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Thoughts on Coffee

  • I recently heard someone talking about wanting the government to regulate or outlaw caffeine, because drugs.
    • We all know how well alcohol prohibition worked, and that was for something that most people used to relax and have a good time in their off hours.  Can you imagine what it would look like if Uncle Sugar decided to outlaw something a lot of people use to get going and accomplish something?
    • You can make alcohol from pretty much anything that has carbohydrates.  For reference, look up moonshining, home beer and wine making, and bathtub gin.
    • You have to import coffee into most of the United States.  The Mexican drug cartels will pale in comparison to the hardbitten heroes who will smuggle in the finest beans for this nation.


First they came for the drinkers and I said nothing because I didn’t drink.  Well, not much, anyway.

Then they came for the gamblers, and I said nothing because I hate casinos.

Then they came for the smokers, and I said nothing because I don’t like the smell of cigarettes.

Then they came for my coffee, and here I sit atop a pyramid of severed heads.


I arrived at our campsite this weekend to find that I had not only forgotten my coffee cup, but also had no styrofoam cups from which to drink the black blood of my enemies.  Luckily for me, I had my old canteen cup in the truck (don’t ask).  I was then able to boil the water, mix the coffee, and sip it in a most outdoorsy fashion.  Only got a few weird looks from the neighbors.


It is good that I have a coffee pot that I can prepare in the evening so that it can start brewing at 5:30 AM, for there are few things I can do with accuracy while looking at the world through one blood-shot eye.


Look, don’t touch my guns, my woman, my money, or my coffee, and we’ll be fine, OK?




Here are a few phrases that I think need better definition:


Catholic KP – Working in the kitchen during a Lenten fish fry, or volunteering to work in the lunch room at your son’s Catholic school.

Catholic Kosher – Going to a Lenten fish fry when you are really craving a rare steak.

Self Control – 1. Not strangling your co-worker for sitting in their cube and chewing with their mouth open for an hour each day starting at 1:13.  2.  Not strangling your co-worker when you learn that they made a significant error in a work request that will require you to have to ask your boss to talk to his boss so that you can fix it, on the last work day before you implement.

Stroke of Genius – That moment at your desk when you forget the awesome idea you had for a story while you were driving this morning.

Traffic – The phenomenon whereby I lose all my stored-up stress by screaming at other drivers, while getting all new stress to replace it.

Personal Fitness Plan – The lie I tell myself every morning when I walk up a flight of steps to get more ‘exercise’.

Canoodle – That thing the governor of New Jersey does to Democrats, be they from Chicago or Manhattan.



The Five Stages of Project Management

Stage 1 – Denial

  • No way!!!!

Stage 2 – Anger

  • You have to be kidding me!

Step 3 – Bargaining

  • What if we promised to do all eight hours worth of work in two hours without an outage?

Step 4 – Depression

  • I can’t believe this.  We could have had another baby in the time it’s taken to get this close to implementing and at the last minute, we’re stopped.

Step 5 – Acceptance

  • It’s not personal, it’s business.  The work will get done someday, I’m sure.  Guess I’ll start planning another effort while we wait.

Not as Young As I Used To Be

Boo had cross country practice tonight, and I thought I’d get a little exercise.  I walked the first mile lap and felt pretty good, then got to the half-mile point on the second lap and decided to see if I could run the rest.

Yeah, not a good idea.

So, in tribute to all of the middle-aged dads who decide to see if they can keep up with the 1st grade through 8th grade crowd, let’s all sing along.

Heavy-drop daddy running down the trail.
He’s getting passed by a snail.
If my lace should come untied,
I’m gonna lay right down and die.
Sweat is running down my face.
Why am I moving at this pace?
If my knee, it should give,
I will lose the will to live.
Passed by a woman with a pony tail
Why am I working so hard to fail?

Ah, gimme some, gimme some,
Oxygen, oxygen!


  • Temptation – The feeling you get when you go to a sporting goods store and they have a Mauser 98K, a MAS rifle, and a 1965 Winchester Model 94 in excellent condition.
  • Respect – When you decide that you should consult with your spouse before spending hundreds of dollars on what is, to her, a frivolous item.
  • Elation – When she looks at you and says “Sure.  Go ahead.”
  • Disappointment – When you get back to the store, the Mauser is gone, somebody else has picked up the MAS, and the Model 94, which has beautiful furniture and a case hardened receiver, is not $400 like you thought.  It is $800.
  • Intelligence – When you don’t immediately whip your phone out and move the overage over from savings.
  • Hope – The feeling you have when you notice the store offers layaway.
  • Self-Control – When the nice man at the register says that if you get the store credit card, you can take the rifle home that day, yet you still put the gun on layaway.
  • Stupidity – When you are describing the gun to your wife, and you say “It’s an antique.  Heck, it’s older than you.”
  • Forgiveness – When she doesn’t kill you with her brain right then and there.
  • Patience – Waiting 60 days to get your new gun out of the store’s vault.

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

I just finished paying our taxes.  It never fails to amaze me how much our “fair share” comes to every year.  Unsurprisingly, my politics take a decided anti-tax, small government turn (OK, it’s not that big a turn) after I fill out those forms.

But, DaddyBear, the government needs that money to pay for the things it provides to you!

No, it doesn’t.  The only things the government provides to me that I really care about are national defense and a teeny pinch of public safety (some law enforcement, air traffic control, that sort of thing).  The rest is, in my humble taxpayer’s opinion, cruft that has glommed onto the taxpayer’s pocketbook over the years.

  • Public Schools – Close ’em.  Reopen as private schools.  Don’t want to pay for your kids to be educated?  Then do it yourself and quit asking the rest of us to do it for you.  And don’t give me that “I pay for schools because I don’t want stupid people” crap.  Public schools don’t prevent people from being stupid.  Heck, we’re lucky if they prevent people from just being ignorant.  Stupidity is both hereditary and learned behavior, and it cannot be cured.  Quit wasting time and money trying to educate the portion of the school-age population that doesn’t care.
  • Law Enforcement – You know, I’ll take a nuanced approach here.  Sheriffs departments and federal marshals can stay. Maybe a few other specialists can as well, but not many, and on a case by case basis. Citizens become responsible for their own security again.  Take the money you save in not paying taxes for police and get yourself the tools and training you want to use to take care of yourself and your family.
  • Fire and EMS – Privatize them.  Either insure yourself against their use or just pay a fee to use their services.  Don’t want to pay the monthly fee to have fire coverage on your house?  Then I suggest JiffyPop and StayPuft marshmallows.  It also might cut down on frequent flyers in EMS if it hurt your pocketbook to keep calling Ambulance Driver over to take care of your boo-boo.
  • Roads – Privatize them or just quit worrying about it.  Seriously, a 4×4 with knobby tires would be cheaper than this.
  • Courts – Since we got rid of the police, the amount of criminal proceedings should go way down, so we can eliminate most courts, judges, and prosecutors.  Of course, we’ll still need courts for civil proceedings.  We do love to sue each other, don’t we?
  • Welfare – I don’t think my position on so-called “entitlement programs” is much of a secret.  Get rid of unearned benefits for those who are capable of finding work.  The world needs ditch diggers and sewer scrubbers, and I’m tired of paying child support for kids I didn’t make.  Now, ask me politely for charity, and you might just be surprised.  It’s the whole “Pay this or we shoot you and your dog” aspect that gets under my craw.
  • Prisons – I’m a big fan of Judge Roy Bean, myself.  Of course, if someone really just needs a time out from society to think about what he’s done, then I suggest tent camps, leg chains, and work crews, in either Arizona or North Dakota, take your pick.  Concrete walls and roofs are for law-abiding citizens, not convicts.
  • Finally, I reserve the right to condemn and push for the elimination of anything that seems superfluous.  This is my fantasy, so I get to make the rules and change them as I see fit.

I’m going to go grumble over a tumbler full of something strong and smoky.  I hope my mood gets better as we get further and further away from April 15.

Vacation Rules

I’m taking a few days off while the kids are on spring break.  I’ve been informed that my plans for a free-flow, do what feels good week of relaxation are probably not going to come to fruition.  Here are the rules for the week as I understand them:

  1. I am not allowed to spend the week smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
  2. Yard work will be done.  Rain is not an excuse.  I am not made of sugar, so I will not melt when I get wet.
  3. Not all animation is appropriate for watching while the children are awake.  Neither are all television shows involving puppets.
  4. Going to the NRAAM for the weekend means that I really don’t need to spend a day at the range this week.
  5. I may not spend the week watching documentaries about Stalin and Hitler and make fun of the interpreters and narrators.
  6. I am not allowed to make a fort out of my poncho liners and the dining room tables and set up a defensive perimeter against the estrogenical foe.
  7. I am not allowed to refer to my wife as “the estrogenical foe”.
  8. I am not allowed to subsist on a diet of beer, coffee, easter eggs, and jelly beans.

This Looks Familiar

This is kind of how we ended up with Derby, the little black dog.  But instead of two little girls giving the dog a bath and asking to keep it, the mother in our household was right in there with the kids, giving the father the sad eyes routine.


It has just been announced the Brian Williams, anchorman of NBC’s Nightly News program, has been suspended without pay for six months.  It would seem that Mr. Williams may have… exaggerated a tad when he discussed such things as his exploits in Iraq in 2003 or New Orleans in 2005.

I would crow a bit about this, but I can’t.   Yes, a liberal shill has been pulled down from his alabaster pedestal and publicly shamed, but to be honest, there but for the grace of God go I.

You see, I have some confessions to make, and I hope that you all will forgive me.

Deep breath.

Here goes.

  1. I was not Custer’s S-2.
  2. I did not help build the Mayflower, nor did they make me row on the way over.
  3. I do not have three combat jump stars on my jump wings.  In fact, I don’t even have jump wings.
  4. I never went down to the crossroads to learn how to play the guitar.
  5. My role in the burning and sacking of Lindesfarne might have been exaggerated in later reports.
  6. I do not have a license to kill.  I do not even have a license to annoy.
  7. I never killed a man just to watch him die.
  8. I do not have a dream.  Well, actually, I do, but it’s not one I can share in polite company.
  9. I cannot, actually, bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan.
  10. I am not the reason we cannot have nice things.  Well, not the only reason.

Like I said, I hope you all can forgive me.

My Alphabet

A is for Apfelkorn, cold and tart and warming

B is for Bourbon, and that’s good enough for me.

C is for coffee, as strong and sweet as Irish Woman

D is for drama, which I’ve had enough of, thank you.

E is for eggs, with which you serve bacon.

F is for frozen, like my favorite part of the year

G is for Glock, the McDonald’s of the firearms industry.

H is for Hoppes, the sweet smell of clean.

I is for incorrigible, which is how Irish Woman describes me

J is for jerk, which I can be sometimes

K is for Kroil, getting down in all the nooks and crannies of my guns.

L is for lightweight, which is why I don’t drink very much

M is for Mosin, my favorite rifle.

N is for Nagant, see above, unless you have one of those revolvers.

O is for over-caffeinated, which has been my state since before Thanksgiving

P is for pizza, which isn’t for breakfast anymore.

Q is for quiet, which I hope to appreciate again once the kids move out of the house or I lose my hearing, whichever comes first.

R is for revolver, which is both a great album and one of my gunny fascinations.

S is for smoke, curling up and around the meat in my barbecue.

T is for tequila. Oh, Lord, make the pain stop.

U is for unprepared, which is my state every time I sit down to write.

V is for vodka, clear and pure and evil.

W is for Wolf, as dirty as day old sin.

X is for ex-wife, an irritation that will disappear from my life someday

Y is for yesterday, which sometimes seems so long ago.

Z is for zilch, which is the balance in my gun fund these days.

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