Foiled Again

 

The plan was elegant, compelling in its simplicity. Viz. Say Morning Prayer, walk Blue Terminator to the Pick 'n Steal, then fish and shoot. What a great plan, until it fell to pieces. Clouds rolled in, thunder boomed in a leaden sky and rain lashed down like fury. No stroll for this punter down the leafy boulevards of Olde Texas, to say nothing of fishing and shooting.

So I shook my fist at the heavens like Jonah, incensed at the wrongness of it all (You did? Ed.) How racist of this small, rural farming community to culturally appropriate Aberystwyth. It just wasn't right, so  I typed up a sermon on the Trinity, called on the flock, and drove through the floods to Brookshire's for supplies. 

Not a bad result as it turned out, and it was pleasant to see most everyone at the store had left their fear, uncertainty and submission (FUS) masks behind. Of course it's a different story in the cities, where the willing dupes of the progleft rainbow utopia cling to their precious masks like a hodler refusing to let go of DOGE$.

Speaking of which, the Shiba's been playing dead for a couple of weeks, despite rising to #6 in crypto market cap, so I bought some tasty dip to encourage the playful pup. What was it someone wicked once said, the market's a way of transferring wealth from the impatient to the patient? Something like that. 

In other news, the lesbyterian Mayor of Chicago's being sued for racism because she wouldn't allow a reporter to interview her. Why? Because the journalist was white. Lori Lightfoot's wife is white, curiously. And here's an artist's impression of one of the crew who shot UK BLM pinup Sasha in the eye.

See if you can spot the perp.

Cheers,

LSP

Every Gun is a Loaded Gun

 

After celebrating the great Feast of Pentecost on Sunday it seemed right to go fishing on Monday. That was the plan and let me tell you, I was looking forward to it. But no, our Old Enemy the Weather attacked and skywater poured down from heaven as thunder rolled across the firmament like the guns of Vimy Ridge. (What? Ed.)

Seriously, it got stormy so fishing was off and looking out on the flooded vista of this rural Texan farming community from the safety of the porch was on. "Will this war ever end?" I asked myself over a steaming Yeti 20 oz tumbler of coffee, and just then a local magnate rolled up to the front of the Compound in his rig.

We visited for a while and discussed the chicanery of our times. "How many of our beloved leaders, Mr. M, do you think are involved in ritual occult satanism? I say this as a religious professional." He paused and fixed me with a clear hunter's eye, "I'd reckon more than we might like to know." I agreed, "I'm not a gambling man but if I was I lay odds on."

The upshot of it all was this: The psychosociopaths in control of the West hate the Church and want to stamp it out and secondly, he'd send his crew to clean up the church grounds as soon as the climate changed. What a good result, and he's been an ally over the years, not least in terms of range access.

In other news, it seems the UK's famous BLM celebrity blacktivist, Sasha, got herself shot in the head in South London the other day. Which is weird, because guns aren't allowed in England. My take? Oxford educated Sasha decided to hang out with the real deal, and one of the gangstas bizarrely forgot trigger/muzzle discipline. Oops.

Remember, gentlemen and women, every gun is a loaded gun.

#2A,

LSP

Notes From The Front Of The War On Weather

 

It's May, here in Texas, and you'd expect the kind of light and heat which promises blast furnace, frontier intensity in a month or two. But that was before we went to war against the Weather. Maybe you remember how it started, in the days of the Great 0. It was called Global Warming back then, remember?

Our planet was heating up, the ice caps were going to melt, adorable polar bears would all die and Venice, London, Martha's Vineyard, New York, Aberystwyth and Hull (What? Ed.) were going to sink beneath the waves. Unless we paid more tax, a lot moar tax.

So we went to war against the weather and paid for it too, after all, wars don't come cheap. Just ask the French who patriotically embraced daring green taxes on "Le Petrol." But that was then, this is now. Fast forward to today and the North Central Texan Front of the war.

I tell you, it's not easy, because the enemy's smart, unpredictable, the climate changes. On a dime. And it's cold in Texas today, thunder rumbles  relentlessly like the guns of Kursk and rain pours down, threatening the flimsy architecture of today's corporate sponsored, rainbow hued Marxist utopia with collapse.

Regardless, we press on, resolute in the Great Patriotic War against our Old Enemy, the Weather.

Stand Firm,

LSP

It Began to Rain

 

Yes, it's raining as I type this letter from the front, the front of our War Against The Weather (WATW). But unlike Wales, the Republic of Texas allows its citizens to leave their homes and buy things, or just drive around or even walk about outside. 

You can't do that in Wales because buying things, driving, and walking in the land of the leek will give you the China virus and then you'll die, except that you won't. Instead, you have to stay at home and work hard at not killing everyone in your miserable bedsit.

Can't Buy Things in Wales or You'll Die

In other news, the Isle of Wight has apparently become a Mohammedan pirate haven. Just yesterday an oil tanker was hijacked by bloodthirsty corsairs to the east of the mysterious island, forcing the fabled Special Boat Service (SBS) to board and seize the ship. They did so in 7 minutes, quick work by anyone's standard. Well done. Anonymous, if you were in on it, congratulations.

Left: Isle of Wight Pirate Haven. Right: Tanker Captured by Pirates Seen From Pirate Haven

Speaking of anonymous, one reader has questioned the reality of Clown Masses. Is this for real? Is seeing believing or some kind of twisted satire? No, it's all true and plays to the point that clowns have taken over the cathedral. Here, look at this, from from Southwark:

A Typical Worship Scene in Southwark Cathedral

But more on the ecclesial clown phenomena later. In the meanwhile, as warming chili simmers in the pot, I leave you with zombies.

Scary

Be safe, we're all in this together!

Cheers,

LSP

RAIN

Thunder rolled across the sky like the opening barrage on the Kursk salient as lightning cracked and exploded, shaking the Compound's ancient timbers with primal sound and fury. Then it began to rain.

A typical Aberystwyth Street Scene

No, not Aberystwyth or Oxford drizzle, but real rain, big rain, Texan rain. And with it the temperature plummeted from high 90s to low 70s in a matter of minutes. Lone cowboys caught in the open froze instantly, "snuff" still their mouths, half drunk cans of Coors Lite turned to ice.

Well look at that, it's Oxford and it's raining

The storm's subsided now and this small rural farming community rejoices in the newfound cool of the morning. Thank you, God, for sending us rain and a respite from living in an oven. And yes, it may be a small victory in our bitter war against The Weather, but every advance counts.

From the Front,

LSP

Strolling The Deluge

Darkness, thunder, rain. No, this wasn't downtown Aberystwyth in July, it was Texas in February. Climate change experts tell us that if you collect the rainfall here you'll have enough water to last the year, and I believe it. Undaunted by the deluge I left the Compound for a morning stroll.

Stairway To Heaven

Only to see that the Meth Shackers have cleverly built a stairway to heaven; there it is, a ladder to paradise. What happens when you get to the top of the ladder, I asked myself as I gazed at the floral tributes in front of the shack. Who knows, perhaps you ascend, higher.

Meth Shack, Note Beautiful Floral Tributes (stop using "filters." Ed.)

The Pick 'n Steal was open for business but eerily empty apart from an elderly POC playing a slot machine. He's a Nam vet and plays that machine every day; I like him, though we've never really talked. Need to change that.

Pick 'n Steal

One large coffee later I was back on the flooded streets of the bucolic Texan farming community I've called home for the last decade or more, and you know what, I'm not complaining. For me, it beats living in the 'sprawl that is the DFW megacity connurb. You may think differently and that's fine, there's no "rule."

Storm Debris

Back at the Compound, Blue Dog-Faced Pony Soldier curled up on a Moslem rug while I said the Office. He's not buying the "religion of peace" thing. 

"It's obviously not a religion of peace," he tells me, "It was started by a warlord in search of loot, rape and plunder." I accuse him of racism but he just snores. Typical. Next thing you know he'll be banging on about "replacement strategy," asymmetrical warfare, the Kalergi Plan and trying to make me read Mark Steyn. But what does he know? He's just a dog. 

Dog-Faced Pony Soldier On A Moslem Rug

In other news, Juicy Smollet's been indicted, 4 prosecutors have fled the Stone case, 45 held a massive rally in New Hampshire, and Biden's campaigning in Iowa again, or something like that. And Britain's deported a load of Jamaicans for being thugs, much to the disgust of the self-loathing white left and their POC friends.

All About The Hat

So there it is. Rain continues to fall and the clay ground of the Compound is pretty much flooded. Blue Deluge is sleeping, God is in his heaven and the Democrats flounder like beached fish after a storm. Is 45 anointed, by God?

Stand firm against evil,

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

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

The Deluge

It started off like one of Michael Avenatti's clients, misty rain, but this is Texas not the Cotswolds, so fine April spray soon turned to fierce downpour followed by wind-whipped, cataclysmic deluge. No kidding, the elemental weather spirits were clearly displeased with preparations for Holy Week.

Or perhaps the explanation's natural. As the earth's magnetic field weakens prior to pole flip, so too does our old enemy, the Weather, strengthen. Regardless, the roads into town were on their way to being flooded and having a rig came in handy.

Safely back at the Compound, we stand resolute while lightning cracks overhead and rain crashes down, watching the flotsam and jetsam of a once prosperous farming community sweep by in the rising waters. Discarded weaves, dead blunt packets, broken toys, malt liquor bottles, carrion and other trash, all the usual offscouring of rural life. 

Is this the Eschaton? The dogs certainly think so, howling above the thunder and the sirens which fill the air. But no, surely this is just a harbinger of things to come. 

Speaking of which, top level bi-coastal elite Democrats don't seem too pleased with the President's plan to ship illegal immigrants to sanctuary cities like San Francisco. It's like MAGA's somehow, haha, rained on their MillSoc parade.

Didn't you get the memo, commies? Open borders begin at home.

Shelter from the storm,

LSP

No Shoot

Like all good plans, this one was simple. Walk the dog to the Pick 'n Steal, get some coffee, say Morning Prayer, take care of immediate business and then go for a shoot.

Flooding

What an excellent plan, right? And practical too, involving zeroing in a  triad of deadly assault rifles, 5.56 and 7.62. Make sure the blasters were still working, sort of thing, and then relax off with a bit of plinking against targets of opportunity; soda cans, steel plates, shotgun shells, kettles, cell phones, whatever.

Typical Clovis Points

But no. It started to rain, thunder rolled and crashed across the sky and a vengeful, biting wind cut across the Compound like the harbinger of a new Ice Age. I tell you, it's like the Younger Dryas extinction event here in the Central Zone.

Look, a Dog on a Rug

So no shoot and that's fine by Blue Somnolent but frustrating for me. Still, it's not all bad, check out this uplifting new infovideo from Carpe Doncton.

 

Childish Media - This is America
Thanks for the great idea @Cernovich

Hate Crimes are Real... They just aren't "News" pic.twitter.com/1LAkZAWwCg

— Carpe Donktum🔹 (@CarpeDonktum) February 19, 2019

What excellent art!

Gun rights,

LSP

Thank God For Rain

It rained yesterday evening. Seriously, no kidding, it rained. Clouds rolled in, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and water fell from the sky.

It was like a gift from heaven. No, it was a gift from heaven and I stood on the porch enjoying the sheer, cooling, clarifying beauty of the thing.

Perhaps you think that's some kind of exaggeration. So what, you mutter darkly from the bay window of a water soaked pub on Aberystwyth Pier, it rained, like we're supposed to care.

Not so fast. When the ground's cracking and every day's a triple digit furnace, rain means a lot. No fooling and you have to ask how people managed back before air conditioning. The answer is, they mostly didn't. Texan towns only got big after the advent of HVAC.

Still, those that pioneered the state were tough, no doubt about it. Right out there on the frontier in the relentless heat and the sleeping porch. Respect.

With all of this in mind I stood firm, like Ahab, as the rain crashed down and thanked the Almighty for His mercy.

Trust the plan,

LSP

RAIN

You know what it's like. Walk out the door and you're in an oven, a preheating oven and there's no respite. Open the door to your rig and a blast of oven-hot air comes out and pounds you in the face. Relentless.

All in all it's like a furnace, so hot it seems the very air itself might ignite. That's probably why there's been a burn ban; wouldn't want any stray sparks catching the air on fire, would we.

And that's Texas in July, hot as Hell's Narthex, which was all too apparent in the parking lot of this asset-stripped rural haven's Walmart. 

There we were, the heat, the rig, the melting asphalt, Madonna singing Rain, it was hard to even move and then there it was. A cloud, a rain cloud.

It pulled in from the East and gathered momentum, thunderheads, and sure enough the heavens started to growl and rumble. Then lightning arced down like Satan falling from power and it began to rain.

Some of you, maybe all, will understand this. But whatever, take it as read that this Climate Change is a sure and certain gift from God.

Chill out,

LSP