Tip? That sounds like an invention by Apple Computers.
Fun Times Pt3
The Fun Times series is dedicated to those little family crisises that get everybody all angry and frantic for a while, and just generally disrupt life. So far they have all had good outcomes, which is why I can ironically call them Fun Times™.
The very first "Fun Time" involved an intruder alarm that morphed from scaring away a burglar to chasing a flying squirrel out of the house with a spatula.
The second "Fun Time" was actually kind of scary - my mom was home alone and thought someone broke in, and my brother later performed his house-clearing duties admirably.
Last night was the third "Fun Time." I'm sitting downstairs, watching Deep Space Nine, when all of a sudden, thing seem...off...and not in any way that I can fully describe. The air has changed in some way. I ignore it and keep watching. After a few minutes, I'm sniffing the air...this is really weird...it smells like sulfur. Like really, badly rotten eggs. But just a hint of it.
Perplexed, I shut off DS9, and head for the stairs at the end of the long "family" room. WTH? It smells horrible over by the stairs. I run upstairs and tell my mom it smells awful downstairs. She heads down and just about chokes at the stench. We walk into the laundry room, and the smell is stronger, much stronger. We turn left into my brother's bedroom, and now the smell could knock a buzzard off a gut-wagon. This is, like, a panic situation. Something really bad's going down here.
My brother is not, ahem, the most...clean...person in the world, so the possibility of him leaving a meal under his bed and then having it decompose is not exactly an alien thought. We go back upstairs, and wake him up from where he's sleeping on the sofa.
And here is where the situation veers off into the absurd. Slightly peeved that one of her children may have just fumigated the house through carelessness, my mom tells my brother to open up the freezer and take a deep breath so he has a suitable control with which to appreciate the full awesomeness of the stench he is about to behold. Not in so many words though. "Stick your head in the freezer and breathe," is closer to the original wording.
He refuses, and asks what's going on. "Just stick your head in the freezer." This goes on a for a minute and we all finally troop downstairs. My brother can sniff this just as soon as he heads downstairs. Once in his room, we realize the smell has gotten exponentially worse. It is unholy on a thousand different levels. This is something that no decent human being should be exposed to.
Definitely not something of my brother's creation.We have an upright freezer in the basement, and my thought is maybe it came unplugged, the...meat...inside going rancid with time. But my musings on this are quickly derailed...my mom sends me to go get the carbon monoxide detector from upstairs. My protests that carbon monoxide is odorless fall on deaf ears, and I go get the thing and plug it in in my brother's room. It reads 0 to no ones surprise.
It is around this time that my dad ventures downstairs, just having noticed that there is A Fuss on under his roof, and he asks what the matter is. Very unflappable. My mom asks if he notices the smell, and he says yes, it's his bathroom.
Last summer we had a problem with plugged pipes. Varying brands of Drano wouldn't clear out the problem, wire pipe-snakes didn't do it...so my dad bought some industrial drain cleaner. Whereas most drain-cleaners are bases, this stuff was full-on sulphuric acid, diluted to the point where it didn't eat through the pipes (be very careful about not getting on the tub though, pour it straight down the drain). Half a bottle of that later, some very unpleasant odors started wafting out of the various drains in the house, as the sulphuric acid dissolved the biological growths that every household pipe system has. These odors were so strong that after opening all the windows, our house stood as the epicenter of a kind of funk that could be sniffed for dozens of yards in every direction.
Now let your mind wander, and grasp if it can, the full horror of unleashing such a pungent menace inside a house in the winter. With all the doors and windows closed.
YEAH.
My dad had poured some more of this industrial cleaner down his shower's drainpipe.By this time the stench has flooded the living area of the upstairs, and my mom's worried about our two pet rats and our two birds, one of which is a ten-year-old finch (finches are only supposed to live four to six years). They get hastily relocated to the bedrooms at the far end of the house, and we start turning on every fan in the house.
After fifteen minutes, the god-awful stench has not depreciated, and we start wondering what to do to render the air suitable for sleeping in. My brother sprays three cans of AXE in his room, lights a candle, and sets a fan to blow air out of his room - which results in mixing the heavy smell of AXE with the smell of rotten eggs.
We finally hit upon a solution - open all the doors and windows! I should comment that this is Wisconsin, and it is winter, and our median temps for the past few days have been 10 degrees in the sun. It is nine at night. It is damned cold outside. Soon it is damned cold inside. We watched Lost, made hot drinks, and wore hats and gloves.
Around ten we finally closed the house up. Despite cranking the heat to 90 to offset the cold air, the ambient temperature had dropped seven degrees. We ran a propane space heater for a couple of minutes to warm up the living room before going to bed.
The very first "Fun Time" involved an intruder alarm that morphed from scaring away a burglar to chasing a flying squirrel out of the house with a spatula.
The second "Fun Time" was actually kind of scary - my mom was home alone and thought someone broke in, and my brother later performed his house-clearing duties admirably.
Last night was the third "Fun Time." I'm sitting downstairs, watching Deep Space Nine, when all of a sudden, thing seem...off...and not in any way that I can fully describe. The air has changed in some way. I ignore it and keep watching. After a few minutes, I'm sniffing the air...this is really weird...it smells like sulfur. Like really, badly rotten eggs. But just a hint of it.
Perplexed, I shut off DS9, and head for the stairs at the end of the long "family" room. WTH? It smells horrible over by the stairs. I run upstairs and tell my mom it smells awful downstairs. She heads down and just about chokes at the stench. We walk into the laundry room, and the smell is stronger, much stronger. We turn left into my brother's bedroom, and now the smell could knock a buzzard off a gut-wagon. This is, like, a panic situation. Something really bad's going down here.
My brother is not, ahem, the most...clean...person in the world, so the possibility of him leaving a meal under his bed and then having it decompose is not exactly an alien thought. We go back upstairs, and wake him up from where he's sleeping on the sofa.
And here is where the situation veers off into the absurd. Slightly peeved that one of her children may have just fumigated the house through carelessness, my mom tells my brother to open up the freezer and take a deep breath so he has a suitable control with which to appreciate the full awesomeness of the stench he is about to behold. Not in so many words though. "Stick your head in the freezer and breathe," is closer to the original wording.
He refuses, and asks what's going on. "Just stick your head in the freezer." This goes on a for a minute and we all finally troop downstairs. My brother can sniff this just as soon as he heads downstairs. Once in his room, we realize the smell has gotten exponentially worse. It is unholy on a thousand different levels. This is something that no decent human being should be exposed to.
Definitely not something of my brother's creation.We have an upright freezer in the basement, and my thought is maybe it came unplugged, the...meat...inside going rancid with time. But my musings on this are quickly derailed...my mom sends me to go get the carbon monoxide detector from upstairs. My protests that carbon monoxide is odorless fall on deaf ears, and I go get the thing and plug it in in my brother's room. It reads 0 to no ones surprise.
It is around this time that my dad ventures downstairs, just having noticed that there is A Fuss on under his roof, and he asks what the matter is. Very unflappable. My mom asks if he notices the smell, and he says yes, it's his bathroom.
Last summer we had a problem with plugged pipes. Varying brands of Drano wouldn't clear out the problem, wire pipe-snakes didn't do it...so my dad bought some industrial drain cleaner. Whereas most drain-cleaners are bases, this stuff was full-on sulphuric acid, diluted to the point where it didn't eat through the pipes (be very careful about not getting on the tub though, pour it straight down the drain). Half a bottle of that later, some very unpleasant odors started wafting out of the various drains in the house, as the sulphuric acid dissolved the biological growths that every household pipe system has. These odors were so strong that after opening all the windows, our house stood as the epicenter of a kind of funk that could be sniffed for dozens of yards in every direction.
Now let your mind wander, and grasp if it can, the full horror of unleashing such a pungent menace inside a house in the winter. With all the doors and windows closed.
YEAH.
My dad had poured some more of this industrial cleaner down his shower's drainpipe.By this time the stench has flooded the living area of the upstairs, and my mom's worried about our two pet rats and our two birds, one of which is a ten-year-old finch (finches are only supposed to live four to six years). They get hastily relocated to the bedrooms at the far end of the house, and we start turning on every fan in the house.
After fifteen minutes, the god-awful stench has not depreciated, and we start wondering what to do to render the air suitable for sleeping in. My brother sprays three cans of AXE in his room, lights a candle, and sets a fan to blow air out of his room - which results in mixing the heavy smell of AXE with the smell of rotten eggs.
We finally hit upon a solution - open all the doors and windows! I should comment that this is Wisconsin, and it is winter, and our median temps for the past few days have been 10 degrees in the sun. It is nine at night. It is damned cold outside. Soon it is damned cold inside. We watched Lost, made hot drinks, and wore hats and gloves.
Around ten we finally closed the house up. Despite cranking the heat to 90 to offset the cold air, the ambient temperature had dropped seven degrees. We ran a propane space heater for a couple of minutes to warm up the living room before going to bed.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
BAG Day Gun Goodness
So, before this moon-battery with the 2 McCarthy started, I was considering converting my decent BAG Day gun into an Honest-To-God battlerifle. This would entail replacing the stock and getting some decent detachable hi-caps.
Figured $150 for the stock and 2 mags. I could buy another rifle just like it for that much, but this'll give what I've got some utility. I start poking around the internet, and what do I find?
In order to stay a few steps ahead of breaking importation laws, I have to replace some of the internals with US made parts. See, AFAIK, it works like this:
@I've got a Curio & Relic gun. As such, I can ignore that parts-count game.
@I replace the stock with something more useful, I've just assembled a non-sporting, foreign assault rifle and voided C&R status. This is a Bad Thing, they'd have us believe.
@In order to avoid doing this Bad Thing, I must replace some of the foreign-made internals with identical US-made pieces.
@I will then have a US-made sporting rifle.
This is a *edited* joke. I've got to budget an extra $40 (on a college budget, getting 8 hours a week) to buy US parts that look and work identically to the foreign parts already in my rifle. Whoever came up with this should be tossed in jail, for life.
With a sign that says "Cop" or "Snitch" around their neck.
Figured $150 for the stock and 2 mags. I could buy another rifle just like it for that much, but this'll give what I've got some utility. I start poking around the internet, and what do I find?
In order to stay a few steps ahead of breaking importation laws, I have to replace some of the internals with US made parts. See, AFAIK, it works like this:
@I've got a Curio & Relic gun. As such, I can ignore that parts-count game.
@I replace the stock with something more useful, I've just assembled a non-sporting, foreign assault rifle and voided C&R status. This is a Bad Thing, they'd have us believe.
@In order to avoid doing this Bad Thing, I must replace some of the foreign-made internals with identical US-made pieces.
@I will then have a US-made sporting rifle.
This is a *edited* joke. I've got to budget an extra $40 (on a college budget, getting 8 hours a week) to buy US parts that look and work identically to the foreign parts already in my rifle. Whoever came up with this should be tossed in jail, for life.
With a sign that says "Cop" or "Snitch" around their neck.
And so it begins...
The 2 (remember the swearing code), Carolyn McCarthy (isn't she up for a lung-cancer scheduled vacation to the great shooting range in the sky sometime soon?) introduced a bill to reauthorize the Assault Weapons Ban.
Because, the pump action shotgun and .38 revolver used by the Utah mall shooter were covered in the bill, you see.
As teenagers would say: NOT.
Time to go read Unintended Consequences again, and wish there was someone out there with nothing to lose and the backbone and smarts to, at the very least, exact some appropriate vengence upon those who would deprive us of our God-given rights.
Maybe it won't make it out of committee. We can hope. In the interregnum, I'm going to be buying magazines, and maybe another battle-rifle.
Because, the pump action shotgun and .38 revolver used by the Utah mall shooter were covered in the bill, you see.
As teenagers would say: NOT.
Time to go read Unintended Consequences again, and wish there was someone out there with nothing to lose and the backbone and smarts to, at the very least, exact some appropriate vengence upon those who would deprive us of our God-given rights.
Maybe it won't make it out of committee. We can hope. In the interregnum, I'm going to be buying magazines, and maybe another battle-rifle.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Random Gun Stuff
So I decided I needed to make some purchases yesterday. I've stocked my checking account for the past few months, so I didn't feel horrible about taking a hundred out of the last paycheck to deal with some of the purchases I've been needing/wanting to make.
First up was a prepaid phone card. I'll restock my phone when I go back to school.
Then I got 2 30-round mags for my battlerifles. I was horrified when I brought them home and the follower on one was too depressed due to a rust spot. Despite scrubbing at the mag with paper towel, gun patches, WD40, and the most caustic chemical I've ever handled CopperKleenz gun-cleaner (it chaps my hands every time I clean a gun, and I take maybe 10 minutes per gun...nasty stuff), the follower was still stuck on the rust spot. I begin to think it's a spring problem, so I took it back, got a new one that worked perfectly.
Finally, out to Sportsman's Warehouse where I pick up Hogue Grips for Paul Nelson, my Sig P220. VERY nice. They were a pain to put on, but they're nice and slim and increase my ability to grip the gun well. I wonder how well they'll aid my shooting, since the only problem I have with the gun is the muzzle-flip provided by the 4in barrel. On top of that, the pistol looks really nice now.
First up was a prepaid phone card. I'll restock my phone when I go back to school.
Then I got 2 30-round mags for my battlerifles. I was horrified when I brought them home and the follower on one was too depressed due to a rust spot. Despite scrubbing at the mag with paper towel, gun patches, WD40, and the most caustic chemical I've ever handled CopperKleenz gun-cleaner (it chaps my hands every time I clean a gun, and I take maybe 10 minutes per gun...nasty stuff), the follower was still stuck on the rust spot. I begin to think it's a spring problem, so I took it back, got a new one that worked perfectly.
Finally, out to Sportsman's Warehouse where I pick up Hogue Grips for Paul Nelson, my Sig P220. VERY nice. They were a pain to put on, but they're nice and slim and increase my ability to grip the gun well. I wonder how well they'll aid my shooting, since the only problem I have with the gun is the muzzle-flip provided by the 4in barrel. On top of that, the pistol looks really nice now.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
What do you say?
On what may have been the last night at my regular job, a late-middle-aged woman comes in, looking for a CD with the Metallica song "Am I Evil?" without the lyrics.
We joke about how few kareoke CDs Metallica put out, and I eventually just hand her Garage Inc. and tell her this is the best I can do. Nope, she's looking for the backing track, so someone could play guitar over it.
I make a few recommendations for places to look online, and let her know that getting someone to record the guitar part for her is going to be expensive and time consuming. She tells me her son used to play it, and she wants to hear it again.
A couple of years ago in my fair city, a couple of Hmong kids pitched a white youth off a five story parking garage for the crime of not being Hmong. It wasn't a hate crime, like the recent shooting of a Hmong hunter by a white guy, so it didn't get much press.
That was her son that got tossed off the roof.
She's a wreck now. We talked for half an hour. She moved into her son's empty apartment. She destroyed her family connections in the way she divided up his possessions. She goes to grief counseling. She's on more medications than the local cancer ward.
She simply cannot, and will not move forward with her life. The life that she created was horrifically taken from this earth, and that's why she spends all her time listening to his CDs and looking at boxes of his crayons from when he was eight.
It's not every day you get to speak with someone who's loved one was the victim of homicide. It's not every day you get to see how the mind can destroy a person.
What do you say to them?
What CAN you say to them?
We joke about how few kareoke CDs Metallica put out, and I eventually just hand her Garage Inc. and tell her this is the best I can do. Nope, she's looking for the backing track, so someone could play guitar over it.
I make a few recommendations for places to look online, and let her know that getting someone to record the guitar part for her is going to be expensive and time consuming. She tells me her son used to play it, and she wants to hear it again.
A couple of years ago in my fair city, a couple of Hmong kids pitched a white youth off a five story parking garage for the crime of not being Hmong. It wasn't a hate crime, like the recent shooting of a Hmong hunter by a white guy, so it didn't get much press.
That was her son that got tossed off the roof.
She's a wreck now. We talked for half an hour. She moved into her son's empty apartment. She destroyed her family connections in the way she divided up his possessions. She goes to grief counseling. She's on more medications than the local cancer ward.
She simply cannot, and will not move forward with her life. The life that she created was horrifically taken from this earth, and that's why she spends all her time listening to his CDs and looking at boxes of his crayons from when he was eight.
It's not every day you get to speak with someone who's loved one was the victim of homicide. It's not every day you get to see how the mind can destroy a person.
What do you say to them?
What CAN you say to them?
House
Funny episode (at times) tonight. I'll paraphrase.
*House pulls a microscope out of a man's nose*
H."Very nice. If my lawn looked like that, pigeons wouldn't dare poop on it."
Patient"First impressions do count. For example, I noticed that your shirt isn't pressed, and you obviously haven't shaved in many days."
H."You use a toenail clippers to trim your nose hairs?"
P."They give me more...reach."
H."I haven't combed my hair and my shirt is rumpled. You have athlete's foot in your nose. I'm ready to be judged."
*House pulls a microscope out of a man's nose*
H."Very nice. If my lawn looked like that, pigeons wouldn't dare poop on it."
Patient"First impressions do count. For example, I noticed that your shirt isn't pressed, and you obviously haven't shaved in many days."
H."You use a toenail clippers to trim your nose hairs?"
P."They give me more...reach."
H."I haven't combed my hair and my shirt is rumpled. You have athlete's foot in your nose. I'm ready to be judged."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)