Ranching

 

There it is, Texas, under a big blue sky. And I tell you, it was good to be out on my friend's ranch, which is pretty unreconstructed apart from the neat house he's built on the ancestral land. Yes, it has a tower, important for overwatch, and's built of stone as opposed to brick. I'll send photos next time I'm back, it's a substantial house.

In the meanwhile, we enjoyed a brunch send-off for a church woman who's leaving for Weatherford. What a good person! Worldwide champ barrel racer in the '80s and President of the WPRA, which would pretty much make her totus orbis Head of the Cowgirls. Like no kidding. She's also been Senior Warden of Mission #2 and I could not have wished for a better person in that role, to say nothing of a friend.

Ranch brunch over, I headed back to the Compound along the strip of rural wasteland that is HWY 22 and thanked God for His goodness. Beautiful country, outstanding people, no rainbow garbage and a great moon overhead.

God Bless,

LSP

Malfeasant

 

What, our governance? No, just the upstairs AC, which is no joke in September Texas. Point in mind, I slept for a week on the couch downstairs, where the air works and it isn't 100+* But all that's over now, Greg turned up and replaced the malfeasant compressor.

He's a good guy and wears camo, which means you mostly can't see him. He also turned away from assorted wickedness to "follow Christ." Well done. Does that include assisting Mass? I've asked, many times. Not yet, apparently. Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day.

In other news, P Diddy's sharing a room with FTX Friedman, the totally not corrupt Mayor of NYC is being charged by the totally not corrupt DOJ and the fuel tanker which supplied a Middle East US Carrier Group apparently "ran aground." Far out, sure that wasn't a torpedo? You know, just throwing it out there.

Get off the couch, 

LSP

Shoot

 

A young churchman called, "We're shooting skeet this evening at the ranch to knock the rust off before Opening Day. Are you in?" Sure I was, and loaded a new CZ over and under 20 gauge into the rig and drove off to the countryside.

It's not far, and before you could say Dialectical Materialism is rubbish, there we were, five shooters and a couple of spectators in a ranch shop, checking out guns, shaking hands and all of that. Then we set up in the shade of an old oak and got down to it.

First up, two shooters on the firing line with Old LSP throwing the clays. Boom! Smoke that skeet! Good work boys, didn't take long at all to get in the zone. Then it was my turn, would the CZ work, would I work? Magnum mysterium. But lo and behold, I somehow remembered how to shoot and was up there with the young 'uns. What a lot of fun. But here's the thing.

The boys were shooting 12 gauge pumps, mostly newer Remington 870 Wingmasters, to be precise, and guess what, their weapons kept jamming. My CZ 20? Worked flawlessly, as well as being lighter and easier to shoot. I tell you, I'm a double barrel 20 convert after years of 12 gauge pumpery (Mossberg Ulti Mag and Wingmaster). For that matter and for the most part, I'd go for a double 12 over a pump, they're more reliable. 

Mind you, a smooth working pump does have that rate of fire advantage, so there is that. Double v. Pump, 12 v. 20 reverie over, my shoot was done and I left the guys striking steel with various deadly assault rifles and banned in England pistols. 

What a great evening and so good to get out in the clean air and big sky of Texas, with the added bonus of putting lead on clay to boot. Maybe we need to organize a church shoot, with BBQ, obviously, and prizes for taking out John Lennon CDs at 500 yards.

#2A,

LSP

Life In Texas And Everywhere

 

So how is life in the North Central Texas Exclusion Zone, so-called LSP? Good question, and I'll tell you. It's blissfully cool, seriously, in the 80s, and this is Texas in late July. Enjoy it while you can. On topic, which is worse, the HEAT or the COLD. 

I've lived in both, Alberta and Texas, and feel heat is marginally better, but only marginally, both can kill you. That in mind, what drove Europeans to settle these places? They faced the elements, utterly hostile, low-barbaric Indians and all of that. Possibly, on both counts, a death sentence. So why do it?

Adventure and opportunity for sure, come to the New World and make a new future for yourself. But also this. Things in the Old World, Europe, have to have been bad, so bad that they risked their lives to come here. No small thing, tough people, not least in Texas. 

That in mind, here we are, with Europe in a state of, apparently, complete degeneracy, and our bicoastal elites fully inline with the Lesbitransgay++ agenda. Will the country as a whole, which is by no means rainbow woke, stand up against these tin-pot glitter Maoists, and say enough is enough? 

don't tea-cup the pistol, fool

To put it another way, will all the Christians stand up, go to the ballot box and vote against abortion and transing in such numbers that even a Deep State rig couldn't fix the result. I'm waiting.

Your Buddy,

LSP

Fishy?

\Went to the lake today to fish, and lost count of the perch, fierce little beasts. Then there's this:

 

NEW - Trump Assassin video shows him crawling on the roof while multiple people point him out to police

They ytw-align-centerelled about him for *almost an entire minute*

It’s insane how Secret Service allowed this amateur to almost kill Trump pic.twitter.com/CWfHBGzOCp

— DC_Draino (@DC_Draino) July 15, 2024

What's your take. Massive, egregious incompetence or something more sinister? Either way it's bad for CONUS looking forward. Just sayn.

Your Pal,

LSP

 

THUNDER RAIN

 

Is That Turnbull & Asser?

Thunder crashes, booming like guns on Ostfront Donetsk as rain splatters the back deck, blessed relief after the shock triple digit temps of the last couple of weeks. Relief, like no kidding. On theme, what's worse, heat or cold? I won't bet the monkey, that vicious beast, but I'll hazard cold. You can mostly survive in Texan heat, but Albertan -40? Not so much. Just a hazard.

Speaking of survival, the UK's just had elections and Labour, the Sceptered Isle's, cough, socialists, were swept into power by a low turn-out electorate. Something like 59% bothered to vote and they voted Red because they hated, loathed and despised the conservative-in-name-only party. 

Who can blame them. Yes, but look what you've got now, not so united kingdom, Net Zero, Moar Tax, War, even though you don't have an army... conundrum, and all your kids will be turned into trannies who are so useful in war, another conundrum. Well, maybe not all, maybe just enough to make Pharma even richer than it already is.

All this against the backdrop of an industrial and increasingly peer-to-peer war in which the UK's off-shored its manufacturing base. Not unlike the US, when you think on it. Anyone for a cold cup of hegemonic synergy? That aside, the US is run by a Corrupt Old Crook with dementia and we can only guess at the literal, brazen, evil of its handlers. See Podesta/Marinovic/Pizza etc.

So, good luck UK, with your Uniparty vote, hope you won't be disappointed. Just imagine how Labour will bring back all those manufacturing jobs to Britain! And think how your wages will soar under never ending mass migration. Diversity, UK, will be your strength.

In the meanwhile, our Texan storm rolls apace, though somewhat abated, annoyingly.

Cheers,

LSP

S'Up?

 

What's up? Well I'll tell you. A recce mission to the lake to see if the Piscine Adversary was biting. No, it was not. I think they were stunned by the shock of massive heat after massive rain. Still, I tried my luck with topwater lures and it was good to get out in God's clean air by the water.

Waterworld, Thanks A Lot, NWO

Other people were fishing and not catching either, so I didn't feel so bad as I melted into the limestone of what was once an enormous paleolithic reef in an inland sea. A rogue rooster didn't seem to care one way or the other, he just strutted around. And I wondered.

Imagine This Bird Eight Or Nine Feet Tall

If that bird was paleo large, say 6-8' tall+, would it kill you? Dam straight it would, if only by reflex, and just think, our ancestors in the age of magafauna fought and survived against such fearsome beasts. But now they're shrunken and harmless, unless you're a member of our Godless Elite who want to erase all life from the planet apart from themselves.

Top Water No Bites

CS Lewis writes about this in That Hideous Strength and the Abolition of Man. Read 'em both if you haven't already, and if you have, read 'em again. By the way, the former's a novelization of the latter and, I'd say, all the better for that.

What You Gonna Do LSP, Shoot All The Fish?

Then there's fish. They were lying low today, like Democrats in defense of Hunter Biden's cracked up gun buying, but don't kid yourselves, aquatic predators, we'll be back. And then some.

Tight Lines,

LSP

Just Hanging Out

Do you scorn Texas? Maybe that makes you a fool.

I rest my case,

LSP

+++++

Alright there boys? Mind your leg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-64CaD8GXw

By the monkey and twice as fast, eh?

Don't Mess With Texas

 

Everyone's armed, so maybe some rainbow warriors outta DC are gonna take 'em away. Maybe you've seen the film, Civil War? Rock on, kids.

Stand Steady,

LSP

Eclipsapocalypse

 

This town has gone full eclipse,  right at the time we're going to London for a Club shoot out. Stay tuned. Airport tomorrow.

LSP

Just Strolling In The Rain

Most Anglican priests in North America typically stay in their parish or mission for about five years before moving on to moar cash greater and higher things. At least that's what the stats said a few years ago, and I reflected on that as I strolled through the sylvan boulevards of Olde Texas in the gentle rain. How can you possibly, as a clergyman, get to know the people and place of your cure in just five years?

Well you can't, not to any great extent, and there's a virtue in staying in one place for a length of time. Of course it helps if the place in question is congenial and involves riding, shooting, fishing and, today, gentle, soothing rain. Enjoy it while you can, fellow citizens of this bucolic rural haven in North Central Texas.

Weather reverie over, I strolled past a sign for the impending eclipse and into the food bank, which does a brisk business because no one can afford to buy food at the supermarkets, and talked to their leaderene who has to be pushing 90 but doesn't look a day younger or older than she did 15 years ago.

What a good woman and tough as nails, I used to shoot pistols with her husband, RIP, back in the day using pictures of Episcopal Church bishop figures as targets. Fun. Then it was a short saunter over to the Square, complete with its Confederate war memorial. No, no-one's even thought of taking that down, and from there to a shop I've never been in.

To be fair, it's changed hands a few times since I've been here and now advertises "alterations." Interesting, and I went inside to investigate. Sure enough, it's definitely an alterations shop and I visited with the owner who was inundated with work. Yes, she could create a suit, but didn't have the time. You see, what happens is that people, typically women, buy stuff online which doesn't fit them and then take it to be fixed. So she has a roaring trade and fair play to her, I'll go there in the future instead of driving to Dallas.

Speaking of which, Janey Tailor on the corner of Greenville and Mockingbird did a stand-up job fixing not one but four old but nice suits, DB, 3B, 2B. "You are wizards!" I exclaimed to the excellent Korean sewing crew at Janey Tailor, and they are, but now I want to shop local. I like the vibe of this shop. Next stop?

Gold Nugget Pawn. I bought my first Lee Enfield there back in the far-off mists of time and used to bring great containers of Holy Water for the staff. They said they needed it, which they doubtless did. Then the owner Miss Dale died, I buried her, and Cindy took over the operation only to sell the shop off. Now it's under new management who are staunch #2A, so we get on well. I'll offer to bless the place, maybe an exorcism'd be in order.

On the way back to the Compound, I passed by the Pick 'n Steal, still going strong after all these years, though I miss the Nepalese who used to run it, and swung 'round the corner past what used to be the Meth Shack. That's no more and's being fixed up by Jose who, is, I think, from El Salvador. A good man and maybe he'll go to Mission #1's new Spanish Mass.

Regardless, back at the front porch of the Compound I looked out on the rain of a Texan morning and thanked God for bringing me here. So much better than, say, Baltimore, Philly or the suburban ghetto Maryland suburbs of DC. 

You see, gentle readers, I've pretty much been a slum priest for much of my time, so this is most congenial, in a semi-abandoned railway town kinda way. You'll note, in passing, that priests tend to stay two years in this position before moving on, and I've stayed over fifteen, this is a record. No inclination to move either, and there you have it, and Devil take the hindmost.

In other news, my eldest texted me yesterday as I was collecting clothes from the Dallas Koreans, "Dad, they've promoted me to Sergeant." And so they had, right there in the field. I texted back, "WELL DONE. GOOD WORK." We must take our victories as we find 'em.

Stand Strong,

LSP

SCOTUS Sides With Texas

 

The Supreme Court's sided with Texas by a slim 4-3 majority, lib justices dissenting, allowing the state to arrest and deport illegals. About time too. Here's a helpful infovideo:

WATCH: The Democrat Open Borders Plan to Entrench Single-Party Rule | Explained in Under Two Minutes pic.twitter.com/uWJxBiKive

— Western Lensman (@WesternLensman) March 19, 2024

 

The Biden admin's let in what, 10 million illegals? What a gang of criminal traitors. On topic, I always enjoy the blank, slack-jawed look leftists give when you ask them, "What will all this immigration do to workers' wages, will it make wages rise or fall?" They recover after a bit and ramble rainbow incoherently about the Statue of Liberty.

Go Texas,

LSP

Open Borders Begin At Home

 

Here at the Compound we believe in practicing what we preach.

That's why we call on Democrats to open their doors to show their personal commitment to an open border.

Anything else would be hypocritical Nazi Fascism, right?

Keen-eyed readers of this mind-blog will note Chicago and other, ahem, sanctuary cities aren't too keen on bus loads of illegals arriving in their progressive utopias, they can't afford it without massive taxpayer cash. But here's where you, the person who voted for this, can make a difference. Open. Your. Door.

OK, just an excuse to repost some awesome infographics. But seriously, what kind of hypocrisy, skulduggery and malfeasance are we facing here. Substantial, to say the least, and it can be parsed thus: Import millions of people into the country, give 'em amnesty and a vote and hey presto, one party Blue State per saecula saeculorum, por los siglos de los siglos, et nunc et semper. Amen. And guess what?

All the libs and their fellow travelers choke for this, gag for it and get all rainbow solemn about the Statue of Liberty. Unh hunh, open your doors and pay for it, you utter hypocrites. Speaking of which, you'll be pleased to know that Mission #1's sorted out accommodation for our new Mexican curate.

He's a good guy, a "tent maker" who likes El Senor Trump and the Latin Mass, as do I, you'll be totally surprised to know.

How pleasant it is when brethren dwell together in unity.

God Bless,

LSP

It's All Going On In The Country I Tell You

 

One of the things that happens here is I let some of the neighbors park their rigs and vehicles in the grassy pasture that is the Compound's parking lot. They mow the grass and all of that in return. But this beneficent arrangement seemed to come to a crashing end today.

There I was on the back deck, scanning Zerohedge, when up come two men in polo shirts with Glocks on their hips, "Sir, can we have a word?" Of course they could and were welcomed into the rural fastness with a sunny hello, "What's up, guys?"

A Typical Kitchen Glock

Turns out they were from Code Enforcement, yes, we have such a thing, and someone had the literal brazen temerity to make a formal complaint about the vehicles parked up on the grass. It broke the code and couldn't be tolerated because, you see, the area's zoned residential and enormous lifted trucks and everything else have to be parked on "improved ground," such as gravel.

Huh. I assured the officer that it'd be sorted out before tickets had to be issued or any other equivalent nonsense. So that was good, but what about guns. "How are you finding that Glock?" I asked, glancing down at the fella's two-tone 9mm variant.

Behold, Legally Parked on Gravel. FFS

"I like it a lot and shoot pretty good with it and you know, it was weird, when I went to the Police Academy, they asked 'how many of you have shot pistols?' and I was the only one in the class who didn't raise his hand because we never had pistols where I was, just shotguns for quail, pheasant and dove. You know what, I ended the course shooting a lot better than some of those country boys because I was taught right, from the start."

Good call. So we talked Glocks and pistols and became friends and off they went into the pastoral hinterland. Flash forward several hours to me getting back from Walmart and there's D, remonstrating in the car park, not a happy man. Code Enforcement had not been kind to him and he was ticked, having put out for local LE & Co a lot over the years. Someone had made a complaint.

Note, why is his finger on the trigger? Maybe because he's an actor

We speculated on the identity of this malefactor and he asked me if it was OK to spread some gravel and "improve" the parking zone. "Remember I asked you if I could black-top and you said 'no, I don't want that (well said, LSP, Ed.), get gravel, but I need to get the church's permission.' Do I still need to get that?"

I looked at D, who wasn't very happy, and he looked at me, "You have the church's permission, knock yourself out on that gravel. I'll help you spread it, even." But that wasn't needed, "I've got a tractor at the shop and I'll bring it in tomorrow morning with the gravel. Thanks, man." Thanks indeed, "'preciate you, brother. Come to church, it's about time." He agreed and off we went, friends.

I call this installation Casa Blanca, keen-eyed readers will understand

So there you have it. Problem, solution, right here in sunny Texas' North Central Exclusion Zone.

Texit,

LSP

Stardust

 

I've always loved Mr. Nelson's Stardust, how could you not? For me, it brings back memories of grown-ups slow dancing in Denton in the '70's. Beautiful and I guess the album was new then, a far and magical cry from foggy, wet, Oxford. Behold:

Of course Willie's a local man and this little slice of rural paradise has produced a mural, don't call it a "muriel," that'd be rude. BTW, the older women of the church remember Willie and thought he didn't smell too good, "Needed a shower," was the consensus. Dam hippie.

Nice Muriel

Stardust,

LSP

Epiphany

 

What a beautiful Epiphany morning, crisp and clear with the sun rising over the common behind the Compound. I say "common" but I don't think any of us have grazing rights on this bit of vacant land owned by the Civic Power. Regardless, I wasn't there to recce out a site for a new parade square or even admire the scenery, no, I was there to work.

Don't laugh, I was, and spent the morning hanging drywall for a new Habitat For Humanity house.  What a good cause and led, in this instance, by a neat guy who got me into the swing of things. He's retired now and spends his time putting up these houses for the good of the community, but had been a soldier for 20 years.

A Mexican immigrant, he joined up in 1969 and fought in Vietnam where he was wounded, "What's that, 49 inches? Sometimes my memory's not so good, I stepped on a mine." Mines aside, D stayed in and retired in 1989 as, I think, a  Command Sergeant Major with III Corps. "Phantom Warriors," I offered, resisting the urge to ask how an armored corps could somehow classify as "phantom." He grinned, impact wrench in hand, "That's right, III Corps."

What a good guy and he liked the fact that my eldest, the erstwhile and maybe future cadet, was stationed at Fort Hood, "It'll always be Fort Hood, man. Have you been down Tank Destroyer Boulevard?" I replied that I had. "There's a lot of power there," he said in a quiet tone and I agreed that there was.

Ahem, Civic Power, Roads

Then we were finished for the day and I tell you, I really enjoyed the work, the company and the chance to put faith into practice. All you biblical scholars out there will recall Christ was rather insistent on people helping out those less fortunate than ourselves. That in mind, I'll be back on the project, big fun to boot.

An Epiphany? Yes indeed, on several levels. Not least, tear yourself away from the appalling news cycle and do something good and constructive. Exercise your faith, put "tract into act" and all of that, and who knows who you'll meet along the way. But I won't preach.

Cheers,

LSP

Almost Christmas

 

The great Feast of the Nativity is almost upon us and lights went on at the Compound after a traditional trip to Walmart for last minute Christmas essentials. 

Now look here, punters, some traditions are good and we love them, they add depth, meaning and continuity to our fleeting lives. But other traditions are bad, like going to Walmart right before Christmas.

I tell you, and I'm no snob, don't laugh, it's true, that it was rough in there tonight and this is a country Walmart. Parse that as you will, while recalling that the rule of law is comparatively new here.

Speaking of which, could someone please make a law banning people from wearing pajamas in public, at the supermarket? But I won't neck-tattoo-bang-on, you get the picture. That in mind, let's recall the opening words of the governing Prayer (Collect) for what's left of this season.

Cast away the works of darkness and put upon us the armour of light. Needed, eh?

Stand Fast Against Leviathan,

LSP

Back in Dallas

 

It's that time of year when you barrel down I35 to Dallas on a mission to set up Christmas at Ma LSP's place in North Oak Cliff, and it feels good to be back with all the houses lit up for the holiday, all very festive. Nice, but then you drive a few blocks over to the 7-11 to pick up a phone charger and everything changes.

The 7-11

There's a homeless guy slumped over by the doorway, a couple of fat little tackheads in dirty pajama bottoms getting loud over pizza slices, one's wearing a mask, why? and the whole place stinks of pot. Neck tattoo store clerk takes your cash with a snarl and you get the feeling this inconvenience store could go off-hook  at any moment, which it could. 

Typical Oak Cliff Street Scene

Like no kidding. Back in June a store worker was shot and killed in this 7-11 by some random POC who was after cash, I don't know if he was caught. So I was glad to get back to Christmasland HQ and tomorrow we'll venture forth in search of a tree. 

Stay tuned for more of this urban Texan story as it unfolds.

Texit,

LSP

Monkey Business

 

There we were, in the dead heat of a dead hot summer and we prayed, when will this heat ever end? Maybe never, so there you are at your desk, sweat dripping down onto the Dell even though your AC's running full blast like a racehorse which just can't keep up.

No kidding, the very ground is cracking under the heat and there you are, idly chopping sweating mahogany with a razor sharp kukri, chop, chop, chop, in time with failing ChiCom ceiling fan dystopia.

A knock on the door. Rap, rap, rap. You look up through the heat haze, clearing a Glock .45, "Come in!" All very Master and Commander and enter the office, and he does, a complete 5.7' of hooded aggressor. Wow, 13% produces 50% of the crime. "Where's your money at?" demands our malfeasant POC friend, waving a blunt machete and a worse than useless garbage Hi-Point.

You look hoodrat in the eye and ask, "You want money? Yeah, we all want money, so take it, it's yours, it's up the monkey, just help yourself. Hey man, have at it, feel free, it's all yours."

100% eye contact. There you are in 110* waiting on the monkey rush, call it a stand-off. So what's it gonna be? Life and death. Rush the monkey to get the cash or... not. Your call, buddy, as a dystopian fan whirs overhead, and the heat does not lessen. No, it builds.

Hoodie looks at the munificent monkey, standing tall in your corner, full off cash, a veritable simian of a floor safe, and you can see the pull of greed versus personal safety playing out in Hoodie's mind. What's it to be, rush the monkey and get the cash and die rich, or retreat out of this hot, hot room, alive.

You watch, tapping your kukri impatiently against a scarred desk, "Maybe it's time for you to go, my friend. Or maybe you want to get all up in  the Rittenhouse. Your call, go ask the monkey. It's totally up to you."

Which way would you play this utterly unlikely scenario, punters?

Cheers,

LSP