Sunday, March 21, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Just like the three wars in the gulf, when there is war, people turn to gold, oil (if they buy before it goes up), and US treasury bills. We are having such trouble with bond auctions that the administration might see this as the only solution to bolster confidence in the dollar. The obvious choice, cut spending and reduce taxes, wouldn't be considered for a nanosecond.
We have plenty of military assets in-theater, and Israel has a raging chubby to go after Iran right now. Let's face it, the apocalyptic death-cult that runs Iran right now would launch a nuke as soon as they had one built.
This week I have been cycling through my stored gas. I'm disappointed with the containers I bought, so if anyone knows of good metal ones cheap, please let me know. I fully expect gas to go up, and I want to stock up on the winter blend.
I'm still working on the new website. Work's been keeping me real busy, and let's be honest, it's hard as hell to sit in front of a computer when it's the first few days of spring. I did get out to the range yesterday, and practiced with my .22 pistol. I should have snapped a picture, all of the first 20 rounds were in the black at 25 yards :) needless to say, I was pleased as punch.
Get out there and practice. with a target pistol you should be able to put all your rounds into a soft-ball sized circle at 25 yards with carefully aimed shots at about 1 round per 2 seconds.
That reminds me, I never talked about cadence and shooting. It's one thing to blaze away, but another to have accurate aimed shots going downrange. Let's take pistol shooting for example. When the target is 25 yards away, you need to put the post on the target, line up the rear sight and squeeze the trigger. But the shooting cycle does not end there! You need to follow through on your shot, absorbing the recoil, and begin the process of putting the front post back onto the target.
This cadence of shooting is not a hard number. You don not need to fire exactly 1 shot every 2 seconds. In fact, your cadence needs to be adjustable depending on the accuracy you need. If I have a 18" silhouette at 21 feet, my rate of fire will be a heck of a lot faster than if I'm shooting at a 25 yard target keeping it in the black. Likewise the rate of fire would be different if I was shooting a silhouette at 25 yards, rather than the NRA pistol target at 25 yards.
Next time you go to the range take a sheet of regular paper with you and put it at 100 yards. practice pumping as many rounds into it as fast as you can, build up that knowledge of what rate of fire it takes you to hit that 90% of the time. Then take another and fold it into 1/4 the size and do it again. Your rate of fire will have to be different, if not speed up on the larger target.
For a scoped rifle, run this exercise at 200 or 300 yards. Another good exercise is to have targets at 50, 100, 200, and 300 yards and have a spotter randomly call out ranges for you to shoot at. Practice this from each firing position too.
Well I hope I gave you a few ideas on how to better train for the zombies. Please share any other ideas you have in the comments.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
I make no bones about the fact I wish a complete overhaul of how our country educates its children. It's about time life skills are taught in our schools. It's time we teach more than how to read, we need to teach how to learn.
I wonder how fast the collapse of the dollar will happen once the news gets out to the stockbrokers that the game their playing is rigged. That the stock market is just legalized gambling.
Monday, March 15, 2010
I warned you about a year ago... Canned food and a shotguns :) handy for the zombie apocalypse, too!
The dems will do anything to pass us further into socialism. Most democrats are openly socialist now, Obama has done one thing, he galvanized the collectivist - altruistic - statists into leveraging as much “reforms” as possible to make us into a European socialist state.
Our Debt to GDP ratio has skyrocketed, it’s only a short time before no one buys bonds (the Fed Reserve is buying most now) and the Fed cannot buy all the bonds, the existing holders of the 5year+ T-bills would dump them as worthless paper. That collapses the dollar, and Zimbabwe hyper-inflation sets in.
Great for paying off loans, bad for everything else.
I’ve been reading about all this for a couple years now, and I cannot see any way out other than human stupidity. If the idiots on wall street still think the dollar is strong, and the dumbass investors don’t see the warning signs that are out there, then we might be able to do it. All it takes is one big bond investor to dump their bonds and that will trigger the rest, and the collapse comes in a matter of days, maybe even hours.
China is no longer the biggest holder of US debt. They haven’t been selling bonds, but the ones they hold they have not re-invested as they matured. China not buying bonds was the biggest warning I’ve seen. China doesn’t want to upset the apple cart, they want to divest our debt without triggering the collapse, and so far they have been doing a brilliant job. All it takes is another country to unload too fast and the shockwave panics investors and then we collapse.
The news is not covering this at all, after all these people have all their money tied up in the stock market as well. So these guys have a vested interest in “forgetting” to report the failed bond auctions, and other critical warnings.
Scary-ass shit, man.
Hopefully he will wake up.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
What in sam hill is the department of education is doing with any shotguns is beyond me. It's official this country is too screwy for words. Common sense is quite uncommon these days. What gets me is these shotguns are sawed-off, it's illegal for a civilian to have them because the barrel is so short.
Ok everyone, sing along! (stupid embedding disabled dammit)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
There are a lot of things I would like to share, but the blogger format isn't conductive for file repositories, etc. I have also given some thought to doing a podcast. Mayberry beat me to it, but not by much. if you haven't listened to them yet, you really should. iTunes is a free download and there are thousands of free podcasts to listen from, and you don't even need an account, or a iTouch or iPhone to listen to them. Just download them as an MP3 and stuff them on your MP3 player or rip them to CD and listen to them in the car.
I have found podcasts make the long commute go a bit faster, especially on the days I'm suffering from writer's block. I listen to all kinds of podcasts including technology-related ones through freedom-oriented ones, and of course a couple prepper-related ones. I have the computer and related equipment, including a good microphone, so I just need the time to do it.
Then my wicked accent can torment you guys :)
Anyway I've been looking around my 'hood, and most of the for sale signs are down, but I know no one new has moved in because the same cars are parked in the driveway. So much for "green shoots." We are in a tailspin, our economy has no where to go but straight into the hopper. For all the hubbub about lower job losses than expected, we are still losing too many jobs. I just saw an article about forcing lenders to take it in the hoop in short sales. Evidently there are no limits to what this administration will do to look good, because none of these programs will save this sinking ship.
Now it the time to be vigilant, now is the time to ready yourself for what is to come. Although I am going to Vegas on vacation, I'm doing it as frugally as possible. All spare cash is being devoted to preps. I'm buying even more food and medical supplies for the coming storm. I even bought more ammo.
Which reminds me, I forgot to mention I went to my first gun show. Now, let em preface this by saying it was in MA, so it's not a "real" one. I went for the express intention of buying a hunting rifle, bolt-action, in .308 Winchester. Preferably with a stainless steel barrel. For short money. That didn't happen because all the firearms were stupidly expensive. Like a shitty bolt-action was listed for $1000 with a scope... I can buy NEW for that, and get a decent nikon monarch scope on it, in stainless steel to boot.
For the most part ammo was damn expensive too. There were a few vendors selling reloading supplies, but they didn't have anything I needed, so I passed. I did buy 1000 rounds of .22 LR for plinking, at $30 per 500. All the other ammo was on par for what I get from my local gun store. It was worth going, and I may go to another, but this time try to be be of the first guys in the door, I spoke with a few guys from the gun range and they did see some good deals, but they didn't last long.
Well with that addition of .22 ammo I should be all set so long as I replace what I use. I have 2000 rounds set aside, and it will go quick if the poop hits the fan as I will want to keep practicing. Practice makes perfect, and the Zombies won't kill themselves, ya know.
I did manage to sight in my target .308 with it's new scope, and I have to say I am very impressed with the scope I bought from BSA. I have had poor luck in the past, so I was hesitant to buy another, but so far, so good. (knocks on wood). I'll shoot it some more this weekend, and sight it in for 200 yards. then I'll run it through it's paces and give a full report.
That's enough rambling for now, I need to finish up here so I can catch the train home. Please remember to spend a little less on frivolity and a little more on preps the next few weeks. I expect gas to keep going up until it stabilizes in the summer, so it might be good to put up another few gallons now, while they still are selling the winter blend.
Also take the time to look through your supplies and make sure nothing is amiss. It would really suck to find the yeast you need to make bread is bad after all the stores are looted...
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Now, I have a class A license to carry, which allows me to walk in and buy a handgun and ammo and walk out of the shop with it loaded on my person. But in this Nanny state I had to resort to fucking begging to buy cold medicine, because none of my ID's were good enough. I had a temp license from the RMV (while they printed my new one and mailed it to me), I had my expired license, I had my class A LTC, and I had my fucking PASSPORT. Yet none of these ID's were sufficient proof of my identity to buy cold medicine. Are you freaking kidding me?!?
It took 4 tries to buy cold medicine. With me hacking up technicolor phlegm in front of one pharmacist to allow me to buy the damn stuff with my plethora of ID's by scanning his own license into the damn register. I think it was on visit #3 to the pharmacy I snapped and was screaming how I could buy and carry a fucking assault rifle easier than cold medicine when they realized I was a tad out of it. I managed to leave before the cops showed up.
Anyway I'm feeling much better. I still have a bit of a cough but I no longer have that "microwaved dog vomit" feel of the flu. I'll be right as rain in time for Las Vegas. That's right! I'm going to Vegas, baby! Games, stogies, broads, and booze. Might be the last time to enjoy the city of sin before it all goes to hell. I do love that city, but my liver needs a big time-out for at least a month afterwords. Yeah I could be a "better man" and not drink and smoke obnoxious foot long cigars, and enjoy the company of morally ambiguous cougars or coeds with "daddy issues", but I'm a single guy so I'm guessing you are all just jealous.
I've been watching the financial news with the dawning understanding of what it's like to be a vulture watching some poor zebra wander around dying from thirst. The anticipation of the collapse is like the salty taste of blood on the lips. It's like we are cresting the middle hump of this 'w' shaped recovery and I want to yell "WHHHEEEEEEEEEEE" like we are on some kind of roller-coaster and not the collapse of our economy. This is what Tyler Durden felt as the bombs went off.
I finished Thomas Paine's Common Sense and Rights of Man on the ride home last night. Although both give excellent insight into the time when we were writing the Constitution and the issues our forebears were dealing with, I find that it wasn't as applicable to today as I hoped. Granted there are some great ideas in there, but reading through page after page of his assault onto the idea of a monarchy was a bit dull, to put it kindly. I found that Common Sense was a more applicable, and I encourage everyone to give it a read. It's only 52 pages in the edition I have, so it's not too bad. Here is a quote:
[...] and that the elected might never form unto themselves an interest separate from the electors, prudence will point out that propriety of having elections often: because the elected might by that means return and mix again with the general body of the electors in a few months, their fidelity to the public will be secured by the prudent reflection of not making a rod for themselves.I wonder how many of the nitwits in Congress ever read this? Our representatives represent nothing but the special interests. They represent those who can keep them in power. They represent those whose image they can use to manipulate the polls, and buy votes with guilt. I am not a violent man, I wish to do no harm to anyone, but the idea of these robber barons drunk with their own power makes me wish to drive to DC with nothing on but a banana hammock and galoshes, and beat the piss out of every one of those shitheads (save one) with a baseball bat.
I managed to get further along in the novel while sick, but after proofreading it on the train ride in it has to be all scrapped because NyQuil does some fucked up things to your brain. None of it made a lick of sense, especially the Balrog manning a checkpoint at Rt. 90... (Note: don't watch the Lord Of The Rings trilogy while bedridden and try to write anything while on cold meds.)
PS - after re-reading this post I realize I'm still pretty out of it. I wonder if this is what mescaline is like. Maybe Musinex-D is recreational, and not used to make meth, and that is why it's restricted. Anyway I'm going to watch my screen saver for the next hour check it out at: electricsheep.org
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I'm not deathly ill or anything, but I obviously do not have the self discipline not to touch my eyes or nose before smearing them in jelled alcohol. I guess I could let things take their course, until I catch up on all the cold strains I missed by riding in a car back and forth to Boston, but I rather just skip the sniffles altogether.
I do have an orange every morning as part of my breakfast, but the boost in Vitamin C isn't enough. It has been recommended to me to take Black Elderberry extract. I'll give it a shot, and let you know how it works out.
I also have been worried about the lack of fatty acids in my diet, so I'm going to start taking some fish oil caplets... the problem is I HATE fish, and fish burps can be an issue with these caplets. I have a friend that has tried 25+ brands and have suggested one for me to try. Once again, if it's good I will let you guys know.
The dollar looks like it's going to weaken some in the next week, so be sure to load up on oil and fuel before the prices jump.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
In order to keep this less than 300 pages of techno-babble, I'm going to keep this on point, and try to keep this more hands-on than theory.
First, if you do not have current anti-virus software, then get it here.
Second, never, and I mean never! connect a computer unprotected to the internet. Unprotected PC's are attacked and compromised in about an hour. If you must connect a computer directly to the cable modem then the local firewall must be enabled.
Guess it's time for a quick discussion on how the whole internet works. Every computer on the internet has and address, and each computer has a load of windows and doors for data to come in and out, called ports. These ports are defined and standardized, for example port 80 is for web(http) connections, and port 443 is for secure web(https) connections. Your address is represented by a "dotted quad" for humans (i.e. 188.8.131.52).
A firewall acts as a traffic cop, preventing traffic from getting into or out of your house. Usually these are in the linksys routers you use to connect multiple computers tot he internet. Your cable modem DOES NOT have one. All Unix, and current Mac and PC (xp+) OSes have firewalls, but they are not the best in the world. I could write a whole series on how to configure them. The default settings are better than nothing.
Since you don't want to remember these numbers, and have to type that number every time you want to go to google, they have a naming resolution system called DNS - Domain Name System. The way DNS works is there are domains that nest inside each other, and by sending the name to a server, you get the dotted quad back. Thankfully, all of this is behind the scenes 99% of the time. The reason this is important is for you to protect yourself you need to know a little on how this works.
The way DNS works is you give it a name like www.google.com, and the DNs server finds the server that runs the ".com" domain, who points you to the server that runs the ".google" part who then gets you the IP address of the "www" part. The leftmost part is the most specific, and the right hand part of the name is the most general.
Since every computer on the internet has an IP address, and that IP address is from your local internet service provider... if you go hack the NSA website and they get your IP, black helicopters know what house to go to. But we have ways of hiding that, more in a few minutes. Hit this website for a demonstration.
Ok, back to practical stuff. Every computer has a local file it uses to find addresses for computers. We can use that to stop malware and other nasty software from calling home. Edit this file and replace it's contents with the stuff from here. The site has info on how to edit your hosts file.
Next, a word about habits. Never, ever run anything sent to you in an e-mail unless you explicitly trust that person. This includes the funny powerpoint presentations, or excel files or even word docs. There is programming that can be embedded into these documents that act like a virus and can infect your machine. Do not go to any website you do not trust. don't click on any pop-up ads - ever. Do not download "free" games from pogo, or anywhere else. Sucks don't it? Only way to be sure you are safe is not to play dangerously. I'll write another document later on how to build a secure browsing computer.
Next, if anyone has physical access to your computer, then they have compromised it. Set a screen saver with a password- it will stop "drive-by" hacks - the ups guys going to use your bathroom and does something to the pc turned on in the office.
Now to protect your location from snooping you need to anonymize yourself. There is a free network called TOR that protects you from basic web browsing, but it will not protect you from flash, cookies, youtube, etc... There is a good writeup here on what it protects you from - and what it doesn't. There is a paid subscription service called anonymizer for $30/year that is pretty good, but it is not compatible with IE8 and Firefox 3, so for now it's useless.
Most of internet security is just having good habits. Once you secure yourself, then always use that security to protect yourself. A Wired magazine writer just had a contest where he tried to disappear, and bad habits got him nabbed. I read a great article about it by the fugitive, but cannot find it, here is the hunter's story.
Being cognizant of your surroundings applies to the online world too, you know.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A human being has the right to their own life.
All relationships are voluntary
You have the right to disagree
Humans have the right to own property
All these rights are equal for everyone. A collection of beliefs is a moral code. This is my moral code, and I firmly believe this code fits with every religion on this planet. There may be some additional beliefs and tenants, but this moral code does not, and logically cannot interfere with whatever religion you may follow. Earlier, if you answered that your Diety(s) own you, then you gave yourself to them by your own free will. Therefore, you voluntarily gave up the right to your own life for whatever benefits your belief system provides.
Note that there is no right to force another for any reason. That is the path of totalitarianism, which cannot exist in a free society based on individual rights. The only socio-economic system that allows a free society that supports these fundamental rights of humans is capitalism. In a capitalist society no one is holding a gun to your head to buy a TV or a car. That has not always been the case in our historical examples of collectivism.
Please note that these rights are equal and for all. No one has a right to your property that was earned fairly. Likewise, you have no right to your neighbor’s property or anyone else’s property for that matter. The same is true for your lives.
In any of these rights do you see where the application of force is tolerated? I do not. You cannot force anyone to do anything. There may be civil penalties if you hold back on a contract, but the contract holder cannot FORCE you to hold up your end of a bargain. I’ll get into more detail on that subject later. You cannot force anyone to do anything; it is a violation of their fundamental rights. Because Altruism-Collectivism does not support these rights, then they resort to force whenever they feel the “end justifies the means.” Mao se Tung summed up the Altruistic-Collective mindset perfectly when he said:
“All political power comes from the barrel of a gun.”
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
1) In any conflict between two men (or two groups) who hold the same basic principles, it is the more consistent one who wins.2) In any collaboration between two men (or two groups) who hold two different basic principles, it is the more evil or irrational who wins.3) When opposite basic principles are clearly and openly defined, it works to the advantage of the rational side; when they are not clearly defined, but are hidden or evaded, it works to the advantage of the irrational side.
For instance, consider the conflict between the Republicans and Democrats (and within each party, the same conflict between the"conservatives" and the "liberals"). Since both parties hold altruism as their basic moral principal, both advocate a welfare state or mixed economy as their ultimate goal.
“Well that wasn’t too bright.” Said someone who Natog was unable to focus on.
Sitting up, he tried to will his eyes to focus. His head didn’t feel attached, like his brain was sloshing around in his skull.
“Here is some water and a towel. It looks worse than it is, the blood isn’t yours. The paramedics got most of the brains and bits of skull off of you.”
“What happened? I blacked out when someone started to tapdance on my head.” Natog felt around until he could feel the offered water bottle and the towel.
“Here, I’ll get that for you. Stand up and put your face close to the bars.”
Natog felt like hell. His back was hurting and his knees were killing him. Standing while grasping the bars for support, the cop washed his face. Finally blinking his eyes open, he could see it was Roswell. “Thanks.”
“Well you had yourself an interesting night last night.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how I survived.”
“Well, you are up shit’s creek without a paddle. You killed five cops last night.”
“Five thugs, you mean.”
“Well they are, well were, cops. We have crime scene services down there now trying to put together what happened.”
Natog knew what Roswell was going to say next. “I’ll give you a statement in a bit, after I get some food in me and I can collect my thoughts a bit.”
“Alright.” Roswell collected the towel, but left the water bottle. Turning he asked, “Did you serve?”
“In the military? No. They wouldn’t take me because I was too fat.”
Roswell smirked, “Well I don’t know how you did it, but you took out five of them.”
Roswell headed upstairs, and Natog looked around. The only illumination was a camping lantern on a small table with a half-finished game of solitaire. A folding metal chair was next to it. He was the only prisoner. A bucket had been furnished with a lid that was labeled “toilet” in large letters.
Shortly, Roswell returned with another man in an unwashed suit. “This here is Murray, he’s an ADA. He will be sitting in while you make your statement.”
“Um, am I under arrest?”
“Yes, suspicion of murder.”
“Do I get a lawyer?”
Murray chimed in, “Sure, if you can find one. Look, you were booked in, but we are still investigating what happened. Your statement will go a long way towards clearing some things up.”
“I am not ready to give a statement yet, if I could have a pencil and some paper, and a couple hours I’ll be able to give a better one.”
Murray wasn’t pleased. “Look, I just want to get this over with so we can either cut you loose or send you to Hanscomm. Either way I get to go home to a freezing house and starve.”
“I’m going to have to get my thoughts straight on what happened – it was all such a blur.”
“Alright, alright.” Murry dug a pen out from inside his sport coat and took a piece of paper from a drawer in the desk.
They played Gin while Natog worked at trying to remember every step, every shot, and every kill from the night before. He didn’t mark anything on the paper except for odd mnemonic devices. After about 45 minutes, Natog had crafted a story to fit what he remembered of the night before.
Murray looked up, “You done? Lemme see it.” Glancing at the paper, he asked “What the hell is this?”
“I’m ready to give my statement. I will need a copy.
“Oh for Chris’akes, I thought you were writing it out.”
“I was just getting my thoughts together, I’m now ready to give my statement.”
It took a couple more hours. Natog wrote out by hand 10 pages of text, complete with diagrams, and a preface including what had happened a few days before. A copy was made by Natog by writing really hard with the ballpoint pen over two sheets of paper, and a coin rubbed on the copy to highlight the indentations. Photocopiers needed power, and no one knew if they even made carbon paper anymore.
Once complete, both copies were signed by everyone. Natog kept his copy, and Roswell and the ADA went upstairs to go over the statement with the crime scene services officer. After an hour, Natog was cuffed and brought upstairs into an interview room. The Lieutenant of the barracks interrogated him for an hour with the CSS officer and Murray.
Everyone wanted the keys to his gun safe. He was going to have to forfeit his weapons. Needless to say, Natog cried “bullshit” to that. They argued for an hour more, with the ADA demanding that the weapons were to be turned over. Natog held his position that since he was innocent, until proven guilty. The ADA produced a writ from the governor declaring a state of emergency. Natog finally relented and told them which key it was on his keychain.
It all added up though. He was escorted back down to his cell by Roswell.
“Well Natog, you are one lucky son of a bitch. Do you know who those guys were?”
“The only reason, and I do mean the ONLY reason they are even bothering to investigate this is because one of your neighbors watched the whole thing.”
“You shitting me?”
“Well why didn’t they help me?”
“C’mon, if you were watching a firefight with automatic weapons, even you are not dumb enough to try and help. You take cover and pray to God a stray bullet doesn’t catch you.
“Whoever it is, I’m going to owe them big time.”
The Lieutenant’s voice shouted down from above, “Ok cut him loose and bring him up here.”
With that Natog was released “pending further investigation”. He was free, but at what cost? Two troopers drove him to his house and escorted him to his locked gun safe.
Collecting the key from one of the officers, he swung open the door to an empty gun vault. Everyone asked the same question at the same time “Where are they?”
With an acting performance worthy of an Oscar, Natog demanded to know where his weapons were, and furthermore, to go back to the Lieutenant so he could explain why his house was robbed while the cops were in charge of it. In the end, Natog had to give another statement, and asked for a written statement on how his house got robbed while being watched by the cops.
The next time he got dropped off by the Troopers, he asked them to wait. Getting a note pad from the kitchen junk drawer, Natog wrote a permission slip for his home oil to be donated for use in hospital generators. Signing and dating it, he wrote, “P.S. don’t drip oil all over the carpets!”
After the troopers left, he checked the garage. To his utter amazement, it was still locked, and no new footprints were in there. With shaking hands he checked and his ammunition and rifles were still in the jeep. Taking off a pick and shovel from the roof rack, Natog moved on to the next chore.
He then got busy using a pick to dig a grave big enough for his two dogs. It was hard work, but he planted then in the back corner of the back yard, where they liked to stand and bark at everything going on. The ground was rocky and frozen, and Natog was still quite sore. In the end he buried them halfway, then piled rocks and bricks from the firepit on top. After a moment of silence, hoping that Thor and Loki were happily chewing bones under Odin’s table in Valhalla, Natog packed his tools up and locked the garage back up.
Checking his cache, he was relived to find his weapons. Checking the time, he had an hour before the next scheduled radio broadcast. Lighting a fire, he boiled some of his last water to rehydrate a spaghetti and meat sauce meal. Letting the fire burn itself out, he connected the VHF radio up to his jeep battery and waited.
Thankfully, Bill and Mum stuck to the schedule and he made contact. Mum was worried sick when Natog didn’t come early this morning as his last transmission promised. Natog was smart enough not to mention anything about last night to his Mum. She would have freaked out. “I’ll be leaving here as soon as it’s dusk… there is nothing here for me now.”
“You had better! I know you’re not telling me everything, but we will be here.”
“I love you guys, over and out.”
Collecting his weapons from his cache he suited up and waited for dusk to come.
With a start Natog woke up. It was dark out, and he had fallen asleep on the couch. Waiting, Natog was unable to hear what woke him up. It took a moment to place his bearings and remember what was going on.
Checking his watch, it was 7:23pm. Thankfully, he didn’t sleep the whole night away. Walking through his home, he checked to make sure everything was packed for the fifth time. Realizing the dogs would not be coming, he loaded a few additional items into the passenger seat, where the dogs would have ridden shotgun.
Opening the main door to the garage, he pulled the jeep out, and carefully backed it up to the trailer. Once the trailer was connected, he pulled the trailer from his garage, and locked the garage back up. Stopping at the end of the driveway, Natog got out once again, and gave a long forlorn look at his house before getting back in the jeep and making his way to Dartmouth.
Natog was careful, and followed the back roads down through Lakeville then Westport. No one else was on the road, and he encountered no roadblocks on his journey. It took him two hours for the normally 35 minute ride. As he wove his way through the backroads, it began to snow, lightly at first, then gradually the wind picked up. Soon, Natog was driving through a good, old-fashioned nor’easter.
When he finally backed onto the lawn so he could unload easily, Mum and Bill rushed out of the house, smothering Natog in the warm embrace of family.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
"I am determined to defend my rights and maintain my freedom or sell my life in the attempt." - Nathanael GreeneI've been trying to find a good slogan for a viral advertising campaign. So far, this is it. Nathanael Green was born outside Warwick, RI and became General Washington's most dependable Generals.
This is a great quote, perhaps I can sum it up...
“If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hands that feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen.” ~Samuel Adams, August 1, 1776I'm getting pretty pissy with how things are. Where I work now is surrounded by a organized team of mendicants that are pretty aggressive when it comes to getting money from strangers. That, and Amnesty International has a few college kids hired to accost people about "Human Rights." Coming back from lunch last week, One stepped in my path and said "Do you want to talk about human rights?" I replied "Humans have no rights." This befuddled him for a minute, so I managed to escape.
What rights do we have left? Let's have an accounting.
The right to free speech. We can have free speech in some places, usually chain link fenced areas where those who would do best to hear the peoples wrath are carefully segregated from.
"Chapter 264: Section 11 Promotion of anarchy; prohibition
Whoever by speech or by exhibition, distribution or promulgation of any written or printed document, paper or pictorial representation advocates, advises, counsels or incites assault upon any public official, or the killing of any person, or the unlawful destruction of real or personal property, or the overthrow by force or violence or other unlawful means of the government of the commonwealth or of the United States, shall be punished by imprisonment in the state prison for not more than three years, or in jail for not more than two and one half years, or by a fine of not more than one thousand dollars; provided, that this section shall not be construed as reducing the penalty now imposed for the violation of any law. [...]
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Natog just about jumped out of his skin when the door to the back started to be kicked in a few feet behind him. Natog lay there sweating and freaking out as they worked on the doors for a few minutes then stopped. He heard a whistle, then the crunch of people running on snow, then the roar of an engine with accompanying squealing tires. Cautiously, he made his way around the inside of the house. No one got in.
The door was smashed and had several holes blown through it near the doorknob. Natog gasped as he looked on the floor. Twisted in the braces holding the door up was Loki. Half of Loki’s head was missing. He evidently caught a slug as the attackers tried to blow open the door.
Hearing panting in the in-law apartment, Natog walked in to see Thor lying on his side in a pool of blood, his right leg dangling at an obscene angle from his wrecked shoulder. He was looking at Natog with sad eyes, and bubbles of blood were frothing from his mouth.
“My poor boy!” Natog collapsed onto his knees, pulling Thor close to him. Examining the wound revealed the slug had torn through Thor’s upper chest, his left lung was punctured, and most of the ribs on that side were shattered. Blood was everywhere. Thor’s shattered body would be unable to be healed, so all Natog could do for him was to provide the final mercy for him. Pulling his pistol from its holster Natog hugged Thor a final time, and then put a .45 caliber JHP through the back of his skull.
Returning to the top of the stairs, he recovered his shotgun and wondered what to do next. Squatting on top of the stairs, he began to cry, with heavy tears streaming down his face then dripping off his chin to spash on the threshold to his apartment.
He heard a car engine in the distance. Listening, he slung the M1A over his shoulder, and clutched the 12 gauge to his chest. As the car got closer, he wiped the tears away, and took cover. Natog could see car lights play across his yard and then shine intensely through the wrecked door. Raising the shotgun, he shouldered the weapon, with it’s barrel leveled at the ruined door. Something was punched through the glass, and the engine revved and tires squealed as the door exploded into kindling.
They say there are three kinds of anger. You can be “everyday” angry, anger in the heat of passion, and then there was angry enough to be enraged, a mindless slave to your psychotic anger.
There is actually a fourth level of anger, the Berserker. You gain the strength of the adrenaline, the pain resistance of the endorphins, but you mind is that of a predator. You become a killing machine. Natog became a Berserker this night.
The headlights were left on, providing a perfect backlight to see targets by. A large form filled the doorway and Natog put the bead of the shotgun on his chest and squeezed the trigger. He then quickly pumped the shotgun, tracking at waist height putting a slug or buckshot every eight inches along the wall where the next thug would be waiting. Six rounds later Natog dropped the shotgun and ducked behind the wall. Unslinging the rifle, he belly crawled towards the bedrooms, his mind a white fury.
As he crawled, automatic gunfire ripped through the house, as several assault rifles were emptied through the house. Natog could see the muzzle flash of two of them, one from the hallway, the other from outside the home by the door he just shot through. Natog crawled into the hallway beside the bathroom, and then turned around. He could hear several voices screaming and weapons being reloaded. It seemed like an eternity, but finally he could see the tactical lights shine as men entered his house. Counting to five, Natog fired several shots at waist height along the wall separating the kitchen from the outer hallway. Pulling the weapon down to ankle height, he fired about 10 more at ankle level across where the hallway would be. He shimmied back as he emptied the rifle randomly. Once empty he twisted and flopped into the guest bedroom, landing on his back. Bursts of gunfire erupted again through the house.
While the thugs were putting holes in his wallpaper, he popped out the empty mag, and slapped in a new one. He wouldn’t have much time as the house was small. Rolling up into a crouch, Natog quietly clicked in the stops that prevented the window from going up more than a few inches, and slid the window open, then tried to dive through it. He got most of the way out. He carried his mags on his belly, and they got hung up trying to get out. Twisting, he made it out the window, but landed on his head, flopping over to his side. He was wedged with his back to the foundation, and his belly into a bush he had for landscaping.
Thankfully, he didn’t break his fool neck and his rifle was still gripped by his right hand, lying along his body. Lifting it, he placed the muzzle along the sash between the two windows.
A tactial light lit up the night as someone yelled “Fuck! He’s getting away!
Like a praying mantis, Natog waited. Waited like cancer. Natog was a glacier, grinding the world with his slow will. In what seemed like minutes a muzzle, then a hand, then a head stuck out the window, as the figure swung left to search for Natog he swung the muzzle from where it was hidden, and put it under the thug’s chin. Squeezing the trigger the .308 kicked down hard, right into Natog’s neck, but the reward was a headless torso slumping down in the window.
Gunfire erupted from the room, and Natog was showered in debris as the bullets popped through the house wall. Natog coolly noted that the thug was panicking. Since Natog was below the interior floor, and had a cement wall at his back, he was quite safe for the moment. Looking around, he could see two figures walking towards a pickup truck on his front yard. One was leaning on the other heavily, and was obviously wounded in the leg. The truck was half on his lawn, with a thick rope trailing from the bumper to the remnants of his front door.
He could hear a racket going on inside the house still, but no gunfire. Disentangling himself from the shrub, he skirted the edge of the house, ducking around the far corner from the pickup. Using the shade provided from the corner of the house, he circled the huge forsythia bush separating his yard from his neighbors. Once around the bush, he had a clear arc of fire around his yard, but no cover. Quickly, felt around for a rock on the edge of the road. Grabbing a chunk of asphalt, he chucked it as hard as he could through the bedroom window 50 feet away.
The man with the wounded leg was allowed to slump unceremoniously behind the truck’s door as the other released him and spun bringing up his carbine. Another burst of gunfire echoed from the house, the muzzle flash visible from the living room. The thug by the truck started firing into the bedroom, as he could see where his buddy was firing. Natog calmly put the front post on the driver’s side window where the man’s chest would be and squeezed off two rounds. The effect was immediate, his carbine began to drop from his hands, as he slumped against the door. A third shot from Natog caught him in the top of the forehead.
Running as fast as he could, he rushed to the left, circling across the street. The thug with the wounded leg was screaming, not for anyone in particular, just a primal scream of rage and fear. He was on the other side of the pickup truck from Natog, so for the moment, he wasn’t a threat. Natog crouched across the street, at the base of a tree, using it for cover. Gulping air, but trying to do it quietly, Natog tried to steady himself. He was still filled with the while fury, and a cold thought entered his mind. He had to have no survivors, no witnesses. Natog did a quick tactical reload, dropping the half empty mag into a drop pouch on his vest. Sighting down the barrel of the M1A, he put the post on the chest of the wounded man trying to climb into the cab of the truck.
Before he pulled the trigger, he realized all shots would need to be through the front of the thugs, preferably with brass around them to show they were active participants. Without conscious thought he had assembled a profile on these thugs. Although they were trained, they were not combat veterans or SWAT. Likewise, other than the initial assault squad, they haven’t worked or trained together. These were all advantages for Natog.
Although he never received official training with firearms, the training to overcome the flight or fight reflexes and move under fire were honed across dozens of paintball fields. The proper use of cover was extremely important in paintball, and “slicing the pie” was second nature to him.
Illuminated perfectly by the trucks headlights, a thug in all black web gear bolted from his home, and crouch-walked to the front of the truck swinging his weapon wildly from side to side. Natog grabbed the quickest thing to throw, a loaded mag from his vest, and tossed it into the woods to the right. The thug walking from the house swung the weapon to where the mag landed and triggered the tactical light and a few rounds from his weapon. The front post was already on his chest, so Natog squeezed the trigger, pulled the post back onto his chest and fired again. The form crumpled face first before Natog could put a round into his head.
Rushing the truck, the man with the wounded leg by the truck was trying to pull a sidearm from his vest. Slowing his pace, he waited until the weapon was fully from the holster before firing two rounds into the thug’s chest followed by a third round into his left eye.
Using the door of the pickup for cover he did another tactical reload, dropping that mag into the drop pouch. Surveying the situation, there was another thug laid out by the entrance to his house. Keeping his rifle trained on the body he reached down with his left hand and verified the thug he just shot had no pulse. Picking up the weapon by the barrel, he tossed it in the back of the truck. He then did the same for the other thug by the pickup, tossing both his pistol and carbine in the back of the truck.
He then covered the thug by the door, and approached cautiously, keeping his weapon trained on the body. He quickly pulled the carbine off of the form and tossed it into a shrub on the side of the house. This one was still alive. Rolling him onto his back, Natog got his first clear look at the thug. The face was covered with a ski mask, but blood was bubbling from the mouth and nose holes. Roughly pulling the ski mask off, he saw it was one of the two officers from the other day. He coughed violently, with fresh blood coming from both his nose and mouth.
He was trying to say something, mouthing some words. “Who are you?” finally came out with a grimace of pain.
Looking down at the officer, Natog replied “For I am Shiva, the Destroyer of Worlds.”
Checking quickly, he saw that the rifle plate stopped both shotgun slugs, but at the expense of breaking almost all of the officer’s ribs. The blood and coughing meant at least one lung was punctured, and he was bleeding internally. He couldn’t last long, and wouldn’t be a threat. Getting up, Natog cleared his house quickly and efficiently.
He collected the empty magazine from the bedroom and dropped it into his pouch. He gathered the headless thug’s weapons and tossed them into the back of the truck. As he walked back into the house by the thug the man gave a shudder and wheezed his last breath into the January night.
Retrieving the shotgun, he stashed them it in his hidden cache along with his pistol, M1A and combat vest. His cache was a space between the sheetrock of the back of the laundry chute and the chimney that was impossible to find.
He was beginning to shake violently. The hormone cocktail of massive amounts of adrenaline and endorphins exacted a heavy toll when the high wore off. Feeling lightheaded, Natog went out front to get some air, and walked straight into a face full of muzzles for .01 seconds before being thrown violently to the ground and handcuffed. Shortly thereafter with cops screaming in his ear he puked his guts out.