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Agence France Press does not know the basics of ballistic

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Here's the skinny: I'm forty.

As I'm pulling the plug on my roaring thirties, I figured I might as well step outside for a bit of practical art, rather than stay indoors and mourn for my past youth.

So I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon skinning this here dead deer's head(1). (Why? European mount that's why. Now you think twice before calling Col. Ressler on me.)

And to any of my friends and relative who will feel smart enough to drop by, having worked for some time on the you're-not-getting-any-younger kind of jokes that made many a postcard editing house's fortune, I'm going to answer with just the required background hysterical tone in my voice:
A-ah, ah, ah very funny indeed. Now do you see this deer's head?
And then I'll check the sharpness of my knives on my forearm while starring at them with a slightly mad glint in my eyes, and without a flinch.

That should cut any attempt in the line of “Well, a recent survey showed that at the age of twenty 90% of men have sex four times a week and that by the time they reach 40 they are still capable of telling the same pathetic lie.”, and other “hey the candles cost more than the cake”. Sharpish and shortish.

Defensive? You think I am being defensive? Hey look, do you see this deer's head?

Now, slightly less seriously and hopefully without too much violin, I wish to thank you dear reader for hanging around these parts of the world wide wood, when there's so many other interesting stuff elsewhere, a large proportion of which does not even involve naked human beings at all, and be ready to face whatever I can toss at you, from dead deers' heads to terrorist mime trainers.

And come back the next day nevertheless(2).

I've very much enjoyed your extensive feedback when I asked your advice a couple of weeks ago. I've set my mind on the 30-30 Marlin 336C, as many of you suggested — it was indeed a tough call between her and the Remington 700. I will get me the Remington, though not just now — and I'm now calling the gun shops around, in order to get the best bang for my bucks(3). I'm down to € 730 at the moment, which is very reasonable indeed.

Unless you all rush to tell me this is a stupid idea, I'm thinking of having the following tattooed on the babe:

1967 - 2007

I'm still not set on the adrenalin boost, but considering the persistent lousy weather around here, I might have to postpone it anyway: correct me if I'm wrong but the constant rain and cloudy sky would ruin both the Lambo drive and the skydiving.

A-ah, ah, ah very funny indeed. No I am not backing off and do you see that there dead deer?



Meltdown Mahmoud issue #003 is out.

Believe it or not, but I actually read the transcript of Mahoud Ahmadinejad's "lecture" at Columbia University through and through, which would be a complete chore if it wasn't for the no-barrels-held bitchslapping handed to Mad Mahmoud by Lee Bollinger — come on, even if you disapprove of Columbia U welcoming the Iranian thug-in-chief, you have to admit that seeing him called a "petty and cruel dictator (...) quite simply, ridiculous (...) either brazenly provocative or astonishingly uneducated" was priceless — as well as the high level of unvoluntary humor offered in this Ahmadinejadian intervention, by the horse's mouth itself.

Add to that an expose in self-hatred from a certain "Jewish lesbian" Lefty who hates Bush (and herself) so much that she finds Mahmoud attractive, and you've got more than enough material for a third installment of Meltdown Mahmoud — introducing this time, The Mahmoud himself.Lisez la suite...



Old school mime Marcel Marceau just died — buried(1) by the new competition — and illustrious members of the French chattering class are overdoing themselves with the obligatory tributes:

Prime Minister Francois Fillon, bored to death in his office while Sarkozy the Energized Bunny is stealing all his thunder:
(Marceau had) "a rare gift - that of communicating with each and every one of us, beyond the barrier of language".

Thanks for removing all doubt, Mr. Fillon.

French broadcaster and critic Jacques Chancel:
He spoke in silence.

Speaking of which, I'm reminded of a tee-shirt I found the other day that would make a great message to those self-important blathering suckers, as well as my own choice of words as a fitting tribute to Marceau the mime:
Best thing about a blowjob is the 20 minutes silence.

'Nuff said.



9 years, 1 Month, 1 Day, 16 minutes ago...

Good omen. Of sorts
Print × Imprimerthe dissident frogman • Sunday, September 23, 2007 · 0431 zulu time.pdf

Okay, I briefly caught this and just had a quick look:
The Kingdom Gets the War on Terror Right

Peter Berg's new film dares to portray Americans as the good guys.

The Kingdom, Universal's $70 million contribution to the burgeoning Iraq/War-on-Terror genre, will not hit theaters until September 28, but already word on the film is immensely encouraging: all the right people hate it.

(...) Berg needn't worry-I bet the film will be a blockbuster. In the suburban New York theater where I saw it, the audience, full of New York Times readers and NPR listeners, seemed not only shaken afterward, but a little confused: the Americans were the good guys, and they won. But reports have it that elsewhere in the country, audiences are cheering.

Out September 28 — there's the good omen to me.

And on that, my dear reader, I'm off, out of the door with my rifle on my back and headed to the woods. This is the first day of the season and nothing, short of a full-scale Islamic invasion, can keep me away from hunting wild boars and the mighty European Red Deer (if we're lucky) today.

Have a good one.



9 years, 1 Month, 2 days, 6 hours, 56 minutes ago...

Let’s have a rare old time
Print × Imprimerthe dissident frogman • Friday, September 21, 2007 · 2151 zulu time.pdf

“And in the shock of the battle the men of the North seemed like a sea that cannot be moved. Firmly they stood, one close to another, forming as it were a bulwark of ice; and with great blows of their swords they hewed down the Arabs. Drawn up in a band around their chief, the people of the Austrasians carried all before them. Their tireless hands drove their swords down to the breasts of the foe.” Bishop Isidore of Beja

Born in 686, Charles the Hammer was 46 when he lead — not from the relative safety of a remote command post, mind you — and fought alongside his Frankish infantry, hacking, slashing and defeating the Muslim cavalry at the Battle of Tours/Poitiers — Indeed, he earned his nickname “the Hammer” during this very battle, due to his fierce and merciless hammering of the Islamic invaders.

Again, at age 46.

And his career as a general, king and all around fighting man was far from over. After Poitiers, he would kick the Muhammadans out of France, and deny them any foothold in Europe (beyond Spain). Not mentioning the good spanking he delivered to various restive dukes and counts all along what would become France, thanks to him, in no small part.

All in all, good old Charles Martel would hammer his foes, eat concertina wire and piss napalm(1) for nearly a decade after Poitiers.

Now, can you please tell me what sort of complacent pussies we have become, to deem unfit for combat those of us who would wish to enlist but reached their forties?

I’ve read and appreciated Mark Steyn’s America Alone, and while I don’t believe that Malthusian predictions on demographic bombs have proven viable in the past (starting with poor old Malthus himself), Steyn still makes an awful lot of solid points in his usual and very enjoyable style. However, if Europe falls and becomes Eurabia, as Steyn (and others) predicts, it will certainly not be simply over an age ratio issue (few and aged European natives versus lots of young Muslims) but will require first and foremost total and unconditional renouncement on the European side — and not just from the European elites, that are far too often already in voluntary Dhimmitude, but from the bulk of the people, no matter their age.

If Charles Martel can tell us anything, it’s that you’re only as old as your spirit and your will to fight for survival.

Either that or, since today is the first day of the last week of my thirties(2), I’m beginning the grieving process. Damn, if only I would get drunk for a change. 

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