What's Going On?!?

"What's going on?!?" I asked my furry compatriot across the  expanse of the Compound's small but efficient kitchen. He couldn't answer because he can't speak, being a dog, but I knew what he was thinking.

A dead parliament of traitors in the UK doing their best to reverse the vote of 17.4 million people to leave the EU, aided by a gang of unelected, unaccountable Remainer Judges. Well he couldn't put his emotions into words but I knew what the growl meant, "This underhand, cowardly, traitorous, sly, unconstitutional, cunning malfeasance needs to be expunged from the Sceptered Isle root and branch." Hey, Blue Leveler, roll on a General Election.

Then there's America. I knew my four legged Digger friend was thinking that the same globalist uniparty creating static in the UK was taking its cue from its allies across the Atlantic. As with Brexit, they can't face the fact that they lost an election, so what to do? Everything in their power to overturn the will of the people, from an intel agency coup to today's pathetically sub par attempt at impeachment. And all, ironically enough, in the name of democracy.

We'll see how it turns out, with President Trump performing like dynamite at the UN and surging in the polls as yet another bogus smear campaign's launched from the Left. "Impeach the President!" runs the hysterical refrain without pausing to ask for what. Because the US Commander in Chief spoke to a foreign leader or would that be exposing the Biden family's pay to play? Wiley Coyote, meet anvil.

Pundits predict a Trump/Pence 2020 landslide and with that, a new day begins.

Peace and Love,

LSP

Happy Labor Day Comrades

The Compound

You stand to at first light, waiting for cadres of fanatical Frankfort School revolutionaries to infiltrate the compound's perimeter in the predawn mist. Such is Labor Day in these dark and troubled times. But guess what, we got a pass. 

The trip flares didn't go off, none of the Claymores exploded, no one had to throw a grenade, there weren't any shadowy figures being deadly in the hedge, and all was good. Huge sigh of relief. Now what?

Texas Dawn

Drive to the 'Spawl or stay in the bucolic bliss of this unreconstructed Texan farming community? Easy call, stay, and what a good choice. Everyone here's happy, smiling, laughing, helping each other out, full of the joy of the day. 

Perhaps they're elated that Labor Day 2019 didn't usher in a demented, satanic Bolshevik revolution. Then again, maybe they're simply happy at the prospect of good times with family and friends, free of the Communist menace.

A Typical Texan Vista

Who knows and I'm not complaining. So fire up the grill, have the best time with your people, and enjoy a great Labor Day. You know what they say, workers of the world unite.

Your Friend,

LSP

Relaxin' In The 'Sprawl

As Jules points out on her engaging literary site, there's a background sound to Texas. It's mostly cicadas,  their static rising and falling in time to the waves of heat that roll in like air from a hot oven. Not unlike an insectoid alien early warning signal, when you think of it. 

Add in the squawking of ferocious birds defending their territory from barking, predatory squirrels, and the same squirrels hurling half-eaten pecans down on you like nutty shrapnel. You get the picture, a Texan morning in late August, and I enjoyed it, sipping coffee while the sprinkler watered Ma LSP's ferns.

Note Texas Theater in Background

You can say, with justice, that there's many things wrong with the 'Sprawl but her garden isn't one of them, and it's been good to set up here for a few days while she's in England celebrating the Brexit movement. Tranquil, despite the barrage of pecan nuts raining down like shells on the Chancellery of the doomed Reich.

To escape the barrage I drove to my favorite ghetto barber, which used to be called Senor Ramone's, they call him "Ramen" for some reason, and now goes by a different name altogether. 

A few years back someone went in for a haircut, had the cut, left, returned, and shot a barber stone cold dead. The shooter then fled the scene of the crime only to be gunned down (or was he  just arrested?) by Dallas PD in the alley behind the shop. None of the staff seemed particularly phased. I know, I asked them at the time.

Haircuttery over, return to base and stand in awe as a brisk wind kicks in, clouds roll over and it begins to rain. What is this, Skywater? And why did I water everything in the smothering heat of the morning? Must get more and better Weather Shamans.

Back to the country tomorrow. Blue #4 is nesting in front of the sink, curiously.

Be good,

LSP

The Cane

Here's the thing. The broad path of licentiousness, of "do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law," of "No Gods No Masters!" is all very well until you get to the rodeo and end up with 3 screws in your femur. Don't do that, enter by the "strait gate" instead, or its anemic friend "narrow door."

Lectionary notes aside, the Recruit suggested I try out a cane at Walmart and guess what, it worked. This means bye-bye walking frame, hello cane. And I tell you, I like the evolution. So does the dog. The appalling frame confused Blue Eschaton. But perhaps you're asking "is there a sword in that stick?" and "if not why not?"

Don't worry, we'll sort it out. In the meanwhile, the kid's with Uncle Sam, waiting to fly out to Ft. Benning tomorrow. More on that later.

Cheers,

LSP

Dog Days

It's ferociously hot and Blue Monarchist leads the way, Edgehill's another day. But what about Naseby and Marston Moor I ask him, incredulously. 

By way of answer he sits with loyal expectancy and asks for a treat, as though that, somehow, will stop the New Model Army and advance the last gasp of chivalry. Fond imagining, but he gets one anyway.

Quarter Master over, we went out back with a good view to capturing Banbury, Reading, Oxford, and Bristol. Quite the campaign and devil take the hindmost. Charge and scatter the enemy to the winds!

Needless, Blue No Bishop No King got stuck into the Anabaptist provisions and ate my sister's dog's toy. Typical cavalier ill-discipline, raid the enemy's baggage train in the exuberance of the after-charge. And lose the war. Good work, furhead.

Chagrined, Blue Divine Right Of Kings went prowling in search of Trained Bands to destroy and defeat. Perhaps they were hiding in the cover, in a psalm-singing fit of millenarian expectancy. Good luck with that, Blue Old Service is prowling, seeking whom he may devour.

Not least the advance scouts of the enemy, Chimney Swifts. They're protected by Law, no thanks to Edwardus Coke, and doubly by a sheet of cardboard. Undaunted by pettifogging legal skulduggery, Blue Loyalist stands guard.

As did I, when I could stand. But seriously, as a loyal Son of the Crown and an irregular cavalryman to boot, let's see a bit more Divine Right of Kings and less Satanic Rule of the New World Order.

Vivat,

LSP

LSP - All Talk No Action?

So Where's The Action Buddy?

Yeah, so what about the new rig and the lever gun, so-called "LSP," if that's your real name, which we doubt. 

Good question, and right about now the readers of this popular if lighthearted mind blog are wondering if it's all talk and no action. Sure, you talk the talk, "LSP," but where's the walk?

Where's the fishing, the guns, the horses, where's all of that? Where's the country life we don't pay good money to see played out in real time, straight from a rural haven deep in the heart of Texas? Where is it? I'll tell you.

Shaolin Glory Brexit

First off, unexpected evolution with a returning son; there goes the rig and the gun. Secondly, recovering from being kicked off the back of an Arab, who btw self-identifies as a woman, and being tended to by a dog and a recruit. 

Will the leg heal in time to see the kid off to Basic? To find out I hopped and climbed into the rig and drove to Walmart. Guess what? No problem, couldn't have done it a week ago. So there is movement and this, philosophers, signifies life. Which in this instance is made up of small triumphs.

In other news, the European Union's setting up an Army! The world trembles at the dread step of the rainbow phalanx. Who knows, perhaps the enemy'll die laughing.

Advance to contact,

LSP 

Stand Off Sunday

It was a good morning at the Missions, no doubt about it, not a liturgical dancer in sight, no one calling the Holy Spirit "she," not one single priestess for miles around. I know this shocks you, but how very awesome and we returned to the Compound in high spirits, only to find a stand-off.

That's right, a stand-off between Blue Territorial and a Cat. The Cat was taking it easy, relaxing in the shade of the porch, and this fascinated the ferocious dog. He wanted to get at the Cat but couldn't, because of a leash. 

So he settled down and stared at the invader, who didn't seem to care in the slightest. You know dogs, maybe if I look at it long enough I'll get it, but he didn't and that seemed exciting to him. He sat and stared, got up and grinned, tried to speak to the Cat and failed, not having vocal cords, and sat back down again to stare at the kitty.

Who got bored of the performance when the sun hit her perch and ran off, leaving Blue Destitute devoid of cat company. And that was that. I enjoy having animals around and who knows, perhaps the Cat will be back. She can stay on the porch and no further.

In other exciting news, President Trump's been busy making peace with the Norks, much to the disgust of the warmongering Left. How did that happen? Do you remember how the Left used to be all about peace? But now they're all about war, Russia, Korea, Iran, you name it, let's bomb it.

Not dissimilar, when you think about it, to Obama who was awarded a Nobel Peace prize for keeping America in a state of constant war. Not that he was a mindless drone of the New World Order hivemind or anything like that.

Kumbaya,

LSP

What Dhimwits

Here's Blue Martel relaxing on an attractive Moslem rug, he's obviously not Islamophobic. Neither is Ss. Matthew & Luke Darlington, which offered to veil its crosses and a picture of Christ so that local Muslims could pray in the church without being offended. 

Offended by what? Christianity, of course, which this church used to represent. Christianity is the world's most persecuted religion. Too bad that places like Ss. Matthew & Luke are part of the problem.

Here at the Compound we call them dhimwhits.

Kizmet,

LSP

Where Is That Great Leviathan?

The Compound's training schedule isn't complex, no, far from it. In between group readings from Maritain, Gilson, Aquinas, Mascall, Berdyaev, the awesome Ratzinger, Farrer and so many more, we go fishing.

X in search of, sort of thing, and that's what we did today, headed out to Lake Whitney dam and tried our luck against the ferocious prehistoric ambush predators, Gar. Well it wasn't easy. Sure there were plenty of fish but they were shell shocked by the current.

You see, thanks to climate change it's been raining, turning Texas into a cross between an Amazonian rain forest and a floodplain. We caught the floodplain today and that meant no catching, the fish were all rolling on the current and not biting.

Still, good to get out in the sun by the water and enjoy the mighty Brazos. It was better once, before the dam and the lake, but that's a different story. 

In the meanwhile, Blue Nugget looks on. Hope, all two of you readers, springs eternal.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

We Are Underwater Now

Roaring in the heavens, consternation and turbulence on the face of the waters and distress amongst men. It's a lot like the battle of Jutland, but no, this isn't a famous naval engagement, it's just Dallas in the ferocious grip of a Spring storm.

It started around 3.00 am with the crash of thunder and a mighty deluge of rain, shaking the wooden frame of Ma LSP's urban HQ, and it hasn't stopped. Tornadoes are likely, to say nothing of flood damage as God takes just vengeance on the Demoncrats of Winnetka Heights.

Undaunted, I drove to the nearest pick 'n steal for coffee and a scout 'round the neighborhood. Was there a kind of poetry in the sheer number of faux-mex Beto signs being washed away in the flood into the nearest storm drain? Sure there was, and it's gratifying to see the preposterous fake Mexican going the same way as Abortion Barbie. Remember her? No, neither do we.

Regardless, Blue Kriegsmarine isn't fazed by the storm and somehow manages to keep himself from savaging a large plush pug which rests on guard by the fridge in the kitchen. Strange but true.

In other exciting news, the Army cleverly presented the boy to MEPS with incomplete paperwork, so there's a slight delay. He's with a recruiter now, sorting it out.

Swim on,

LSP

In The Caring Hands Of USGOV

The phone rang, it was a call from Calgary, "Hey dad, it's John, I want to go to Texas and join the Army." I thought about this for a second, "That's great, son, but I thought you wanted to be in a Scandinavian Death Metal band?" No, apparently that laudable ambition had palled.

Just Say No To Death Metal, Or Not, Your Call

The Cadet duly got in touch with a recruiter in Dallas, explaining that he was fed up with being what he called "a hippy" and two months later, last Wednesday, flew through thunder and lightning into the Metrosprawl. 

Boy Needs A Day On The Lake

I drove him over to the recruiters the next day, strike while the iron's hot sort of thing, and all went well. The various Sergeants were pleased to work with a kid who had a high ASVAB score, and sorted out dates for a D-Lab test (linguistic aptitude) and MEPS.

A Typical Church BBQ

So, after a whirlwind weekend of church BBQs and Mass in the rural haven of Hill County, I delivered an apprehensive Cadet into the tender hands of USGOV. Let the selection process begin! 

States Rights

We'll know by Tuesday if MI's the immediate way forward or, failing that, Signals. Then, all things being equal, he should be sworn in Wednesday afternoon and have a date to report for Basic. It's a big step for the young 'un and I respect it, LL even composed a moving poem in the style of a haiku to mark the occasion:

Concentrated mist.

A clear jewel on a leaf.

Drip!

The river begins.

Let's see. In the meanwhile, well done John, 10 out 10 for good effort in the right direction. Stay tuned for the next installment.

God bless,

LSP

Flood Pain

The plan was simple, elegant even. Celebrate Easter in Dallas with family then fall back to the Compound to fish and shoot.  What a good plan and phase one went perfectly, great result. Then the wheels fell off the wagon.

Around 3 am, the heavens began to roar and arc as rain crashed down on rural Texas. Sound and fury wasn't in it and the assault continued with unabated ferocity well into the morning. There's a lull, for now, but the sky's dark with menace.

Of course most of this small farming community's been washed away in the flood though the Compound still stands. A miracle? Perhaps, but fishing and shooting are off, phase two's a washout.

So the monkey snarls in frustration, barring its fangs and beating on a Hillary doll while neighboring peacocks shriek in avian rage. Blue Deluge takes it in stride, he knows that one day the rain will cease.

Wake of the flood,

LSP

Build The Wall & Other Things

The Compound's fortunate in many ways, not least for having a sturdy wall. It's made of wood and topped off with a flexi-mesh system to keep out illegal chickens. I know, it sounds cruel, "think of the children!," but it's doing them a favor. 

You see, they fly over looking for a new life, then Blue Terminator kills them, and the poor birds get breasted and turn into jalapeno poppers. Who knows, maybe America's southern border will have a wall one day too. 

Then there's the statues. Do you remember them? All those Confederate statues which prevented people of color from escaping the oppression of systemic racism?

These obviously need to go and many have, leaving a gaping void in our civic landscape. This needs to be filled and quickly, but by what? The answer's clear, statues of a new hero, the Grand Commander, President Trump. In gold obviously, yes, real gold.

In other news, I was going to ride but it's raining and don't want  to slip and skid in the slushy mud of the Texan tundra. So it's time to clean guns instead.

Don't forget, all four of you readers, a clean gun is a happy gun.

Cheers,

LSP