Product Testing, Shoot The Fiver

The best thing about Great Britain's new currency is that it's indestructible. I know this because a friend from England drifted over to the Compound from Houston with some samples, two "Fivers." I looked at the shiny, holographic plastic currency and she made the pitch, "Look, LSP, this note's indestructible." I wasn't convinced, "Let's see about that. At the range."

Pin it Up

A few traditional range cheeseburgers later, the indestructible Fiver was pinned onto the head of a silhouette and we were ready to product test with a .38 Special snubby, a deadly assault rifle and a Ruger American .22. Would the Fiver live up to its marketing?

Your Old Pal

No. It didn't. In fact it failed dismally, taking rounds right through the paper right out of the gate from the .38. Not a monster round, right? But it did for the Fiver. So did the diminutive 5.56 from the banned-in-England carbine. Bang, right through the Fiver. Maybe that's why they're not allowed in England, who knows.

Banned in England

The lowly .22 did the trick too, sending tiny bullet after bullet right through the Indestructible. Fiver, you fail, but well done, JS, for winning the "knock the Fiver off the silhouette from 50 yards" competition. Good shooting.

Hand Out of Sun, Fool

In fairness to me, I was a bit of a bystander because of a badly burned hand. Keep it out of the blistering Fall sunlight, sort of thing. Still, I experienced it for myself; low caliber bullets go right through Great Britain's shiny, new, so-called indestructible currency. Go right ahead, put all the holographs you like on it but sorry, it's not going to win this FX speculation. The guns had it.

Go Short

Verdict? The new Fiver isn't indestructible. Go short.

With apologies to the great Winston Churchill and HRH EII.

Gun rights,

LSP

Oh What A Carry On!

So where you been, so-called 'LSP,' if that's your real name, which we doubt, you mutter darkly. Well I'll tell you, in Dallas, celebrating my sister BW's birthday.

BW trying not to melt in the fierce Atumn sun

That meant going to Highland Park Village (HPV) for some scoff at "MiCo's", where you can sit outside and watch the parade go by, and what a parade it is. Bentleys, serious Mercedes, the occasional racing car, so helpful for navigating Turtle Creek!, and all of that. Well done, MiCo's, for providing a box seat.

"Steal Those For Me."

Then saunter across the way to Cafe Pacific and enjoy the afternoon bar. If you're smart, you won't spend all the money you'd saved up for duck season waders... on the way, gaze at some jewelry. 

A Typical HPV Interior

"Steal those for me, could you please," said one well known English blogger and author, via the miracle of modern telephonic magic. I resisted the strong temptation.

A Real Crowd Pleaser...

But did "The Widow" pour in abundance at the cheery cafe? It most certainly did! Then it was time to head back to base and a Halloween party for the local ghouls and ghosts. Plenty of smiles from face to face to face, and big fun.

Shout loud,

LSP

Catch A Falling Star, Fighter

Falling star? Who, the exotic Djinn, Huma? No, real stars, the ones they have in space. I say this because a church person invited me to the Meyers Observatory for a "star party." In case you don't know, a star party is an event at which astronomers get together and look at the stars, through their telescopes.

Well, the Meyers Observatory has a good 'scope, and I kid you not. Strange, eh? Who knew that there was a serious observatory outside of the bucolic Texan hamlet of Clifton? Not me, that's for sure, but there it is.

You park up on top of Observatory Hill, or whatever it's called, and breathe in the smell of sage, mesquite and cedar. For me that's the smell of Texas and I love it, then you notice that there's an enormous telescope.

Inside the telescopic fortress are keen astronomers, people who devote their lives to the stars, Magi with Servers. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, the den-of-geek. But you know what, their enthusiasm has a point, the heavens themselves, and you can see these through the Observatory 'scope.

Two of the Telescope's servants rigged up an eye-piece, applied themselves to a dimly redlit laptop and got to work. "What do you want to see?" their leader called out to the dark room of the Observatory's tower, "M13, M27?"

The scope moved on its preset drive to point at the right location in the sky, like a gun on a great battleship. Then there it was, a nebula, hanging in front of you in the eye-piece, 1400 light years away, along with the bright, diamond stars. It was like being transported to space itself.

Then, all too soon, it was time to snap back to local time and space and head back to the Compound.

Thanks, CH, for a great evening.

Ad Astra,

LSP

Weird Scenes Inside The Goldmine

The whole campaign is now smeared with sex, corruption 

and scandal

It sure is. At the eleventh hour, right before Campaign Hillary was gearing up for a final push to victory, the White House and power, out pops the infamous Weiner. And everything inside the proverbial goldmine of the presidential race gets weird and unhinged.

It seems that the disgraced Congressman wasn't content to send lewd photos of himself to underage girls, he also had thousands of incriminating Clinton emails on his laptop. And these were, lo and behold, discovered by the FBI. All thanks to his long-suffering Djinn wife, Huma Abedin, Hillary's notorious "right hand," who used the Weiner laptop.

Bad news for the Djinn, bad news for Hillary, bad news for Weiner, maybe he's on "suicide watch." Who knows.

What we do know, of course, is that FBI Director James Comey decided to break this news, despite AG Loretta Lynch's recommendation, to Congress at a critical point in the Clinton Campaign's bid for power. Why? Because he was genuinely afraid that the scandal would leak and he'd look like even more of a corrupted crony than he already does? Because some one or thing paid him a bigger fee than he'd already received from Team Clinton?

Or perhaps because the Deep State finally decided that leaking, scandal-ridden, incompetent, psychotic Hillary was a liability and had to be taken down. Sorry, Jim, this is just the way it is. Make the call. We need to bring the Dybbuk down.

What can we say, weird scenes inside the goldmine indeed.

LSP

Word to the Wise Before You Fry Your Hand

You might think that sloshing a load of scalding hot oil on your hand while frying up burgers diner style is no big deal. Or maybe you're looking for kicks and want to try out something new.

Whatever the case, factor this into the calculus of your decision. Don't plan on doing much with your hands. You know, like tying shoe laces, holding a phone, riding, typing, pulling on boots, working a fishing reel, etc., all those things that involve fingers. 

Take it from me, they're not so much of an option when you've fried your fingers. And here's a tip, apart from Neosporin, check out Bio-Oil. It helps.

God bless,

LSP

LSP in the City

If you're fortunate enough not to get killed by insane drivers, you can drive to Dallas from the Compound in around 45 minutes, all thanks to Texas' own "corridor of fame," I35. I did exactly that on Monday.

The Eye Liars

But why, LSP? You ask wonderingly. Because I had to take Ma LSP to the eye surgeon early Tuesday morning, in a place they call "Arlington." What is this "Arlington?" I'll tell you, it's a road. In fact it's many roads, and it's a strip mall, make that many strip malls. It's like a vision of ersatz eateries in the midst of a traffic experiment. People live there, too, lots of them and there's Eye Surgeons.

Oh Look, a Strip Mall

So we climbed in the rig and headed off for Mid-Cities metrosprawl action and we didn't want to be late, because the surgery was scheduled for 10 am. Be there on time, went the implicit warning, or you'll miss the eye doc.

See it? A Fake Eatery

Ma LSP went under the laser at around 11 am. Good time keeping, Eye Liars, leaving me to knock about the health services strip park while gazing over the highway at the strip mall.  And then it was done, cataract gone, and back to Dallas HQ.

On The Road

What was it like in the big city? A bit dislocating after the country, the roads are a right menace, and why does there have to be so many fake eateries in phony town centers, aka strip malls. That aside, there's an energy to Dallas which I like and the skyline looks neat at night.

Drive safe,

LSP

Vote For The Dog!

No! Not Hillary "Wild Dog" Clinton, I'm talking about another candidate altogether.

Blue Ballot Box the Unbribable. He's running on a popular "steaks for all" platform. 

I like that.

God bless,

LSP

Is Hillary Clinton An Android?

Why doesn't presidential hopeful, Hillary Clinton, sweat? Why do her eyes operate independently of one another? Why does her speech sound fabricated, somehow false and inhuman, and why does she appear strangely unsexed? Is it because "she" is, in fact, an "it," an android artificial intelligence?

Robot Eyes

According to a well placed source in the Intelligence Community, Hillary, or "Hillbot" as it's called by its handlers, is in reality a DAARPA manufactured android:

The Witch Mk II is good for what it is, but it's DAARPA 2gen tech (second generation technology). Sure, it can look good and even sound pretty human, then it starts to go awry. Its hands tremble, it falls over, its eyes don't focus and it gets locked into this creepy grin. Sometimes it swears uncontrollably. It's cold-fish-frigid, we call it 'Hillbot.'

The malfunctioning 'droid admitted it was a robot in an interview with the millionaire socialist fashion magazine, Vanity Fair. 

AI Crash

You guys are the first to realize that I’m really not even a human being. I was constructed in a garage in Palo Alto a very long time ago. People think that, you know, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, they created it. Oh no. I mean, a man whose name shall remain nameless created me in his garage.

I thought he threw away the plans, at least that’s what he told me when he programmed me — that there would be no more. I’ve seen more people that kind of don’t sweat, and other things, that make me think maybe they are part of the new race that he created: the robot race.

Droid

Hillary Clinton, a robot. In its own words.

You be the judge,

LSP

The Genius of Donna Brazile

How did DNC chairwoman, Donna Brazile, get town hall debate questions from CNN ahead of time? Good question, Megynne Kelly, let's see how Donna explains it, in her own words:

"As a Christian woman, I understand persecution. Your information is false. What you're -- well, for suggestive e-mails were stolen. You're interested and you're like a thief that wants to bring into the night the things that."

Got that? Then, just to hammer her point home, Donna finished off the segment by telling Megynne:

"Go to Russia."

Now we know. Megynne Kelly is a Russian saboteur in the service of the Red Spymaster, Julian Assange, attempting to destroy and persecute the gospel Christian citizenry of the Democratic National Committee.

Well there's genius, and there's genius. But Megynne Kelly, a saboteur? That's a different story.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Neutron Bombs Blast The Elitocracy

"The shells of our institutions maybe survive the 2016 campaign, but they will be mere husks," writes Victor Davis Hanson for the National Review, before going on to blast the institutions of US governance and its bi-coastal insider elites.

For Hanson, the edifice of a working democracy may remain in place after November 8, but the reality is a hollowed out sham run by a self-interested club of profiteers. For example:

In theory, there are nominally still such things as a D.C. establishment, the Republican party, still abstractions known as “fact-checking,” still something in theory called “debate moderators,” still ex-presidents’ “foundations.” But, in fact, after this campaign, these are now mere radiated shells.

He continues:

Collate the Podesta e-mails. Read Colin Powell’s hacked communications. Review Hillary’s Wall Street speeches and the electronic exchanges between the media, the administration, and the Clinton campaign. The conclusion is an incestuous world of hypocrisy, tsk-tsking condescension, sanitized shake-downs, inside profiteering, snobby high entertainment — and often crimes that would put anyone else in jail.

And much more. You can, and should, read the whole scathing indictment here.

While you're at it, check out Mark Steyn on Hillary's risible portrayal, by people you'd have thought to be her opponents, as a "beinign moderate centrist:

The idea that the most personally corrupt candidate in modern American history will govern as some sort of benign moderate centrist placeholder until the wankers who thought Jeb Bush was a superstar shoo-in come up with their next inspiration is utterly preposterous.

Peasants, revolt.

LSP

The Last Debate

There were no flies on Hillary tonight, as she defended partial birth abortion and accused WikiLeaks, and presumably Julian Assange, of being Russian saboteurs.

Really, the Podesta emails are a Russian plot? As one commentator put it, "So the Russians hacked their emails, but what's in them?" Nothing good for the Clinton campaign, which is perhaps why Hillary seemed off-balance at this debate, often stumbling in her delivery and resorting to endless ad hominem attacks on Donald Trump. Sure, smug blasts of shrill maybe one form of attack, but it didn't sound good.

Unlike Hillary's self-assured "strong defense of borders" delivery, which sounded great until she was asked by the moderator to explain her  leaked speech to Brazilian bankers stating, “My dream is a hemispheric common market, with open trade and open borders.” That sounded bad, as if, sink me, she was a liar. 

Hillary tried to explain that away by referring to bankers and the movement of money, or something. Whatever, it sounded weak, and that's just it.

Hillary sounded shrill and lame tonight and Trump sounded more assured and on top of the debate than he's done so far. Perhaps that's not saying much, but there it is. Not so much the mad bomber as the less-orange-than-he-used-to-be President in waiting and a man who wants to reverse the hollowing out of America. 

Face it, let's get jobs and industry back resonates.

Hillary pretty much began the debate by defending partial birth abortion and concluded by telling the world that she was the champion of children. 

The flies were obviously invisible.

LSP

The Crossing

One of the baker's half-dozen who reads this eccentric internet backwater sent this in, by Cormac McCarthy:

"Every man's death is a standing in for every other. And since death comes to all there is no way to abate the fear of it except to love the man who stands for us. We are not waiting for his history to be written. He passed here long ago. That man who is all men and who stands in the dock for us until our own time comes and we must stand for him. Do you love him, that man? Will you honor the path he has taken? Will you listen to his tale?"

I reflected on that as I fished below the dam after a round of bereavement visits. We must stand for him; I like that, in fact I like all of it.

God bless,

LSP