Bless The Ranch

 

"Can you bless the ranch?" What a good question, and I was glad to. It was good to be around horses again and some of them got blessed too. But not all, because the 50 strong herd was "out and about."

So were the chickens, living it up in the barn. Mission accomplished, I headed back to the Compound via semi-flooded dirt and gravel roads, glad of a truck but mindful of an upgrade to 4x4.

All in good time, but first things first, grill up some burgers because the climate had changed, again. And that's the story of that. I file this exciting tale under "Country Life in Texas."

God bless,

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

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,

LSP

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.

Storm Front

Maybe it's because we don't pay enough carbon tax and don't have a ban on hi-cap magazines, but for whatever reason, it seemed like we were losing the War on Weather this morning. 

The sky began to turn green and the air became still in the Ozlike light. Very much the calm before the tornado which didn't come, although the rain did. Like a deluge. That meant I didn't go visiting this morning because I had to make the compound's sturdy tornado bunker (basement) available to the public.

Then the storm passed over and I made my rounds, visiting the sick, the dying and the bereaved. There's no shortage of these, unfortunately. But still, it meant stopping by a fine restaurant.

It also meant gauging the exponential growth of a chicken operation, and running cattle, to say nothing of pondering the militia presence in the local Walmart car park. 

It's all going on in the countryside, I tell you.

And the the storm is by no means over.

LSP

Apocalypse

Apocalypse

Expecting the worst, I stepped out on the front porch to face our collective Long Count doom. Lacking  dispensation from proper ecclesial authority I wasn't armed. Then I heard it, a gentle clucking; the chickens were loose.

Eschaton

In related news, Senator John "Swiftboat" Kerry looks set to become Secretary of State.

Preppers? Vindicated.

LSP

Wisdom of Solomon

Chickens have been making a takeover bid for my back yard, which is fine by me. I like to watch them scratch about, during the odd interlude in the fast paced, high pressure clerical lifestyle.

I was doing just that when DWN (Dog War Neighbor) knocked on the fence and asked if he could have a talk. DWN, who is a disabled vet and writes patriotic letters for me to give to George Bush - he's convinced I know him - wanted some advice. 

He used to have a small pick up truck in his drive, which a young NDW (ne'er do well) wanted to buy. DWN said "$1000", NDW offered $800. DWN accepted and NDW paid $700, on the spot, with a 'verbal' to pay the balance in two weeks.

DWN then took a working battery from his van and put it in the pick up to show NDW that the vehicle worked. NDW promptly got in the truck and drove off, with the battery, leaving DWN down one battery and owed $100. 

No title had changed hands and the pick up was still insured in DWN's name, which brings us to the present. A month after the 'deal', NDW still hadn't paid the balance and DWN was worried, on two scores.

Most importantly, for him, was the principle of the thing. If NDW was allowed to get away with casually walking off with other people's $100 he'd never learn responsibility in life. Secondly, the truck was still insured in DWN's name and he didn't want to be liable when NDW crashed the vehicle.

DWN was perplexed. He had prayed about it pretty hard and been to the police, who told him that repossessing the truck over a paltry $100 was kind of mean; DWN thought so too, but principle mattered. So he had taken the key to the truck (it was in the ignition) and the battery and left the vehicle outside NDW's house.

"Now pastor," said DWN, "what should I do?"

In the spirit of Solomon, I gave him two choices. He could keep the key with the proviso that NDW could have it back when he paid the outstanding money, at which point he'd get the truck and the title. Or, far better choice, DWN could give NDW his money back and repossess the truck.

The problem with 'option 1' is that lack of a key isn't going to stop NDW from driving the truck...

There's a moral in this, somewhere.

It's all going on in the countryside, I tell you.

LSP