Friday, November 17, 2017

Virginia Unicorn Hunting

Compound News is at it again, this time from a Virginia horse ranch which was being terrorized by a marauding unicorn.

Vicious little beasts, unicorns, and this one met its match. Watch to the end for hi-power explosive action.

Good hunting!


Thursday, November 16, 2017

You Chicken

People often ask me, they say, "What's country life actually like, in Texas?" And I tell them, "It's like a game of chicken." No fooling, the birds are everywhere.

Blue Eschaton loves this. For him, there's nothing better than running full tilt at a terrified, squawking chicken, cornering it and then killing it. He doesn't eat them, he just stands there attempting to look innocent, with feathers in his mouth.

He tried it the other day and I managed to save the bird, much to the dog's annoyance and a bit of running around on my part.

Sometimes you'll see the poultry roaming around the center of town and I'm surprised resourceful live off the land, DIY, off-grid preppers don't eat them. I've done that myself, after Blue Marauder's done his work.

"Dad, how did you learn to do that?" asked my sons as I breasted an unfortunate fowl with a handy razor sharp folder, "It just happened, kids."

All this flashed through my mind this morning outside the town's food bank, where I'd gone to fly the flag, make a bereavement visit and do my bit for the needy. There it was, a random chicken by the dumpster. And I thought this.

We're devolving into something third world because the globalist NWO, transnational, Illuminati elite and their bi-coastal puppets have sold us down the river to make themselves even more stratospherically wealthy than they already are. Hence Mexico moves to Tejas, along with all their chickens.

After a moment of bitterness I consoled myself. When the center cannot hold, imploding perhaps under burgeoning debt, the rural parts of this country which have been gutted by our MillSoc (Millionaire Socialist) overlords will be OK. 

We'll have eggs and meat and feathers. And guns, lots of them, and horses. Expect a lot of irregular cavalry units.

God bless,


PS. Beer Can Chicken is simple and tasty. Heap coals to side of grill, rub butter/olive oil over bird, salt and pepper then put small beer can (with beer) up the chicken. Don't think Freddy Mercury. Place on indirect heat, drip pan underneath for gravy. Cover and cook for an hour and fifteen minutes, turning half way through. It'll be moist and delicious.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Coup In Zim

This genius is being replaced by...

This, or something very much like it.

There was a time when that part of Africa was a country, defended by people like these. And now everything's better, except that it isn't.

Feel free to disagree.

Your Old Buddy,


Drive To The Cathedral

Typical Fort Worth Street Scene

The experts tell us that you can gauge the ethos and spirit of a culture by its civic architecture. What does that tell us about Fort Worth? That we're a massive, inhuman, concrete and asphalt tangle of roads.

Take that as deeply or not as you like, but I won't pretend to like it. Apparently the City Fathers didn't get the memo, spaghetti junctions went out with the '70s.

St. Vincent's Campanile

I thought all this as I drove into the metrosprawl from the country for a meeting at St. Vincent's Cathedral and it made me miss England, not that that's perfect either. 

Someone once said that the English had destroyed more historical buildings after the War (#2) every year, than the Germans did throughout the entire Blitz. Good thing the National Socialists didn't have Lancasters and B17s.

Shoot It

Somber reflections on iconoclasm aside, it was good to be at the cathedral and meet with catholic-minded orthodox Anglicans. Good people working for a good cause, to assert catholicity for our part of the Church.

And that's a bold call, not least because the Anglo-Catholic movement's been pretty much defeated. Priestesses, liturgical dancers, tutu-endorsing Etonian Primates; throw a dart at the wall and hit a unicorn. You name it, they've captured the mainstream aspect of our church. But not at St. Vincent's. 

A clergyman

No dancers, no unicorns, no tutus, no fireman's helmets, just the catholic faith seen through the eyes of Anglicanism. Some might argue that's myopic, others might say that Rome wasn't built in a day.

Your Friend,


Tuesday, November 14, 2017


Here at the Compound we like to think of ourselves as enterprise-wide solutions providers. And thanks to our uniquely qualified international knowledgebase, SkunkWorks, we're able to offer you expert real-world solutions in real-time, at lightning fast speed. 

For example, your dog gets skunked bringing business to a grinding halt. Always mindful of cost/benefit ratio, you look in-house and wash the reeking, toxic animal with ketchup. Result? The animal turns pink and smells like a poison Bloody Mary. Your workforce walks off site and a nightmare turns into a disaster. 

A disaster that shouldn't have happened. Our expert consultancy would have told you that the right way to deal with the problem is 1 large bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide, 2 teaspoons of liquid dish soap and 1/2 cup of baking soda. Mix and apply incrementally to the canine, rinse and repeat if necessary.

Here's what customers say:

"My kitty looked like a show cat after this. She shone."
"Deacon was a beautiful Golden retriever, then the skunk got him. Thanks to SkunkWorks we go our dog back."
"This works. Time is money and SkunkWorks got us up and running in double quick time."

Why the success? We know that skunking is acid carried by oil and that liquid dish soap cuts the oil, while Hydrogen Peroxide and baking soda neutralizes the acid, delivering a skunk free dog.

Value? Priceless. 


Welby's Chinos!

They're here, they're there, they're everywhere, you guessed it, Welby's Chinos! 

Never one to stand on ceremony, Old Etonian Archbishop Justsin likes nothing better than to throw down his finely tailored Saville Row suits and pull on a pair of happy go lucky chinos.

Africans Amazed At Welby's Chinos

As a heartfelt proponent of cross-dressing for children, Welby favors the insouciant "whiter shade of pale" chino over its more formal variant, the traditional khaki.

Welby's Chinos Closeup

On TV and off TV, in Synod and out, strolling down the Mall with all the other swells or hanging loose in Old Compton Street, you name it, Archbishop Justin's right at home, in his free and easy cotton twills.

Don't Laugh At The Chinos!

So whether you're rocking a tutu and a fireman's helmet, a tool belt or tiara, never fear, Justsin's here, in chinos!

Bell Harry Forever,


Monday, November 13, 2017

Church Of England Goes Tiara Tutu

Just when you thought the venerable if shrinking CofE couldn't get any more dysphoric, it did, instructing its schools to encourage boys to dress up in tiaras and tutus. Here's an excerpt from the declining denomination's new rainbow guidelines for primary school teachers:


For example, a child may choose the tutu, princess’s tiara and heels and/or the fireman’s helmet, tool belt and superhero cloak without expectation or comment. Childhood has a sacred space for creative self imagining.

 A Beautiful Unicorn

How many senior clergypersons enjoy dressing up in the tutu/fireman's helmet combo is presently unknown.

Justsin Welby

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, has endorsed the trans promoting document.

All the colors of the rainbow,


Sunday, November 12, 2017

Sutherland Springs, Apocalyptic Reflection

Last Sunday we walked out of Mass uplifted, at least I did, refreshed in mind, body and spirit and then on arriving back at the Compound, pouring a glass of the right stuff and clicking on Drudge, things didn't seem so good.

There it was, Devin Kelley had killed 26 people and wounded at least 20 in an act of murderous, irrational, rage. "Why," asked one hardened LE Officer, "was it Satan?" Good question. Try phrasing the act another way. "A man of iniquity, full of bestial wrath, blasphemously profaned the Temple with the blood of the martyrs."


Put that way, Kelley's massacre sounds apocalyptic and it was, quite literally, for his victims; they met their last day. As such, Sutherland Springs serves as a partial type or prefigurement of the Apocalypse. What does this look like? We know the broad outline because Christ tells us, in Matthew 24.

Wars and rumours of war, earthquakes and false Messiahs. Here we find the birth-pains of the second Advent. Then follows the birth-crisis, the triumph of paganism and the setting up of idolatrous cult, the abomination of desolation on Mount Zion, accompanied by ferocious, such as the world has not yet seen, persecution of the Church. 

Virgins Wise And Foolish

The Apostle Paul and St. John The Divine  add to the mystery, telling us that this phase of blasphemous ascendance is led by a man, the son of perdition, or Antichrist, who is endowed with supernatural ability to "deceive the very elect." At this time there will be a great "falling away" or apostasy.

Then after the travail comes birth itself, the second Advent of the Son of Man, presaged by cosmic upheaval, who appears on clouds of divine glory to vanquish evil and vindicate the faithful. At last the Bridegroom returns. In the onrushing face of this, where do we stand?

A Typical Wise Virgin

Hopefully like the wise virgins who had the sense to stock their lamps with oil.  Herein lies a symbol. The lamps represent faith, which holds the light of good works, of mercy, love, forgiveness and compassion, all fueled by the oil of love and the indwelling presence of the Spirit who is the personification of love.

The message, then, is simple. We must be filled with the fire of divine love, as light shining in the darkness and then, when the Bridegroom finally appears, we will see Him and He us, granting us admittance into the marriage feast of the Lamb.

Bad Virgins!

To return to Sutherland Springs; those people, knowingly or not, were prepared for their apocalypse. They were loving God in worship. 

May God grant us grace to do the same. And, not to put too fine a point on it, if you're licensed, carry.

Your Old Pal,


Saturday, November 11, 2017

Frontier Justice

My Great, Great Grandmother was driving through Midland, Texas, sometime in the 1920s and stopped her car at an intersection. It was the oil boom and some 60 years off the War of Northern Aggression.

A man appeared at the door and demanded she give him her money. She reached inside the glove compartment of her vehicle and produced a revolver, which she pointed directly at that man's face. He ran.

They were made of stern stuff, those women.

I file this narrative under "frontier justice" in '20s Texas.

Your Old Friend,


Veterans Day

They're playing the Last Post from the courthouse right now and the mournful sound is carried on the wind over the town. 

Pray for those who made the ultimate sacrifice and for all veterans and members of the armed forces. 

Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all members of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face the perils which beset them; and fill them a sense of your abiding, mighty presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rest eternal grant unto the fallen, O Lord, and may light perpetual shine upon them. May they rest in peace.

God bless,


Friday, November 10, 2017

Don't Be Shy, Bless The Boat

Some compounds are difficult and full of bad craziness, other compounds are full of boats. I visited one of the latter today and was pleased to see a near completed catamaran before it was taken down and shipped off to the coast for reassembly.

The DOG is without doubt an impressive catamaran project, based on Wharram's Tiki 38 and you can find details here, at acatnameddog. Good work, guys. 

After a quick tour I asked the builders if they'd like me to bless the boat, which I did, taking especial care to give the Aztec figureheads extra attention, "Let's make sure we drive the demons out of these," I informed the team, casting Holy Water at the idols with an impromptu aspergilium.  

Blessing over, we fell back to HQ and discussed .308 battle rifles, the .300 Blackout, small unit surveillance tactics and the vagaries of teenage boys. Thanks, BB for some good advice and congrats on your catamaran, excellent result.

Then it was time to traverse the inland sea that is Lake Whitney and get back to base, mission accomplished. Rumors of a new AR platform 7.62 unicorn slayer are entirely that, rumors, and quite possibly the result of Kremlin inspired fake news.

DOG spelled backwards is GOD. Make of that what you will.

Sail on,


Thursday, November 9, 2017


I know, you're thinking this is a post about the exotic Tooth Djinn, Huma Abedin, whose hopes for power were shattered by the repellent Weiner. 

Then again, maybe you think it's about Huma's special friend, the Old Crone, who was renowned for her fine teeth before she found herself "lost in the woods."

Or perhaps you're thinking it's about Joe "Trans" Biden, whose prize winning teeth were thwarted of presidential ambition when their billionaire backer, Prince Wally, got himself thrown in the Ritz slammer thanks to the Magic Kingdom's recent night of long knives.

 Good call, vast international readership but not so fast. Because this well known mind blog isn't remotely narcissistic, the teeth in question belong to me, kind of. It started back in January when I pulled myself together and marched into a catastrophically expensive dentist.

"Holy Horseman," he announced like a cowboy, "I'm gonna have to weld those sonsabitches together in case you sneeze and blow your teeth all over the cabin of that plane to London!" He did, and I managed a trip to England without losing the all important front runners. They stood firm, like our brave men at Waterloo or Jackson at Bull Run.

Once back in the Lone Star State, I dodged the Maseratis to get into the dental clinic. "Why howdy! They all gotta go," was the cheerful verdict and damning xray evidence backed it up. There was all kinds of infection lurking around the sturdy jawline. And that's bad because it can mysteriously navigate down to the heart and kill you, stone dead.

So out came the few remaining ivories, in went a couple of implants and on popped a set of falsies and a couple of bottles of synthetic opium. Opioids, they call it and apparently they're a scourge. Just see the video page of this blog and you'll see, QED.

Since then, life has been mostly about driving to Dallas to get the teeth seen to and today was no exception. You see, readers, getting bionic teeth replacement may sound like a walk in the park but it isn't. Still, thanks to the Diocese of Fort Worth it's possible. Thank you, Bishop Iker, 100%.
I file this story under "teeth in rural and not so rural Texas."

God bless,