You've got the wrong idea, sister. We aren't in this together.

In comments at Robb Allen's blog in a post regarding the IHOP shooting, logorrhoeic anti-gun commenter ubu52 nearly decorated her cupcakes on finding the following quote in a news article:

Ralph Swagler stayed down in his restaurant until the shots stopped.

"I had my pistol; I wasn't going up against an automatic rifle," Ralph Swagler said. "I'm sorry. I wish I would have shot him in the back now as he was going toward IHOP, but I wasn't clear on the situation."

Ralph Swagler is a smart man.

A handgun is for self-defense, not for charging into battle. Especially somebody else's battle.

I've got bad news for you, ubu52: If you're in the building next door and someone goes in there and starts shooting at you, I'm not coming over there to save you. My Supergirl Underoos are at the dry-cleaners. You're going to have to save yourself.

QotD: Bad Idea Edition.

Over at Popehat, a federal prosecutor in recovery (much like nobody is an "ex-alcoholic"...) offers a word of advice to folks in the Law Enforcement trade:

[I]f Steven Seagal asks you if you will stage a cock-fighting raid with a tank for the benefit of his reality show, if you have a badge, then you say no.

There are certain jobs where thinking "Wow! This is fun!" should be considered a potential warning sign that You're Doing It Wrong.

Settle down, there, Conan...

Abandoning his trusty steed, Paladin Strongheart continued up the carriage path towards the city of the Dark Tower, stronghold of the mighty wizard Rahm the Dancer...

State police arrested a shirtless man found marching along Interstate 65 in northwestern Indiana while holding a nearly 3 foot-long samurai-style sword.

Unfortunately, despite all signs indicating that Chicago was just over the horizon, Paladin Strongheart learned that one does not simply walk into Mordor, even with a sword forged of the finest steel by the gnomes of Pakistan and bought in the weapon bazaar at the Market of Flea.

Confronted by the evil henchmen of the Sheriff of Garyham, who appeared to be armed with phials of irritating, wands of tazing, and bracelets of arresting, Strongheart swung his sword, but rolled a Critical Miss. He then failed his saving throw against Going To Jail, and accompanied the warders peacefully.

Off-the-record sources have alleged that... (and I know you'll find this shocking,) ...marijuana was found in the car. I'm also considering starting a side pool on his BAC. Place your bets...

Overheard in the Dining Room:

Roomie is getting ready to go to work...

Me: "Do you need me to fetch you anything while I'm at Target today? Ibuprofin...?"

RX: "Yes, I'm a little low."

Me: "Okay, I'll get a couple bottles while I'm there. I have to go there anyway because I'm out of... of..."

RX: "Greasy lumps of meat?"

Me: "Right! Yes!"

RX: "Huh?"

Me: "'Tabasco Slim Jims'. That's the phrase I was trying to spit out."

RX: "I was just picking random nonsense words, trying to be funny. I guess I know you too well..."

Like a prom dress for your pistol.

Barbecue guns demand barbecue holsters, right? And then there are times when you just want your heater to look its prettiest, like blogmeets or Gunblogger Rendezvous, or an open-carry picnic.

I've lamented on this blog before that it's hard to find a good holster for a Colt Pocket Hammerless, and at the LuckyGunner Bloggershoot I was speaking with Michael, of the eponymous holster site, and he casually mentioned to me that he'd gotten his hands on an M1903 mold gun. Would I like a pancake-style holster like the one Jennifer was wearing?

The holster in question was a striking white rayskin number, nicely finished, and of Michael's "hidden stitch" variety, which bonds an additional layer of leather over the outer face, concealing the stitching and making for a very dramatic looking holster, especially when combined with exotic leathers or funky dye jobs. We discussed belt width and pistol cant and preferred carry positions.

I warned him that, if the holster sucked big rocks up off the ground, I'd write that it sucked big rocks up off the ground. If it was "meh", the best he could expect would be some pointed asides scattered through various posts about "things I think it's important for a holster to have." He confidently told me to watch my mailbox.

Now, I'll admit that I'm a skeptic with startup holster companies. I'm a pretty hardcore holster snob: My daily carry rig, on which I've been sweating for years, is a horsehide Milt Sparks VM-2, and my backup holster for those days I'm feeling fat is a Brommeland Max Con V. I don't impress easy.


When I opened the package, I was impressed. The holster's molding was crisp (not an easy trick with the second layer of leather atop the first) and the edges were beautifully burnished. The stitching may be invisible from the front, but flip the holster over to the part nobody but the wearer will ever see, and it's still ruler straight, despite being hidden from view; this is like finding the underside of a show car with three coats of lovingly hand-buffed lacquer. The "hidden stitch" style, when combined with the black ray skin, makes for a striking holster.


When I put it on, I was even more impressed. Retention was good; the holster would hold the pistol snugly, even inverted, but the 'smooth-side in' construction allows a clean release with no suede boogers clinging to your heater. I'm sure if I was jumping out of helicopters with a knife in my teeth, I'd want a more positive retention device, but this really isn't that kind of holster; it was certainly up to chores around the house, puttering in the garden, and bicycling around the neighborhood. The molded-in curve made it sit all day comfortably at the ~4:30 position I favor, but tried it as far forward as 3:30 and still fit nicely. The belt loops gripped my 1.5" belt tightly and didn't allow the holster to shift on my belt unless I used both hands and really meant it, and even then you had to "inchworm" the belt through one slot at a time.

I will note that since my pistols are both of the pre-1909 "Type I" variety with the four inch barrel, I have a quarter inch of exposed muzzle, as the mold gun is no doubt of the far more common later variety with a 3.75" barrel. If this is the kind of thing that gives you the vapors, let Michael know and he can cut the holster to suit.

This is a very impressive holster, as sturdy as it is pretty; I have no problems endorsing it.

(Yes, FTC, he let me keep the holster. Now don't you have some productive work you could be doing? Oh, right, you're fed.gov bureaucrats; I forgot.)

Took some time to celebrate, just one day out of life

Shootin' Buddy showed up at 0745 and we headed to LePeep for breakfast and thence to Iggle Crick.

Much powder was burned, as he has a class coming up in February and I'll be getting schooled by ToddG later this month, and a little bit of cramming to avoid coming down with That Guyitis never hurt anybody.


After shooting, we dropped off gear at Roseholme Cottage and took a field trip to the circle at the center of downtown Indy, dominated by the 284'-tall Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument, currently undergoing refurbishment. There was a crane looming over the circle, and the 38-foot Lady Victory, fresh back from a visit to the day spa for a facial, a mani-pedi, and a resharpening of her seven-yard broadsword, was patiently waiting to be hoisted back up.


A leisurely stroll around downtown, lunch and a 71 Pale Ale at the Ram brewpub, and home for a bit of a Labor Day nap. I'll catch you kids in the evening...

Overheard in the Office:

RX: "I know how to handle the wild hog problem in Texas: Introduce tigers. As a bonus, well, they may not fly, but they're pretty close to your dream of a twenty-foot predator."

Me: "Oh, yeah. But don't forget that pigs like to hide out in swales and creek beds and suchlike, so we could introduce Nile crocodiles, too."

RX: "But tigers like to swim, too!"

Me: *does that thing where I get all excited and wiggle my hands spastically* "Ooh! Then you'd have crocodile-versus-tiger battles, which would be cool! Especially if ninjas jumped into the middle of it!"

Overheard in the Office:

Discussing the hog pics in the post below:

Me: "If those big hogs looked familiar, it's because they were the same two we saw at the fair last year. Apparently, it was a rematch."

RX: "I kinda figured. I mean, a hog that big..."

Me: "...you don't eat him all at once."

RX: "You don't look at him all at once, either."

That's not a pig, this is a pig.

Farmer Frank, who's killed more pigs than brucellosis, weighs in (if you will) on the topic of monster wild hog photos that occasionally make their way into your email in-box, amongst the 419 scams and chain letters.

In reference to the type of State Fair pigs he mentioned, here's 2011's second-place hog, Tickle Me Elmo III, weighing in at just shy of 1,290 lbs:



And here's the 1,305-lb. champeen, Reggie, in all his porcine glory:


Look out! He's got a knife!


In a pen at the State Fair, it's kind of a cute sight. In a swale in the middle of peanut-farming country, it's a nightmare and a threat to a farmer's livelihood:

Overheard in the Office:

So Bobbi is looking at pictures on some Burning Man-related site:

RX: "What the...?! Oh, this is... this is strange. Oh, Tam, you should turn around and see this picture..."

Me: (Presciently) "Nope. I know the kind of stuff that goes on at Burning Man."

RX: "It's some naked man..."

Me: "LalalalalalalalalalaIcan'thearyou!"

RX: "...wearing blue nail polish..."

Me: (sidling towards door) "Nope. Not turning around."

RX: "...and a belt."

Me: (now from hallway) "Oh, like that makes it okay."

RX: "Breda should see this. It'll put her off blue nail polish forever. He's a redhead."

Me: "Misery loves company! You just want this stuck in my head, too!"

RX: "And apparently Jewish. Or Protestant."

Me: "That's it. This is going on the internet."

RX: "I'll use it for my desktop wallpaper!"

Overheard in Roomie's Bedroom:

Roomie is laying back on her bed, watching a documentary about feral hippos in South America. Apparently these things were imported by drug barons and have escaped to the wild where they have set up housekeeping and are tearing up farmland like giant wild hogs and breeding like three-ton rabbits.

RX: "What?!? They're going to trank it! Shoot the hippo! It's not a puppy, it's an invasive species! Shoot the hippo!"

Me: "Better yet, let the land owner charge some yanqui gringo three thousand bucks to come shoot the hippo."

I wonder if they're any good to eat?

Hmm... My .405 Win Encore barrel looks a little light. Perhaps I should order one in .416 Rigby?

Raffle for a good cause.

Carteach0 is holding a raffle to benefit the Wounded Warrior Project with fabulous gun-related prizes: Holsters, lasers, AR mags, cleaning gear!

There's even jewelry and other stuff and tchotckes if, for some bizarre reason, you don't like guns and you're reading this blog anyway.

You should enter. It would make you happy.

Overheard in the Office:

RX: *laughs* "Hey, Tam, did you know Teddy Roosevelt nuked Japan?"

Me: "No, but it would have saved a lot of trouble down the road if he would have. It's a little-known fact that the Great White Fleet carried nuclear-tipped cruise missiles."

More than just a dining institution...

...Waffle House is used by FEMA to gauge the seriousness of storm damage in disaster-stricken areas:

Green means the restaurant is serving a full menu, a signal that damage in an area is limited and the lights are on. Yellow means a limited menu, indicating power from a generator, at best, and low food supplies. Red means the restaurant is closed, a sign of severe damage in the area or unsafe conditions.

Among other factoids, Waffle House is apparently rated as one of the top four companies in the nation for disaster preparedness, right up there with more obvious names like Lowe's and Home Despot, even having special pre-printed limited menus for use when there's no electricity.

I did not know that.

Apparently, they've gone big on generators, too, so at some restaurants you can stop in and listen to "Special Lady (at the Waffle House)" on the jukebox even when the power lines are down for miles around.

A reader related this story in an email:

"After an Ice storm eleven years ago they were the only place open. It took me two hours of cold work to get through the ice on my truck. After driving to work (closed) and back everything else closed, I saw a dim light on at Waffle House. The cook had brought in his Coleman camping lantern and they were open. The lights were out for about twenty miles around but they didn't give up. It is our favorite place to eat."

I love Waffle House so much.
.

QotD: Uncle Badtouch Edition.

In response to the inane use of the term "federal family" for .gov agencies, Jennifer cracks back with:

So if I ever choose to fly again, I shouldn’t worry about being probed by some degenerate government thug, I should just think of it like a visit to Uncle Pervy’s secret closet?

It's a good thing I'd just swallowed my soda when I read that, or things could have got all messy.

"3000 tyrants less than a mile away..."

Mather Byles' fear has come true.

Quick: Without looking anything up, name your city councilmen or county commissioners.

Remember, they can stifle business every bit as effectively as anybody in your state capital or in Washington, D.C.

For all the Two Minutes' Hate over the economy directed at the Dear Reader by the Tea Party crowd, he has a lot less influence over your local economy than do various licensing bureaus and zoning boards. And you have a lot less influence over him.


(H/T to Unc.)

I had a dream last night, 'cause it looked just like a dream...

Actually, the night before last was definitely a more unusual dream. I was in some little town in New Hampshire and there was an outbreak of zombies shambling all over the place, including the schoolmarm, but we'd left our guns in New York City, so I had to hop in my '72 Buick Electra Deuce-and-a-Quarter and drive down to fetch them.

And so there I was in a parking lot in the Big Apple in the middle of the night, with all these EBR's laid out on the trunk and roof of the car, loading mags by the mercury-vapor glow of the street light and trying to get the stupid passers-by to stop picking the guns up and pointing them at each other, when I noticed that someone had been into the cache and replaced all the AKs and MP-5s with airsoft guns, leaving us with about half as many guns as we should have had, and I thought "Dude, Marko is going to be pissed when he finds out."

My biggest worry was that there was only the one M4gery, and the other guns were SIG 552s and Galils and other guns whose manual of arms I'm not as switched on with. I can run an AR in my sleep (apparently) and I'm pretty up to speed on the AK and HK, but those had been replaced with airsofts, so I was hoping nobody else would want the M4.

And when I got back to New Hamster, we found out that it was a batch of bad pepperoncini that was turning people into brain-eating shamblers, and so we were driving from deli to pizzeria, smashing jars of pepperoncini.

Last night was your more basic run-of-the-mill dream that involved shopping in a Borders book store that had a breakfast buffet, and the other shoppers kept joggling my elbow in the buffet line and the bacon would slide off my plate, causing me to have to try and get back in line to get bacon. Also, there weren't enough napkins and the ones there were were flimsy like the ones in the packets with the plastic utensils at a takeout joint and they wouldn't get the bacon grease off your fingers worth a darn, and I was thinking "Whose bright idea was it to serve bacon in a book store, anyway?"

And the Borders was in some kind of post-apocalyptic Bartertown where they were building a working half-size model of the Space Shuttle to launch into orbit. And there was a Jayne-like statue of Bonnie in the town square for some reason, across from the place that sold antique hubcaps and '50s-vintage tin toys.

Anyhow, yeah, like I said: Pretty run-of-the-mill dream.

So. Full. Of. Win.

How had I not seen this before?

I feel slightly more complete, now...

(And the fact that anybody with a desktop computer and a smidgen of talent these days can do SFX that shame Hollywood circa 1977 is just a bonus.)

Dude, that's so uncool.

Stealing from the Salvation Army? Really?

You know, these are the people you need to watch out for if the Civilization Light is ever turned off, no matter how briefly, due to turbulence. These are the footsoldiers of the Free S#!t Army; the future members of the Golden Horde; proto Mutant Zombie Bikers.

If they will drive up (in a newish Cadillac, in one case!) and loot the donation trailer for the Salvation Army in broad daylight on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon, imagine what they will do with a foot of water in the streets and the cops on the other side of town? Or after dark with a couple of city blocks aflame?

When someone has no sense of ethics other than "You Owe Me My Fair Share", the only thing keeping them in line is the fear of getting caught, because there is obviously no internal compunction keeping them in check, nor will they face any community opprobrium for their actions.

Tab Clearing...

• Coolest Video of the Week So Far Award.


• The Story of Waffle House. Scattered, smothered, covered, peppered, and cooked crispy, please.


• A look at the Libyan insurrection from a dude whose career was basically in the insurrection-promoting business (although the company for which he worked also had a sideline in insurrection-suppressing, too.)


• It took Gibbon six volumes and a forest of dead trees to do Rome, but you can fit the entire explanation for The Decline and Fall of the American Empire onto a 2" x 3.5" piece of cardboard.