Nibble on They Tiny Feet

I can see why Kim du Toit gets so much traffic. It’s not the weekend pinups. It’s the guns! Every time I post a gun question, I get a pile of comments.

Last night, I asked about varmint calibers.

I feel funny, using the word “varmint.” Nobody really says that, except for shooters and cartoon characters and the Beverly Hillbillies. I have no idea what part of the country that term comes from, but wherever it is, I’ve never been there. Maybe Mel Blanc made it up. It’s sort of like “ornery.” Who says that? Or at least, who pronounces it the way it’s spelled? In Kentucky, people pronounce it “onry,” as in “onry old bitch.” I’ve never heard “ornery.” Or “dagnab it” or “consarn it.”

I’ve fooled around with two weird rifles: the K31 and the Romak III. The K31 is great, but the scope mount is not quite right. The gun shoots low and to the right, by around 8″ at 100 yards. The scope won’t adjust far enough to compensate. I haven’t gotten around to shimming it so the scope will be on the point of impact. I can’t quite get used to the idea of cutting pieces out of a beer can and putting them inside my pretty black rings. The Romak has a trigger problem I haven’t succeeded in fixing. I think it would be nice to get a cheap, accurate, modern gun that shoots relatively inexpensive ammunition, so I can finally learn how to shoot a rifle.

People are making suggestions based on the idea that I would hunt with it. I don’t see that happening. I have nowhere to hunt. If I did, I’d be hunting pigs. And that would mean scoping the Desert Eagle. There is no way I’d be able to resist. I wouldn’t be making long-distance shots, so a scoped pistol would be perfect. Although I’m afraid the pigs would pop like watermelons.

You don’t need much of a rifle to hunt pigs, anyway. The Cubans rely on the .22 LR. I think it would be a little weird, showing up with a heavy-barreled .243 with a scope. The Desert Eagle would be weird, too, but the fun factor would outweigh the weird.

I think the .223 and the .22-250 are good choices, because the ammunition is cheap. Not much more expensive than pistol ammunition. I might be able to avoid the trauma of setting up to do a new caliber on the ammunition press.

People were asking about the distance. As far as I know, down here, there is no place where you can go past 100 yards. But it seems like the best choices for that distance are the varmint calibers, so it doesn’t make any difference.

The first time I shot the Romak, I was next to an old guy who shot his own wildcat loads. Combining a .243 with something else. I forget. He said he spent his vacations killing prairie dogs. Imagine, paying two or three thousand dollars to fly to another state to shoot giant rats. That is a guy who likes to shoot. And not someone you would want to make angry.

Maybe I’ll expand the gun board at Manly Grub. In fact, I just did. I know the profanity filter will drive a lot of gun nuts away, but I don’t care. The Internet is filthy enough already.

Thanks for the tips.

Watch Them Pop

Okay, let’s say a person wants to quit farting around with exotic rifles and get something cheap that will actually shoot well and not feel like a .22. What’s the best caliber? The choices are .223, .22-250, and .243.

It’s B. Hussein Obama, Tying his Shoes

Chris Muir has progressed from satire to blasphemy. He has slandered the Holy One.

By the way, the correct term for criticizing an Obama–any Obama–is “hating.”

I just can’t believe we could have a pencil-neck like that for a President. Have you seen his arms? Jimmy Walker could beat the snot out of him. He looks like Olive Oyl.

And I still can’t get used to the idea of a President with a head the size of a grapefruit.

He’s Large and in Charge

I have an exciting announcement. Manly Grub now has an honorary mascot. I have awarded that honor to Prince Chunk, the recently discovered 44-pound housecat.

Drop by the forum and tell us how you would cook him. Call it a contest. I’ll look at any recipe submitted by Monday. On Tuesday, I’ll arbitrarily and unfairly choose a winner, who will receive nothing. Probably.

I predict it will be less than two weeks before a rapper decides to name himself Prince Chunk.

Great Uncle Passes Away

I just found out my great uncle is dead. He was my grandmother’s younger brother. I wrote about him recently; it was July 2. I referred to him as “Bill” because I didn’t want any problems with some people I was criticizing. Some relatives had taken him in; something about caring for him in exchange for a house.

He got pneumonia and became emaciated, and my aunt found out about it and had him moved to a nice nursing home in her town. We were able to put him in better surroundings, and he got visits, and he had a roommate he liked. And we got him some creature comforts. But he didn’t last long. We should have been looking out for him; he has closer relatives whom you would expect to watch over him, but apparently they chose not to, and for one reason or another, we didn’t take up the slack very well. I can sit here and write about how I’m a thousand miles away and no one keeps me in the loop, but the final conclusion is that he had relations who could have helped him sooner, and he fell through the cracks.

The way Americans treat the aged is a disgrace, and I am sure we are judged for it. I’m glad I figured that out in time to be good to my father. I’m also glad I never had the opportunity to neglect a close relation of advancing years, because I might well have done it, had I had the chance. It’s so convenient to pack them off to warehouses and visit them once a year. I have done a lot of selfish things in my life; I can’t say that would have been beyond me.

It’s sad that we learn these lessons so far into life. Sometimes, by the time you learn, you’ve already done a great deal of damage, and it can’t be undone.

My mother did not live to enter old age. I was good to her, but not as good as I should have been, and not soon enough. I will always regret that I didn’t do better. But because of her, I will always be conscious of the need to do well by others who are older than I am.

If you’re in the same boat, or worse, I have something that might make you feel a little better. You can go to the website of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews and donate money for the care of elderly Jews in the former USSR or Holocaust victims in Israel. You’ll never know who you helped, but at least you’ll know that you are doing what ought to be done. Some of these folks have no relatives, and I suppose some have relatives who just don’t care. Maybe there is someone you didn’t treat right when you had the chance. The IFCJ can help you show that you’ve changed.

By the way, the Manly Grub Forum has a board where people post the names of charities they like. Most of them are new to me. If you ever feel the need to give, the board might be of some use to you. You can find it here.

I talked to my aunt on the phone tonight. Apparently, people in the town where my mother and many of my relatives are buried look down on you if you don’t keep flowers on the graves of your loved ones. I guess I’m awful, but I have never cared much about putting flowers on graves. I always think of the dead as spirits who are far from the grave, so I don’t feel like it’s meaningful to put flowers on tombstones. Maybe that’s a character flaw.

She told me about an old mountain tradition called “Decoration Day.” People up in the hills used to make flowers from crepe paper and dip them in paraffin to protect them from the rain. Then on Decoration Day, they’d put them on the tombstones of people they knew. I had never heard of it. People up there must think my father and sister and I are barbarians, for failing to look after my mother’s grave.

My aunt told me that someone had placed American flags on the graves of my grandfather and her husband, my uncle. Probably for the Fourth.

A long time ago. someone in the family put a dogwood tree on one of the graves. My other aunt’s, I think. On the next visit, there was no tree on the grave. But there was one just like it on another grave, up the hill.

So tonight I told my aunt things were looking up. They used to steal our landscaping, and now they were making contributions to it. You have to wonder what kind of person puts a stolen tree on a grave.

Take a look at those charities. Might bring you some comfort.

We are at the Gates of Hell

Did My Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy originate “Obamateur™”?

I certainly hope so.

The scariest thing about Obama is that he taught at a law school. No one who hasn’t been to law school can understand how inept and effete law professors are. They are among the most helpless, incompetent people in society. You have to know the species to understand.

She is a Mean Old Thing

I did a short Mancow spot this morning, and I was thrilled to get it. I will make Eat What You Want and Die Like a Man – The World’s Unhealthiest Cookbook famous if it kills me.

Right now, I’m taking a break. I always need to wind down after a radio bit. Somehow, I ended up Googling typhus and typhoid. Evidently, the British used to confine carriers in mental asylums, and some were not released until about sixteen years ago. You would think these miserable people would have been freed once antibiotics were available, but not all of them were. And some went crazy from confinement, assuring they would never be released.

We are so spoiled now. So lucky. For millennia, the world’s population increased slowly, and then in recent centuries, it took off. Why? Because life is so easy now, compared to the old days. Technology has given us so much protection.

I once read a book on the black plague. I had always assumed the plague was a one-time thing, but boy, was I wrong. Once plague epidemics began in Europe, they came back over and over. You probably know that the disease was carried by fleas, but it was also possible to contract it by being near a person who coughed or sneezed. Then you died in misery, and you stood a good chance of infecting your loved ones in the process.

And we worry about gas-price spikes.

Typhoid bore similarities to the plague. Some believe the “plague” Thucydides wrote about was typhoid, and some believe it was typhus. You can spread typhoid by failing to wash your hands after you use the toilet, which means about 75% of American men are potential carriers. Typhus is no fun, either, and it’s spread by lice. Before the modern age, there was no way to fight lice, and even in the 20th century, lice managed to infect many, many people.

People used to die from the flu, by the millions. And the bird flu scare reminded us that it can happen again. Now that I think about it, millions of people have died from malaria, which is preventable, because we haven’t used DDT responsibly. It’s funny; the hippies call the earth–an inanimate object–“Gaia,” and they claim it’s our mother, and that it wants to take care of us. The truth is that the earth has been working hard to kill us since the dawn of time, and it succeeds in numbers that would make Hitler and Stalin and Mao weep with admiration. Does your mother want you dead? Mine never did. I’d like to hear Gaia’s loving explanation for Katrina or the Dust Bowl or locusts or cretinism. And how about radon? The earth doesn’t love us, and it doesn’t take care of us. The earth is our enemy, and we continue to exist because we made it our slave. We survive because we fight the earth every day.

It’s funny; we see ourselves as precious and important, but in the past, we were downright ephemeral. Life was unbelievably perilous.

These days, if you avoid heart attacks, car wrecks, and cancer, you can pretty much expect to reach 80. At least, that has been true for the generations which reached that age in recent decades. It may not be true of the current generation; there may be a problem ahead of us which will change the picture.

We feel entitled to grow old. How strange that would have seemed to a person living in the nineteenth century.

I have to wonder if our illusion of invulnerability contributes to our immorality. If you’re 35 and you’ve never been to a funeral, maybe it’s only natural that you would ignore God and do whatever you want. Adversity changes people’s attitudes. They say that during the plague epidemics, people would throw their jewelry and money over monastery walls, to bribe God. And the monks threw it back, fearing it carried disease.

One of life’s great challenges is to maintain faith, gratitude, and obedience, in times when life is easy. There is a perpetual cycle. Faith and obedience beget prosperity, prosperity begets pride, pride begets sin, and sin begets misfortune. Which begets faith and obedience.

I wish I hadn’t started Googling! Sometimes a break can take more out of you than work.

Me, Mainly

I have a nice media opportunity today. Do me a favor and say a prayer for me. After all, ultimately, God decides who succeeds and who does not.

No, Really

Does anyone know whether there are any Browning Buck Mark pistols a Tactical Solutions Trail-Lite barrel won’t work with?

Not that I am planning anything. Although that Buck Mark Plus with the nice wooden grip looks sweet.

Bennigan’s Files its Last TPS Report

I just read about Bennigan’s going bankrupt. I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise. I haven’t seen a Bennigan’s ad in ages.

The story was particularly interesting to me, because my cousin used to manage for Bennigan’s. He told me that if you wanted decent food, and you had to choose between Bennigan’s and T.G.I. Friday’s, you should go with Friday’s, because they actually tried to cook food a human could eat. He said the beef they used at Bennigan’s was something called “utility grade.” Like, if you don’t eat it, you can use it to make a sturdy doormat.

There are eight grades of beef, and all but three sound horrifying. Prime, Choice, Select, Standard, Commercial, Utility, Cutter, and Canner. Think about the lousy choice steaks you’ve had, and then try to imagine all the things that have to be wrong with a piece of meat before they drop it four more grades.

Now, I am not claiming I know for a fact that they used this stuff, or that the food was generally bad. I do know that my cousin worked for them and claimed Bennigan’s was purely “a money machine,” and that making good food was not a priority.

As for Friday’s, I have two problems with them. First, it is REALLY hard to find anything on their menu that isn’t fried, yet which I consider worth eating. Coming from the guy who thinks pig skin is candy, this is a harsh indictment. Second, they always smell awful. Like rancid grease. Like water in which Michael Moore’s baseball cap has been boiled.

You can make good food with cheap ingredients. Apart from stuff for the cookbooks, I’ve become obsessive about it. When I pay over two dollars per pound for meat, I feel like a sucker. But maybe I’m a little more skilled than some of the people who write recipes for commercial kitchens. Also, I’m a Southerner, and I’ve lived around Cubans a lot, so I have unnatural advantages. You can feed ten Cubans royally for about twenty bucks. Maybe this is why Cubans are so successful. The annual food budget for a family of four is about three hundred dollars. The rest of the income goes into real estate and business leases. And Uncle Sam gets about a dollar and a half. Or he ends up paying THEM.

I think the Bennigan’s story goes to show what happens when people start showing up for work without enough pieces of flair. If the CEO had worn maybe 97 bits of flair, including a codpiece studded with flashing blue LEDs spelling out “PARTAY,” maybe this would not have happened. In fact, when Obama wins the election, I hope we’ll start seeing a little flair in the White House. Like big buttons reading, “KISS ME I USED TO BE A MUSLIM.”

And of course, here I am once again, putting all these great ideas in the public domain instead of trying to get paid for them.

I would say Obama is cutter and McCain is choice, whereas Ronald Reagan was prime, and Jimmy Carter was canner.

I guess that makes Ron Paul Spam, which is appropriate, considering his enduring status as President of the Internet.

I’ll be hosting a wake for Bennigan’s at the nearest Bombay Bicycle Club, after which I plan to feign a heart attack and skip out on the bill.

Horrors

Bad news.

The worst part is thinking about all the hippies who will be overjoyed.

Type 1 Diabetic Runs Marathons

Meant to tell you about this yesterday. Reader Ruth H. has a granddaughter named Jordan Hoese, and she is believed to be the youngest diabetic marathon runner in the US. And she has been on the news! You can see a video at that link.

I think I could do a marathon. On a bike. If it were all downhill.

No, I know my limitations.

I especially like the idea of taking carbohydrates with you when you run. But I find that the wind keeps blowing the pizza box open.

Congratulations, Jordan!

Keep Your Hazmat Suit Handy

I did something horrible yesterday. I got myself more blueberries, plus a half-pint of raspberries. You can guess what’s going to happen to them. CORNBREAD.

I truly hope I can get the blueberries to occupy the proper altitudes inside the cornbread this time, instead of forming a big purple layer on the bottom. You really need to try this stuff. I do not lie. It’s wonderful.

If you haven’t signed up for Manly Grub Forum, you should consider it. People are contributing a lot of wild recipes. Elisson contributed one for something called Strasbourg pie. It’s hideous. You roast an entire foie gras (duck liver) in puff pastry, with other crap. You put it in a long pan and fold the pastry over it. What you end up with is a fatty loaf of death. I don’t know if I could stand it, due to the liver, but if liver doesn’t bother you, this may be your bag.

If anything worthwhile happens when I make the cornbread, I’ll put photos up in the forum.

The categories have been expanded a lot. Guns, charities, beer, wine, various spirits, and so on. I just created a board where you can post links to your favorite food sites. And as I had hoped, the boards haven’t devolved into a typical Internet-forum snakepit. We have over 1100 posts up, and I haven’t had to execute anyone yet.

I Have Been Too Hard on Myself

I got a few comments yesterday that were so favorable, they were somewhat embarrassing. Of course, I am grateful. I’m not complaining.

One of the dangers of addressing an audience is that people may begin to think too highly of you. So you can start out with good intentions and end up moonwalking on top of an SUV outside a courthouse, because you have become convinced you can do no wrong. I sincerely espouse solid Christian morals and principles of good character, but that doesn’t mean I do a good job of living up to them.

Since I started trying to write for a living, I have become concerned that I would eventually become something of a public figure, and that people might treat me with more regard than I am due. It’s a funny thing; if you have even a little fame, people you don’t even know will start trying to give you things and do things for you, and some will treat you as though you are more than human. I can’t help being concerned about that. I think glory is like wealth. A certain amount is okay, but if you get too much, you face the risk that it will corrupt you. I have always wished I could write books that were famous, without becoming famous, personally. I know that’s not realistic; it’s a hard trick to pull off. Especially when you have to do interviews in order to get where you want to be.

Some people desire fame. I think it’s one of the worst things that can happen to you. If I could sign a contract right now that assured that I would make a good living from writing, but that only my friends and family and professional contacts would know who I was, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

I sometimes think one of the reasons lower beings are supposed to glorify God is that the alternative is to accept the glory for themselves and become poisoned by it. There are some things you are supposed to hand over to God. Vengeance, for example. A portion of your time. A portion of your income. I believe we’re supposed to be like oxen that tread out corn. We’re allowed to take a reasonable amount of what we produce–we’re not muzzled–but we’re not supposed to keep everything.

If things go well, I will try not to allow my head to be turned.

In other news, Baldilocks has bought a domain for the site she intends to put up to get PR for her efforts to fund the Kenyan school Barack Obama abandoned. But she needs a web designer. Someone give her a hand.

Must Have Had a Fair Wind

I am mystified. I ordered a box set of Horatio Hornblower DVDs on Friday at 11 p.m., and they arrived today! How is that possible?

Unfortunately I’m already sucking them up way too fast. I could not keep myself from watching the first two today.

I think that if you have any potential inside you for the development of character, you will find it impossible not to be moved by Horatio Hornblower. What wonderful lessons you can learn from his adventures. Don’t whine. Don’t make life hard on those in authority over you. Don’t forget that you have to serve your subordinates more than they serve you. Admit responsibility for your errors. Look for ways to solve problems and improve things, beyond what your duty requires you to do. None of this stuff will get you far in an average workplace; politicking is the way to get ahead. If you want advancement, learn to control others. If you want self-respect, competence, resourcefulness, and satisfaction, learn to control yourself.

How much we are cheated of, when our parents let us raise ourselves. How slim the likelihood that we will find the strength and the inclination to teach ourselves the lessons overlooked by our parents during our formative years. Oddly, the best way to make up for your parents’ mistakes is to refuse to blame them, and to treat the mistakes as though they were your own.

Maybe that’s the true magic from which God wanted us to benefit when He told us to honor our parents. When you choose to stop blaming them, and you put yourself out to compensate for their shortcomings, and you try to help them lead as they should lead, you will find that you become what you wish they had been, and you are likely to improve them, too, by example.

I know Hornblower is a fictional character, but it’s not unrealistic to emulate his virtues. They’re not superhuman.

I enjoy these DVDs for the same reason Christianity is exciting to me. Christianity offers self-improvement. The New Testament doesn’t just say you get eternal life. It says that while you live, provided you receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit, God will build you up from the inside and make you a better person. More disciplined. More courageous. Kinder. More patient.

I only have 8 more DVDs. I know I’m going to burn them up by Friday.

If you have kids, you couldn’t ask for better entertainment to share with them. You could pause the DVDs here and there and explain why Hornblower makes the hard choices he makes. Sure beats Grand Theft Auto and R-rated movies.

Life is beautiful, if you know what kind of beauty to look for and where to look for it. I think that’s one of the lessons of maturity. We think we enjoy our venal pleasures while we’re young, but they always come with a high price, and we don’t even know what enjoyment is until we’re old and we have suffered and learned. Maybe God gives us old age and infirmity to keep us from growing to love life so much we refuse to die. The older you get, the more you are able to see what there is in life to love.

Thoughts like these increase my sadness that we are becoming a nation of degenerates and barbarians. I’m just glad I’m managing to pick up a few clues while I’m still young enough to make use of them.