Browning!

I figured out what my house needed to brighten up the decor: a firearm. I have heard that other people enjoy guns a lot, and I thought maybe I should try one, so I went to Gunbroker and picked one up.

Okay, okay. My house was already stuffed with guns. But you always need another one. You don’t ask a woman why she has 200 pairs of shoes, and you don’t ask a man why he has a gun for every day of the year. It’s understood.

What did I get? A .22 pistol. Because I only had two of them. No, wait. Three? Four, I think. Anyway, I obviously needed one.

My grandfather used to shoot pistols with me, and we used a Colt Woodsman, a High Standard Field King, and a High Standard Double Nine, which is a cheap gun with an aluminum frame. When my grandfather died, the Field King and the Woodsman disappeared. I got stuck with the Double Nine, which was the only non-flintlock gun I inherited from him. I resolved to replace the guns I missed.

I got a Woodsman last year, and lately, I’ve been thinking about a High Standard semiauto. I started learning about them, and I found out I preferred a different model. My grandfather’s short-barreled Field King was not a great-looking gun. I started looking at Sport Kings with longer barrels. The Sport King is slim and elegant.

While I was shopping, I found the Browning Challenger. Internet nerds say this pistol was designed by Bruce Browning, the grandson of [genuflect] John Moses Browning PBUH. The claim is that Bruce started with Browning’s Woodsman and improved it.

The early Challengers were made in Belgium, and they are the most collectible and the most respected. By the time I started learning about them, I had lost some enthusiasm for the Sport King, because I read that high-velocity .22 ammo, which is now the standard, eventually cracks the frames. I wasn’t excited about trying to find standard velocity ammo (which is no longer the standard) in the current climate, and I was also concerned that I might get stuck with a gun that was already cracked. I looked into Challengers.

Lo and behold, some guy had one listed for $335 (high bid) on Gunbroker.com, and it looked very nice. I asked the seller about the condition, and he said very positive things. He only accepts money orders, and ordinarily, I won’t deal with people like that. The only reason to refuse to take credit cards on the Internet is to put yourself in a position where you can cheat people. He had an A+ rating, though, so I decided it might be worth it to keep an eye on the gun.

I put it on my watch list, assuming the price would double before the auction ended. For some inexplicable reason it did not. The day the auction was to end, I got an automatic Gunbroker email saying the high bid was only around $350. This was for a gun with a legitimate street price of $700.

Okay, I had to do something. I entered a modest limiting bid and went about my business. Then I won the gun. All told, including shipping and the FFL fee, I will be into this pistol for under $480. That’s crazy.

It appears to be in beautiful shape. If it’s not, as long as it shoots, I can flip it and get all my money out of it.

I love getting a good deal on Gunbroker. You’re not supposed to be able to do that, but I’ve done it a number of times.

Buying extra magazines will be a problem. I’m hoping it’s sufficiently similar to a Woodsman to accept a Beretta Neos magazine. I modified two Neos magazines for my Woodsman, and they function.

Of course, now that I own it, I’m troubled. I’m troubled because I don’t have enough guns. I better get out there and see what I can still snap up.

A very nice High Standard can be had for under $500. That’s ridiculous, because they were made to match the name. The standards were very high compared to those of other manufacturers. If it weren’t for the ammunition issue, they would probably sell for three times as much. I found a couple of nice ones. I may buy one. Then I’ll be able to say I finally have every gun I shot with my grandfather.
Except for a Remington Model 500 .22 rifle, which also disappeared when he died. I better keep looking.

Investing in a multi-decade supply of .22 LR was one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made. I wish I had also cornered the market on 9mm reloading components and 6.5 Creedmoor bullets, but you can’t have everything. The .22 shells will provide all sorts of amusement while other people are dropping 15 or more cents per round for 6-cent cartridges.

I was also smart to get extra Glock barrels. I’ll be able to shoot relatively cheap lead safely, so I’ll be able to practice with reloads instead of paying $35 per box for $10 factory FMJ.

I hope to have the Browning in around 10 days. I will post photos. Unless I got taken and it’s a total dog. Then I’ll pretend it never happened.

Meanwhile, Leftists Protest his Recovery

If you learn nothing else before you die, learn this: God created the universe for love.

Thought I’d just toss that out there.

Donald Trump has coronavirus. You may have noticed. It’s a bad thing. Occasionally, healthy people–like President Trump–have serious problems with coronavirus, or they die. Hopeful leftists are saying there is a 5% chance he’ll die, simply because of his age. I call BS. At least 5% of people his age are in terrible health–unlike President Trump–and people in terrible health will obviously make up most of the 5% who die. Hello? Common sense? Sometimes healthy people die, and it’s not good to be sick at all, so his illness is a bad thing. But it looks like there is a huge silver lining.

The President went into the hospital on Friday. By Saturday, people all over the US were gathering to pray for him and wish him support. That’s wonderful. If he has to have the sniffles for a day or two in order to motivate people who show him their love their faith in God, I say it’s a good trade.

There is a movement called Drag the Interstate. I don’t really understand the name, because it sounds like something Eddie Izzard would do, but people hold rolling Trump rallies in moving vehicles. They were all over the place this weekend. Massachusetts, Florida, New York…lots of places. They had three public prayer meetings in The Villages, a huge retirement community near me. There was a big boat parade in Virginia. Lefty journalists are taking care to point out that many of these events were planned before Trump got sick, but some were not, attendance was surely increased dramatically by news that the president was ill. His illness also changed the tone of the events. It may be improving the tone of the whole campaign.

Mike DeWine, the governor of Ohio, declared a statewide day of prayer for Trump and the first lady! How about that?

I’m not a Paula White fan, but give her credit: she appeared on the Trump Youtube channel and hosted a long prayer service. That’s important, whatever her faults may be. Surely it means something to God when a president acknowledges him during a pandemic caused by humanity’s rejection of Jesus Christ.

Night before last, after hearing about the outpouring of love, faith, and solidarity, I had the powerful sensation of being loved. I know that doesn’t seem to make sense, because the love was directed at the president. But I felt it.

It got me thinking about the rapture. In heaven, people swim in love all the time. There are no shadows in heaven, because there is nothing to hide or which wants to hide, and there is no sun. The word says God is the light of heaven, so there is no need for any other source. Because Jesus visited me twice, I know how God’s love feels. It makes you feel like a hamburger under a heat lamp, except the warmth is the warmth of God’s heart, and it goes right through you. We are transparent to God.

In heaven, people live in an atmosphere of love, and we could be living in love here, too. The Trump rallies and caravans brought this to mind.

Leftists are full of hate and murder. They love being snotty and impudent. They love cruelty. They love humiliating older people and their betters. They’re perpetually enraged and depressed. They live in a dark alternate reality constructed of infantile, demonic delusions. Conservatives are closer to God, and we are happier and warmer. It’s a fact you can observe simply by watching leftist and conservative political gatherings. One side is throwing feces, literally, and tormenting people whose feet they aren’t fit to lick, and the other side is praying, singing, waving flags, and talking about how great their president is.

Have you noticed that leftists don’t praise Biden much? They don’t particularly like him. They have no loyalty to him. Conservatives feel genuine warmth for Trump. We praise him and thank God for him all the time. Totally different.

The rapture will be wonderful, because people who make it will be separated permanently from the Antichrist’s murderous, tamper-throwing, lie-loving, truth-hating children. They’ll bathe in love all the time. Everyone will be in agreement. No one will ever be stressed about an election. God has always been king, and he always will. Satan dethroned Adam. That won’t fly in heaven.

President Trump has done very well so far, as his doctors tell us, but leftists are making up fantasies about his condition. They say his prescription for dexamethasone proves he’s seriously ill. They claim, falsely, that his team is sending out photos with false time stamps. Meanwhile, he is appearing on camera occasionally, and he even got in an SUV and drove by the supporters outside the hospital. He also made his chief of staff go outside and give his supporters Trump-labeled chocolate kisses. That’s the kind of president I want!

Of course, lefty journalists are excoriating Trump for risking the lives of the Secret Service agents who rode with him. Yes, seriously. Secret Service agents risking their lives by accompanying a president!

Secret Service agents risking their lives to protect a president? Wow. I hope this new practice doesn’t catch on.

Meanwhile, leftists actually showed up–at a hospital–to counter-demonstrate. One character held a sign saying “Science Matters,” and a couple of hefty Latinas in stretch pants showed up to dance and sing while giving everyone the finger. One of them chanted, “Your president is gonna die!,” with a happy expression. She said what you would expect her to say. Sometimes it almost seems like Trump’s first name starts with “F.”

Only leftists would protest a sick person’s medical treatment.

People who have severe cases do not stand up, walk, speak clearly, or go for car rides. Obvious? They lie flat on their backs inhaling oxygen. I don’t know how the president feels today, but as of yesterday, he clearly did not have severe symptoms.

Journalists are generally not intelligent–this is true, not a baseless insult–and they are also extremely lazy. They don’t do much footwork. They don’t research. They wait for other people to call them with stories. They also find out what other journalists are covering, and they join in. When they report on Christians and conservatives, they almost never dig for the truth. For example, they keep saying the Proud Boys is a white supremacist organization even though it’s full of minority members and the founder married a full-blooded American Indian (not a fake 1/32 Indian who scams the government for affirmative action and poverty bucks).

When journalists talked to Trump’s doctors, they were suddenly different people. They asked questions that were pretty esoteric. Suddenly, they knew a great deal about treatments and symptoms. It was very clear they had been Googling for hours before the press conference. They kept prying for sound bites they could use to make Trump look seriously ill. They were aggressive and rude. They were extremely determined.

It occurred to me that America would be a much different country if journalists worked this hard all the time.

Leftist outlets are full of the “Trump is dying” theme. It’s like they’re living on another planet where what they say is true. When I say they live in an alternative reality, I’m completely correct.

Trump is right. The press is a public enemy. It’s necessary, but it’s diseased. It’s also dangerous, as the victims of Joseph Goebbels could tell you. Fake news is a very real thing. It’s a weapon for people to whom the truth looks like a problem that must be contained.

Here’s something interesting: Yahoo News got rid of the commenting function on its stories. Why? Here’s some information which may be relevant: commenters were overwhelmingly negative with regard to many, many far-left-narrative stories. This was especially true for stories promoting “transgendering” (an impossibility) and the attendant castration, mutilation, and hormonal sabotage. It sure looks like the leftists at Yahoo couldn’t take the heat, so they bricked up the kitchen.

Public comment is news, and stifling it is a form of fake news. Fake news doesn’t have to be affirmative. You don’t have to say something that isn’t true. Withholding the truth is also fake news.

I can’t recall ever hearing anyone else say that. Why isn’t everyone saying it?

I want to live in love and joy, even here on earth. I worked hard to make myself a caustic person, and I regret it. Love and joy are better, and the Holy Spirit will actually pour these things through you so you don’t have to manufacture them on your own.

I keep praying for Trump. I keep cursing the spirits that want to take him down. I also curse the Biden campaign. I hope to see good news, but the truth is that Donald Trump isn’t the source of my safety, joy, success, or love. I’ll be okay no matter what, and when I die or the rapture comes, I’ll do even better, by orders of magnitude.

Leftists: it’s okay to be happy and upbeat. It’s okay to stop being snotty. Cruelty is toxic. Warmth and kindness are good things. They’re not signs that you’re stupid or ignorant. Join God’s team and see. He’s ready to take you in.

Backlog of Chores Dwindling as Spiritual Warfare Takes Effect

I got loads of stuff done today.

My utility cart has been giving me problems. I did a trigger job on my Thompson Center Venture, and because of the weather, I had to wait weeks to shoot it. A few days back, the weather got nice, and I threw my mat and rifle in the cart. It would not start.

I took the carb out, which was not fun at all, and I threw it in the sonic cleaner in gasoline. I did this twice. Didn’t help. I decided to take the main jet and the float needle out and look at them.

The float is held on a pin that goes through two posts made from what I suppose is cast aluminum. Generally, float pins are not fitted tightly. They are held captive by the bowls, so there is no reason to have a tight pin. The people who made my carb didn’t know this. It was jammed in there.

I tapped it out with a punch. I really had to whack it. Unfortunately, one of the posts snapped at the base.

I was not happy. I can do a lot of things with tools, but I had little confidence in my ability to refasten a tiny broken aluminum post to its base, inside a carb bowl. I tried some Hail Mary solutions. First, I tried to get solder to stick to it. I figured I might be able to glom enough solder onto it to hold it in place. Didn’t work at all. Aluminum does not seem to like solder.

I then decided to bury it in 5-minute epoxy. Maybe that would stick. Epoxy is impervious to gasoline, and carb floats put nearly no stress on their pins, so if I could get the post to stick, it would probably stay there for years.

Unbelievably, it worked. I’ll post a photo.

How did I fix the tight pin? Two ways. First, I have a number of junk carbs. I happened to have one with the same size bowl and float. There was no possibility I would ever use it, so I took the pin out and put it in the cart carb. One hole was still too tight, so I opened it with a small drill bit.

The bowl gasket in the old carb was destroyed. I guess someone overtightened the bowl nut. Because I had a carb with the same size bowl, I had a usable gasket.

The sonic cleaner didn’t fix the jet because corrosion was the problem. Ethanol gas has water in it, and water makes things corrode. The jet was narrowed because of corrosion. It looks like sonic cleaners don’t do well with thick oxidation. I also saw something protruding into the bore of the jet. A varnish flake? I didn’t know.

My answer was to put the jet in a citric acid solution. It ate the crud, and the jet opened up. I also soaked the needle.

The plugs were black, and I replaced them, too. The old ones had the wrong number on them, so I assume they were the wrong size.

I put the carb back in the cart, and it ran better than ever.

While I was working on this, I ordered a Chinese carb from Ebay, with gaskets. Cost: $13.56. I inquired about carb gaskets on a cart forum, and some guy told me I should stick with OEM products. He said OEM carbs only cost $126 each.

You know, I would love to support American businesses, but a 9.5-to-one price differential is not acceptable. I have a bunch of cheap Chinese carbs, and they are just like OEM carbs, which are probably also Chinese. When you pay 10 times as much for “American,” you don’t get a better product. You get the same Chinese carb, at a Chinese price, from a different American vendor. Good enough.

In all likelihood, my epoxy repair will hold for the life of the cart, but I will have a Chinese carb on hand anyway, because you never know. I may install it preemptively. In any case, I will never again have to go several days with no cart to drive to the mailbox. Getting your mail on foot is just not the Southern way. It’s wrong.

I also ordered a new PCV hose and choke cable. Someone had Bubba’d the old cable with a piece of wire.

My cart is unbelievably useful. I’ve done lots of gardening and tree cutting with it, and I always use it when I shoot. I can’t risk more cart down time. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

After I fixed the cart, I put a new transmission in my Makita cordless drill. A while back, I snapped the screw that holds the chuck in. These screws are hard to get out, and while I was trying, I did something to the transmission that made it fail to work. I think I lost a ball bearing. I pictured myself trying to find the right ball bearing and paying a fortune for it, and I gave up and ordered a transmission. I didn’t know it would take weeks to arrive.

Whatever. It got here, and I installed it. Check that off the list. I also bought a backup drill. Cordless tools aren’t expensive when you buy them without batteries. Life without a cordless drill was not pleasant, so I won’t let it happen twice.

After the drill triumph, I installed a $240 Timney trigger in my Ruger Precision Rifle.

The Ruger comes with a nice trigger, but it’s not TOO nice. I think rifle makers have lawyers who tell them not to sell really soft triggers. You can adjust your RPR trigger, but you can’t really get it down to the target level.

You can make it better by simply removing the trigger spring. So I’m told. They say the trigger spring’s only purpose is to make the pull heavier. It works perfectly without it. So I’m told.

I thought about it, and I thought about all the triggers I’ve modified on my own. I decided to go first class for once.

Installing a Timney trigger is easy. You remove a few screws, pop the old trigger out, and put the new one in. It has two stages. The first stage is 8 ounces, and the second is one pound. THAT’S a trigger.

Now I’m ready to find out what the gun can really do.

But wait! There’s more!

When I was done with the RPR, I took the .204 out and shot a few rounds to see if the new trigger spring was light enough.

Here’s a funny thing about rifle triggers. They all seem light and crisp in your living room or at the counter at the gun shop. When you’re looking through a scope, aiming at a bullet-diameter spot on a target 100 yards away, they suddenly become very heavy and gritty. When I put the new spring in, I thought it was very, very light.

Today, it seemed much heavier. I was not happy at all.

I didn’t shoot all that well. I’ll put up photos. The barrel may need cleaning. I’m not sure I’ve ever cleaned it. When I took my shooting class, the instructors appeared to be in favor of leaving barrels dirty until they started losing accuracy. That’s what I’ve been doing. Whatever the problem is, I decided to do more work on the trigger.

I put the gun on my bench, yanked the new spring out, and cut about two coils out. Now it seems light and greasy-slick. I’m not fooled, though. They always seem that way in the house. I’m going to clean the barrel and try the gun again in a little bit.

I feel like this has been a productive day. Tomorrow, I hope to lube the turnbuckles on my tractor forks and put them back on the bucket. Then I can move some logs I cut.

The weather is gorgeous. Cool, not very sunny, and a little breezy. I was outside for over an hour, and my shirt isn’t even dripping on the floor. Fall is here, and fall should be more productive than summer.

I believe I’m getting a lot done because I’m remembering to do supernatural warfare against demons that try to restrain me. I do it every morning, and sometimes I do it at night. It’s funny how Christians are ashamed to fight demons. They believe God is a spirit. They believe Jesus and the Holy Ghost are spirits. Somehow, they can’t make themselves believe in other spirits! Why is that?

If demons don’t exist, neither does God, so why do you think you’re a Christian?

Christianity says we are also spirits. Do you believe you exist?

Guess that’s all I have. Hope everyone is praying for President Trump. His doctor says things are going very, very well.

New Smoker Beats the Pros

My smoker has smoked.

Yesterday, my new Smokin-It #2 smoker arrived, and I put it together. The manufacturer includes some wood with smokers, and you’re supposed to do a break-in run with wood but no meat. I tried to do this, and the smoker tripped my GFI outlet. I didn’t know about this until long after it happened, so I was not ready to smoke meat until about 6:30. I decided to do it. I had to see whether the smoker worked.

I made my usual rub, except I used cayenne pepper instead of chipotle powder. I didn’t have what I needed. I used three 1-1/2″ cubes of hickory. I smoked the meat until 10:30, and then I gave it half an hour in the oven at 300°.

Here’s the result.

I had forgotten how to apply a rub, so I put way too much on the meat. I didn’t know how much wood this smoker needed, so I used too much wood. The seasoning was heavy, and the ribs were dark because of the excess wood. The cayenne made the ribs a little spicier than I wanted. I think I may add more salt next time, but I can’t say these ribs were under-salted.

Yesterday, I thought my rub recipe was wrong, because it took two batches to cover one rack. Now I see what the problem was.

So I failed, right? Not exactly. With all their flaws, these ribs were much, much better than anything I’ve bought from local (or any) restaurants. They were juicy, tender, and loaded with flavor. My plan was to try a couple of ribs and go to bed, but I ate half a rack. I didn’t eat breakfast today. I didn’t need it.

I don’t know why restaurants can’t produce really good ribs. They have great equipment, and barbecue is extremely easy.

My verdict on the Smokin-It #2 is highly positive, apart from the circuit breaker problem. I assume the manufacturer will respond to my email and tell me what to do. Maybe the element is faulty, or maybe there is a fault in the wiring.

Because it was so late when I finished up, I have not cleaned the smoker yet. I’m not worried. It’s all stainless, and I have a steam cleaner. I assume I won’t need to do much apart from throwing the loose parts in the dishwasher, but steam is there if I need it.

This would be a wonderful machine for roasting turkey, smoke or no smoke. You could cook at 200°, use your oven for other things, and throw the turkey in the oven at the end to make the skin crisp and brown. A smoked, boneless, stuffed turkey would be wonderful for Thanksgiving.

I miss the Hoginator, but I don’t miss the extra work and fuss. This box should last the rest of my life, it will hold more meat than I will ever need for one event, and it won’t require much work.

I think the expense of moving up from bottom-tier electrics is worth it. They rust and break. By the time you’re on your second cheap smoker, you’ve paid almost as much as a Smokin-It costs.

More photos as work progresses.

Ribs in Progress

Call me immature, but I am smoking ribs even though they won’t be done until 10:30.

I ordered myself a Smokin-It #2 electric smoker, and it arrived today. It comes with instructions saying to run a load of wood through it without meat before trying to cook. I tried to obey, but after a couple of hours, I went to the smoker, and I saw that it had tripped a poolside GIF breaker. I had to move it to a real breaker. That put me hours behind schedule. I was going to forget about it until tomorrow, but it nagged at me.

I’m pleased with the smoker. It’s light enough to put in a vehicle. It doesn’t take up much room. The manufacturer says it will do 31 pounds of meat. Not sure why they think it’s 31 and not 30. Anyway, even if it only does 20 pounds, it’s ample for my use. If I had friends over for ribs, I would expect to be under 15 pounds every time.

I don’t expect to get heavily into cooking again, but a smoker is a good thing for any man to have.

I now have a rack of spare ribs going. I put my signature rub on it. By “signature,” I mean the rub I made up a few years ago in a couple of minutes. Is it the best? I have no way of knowing. Probably not. But it’s excellent, and it’s a known factor.

There was a mistake in the recipe. It said it was enough for two racks, but I wasn’t able to cover one with it. I made two batches.

All I did was cut the rack in half so it would fit and bury it in the rub. I don’t remove the membrane from my ribs. I think that would be like cutting the crust off a peanut butter sandwich to make a precious little snowflake happy. I like every edible part of the rib.

The smoker looks very nice. It should last forever. It’s a double-walled stainless box with insulation between the walls. It has casters, so I don’t have to slide it around.

The temperature control is way off. I set it at 250°, and it went to 341°. That’s a plus as far as I’m concerned. It means I can go higher than expected. I can always turn it down for proper barbecue temperatures. I’m using an additional remote thermometer anyway. I never planned to rely on a knob.

I emailed the Smokin-It company to see if they knew why it tripped my breaker. Hope they have useful input.

My old smoker, the Hoginator, was wonderful, but it was not handy. It had electric heat in the meat area, but I had to burn wood in a separate box for smoke. It used a great deal of electricity. Each heating element was like an electric hair dryer. The new smoker is very simple to run. I’m hoping for the best.

I haven’t seen any black smoke. The smoke is light-colored, and that’s a good sign.

This looks like a nice trouble-free way to get excellent barbecue. I won’t know until later tonight.

This was no Debate

I resisted temptation for a while last night, but I ended up watching maybe half an hour of the Trump/Biden debate. What a mistake!

I hate debates. Even when done properly, debates don’t establish the truth. They establish the identities of the best debaters. A fantastic president can be a terrible debater, and a great debater can be a pathetic president.

I was a member of the debating society in my high school. I went to the best prep school in Florida, so you would think we would have had a great debate team, but our faculty sponsor was Mr. Frishman, a man who posed for his yearbook photo standing in a garbage can. He was a lot of fun, and everyone liked him, but he was not a great instructor or leader. We only participated in one event, and I did some kind of improvisational speaking. Never debated. It would have been better for me if I had, because I had a real gift for argument, and I would have excelled. Back then, I liked debating. I was young, and young people have a lot of stupid interests.

I like the approach Jesus took to argument. He did very little of it. When he did argue, he said whatever he wanted, regardless of whether it had any relationship to the questions, and people could take it or leave it. He wasn’t pushing a point of view. He had the truth, and he was simply delivering it. There are no opinions in heaven. There is no debate there. Everyone knows the truth, and everyone agrees.

If people on earth were in touch with the Holy Spirit, they would argue much less, because he tells everyone the same things.

I really hate presidential debates. One thing that bugs me is that they are not real debates. In a real debate, you take turns. You can’t just pipe up when your opponent is talking. Speaking out of turn prevents participants from doing their jobs. It’s cheating.

Usually, Democrats cheat like crazy in presidential debates, and Republicans behave better. Conservatives think rules and logic are important. Leftists have no self-discipline, and they think their emotions put them above rules everyone else has to observe. Last night, however, both participants violated the rules wholesale, and they also insulted each other personally. It was like a food fight.

Of course, Chris Wallace did some of Biden’s debating for him. This is another thing I don’t like about presidential debates. The moderators almost always help the leftists and fight with the conservatives. They also fail to maintain order. Perhaps because they’re generally not conservative, and they lack respect for rules, moderators tend to abandon control and let the participants do as they please. Wallace didn’t surprise me. He made some effort, but overall, he was very weak. He failed at his job. His dad was much tougher.

They should put debaters in different locations and turn off their mikes when it isn’t their turn. And peppermint sticks and hundred-dollar bills should fall from the sky without warning. It will never happen. The American people just aren’t smart enough to demand real debates. They want to see food fights. And journalists, with very few exceptions, aren’t smart enough to moderate debates.

I saw some pluses for Trump. For one thing, Biden looked like a corpse. That matters. His flesh looked white, even for a man of Irish extraction, as though he had been pickled. He seemed weak and almost transparent. His transplanted hair looked like bleached cobwebs, and his surgically altered eyes were tiny and puffy. Biden has always been a physical bully who bragged about his strength and liked to assert he could beat other men up or defeat them in physical contests. Now he looks like he’s stuffed with paper napkins. He’s frail. It appears he lacks the genes for longevity. My dad looked stronger when he was 87 and dying from heart failure and dementia.

Trump was aggressive and angry, and Biden, a man known for his short temper, love of confrontation, and arrogance, didn’t seem to know what to do. I think he can’t think fast enough to return fire. Look at old videos of Biden insulting and challenging people. Not the same man. It’s not a big deal if a candidate who has no job is dominated during a debate. It’s different when a president can’t stand up to foreigners, Congress, and the press. Biden would give us a basement presidency.

I didn’t see the whole debate, so I can’t be sure, but it may be that Biden seemed nicer. Women vote based on their emotions, not the facts, so if Trump comes across as a bully, it may firm up Biden’s female support. Women are already in the tank for the left, though, so I don’t know if it matters. Female suffrage sounds like a wonderful thing, but it really hurts America.

What about the issues? My response: who cares? Biden makes facts up as he goes, so there isn’t much point in listening to him. Trump tends to exaggerate, so you have to check what he says, too. It seemed like Trump’s presentation of facts was better, for what it’s worth. Biden seemed to avoid discussing facts, probably because he’s not sure what they are, and also because they generally work against the left. Biden seemed determined to convince America he was the warm, non-creepy uncle who would protect us from the billions of pickup-driving white supremacists leftists think are coming to get us. He was pushing a fantasy scenario. Facts would have gotten in the way.

I read that Hispanics overwhelmingly thought Trump won. The ratio I saw was about two to one. Hope that’s true. Maybe aggressive macho leaders get them stirred up. I’ve known tons of Cubans and Puerto Ricans, and I will just say it: they’re emotional and, perversely, proud of it. Calm, rational Hispanics complain about it all the time. It embarrasses them.

I don’t care if people think I’m prejudiced. Look at government in Central and South America. Look at crime. The proof is in the pudding. In Honduras, you can barely walk outside without getting shot.

Cuba, Mexico, El Salvador, Brazil, Colombia, Argentina, Nicaragua, Venezuela…no point in pretending things aren’t different down there.

Biden’s dementia wasn’t as big a hindrance as I expected. It may be that they gave him a handful of Ritalin or some other drug to keep him alert and awake. He refused to be tested. He was nothing like them greasy-confident Biden we saw in his debate with Sarah Palin, but he knew where he was, and he didn’t sundown. Maybe he could survive a couple of years in office. It all depends on the disease’s trajectory.

I don’t think Trump prepared much. I believe he is a very busy president. He is extremely effective, and he has gotten a great deal done. I think he counted on using his job experience as preparation. He referred to his own doings a lot, the way you would if you worked hard at your job and some know-nothing started criticizing you.

I believe God chose Trump partly because of his pugnacious character and his fearlessness. Trump is thin-skinned in that he’s easy to provoke for brief moments, but he’s very thick-skinned in that he never worries. Example: a person close to him said it means absolutely nothing to him when people sue him. If you’ve ever been sued, you know that says a lot about him. God needed a tough conservative who would survive continuous attacks and sleep like a baby every night. That’s our Trump. His blood pressure is low, his appetite is good, he never shows uncertainty, and he sleeps as much as he wants to. Nothing gets to him on a deep level.

I’m sure Trump didn’t worry about the debates. That probably made him hard to coach.

I keep feeling that Trump will win. I certainly hope so. On the other hand, I also keep feeling, very strongly, that I won’t be here on earth during the next inauguration, so maybe it shouldn’t matter to me, personally.

I would hate to see Biden win. He’s a creep, a liar, a career plagiarist, and a man of questionable intelligence, having graduated in about the bottom 15% of his class at a lackluster law school. He has no soul and no integrity. He will say or do absolutely anything that gets him through the next 5 minutes. His administration would be a flabby, rotten slide back into regressive leftist policies from which we were starting to recover. He would surrender to every foreign country on earth except Israel. He would persecute white people and people who work hard. He would let domestic terrorists do anything they wanted, and he would almost certainly mainstream them and include them in his initiatives.

Biden would bring back Critical Race Theory instruction, a racist practice which greatly resembles Hitler’s anti-Jewish propaganda. It must be wonderful, going to work and realizing you’re going to spend the day being attacked for your race. I don’t know how people stand it.

This year has been wonderful for me, apart from the tragedy of seeing a close friend die. All over the US, leftists are literally throwing screaming tantrums and posting them online. They curse 2020 as though it were a person who kept them in a cage and gave them electric shocks. I’ve had financial abundance, free time, a wonderful home, good friends, and great health. My relationship with God has improved every month. I feel closer to him than ever. Leftists and other people who don’t know God are floundering and weeping, but I’ve had a great year. A day or two ago, I was thinking about the election, and it occurred to me that if I can have a wonderful life during a pandemic, I can certainly have a wonderful life under a Biden administration.

My peace and happiness don’t come from the government. They come only from God, and his administration will never be voted out. It will always be on top.

I curse Biden’s campaign daily, and I pray for Trump to win, but more importantly, I’m trying to continue in the pleasant path God has created for me. If I’m wrong about the rapture, and I’m stuck here in a nation which suddenly resembles Venezuela, God can still insulate me. This is what people should be striving for.

America is in a supernatural centrifuge. God’s children and the children of darkness are being separated and defined. To me, this looks like something God would do in preparation for a harvest. It makes sense to me that the rapture would be preceded by a choosing of sides. I hope that’s what’s happening. I do not want to live in Venezuela, and I am not at all afraid of death or leaving the earth.

I can’t believe we’re seriously considering electing Biden president. People like to use the name “Fredo” to describe individuals who are close to power yet considered too stupid, venal, and immature to be given real authority. Biden is a classic Fredo. In 2012, he was vice president, and after serving 8 years, he was told he had to take a seat and let a very unpopular female secretary of state run. Biden was dusty furniture in Obama’s administration; a necessary accoutrement everyone hoped would never be used. Now he’s the best the Democrats can come up with.

I am reminded of the Chinese proverb people quoted when unaccomplished, unremarkable, Democrat toady junior Senator Barack Obama was elected: “when little men cast long shadows, you know the end of the day is near.”

They don’t come much littler than Joe Biden. Maybe AOC is next.

Getting too Southern for my Own Good

My oldest friend is a guy named Mike. Just to show you what a rotten friend he is, I will post a photo he sent me recently.

This represents part of his output for one week. He bought a Masterbuilt smoker, and he has smoked his weight in pork and chicken.

These days, I stifle my interest in cooking. It’s not good to be a lover of pleasure, and gluttony is an invitation to inhabitation by demons. I rarely cook anything impressive. But here is Mike, telling me one more rack of ribs won’t hurt.

I live in an area where even the worst barbecue is pretty good. It’s not like Miami, where Cubans and yankees think only of money when they prepare food. Still, the obvious truth is that I make barbecue better than any restaurant I’ve been to. Also, it’s much cheaper, and if I barbecue at home, I won’t have to go to restaurants, which are considered prime coronavirus transmission hubs.

These are the thoughts I had as I pitted Mike against mere reason.

Of course, Mike won. I ordered a smoker.

Years ago, I built my own smoker: the Hoginator. I took a big Char-Broil grill and cut holes in it so I could mount to electric heating elements. I cut another hole so I could feed smoke into it. I fabricated a steel smoke box that sat behind the smoker, and it had a hinged door in it so I could shove wood into it. I smoked with flaming wood, the way you’re supposed to, but the smoke box was over a foot away from the smoker, so not much of the heat got into the smoker. I was able to maintain a nice low temperature.

This time, I thought about building another smoker. For about three minutes. Yes, I think men who buy things they can fabricate are really women, but you have to choose your battles. In order to make a really good smoker, I would have to bend and weld a lot of stainless sheet, and I would have to make it double-walled so I could put insulation in it. Forget that. I already paid my dues with the Hoginator. This time, I’m going to let someone else do the metalworking.

Digression: yesterday I finished straightening the mounting tabs on my middle buster and welding gussets in to keep them from bending again. Metal still bends the knee to me.

I ordered a Smokin-It smoker. They’re made in Michigan, hopefully by Southern immigrants. They have double-walled stainless cabinets. People swear by them. I ordered the second-smallest model. I wanted to be able to jam a turkey into it, and the little one did not look promising. Also, when you buy the cheapest model of anything, you’re usually asking for a bunch of after-purchase Band-Aid modifications and add-ons that take the fun out of it. This smoker will come with everything it needs, including wheels.

I believe it’s a little smaller than a waist-high fridge. We shall see.

While I was trying to figure out what to buy, I learned some things.

First, people say Masterbuilts fall apart in a few years. I didn’t want to take a chance. There are competitors such as Pit Boss and Cuisinart, but they look to be of similar quality. I don’t want to drop $250 on a new smoker every three years until I die. The box I bought should last for eternity.

Here’s another thing: propane smokers are hard to use. The temperature fluctuates. Forget it; not interested.

I learned that electric smokers don’t produce smoke rings in meat. A smoke ring is a layer of reddish meat just under the surface. I was upset to read that I wouldn’t be getting one, until I learned that barbecue judges all agree that a smoke ring doesn’t improve the flavor of the food.

Smokin-It has a close competitor called Smokin’ Tex. Smokin-It gives you a lot more for the money, so that’s why I chose their product.

The smoker will be here Thursday, God willing. That means barbecue on Friday. I need to get some ribs.

I don’t do baby backs. I don’t get them at all. I think they’re for suckers. Spare ribs are much cheaper. They’re bigger. They have more fat and flavor. They’re not dry like baby backs. I plan to pick up a rack of spare ribs.

I’m about to dig up my rub recipe. I’m considering adding a little black cardamom.

I would post my rub recipe, but in all honesty, they’re all about the same. Sugar, salt, mustard, pepper, cumin, garlic…it’s not rocket science.

Actually, I shouldn’t say that. A barbecue celebrity named Myron Mixon opened a joint in Miami, and his rub was disgusting. Very litte salt. No flavor. This was after he talked a lot of smack, belittling the competition. His place went bankrupt, even after a lot of Miami people who knew nothing about barbecue posted ridiculous positive Internet reviews.

I prayed before ordering the smoker, and my impression was that God likes it when I entertain friends and that he was in favor of me buying it so I could barbecue for them and still have time to talk about Christianity. I hope my friends don’t read that.

The Hoginator was a lot of work to use. The new smoker should be much less bother.

I should be able to barbecue for 30 people with this thing, so the small gatherings I am likely to draw should be no problem.

Here’s a neat hint for applying a rub: use a bath towel. Drop your ribs on the towel, add the rub, and use the towel to contain the mess while you press the rub onto the meat. When you’re done, roll the towel up with the excess spices in it and put it in the laundry. It won’t stain. This is my original idea, so make sure you send me royalties when you use it.

What about sauce? Here is my conclusion. Store barbecue sauce is so good now, there is not much point in making your own. Yeah, I said it. Stubbs, Sweet Baby Ray’s, Cattleman’s…you name it. There are lots of good ones. Buy four brands every time you barbecue, and make notes on the ones you like.

I will post pork photos eventually.

Real Men Don’t Pay Other Men

It’s a pivotal day in human history. I used a big-boy gas outfit to heat a part and bend it.

As my stalkers know, I just finished making a cart to hold propane and oxygen for cutting and heating. I have bent things using a hand-held plumber’s torch in the past, and it was okay, but a real torch is like 10 plumber’s torches, and a plumber’s torch can’t cut. I had to have more power. There are just too many heating and cutting jobs in a home workshop.

Today I summoned my androgens and used propane to bend the mounting tabs on a middle buster.

A middle buster is a 3-point implement. It drags or lifts a hook-shaped blade. You can use it for things like digging trenches for wiring and pipes, and you can also rip out stumps with it. I got mine for stumps, and I have torn out a bunch of them. In the process, I bent the tabs holding the pins that attach it to my hitch.

I don’t care about the damage, because the middle buster probably cost $150, and try and guess how much money it has saved me. I don’t know what it would cost to pay a guy to tear stumps out, for the same reason I don’t know what it’s like to ask a big, strong man to parallel-park for me, but it must be a lot.

I clamped the middle buster to my welding table and heated it, destroying a lot of powder coating in the process. Doesn’t matter. Truck bed coating is better than powder coating, and I already have a can. I thought I would have to twist the tabs with a wrench, risking pulling the table over, but it turned out a blacksmith’s hammer was the tool for the job. I beat the tabs until they were very nearly straight. Excellent.

Now I have to cut and weld gussets to reinforce the tabs. I already have the steel. I also want to run a 36″ bar through the tabs instead of using one short pin in each tab. I think a bar will resist bending somewhat better. If it doesn’t, it will bend in such a way that I have to cut it in half to get it out, but that’s okay, because I’m a man, and men have tools.

I love the propane rig, even though I don’t have a proper propane rosebud yet. The acetylene rosebud I used worked fine, which makes me wonder if something is wrong.

Wonderful day in the shop. Think I’ll let my hair down and have a wheat beer.

Precision Costs Money

I ooze smugness today. I got back to work with the Ruger Precision Rifle, and I got good results. It turns out I’m not the main problem with my groups. It’s the ammo and trigger.

I bought 1000 rounds of Sellier & Bellot FMJ because it was cheap. I also liked it because a Youtube guy shot 1 MOA with it at 656 yards. Until today, I had never put anything else through the gun.

I started out with S&B, and I did not do all that well. I shot 20 rounds at 100 yards. I began by shooting at the center of the bullseye, and then I went clockwise, shooting at several places where yellow lines intersected. I ended on the right side of the target.

After shooting the first group, I checked to see if I had ever adjusted the rifle’s trigger. I had not. I took an Allen wrench and reduced the pull as much as possible. I also tried to perfect the scope’s parallax, I moved the reticle a couple of clicks, and I decided to focus on putting the same part of my finger on the trigger every time.

The first group was not spectactular. Then things got better. Then they got worse.

I opened up a box of Hornady ELD Match 147-grain ammo and lit up another target, starting on the bottom-left bullseye. As you can see, I did a lot better. Part of it may be due to me being warmed up, but most of it is the ammunition. Lesson learned.

The last group opened up a little. That could be fatigue, or it could be the barrel warming up. I’m betting on fatigue. When you don’t practice enough, every shot takes a great deal of concentration, and it wears you out.

Can I complain? When you shoot at 100 yards, and your flyers are 2 MOA, you’re not having a bad day. A bad day would be 5-MOA flyers.

I’m still glad I got the S&B, because it will be perfect for shooting steel, but if I want to be really good, I’ll need to shoot the good stuff. I have some reloading materials for 6.5 Creedmoor, so I should be able to do well eventually. I have to decide what to do about brass. I don’t want to waste my S&B brass, but if it won’t give me good accuracy, I don’t want to use it.

I don’t think S&B will give me consistent 1-MOA groups, even if I put the gun in a clamp. It’s obviously inconsistent.

I am not in love with the rifle’s trigger. I think it’s time to upgrade, unless I can find a hack to reduce the pull a little more. It’s too heavy for target shooting.

The gun has a new Anarchy Outdoors bolt shroud, and that helped a lot. The Ruger shroud kept catching on things. I would like to be able to keep my cheek on the gun between shots, and you can’t do that if you have to wrestle with the bolt. The Anarchy Outdoors bolt is very smooth.

With an improved or replacement trigger, I should get fewer flyers.

This thing is going to work. It’s just a matter of sticking with it.

MORE

FYI, I measured the Hornady target with calipers, and my best group was about 5/8″. The worst group, and the only one over 1 MOA, was about 1.2″. Not bad.

Bullets and Barbecue

Do I need an intervention? Be honest. As long as you tell me what I already want to hear. Yesterday, I was fooling around in the workshop, and I found a thousand rounds of AK-47 ammo. It had been there for three years. I had no idea I had it.

When a thousand rounds of ammunition mean so little to you, you forget where they are, is it, maybe, time to ask yourself if you buy too much gun stuff?

NO! NO! IT ISN’T! I’M NOT THE ONE WITH THE PROBLEM! YOU’RE THE ONE WITH THE PROBLEM!

I guess I shouldn’t be afraid to take some target practice with the AK. I now have so much AK ammo, I need a handtruck to move it.

In related news, I visited the nearest long-range shooting range today. It’s down around Leesburg. Their website says they go out to 900 yards, but the lady who talked to me at the range said it was 850. Okay, whatever. It’s far enough to help me learn how to shoot.

To qualify to use the 850-yard range, I have to shoot at 400 and let them grade me. That means I have to get the Ruger Precision Rifle working. My plan is to shoot it this weekend and then go to the range when it reopens on Wednesday. Should be fun. I’m not sure why there is cow manure all over the parking lot, but you take what you can get.

The range reminds me of the pickle leftists are in if they seriously try to start an internal war. While I was there, I saw the other customers. They are not leftists, and they were happily plugging away at targets off in the distance. Ignorant urban terrorists who hold their guns sideways would do very poorly against them.

There is a hilarious Youtube channel called Tactical Rifleman, and the host is a guy named Karl Erickson. He’s a retired Green Beret. Wonderful channel. He says something really funny about pistols. He says that when you’re in a gunfight, you should bring “an adult gun.” He makes a very convincing case for semiauto rifles in home defense, which is good, because that’s my conclusion, too. Anyway, there are tens of millions of conservative men who already know how to use adult guns, and they’ll be fighting “men” who haven’t figured out how to pull their pants up.

When I got home, I went and got me a haircut at the Chamber of Excessive Testosterone, better known as the barber shop. I barely had time to get into my book on long-range marksmanship before it was my turn. When I entered, I had my Biden face diaper in place, not knowing what the current mask policy was. I saw that no one else was wearing one, so I took it off. There was a big discussion of everyone’s hatred of face diapers.

I don’t quite get the conservative hatred of masks. I hate them. Sure. But I hate them mostly because they’re uncomfortable and because people think they do things they don’t really do. I’m not that agitated about the political aspect.

Many conservatives get really mad when they have to wear them, and it seems to be because they think it’s part of a big conspiracy. There is definitely a conspiracy to exaggerate the danger of coronavirus and the effectiveness of face diapers, and it’s true that Satan is using masks to train people to serve the Antichrist, but I think my mask gives other people a small amount of protection (assuming I have the bug and don’t know it), so I am willing to wear it.

My understanding is that it does virtually nothing to protect me. If I go into a place where people aren’t wearing masks, I’m going to get their germs regardless of what I wear, but I can reduce the germs they get from me by wearing the diaper. That’s according to the last expert advice I read, which may be totally obsolete this week.

Anyway, I love the barber shop. It’s full of fishing tackle and dive paraphernalia, and the magazines are about guns and fishing. I haven’t seen a hipster beard or a fruity millennial hairstyle there yet.

I got something else done today. I have been thinking of building a steak cooker from a propane weed torch. The idea is to project an incredible amount of heat down onto the meat, giving it a somewhat blackened surface. I tried it today, holding the weed torch in my hand.

I prepared an inch-thick rib eye. It took very little time to go from raw to medium-rare. It was also nice and hot inside, in spite of not being overcooked. It had a good burnt flavor, as a steak should, and it was a little different from a fried steak’s flavor.

Still, fried steak is better. No doubt about it. I’m thinking I may continue to fry steaks while using a hand-held torch to add flavor.

I’m contemplating getting an electric smoker. I built one years ago, and it was great, but I threw it out when I left Miami. My friend Mike just got a Masterbuilt, and he sent pictures of the meat. It looked wonderful. It wasn’t black, so the smoke wasn’t full of creosote, but he said there was a deep smoke ring, so it wasn’t just roasted.

I don’t have much interest in pigging out or getting back into cooking in a serious way, but it would be nice to be able to get some decent barbecue. Yes, the barbecue around here is very good by restaurant standards, but I can beat it easily without leaving the house or putting on a face diaper. I can pretty well founder myself for 10 bucks.

I stopped typing and wandered off, but I’m back. I have a smoker on the way. I went for a nice stainless job. It’s electric. I read that electric smokers don’t give you a smoke ring, but people who judge contests claim the flavor is exactly the same, so good enough.

When it arrives, I’ll toss some ribs in it. Maybe I’ll low-carb for a blissful week. That would be nice.

One Less Thing to to Worry About

I’m having a Sierra Nevada Torpedo and reveling in my latest triumphs.

Today I had to go to the local Social Security office about some business, and I dreaded sitting in a dirty government chair, staring at Amazon Kindle for half an hour. When I arrived, the door was locked. Coronavirus! They had a number on the door. I called it, and wonder of wonders, they agreed to send me what I needed by mail. No hassle. No waiting. No demanding 52 forms of unavailable documentation. No videotaped colonoscopy like last time. Wonderful.

As blessing would have it, the office is not far from Harbor Freight. I shot over there and picked up two solid wheels for my new propane outfit cart. The air-filled tires it came with are garbage. For $9 each, I got wheels that will never go flat. I also bought a Bremen vise grip I didn’t need, just because I felt like it. People say they’re just as good as Irwin, and they’re a lot cheaper.

When I tried putting the wheels on my cart, I found they didn’t fit perfectly. The old wheels had a longer offset, so the new ones were too close to the center of the cart. If only I knew someone with a lathe, to make spacers.

Oh, wait.

I found a piece of steel on a shelf, bored it out, and cut two spacers from it. I slid them on the cart’s axle, and I was ready to go. Beautiful.

While I was at it, I washed my welding hoses with Or-Pine, a congealed pine oil cleaner made for yachts. It’s very strong, and it has a powerful odor. The welding hoses stank of gangrenous mouse sphincters because unwell mice had made a nest in the box they came in.

Before I washed the hoses, the stink came off on my hands every time I touched them. I don’t know what kind of bacteria those mice had, but they were the real deal. They must have had diseases that would turn heads even in San Francisco.

I don’t know what to do with the old pneumatic wheels. They’re worthless. I hate to throw out new wheels, but I see no point in keeping them. Maybe I’ll remove the tubes and save them for pool toys.

I straightened the workshop out a little before I called it a day. Things are going great. I’ve been working a lot. The yard looks better. My roof problem is scheduled to be fixed; the roof guys came today and put a temporary patch on the problem area. The weather is suddenly tolerable. On top of all this, I keep feeling God is telling me the rapture is coming this year.

I’m thinking of a new project. I bought a propane weed torch, and it shoots a mighty flame. I am tempted to make a bent tube for it so I can attach it to a propane fryer base, aimed downward. The idea is to put steaks and burgers under it and roast them from above. If it worked, it would be magnificent. The big steakhouses cook their steaks this way. They use powerful electric burners called salamanders, and they project heat downward onto the meat.

All I need is a way to bend a tube. I know I can figure it out. Maybe I can find some stainless braided hose.

Time to finish my beer and relax. I hope tomorrow will be at least half as good as today.

Next: I Cut Down the Mightiest Tree in the Yard With a Herring

It’s time for me to pat myself on the back again. I made my own hummus today, and then I installed some new shrubbery beside my house.

I’ve made my own hummus many times. Recently, I started making it again, because I eat it for breakfast nearly every day, and the store kind costs over 4 bucks. The price of the ingredients is around a dollar, so it irks me to get ripped off like that.

I found some recipes online. I wanted to see if I could do better than I had in the past. I learned something. The reason your hummus is coarse is that you’re not peeling your garbanzo beans.

Arabs remove the skins from their garbanzo beans, and it makes hummus very smooth. I guess it also removes most of the fiber, but I don’t care about that.

Removing the skin is a royal pain. You have to heat the beans with baking soda and then rinse them with cold water. This is supposed to make the skins “float off,” but it doesn’t. It only loosens them. Then you have to get in there with your hands and rub them off. It took me maybe 20 minutes. Maybe there’s a better way.

When I was done, I had very smooth hummus, so I would have to say that removing the skins is important.

As for my hedge, I killed the old one because it looked bad, and I had to put something in its place. You would not believe how many choices there were. Over a hundred. I decided to let the lady at the nursery tell me what to get. She gave me 4 choices, and I picked the one I disliked least. I came home yesterday with 6 Indian hawthorn plants, or, as we snowflakes call them, First Nations Oppressed Little Brown People hawthorn plants.

Today I learned that the name of this plant has no “E” at the end. Exciting.

You know what? There are no native Americans. Little fact there for you. Neither science nor the Bible says human beings are native to the Americas. And white people were never illegal aliens. The Indians didn’t have real borders or immigration laws, and many of them were fine with Europeans living here. I’m not saying white people turned out to be great neighbors, but then many legal immigrants end up causing problems, so nothing new there.

Yesterday, I used my Root Slayer shovel to rip out the old hedge, and today I went over the dirt. I hit it with my electric edger to sever any roots the shovel left behind, I torched it for a while, and I added a pre-emergent herbicide to keep weeds from coming back. I put down 4 cubic feet of expensive dirt, shoved the plants in, and covered the works with melaleuca mulch. I hope it works out.

I plan to poison the ground pretty heavily with imidacloprid, so that should also help.

I came in and had a burger, and I saw some news. Louisville malcontents are rioting over the Breonna Taylor shooting. Is this a surprise? No. I guarantee you, BLM terrorists have been going to places like Best Buy and the Timberland store, picking out things to steal during the inevitable riots. I am sure they do that. If you’re a thief, and you know your in competition with at least hundreds of other thieves, you’re going to do your best to get to the good stuff first.

Terrorists are out and about because the grand jury’s announcement came out. No homicide charges. Unfortunately, news sources are saying things like, “No charges in Breonna Taylor death.” To low-information, riot-prone people, this looks like, “Cops did everything right in Taylor case, and no one will be held accountable.” That’s not what happened. One cop apparently sprayed the place with bullets without thinking, he got fired, and he has been charged with a crime. He didn’t hit Taylor, and the cop who did shoot her obeyed the law, so that’s why there is no homicide charge.

Interesting fact: the cops identified themselves more than once. Everyone is having conniptions, claiming the people in the apartment didn’t know who the police were. Not true. They knew perfectly well, and one of them shot at the cops anyway. This is what caused Taylor’s death.

Yes, they had a no-knock warrant, but they announced themselves anyway. But news outlets are not making much effort to point this out, and some are still saying the cops didn’t identify themselves.

It doesn’t matter, because thieves and terrorists were going to riot and loot no matter what, but the rest of us might as well understand the facts.

No-knock warrants seem pretty risky to me. If cops broke my door down at 3 a.m. and didn’t identify themselves, I would do my best to kill as many of them as possible, and I’m a law-abiding citizen. You don’t lie in bed next to an unused rifle and hope the people breaking down your door turn out to be the police. It doesn’t work that way.

So now that opportunists are out in the streets looking for free stuff and a chance to do racist violence, what are they protesting? That’s not clear. Are they protesting no-knock warrants? The no-knock warrant had no effect on Breonna Taylor, and reforms are underway, so I would say there is no legitimate reason to protest. Are they protesting the racism of the police? That seems foolish. The police always shoot back when people fire guns at them, regardless of race. Are they protesting the grand jury’s racism? That would be a bit odd. Grand jurors are random citizens who have zero affiliation with the police, prosecutors, or the judiciary. They don’t belong to a secret organization that meets to burn crosses. For all we know, they were all black.

I’ll just pull back the curtain and tell you how juries are selected. Lawyers pretend it’s all above board, but the truth is that you try to get the most prejudiced people you can find. You want people who already think your client is right, without hearing the evidence. The procedure by which they find this out is called “voir dire,” which comes from an old phrase meaning “speak the truth.” It’s not the same as “voir” and “dire” in modern French. Attorneys ask a bunch of questions, jurors answer them, and then the attorneys try to eliminate anyone who might not see things their way.

Grand juries are different. Voir dire is basically about your ability to serve. They don’t ask you dog whistle questions to try to find out what your biases are.

The people who didn’t hand down a homicide charge in the Breonna Taylor case were not chosen for their unwillingness to indict. They were chosen at random.

I suppose the prosecutors may have steered things this way or that, but in the current atmosphere, and given the way unethical hack prosecutors railroaded George Zimmerman and Kyle Rittenhouse, I would not bet on anti-black prosecutor bias in this case.

Of course, it doesn’t matter. Free TV’s, and a chance to curse the police out and throw things at them without having your head slammed on the trunk of a cruiser…that’s what matters.

I’ll bet looters get into violent confrontations over who got the best stuff. You know they do.

Today I was praying about the rapture, and I asked God again if it was coming this year. I felt an overpowering surge, telling me the answer was yes. Can it really be true? It would be so beautiful to leave this place behind. It’s getting extremely filthy and violent. I would love to live somewhere where I belonged. I would love to stop seeing people who hate the truth, marching in our streets and tormenting the innocent with the consent of the leftist half of the population. I would love to know I would never have to see that type of person again. And what will the 7-year marriage of Christ be like? Best vacation ever.

Please, let it happen. I am ready TODAY. NOW. I intercede for people all the time, and I try to tell people helpful things, but there doesn’t seem to be much more I can do for God while the world is sliding into insanity. I don’t think there is a lot I can still accomplish.

Home Improvement Follows Spiritual Improvement

I am back to blog. Not because I have something to say, but because I am tired and want to relax.

I got lot more done today.

My house had dubious landscaping when I arrived, and part of the problem was aging hedges around the house itself. Apparently, hedges don’t last forever. Mine were about 20 years old, and some of them were not looking good. Also, I suspect there were problems with bugs. I kind of think you have to poison everything in order to keep plants alive here, and I didn’t do that. I came here from Miami, and whatever that area’s faults are, you don’t have to bomb your plants with poison down there in order to get them through a season. This is also true farther north. It seems like I’m in a strange belt of territory which is abnormally hostile to landscaping.

I had some kind of crummy, spindly, partly rotten hedge on the south side of the house, and a few months back, I got tired of it and hit it with 2,4-D, which is a weed killer. I figured dead plants would be easier to remove than half-dead plants. Today I went in with my Root Slayer shovel, and in about half an hour, I had ripped out 18 feet of dead and dying hedge.

That was nice.

I drove to a nursery and told them I needed 18 feet of shrubs, and the lady who worked there gave me a tour and provided suggestions. I sprung for some Indian Hawthorne. I don’t know much about it, but she said it would probably not die immediately, so it sounded good to me.

I also had some annoying plants in the flower box by the pool For some inexplicable reason, the patio has a concrete flowerbed built into it, right beside the pool. So leaves, insects, and dirt, beside a temperamental tub of water that doesn’t deal with contaminants well. The previous inhabitants put at least two different kinds of trees–not shrubs or flowers–in the flowerbed, along with ferns and some kind of ornamental thing. The trees got way too big. I murdered one a few months back and hauled most of it off. I also killed what I think was a banana tree and dumped it in the woods. Today I cut most of the remaining tree–a big fishtail palm–out, and I carted off the debris and hosed the raw stumps with 2,4-D and glyphosate. I’ll leave them there in hopes they suck up the chemicals and die fast. Then I’ll go after the roots.

I’m going to make the pool area my own. I’ll go ask the nursery lady what to put in the flowerbed. I’ll obliterate every trace of living plant matter, and then I’ll plant one kind of ornamental, and I’ll make sure I pick something that doesn’t grow over 18 inches tall.

My well has a big pressure tank over it, and someone made a terrible effort to hide it with a cluster of unkempt flowering shrubs. I was thinking about it the other day, and I realized there was no reason to hide it. A clean, orderly well looks better than a bunch of annoying weeds. Maybe I could paint Trump’s face on it.

This afternoon, I took the plant-massacre solution and doused all the plants around the well. When they die, I’ll rip them out and dump them. Then I’ll think about ground cover. Maybe grass will grow there. The weeds were an aggravating obstacle when I mowed. If I put grass where they used to be, I’ll have a straight shot all the way to the workshop.

I think I should plant another peach tree. They do well here. I poisoned my tree today to keep webworms off of it, and it needs a friend. I still have to do something about squirrels. They hammered the tree last year.

Squirrel season doesn’t start for 18 days, but I emailed the wildlife nanny agency, and they said I was free to kill them out of season when they caused problems. I haven’t taken advantage of this loophole for a long time. I’ve been planning to wait for the season this year, simply because I am not totally certain I trust the wildlife nannies to keep their word if I get caught. Once I get started, I plan to kill every squirrel I see. I may give up on rifles, which are the most enjoyable squirrel-control weapons, and use the Sweet Sixteen. I can’t shoot squirrels out of trees with a rifle without risking sending bullets onto my neighbors’ land, so I have to wait for squirrels to show up on the ground. A shotgun is less challenging and therefore boring, but it gets the job done more efficiently, and the pellets don’t fly all that far. If pellets make it off my land, they’re so small, they won’t be able to hurt anyone or damage anything.

Squirrels must die. Coons must die. Coyotes must die. Nothing else here gives me problems.

I showed mercy to a coon the other day because it had a youngun with it. That was a good deed which is certain not to go unpunished. I didn’t like the idea of shooting a coon’s mother in front of it. They’re horrible pests, though, so I can’t give it a lifetime pass. They’re so bad, there is no coon season in Florida. You can kill them every day and even at night.

I talked to the nursery lady about squirrels, and she suggested putting a plastic snake in the peach tree. I mentioned my preferred method of dealing with them. Hope she wasn’t triggered. I am not against buying a plastic snake, but I will definitely shoot squirrels anyway. I have grave doubts about the snake theory.

I would have had a couple of dozen peaches this year had it not been for squirrels. I got three.

I need to fix the island in my driveway. When I moved here, it had ferns, some scrubby ornamental plants, a bizarre doughnut of aging hedge, a huge rotting oak, a spindly magnolia, and some other kind of tree which promptly died. I got rid of the oak and the dead tree. I think I should scorch the earth and start over with bare ground. Maybe I can find some ideas on the web. I could stick an ornamental tree in there maybe. Perhaps I could make a raised bed rimmed with pavers. That would give me a well-defined perimeter for weed-eating and mowing. As it is now, I’m never sure whether I’m mowing grass or ornamental plants. They blend into each other.

The irrigation system is screwed up. They set it up so it only irrigates places that don’t need water. It wets the ground up against the house, in the driveway island, by the gate, and in the patio flowerbed. I haven’t turned it on in maybe a year, and it hasn’t mattered. Maybe I could find a place that actually needs water and put irrigation only in that area.

I have a big green electrical transformer box in my side yard. It has a rickety rail fence on three sides of it, and the fence used to have a horrible Florida fire vine on it. I killed the vine, mulched the whole area, and put in blackberry briars and grapevines. The blackberries are not doing great, and the grapes grow very slowly. One vine died mysteriously, on a property where grapevines grow so fast they cover the floor of the woods. It has occurred to me that I could tear out the fence, take up most of the mulch, poison the ground by the vines and briars to give them a boost, and let grass move in.

My guess is that the lady who lived here thought the transformer box was an eyesore. I am a man, so I think it looks swell. It would be better to put a little solid wooden fence around it than a rail fence that looks like it was moved here from Haiti.

I’m planning to take the rails out this week with the tractor. Then I can haul the mulch off.

I don’t know if my house will look better after I get done with it, but it will certainly look like someone tried, and that’s worth something.

Guess I’ve relaxed enough. Time to hang out with the birds.

Dry Bones of Neglected Projects Receive Long-Awaited Rain

My propane cart is all done. I finished welding, and I taped around the bare parts and hosed it with truck bed coating. Looks pretty good.

I decided to try my gas outfit. It had been sitting in a box since last September. The hose was still coiled neatly in the box. When I started taking parts out, I saw a big ball of woolly stuff in the coil. I thought Victor/ESAB had put some kind of filler in there for shipping purposes. No, it was a mouse nest. Thankfully, no one was home. Unfortunately, it smelled like infected mouse butt, and that smell is still clinging to the hose.

I was under the impression that I had bought a propane outfit, but it turned out to be set up for acetylene. It had an acetylene regulator instead of a propane regulator. That was a speed bump. I thought I would have to order a new regulator. Then I Googled around and learned that an acetylene regulator will work fine. The hoses are rated for propane, so that was not a problem.

I didn’t have a propane heating tip. I Googled again, and I found you can use an acetylene tip if you clamp a little shield around the end. I fired the acetylene tip up, and it worked fine. I just need to put a shield together. A propane tip costs $158, so I might as well try the jury rig method first.

I heated a piece of 1/8″ by 1″ bar, and it turned red in a hurry. This outfit is going to be very useful. I ordered a couple of propane cutting tips. I already have a pair, but since I put them aside a year ago, I have lost track of them. Some day they’ll turn up.

I need to create some kind of hanger I can weld on the cart to hold the torch and hoses.

I got a lot of other things done yesterday. I put a new seat on the garden tractor. This is the one part John Deere doesn’t overcharge for. The Chinese knockoff costs $90, and the real thing is $109, so I went with OEM. My old one had cracks in it, and they let rain fill the padding. I cover the tractor, but you only have to have the cover blow off once to get a seat full of rain, and it never evaporates completely. Now I should be able to mow with a dry rear end.

For some reason, the people who built this house left two humps in the yard, roughly the size of pitchers’ mounds. I have often wondered what they were for. It occurred to me that dogs and cats might be buried under them. People do that. As bad as I feel for people whose pets are dead, I am not going to screw up my yard for a dead cat. This week, I used the tractor’s front end loader to start scraping the dirt away. A few days back, I annihilated a hump in the front yard.

Yesterday, I worked on the hump next to the workshop. I unearthed one corner of a 6′ by 8′ blue Home Depot tarp! What on earth was that there for? Maybe somebody didn’t want Fluffy or Snowball to get rained on in heaven. Whatever. I could not budge it with a shovel because roots had gone through it, so I ripped it off with the tractor, smoothed the ground out, and took the tarp to the dump. I didn’t dig up any collars, so if there is a dead dog down there, he’s still resting peacefully.

Here’s a tip: if you bury your pet in your yard, don’t expect the buyers to leave it there when they want to put in a pool or plant a tree, and that goes double when you don’t disclose it during the sale. If you really have to bury dead stuff in your yard, pick an area that’s out of the way, and bury everything at least three feet deep. Don’t let the kids scoop out a little hole with their hands and then pile a little dirt on top of the departed.

The prior residents did a lot of bad landscaping, and I have been reluctant to dismantle it because I trusted their judgment more than my own. That’s all over with. I’m going to rip out a lot of annoying shrubs, along with some bad decorations. Nice grass is better than sloppy shrubbery and floppy rail fences.

The stumps from my ill-fated citrus trees are gone, and I’ve been running the mower over the locations to smooth the dirt down. I don’t plan to put anything in to replace them, although I might relent and plant a single peach tree. Something useful that won’t die from a Chinese disease.

Peach trees do great here, as long as you poison them to kill bugs. That reminds me; I have to start killing squirrels to protect the peaches. I don’t think I’ll eat the squirrels. I plan to throw them in the woods. Crows and foxes enjoy them.

I have a roof issue. I’ve been working with contractors for two weeks. One crew wandered off after giving me an estimate, so I got another one. Glad that happened. The first guy gave a high estimate and didn’t tell me anything helpful. The second guy gave me a painfully long, boring lecture about roofs and what does and does not work. It was dull, but I kept quiet and let him talk. I learned a lot of great things, and I realized he was going to do a better job for less money. I’m hoping to have everything fixed in around 10 days.

I got nervous and invaded the attic to inspect the roof from underneath. This was a horrible experience. It was over a hundred degrees, and I had nothing to stand on except widely spaced trusses covered with fiberglass insulation. I had to twist and contort my body to move a few inches at a time. The good news: no serious problems. That roof should be good for 5 more years, once I get my patch done.

I understand the roof a lot better now.

I’m having my satellite dishes yanked. They cause leaks, and there is no way I would ever have Dish or DirecTV in this house.

I still have one major boulder issue in my yard. I went out the other day and started blasting it with a jackhammer, and of course, it started to rain about 10 seconds in. The weather is getting cooler fast, and the rain is drying up, so I hope to have that boulder leveled soon. Then I’ll have more grass and one less mower obstacle. There are some small boulder tips nearby, sticking out of the ground. The tractor can’t move them, but the jackhammer will take them down below mower level.

I bought a propane weed torch. Wonderful tool. I’m thinking of using it to char steaks. It will also be great for starting burn pile fires. The tank is heavy, however, so I may go to Home Depot, buy another handtruck, and modify it to hold the tank. A cart made for the tank runs over $60, and that’s ridiculous, because it’s a cheap, embarrassing cart. I can get a real cart and modify it for less.

I feel like God has given me relief from demons that discouraged me. I speak defeat, binding, and muzzling to them every day. I know people don’t believe in demons, and they think people who do are nuts. Jesus believed in demons, and he talked to them. This has always been a nominally Christian country, yet we still assume people who say they have experience with demons are mentally ill. I don’t care. I’m old, and the older I get, the less I care what unintelligent, low-information, insecure people think about me. I’ve had demons cast out of me, and they’re as real as you are.

You can physically feel it when a demon leaves, and afterward, you notice your mind is quiet. The thing that was inspiring counterproductive words to form in your mind is gone. I’m careful not to call it a voice. I don’t hear voices. I can just see what would happen if I said I heard voices. “Your honor, clearly this man can’t be allowed to possess firearms or live on his own, so let’s take his guns and his house and turn his property into a BLM safe space for LGBTQ-trans-mutant-googolsexuals.”

You are surrounded by demons. You are inhabited by demons. They corrupt your thoughts and emotions, they hurt your body, and they destroy your success. It’s the truth. They’re not just for crazy people.

Why am I getting so much help from God? Why am I doing so much work on my responsibilities? I wonder if I’m getting this property ready for the people who will move in after the rapture.

Here’s something interesting: I expect to be here on earth after the tribulation.

I used to wonder if we would return after the tribulation. This week, something occurred to me. We are not going to die; we will be assumed in to heaven as we are, in the flesh. There will be no reason for us to die or age in heaven. If you’re raptured alive, you should be alive 7 years later when the tribulation is over. Jesus will return, in the flesh, at that time. The word says people will return with him and rule with him. It makes sense to believe the raptured will come back.

If these things are true, then a lot of redemption is coming our way. People who were crippled when they left, or who were old and single, or who lost all their children, or who always lived in poverty will be able to lead happy, successful lives on earth. They will be physically perfected.

Will they have marriages and children? Things don’t look so good. Jesus said, “at the resurrection, people will never marry nor be given in marriage.” Does that mean we won’t reproduce, or does it mean we’ll reproduce, but we won’t be bound permanently in pairs? Will there be a universal state of open marriage during the Messianic Age?

Jesus said people who gave up children for the kingdom of heaven would have children multiplied to them on earth and in the world to come, and it seems harsh for people who were trapped in solitude during their lives to have that condition continue after the tribulation, but I’m sure whatever happens will be great.

Was he speaking of the post-rapture return when he said “resurrection,” or did he mean the final gathering at the end of the Messianic Age?

Don’t know.

In any case, it looks like I will be back after 7 years, assuming I manage to be raptured. It would be nice to get a chance to do a few things over, correctly and without opposition or curses.

How do you get raptured? Jesus said he wanted to find his servants giving food to his household. Food appears to mean instruction in the ways of God. The Bible calls basic instruction “milk” and advanced knowledge “meat.” I think that if you want to be raptured, you should be involved in relaying knowledge when Jesus calls.

I keep this in mind these days.

I truly think we will be taken before the tribulation. Leaving us here with the willfully obtuse boneheads and God-haters doesn’t make any sense. God got the Jews out of Egypt, and the plagues didn’t touch them. God took Lot out of Sodom before he burned it. God lifted Noah above the flood. There has to be some reward for obedience.

On the web, I see leftists, literally shrieking about 2020. There is a famous lady on TikTok, screeching profanities like a severely autistic kid having a fit. There are many like her. Most are female. They are losing their minds. Ginsburg’s death pushed them over the edge. My response: 2020 has been great for me. Your reality depends on your relationship with God.

In April, my friend Travis died unexpectedly. I had hoped he would be my compensation for not having a son. I had a very bad month after he died. Other than that, this year has been wonderful. It has been peaceful. Annoying people haven’t been bothering me. I no longer had to care for my demented father. I had two properties that drove me crazy. They were sold last year. I’ve been getting things done. I’ve been doing things I wanted to do in the past but couldn’t seem to get on top of.

I have lacked nothing of importance. My health has been good. I stopped worrying, with God’s help.

My 2020 and the 2020 of people who hate God and authority are two different years. It’s as though they live on the other side of a gulf, like the gulf in the story of Lazarus the beggar.

It surprises me to see how miserable the Antichrist’s people are. I’m not in touch with them day by day, so it’s a shock when their rage and horror pop up on my monitor and in my speakers.

People really need to get to know God. If they’re this miserable now, in the world’s richest country, living in security, surrounded by opportunity, simply because democracy isn’t working out in their favor and the world refuses to mold itself to their pathetic, infantile fantasies, how crazy will they be when Trump wins the election and when his justice is seated?

It’s going to be an astonishing spectacle. They’re at the breaking point already. Full-blown psychosis is just a heartbeat away. They just need Trump to light the right match, and he will do it with the eagerness of a D-Day soldier tossing an explosive satchel into a pillbox full of Nazis.

The rapture will be a division. The Antichrist’s black-clad people will be stuck here, raging at each other and screaming in anguish, much as they are now, and we’ll be at a marriage feast in heaven, free at last from their incessant squawking and abuse. The division seems to be accomplished already, within us. Now it just has to be completed physically. When we’re gone, the Antichrist’s mob will get everything it has clamored for, and it will burn them like flamethrowers around the clock. They think we make life painful. In reality, our presence is the only reason it’s as pleasant as it is.

I can’t think of a time I have enjoyed as much as the last few months. I know that’s God’s work. I’m sure other people can get it, too, if they will just listen.

Thank you, God, for 2020. I hope you will see fit to continue things as they are.

Pre-Tribulation Diversions

Did some more work on my propane torch cart today.

As mentioned yesterday, I have been building a cart to hold an oxygen bottle and a propane tank, so I can finally start using my cutting outfit. I had no success when I looked for manufactured carts, so I bought a cheap Home Depot handtruck and started fabricating.

Yesterday I put a larger base plate on the cart so the propane tank wouldn’t hang off the front, and I added two brackets with chains to hold the oxygen cylinder in place. Today I made a bracket for the propane tank and welded it in place, and I also put some little tabs on the base to prevent the tanks from scooting around. These tabs were completely unnecessary, but they can’t hurt.

I would have done this work yesterday, but I was under the mistaken impression that I didn’t have enough flat bar. Today I saw some lying on the workshop floor, so that changed everything.

To make the bracket, I cut up 1/8″ by 1″ bar, bent one piece into an L, and welded another piece to it. A photo will show you what I mean. I ground some paint off the handtruck and welded the new bracket in place.

To make the tabs, I did what I usually do. I looked for something I had lying around. I found some heavy-duty angle iron cut short pieces out of it, softened the edges using the belt grinder, and welded them to the cart’s base plate.

Now all I need are paint and a rubber strap to hold the propane tank in place. I went to Tractor Supply and bought truck bed coating, but they didn’t have a suitable strap. I bought two new propane tanks and had them filled. Now I have dedicated tanks for the weed torch and cutting outfit. Tractor Supply was selling tanks for $10 off, so that was nice.

Tomorrow, I should be able to paint the cart and set the torch up. Maybe I’ll heat the bent ears on my middle buster and bend them so they’re straight again. Then I could weld in gussets to strengthen them, and I could also try out the long 7/8″ bar I bought to replace the pins that attach to the three-point hitch.

I tried to do another project. I put a big square of 1/4″ plate in my finger brake and tried to turn it into a pan. Didn’t work. I was trying to make a bend a little over 15″ long. The brake is rated for 15″ at a quarter-inch, so it should have worked better than it did. Not sure what’s happening. I hope the people who made the brake were not dishonest.

I figure I can still bend the pan if I do it in short steps, moving the pan sideways under the brake as I go. We’ll see.

The brake is still a great product. How often will I want to bend something that thick over 15″? Not very. Most bends are much shorter, and the brake can handle 3/8″ steel as long as you don’t go too wide.

When I look at the news, I feel like I’m rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. I’m isolated here, amusing myself with pleasant hobbies while insanity spreads over the face of the planet like mold. Oh, well. I may not be doing the world much good, but least I’m not in Portland or Chicago.

A couple of days back I spoke to someone who is also watching the mess from outside. I spoke to well-known conservative blogger Baldilocks for the first time. I guess we have been acquainted since around 2003, and we have communicated via email and blog comments, but we never spoke until this week.

She seems to have the same basic opinion that I do. Leftists are eat up with demons. It’s good to know someone who isn’t uncomfortable discussing the supernatural.

Hope I get the torch working tomorrow. It will be a huge addition to my shop, and I foresee an uptick in metal fabrication after I learn to use it.