More Stuff Happens

I’ll tell you what. My walk with God is turning out to be more like a ride at a water park. Don’t push. Just close your eyes and yell.

I saw someone interview Kari Jobe. With a big smile, she said God was “just wrecking” her. I get it.

This morning I hit Denny’s for my weekly prayer group. The guys around the table were ordinary Christians like me. Not pastors or teachers. But every time one opened his mouth, I felt like I was hearing God say, “Now, Steve. About the problems you’re having. Here’s what you do…” It was all on target. To some extent, I get that in the church’s services, but the things I hear in the small group are laser-guided and highly specific.

I talked to one of the guys about pizza. Two, actually, but I only talked to one about the business side. The other guy just wants to help in the church kitchen.

The other guy says he would be interested in getting involved, if I open a pizzeria. This would be a great help to me, because I’m just one person, and you can’t run a pizzeria by yourself. Even a small operation will require six-day-a-week labor, plus all the duties of management.

Right now, pizzerias are folding all over the county. I don’t know if that’s normal. It probably is. People who know nothing about cooking think they can learn it all from going to a food convention or buying a book written by someone who can’t make good pizza. Then they use bad ingredients in order to save money, and they’re undercapitalized, and they go belly-up. That’s my guess. The cheap ingredients have unquestionably been in play at a number of the places that have failed around here, and I’ve only seen one pizzeria with good food go out of business. In my entire life, I mean.

Anyway, pizzerias are available cheap. I can get into one for the price of a nice car, and that includes food, rent, and utilities for several months. That’s just insane. If I go out of business, who cares? I mean, okay, I care. But I won’t be busted.

If the first one works, I could buy two or three new ones. As soon as I can find people to man them, I mean. Eventually, I could run a circuit, consulting at each one to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.

If I did really well, I don’t know what to do with the money I’d be paid; I’d be thrilled just to have my long-dreamed-of armed compound north of Dade County, with a concrete wall and razor wire, plus trained roaming badgers with lasers on their heads. I would need to find good Christian causes to give to.

One of my problems has been the requirement that I only partner with Christians. That’s not negotiable. You can’t discriminate when you hire, but you can definitely discriminate when you choose partners. It’s not the same thing. There are no laws against it. So while I would eventually have employees of every stripe, they wouldn’t be high on the food chain, and I would not expect them to interfere with God’s efforts to make the business work. There would be no rainbow stickers on the doors, and all employees with carry permits would be allowed to provide for their self-defense.

I will not partner with a heathen regardless of whether people hate me for saying it, but I will definitely need management-level people to help me. That means I need competent Christians. Suddenly, they’re popping up. One has, anyway. Extremely solid guy. An excellent prospect.

I’m thinking the best thing is to retain over 50% of the ownership, so I can insist on my vision for the company. I want to keep the limited menu and my recipes and ingredients. But I want anyone who functions as a partner to be compensated well. I want to be a ruthless dictator, but not a stingy one.

I was hoping Mike would be available, but he’s trapped for another year and a half. That’s a bummer.

In months past, I just rolled the pizzeria idea around in my mind for fun, but now I’m starting to feel like I’m on rails, headed for the pizza business. Almost as if I have no choice. Which is fine and dandy by me. I would not mind living like Jacob, finding favor and guidance regardless of what my enemies do.

Waking up after my wedding with a homely girl, however…that I can do without.

I’m up for anything. I feel like I’m seated in the Tilt-a-Whirl car with the restraining bar firmly in place, and God is doing all the work. I could never have made this happen, and without the little shoves and nudges, I would not have made this decision, but if he wants to put it in motion, I’m on board all the way.

My judgment has always been…not spectacular…so if God wants to steer the bus, it will be hard to complain. In spite of my staggering talent for complaining.

Is this really going to happen?

Life is just too weird.

New Sensation for Me

I had a spiffy time at church today. I am finally starting to blend in. Every so often, I realize it’s a little weird for white Southern lawyer to be part of the cast of characters at a church comprised mostly of Haitians, Jamaicans, and Cubans, but the sensation only lasts for a second.

I think the kookier Christians get, the more post-racial we are. Charismatics are pretty far-out. Now that I think about it, there are a bunch of interracial couples in the church, so maybe my theory holds water.

When I was in law school, there was an annoying level of tension between blacks and whites. It was really bizarre. I guess I found it strange because of my past experiences in an Assemblies of God church, where people were just people. Sometimes I treated black law students as though they were just like everyone else, and they did not welcome it. Many of them separated themselves from the rest of us. Crazy, given that this was in the late 90s.

I’m part of the church’s “armorbearer” team, which is a group of men who do everything from basic security to getting the pastor his Altoids. We had a swell meeting after the service. We’re really coming together. We’re getting our firearms policy straight, and we’re taking steps to get professional security training so we don’t screw up too much. It’s a wonderful club to be in. These guys get it done; that’s what they’re all about. We don’t get to hop up and down on the stage or star in the church’s videos. We just wander around behind the scenes, trying to make stuff work. The people in the more glamorous jobs have their own problems to contend with, so we try to make life easier for them.

There are other volunteer branches in the church that keep things moving. The parking guys. The ushers. The kitchen people. If I try to make a list, I’ll leave half of the volunteers out.

I finally got to root around in the kitchen and make pizza plans. If I can work it out, I plan to go up there tomorrow and try to make a few pies with their equipment. This is just R&D. I have a feeling it won’t be hard to find test pilots.

Their ovens only go to 500°, which is troubling. I’ll have to see if it causes a problem. My guess is that it won’t. I would think thick pizza would actually benefit from a lower temperature.

They have a weird commercial convection oven which could conceivably bake several big pies at once, and they have a traditional gas oven. I’ll just have to see what works.

I think the best approach is to sell slices. This place is not efficient, and to sell whole pies, you need to move fast. And you need to have lots of trays and screens and containers for dough. That would be a pain. And most of our customers won’t want a whole pie anyway.

I want to train the customers to like Sicilian. It’s less messy, and you get much more food for the effort and time. You can cut one pie into eight slices, and every slice is a meal. Except for the gluttons. A 16″ circular pie will only serve four, assuming you cut it in eight slices.

I’m really excited. I’m happy to volunteer in any area, but it’s nice to do something I’m actually gifted at.

It turns out there is a Gordon Food Service four miles north of the church, and there’s a Costco not far off. That means I can get everything I need, nearby. We may be able to get quality stuff delivered by Sysco, but we’re not there yet.

I picked up some starter items. Cutter. Cookie sheet. Tray. Screen. Sauce. Cheese. Yeast. Vinegar. That will make getting started a lot easier. They’ll still have to get a peel and a food scale, and we have to figure out how to make dough. They have a Kitchenaid stand mixer that says “Hobart” on it, but I don’t know if they have dough attachments, and I have to figure out how to use them. A big food processor would be nice.

Light olive oil is a problem. Everyone squeals about extra virgin so much, I assumed the light stuff would be cheaper. But I haven’t found a good price on it. I’m considering mixing extra virgin with safflower oil. You really don’t want a heavy olive flavor in your pizza oil. It works fine in rolls, but extra light is perfect for pizza crust. GFS has a blend I might try. Sometimes the cheap stuff works better than the good stuff.

I sure hope this works out. It would be something for us to take pride in, and it would give people from the neighborhood a reason to walk in the door. And the cafe has been a real challenge for the church, so anything I can do to make it work will be a good thing.

Today I learned something interesting about one of the armorbearer guys I hang around with. He’s an accomplished musician. He plays the trombone. He used to tour and perform when he was a kid. My cousin’s husband is a classical trombone virtuoso, and this guy actually knows who he is. Can you beat that?

I can’t believe I know another person under 60 who knows who Lester Young was. Man, I feel less alone.

Another of those funny God “coincidences,” I guess.

I Shall not Fear for the Terror by Night

I think I have my carry thing together now. The Truglos are installed, and they work fine. They don’t light up the room, but you can see them in any light, so they’re everything they need to be. I also borrowed the belt pack I gave my dad for Christmas, so I could try it out. It’s excellent. Yank the zipper with the left hand, pull the Glock with the right, and it’s showtime. And when you wear the pack, you don’t look like a gun-toting maniac, except to the small percentage of people who have a clue what concealed carry is all about. To most people, you look like a dumpy tourist who can’t stand to leave the house without a digital camera and a video Ipod.

I think it’s better to look armed than unarmed, but it disturbs gun-phobics, and they’re all around us.

I plan to continue to carry in a pocket most of the time, but that’s not possible with some types of pants, and there are some situations in which I will be more concerned about quick access, and at those times, a belt pack is the prudent way to go. It’s an annoying thing to wear every day, so I’m generally willing to risk the small chance that the extra second it takes to pull a gun out of a pocket will matter.

You can have a seat belt. You can have a seat belt and a front air bag. You can have a seat belt and a front air bag and side air bags and a suit of armor and a trained polar bear and a Gatling gun. Readiness comes in levels, and everybody has to choose one, and you can drive yourself nuts insisting on an unrealistic level of safety.

This is pretty cool. I can have 21 +P 9mm rounds ready for use at almost all times, and now I can shoot in the dark. That sure beats depending on the kindness of strangers. You can do a lot with 21 shots, especially with a highly accurate Glock that’s easy to shoot.

My church permits concealed carry for certain people. That is like a perfect storm of joy. Throw in pizza prepared to my specs in the church kitchen, and you have something that approaches ecstasy.

Every church ought to allow it. It sure beats waiting until the God-hating lunatic with the AK-47 shows up and then praying for God to make him miss.

Churches collect cash at their services. I think criminals are aware of that.

In the future, the secular world is going to become more hostile to Bible-believing Christians and all Jews. A polarization is going to occur–you can see it happening now–and we’ll be in the minority. Might as well get a carry permit and learn to shoot now, before the rush.

It’s very odd. We’re the nice ones, but for some reason we, and not the godless, seem to be ending up with a lot more guns per capita. That’s okay with me. The only thing more troublesome than an angry hippie is an angry armed hippie. Look at the misery they cause without guns, and then imagine them treating firearms laws the way they treat laws against vandalism, theft, indecent exposure, drug possession, and trespassing.

Angry Wiener Dogs Shall Fall and Perish at my Presence

Had a great Saturday morning prayer group meeting, with the usual round of “coincidences” during and after.

We discussed firearms part of the time. We’re going to start going to the range. I may be required to get a little basic security training, so when the bad guys show up, I will know the proper way to become hysterical and incontinent. When I got my permit, my “class” was pretty rudimentary. It consisted of a Cuban telling me things like, it was really okay to shoot guys who aren’t close enough to harm me, provided they’re really big and black. Only he didn’t use the word “black.” If you get my drift.

Diversity is not everybody’s cup of tea, I fear.

I am having Truglos put on my carry piece right now. I put some on my dad’s new Glock, and they look great, so I figured it was a good idea. When are you most likely to need to shoot someone? When it’s dark. And the factory sights just don’t work.

People say the luminous sights will let the bad guy know where you are. Hello? If he doesn’t know where you are, you have no business aiming a gun at him. Situations where you would be justified in shooting a criminal who is unaware of your location are pretty rare. Personally, I’m more concerned about being able to aim than about letting the crook know where I am. And I think the ear-splitting explosions and bright muzzle flashes might tip him off anyway.

I’m going to break down and get a belt pack type of deal. I generally carry in a pocket, which is way better than not carrying, but sometimes I want to be better prepared, and a belt pack is a step up. It’s not as good as a real holster, but life can’t always be perfect.

If I ever end up going with a holster, I guess I’ll get a bigger Glock in .45 ACP. You know what they say. “Go big or go home.” But the 9mm is wonderful. You can carry 21 rounds of very effective ammunition with very little inconvenience.

While I was at the gun shop today, a guy came in with his wife or girlfriend. She carries, and he presumably carries, too, and he was walking a pit bull. Here is a guy who can wear any kind of watch he wants, anywhere, any time. And his Air Jordans will never leave his feet.

I can understand why insecure people like pit bulls, but it seems like a poor self-defense choice, especially when combined with a pistol. You can’t control the dog. You can’t aim while you’re holding a dog leash. And it sounds like a good way to get your pet shot or cut up without achieving much in terms of protection.

It’s also illegal to own a pit bull here.

I’d rather live among neighbors who all had submachine guns than among people with dangerous dogs. About one percent of dog owners (if that) are responsible enough to train and control their animals. And a gun can’t jump a fence and shoot you while its owner is at work.

One nice thing about carrying is that I don’t have to worry much about the irresponsible dog owners around here. They have to worry about me. If necessary, I can shoot their dogs, and if a dog gets loose and runs toward me while it’s being walked, I’ll be shooting in the general direction of the owner, and I won’t be liable for what happens. In fact, if I kill an innocent person, the dog owner, not I, will go to jail and get sued.

Something to think about when you buy a stupid, aggressive, loyal, territorial dog and fail to train it.

I think it should also be legal to shoot small yappy dogs on general principles, but I haven’t gotten anywhere with my legislation drive.

How do we know the Koreans aren’t onto something? I’m just saying we need to be open-minded.

And When I Die With Them, I Keep Them

Last night I watched Jazz with Marv and Maynard, and I enjoyed some Knob Creek and a Coke chaser. Then I went to bed, and while I was getting ready to sleep, I started thanking God for all the little pleasures in my life.

It was quite a list. It seems like the more mature I get, the better I am able to enjoy things. I eat less than I used to. I drink less. I quit smoking cigars. I try to curb my baser appetites, and I try to be more responsible. And I believe God works in me, making these things happen. As excess disappears from my life, the things I enjoy stand out more, perhaps because they’re not lost in the background noise of constant overindulgence.

Let’s see. I enjoy squeezing my pets and conversing with them. I enjoy the food I cook. I enjoy working on my musical skills. I love listening to good jazz and classical music. I love shooting and reloading. I look forward to having breakfast with my dad once a week. I love using my tools. I smile every time I see the ridiculous diesel pickup I bought. Every time I walk into my church, I feel like a kid running through the gate at Disneyland; I always know something good is going to happen.

The time I set apart for prayer and study is wonderful. Every session is a miniature Sabbath. It’s a sanctuary no one can intrude on, and more often than not, I sense God’s presence, and I feel like I’ve gotten a breakthrough.

You can have too much stuff in your life. You can have so much going on, you can’t appreciate any of it or do any one thing well. That’s very natural for me, as anyone who reads my blog knows, so I’m very glad God is adjusting me. Who knows? One day I might actually sell one of my motorcycles or even my flamenco guitar.

I’m keeping the milling machine and the Powermatic 66, however.

Covetousness. That was my problem. It’s not so much that I wanted what other people had; it’s that I wanted things that wouldn’t really bring me satisfaction. I used to buy stuff and then fail to enjoy it, because I thought too much about the things and not enough about the effort and time involved in deriving pleasure from them, so they sat and rotted. I still like to get toys, but now I get good use out of them, and I think that is because God is changing me and guiding me. It’s pretty unusual for me to regret spending money or time these days. I generally get a good return.

Somewhere in the Bible, it says something about how sad it is when a man has something he can’t enjoy. That’s what life without God is all about. You get rich, but you end up in rehab. You become famous, only to find that the thing you want most is privacy. Things like that happen. We don’t know which way we should go or what we should do, so we turn up blind alleys and end up with things that don’t bring us happiness. On the other hand, God promises us that if we’ll listen, he’ll guide us. He says, “I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye. Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.”

We don’t know what we need or what we want. We can’t know. The world is too complicated, and we’re not smart enough to see all the angles. Only God can know. So he gave us a system in which we obey him and listen to him, and he gives us what we should have. He gives us things that are truly satisfying, and which have lasting value. And at the end of our time, we don’t stand before God poor and blind and naked, which is what happens to people who amass the wrong kind of wealth. The stuff we take wrongly, we lose. We only keep that which we were intended to have.

I wish I could go back in time to about 1971 and slap myself. But like the relatives of the rich man in the parable about hell, I would not have listened.

Long ago, when I thought I was about to have a comic strip syndicated, I cut photos of sportfishing yachts out of magazines, and I taped them to walls and so on, to give me motivation to work. That seems funny now. What if I had succeeded? I’d be a big, fat, conceited (more than I am now) lout who thought he made it without God’s help. I’d have shallow friends who drank all the time and never set foot in a church. I’d have no relationship with God, because I’d think I didn’t need one. The yachting crowd is coarse and venal; I know them. I would have gotten sick of them in two seasons. I’m much better off with the folks who attend church on Saturday night.

I thought I knew what I needed, but I wasn’t even close.

I don’t know where I’m going, and I admit, I wish God would hurry up, but I know that things are better than they used to be, and the trend is positive, and it’s a trend I can trust. I’m not building on sand.

I don’t know if buying a cornet was a good idea, but it will be fun for at least two months, and it will cost very little. I actually prayed about it, and I really felt like I should try it. Weird.

I feel like a piece of rough lumber somebody is jointing and planing and sanding into shape. Life gets more enjoyable all the time. I even appreciate the problems and setbacks. Now they seem to have meaning, and every one ends up blessing me. It’s hard to harm someone who walks with God, because God takes everything you throw at him and makes it a help to him.

All that stuff Jesus said; it looks like it’s actually TRUE. That’s wild. I never thought he was lying, but it’s still impressive when I see his words confirmed.

Not Found in Stores

Wondering why people become home machinists? Take a look at what this guy built: LINK.

Isn’t that a beauty? He says it’s legal, too. I think this would be a great thing for dads to show young men who show up to take their daughters out.

Plus Boring Virus Whining

I guess people think I’m dead because of the gap in my blogging. Sorry to disappoint you. The virus has left me in a strange mental state in which I sort of drift around like a cloud. I just don’t feel like doing anything.

I’m not complaining. The soreness went out of my throat yesterday, and I haven’t had chills or aches since Saturday night. I’m caught up in a dreamy state in which I lack motivation. And I don’t feel like exerting myself mentally. This must be how liberals feel every day.

I’m so happy I can swallow and breathe, I don’t care much about anything else. I can almost taste food.

My doctor says about 4% of sore throats are strep throat, and the remainder are mostly viral. I tested negative for strep, so I guess I’m in the majority. I had both flu shots, and I haven’t had a high fever, so it’s probably not the flu.

The medicine I use causes much of my suffering. I loaded up on Afrin night before last, and after I got up in the morning, I had the notorious rebound effect, so until about nine p.m., I felt like I had rudder-box packing stuffed up each nostril. I also had problems with 12-hour Sudafed waking me up at three in the morning.

I decided to try guaifenesin. It’s supposed to loosen things up. Seem to work, but not all that well.

The guy who runs security at my church sent an email to everyone who works with him. An organization that trains security people will be having a two-day seminar in Fort Lauderdale in January. I think it would be great, but the $300 price is a bummer.

I think our church needs to have a few members packing heat at all times. We’re in the ghetto, and we collect cash offerings. Besides, being unarmed is almost never a good idea. Remember Jeanne Assam. Better yet, remember the people who were killed before the gunman ran into his first armed Christian.

Whenever I go into the building, I have to leave my carry piece in my truck, where it can be stolen by crackheads. I’m unarmed, the church has one less potential defender, and the crackheads have a chance to steal a nice pistol. This is not a good situation for anybody, except the crackheads. Plus, it’s a pain.

On the subject of guns, allow me to bring you good news. Federal FMJ 9mm ammunition is back down to $9.95 per box, where it should be. What a relief. You can find it at Outdoormarksman.com. They also have Wolf 7.62mm x 39 for $200/thousand. That’s helpful, if you need to sweep your church’s parking lot with a Vz 58. That will learn the heathens respect.

If I can make myself stand up long enough, I may finish my Saiga 12 conversion today. I would be really embarrassed if a burglar showed up before it was finished and all I had to offer him was a 1911.

I try to be a thoughtful host.

This Year’s Noche Buena Pig

I write a lot about tools and religion. Today I thought it might be interesting to talk about medicine. Here’s a look at the latest advances in prostate surgery. First, the surgery itself:

Second, the patient relaxing with a caring OR nurse.

I guess some of you realize this is not really prostate surgery. It’s the pig Val Prieto is cooking for tonight’s Christmas Eve feast. I helped him for a couple of hours, and during that whole time, I didn’t see a single kitchen implement, other than a spoon. It was all tools. Isn’t that how cooking should be?

This year he’s doing a small pig at his parents’ house. That’s a 50-pounder. And he cheated by buying congri instead of having me make it (thank you, Lord).

I know this does not photograph well, but here are some shots of the pig prep, in case you want to try this yourself. He got the pig at Winn-Dixie instead of the matadero, and he said it smelled fresh and was very clean. Until we got ahold of it.

The older gentleman in the photos is Val’s dad. The younger guy is his nephew, whose name I can’t spell. The OR nurse is Val’s sister.

There is some seismic instability in the pig, so I may have to run to Home Depot for some hardware cloth or chicken wire.

I prepared two pans of coconut flan, which I delivered this morning. Here’s a tip: if you cook your flan in disposable aluminum pans, put a heavy dinner plate on top of each one to keep it from floating in the water bath. If it floats, the flan will flow to the lower side of the pan, and you get a flan that is tall on one side and short on the other.

If you use my recipe, you might try adding an additional cup of half and half and maybe a tablespoon of sugar. I think I may have made the version in the book slightly thicker than it should be, and the added half and half will loosen it up.

Today is my dad’s birthday, and I got him a crappy fanny-pack-type thing for concealed carry. It’s perfectly nice, and it will be a great convenience, but it was cheap. He’s always telling me not to spend money on him, so I figured I’d let him see what happens when he asks for things he doesn’t really want. TOMORROW, on the other hand, he gets something better. A Glock 26 with Tru-Glo sights. I figure 24 hours of suffering are enough for him.

He’s 78 today, and I know he probably won’t live forever, so I figured I’d get him a gift to remember. On Father’s Day, he gets a pair of socks. Second quality. On sale. I am not made of money.

I know he’ll like the Glock, because he shot mine when he went shooting with me and my Christian buddies, and he loved it. I’m hoping this will give him incentive to keep shooting with us. I remember telling him we should take my pastor fishing, and he said, “I’m afraid he’ll get the Holy Ghost on me.” Maybe the same thing can happen at the range.

I have a prime rib roast in the fridge, for tomorrow. I salted it down and covered it with butter and mashed garlic. I’m hoping some of the salt will get into the meat. This will be the first time I’ve used a roast with the ribs cut off and tied back on. It will also be the first time I’ve used my dad’s Ronco Showtime rotisserie oven to do prime rib. The unknown variables scared me, so I called Mike for a consultation. He says he puts a little additional twine on the roast to reinforce it. That will keep the ribs and the meat from separating and falling apart.

He told me he likes to make prime rib and slice off a big portion of the fat and the underlying meat. You know the part I’m talking about. The extra-fatty meat around the outside of the cut. He likes to eat a sheet of that, basically. I was amazed to hear it, because one of my dreams has been to cook this and call it something like “filet of prime rib.” It’s unquestionably the best part of the meat.

I asked Mike what his wife and kids get when he does that, since it pretty well butchers the meat. He says A) he doesn’t care, because he does all the work and therefore makes the rules, and B) they don’t mind, because for some insane reason, they don’t want the fatty part.

Mike is a storehouse of that sort of manly wisdom.

Hope you and yours are having a fine Christmas Eve.

Ammo Stacks Make Nice Furniture for Profiteers

Outdoor Marksman has Federal 9mm ammunition for $11.95, if you buy a scant 20 boxes. Not too bad. To me, ten bucks a box is reasonable. We are getting closer to that point. Sellier & Bellot is down to $13 per box at Natchez Shooters Supplies.

It seems like commodities prices aren’t the problem. Copper is getting more expensive, in spite of the bad worldwide economy, but ammunition prices keep dropping. That leads me to suspect that profiteering is the big problem. Obama created an artificial ammunition market by threatening our Constitutional rights, and the people who make and sell ammunition may have been cheating us since it began.

I know there has been a lot of profiteering, because only a fool would believe there was any market justification for a $30 box of FMJ 9mm rounds or a $50 box of primers. But can it really be that greed is responsible for most of the price increases? People are basically evil, but ordinarily, they exhibit some restraint, especially when bad behavior offends their customers.

The folks who tried to corner the market seem to be starting to bleed. I see GP11 480-round battle packs selling on Gunbroker for $259. That’s only $30 above the market price. And a search of completed auctions shows GP11 is not selling. Great. I’m all about capitalism, but cheating people in a time of national upheaval is wrong.

Let’s see what else I can learn.

Hornady 17 HMR V-Max is failing to sell, at $10/50. That’s good news. That would have been an okay price before the Obama crisis.

I’m checking 9mm prices. The prices are a shock to the conscience, and I haven’t found one lot that has sold.

I’m checking 7.62x54mm 7N1, and apart from some sucker paying $285 for a case, it’s not selling.

Maybe the vultures are finally getting caught with excess inventory, as they deserve. Who on earth would pay $15 for Sellier & Bellot? This stuff is one step above throwing rocks. I’ve never had any problems with it, but it’s among the cheapest factory ammo around.

Gunbroker is such a ripoff. It’s virtually useless.

In other news, I had an interesting thought this week. I was thinking about the strange freedom God has given me from overeating, and about my church’s request that I get involved in making food for their cafe.

Back when I was working on my cookbook, I had extraordinary luck with recipes. It seemed like one dish after another was a startling success. I made some stupid things that didn’t work, but I had bizarre victories. For example, I made my coconut flan recipe up in one try, with very little experience to go on. I don’t like baked beans all that much, but I put together a recipe so good, I couldn’t quit eating them.

I got fat, especially after I got pizza under control. I could not stop making and eating delicious food. I couldn’t take the weight off.

Then God took away the compulsion to overeat, and the weight started coming off by itself. I can even resist pizza. And suddenly, my church needed help with their kitchen.

We always want God to give us stuff, and I’m sure he wants to do it. But would he be a good god if he gave us things that hurt us? Of course not. If I had been asked to work in the cafe before I got power over what I ate, it would have been a real problem. There is no way I would have been able to resist stuffing myself. But now I can go in there and cook anything they want, and I know I won’t get fat.

I got the blessing, and I was spared the danger inherent in getting what you wish for. That’s a big deal.

It makes me think about other things I’ve wanted, as well as things other people have wanted. I look at these things and see how they could cause harm if they were suddenly dumped on us.

I strongly suspect that God changes people, through the Holy Spirit and miracles as well as through work and scripture, so that when they get what they want, it will only bless them. I think God is cleaning me up so the good things I want can come my way, without making me rebellious or proud or ungrateful or fat.

We are told that he will give us the desires of our heart (Psalm 34), and that he only gives good gifts (Matthew).

I suppose, then, that if you want a thing, you have to want the power to avoid being harmed by it. If you want money or possessions, you have to want to be freed from greed and covetousness and selfishness. If you want power, you have to want compassion and generosity and gentleness. And if you want to cook for God, you have to want the ability to eat moderately. God doesn’t want to give us new idols or new masters. Doesn’t that sound plausible?

I’ve noticed that the less things control me, the more I enjoy them. I enjoy food a lot more, now that I’m not shoveling it down at every opportunity. I enjoy the things I own, now that they aren’t as exciting as they once were. I wonder what’s next.

The more you surrender, the more you win. That’s how it seems to work.

Maybe this is why many people who give to ministries and charities have little money. They overspend, they default on debts, they borrow at outrageous interest, and then they expect God to give them cash because they max out their credit cards to support missionaries and charities. How can God possibly repay them in kind, before he makes them fit vessels? Would you pour water into a reservoir with holes in it? And besides, what if these people gave money God never asked them to give, because they didn’t ask for his guidance? And if you give to a ministry while you cheat a creditor, whose money did you give? Not yours; that’s for sure. You stole from another person in order to give to God. Is he supposed to encourage that?

I think the charismatic “word of faith” crowd needs to think about these things. I don’t doubt that God wants to do stuff for us, but you shouldn’t ask him to be an enabler.

So once again, I have more to be grateful for than I realized. That’s the bottom line. If you can’t be grateful for discipline and instruction, you are utterly lost.

Relief

I got my fly cutter working. Thanks for the help.

Big shock: it was not a mysterious problem. It was just bad workmanship. It appears that the relief on the bottom edge of the tool was not sufficient. It worked in the past, and I did not find any evidence that wear had changed it, but when I ground the tool over again and put a nicer radius on it, it cut beautifully.

I threw my aluminum plates on the mill and resurfaced them. I had intended to get them to 0.500″, as closely as possible, purely for the learning experience, but I had to settle for 0.498″.

I decided to get a 4″ cam action fake Heinrich vise from Grizzly. People said a 6″ vise might be unwieldy, and I noticed that the mounting holes were not a great match for my slide table. I also ordered T-nuts and countersinks. I want to sink 3/8″ screws into the bottom of the plates, and I can’t do that unless the holes are countersunk or otherwise recessed.

My dad wants to know what I want for Christmas. I may let him help me out with the VFD or motor for the drill press. I can’t resist a chance to install a VFD. As for his Christmas, all I am willing to say now is this: I was forced to call the BATF and get information about “straw purchases” before I could take care of him.

I’m so glad God has given me a great relationship with my dad. Apart from the things God has done within me, it’s the greatest treasure I have. If you’re on the outs with someone, remember this: as long as there is a sliver of light in them, it is possible for God to reach them (and you) and help you reconcile. Some people are reprobates and can’t be fixed, but others will surprise you.

This week I’m going to start classes for the prison ministry at my church. I have no idea what I’m doing; I can’t believe I’m going. Over the last year, I thought I saw changes in a very headstrong and self-destructive person, and it gave me hope that others could be turned around, so when I found out we had a prison ministry starting, something pulled at my heart. Or maybe it was God’s boot in my rear end. I wonder what it will be like. I fully expect 95% of these men to be completely dishonest and unwilling to change, but surely some will be reborn. Jesus would not have told us to visit prisons if it were a waste of time. I hope I overestimate their unwillingness to learn and change.

I’m having some difficulties right now with someone I have been praying for and trying to help in the walk of faith. Perhaps a few readers would take a minute and say a prayer. God has been so wonderful to me, I want everyone to share in it, but you know what they say about leading horses to water. And it can be very frustrating when a difficult person provokes you to the point where you worry that your own attitude and behavior grieve the Holy Spirit and put the brakes on your development. It’s easy to sound holy on a blog on the same day you told someone off, face to face.

I keep saying I expect to be perfect any day now. I can’t understand why it has been delayed.

My jowl bacon, dried apples, and blackberry jam arrived from Kentucky. It’s almost like being at Granny’s house. I guess tomorrow I’ll fry up a couple of slices. The apples are not as brown and dry as the ones I remember. I don’t know if that will affect their usefulness in dried pies.

Life is good for me. Maybe some day I’ll succeed in helping one other person have it as good as I do. Perhaps this will occur next month, when perfection is finally upon me.

Iwon Losing Comedy Demographic

Via Sondra, I saw a crude but extremely funny SNL video this morning. I can give you the basic idea. The Chinese premier or president or whatever is on a stage with Obama, and Obama tries to talk tough and self-righteous about trade issues and human rights, and the Chinese guy responds by utterly trashing Obama’s wasteful and unsuccessful economic programs, and by pointing out that we owe China $800 billion. And even though the sketch appeared on one of liberal NBC’s most liberal shows, the actor playing Obama was not given any clever responses. They made Obama look like a fool. And the New York audience howled!

Everything smart people on the right predicted about Obama is coming true. He is amateurish, embarrassing, and completely inept. He has succeeded in piling up so much debt, our future socialism is virtually assured even if he turns into a Libertarian tomorrow afternoon. His ego has become an offense to a wide segment of the American population. And he is so hostile to Israel, it is hard to conclude that anything other than heartfelt anti-Semitism can be at work.

It wouldn’t be so hard to watch, were he not a tremendous clod. I will never get over the photograph of Obama after the Presidency-debasing “beer summit.” His race-pimp professor buddy slandered a cop, and Obama followed suit, and neither was man enough to apologize. After the awkward beer drinking, the gracious cop helped the professor down the stairs. While Obama skipped toward the cameras like a kid rushing the door at Toys R Us.

I guess the consolation here is that with his popularity dropping, Obama will be skipping toward the cameras less and less. His dealings with the press will be less like full-body massages and more like trips to the principal’s office. Maybe he will be improved by the experience of facing hostile journalists for the first time in his life. I tend to doubt it. Clods have a problem perceiving their own faults, so they do a poor job of correcting themselves. Obama will probably react defensively, releasing his West Wing flying monkeys on the press at large, the way he released them on Fox News. If so, the results will be even more disastrous and humiliating. Obama got his rear end handed to him by a single cable network. If he goes after the MSM, he is going to go home to Illinois in a collection of Zip-Loc bags.

People call him Carter II. I hope that makes Sarah Palin Reagan II. We know all the dirt on her now, including dirt that was completely made up. There isn’t much left to hit her with. When Sarah Palin writes an autograph, the AP assigns a team of reporters to fact-check her signature. Old dirt isn’t as good as fresh dirt. What are they going to sling at her in 2012?

She’s a little weird, but she did a bang-up job in Alaska. Prior to resigning, I mean. And she had no choice about that. The left’s policy of criminalizing conservatism made it financially impossible for her to remain in office.

I’d vote for her in a heartbeat. She prays. She thinks for herself. She’s conservative. She’s a hardcore gun-rights supporter. She hates taxes. She isn’t corrupt. Name one other Republican who fits that description and who has a high enough profile to be elected.

I don’t know what to pray for when it comes to Obama. Do I pray he turns to God and gives up socialism and learns to be sincere, or do I pray he crashes and burns so horribly no one will be able to stomach the Democrats for forty years?

You have to pray for people to improve. That’s what I’ll do. But unless he has a life-changing Damascus Road moment, I would hate to see him in power in 2013.

I guess I can pray that the damage he does will be reversible.

Today is a great day. I have some time, and I have some things I want to do. Motorcycle repair. Machining. Yard stuff. I’m going to choose some things I think I can get done, and I’m going to get on it. The weather is right, and it’s going to be even better later this week. I no longer have the excuse of heat stroke.

Maybe I should start by vacuum-sealing all of my pork sausage.

I am always reluctant to say God told me this or that, but over the last few days I’ve felt great faith that I will be getting out of Miami before long, and that God is going to give me a career other than law. And I’ve felt faith that he’s going to do a few other major things for me. I hope this is all true, and that I will be able to avoid screwing it up.

Miami is a place that attracts cursed people. It is not a happy city. It used to make sense for my family to be here, but I think we’ve done our time. God willing, I will be found worthy of an area where the people are more conservative and more in touch with God. That would sure be nice.

I Will Adorn it With Crosses in Honor of My President

I got my Saiga-12 fixed up. I haven’t machined the receiver for the new buttstock, but I got the new trigger guard and fire control group installed. The buttstock will be very easy compared to this other stuff.

I learned a lot from the people at Saiga-12.com. They are extremely helpful and patient.

Some tips for people who do their own conversions:

1. Go to the forum at Saiga-12.com for help. Those guys are fantastic.

2. Don’t forget to take out whatever is retaining the trigger and hammer pins before trying to tap them out of the receiver.

3. Use a center drill (Google it) to start the holes when you drill out the rivets on the Hillary-style trigger guard and the old trigger group. Use a drill press or milling machine to start the holes on the trigger guard rivets, if possible.

4. When you take out the bolt hold open lever and spring, make sure you sketch the location and orientation of the parts. They make no sense, and if you look for pictures online, you’ll find stuff that’s misleading.

5. When you put the gun back together, install the safety lever first. Trust me.

6. If you have a Tromix fire control group, the big V-shaped retaining spring for the hammer and fire control group pins should be oriented with the point of the V toward the back of the gun. If it won’t click into place, open the loop at the point of the V slightly and try again.

7. When you install a Tromix fire control group, the hammer goes in backwards.

8. To reinstall the BHO lever and spring, do this. Drop the trigger in. Put the pin in it. Make a 1/8″-long (or shorter) bend in the short end of the spring, so it catches the little projection on the lever. Drop the spring into the receiver. Run the pin through it, into the far side of the receiver. Drop the BHO lever in. Make yourself a tool from a paper clip (don’t use a dental pick). Straighten the clip and make a tiny hook at one end, just big enough to hold the spring wire. Make a bigger hook at the other end, big enough to go around a screwdriver shaft. Catch the spring end in the little hook, put a screwdriver in the big hook, and use the screwdriver shaft as a handle to pull the spring end toward the muzzle of the gun. You should be able to drop the spring end onto the projection on the lever. This tip is worth its weight in gold. You don’t need the BHO lever, so you can throw it out if you want.

I find it amusing that “BHO” stands for “bolt hold open” as well as B. Hussein Obama.

9. Don’t worry about scratching the finish on the gun, because it’s no good and will need to be replaced. Use aluminum oxide 120 grit to blast the old crap off, and then coat the gun with Norrell’s moly resin or Brownell’s aerosol equivalent. You can use Norrell’s on the inside of the receiver, because it’s too thin to interfere with moving parts. Not sure about Brownell’s. Glass bead blasting will result in a finish that falls off.

That’s about it. I learned some of this stuff from experience and some by begging and Googling.

Now it’s time to relax and have a healthy dinner of ham hocks, fried apples, and mustard greens.

Pre-conversion:

Post-half-conversion:

Mr. Kalashnikov’s Latest Must-Have

Last night I finally got to work on my Saiga 12 conversion.

For those of you who are behind the Bible-and-gun-clinging curve, the Saiga 12 is an AK-47 12-gauge shotgun. It’s magical. Low recoil, a clip instead of a tubular magazine [someone tell me the right name for “clip” and I’ll put it in, but “magazine” obviously doesn’t work], and AK reliability and simplicity, plus you can get one for 500 bucks. Hmm…way over a thousand for a Gucci semiauto that holds fewer rounds and has a lame tubular magazine, or $500 for an AK that shoots buckshot? Real hard choice there.

For reasons too boring to go into, the government makes the Russians put a bunch of pansy parts on the Saiga, in order to make it resemble a sporting gun. Picture yourself hunting ducks with this thing. Insane. As soon as you buy one, you’re supposed to buy other parts to make it work properly. You move the trigger forward, add a pistol grip, and get rid of the silly Elmer-Fudd-style buttstock. You can also get magazines holding up to 12 rounds, but for some reason, the 8-round jobs are favored.

You have to drill out rivets and mill off unneeded tabs and so on. I got my parts a long time ago, but I didn’t have machine tools, so I put off doing the conversion. Last night I decided to attack.

The milling machine made the work a lot less nerve-wracking. I got the rivets out without damaging the gun. Putting the new fire control group (“trigger and stuff”) in the gun was a horror. The Tapco parts I ordered did not come with instructions, so there was a lot of painful trial and error. My fingers are sore today, but I got the parts in there. I still have to add everything up and make sure the result is legal.

Now the trigger spring needs to be bent. Kalashnikovs come with strange springs made of twisted wires, and they’re sloppily made. The one I have isn’t bent correctly. It didn’t matter with the old parts, but the new parts don’t like it. Only one arm of the spring is doing anything, so there isn’t much pressure on the trigger, which means it can release the hammer with very little provocation. As a result, when you cock the gun, it doesn’t stay cocked. The hammer falls when the bolt goes forward. I would guess that if I tried to shoot it, the result would be rapid fire, followed by hilarity with the range officers and the power-mad goons fine public servants at the BATF.

I wanted to ship the gun to a smith who does conversions, but thanks to Obama, they are backed up until the year 3000.

The finish on this gun is horrible. It’s a crinkly black coating which flakes off when you look at it hard. And the area that used to be covered by the old trigger guard is bare. I’m going to have to put something on it. I’ll take a look and see if the professionals are still backed up. If not, I’ll send it off. If I can’t do that, I’ll have to use one of the coatings they sell for home use. That will require blasting the parts. What a pain. On the up side, the sight of me doing this in the front yard will have a positive effect on the attitudes of my neighbors.

In the meantime, I guess I can cover the bare areas with Super Blue.

I still have to mill some stuff off. It makes me nervous, putting the gun in my machining vise. I put wooden shims beside it and paper towels under it. Seems to work.

It looks like the Jacobs chuck I got on Ebay, trying to save money, is a piece of junk. With a small drill bit, the runout nearly exceeds the bit’s diameter. With a large bit, the chuck keeps falling off the arbor. I don’t think the arbor is the problem. I can indicate it and see. My used Albrecht chuck is perfect; I just assumed a Jacobs chuck that looked good in photos would be okay. Wrong.

My father is all interested in Martin County, which is up the coast a ways. He wants a waterfront place. I would much prefer inland. I want land around me when cling to my reactionary paraphernalia and grow food and can beans. A waterfront house on half an acre costs more than a mansion–that term is no exaggeration–on five or ten acres farther inland.

The older I get, the less boating does for me. It’s a lot of work. The boat always has mechanical problems which I have to fix (or fail to fix after hours in the sweaty, greasy bilge). I invariably get sunburned. I can’t get my friends to learn to do things for themselves, like tying knots and rigging baits, and they often show up hung over. Also, Miami boaters are even ruder than Miami landlubbers, which is saying a great deal. They make fishing unpleasant. My dad enjoys it tremendously, though, so that makes it worthwhile for me. It appears that it will negatively affect our choice of properties, however.

Given the giant differential between waterfront and inland real estate prices, coupled with the collapse of the Florida real estate market, I suppose there is no reason why I couldn’t get some land of my own, not too far from our compound. That would mean paying for additional razor wire and land mines. And of course, a second pair of Rottweilers trained to eat Jehovah’s Witnesses, Omaha Steaks representatives, and mimes. And burglars and murderers, I guess, although they don’t disturb me nearly as much.

Have you seen the Omaha Steaks people? Them and the other food truck guys? It’s very sad. The companies that sell this dubious food convince them to blow their savings on refrigerated pickups full of things no one wants, and here is their sales secret: knock on the door, start backing up toward your truck, and say you want to show the mark something. If you want to freak one out, don’t budge. The natural human instinct is to follow someone who says he wants to show you something. If you don’t move, it ruins the pitch.

You never see those guys twice. I guess they all go out of business. It’s awful to con someone into investing in a business you know is almost certain to fail. Especially when it involves sales, which is full of psychic trauma to begin with.

If I were going north by myself, I’d be looking at northern Georgia and southern Tennessee. I love Eastern Kentucky, but it’s a depressing place. People just don’t do well there; it’s as if the land rejects them. And the corruption, racism, and unnecessary ignorance wear me down. It’s bad enough that I have to hear the word “nigger” in rap music pouring out of car windows. I don’t need to hear it from people I know, in my own living room. One of the great things about charismatic churches in the South is that they’re destroying racism. It would be nice to live in an area where charismatics are big.

Some areas of Appalachia are more blessed than others; that’s the simple truth. Maybe I could find one. I keep thinking about the area around Chattanooga. Check this property out: CLICK. How about that? Room for a garden! It also has a basement for MACHINE TOOLS. The price is $265,000, so call it 250. Down here, that gets you a 2-bedroom shed in Little Havana with a Cuban-style paved yard. And this house is in an area full of holy rollers, so I’ll fit right in. “The Lord told me I needed a surface grinder and a Barrett .50-caliber rifle.” “You TOO?” “I got a couple I’m trying to sell.” “My mom is believing for a new AR-15.”

Somebody I believe to be honest and in touch with God claims the US is headed for a famine. He says this has been revealed to him. I wonder if it’s true. So many Christians are bugging out.

I can’t relate to the desire to be in a big flashy town. I have always been disgusted and bored by social climbing, and I cook so well, I have little enthusiasm for restaurants. Cultural offerings tend to be pretty sordid these days. I don’t go to movies or concerts. I have never had any inclination to support a sports team associated with a city; I find the concept perverse and tiresome. There is a kind of shallowness associated with a desire to be in big, well-known cities. I would rather live among nice people, with a little ground around me. Hopefully God will see fit to find the right place for me.

“We Could Raid the Fat Guy’s House if he Didn’t Have all Those Guns”

Is this the greatest day in the history of the world, or what? It’s 64° outside, I have nine new jars of home-canned sweet pickles, I have new tires on my diesel 4×4, and I’m sitting on what amounts to a small ammunition dump. Plus I’m enjoying big mug of decaffeinated coffee with half and half. All of the pleasure with none of the tics and irritability.

I’m trying to decide what else to can. I was really excited about pork sausage and pickles, but the pickles are done, the sausage isn’t going to be that much of a challenge, and I need to come up with other stuff.

I’m thinking beans. I bought a bunch of dried beans for SHTF purposes, but they become useless after about a year and a half, unless you know how to turn them into flour. They would be much more useful if they could be kept longer. And I just happen to make amazing bean soup. I make soup beans, black bean soup, and navy bean soup. It’s incredibly good.

If I can this stuff, I’ll have SHTF beans that will last much longer than dried beans. I think. I have to find out how long canned beans keep.

Man, this would be great. Pint jars full of tasty soup, waiting for cornbread and greens.

I guess the wet blankets will point out that beans are available in remarkable new inventions called cans. But they’re not as good, nor are they as much fun. I like Bush’s beans just fine, but it’s just plain stupid to compare them to real beans.

I wonder if I could can barbecue beans. I don’t see why not. Oh, man. Yes. What a convenience. BBQ beans plus browned smoked sausage! And I could can chili! My astounding Unauthentic White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Chili, with tons of homemade chili powder and exotic peppers. Picture it, sitting in little jars, just waiting to rip the intestines out of unsuspecting wimps. Wow, would that be great. I could can the wuss version plus the manly version, and when I wanted to serve chili to people, I’d be able to keep the versions separate.

I’m so tired of lame chili. When I make it for myself, I can ratchet the heat up, but if even one other person eats with me, I’m forced to make it weak and silly.

CANNED DORO WAT! OH, BABY! I just thought of that! Canned Ethiopian-style chicken stew! Brutal and satisfying.

Oooh…canned collard greens with salt pork.

I have to hold onto something. This is too much.

If Obama continues working his economic magic, and I’m forced to eat stored food, I’ll eat better than I do right now. I wonder if chili will keep getting better in a jar, the way it does in the fridge.

I’m Googling around, and I see cautious people recommending a 1-year storage maximum, while others say that if the food passes inspection, you can keep it much, much longer. I just read about canned goods found on a ship that sunk in 1865. They were tested in 1974 and found to be okay.

I can tell you this. My grandmother never threw anything out in her life, unless it said “whiskey” on the label.

Tires!

Here’s a snippet from an email from someone I know who travels around and meets a lot of Christians:

I’m north of Atlanta and I also met 4 ladies yesterday here in GA.
Again – Guns and God and preparation! And it’s not just talk now.
People are doing it. Amazing.

What on earth is going on? People aren’t conspiring to make this happen. It’s not deceitful, contrived, Obama-style Astroturfing perpetrated by professional liars. This is the real thing.

Yesterday my dad started talking seriously about moving north. A long time ago, I told him I was considering moving out of this seedy and unpleasant county, and he said he thought that was a great idea, so instead of looking for a relatively small place for me to buy, we started looking at a bigger place for him to buy. A compound! Now the plan is back on the table.

We’ll need razor wire. Motion sensors. Rottweilers. Soap cannons and deodorant mines to repel hippies. I have shopping to do.

I’m going to see if we can get out of Miami in the near future and look at some properties. There is nothing here for me. Most of my friends have left town. I no longer have an office. My only important connection is my church, and I could move eighty miles north of here and still be able to attend. Or I could find a new church.

I would absolutely love to move to south Tennessee or northern Georgia. I could never get my dad to do that, however, and I think he needs to have family nearby, so I can’t very well do it without him.

I stuck new tires on the truck today. Very nice. I could swear they ride smoother and more quietly, but that could be my imagination. They seem to track better. The old ones seemed to make the truck ramble around a little. Now I’m prepared for SHTF driving.

They didn’t charge me sales tax. Can’t figure that out. Maybe today is a tax holiday.

For a couple of years, Perry Stone has been predicting heavy-duty economic problems for the US. He doesn’t claim to know the day when it will hit, but he thinks food will be scarce. Back in 2008, he said he thought people who owned their homes outright would be better off than everyone else. I guess that’s always true.

I’m going to start canning sausage, and I have to think about other stuff that would be good to have around if the power went off. You can always buy prepackaged food, but why not have things you actually enjoy? Shuck beans! Pickled beans! Dried apples! Country ham! Live better on your survival rations than you do when you use stores.

What else do I need? Maybe another crate of ammunition for the K31. Unbelievably, I can buy GP11 locally.

I keep thinking a nuclear blast or WMD attack on US soil is on the way. The Fort Hood incident proves we are not doing enough to thwart Muslim kooks. We’re spending lots of money, but a huge percentage of it is wasted harassing harmless non-Muslims for the sake of political correctness. If an Army doctor can place calls to Al Qaeda and repeatedly announce his anti-American sentiments without even getting reprimanded, Muslims can bring an atomic bomb into New York harbor. Sooner or later, we’re going to reap the harvest of self-hatred and empty liberal grandstanding. We’ll turn on our televisions and see a smoking ruin that used to be the New York Stock Exchange or the US Capitol. Then the real recession will start, and the only people who will get through it without eating their pets and drinking from puddles will be the Bible clingers and home-schoolers out in the woods.

When people who should know better do unbelievably stupid things over and over, it means there is a spiritual cause. I believe that. I believe this is what caused the real estate collapse. A monkey could have seen it coming, yet brilliant investors and financiers could not. Now the people who are supposed to protect us are clamoring about a nonexistent anti-Muslim backlash instead of screaming about our failure to take action against domestic terrorists. Media “experts” are moaning about Nidal Hasan’s imagined “pre-post-traumatic stress syndrome” when they should be noting his Muslim fanaticism. When people behave this stupidly, the supernatural is at work. Our guard is being taken down by occult forces so we will be open to an attack a sane America would have prevented as a matter of course.

This shows how weak the flesh is when God is against you. We think we can take care of ourselves, but without his protection, we are as stupid as lemmings.

I hope I’m not here when things really start popping. I want to be at least a hundred miles away, with my shelves loaded with tasty home-canned grub and my Saiga 12 loaded with law-enforcement-only buckshot.