Rodeo!

It was worth risking life on the corridor of fame that is I35 to go to the rodeo in Waco. That's because the PRCA ProRodeo finals are sheer adrenaline up excitement, and a good humored get together to boot. 

A ringside seat in the boxes made it even better, right up close to the action, and that had its moments. Bang, out of the gate comes a pounding, bucking, ferocious bull. Rider, stay on that bull! And when you're thrown, don't get trampled to death by the hooves of the beast. No kidding.

Bronc, barrel, just look at those girls fly!, and bull riding are all high octane, but  don't scorn team roping and steer wrestling. Go on, jump off a running horse and wrestle a steer to the ground, I dare you. Regardless, watching the horsemanship and the outstanding quality and spirit of the animals alone is an event in itself, at least for me.

All this to say nothing of muttin bustin (sheep riding) and general carry on for the kids, and the way the event kicks off, with prayer, a flag ride, and the Star Spangled Banner. Guess what, no one keeps their hat on in protest.

You might mock all this if you're an NWO stooge, or a comsymp fool who's so far up the New York Times that you can't separate truth from fiction. Or you can see it for what it is, good, wholesome, down-home, straight up enjoyment with no side.

So thanks, J&B. A great night was had by all.

God bless,

LSP

It's Dark and Stormy, on the Edge of Time

Driving on the Edge, on the Edge of Time

Lightning, rain, darkness. Just another typical day on the edge of time, except for thunder, which was weirdly missing. One cup of hot tea later and the power went down, which meant shaving by flashlight before climbing into a storm-tossed rig to the eerie cries of terrified peacocks and the forlorn howling of Blue Raskolnikov. 

The Wire

Thirty minutes of apocalyptic driving later I reached my objective, the Cowboy Church's men's prayer breakfast. And I was glad I went, because the cowboys are alright and you always, in my experience, get a good "message." This morning's was on forgiveness; don't hold bitterness, anger and resentment in your heart or it'll chew you up and spit you out. The Gospel's pretty emphatic on that theme.

A Typical Day in Wales

It was light by the time breakfast was over, and I looked out across the wire at rain-soaked Texas. It was like Wales, in August.

Be safe,

LSP

I Was Born to Have Adventure

I know what you're like, international readership of this popular mind-blog. There you are, riding big boats and fishing for shark off the flats of Bermuda. But don't scorn me for being a humble bank fisherman on Lake Whitney.

Little Fella

Speaking of which, the lake was up and restless this evening after Mass, with waves crashing against the limestone shore like breakers in the North Sea, or Aberystwyth pier. I didn't have a boat so I cast off from the limestone, with a worm. Who knew what'd turn up? Maybe nothing, that's the way I felt.

Yes Indeed

Wrong. Bass turned up, with the best of four plowing into my hook like Trump on Twitter after midnight. I didn't even have a boat.

Head Home, Fool

Here's the thing. You can sit or stand looking at the news in slack-jawed consternation, or you can get out and catch some fish. 

Be wise, readers, and chose the better option.

LSP

War Drums

Have you noticed how every time Wikileaks dumps a thousand or so email revelations on Team Clinton, and it's daily, the war drums pound louder?

Like, how dare they expose us for being corrupt pay-to-play Saudi Arabian proxies. Even Great Britain's fabled RAF (who knew there still was one) is getting in on the act, with pilots being given the green light to shoot down Russian planes. And on, and on.

Senator Kerry

Really? We're getting ready to go to war with Russia in order to protect our allies Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the UAE, ISIS and Al Queda? So that Candidate Hillzebub Clinton can preside in satanic majesty over a radioactive wasteland?

Recall the flies. The spirits of the pit do not think as the living.

Hillzebub! Hillzebub! War! War! War! Hillzebub! Hillzebub!

I thought we'd reached peak insanity a week or so ago. I was wrong. It's climbing.

LSP

Get Your Hair Cut, Hippy

It was a pretty regular morning in the hurley-burley, rough and tumble life of the Compound. Up around first light, sitting on the steps of the back deck, drinking hot tea and watching the grass grow. One perfect sunrise, except that it was cool and overcast, maybe about to rain, like England in May.

Peacock

A ragged peacock hen flew into the yard. It strutted and pecked, I sipped tea and pondered the next evolution. It wasn't complex.

ME 262 Going Down. Pilot, Get Out!

Say your prayers, walk the dog to the pick 'n steal (filling station), visit the sick, then get a haircut. Good plan. Clear, simple, achievable, and it was all going so well. Until the plan crashed and burned like an ME 262 on fire and spinning out of control.

Epic Fail

Wildcat Cuts was shut. I don't know why, neither, apparently, did they. "Shut till October 17" said the legend on the ghoul painted plate glass door. No reason given. Hunh. Veronica's, SE HABLA ESPANOL, was shut too. No excuse, just coz. So much for industry and service in this bucolic slice of what used to be a great nation. 

Now We're Talkin'

Then Quality Cutz came to the rescue. They were open, weirdly, and I strode in. "You do haircuts?" I asked and in case you think that's redundant, think again. "Sure we do, mon," said Alphonso. He was from Mexico and alright. For him, Quality Cutz was his home. I told him to "cut it short and don't carve anything weird into it."

Your Friend

He didn't, and I'll go back there again. Support local business; Lord knows, there's little of it left, and that's just the hair.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

It's Bushcraft Wednesday! Pumpkin Carving

Bushcraft isn't about relying on Nanny State to do it all for you. No, it's about getting out in the bush and crafting it yourself.

In this short infovideo, Hickok45 shows us how it's done, Halloween style.

Here at the Compound we hope you find this short "how-to" film as useful as we do.

Change, adapt, survive.

LSP

In The Hall of The Turkey Grill

We were looking for hogs, somewhere in West Texas, in a Pinzgauer, eyes peeled and guns hot. Off to the left, slight movement, not pigs but turkey, three or four of them, a couple of hens and a tom. Out! sight on the birds. 

Quick, they're starting to fly. Crack, someone's got a shot off. Feathers drift in the near distance and we move forward to see if the bird was down. It was.

stand on a stool or something, LSP

Shot with a Winchester 70 30-06, of all things. Good work. Back at the ranch house we breasted the bird and that was that, it went into the freezer. Until last night.

The Turk found itself in a dutch oven, potatoes went into another oven and a Glock somehow made its way onto the mahogany. Did the Turk taste good?

Sure it did, and the firearm proved itself a stable home defender. You better believe no one crept in under the perimeter. And that was that.

Feast on,

LSP

Hillzebub

Do you remember the presidential debate on Sunday, in which Bronze Age chieftain, Donald Trump, squared off against Hillary Clinton? Sure you do and even the most ardent of Hillary haters had to admit that Candidate Clinton looked good.

The Spell Breaks

There she was, poised and polished by the arcana of makeup and wardrobe. Powerful magic indeed, until the flies landed.

flies do not rest upon the living

On her face, on her chest, in the air around her, flies. And mark this, flies don't rest upon the faces of the living.

Three Against One

Baalzebub, Lord of the Flies, is a demon, reputed to be one of the Princes of Hell. Perhaps its lesser ally, the dybbuk-driven presidential contender, has a name too.

I'll leave you with this:

The ghouls who recoil in horror at glimpsing this dream are moving to the edge of the pit, where they seek power from the abyss. But the abyss is remorseless and has no pity. It swallows whatever and whoever comes to it.

Your Friend,

LSP

Huma Abedin, The Jaws of The Djinn

Djinns possess people for many reasons. Sometimes it is because the Djinn or its family has been hurt accidentally. It could be because the Djinn has fallen in love with the person. However, most of the time possession occurs because the Djinn is simply malicious and wicked.

A Djinn

While some Djinn are toothless, others use their long, sharp teeth to tear at the flesh of their prey, including humans. They are also accomplished shapeshifters, made from smokeless fire, able to transform themselves into the likeness of animals and trees as well as men and women.

A Dybbuk

Djinn are frequently seen in the company of a Dybbuk, which is an evil spirit that appears to be human but is in reality a dislocated, fly-ridden, soul of the dead.

When attacked by Djinn or Dybbuk, pray for protection and lock them up.

Lock Them Up

Behind bars.

LSP

Five Words

Because You'd be in Jail.

Good point.

LSP

Hillary Clinton, Fly-Ridden Dybbuk

In Jewish mythology, a dybbuk (Yiddish: דיבוק‎, from the Hebrew verb דָּבַק dāḇaqmeaning "adhere" or "cling") is a malicious possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person. It supposedly leaves the host body once it has accomplished its goal, sometimes after being helped.

Is Hillary Clinton a fly-ridden dybbuk, a once human entity possessed by the dislocated soul of a dead person? If not, why is she covered in flies?

Dybbuk

Surely not because she's dead inside but  walking and talking as though she were a human, possessed, all the while, by a dybbuk. And who has helped the dybbuk? Raddatz and its familar, Cooper?

Remember, even though the dybbuk appears to give life and even great power, it is dead and from the other side, not of this realm.

Flies and destruction are its hallmark.

LSP

Hillary Baalzebub?

Did you notice how flies kept landing on Hillary during her debate with Trump? Surely that wouldn't have anything to do with her lying allegiance to BaalZebub, Lord of the Flies. Otherwise known as Satan, Father of Lies.

Your Old Friend,

LSP