Filthy Hippies

 

One of the things about hippies is they don't wash. But sometimes they get near water and even in it, like a crew of motorcycle hippies chancing it out of Austin who ended up in my friend's stock tank. His Mossberg pump told them to leave, along with the snakes, and they did.

Speaking of which, the last trailer full of stuff left my friend's (RIP) place today. I tell you, he sure collected and where is all that going now? Hey, you get the sermon. Moral aside or perhaps reinforced, we found his old '60s service dress uniform. Neatly pressed. Respect.

My friend was a member of an experimental US/AUS chopper unit which saw action in Laos and Cambodia. Their motto? Get The Bloody Job Done. And they did. Utter respect. Anyway, we got the job done today and all was good.

A friend, RIP, landed at LAX during the conflict and a hippy punched him in the taxi rank, shrieking "baby killer." He hit that hippy right in the face and a cop came up, "Do you want me to book her for assault?"

Your Best Pal,

LSP

All Souls - New Gun

 

A friend gave me his old, rusting, neglected barn gun today, a Remington 870. It was a mess but the bore was clean enough, so I took the beast home and applied Hoppe's and a bore brush.

Filthy Gopping Mess

You should've seen the rust liquefy off, what a nasty, minging, filthy mess. But what a good result in the end, a clean gun, ready to shoot and do battle against the avian adversary and their clay simulacra.

A Clean Gun Is A Happy Gun

That in mind, say a prayer for the repose of the soul of Ronnie Storrs, it was his gun and he wasn't above using it on people who made the foolish mistake of messing about on his land unannounced.  Well, may he rest in peace and may his 870 find a place in the Compound's armory.

#2A

Have a blessed Feast of All Souls and as always,

Gun Rights.

LSP

Stop Whining And Complete The Mission

I was sitting in the front office porch of the Compound drinking coffee and feeling sorry for myself, all because an appellate court had ruled against our diocese and I was looking down the barrel of being down one house and two churches. Whine, whine, whine.

EMU

Then a churchperson showed up for a talk and unwound about some of the things he'd experienced in Vietnam as a Crew Chief. Horrific and Hell don't do it justice, no fooling. 

That put things into perspective and I didn't feel so miserable after the Chief's tale.

Motorcycle Hippy

In related news, the same man once chased a crew of motorcycle hippies out of his stock tank a while back. The thieving hippies were probably chancing it out of Austin and landed in the wrong territory.

Moral of the story? Stop whining, the mission continues.

LSP

A Good Sunday

It was a good Sunday in the Missions, with everyone coming together well to worship God and enjoy the fellowship that comes naturally from communion in the Mystical Body of Christ.

Speaking of which, there was nearly a disaster over a cake and a flower. That didn't happen, praise God, but I was asked for advice.

"Padre, it didn't seem right. I've had enough," said a barely restrained, decorated Veteran Crew Chief (VCC). I pondered this, it was a moment, defeat and victory hung in balance.

"VCC, think of it as an ambush.You were ambushed by a Pointsettia."

"Ummm, yeah, I guess," replied a polite but hardly convinced VCC.

"So how do you fight through this ambush?" 

Silence, after all, this is dangerous ground.

"You walk around it, Chief."

Laughter ensued and all was right with the world again. The day ended around a fire pit out in the country, where some churchpeople are building a compound and more power to them. 

It was good being out under the stars in the clean country air and away from the NFL.

Were we drinking Old Raj gin? I'll leave that to your imagination.

God bless,

LSP