Got myself an Annie

Being an old man, I figured I may as well get a .22 that was a step or two up from a 10/22 (not that there’s anything -wrong- with a 10/22, mind you), so I talked to one of my cousins who, along with his charming Mrs, competes at a professional level with .22 caliber rifles. After talking with him for some number of hours, I had settled on getting one of the top end CZ models, when he said the fateful words “one more rifle to consider is the Anschutz…”

Well, after doing a couple of days of research into Anschutz sporting rifles, I called my cousin up and to make a long story short, I ordered a 1761 with the threaded barrel.

I had to get some optics and there was a six month wait on my tax stamp for the can (which, based on my last stamp, was not a long wait at all), and getting the right rings turned into a saga unto itself, but in due time everything came together. Now I wait for some decent weather so I can run off and find out what particular brand and flavor of ammunition this rifle likes to eat. My cousin gave me some RWS, Eley, Lapua, SK and Aguila to try out, I have gathered up some Norma, CCI target and a few other American made brands.

I’m looking forward to going out with one of my uncles (which, coincidentally, is the father of the aforementioned cousin) and spending the day poking holes in paper. 


Her like shall not be seen again

Lee Anne Wilson, AKA “Frozen Fruity” (or for you old timers on BlogTV and Yahoo Live, “Nothing But Fun”) has passed away from the Big C and complications thereof.

As is usually the case, word of this reached me by indirect methods, and while I know intentions are good, I have a need to get to the bottom of things when I am told someone has passed on.

Sadly, I have spoken to a family member who confirms that Lee Anne had received an injury that was not healing as it should, which lead to the discovery of a cancer she did not know she had, and then a host of other complications set in and before you know it…

For those of you that knew her, you were aware that she was a woman of exceptionally rare beauty, on the inside (where it really counts) as well as the outside. She had an amazing singing voice that she really hated to be complimented on (boy howdy, did Dan and I visit her woodshed more than once over that subject, and yet, as befits the mysterious ways of the female of the species, there are youtube videos of her in various karaoke shows), she brooked little to no shit from anyone, and when she flipped you off (and I got flipped off more than anyone, I think), she had middle fingers that … well, they were long and not easily missed. She was the yin to Dan’s yang and made him an absurdly happy man while he was on this earth and I know she missed him terribly when he passed away 2 years ago. She leaves behind a pair of granddaughters that she loved dearly and a small, extremely eclectic group of internet friends that will miss her presence for years to come. I don’t think she loved us like her granddaughters, but she was genuinely fond of some of us and she tolerated me (from time to time, to a degree). I count myself as fortunate.

So never again will I intone the phrase “Ladies and gentle, please give a large (insert site name here) welcome to the one, the only… FROZEN FRUITY.” I’m gonna miss doing that. Slowly but surely, the OG of social broadcasting is departing the realm; with her passing the stage grows dimmer for us all.

Printers, I hate them so very, very much

I despise a fucking printer. I honestly think it would just be cheaper and easier to have a full-time scribe sitting in my office and let them write out whatever I need to print. Bar codes might be a bit tricky…

So here I am, this damned Canon I bought to replace the Konica which I bought to replace a something or other isn’t printing for shit, and no matter how many clean head and deep clean heads cycles I run, it prints like shit. So, I am buying yet another damn printer.

I still have the Konica. It’s a beast of a color laser jet, but it’s a cool $500 to get new “ink” (yeah, I know laser jets don’t use ink, they use johnson and johnson talcum powder that goes everywhere, sticks to everything and never comes off. It’s great stuff). I bought a refill kit a few years ago and that was a waste of money, a waste of time and likely caused several people in my proximity to arm themselves because the crazy bastard on the 3rd floor had finally lost it for real. This is THE TRICK for printers. The printer is cheap. The ink… oh boy, do they have you by the short hairs on the ink. I looked at replacing the ink in this Canon I will shortly be throwing out, ink cartridges made by Mao Tse Dung are 10 to 15 dollah, while the Canon branded ones are $65. Hmmmmm, this is quite a difference. One set is crap (you do indeed get what you pay for) and the other set is grossly over-priced. So I am doing the only thing I can.

I just bought another printer. It’ll be here early next week. Going with a monochrome laser by HP that has refill kits that sell for around $20 (I ordered 2 of them with the printer). I expect the print quality will be crap for a laser, but hopefully I can get more than two years out of it.

Probably won’t.

On vaccinations

In 1967, dear old Dad was given orders to report to Baumholder, WEST Germany (back then, that “WEST” meant a great deal) and that meant once again packing up the possessions and moving to yet another in a series of Strange Lands.

In 1967, the Department of Defense still regarded Europe as it did in the 1940s, a haven for every germ, virus, disease and infection vector known to mankind, so orders for Germany meant shots. Lots and lots of shots. These were not optional shots, these were “shut your fucking mouth, roll up your sleeve and deal with it” shots. The shots were spaced out over a set time frame, as the military had a great deal of experience as to the order the shots could be given and the time interval in between. Some shots did not require much of an interval (read: no interval at all), so one very memorable morning I got one in the left arm, then one in the right arm, and then another one in the left arm. By the time we set foot in the semi-mythical place we call Europe, we were as immune (read: resistant) to any germ that made its home from the Cliffs of Dover to the Iron Curtain as the medical technology of the day could make us. And that is the how and why of a vaccination: it exposes you to some (for lack of a more scientific phrase) watered down form of Germ X, which in turns tells your body to manufacture antibodies to combat this evil germ should it be encountered. If things go ideally, you may well be exposed to Germ X and your antibodies dispose of it so efficiently that you never even know the exposure occurred.

What the vaccinations will not do is render you invulnerable, they will not melt your brain, they will not rewrite your DNA and turn you into a dog, they will not guarantee that you don’t get sick from Germ X. They just stack the deck in your favor as best they can.

The mRNA vaccines that have been rolled out to fight the Chinese War Virus of 2019 are “new” in the sense that this is the first time mRNA has been used in the general population (as a side note for any geeks reading this, an mRNA trial was carried out in 2018 for folks with a rare genetic disorder that leads to extreme plaque buildup, said test was a success). The method by which they work is new, but the effect they have is fairly much identical to the “dead germ” viruses we all grew up with. The mRNA alerts your innards to “be on the lookout” for a particular bad actor (said bad actor being mentioned above) and reacting by attacking the bad guy if it is detected. Just like any other vaccine, you do NOT have 100% immunity to the targeted “germ”, but the deck is being stacked in your favor. Think of annual flu shots here – you may still get the flu, but the odds (chances, likelihood of outcome, etc.) say that your case will be milder and therefore potentially less likely to put you in a pine box, which is a real possibility, especially for the old, the young, the infirm and the unlucky.

You get dealt one hand of cards in life; if you can stack that deck in your favor, you’re a fool not to do it. Politics, religion, race, gender… they have not one goddamned thing to do with it.

Also of note, keep in mind that the average IQ is 100. In the US, it’s actually closer to 95. Always remember that half of the people around you are dumb, too dumb to stack the deck. Also remember the last thing the referee says to both fighters before the match begins: keep your guard up and protect yourself at all times. What I wrote may seem to be a non-sequitur, but it isn’t.

Get the shots.


Regardless of the verdict of the Circus in Minneapolis, downtown is gonna burn yet again. I could refer back to my post of several months ago wherein the county coroner informed the *prosecution* that George Floyd died from an overdose, but no one needs to bother with facts when they have the story that has been repeated ad nauseum by virtually every media outlet in the world. Stories with headlines such as “Helpless Black Man Has Neck Crushed By KKK Loving Police” sell a lot more papers than stories that are titled “Overdose Claims Another Life”. So, this all makes sense from a business perspective, and screw anyone who happens to get caught up in the wake of the narrative.

Here’s what’s going to happen:

  1. Officer Badman is found not guilty based on the evidence presented – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.
  2. Officer Badman is found guilty regardless of evidence, does/does not appeal – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.
  3. Officer Badman is found guilty, the ground underneath him splits open, Satan rises from hell and claims him on the spot – riots, burning, undocumented shopping go on for roughly 1 week until nothing is left to burn or steal.

There is no way around what’s going to happen. Short of sending in the 82nd Airborne Division with fixed bayonets and a decided willingness to use them, nothing is going to stop the second raping of downtown Minneapolis. If you live there, move. If you own property there… no one will buy it, so donate it to some left wing organization so they get to pitch in on the tax hike that is coming to pay for the clean up. And this won’t be confined to Minneapolis, no sir, not by a long shot. Why should their looters have all the fun?

This will be yet another summer spent indoors, avoiding downtown areas from coast to coast because every single one of them has the potential to turn into a war zone in a matter of seconds (be careful who you blow your horn at, etc) and will add a few more million first-time firearms owners to the rolls. It will suck for them, because last summer the shelves at the gun stores were cleaned out and are no where near replenished. Those first time buyers will have a very limited selection, prices will be at quite a premium (it’s called “supply & demand”) and ammunition… good luck finding any at all.

I was amused this morning

Like many SENIOR Americans, I find online grocery shopping to be an unmitigated blessing. Today, I ordered my sustenance from the local Wal Mart and arrived at 11AM to pick my order up.

And older gentleman brings my order out and he is very interested in my car.  He was surprised at the room available in the trunk (I should insert here that I drive a sixth generation Camaro, which is justifiably known for being parsimonious on interior space) and stated that he wanted to get one now that he was retired. He was very interested in my specific model, which is the SS with the big engine and the six speed manual transmission (manual transmissions are a BIG selling point for us grandfathers, we are amongst the last generation of drivers who had to know how to drive a manual, anyone younger than a 40 something likely has no idea how to make that car move an inch – which is just fine with us).

He said his biggest concern with getting one was the ability to get in and out of the car (and here, I quote him directly) “but when I saw you get out of it…” and then he trailed off, so I finished his sentence for him by saying if a fat bastard like me can get in and out, he will have no trouble at all. Then we shared the laugh of the old people, bid one another farewell and we went in our respective directions.

I must admit, I am pleased to be a role model to old fat guys in this great land of ours. I hope he gets his dream car, as I believe they will only be made for a couple of more years.

Franz Kafka, call your office

So I have a couple of credit cards. I use online banking to pay them off every month (a word to the wise kids: KEEP THAT BALANCE AT ZERO!).

A couple of weeks ago I got an email from Bank XYZ stating that they were “changing the way we do things” and instead of answering a security question or three (which, by the way, they reset annually) you would now be texted a code number to your mobile device to be able to conduct your online business. As a side note, I really do wonder what the fuck people who do not have a “mobile device” are supposed to do. Are they simply the new untouchables, denied the ability to pay a credit card balance because they choose not to own a fucking cell phone? This strikes me as fertile ground for an ADA or senior citizen class action suit.

So this morning, I get up at 5:30 and see a reminder that today is the day I have set to pay off the card balance at Bank XYZ. I log in with my user name and incredibly convoluted password and am confronted with a screen that says they will send a confirmation code to a phone number that has not been mine for years (I mean YEARS). There is no way around this confirmation code devil. I cannot even access customer service until I log in and… CONFIRM MY IDENITY using a phone number that is in the hands of some poor innocent who is (if there is any justice in this world) being deluged with notices of failed log in attempts.

No human can be accessed until 7AM to discuss this issue with, so I now have an hour and some odd number of minutes to attempt to distract myself from what is now the very center of my existence.

At 7AM sharp I call the “contact us if you are having trouble logging in” number and explain my issue. I am in luck. I only have to explain the problem to the first person I talk to twice. I am then transferred to the IDENTITY CONFIRMATION CENTER (now is that Orwellian sounding as hell or what?) where I am informed I will be asked five (5) questions about my past. Without going into detail, I did answer all 5 correctly – but I was left wondering JUST HOW THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW ALL THIS SHIT ABOUT ME? Some of the questions I answered concerned actions/details that went back decades – long before I was a customer at this bank and, in my opinion, were none of their business. Mind you, all this is simply to correct a phone number in their database that they failed to erase or overwrite when they went to their new system of texting you a code to your mobile device. In point of fact, when I was transferred back to the first person whom I had spoken with, she confirmed that my current number was the one she had listed (and no, I did not press her on that, among the many jobs I had at IBM, one of them was database analyst, and I am all too familiar with data that embeds into a database that, much like Melville’s Great White Whale, surfaces from time to time simply to send your Pequod to Davey Jones’ locker).

In any event, a code was sent to my cell phone, which I was required to read to the call taker, who then approved adding my current number to the call list (and yes, the old number is still there, in the list of numbers, much like a sinister spider waiting to pounce upon and consume my present number). Selecting the correct number then led to another code being sent to my phone, which I typed into the now tiresome log-in page and miracle of miracles, I was now “in” my account and free to PAY THE BANK THE BALANCE ON THE CARD. Yep, all this bullshit so I can give them money. This is not the 21st century I was looking forward to, and I have no doubt the democrats are responsible for this – although I am probably giving them too much credit as I doubt they are smart enough to figure out something as convoluted and devious as what I went through to pay a bill.

Have a good morning. I doubt mine will get any worse at this point. Maybe.

HOW can this be??!!??


Behold, the miracle of the shipment that violates all known precepts of space and time!

How is this even possible?

I order a monitor from NEWEGG, and it “ships” from Edison, New Jersey on Dec 30, and then is “In Transit” from Baldwin Fucking Park, California 17 hours later (assuming they standardize time zones). This simply cannot be.

Random thoughts, late December edition

I have always been somewhat reclusive by nature, preferring to avoid crowds or other gatherings that require me to pretend that I am happy to be there.

Therefore, I am somewhat befuddled that I am upset that I am unable to visit a couple of uncles this holiday season. I want to have some of Aunt Diane’s chocolate pie and then drive up to Virginia, sit on my Uncle Paul’s porch and watch the sun go down while slowly nursing a glass of Seagrams, listening to Paul expound on how good life has been to him. Those options are simply out of the picture this year, and Paul in particular is not getting any younger.

All these years, I thought I was the Grinch Incarnate, and now I come to find out that I am just an old mushy sentimentalist. If only Dr Suess were still alive to write that story.

Grinch is not pleased

I am left to wonder if I will ever see these people again. My Uncle David (Diane’s husband) is extremely protective of her, as she has had respiratory issues virtually her entire life. None of us doubt that a brush the Chinese Communist War Virus of 2019 would do her in very quickly. David won’t let his own kids in the house, all visits are held outdoors on a spacious porch, masks are non-optional. I do not disagree with his course of action.

Uncle Paul is now in the back half of his 80s and has gone into Atrial fibrillation more than once since Thanksgiving. Paul has a better support system than most of us: his oldest daughter is a hard-nosed, no-nonsense retired ER nurse (God, I love her dearly), his youngest daughter is a practicing MD. They are watching their dad and neither is shy about getting involved with his immediate care if they even get a hint of a feeling of a notion that something isn’t right. His current situation places him pretty much off limits to spending some time on that porch.

I want, badly, to spend a bit of time with all of them, and it won’t happen soon, and it’s a toss up if it will ever happen. I count these vaccines that magically appeared overnight as too good to be true, and when something is too good to be true…

Anyway, Christmas 2020 sucks.

To the surprise of no one…

First, a quote from the settings page of an channel:

“Stream Keys are available if you purchase a Pro Account. Please note, even if your Pro Account expires you will still be able to use your stream key.”

So about all those pro accounts I had purchased… they seem to be absent, n’est-ce pas?

So I loaded up my streamkey and RTMP server information into OBS (I keep stream keys and server info in a text file because who the hell can remember all that shit? Not me.) and abso-fucking-loutely nothing happened. Apparently that bit about “even if your pro account expires” bullshit is exactly that, bullshit.

I can’t say that I am exactly shocked by this. In point of fact, I would have to say my expectations have been met. In all aspects of the operation of his site, he will never miss an opportunity to lie, cheat or steal. Good job, Cram! Consistency is the key to greatness, and you are, without a scintilla of doubt, one of the greatest assholes on the internet. I salute your ability to compete with Gout Boy and his Allergic-to-Everything Mother when it comes to being an asshat of the purest ray serene.

Been a heck of a night.

My old friend Neil (Neil is an Irishman who lives in the lower Hudson Valley, and one of the finest people you will ever meet) and I were talking a few weeks ago, and we agreed that to a couple of average Joes like ourselves, it really doesn’t matter all that much who is actually sitting in the leather chair in the Oval Office. I assume it’s leather. For all I know, it may be Naugahyde. That would be be a shame. If I were President, I’d buy me a leather chair, with a high back so I could nod off (which I am wont to do as I get older).

Anyway, like a lot of “normal” folks, I still find myself getting a tad worked up over presidential elections (and thank god Bill Clinton is out of the picture, or we’d be getting worked up over presidential erections, and I’m sorry I even wrote that… ) so since around 23:00 I’ve been reading this site and that site and it seems (as always) there’s a whole lot of heat but very little light.

What I do have is a monster of a headache. I feel like a nail is being hammered into the socket of my right eye, which is somewhat unpleasant, as you may well imagine. Any time I get that “nail in the eye socket” headache, I go look at the local weather, because roughly 100% of the time, the barometric pressure is either rapidly climbing or falling. Tonight it is taking off like a damned rocket, and coupled with all the reading of both the learned and the ignorant I’ve been doing for the last 7 hours, this headache falls into the “blinding” category.

I tried laying down and convincing myself to go to sleep, but that effort was for naught, so I returned to my office for some relief out of one of those small plastic bottles. It will take a few minute to for the effects of the medicine to begin to work their magic, but in time, the pain will fade and life will be better.

This may be an analogy for elections. Maybe. Maybe not. I will leave that to the wise dead, such as Samuel Clemens, who ALWAYS had something absolutely spot on to say about most any aspect of the human condition. All I can can come up with is “Fuck, my head is killing me.”

So anyway, my thoughts for the evening are two-fold. Firstly, one pundit that I read tonight stated that whether you win, lose, or draw in this election, we live in a country where we can actually vote for the person we desire to be our leader, and in the known history of humanity, that privilege is actually fairly rare.  Secondly, the meds are starting to work and I am damned glad to live in an age where pain relief comes in plastic bottles at remarkably affordable prices.

All in all, it isn’t a bad time to be alive.

The Journey is complete

As of 00:01 hours, I am now on Medi… medicare? Medicade? I will be fucked if I know. I am now officially so old that terms such as “geezer”, “grandpa” and “old-timer” are considered polite ways of referring to me. Excuse me if I prefer to go with my well-earned title of “that grumpy old son of a bitch”.
When the sun comes up, I will sally forth from my domicile, cane in hand, and rap on the windows of various businesses and ask them if they have seen my old hound, “Spot”.  Ha. The joke will be on them, I have no hound of any age named Spot.

HAHAHAHAHA, that’s right. His name is Spot.


The air is cleaner.

The world is a better place.

I am gonna hit some of the Crown Royal Black to commemorate the occasion.

Cheers, assholes. You know who you are.


Ya know what, fuck the Crown Royal, I’m cracking open the Woodford Reserve.

Fun with zombies

So, this tale begins with a merger between two telecom companies and something called voLTE (which stands for “voice over Long Term Evolution”, if you can dig that).

My cell phone carrier was the company that gotten eaten by the merger (by default, every business merger has a winner and a loser) and the company that won the merger uses this voLTE shit. The winning company published a list of the losing company’s phones that would work with voLTE, AND OF COURSE… mine was not on the list. Time to get a new phone, goddammit. I hate cell phones in general, and I truly despise new cell phones in particular.

Living in the middle of nowhere, I decided to drive to a nearby metropolis and purchase a new phone in person and have the salespeople explain the workings of this new phone to my poor ignorant self. To make a long story short, they had the phone I decided to get in stock, but it was in some color called “Sissy 12 year old girl unicorn sparkle” and I wanted a black one. So they ordered me a black one, shipped to my address – and please bring it to the store when you get it so we can pair it to your car and show you all the fabulous features and so on and so forth – which means I get to go home, wait for a box to arrive, then drive back to the metropolis.

Which I did. To describe what happened in the store when I got there with the new phone would beggar belief, so we’ll just leave that part out of this story and say that after a week or so of resetting the phone, I think I finally know what some of the buttons do. But that’s not what this story is about. This story is about me getting a new phone number to go along with the new phone.

When you get a “new” number, you are getting someone’s old number, and chances are they didn’t give up their old number for fun. (My last “new” number belonged to some asshole who owes everyone in the United States money, including the government of said United States, and they want him badly for defaulted student loans. For the three plus years I had that number, I got calls for this dickhead looking to collect money. I would explain to the callers that the number in question now belonged to me, some of the callers apologized for calling and said they would remove the number from their database, but other callers basically said “fuck you, this is the only number we have and we will keep right on calling”. I do need to mention that I reached out to a friend in the business of enforcing laws who actually tracked the prior owner down. He shows 2 active address (one is his mother’s house) AND he has NO current phone numbers in his name AND he is still giving out his old number whenever he is required to give a number.

So anyway, the “new” number I got seems to have been owned by a woman who uses two different names (I know, shocking, isn’t it?) and since we are coming up on an election… well, I have been getting a LOT of text messages, and I want to use just one of them to illustrate the fun I am having.

The “Okay thanks, have a good day” went on for well over an hour. Spam? In any event, I have gotten texts from Greenpeace, the NAACP, the Sierra Club, some group called Care in Action, and several other organizations I have never heard of, but I am reasonably certain George Soros is underwriting them. They all get the same basic reply as above. Usually that ends the conversation, but the NAACP wanted to know exactly how I planned to vote (mail, early-in-person or in person on election day). Now that doesn’t make me too paranoid at all. And by the way, I told them “all of the above” then blocked their number.

So this is how I am entertaining myself these days, and if, by chance, some woman is getting a ration of shit mail from the good folks at the NAACP or Greenpeace, well that makes it even better.

And who didn’t see this coming?

Kyle Rittenhouse.

He’s going to be famous for some time. At this time, it appears that young Kyle is a high school drop out, not possessed of a sterling intellect, a wanna-be Marine/Fireman/Policeman who has now entered a brand new phase of his life: soon-to-be-convicted murderer.

If he gets good enough legal representation, he may skate on murder in the first degree, but he has an uphill climb to do that. He was unlawfully in possession of a firearm (Kyle is 17 years old and strutting around town with an AR is legal nowhere at all except maybe Mogadishu). He traveled a fair distance to be at the scene of riotous behavior – in other words, he went out of his way to get there. He apparently announced in speech and in writing that he was headed to Kenosha to “defend/protect property”, exactly none of which belonged to him. All of this speaks to a certain level of planning and premeditation, and premeditation is a key element in the charge of murder in the 1st degree.

Kyle’s facebook and other social media accounts were widely captured before they were shut down. In these various accounts, Kyle appears dressed as GI Joe, a police cadet (he may/may not have been enrolled in a cadet program in some jurisdiction) and is fully suited up as a fireman. And then there’s THE picture of him, holding onto a S&W M&P rifle (that’s the Smith & Wesson version of an AR-15) wearing some shoes that you gotta see to believe.

Dude, really? Where does someone even go to find such… interesting footwear.Based on his fashion sensibilities, he may try for the insanity defense.

Kyle is an all too predictable outcome of the street calculus that is being acted out right now. Naughty people are doing everything in their power to provoke a response from the police. To the surprise of no thinking person, a wannabe cop shows up and responds to the provocation. There is a massive amount of “information static” surrounding what happened to and around Kyle before he started pulling his trigger. There are reports of him getting smacked in the back of the head by a skateboard, there are numerous witnesses stating that he was being rushed by people who intended him harm. There are reports that one or more of these personages may have been in possession of openly displayed firearms, which will be a key element in any case made for self-defense.

It is in poor taste to observe that he was able to simply get up and walk away from the scene, which is a sort of a left handed complimentary testimony to the benefits of having superior fire power. Had the Antifaoids been better organized (and after this, I believe they will be), they would have descended on this kid and eaten him alive.

But getting back to his upcoming trial, he will be tried as an adult, I suspect the state will go for murder in the first degree, but they will also charge him with murder in the second degree, manslaughter, assault inflicting grievous bodily injury, attempted murder, various weapons charges, etc., etc. After his conviction, he will then be carted off to some prison where his asshole will be widened considerably. No doubt about it, he is gonna be someone’s wife.

It’s a shame someone didn’t take a hard look at him, ask him how old he was and send him home. But, to our knowledge, no one did (which is perhaps understandable given the total chaos that was going on around him). Several lives would be on different trajectories right now if he had been escorted back to his car and told to beat it.


Of course you can’t breathe…


At 7:30 p.m. on May 31, 2020, prosecutors “met” online with Dr. Andrew Baker, Chief Medical Examiner of Hennepin County, to discuss Floyd’s toxicology report.

So there they were, staring at the just-received and damning toxicology report that blew to smithereens the whole prosecution theory that the police had killed Floyd. To their undoubted dismay, Dr. Baker, the chief medical examiner, had to concede that at 11 ng/mL, Floyd had “a fatal level of fentanyl under normal circumstances.” He also conceded that the fentanyl overdose “can cause pulmonary edema,” a frothy fluid build-up in the lungs that was evidenced by the finding at autopsy that Floyd’s lungs weighed two to three times normal weight.

This is consistent with Officer Kueng’s observation at the scene that Floyd was foaming at the mouth and, as found at autopsy, that his lungs were “diffusely congested and edematous.”

In other words, like a drowned man, Floyd’s lungs were filled with fluid. And that was the obvious and inescapable reason why Floyd kept shouting over and over again that he couldn’t breathe even when he was upright and mobile.

The memorandum ends with Dr. Baker’s devastating conclusion that “if Floyd had been found dead in his home (or anywhere else) and there were no other contributing factors he [Dr. Baker] would conclude that it was an overdose death.”

It is quite telling that this explosively exculpatory June 1 memorandum was not released by the prosecution until August 25, 2020. All of which prompts these questions:

First, why did the prosecution wait three months to release this memorandum?

Second, if the prosecution had released this information in a timely fashion, would that have helped to quell the anti-police outrage that has fueled the nationwide orgy of rioting and looting?

Third, in light of Floyd’s toxicology results and the medical examiner’s assessment that Floyd’s fentanyl overdose caused him to essentially drown in his own bodily fluid, why haven’t the charges against all of the police defendants been dropped?


I think we all know why the charges aren’t being dropped. The loud & stupid would lose their loud & stupid minds and burn down the rest of Minneapolis… unless the required amount of force was brought to bear to put a stop to them. So far, no political will to act has been observed in Minneapolis.

I went for a ride

The world is an irksome place right now. The United States is just crawling with low intelligence high volume morons who seem to be upset that they aren’t allowed to rob, steal, rape and plunder at their leisure. As of this time, it is still unlawful for good, upstanding citizens to drop these miscreants on sight, so I did the only thing I could do.

I dropped the top and went for a ride.

The best therapy is convertible therapy.

I have questions

Sponge Cake. What sort of sponges does one use? I’m here to tell you, I have tried five or six different brands of sponges (including that Mr Clean Magic Eraser thing, but isn’t EXACTLY a sponge, but it’s close) and they all tasted absolutely terrible.

If anyone can give me some tips on how to make an edible sponge cake, my neighbor’s dog will thank you.

And nothing has been learned

And so we do it again…

Atlanta, Georgia. Drunk, passed out behind the wheel in a drive through line at a fast food restaurant. OF COURSE THE COPS WERE CALLED.

Cops show up and the drunk wants to fight two agents of the state who really would love to be somewhere else right now.

Because these agents of the state are not putting their all into the fight, the drunk grabs one officer’s taser and takes off for the hills.

Chase is given to the combative moron, who turns and fires the taser at his pursuer (oddly, the media didn’t seem to show that part of the bystander footage).

Having been fired upon… you’re dead.

This is so fucking simple that it defies credulity that this happens over and over and over again: DO NOT PUT YOURSELF IN A POSITION OF CONFLICT WITH THE COPS.

Steve Sailer sums it all up very nicely in one of his posts, the zeroeth amendment to the Constitution of the United States: Congress shall make no law requiring a black man to be arrested if he’s just not in the mood to be arrested.

Yeah… funny how this just keeps happening. Gonna be a long summer, I think.