This Is Not The Cotswolds

With the racket of a trees going down around the Compound, I figured it'd be a good idea to drive off in search of Texas. And I found a bit of it, in Irene, Hill County.

The Post Office, Irene

Irene, named after a prominent townsman's daughter in 1878, was originally known as Zollicoffer's Mill, in honor of Edwin Zollicoffer, who settled there in 1848. At it's peak in the first two decades of the last century, the town boasted some 400 souls, the railway, a post office, a school, a store and as many as 10 businesses.

2nd Street, Irene

Today the railway is gone, along with the store, the businesses and most of the people, but the post office remains. You get the feeling, as you explore Irene, that it's really a farm which happens to have several houses on it. 

No Trespassing in Irene

Sheep graze across the road from an abandoned store, and round bales lay in lines in the sun behind the post office, which faces what looks like a cattle operation of some sort.

1st Street, Irene

That's not to say that the town's dead, or especially ruinous, despite the abandoned trailer home next to the Windstream junction shed. No, it's just very small and right there in the middle of the farms. Perhaps it is a farm, to all intents and purposes.

There's a small cemetery outside of town. It was sad to see the children's graves and I reflected on the character of the people who lived through the death of their infants. I feel they were made of stern stuff; I doubt that they had much choice in that.

I like Irene, even though it doesn't have a pub or a store.

God bless Texas,

LSP

Tree Logic

We're doing some building work at the Missions. Putting a new roof on one church, repairing the roof on another, fixing an out of control tree problem and repainting the HQ. One roof's been sorted out and a tree crew arrived this morning with a cherry picker, provoking a furious response from Blue Sentinel.

I took the dog for a walk to the local Pick 'n Steal so I could get a coffee and the tree gang could get on with their work. What sort of trees should we plant to replace the dead ones that are being taken down? I asked myself, as I sipped my coffee, while the dog stood guard against any life-threatening squirrels, cats, birds or mail trucks.

Typically, in this town, when trees are removed they're not replaced, giving our rural farming community's center a desolate, parade square, car park blasted by the sun look. That's unfortunate, because trees give needed shade in the fierce Texan summer. They look good, too.

Back at the Compound, I found the tree experts staring forlornly at their idle machinery. At what point, we have to ask, is technology  indistinguishable from magic?

Stay tuned for more, as this exciting story develops.

Chainsaws,

LSP

Sweet Home

A lot of our team are off at a Peter Frampton concert, but here at the Compound we're listening to Skynyrd.

Like it or leave it. We like it. And sorry, "Neil," if that's your real name, which we doubt.

All for The Cause.

LSP

Clinton Body Count

Maybe you're wondering, on this 5th Sunday of Lent, how many people connected with the Clintons have died.

That would be at least 47, according to Free Republic. You can have a look at the list here. It doesn't include Benghazi.

Quite long, eh?

God bless,

LSP

  

Night Patrol, in Texas

Are we entering a new dark night of political and cultural devolution in America? To find out, I went for a night recce patrol with  Blue Destroyer.

I didn't see any riots, weirdly, but I did see a flag.

Still, the streets were pretty deserted. Everyone was probably inside, cleaning weapons, loading magazines, and making sure their kit was silent.

The air was full of the smell of burning mesquite. Was it smoke from a burn pile, blowing in from the fields, or people throwing the most immediate fuel source on their fires to keep warm? Who knows, that intel is being passed up to higher command for in-depth analysis.

Less happily, there was some skunk in the air too. I didn't see the skunk.

And then we were back at the Compound, recce over.

Mind how you go,

LSP

Texas Country

Unlike Chicago, no one's trying to manufacture a riot here in Texas, but we are mostly underwater. Smart people are investing in watercraft to navigate our newfound inland seas. 

It's Like Aberystwyth But Everyone Has A Deadly Assault Rifle

I have a good mind to go fishing after visiting the flock. I might even break with tradition and catch something. In the rain.

God bless,

LSP

Hillary and the FBI, a Tale of Two Crooks

she should be "terrified" since "they would not be immunizing him and thereby inducing him to spill his guts unless they wanted to indict someone"

People are saying that Bryan Pagliano, Hillary's immunized webmaster, is a "devastating witness", and the Director of the FBI, James Comey himself, has stated that he's taking a close personal interest in the investigation of what looks, smells and doubtless tastes like egregious Clinton corruption.

Martha Goes Down

For what it's worth, I think Hillary's the political analogue of Martha Stewart. You know, the same rich, connected, millionaire socialist New York/DC cabal of profiteers who just kind of forgot that the law actually applied to them.

Your Two friends

I mean to say, insider dealing? It was only a dinner party conversation amongst friends in a 5th Avenue three story apartment, or one of my homes in the Hamptons, or was it Maine? I forget.

Behold Your Rulers

But a private email server in  the wine cellar of one of my mansions? Well of course, how else could I send emails. A "techie" told me so. Geek Squad, ha, ha. 

The thing is, these people who rule us have been running amok, snouts at the trough, and maybe, just maybe, Hillary Clinton will be held accountable. But what does she have to say?

Whatever, Hillary.

"My goodness. That is not going to happen. I'm not even 

answering that question."

Right on, Hillary. Martha may be an analogue but you're the real deal. Good luck hoping for a presidential pardon while the peasants revolt, and all the more power to them.

Kick out the JAMS,

LSP

Drone Hunt

Good hunting!

Carry on,

LSP

Get Gay or Get Fired

If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a rainbow wellie stamping on a human face forever.

Last week we heard that a black student, Felix Ngole, was kicked out of Sheffield University for daring to criticize homosexuality on Facebook. This week the U.K's Pink Jackboot claimed another victim, Christian magistrate, Richard Page.

This Wonk is Called Michael Gove

Page was fired by the U.K's Lord Chancellor, Michael Gove, after a BBC interview in which the magistrate stated that he felt children should be adopted by male and female parents.

"My responsibility as a magistrate, as I saw it," said Page, "was to do what I considered best for the child, and my feeling was therefore that it would be better if it was a man and woman who were the adopted parents."

Richard Page, You're Fired

That's right, Richard Page had the audacity, the sheer, brazen, hate-filled bigotry to say on national T.V. that it was better for children to be raised by a mother and a father. So he was given the pink slip for his stiff-necked effrontery, after 15 years of service. Here's what the Judicial Conduct Investigations Office (JCIO) had to say:

The U.K. Flag

“The Lord Chancellor and Lord Chief Justice found Mr Page’s comments would have caused a reasonable person to conclude he was biased and prejudiced against single sex adopters; they considered this to be serious misconduct which brought the magistracy into disrepute.

“They have therefore removed Mr Page from the magistracy.”

Page's offending statements were given in the course of a program focusing on Christians being pushed out of public office.

You can read all about it here and here.

LSP

Chicken Operation

Being a rural priest, I get out on the farms. Some of them have chicken operations.

And people say to me, they say, LSP, are these eggs any better than the other eggs, the little Rubios, or the Hillarys? And I tell them that Hillarys and Rubios are pigs and don't lay eggs. Well they do, but it's a different kind of egg, an egg that's no good. I'm being polite. But these are beautiful eggs, they're gold, they have golden yolks, everybody loves them, they're uniters. They're great eggs, unlike the Hillarys and the Rubios, who are terrible, just terrible. Nobody wants them, they're so bad.

The Rubios are tiny, they're tiny little eggs, you look at them and they're gone. The Hillarys are big, they're huge but they're old, big and old, maybe they wear a pantsuit, like a demon. Nobody wants them, who can blame them? I don't blame them, they want my eggs because they're great. Beautiful great eggs that aren't little, they're not old, and they're great because they're full of flavor and they're behind a wall. A wall that lets them lay in peace. These birds are safe from the Hillarys and the Rubios, that's why they lay great eggs. It's a movement, a beautiful movement, like a family.

Right, enough of that nonsense. People do really ask me if farm fresh eggs are better than their cousins in the supermarket and I have to say yes, they are. They have more flavor, a more golden yolk and, to put it simply, taste better. They really do.

If the SHTF, which it might, we're sorted for eggs. And beef, and chicken, lamb, water, guns and veg. Oh, and ammo and horses.

Prep on.

LSP

Mighty Hunter

A seasoned veteran of the intelligence community threatens to visit for a pig hunt in April and I think his method goes roughly like this. Wait for a massive tusker to charge you and then, calmly, deliberately, shoot it with a .357 Magnum revolver. Probably a Colt Python. In the meanwhile, LSP stands back with a 30 of some sort and a sharp kukri. 

LL Visits Texas

With that in mind, here's a typical hunting tale. 

As I patrolled along a hi-fenceline the dog came to a point, all attention, and there, 150 yards downhill to my left was a giant black pig, black hair bristling menacingly in the hot white light of a Texan morning.

Someone's Pig Hunt Gone Wrong

Fast as you like and maybe faster, up comes my AR, red dot hold on the shoulder of the pig, breathe, squeeze the trigger and... nothing. Try it again, is the gun broken? and... nothing. A split second of consternation.

Random Pictograph Somewhere in Texas

Then thumb-off the safety, fire, and the hog's running like a speeding maglev, barreling through the dystopian ruins of Detroit towards the Windsor tunnel. That one got off to fight again another day. 

Maybe this good fortune will change sometime soon.

Attention to detail,

LSP

The Storm Continues

Everything on the deck went flying off, there was a refrigerator 
that went flying by.

There's a storm brewing, in fact it's already here, and I'm not talking about the popular insurgency against our self-serving, crony millionaire, NWO ruling elites and their puppet stooges in academia and the media. 

Green

No, I'm talking about the weather in Texas, where it's been raining with a kind of tornadolike intensity which has made everything green. Not carbon tax, fill the coffers of bloated government green, but real green, as in grass. That's rare here.

Under Water

It's also put everything underwater, and not just the economy! That may be submerged under trillions of dollars of bad debt, thanks to our economic genius overlords, but so too is my back yard. It's flooded.

A Typical Mitt Mask

As I write this, loud thunder fills the air and I don't think it's coming from Rat Hands Rubio's campaign, or from his Master, "Mitt" Romney.

Perhaps it's the thunder of dotcom millionaire private jets, on their feverish way to stop the storm. Or maybe it's just the weather, which we're in a war with.

Don't get washed away,

LSP