Air Rifle Scope Advice II

You guys are awesome! I hear (through remote channels) that I got many comments with a plethora of useful air rifle scope information. Excellent!

Unfortunately, I’m partially “off grid” right now and also busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. So I can’t respond in more detail (or even read my own damn blog) but I will when I’m back. In the meantime I’m delighted to hear the good news.

I’ve instructed my dog to approve all comments in moderation and post this. I’ll savor your advice when I’m back in civilization. (Or my back at my homestead which is something of the opposite of civilization but has decent broadband and is IMHO better than civilization.) If you posted a comment and wonder why I haven’t replied, it’s not because I’m rude… I’m just on the road.

I can’t wait! I’m gonna’ follow whatever advice I get.  Those squirrels won’t know what hit ’em!

Thanks, y’all!

A.C. (As transcribed by his dog)

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The Squirrels Win Another Round / Need Air Rifle Scope Advice

” I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it. Don’t wait for it. Just let it happen. It could be a new shirt at the men’s store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot black coffee.” Dale Cooper, Twin Peaks, 1990.

I’ve been jonesing for a new air rifle ever since I picked up a battered $25 Chinese air rifle a few years ago. That ham handed beast, when sighted in, did OK. I dropped a few chipmunks who were messing with my pig feed and ventilated many soda cans with it. It was far more fun than any $25 object should be. I wanted more.

I planned to get myself a “real air rifle” for Christmas. Alas, you know how it is. You fret over kid’s stuff, trees, decorations, keeping the pipes thawed, whatever… you never treat yourself. Plus I started to drive yourself nuts trying to make the “best” choice within my given price range (which is cheap). I thought too much about it. Soon my head was swimming with $1000 match grade whatzits and versus $300 super gadgetroids and all the fun was gone. I wanted to drop a C-Note and ploink dastardly squirrels, not train for the Olympics. So I tabled it.

But the idea was still there. In fact, once in March I saw a squirrel going to town on my feeder and reached for my new Christmas air rifle… only to realize I hadn’t actually gone beyond the planning stage.

Last month I was rocketing down the highway when the words of Dale Cooper prompted me. It took the next exit and, in less time than I’ll take to choose between a Big Mac and Chicken McNuggets, picked a Gamo Big Cat in .22 caliber. (I bought mine in person but the link goes to about the same thing in Amazon. Also, I note mine says 950 FPS in big sexy letters on the box, but Amazon says 1200… which just explains why I got confused and didn’t buy one over Christmas. Also if the Gamo Big Cat is the Edsel of air rifles, that’s too bad. If I shoulda’ bought the Shoot-O-Matic X-37 in .177 caliber, it’s already water under the bridge. The die is cast. Etc… Also don’t tell me that a $800 rifle would be better. I know that and will ponder it when/if I’ve got the cash burning a hole in my pocket; which is probably never.)

First impressions? All in all it’s pretty nice for a $100 +/- object. It pumps pretty easy for all that energy it’s storing, it’s not too heavy, and aside from being a bit more “plastic” than I’d like, I can’t see any flaws.

The trigger pull is not great, but did I mention it was a $100 air rifle. Also I’m still not used to the funky “recoil” of an air rifle. I fire it and think “what the hell was that”? It’ll take some getting used to.

There were lots of “suppressed” rifles but I didn’t like their heavy barrels. This one is rather loud. Pros and cons to everything, right? Also the barrel is flouted which is amazingly pointless. I’ll admit it looks cool though.

Also the included 4×32 scope has me chasing my tail. Easy installation and OK sight picture but I’m still not pleased. Then again I’m uptight about optics and no “free in the box” scope is perfect.

As for the overall concept of a .22 “hunting” air rifle? Holy shit is that cool! Air rifles ‘aint the toys from when I was a kid. This bastard hits the target hard. Or at least it hits hard compared to what I was expecting. I did get it for hunting; small game of course (mostly for squirrels who are meddling in the world of mind control or stealing chicken feed). As far as I can tell this little rifle will take out anything smaller than big game. I did go for .22 over .177 and maybe that matters a lot? The box (and we all know they’re truthful right?) tells me it shoots 950 fps with “Platinum ammo”.

I’ve been noodling around with various ammo. I need to test a bunch more to find what the rifle likes. I tried some Gamo Platinum Raptor (which came with it) and I inadvertently bought some Gamo Raptor Real Gold. The latter is plated in real gold, which about the stupidest thing ever… but it caught my eye enough that I bought it. (I thought it was “copper jacketed”.) Both of those are expensive, which ruins the fun of air rifles. Later I bought a huge tin of 500 pellets of Benjamin 14.3 grain hollow point lead and the price was cheap enough that each shot is virtually free. Part of the fun is pellets at a few pennies a shot. As expected, the point of aim changes dramatically when I switch ammo. I think I’ll buy some “sample packs” of pellets once I sort out the scope.

Alas, I have one issue and maybe my readers know something and can help?

I installed the 4×32 scope and started slinging pellets at a measured distance. I picked 60′. It seemed that the rifle was fairly precise. Given time the rifle seems up to being a tack driver (within it’s reasonable range). I also got the scope on target in a few shots. However, the way I hold the stock and my eye position has a huge impact. I’ve never had this issue with regular rifles. Is this the parallax effect? Was I sighting in at the wrong distance? Or is it just a crappy scope? Am I doing something wrong?

Sometimes I’d have it dialed in with several shots in a row near perfect. I’d be like “I’ll hit not just a squirrel’s head but pick the eyebrow hair I’ll split… I’m awesome!” Then I’d shift and the sight picture would go all wonky and I’d be “I’ve turned into Mr. Magoo. Why?” What’s causing the “Mr. Magoo” effect? Is it me, a shitty scope, or something I’m doing wrong?

If the solution is a new scope I’m open for recommendations. Keeping in mind this isn’t a “freezer filler and zombie defense” I’d like to keep any new scope in the $50-$75 range. For a big game rifle that’s unreasonable, but hopefully an air rifle in .22 doesn’t need a $900 Swarovski?

If I don’t get that scope figured out, I lose and the squirrels win!

I could use some air rifle scope advice. I defer to those who know more than me… which may be everyone. E-mail me advice or just drop it in the comments. Thanks,


P.S. Heed the valuable life advice of Dale Cooper:

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The Young Scholar

Ol Remus at the Woodpile Report puts up classic paintings from time to time. They really brighten my day. This particular image stood out among his many fine examples. When it flowed beneath the incoming tide of newer posts I missed it:

Apparently it was painted by John Peel in 1871, which is to say I know nothing about it. As seen from our world where art seems to favor “making a goddamn statement upside your head”, it’s almost whimsical. (Link is here.)

I’m glad there are folks out there keeping things classy. It gives me room to fume about the AMC Gremlin and obsess over activist squirrels. Click over to the Woodpile Report and tell him thanks for the art.

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I Have Gone Down The Rabbit Hole With Cover Bands

My mower broke and while stacking wood I took out my arms. (No worries, I’ll heal.)

So I was bored and looking for the webpage where some dude makes an AK out of a shovel (I swear I saw that somewhere)… when I found this. One string? I’m speechless:

And then 22 strings? What black magic is afoot here!?!

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When In Doubt: Play Banjo

Dr. Mingo had a shitty day. We’ve all been there.

In order to cheer him up I present a Eurythmics cover in banjo. Nothin’ makes a day better than banjo.

I like Sweet Dreams but I have to admit it has the world’s most depressing lyrics. So I decided to add an instrumental version of one of my favorites: Enter The Sandman by Metallica. (To be honest, I’m more of a heavy metal fan than Dr. Mingo. But what the hell, it’s banjo y’all!)

Hat tip to Flares into Darkness.

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Guardians Of The Galaxy 2 – Review With Spoilers

Review: It’s a solid A-. It’s about as unsucky as Disney can get but it still sucks… because everything Hollywood excretes on the screen sucks lately. This movie, shitty as it is, is about the best you can do.

Details: It doesn’t completely insult your intelligence. Also what the hell else are you doing with your time; reading Elizabethan tragedy? attending Opera? Feeding the poor? Further, it’s a Disney product so resistance is futile. Just suck it up dollar donor. Even if they made a six hour movie about jock itch in marsupials us lemmings would pay for it. If there’s a kid in your house between the ages of 12 and 36, you’re going to watch it and if the kid has a Y chromosome (that’s a boy to those of you who live in Berkeley and are confused) you’ll watch it at least twice. You’ll also invariably buy a shitload of plastic merchandise that has Guardians’ logos lovingly applied by sweatshops flunkies in Bangladesh. Even if Mickey Mouse has to come to your house and hit you with a tire iron, you’re watching. Capiche? (See: Frozen. See also… every movie Disney has made for decades.)

Pros: I found a cool little theater where tickets were $5.50. This allowed the family to drag me away from my homestead without me wanting to kill anyone. Very quaint. I saw a young Mennonite couple holding hands (scandalous!) in the line to see the next showing. It was like a Norman Rockwell scene and the word “courting” came to mind. Who am I to complain that “courting” now includes watching blue female aliens swordfight?

Cons: It’s not Shakespeare. There are flaws which extend into different dimensions of space and time. There are plot holes through which you could drive a bus… sideways.

Pros: Everyone in the movie is armed and tries to kill everyone else. Loudly. Many things explode.

Cons: For the love of God would someone please cut the goddamn CGI budget and use it to hire people who can write a story?

Pros: I like Drax. I have renamed him Captain Literally. He should preside over congressional hearings.

Cons: Sylvester Stallone is still alive and for some reason (he needed money?) they put him in this movie.

Pros: They make fun of the planet of Sorority Bitches.

Cons: This is the big one and it’s hard to endure; it almost sinks the whole damn movie…. the “moral” is the usual knee jerk horseshit. As required by law, the entire climax is all about using “heart” over “mind“. This is why everyone you meet in a typical day is a dumbass. It’s fucking Disney’s fault! You know what happens in real life to people with lots of heart who go up against overwhelming odds? They get crushed like the whiny little shitheads they are. They’re too damn stupid to succeed. They get bent, folded, and spindled by superior competitors who are smart and strong. Their competitors dispensed with the “heart” bullshit and instead studied physics and got busy at the gym. This means they can and should crush the tiny little empty snowflake head of those who have heart. Ugh… it’s just too repetitive. I would just once like to watch a movie where they don’t insert, suppository style, shitty moralizing onto a juvenile two hour explosion fest. Also there’s the very real possibility that there are idiots out there who really buy into the “sing kumbaya and that will give me the power to nuke the living shit out of those who oppose me” morality that’s never ever far away from any Hollywood production. These people walk among us and when they’re done bringing down the national IQ we’ll be lucky if the power grid lasts long enough to heat my last cup of coffee before I jump in front of their autonomously driven Uber-car. It frustrates me… that’s all I’m sayin’.


The movie begins when Captain Literally, played by Vladimir Putin, takes out Trigglypuff. Meanwhile the rest of the useless twits fire randomly and a puppy/cornstalk hybrid dances.

From there action progresses to the planet of the Sorority Bitches and their leader, played by Hillary Clinton’s ego:

Predictably, the team’s roguish space squirrel Rocket misbehaves. He raids the chicken coop, keys their Prius, and rips off a pack of Duracells. Which just goes to show; raccoons should be shot on sight.

This causes the snowflakes from the planet of Sorority Bitches to launch an attack of Twitterbots. These unmanned drones prove the Bitches have no stomach for a real fight against the mighty Firefly (pictured in center). 

Meanwhile, for no reason whatsoever, a camera is pointed at Sylvester Stallone. Given that he’s cast as Judge Dredd, leader of the Space Ravagers, it’s difficult to understand why he’s dressed like Liberace.

Chris Pratt rips off his shirt for the six teenage girls in the audience. Beer gutted dads in the audience mutter about steroids while every MILF in creation pants heavily.

In a moment of comedy gold, sure to eclipse the Marx Brother’s timeless one liners from Duck Soup, Captain Literally comments on a recent bowel movement. He has estimated it weighs 108.6 courics, thus exceeding the accomplishments of both Randy Marsh and Bono.

Then, they go camping. Starlord meets a Space Hippie. Never trust a Space Hippie. In case you’ve been dropped on your head and can’t understand the symbolism, the Space Hippie is named Ego. He’s got epic God like powers and really excellent hair; but he’s still a goddamn hippie and his planet looks like a My Little Pony playset.

The Space Hippie has a sexbot named Mantis. She “helps him sleep”. Suuuuure.

Speaking of sexbots, the Blue Murderous Angry Chick and the Green Murderous Angry Chick do not have a freaky lesbian sex scene so quit hoping for it. This is Disney y’all. Though I’m sure someone is making one right now for their fan-fiction page.

Completely ignoring a perfectly good sexbot, the Green Murderous Angry Chick goes into heat while staring at lint on Starlord’s collar. Again, Disney… so don’t hope for it.

Meanwhile a space biker shows up with his magic arrow. He has prosthetic teeth that make him look like he’s got a wad of chew in there that’ll give cancer to an Ox.

Starlord shares his deepest insecurities, hoping for a moment of touching emotional connection. Captain Literally and Sexbot respond appropriately.

Then things blow up for about 45 minutes. About a zillion working class Ravagers get disemboweled while elitist Sorority Bitches don’t get a hair out of place… because there’s no bias in Hollywood. Also the Hippie God, who has powers beyond comprehension, uses his immense intellect to punch people in the face to get his way. This proves that Hollywood people understand both persuasion and battle tactics like lemurs understand particle physics.

Luckily, CGI computers overheat to render everything. That way the audience doesn’t have to use its atrophied imagination for even one second.

The surprise twist ending is that Yondu, the blue dude with the magic arrow, is actually the love child of Judge Dredd and Wez, from Road Warrior 2. See the resemblance? Uncanny! Clearly something weird happened in post-apocalyptic Australia.

Concerned fans, all six of them, along with 200 million of us who could enjoy a story with actual humans interacting without punching but won’t get that option, will invariably watch Guardians of the Galaxy 3… in which we find out how long Stallone will get paid for useless cameos.

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Draining The Swamp

J Edgar Hoover ran the FBI as if it were his private secret police force. He exceeded his authority, and spied on, blackmailed, harassed, intimidated, and threatened everyone. He became politically unstoppable. He was in power for 48 years. Though hated and feared by several presidents (all of whom had the power to fire him) none dared to oppose him. The only thing that removed Hoover from power was death. The man was a monster.

James Comey was the Director of the FBI. He was fired yesterday. He wasn’t remotely as bad as Hoover.


Life is cruel. Sometimes it puts you on the horns of a dilemma. If you do the right thing… you’re fucked. If you do the wrong thing… you’re fucked.

Regardless of his flaws or merits, recent events gave Comey a shit sandwich. There’s no good answer for the role he had to play. What the hell would you do?

Imagine that you’re the head of the FBI. The most powerful nation in the world is trying to democratically elect it’s next leader, who will be your boss. The shit has been hitting the fan all year. Now it’s getting worse.

Your staff shows up with incontrovertible evidence that the leading candidate engaged in serious shitweaseling. This would sink any other person on earth, including you. Normally this would lead to a trial and very possibly time in “Federal pound me in the ass prison“. But this is the favored presidential candidate we’re talking about!

You’re sick with worry. You’re not hungry but you eat a stale donut left from the morning briefing. This information has you trapped.

Do you proceed? Recommend criminal prosecution for a person who’s acted criminally based on the overwhelming evidence of crime? Normally you would, but the other candidate is an orange tinted blowhard who makes everyone in DC break out in hives. The press is screaming that the guy is “literally Hitler”. Whatever you do will influence the election. Who needs this shit? Three hundred million people in the US and they couldn’t come up with two who are squeaky clean?

The donut went down badly. You remind yourself to have a doctor tweak your blood pressure meds. Your secretary is making Vince Foster jokes behind your back. The punchline is “assisted suicide”. You know there’s an office pool; they’re betting on whether you’ll be transferred to Guam or a windowless office in the basement. This job sucks!

The evidence of malfeasance on your desk grows. Objectively, it’s much worse than Watergate. You can say it’s literally bigger than Watergate and be using the word “literally” properly.

Do you wanna’ be Dudley Do Right and send this on for prosecution? Are you sure? The criminal in question is really good at getting away with stuff and she’s probably going to be your boss!

You pour yourself a stiff drink, toss it back, and wait. Nope, shit sandwich didn’t go away.

Also, her husband, an ex-president (!), who was disbarred in his own scandal (!!), had an illicit meeting with the Attorney General of the United States (!!!). This is the woman who will, or won’t, prosecute the case. And the criminal in question is probably going to be her boss too! Of course, they all fucked up. They got caught by the press when they parked huge private jets next to each other. Who brings a goddamn jet to a conspiratorial meeting? It they had half a brain they’d find a way to have illicit meetings covertly! It’s like they want to get caught. What the hell is wrong with people?

Your stomach aches. You take an antacid. Shit sandwich is still there… weighing on you.

An idea occurs to you. You’re in the spy business; you know all sorts of secret shit. Why not bury the evidence? Pretend like it didn’t happen.

But noooooo. Fucking evidence is erupting everywhere. You shake your head in disbelief, criminals ought to know about cloud file storage, backups, etc… but this one didn’t. Copies of e-mails are showing up everywhere! Thumbdrives, forensics on a “homebrew server”, and… the phone rings.

What the hell could make this worse? Did she gut a kitten on Facebook. Seriously, it’s like she’s trying to give you an ulcer.

You hang up the phone with a sigh. Now there’s more evidence. It’s on a pervert’s laptop. This particular pervert is a disgraced Congressman who lost his office when his hobby of sending photos of his schlong got out of hand. In addition to photos of his dick, he’s got a pile of possibly classified information. Seriously? This is the level of bullshit this job entails?

The antacids aren’t working. You’ve got a headache now too.

Your staff informs you that the pervert is married to the problematic candidate’s campaign manager. She’s been at the candidate’s side since she was an intern, back in ’96. So while the husband (and President) was boinking one intern, this other one started orbiting the wife (and First lady, and then Senator, and then Secretary of State). Eventually she married a perv who’s got files that come from…

You excuse yourself to head for the restroom and toss your cookies. Mama said there’d be days like this.

There’s a press event in an hour.

Think of something. Think of it fast.

If Comey was like a certain irrelevant and obscure blogger he’d give up and light the fuse. Have an epic ten minute press conference composed of mostly swearing and hand out all (or most) of the relevant evidence. I don’t think like secret squirrel people. I don’t want to be the sole possessor of any potential president’s dirty laundry! The whole thing would end with something like “Fuck it. These people aren’t just criminals, they’re idiots. I don’t care what you do with this information because I quit. I’m going fishing.”

This explains why my life is nothing like a DC elite’s life. A guy like me would never have made it that far. I’d be miserable there and they’d be miserable having me.

Comey is more nuanced. He tried to to bend, to flex, to ride out the storm. He sought to thread the needle with press conferences like this: “There’s a metric assload of evidence but… well… look at her… there’s gonna’ be flying monkeys and shit if we prosecute. Who wants that?” This had the right braying for his head while the left smugly smiled. (Over time everyone started accepting the evidence… the real anger came about what to do, or not do, about the big meanie who delivered the news.) Then, after the perv perved out even more files, he tried again “OK there’s more evidence and it’s like super-bad y’all. I’m just sayin’.” And the left started braying for his head while the right sighed and thought “finally”. (Again, nobody seemed to ponder that the candidate in question could have avoided politically damaging revelations by refraining from committing crimes or just backed off on stupidly emailing compromising data all over creation.)

Sadly, after the election it continued. I expected this, though I’d hoped for better. The now soundly rejected candidate occasionally emerged from her cave to pronounce that it wasn’t poor performance or corruption that bonked her presidential bid; it was this one particular asshole who rudely investigated. (Oddly, that’s part of his job title. It comes after “Federal Bureau of”.) It sounded to me like this: “And it would have worked too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids”.

Through it all Comey kept trying to straddle the fence, avoid hard calls, strike a balance… until the boss, our orange haired literal Hitler, acted like a real president. He understood that the head of the FBI isn’t Yoda; it’s not his job to “strike a balance”. One brief announcement: “You’re fired. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” That’s how it’s done!

It was a wise decision. Even if Comey didn’t cause his world to be surrounded by corruption, it was his choice to play politics with the pigs in the sty. Even if he didn’t do (most of) the deeds that look bad and keep trickling out (information will ooze out for years), he failed to preserve his impartiality. Maybe there’s no good way he could have handled the mess, short of walking away. Regardless he didn’t walk away from what became the Kobayashi Maru and was doomed by it. The more he tried to split differences and strike balances the closer he came to unredeemable. Best to spare him, and us, that terrible fate. The president of 2017 might have nipped a nascent Hoover in the bud. Would that Franklin D. Roosevelt had done the same with his troublesome FBI leader.


DiploMad 2.0 has pithy observation. As soon as the FBI Director is a source of public discussion to the point where you remember his name, that’s proof the FBI Director sucks at his job. I had to add it here (emphasis mine):

“Forget the contradictory statements about the Russians, forget even, if you can, about the weird “investigation” into Hillary’s home-brewed server, forget about WikiLeaks, also forget about Comey’s lackadaisical attitude towards the leaking of classified information. All those are reasons to dump Comey, no doubt, but, I think Comey’s greatest sin was that we all know who he is.

…The FBI Director should not, IMHO, be a media personality much less an obvious political actor…”

Read the whole thing.

Incidentally the list of Directors is here. Between Hoover (a monster) and McCabe (appointed 3 days ago). Almost none of them ring a bell. I dimly recall William Sessions who was at the wheel during Ruby Ridge and Waco… but can’t dredge up more than a name. Sessions was fired by President Clinton. I note that out of 12, post-Hoover Directors two were fired and only one lasted through a full 10 year term.

Apparently Trump isn’t the only one who learned the Hoover lesson!

P.S. I can’t harp on Hoover enough. The man was a barnacle! The Hoover era lasted from to 1924 – 1972! He came to power when refrigerators were just coming into American homes (no freezers though) and he died in office when we had probes orbiting Mars. Men like that are dangerous.

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Dodge Axle Maintenance

I’m pretty sure this guy works for my nearest Chrysler dealership.

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Phenology Update / Bart Sighting?


noun /fiˈnäləjē/

1.The study of cyclic and seasonal natural phenomena, esp. in relation to climate and plant and animal life

Around sunset I saw a bear wandering around a nearby field. How cool is that? It’s easy to get jaded but I’m still pretty stoked when I see a bear. Unless it’s messing with my garbage cans or on my lawn, it’s something I appreciate.

I wouldn’t have noticed but the cranes (who might be velociraptors) were carrying on like a couple of meth heads with an air horn. I’m not sure if they’ve got a nest or what, but they were royally pissed at the bear. Cranes can make a racket!

The bear, for its part, was wandering around a wide open plowed field in a way that ground based wild animals shouldn’t. It was the behavior of a creature with zero fucks to give. I’m assuming it had a case of post hibernation munchies and was hoping for a crane egg?

Sadly it was too far off to observe closely. It was at bipod and spotting scope distance rather than a more useful offhand shot or “par three” distance. Them’s the breaks.

For the squirrel’s followers out there, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Bert. For one thing Bert is in a Subaru headed for Portland. For another this particular bear didn’t look racist.

In other phenological observations, a couple weeks ago I passed one of those Smokey Bear signs; you know the kind I’m talking about… where there’s a USFS emblem or a Smokey Bear or whatever and an arrow that points to the current “fire danger”. I passed it during the middle of an ice storm which had coated everything in creation with a quarter inch of ice. Sleet was freezing on my windshield damn near as fast as the defroster kept it at bay. I was in 4×4 and white knuckling down a dirt road at the speed of fear.

Helpful Smokey was holding a red sign that said “High Fire Danger”. It was soaking wet and coated with ice; which means Smokey was so out of touch with reality that he should get honorary TSA sponsorship.

Smokey predicting extreme fire danger in a snowstorm is usually a sign of delayed springs. I take it as a sign of firefighters who are super impatient for the season to change. They’re gonna’ die if something doesn’t start burning. I feel for them. They’re smelling overtime and ready to go ape on the first spark of spring. Hard to say, but either the storm was anomalously late, someone is jumping the gun on smokey’s setting, or it has been set to “High Danger” since Halloween. Can’t tell.

Incidentally, I did a few controlled burns (legally!) on my yard before the ice storm. Flame wasn’t carrying in any particularly exciting manner. But I had stopped and shelved the drip torch the weekend before the storm. So hang tight lads, the season ‘aint far away.

Bears with zero fucks to give annoying nesting (presumably) velociraptors/cranes is a sign spring is nearing an end and the brief northern summer is about to turn the dial to eleven.

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Rodney Dangerfield And The Current State Of Politics: Part 2

[This is the second of a two part post. I left the first part in the queue rather than letting it go live. Quite by accident, the first part (which I’d carefully wordsmithed) addressed politics with insufficient satire. For example, it lacked squirrels, explosions, or competitive knitting. What was I thinking? It doesn’t seem right to contaminate a week of happy gopher based stories with reasoned arguments. Putting part one on ice for now is a present to my readers. (However, I want it known the post did include the phrase “pantsuited warrior for justice, who comes equipped with a halo of vaginahood and wields a +3 mace of insider powerbroker connections”. I don’t want y’all thinking I totally fell off the satire wagon and took things seriously!)]

The people who wrote Caddyshack knew the story America tells itself about its true soul. They also predicted the entirety of our most recent presidential election from the remote stone age of 1980. Imagine that; people so primitive they paid quarters to play Pac Man at gas stations knew to cast future President Trump in their movie!

Here he is; President Trump from 1980:

I’m a real estate developer with gobs of money and horrible fashion sense. Vote for me!

Caddyshack squares the obtuse but optimistic Trump against an angry Hillary Clinton:

Everyone who isn’t part of my private club is deplorable.

Predictably, the energetic, risk taking, Trump does everything imaginable to annoy the elites. Sometimes on purpose. Sometimes by accident. Trump is rich but not elite. He’ll never be elite. Also he earned his own money and is therefore not beholden to anybody, which encourages him to say outlandish things. His very existence annoys the multi-generational elite establishment who walk around like their shit doesn’t stink. Trump also spends his money on gaudy trinkets, at which the elite sneer disapprovingly:

President Trump loves gadgets. Here he demonstrates an internet connected golf club. (In the background you can see his beer dispensing golf bag.)

As with most elites, Hillary makes it a point to be seen engaging in socially conscious activities. Here she’s pictured with a quaint little wooden boat which is wind powered. It was built for her by some hired deplorable who’s sawdust covered presence was not welcome at the boat’s launch. She makes sure to signal her green credentials by wearing a jaunty sailor outfit, calling a press conference, and giving a lame speech. She is never seen actually sailing.

I’m dressed like Popeye.

Trump, who clearly enjoys NASCAR, has a boat of his own. The boat is “yuge”! It takes the sheen from Hillary’s carefully scripted announcement of her candidacy.

When she doesn’t get her way, Hillary gets angry and violent:

She also misuses executive power by manipulating a scholarship fund; thus spending other peoples money to get her way. When that doesn’t work, she dismisses the person who will not participate in her scheme as unworthy and doomed to lower class servitude:

As the clash of cultures heats up, rural bloggers redouble their survivalist preparations:

Meanwhile, Trump tries to woo Republicans to his side, which doesn’t go over well. They form a group called #NoFuckingWay. It is dedicated to electing virtually any human being who went to Yale. Trump, a plaid wearing menace, did not go to Yale. The entire situation infuriates Hillary who went to Yale and shortly after graduation failed the bar exam.

Unwilling to participate in what seems to be shaping up as an outbreak of chaos, a creepy blogger retreats to his hinterland outpost. Possibly listening to an internal monologue only he can hear, he begins to document the threat of rodents who like disco.

Are you the one that’s downloading Abba on my wifi connection?

As Trump and Hillary face off the tension mounts. Bets are placed and it looks like Hillary is about to go from rich to richer. Unwisely, everyone doubles down on an already shaky situation. The movie concludes with the last putt of the golf tournament; which causes protesters to go apeshit:

The Russians did it!

If you think a week of gophers, culminating in a Donald Trump / Rodney Dangerfield political analysis, is a good use of the internet, feel free to click below. Even if you don’t hit my tip jar you owe it to yourself to watch Caddyshack. You’ve worked hard all week, enjoy.


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