Showing posts with label defeat the NWO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label defeat the NWO. Show all posts

Monday, September 14, 2020

Cooking With LSP - Chicken Pot Pie

What? Cooking with LSP, that's both dangerous and stupid. Not so fast punters, here's how it's done.

First up, get some chicken thighs (4) for around 5 bucks at Walmart, or wherever. Boil them with salt and pepper, maybe a bay leaf, in a pot for around 30 minutes. Then remove the boiled thighs to your fridge in a bowl to cool down. Keep the water they were boiled in, this is your stock, chicken stock.

In the meanwhile, melt 1/4 cup of unsalted butter in yet another pot. Add 2 sliced carrots, a small chopped onion, a sliced stick of celery, and maybe some garlic, your call. Simmer these in the butter for 5 minutes or so. Wow, look at that, vegetables. So very healthy.

Next step, add 1/3 cup of flour to the simmering veg. Stir it about, then pour 2 cups of your homemade chicken stock into the mix, followed by a cup or so of frozen peas. Stir that too and watch in wonder as it reaches creamy consistency. If it doesn't, add more flour, if it's too thick add more stock. While you're at it, apply salt, pepper and a dash or two of Worcestershire Sauce.

Let it all combine and simmer for around 20 minutes, stirring. In the meanwhile, you've removed all the chicken from the bone, fed the dog with chicken skins, chopped up some mushrooms, washed up and... added chicken and mushroom to the pot.

Stir it up. Let it simmer. No need to rush and freak out, have a glass of wine and admire your pistol, or kukri. Bull up a shoe, a gas mask, clean a gas regulator, shine a cap badge or whatever comes to hand. Reverie over, unfold some unfrozen puff pastry, roll it out on a floured surface and stand by, you're almost there.

Pour the pie mix into whatever counts as your pie dish. Cover the mix with a rolled out sheet of pastry, maybe add some leftover pastry bits to the thing by way of fun. No matter, your call, then put it in a 375* preheated oven for around 30 minutes.

At the end of which, take the pie out of the oven and fall upon your scoff.

Like a warrior,


Saturday, December 7, 2019


"What do you think of NATO?" The hippy paused over his lathe, "Tell me what it is and maybe I'll join." Ha ha. But seriously, what's the point of the Northern Atlantic Treaty Organization now that we're in the 70th year of its existence.

To defend against the armored Soviet horde rolling into Europe and enforcing socialism? To stop sinister Bolshevik radicals from Moscow banning Christianity and replacing the time-hallowed customs, the foundational mores of the West with a godless utopia replete with gulags?

Hardly, that threat died some time ago. Russia has the GDP of the great state of Texas and you can argue Soviet armor didn't have to roll into Germany, France, the Netherlands, Spain and Italy to achieve the desired result. Put simply, the commies won without a shot and cultural Marxism waxes strong in what was once the heartland of Christendom.

The "bourgeois claptrap" of the family? Pretty much ended. Atheism? Ascendant. Forced redistribution of wealth? Tick. Art and architecture debased to reflect a new outlook, humanity freed from the oppressive constraints of beauty, truth and goodness. Double tick. And on.

Point being, why should America, still a predominately Christian country, spend a dime to defend these ironically led by billionaires, socialist countries in Europe. Why, what's the threat, that a Russian battlegroup will steam into Germany and tell everyone that there's two sexes, governed by biology?

Or who knows, that evil Putin-sponsored cyber spies will infect everyone's Facebook accounts to the point where we think countries should have borders and maybe, just maybe we should go to church and worship God?

Quelle unbelievable, awful horror.

Imagine, a Russian Shock Army charges across the start line and what's to stop it, the 1st Transgenders Macronne Green? And so what. Why should we pay a single cent to defend these commies that hate us?

Far better, surely, to concentrate on the real threat which is China or do we see ourselves as an occupying army? Serious question.

Your Friend,


Sunday, July 28, 2019

Poor Baby!

I wasn't going to say Mass at Mission #2 two Sundays ago because a Mad Arab threw me off her back, resulting in three massive screws to the upper femur. So I called the MC and asked if he'd sorted out a supply priest. The conversation went like this.

"Hey, d'ye have a supply priest sorted out for Sunday?"
"Why not?"
"I was figuring you'd do it."
"How, I've got three enormous screws in my leg."
"Poor baby!"

This left me with one choice and one only. Get up. Get in the rig. Say the Mass. Good thing the recruit's on hand to drive, and by the way, the MC in question has a history of falling off horses.

Ride on,


Sunday, April 7, 2019

How To Replace The Extractors On A Mossberg 835 Ulti-Mag

"So, LSP, if that's your real name which we doubt, how do you replace the extractors on a Mossberg 835 Ulti-Mag 12 gauge?" Good question, punters.  First things first, you put the beast on a Led Sled and take a photo with your not-so-smart phone. Beautiful, isn't it.

Then you reminisce about all the armed strolls through the country, dove down, skeet smoked, rabbits for the pot, ducks missed and general pump action shotgunnery. Good times, no doubt about it.

But here's the thing, it may be a deadly assault shotgun but only if the extractors work and the gun cycles ammo. Then it's banned in dhimmitudes like New Zealand, Great Britain, Australia and beyond. In those countries only criminals can own guns, so law abiding citizens are safer.

Reverie over you move to the task in hand, changing out the 20 year old (?) extractors and their dualist, Manichean springs. How? It's not hard, take down the weapon, behold the bolt, place it on two blocks of wood and tap out the pins which hold the extractors and springs in place. Then replace. Easy, right?

No, not easy, because the pins are held in place by dark Zeroastrian magicke, Pangea, typical. First you take a pin punch to the thing, tap, tap, tap; tap out the pin, LSP. Fail. The pins don't want to move because they're wedded to staying deep within the Solar Disc of the bolt.

Don't give up like some kind of RINO, fight through to the objective. For me, that meant moving the lubed up bolt to  a vise. Resist, Ulti-Mag enthusiasts, the urge to pound the bolt with a hammer. Instead, take a sturdier punch to the task and tap again, the pin should move. Follow through with a lighter gauge punch equivalent.

Retaining pins driven out of communion, replace the worn out qabbalists with new parts. It's easy enough, pop in the springs and extractors, hold the extractors in place with a retaining punch and tap in the pins. Do it in a vise, if you're me. 

Please don't freak out and pound on the immobile pins with a sledgehammer, that'll mess up the job. Stay calm and while you're at it it, remove and clean the bolt lock. You don't have to, there's no "rule," but I recommend it.

Then sit back and behold the glory of the thing. Two new extractors in an old bolt and a gun restored to fight again for another couple of decades. Right on, and you did it yourself as opposed to paying someone at Ray's to rip you off $200.

The Mossberg 835 Ulti-Mag began life in 1988 as an all-purpose shotgun, capable of handling small to big loads, 2 1/4-3 1/2". It retails at around $600, mine cost $200 from a gun show a decade ago, and features a ported barrel, tang safety and over-bored barrel (don't try slugs, kids). It's been a workhorse and worth every penny.

Buy one if you like, but be sure to spray the unpleasant camo on the new guns black. Better yet, go to a gun show and buy one at the right price.

Your Pal,


Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Best Brexit Ever!

Disregard the useless acting of the person who misplayed the Iron Duke and watch the charge. Scots Greys, forward!

LSP on a Grey

If you're a horseman you'll appreciate the sound, fury and kinetic energy of the thing. Hell for leather and devil take the hindmost.

Must ride more.

BREXIT forever,


Saturday, January 26, 2019

State Of The Union

'Coz everything's just fine in the land of the free and brave. Infographic via Borepatch who thinks things might get nasty.

I put it to the fighting monkey who promptly put on a spiked hat and marched about the living room singing "Erika." Vicious little alt-right beast.

But seriously, since when did we become some kind of Stasi Soviet and how long are we going to put up with it?

My feeling, for what it's worth, is that tempers are... frayed.

Love and Peace,


Wednesday, December 26, 2018


After visiting the sick I braved the Christmas day death trap that is I35N to Dallas.


The table was laid, a turkey was resting, champagne was flowing.


There were presents around the tree.


Blue Predator was relegated to the back hall so he couldn't eat the presents.

Rabble Rousers

And everyone feasted.




Friday, November 16, 2018

The Restoration

There they are, three family heirlooms sitting in the back yard of your compound, rusting. And you look at the metal chairs which belonged to your Great Great Grandmother and think, it's high time these relics of a better age were brought back to life, restored.


The next thing you know you're at Walmart, getting a haircut, taking care of business at the 1st Inconvenience Bank and buying sandpaper, primer and white enamel Rustoleum spray paint. Then what?


Sand the chairs. I used 100 grit paper and a couple of sanding sponges, and wish I'd bought more; they're efficient. When the grit's gone, deploy them as blocks and that works too.

The Watcher

A hour or so later congratulate yourself, well done, you've finished sanding. Stand back and behold the improvement, a promise of things to come.

Apocalyptic reverie over, wash the beasts down with some kind of spirit and spray. Three coats took around two cans per chair and I think they looked sharp, but the third chair needed special treatment. 


That's because it'd managed to get itself especially filthy and had to be cleaned before sanding. An old abrasive kitchen sponge did the trick and neatly removed flaking paint to boot. Result.


Chair #3 gets a sanding and spray tomorrow. In the meanwhile, #1 and #2 rest on the porch, looking good and ready for action. They'll be joined by a swing and #3 as time moves inexorably on towards its end.

Blue Eschaton

We'll watch that play out, on the porch.

God bless,


Saturday, July 14, 2018

Black Cavalry

There I was in the front office, some call it a porch, when a troop of cavalry trotted by. Black cavalry, a stirring sight.

There were a few outliers, some ambled along at a walk.

Others at something like an extended trot.

And others again at a bareback hand gallop.

I like everything about this and file it under "country life in Texas."

Ride on,


Saturday, July 7, 2018


The sun loomed large and fiery in the rear view mirror and with it the promise of fish, the mighty Striper; and thanks to a friend's generosity we had a guide to put us there. Great result and a morning full of promise. Would it deliver?

It did, though it took a while, perhaps because the thunder, lightning and torrential rain of the night before had stunned the fish. After all, they're not used to Texas paying its weather tax.

Still, within a short blast across the lake we were getting results. Watch that rod go double and double again, as the ferocious predators tore into live shad. Big fun and a taste of things to come.

After an hour of scudding across the water from spot to spot, worth it for the ride alone, we ran into a school of Striper. There we were, waiting, when all of a sudden the bite switched on. 

Brisk action, as rod after rod twitched and was pulled down into the water; it was fish on and make no mistake, right on the stroke of 11 am.

We limited out shortly and headed back to the marina after a friendly chat with a game warden, who floated over to say hi. 

He has his hands full, dealing with lake riff-raff, clowns on speed boats and ne'er do wells up to aquatic skulduggery. Good guy. Then it was time to leave the lake, mission accomplished.

Big thanks to Pat and S.O. for a great day out on the water and a freezer full of Striper.

Fish on,


Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Burn Ban Fishing

There's a burn ban in effect because even a spark, just one tiny spark might well be sufficient to set the air itself ablaze. No foolin', it's hot, like an oven.

With that in mind, it made sense to head off to the water where it's marginally cooler. And who knows, maybe even catch some fish if they weren't suffering from heatstroke.

Simon Weisenthal

I cast off into the furnace expecting nothing. Perhaps it's a character flaw; worst case the scenario and be happily surprised as opposed to hideously let down. Whatever, the line was out and there I was, waiting for fish.

"Nothin's biting, man," said the resident gap-toothed fish head, and he'd know. All he does, every day, is fish, right from the spot I was on. I looked him straight in eyes of his neon orange sunglasses and grinned. Out whirred the line.


Tug, thump, hookset! Out came a small fighting perch. Hey, nothing shabby when you're expecting exactly nothing. Then out came another and another; I started a game, how many Bluegill can you catch with the smallest fraction of worm. Lots, as it turned out.

Then, halfway through this childish exercise, KABOOM, something hit the hook like Simon Weisenthal on the trail of Mengele. Rod double, drag out, I thought I'd caught a cat. But no, after a few minutes of fight I saw a carp, a massive, monster, outrageous carp.

Ye Gods

We fought for ages, huge great fish on a light bass setup and make no mistake, the Leviathan Carp pulled every trick in the book. But, like Strozk's lies, it didn't work, the carp came in and was brought to account.

So what's the verdict? A heckuvva fish to catch, fight and land, no doubt about it, but bass offer more ferocity and so do gar. Carp don't leap, thrash and run with the same hectic frenzy; still, they fight like a force of nature, which in a sense they are.

Gar! Note Line...

Whatever the case, they all went back to fight again another day.

Fish on,


Sunday, June 17, 2018

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day! And I hope you're all having a great time with family and friends on your various compounds.

But I nearly forgot. If someone tells you that gender's a construct, attack them with phosphorous, or whatever, there's no rule.

God bless,


Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Saturday, May 12, 2018

UK Goes Full Thought Crime

Or at least it will if new sentencing proposals for provoking online  "hostility" towards people with "protected characteristics" are enacted. 

Offenders could face up to 6 years in prison for posting things on the internet that are hostile to “race; sex; disability; age; sexual orientation; religion or belief; pregnancy and maternity; and gender reassignment.”

For example, if you were evil enough to post, "Islam is a devil inspired death cult whose founder, Mohammad, was a pedophile, rapist warlord, and transsexuals are blasphemous parodies of women," then you might get in trouble and go to jail.

Or maybe you're hostile enough to tweet, "Hillary is a lame Old Crone who had degenerate sex with Yoko Ono," all the while having the temerity to broadcast Russian infographics of the last President.

Well then, if you were online hostile enough to do that you might end up in the slammer for six years. So much for freedom of speech, and since when was it some kind of Gaia-given right to rainbow ride your way through life without being offended by contrary opinion?

For that matter, who decides who and what's on the list of "protected characteristics", a lesbian theater collective in Dalston and their Islingtonite patrons on the judiciary? And where does thought crime begin and end, what constitutes "hostility"? 

According to several UK police forces "dislike" and "unfriendliness" define the term, neatly criminalizing the entire populace at some point or another. And if you think that sounds Orwellian you'd have a point, and a frightening one.

Then again, the whole tyrannous edifice of trans rainbow utopian orthodoxy might fall apart under the weight of its own absurdity before any real harm's done. 

Like really, you're going to imprison people for saying there's something weird about trannies and pride parades and something violent about a religion that's been waging war against the world since its inception?

Go ahead and try it but don't be surprised if the law's held in contempt. Speaking of which, this internationally acclaimed mind blog has been banned from Facebook and Instagram.

Must be doing something right.