What would you say...

 If there was a thirteen year old girl dressed in slutty clothes gyrating on a stage while men hooted and hollered at her?

You'd probably say some unpleasant words, wouldn't you?  I know I sure as hell would.  And if I were in close proximity to the men who were encouraging a thirteen year old girl to act like a stripper on stage, I might express my distaste in a physical manner.

Now....  with that in mind....

I have no words to describe how revolting it is to see a thirteen year old boy dressed up like a woman gyrating around while men hoot and holler.

What I will say is this:  This is what the groomers want as they push drag and trans and gay gay gay on your kids.  

And I'll add this:  I would bet every cent in my savings that boy has already had sex with grown men.  You can count on it.

Ending VA disability for DISABLED VETERANS

But I guarantee that Shaniqua and Lavontr'e are going to get their fucking EBT, aren't they?

Hey, tell me again why the Army can't find anyone to sign up?

Didn't the cops in London arrest a woman for praying?

 Not even praying out loud, but praying silently.  I guess that's why they can't be bothered to actually track down rapists.

Rape victims described being told they 'should and could have done more' to protect themselves by sarcastic, rude and dismissive investigators.

Many officers are desperate to close cases with NFA – 'no further action'. One admitted: 'The incentive is get it NFA'd because we have to do so much work to get it up and then the Crown Prosecution Service will NFA anyway.'

Ya wanna know why the cases get NFA'ed so often?  Who do you think is doing most of the raping?  Is it some yob from Liverpool who wants to get his jollies off?  Some bloke hanging around Trafalgar Square and thinking he'll have himself a little in-and-out action?

I highly doubt it, given that those people have been pushed out by the millions and millions of muslims that England has let in.  You know, like the muslim men who were running a grooming and rape gang of under aged girls that the police knew about and did nothing to stop.

You don't remember that?  Let me refresh your memory.

The grooming gangs have been traced back as far as the late 1980s. At-risk white English girls, often from broken homes and some as young as nine years old, were wooed or "groomed" by teenage Muslim boys called 'Romeos' and even by groups of Muslim men who hung around school gates. The girl would be made to feel important; given gifts and drugs. She was being groomed to be a drug addicted prostitute. Then came the gang rapes. They were threatened with death if they tried to flee.  

This is what they do in their own countries.  And this is what they do when they come to our country.  In Islam, women are considered second class people.  Sharia law treats them like property, not people.  So if some moon-god worshipping towelhead wants to get a little action, why shouldn't he use an object like a woman?  It's not like he considers her to be a person.

But anyways, given that London is no longer a white, English city but is instead a muslim city, the chances that the powers that be are going to start upsetting their overlords by actually arresting the fucking rapists is nil.  Zero.  Ain't gonna happen.

But by golly they'll arrest a Christian woman for praying outside an abortion clinic.

As Peter Grant likes to tell people, GET OUT OF THE CITIES.  When the collapse hits, they'll be pits of anarchy and sadism.  Just get out.  

And if I were a woman, I wouldn't go to any area dominated by Democrats or Muslims.  Ever.  

Dad's second tour in Nam

 At this point he's make rank so he's not shoving supplies out of a tent, but it's still pretty austere.  After all, Marines.  And Nam.  But there's perks to his job, as he's now in charge of the supply chain for his entire regiment, and one of those perks is that he's in charge of the food for the annual meetings of diplomats that were held on a monthly basis in Thailand.  Remember, the Marines guard our embassies, and the diplomatic meetings were a function of said embassies, do Dad gets to order the food for the once-a-month party.

Said food being steak and lobster, because..  well...  diplomats.  And bullshit.  In Thailand.

But here's the thing:  The meetings were SCHEDULED for every month, but that doesn't mean that they actually happened every month.  And Dad, being a good supply officer, knew that you just couldn't have last month's steak and lobster just sitting there in the freezer.  That wouldn't do for the high and might diplomats, not at all.  So dad orders new steak and lobster, then takes the old steak and lobster, and goes searching for people who care enough about their status that they'll trade away a lot of nice stuff to get the food.  After all, he can't just bring the food back to Nam with him.

Enter the Air Force.  Not only did the Air Force desperately want the steak and lobster, but they were willing to bring in cases of Jack Daniels from the states to trade.  Yes, there was a lot of steak and lobster for these meetings, and the Air Force couldn't understand why some jarhead had what should rightly be their supper, but fine, here's some whiskey and yes we'll get more and fly it here.

Dad also got a nice case of the AF survival knives at one point.  All of it easily transportable.

So now dad has quite a bit of Jack Daniels.  Is he going to give it to his own men?  Dad knows Marines.  Dad knows what Marines and whiskey will accomplish in country, and Dad wisely says "Nope, not today" and trucks the whiskey over to the people who think they can drink.  

Enter the Navy.  Specifically the SeeBees.  Why the SeeBees?  Because they build shit.  And they have the materials to build said shit, and they have a mighty thirst that can only be quenched by Old Number 7.  And when Dad describes what he'll accept in trade for the cases of whiskey (and the knives.  The Navy guys loved the AF survival knives for some reason), the SeeBees look around, scratch their hands, and say "So you want this when?  Done."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how my father's regiment had the only enclosed, hardened gym in country.  His Marines could work out in mosquito-free comfort, safe from pretty much anything but a direct artillery strike.  And they were a bit too far back for a round to drop on their heads at that point.

Later on I would take some of these lessons my father imparted to me and use them to great effect during my own career.  I still have some gear that was never on the books stashed away, that was traded for other stuff that fell off the books or "expired".  And whenever I could, I made sure that my guys had EVERYTHING they needed.

Damn straight

Well, crap

My computer is refusing to recognize the charger.  Meaning, it's not charging.  The computer itself is over two years old.

I'm about to just go get a new one.  And it won't be a fucking Dell, because I refuse to deal with pieces of shit that don't work.  I've already sent this one back multiple times to get fixed.  Apparently there's always something else coming up that's a problem.  I know technology companies like to build crap like that into their programs, and I refuse to buy another hunk of shit from a company that I've already given plenty of money to for a product that's not working.

I didn't need this shit today.

At least I have a cheap Chromebook that works, so I can do the shit I need to do.  But dammit, typing on this thing requires me to reprogram my fingers.

America has a Democrat problem.

 I know I posted about this some years ago.  5% of all the counties in America made up 95% of all the crime, and of course, those counties are Democrat controlled, Democrat run and Democrat populated.

So I saw this and went "Well, yeah!"

Oklahoma County and Tulsa are two of the 62 counties that were responsible for 56% of America’s murders in 2020. A groundbreaking study by John R. Lott of the Crime Prevention Research Center, revealed that “1% of counties have 21% of the population and 42% of the murders” and  “2% of counties contain 31% of the population and 56% of the murders.”

The 1% of bloody red counties include such Democrat strongholds as Philadelphia, New York City, Los Angeles, Baltimore, Dallas, D.C., Miami-Dade, Milwaukee, San Diego, St. Louis, Chicago’s Cook County, L Houston’s Harris County, Detroit’s Wayne County, Memphis’ Shelby County, Pheonix’s Maricopa County, Cleveland’s Cuyahoga County, and many others.

I have to admit, these days when I hear about the murder rate in some city or yet another shooting in a Democrat controlled shithole, I just can't muster up any kind of real outrage.  These people have rejected everything that would make a city livable.  Hell, most of them have rejected God in every kind of meaningful sense, and thus rejected all of the various Christian values that help keep society operating in close contact with each other.

Chicongo might have pulled their head out of their ass long enough to take a breath, based on the fact that they got rid of the bastard son of Groot and Beetlejuice.  But since it's Chicongo, I don't really expect anything to change, and the city will continue to sink into a morass of stupidity, crime and violence.

And should I raise my voice to say that maybe people should turn back to God and stop acting like animals, I'm called a racist.  It's happened plenty of times in the past.  I expect it to continue in the future, because when faced with the reality that these people have created for themselves they don't have any arguments for their life or their behavior.  Therefor the people who point out the problems must be insulted, shouted down and belittled.

I recall a passage in the bible where Jesus instructs his apostles that when they come to a place where people refuse to listen, they should shake the dust of the town off of their sandals and continue on.  That's kind of how I see the cities right now.  My main goal is to prevent the sickness from spreading to where I am.  Secondary is helping them see the problems they've created for themselves.

We'll see how many of them are left after a few years, thanks to the clot shot that they all willingly lined up to take.

Yeah, I've got shit just flying around in my head.  Lots of things going on.

My father's first tour in Viet Nam

 He was the supply officer for a Marine battalion.  And dad had a problem.  He could requisition supplies all he wanted, but almost every time he did, the requisition wouldn't go through.

Prior to being sent to Nam, Dad had been stationed in Okinawa, doing logistics type things at the logistical hub at that base.  So Dad knew where all the supplies came from.  Hell, he'd been the one pushing them out the door for a couple of years.  He knew the supply chain from top to bottom.  He knew what was supposed to be happening.  He just didn't know where in the supply chain things got broken.

So here he was, a junior officer, with his CO giving him the stink-eye every time another requisition went unfilled and Marines went without the supplies they were begging for.  And that didn't sit well with my father.  Dad wanted shit done, and done right, and done right now.  So dad gets a stack of requisition forms.  He fills out all the data on them except for two parts:  the actual material requested, and the amount.  He goes to his CO.  "Sir, I need you to sign these."  The CO takes the forms, flips through them, and looks up at my dad.  "You know there's nothing in the amount block, don't you?"

Dad just smiles.  "Don't worry Sir, there will be."  And the CO, knowing that Dad was a competent Marine who was about to go do some Marine shit, signs off on the forms.

Dad then catches a flight to Okinawa.

He had pretty much decided that where ever the fuck-up was in the supply chain, it was between the warehouse in Okinawa and his unit, and he decided to simply skip all the steps in-between those two points.  He gets off the plane, and catches  cab to the base.  He walks his happy ass up to the warehouse that he had spent two years working in, and just looks.

It's fucking stuffed.  

Hell, it's OVER-stuffed.  He told me there were pallets and crates sitting outside the warehouse because they didn't have any room inside.  There was boxes of shit everywhere.  Dad had to walk sideways through the stacks of materiel that was sitting around.  So he grabs his forms, and starts looking for what he wants.  Hey, canteens!  They needed canteens!  And here's an entire block of boxes full of canteens just sitting here!  He he takes one form, writes "Canteens, individual, metallic, 1 case" etc etc etc.  If you've ever dealt with military logistics you know that it's never just a simple description.  When I worked logistics I used to refer to myself as "Sergeant Dave, Military type, tan in color, one each."  Dad says he took the whole damn stack of canteens.  He couldn't remember the number.

He then worked his way into the warehouse, where he shook hands with people he knew, introduced himself to people he didn't know, explained what was going on back in country, and waved his stack of requisition forms under their noses.  And then, as he put it, he went on a shopping spree that would have made my mom turn green with envy.

He was the only passenger on the C-130 back to Nam, because his supplies took up the entire damn plane.  The warehouse had to help coordinate the trip back, as the flight officers were not quite sure who the hell he was or why he was showing up with case lots of gear.

Back in Nam, it took five deuce and a half trucks to carry it all.  He showed up at HQ, and the CO had everyone on alert because nobody was expecting a convoy to show up and they thought it was a surprise inspection from higher HQ.  The first truck pulls up to the log tent, dad hops out, hands all the completed paperwork to his CO and goes about stuffing his supply area with all the gear.  He made one or two trips back to Okinawa during his time there, and his CO always signed the paperwork without question.

Anyways, that's just one story about my dad.

I need coffee.

 

Truth #3