The Light Shines Brightly

And why's that, LSP? Because the evil Witch Crone Harridan, (WCH) Hillary, has been squashed like a roach. So we're celebrating at the Compound with crystal, fine wines, weighty silver, and guns.

Cupcake Crybaby

Make that deadly assault rifles, like the Old Crone was going to ban, but can't because she's been pasted by Trump. Some crybaby cupcakes aren't too happy about that. Too bad, losers, a new Sheriff's in Town. 

You Lose This Round, Satan

The light shines brightly.

Your Friend,

LSP

The Witch Is Dead

NYSE floor traders began chanting "lock her up!," as Clinton appeared on television screens around 11:35 am, when she urged her millions of disappointed supporters to accept her stunning defeat. "Ding-dong, the witch is dead," shouted another floor trader.

Sometimes it's better in song.

LSP

SMACKDOWN

Hillary Clinton was routed by Trump in an epic landslide victory last night, losing to the popular real-estate mogul by over 50 votes in the electoral college.

There were moments of knife-edge uncertainty as the rival candidates appeared to go neck and neck, the one representing the nation's corrupt insider pay-to-play elitocracy and the other fighting the establishment in defense of the people. 

A Typical Golden Tower

Who would win? Here at the Compound we weren't sure and odds were on the Inside-the-Beltway favorite and media darling, Killary. Sure enough, the side bets were going fast and furious on both sides of the Atlantic with the race seeming too close to call.

"Mook"

Then BOOM. State after state went red and the Democrats were wiped off the map; sorry, pollsters and associated NWO stooges, you got a smackdown.

Knees Buckle Loses Shoe

What will Hillary do now, as she stares down the continuing barrel of an FBI investigation into her malfeasant antics. Go into hiding? In Qatar? And what about the chipper little "Mook"? Perhaps he can find a job running a "bar" in San Francisco. 

Where's all the emails, Huma?

Then there's Podesta, the Crowleyite. Go on, set up a magicke shoppe in Chelsea, with your Priestess, Marina and the exotic Djinn, Huma. See where that gets you.

Satan

As one noted member of the Intelligence Community put it, "The Demon abandoned its host like a Remora dropping off a Shark."

Too bad, millionaire socialist cabalists, there's a new Boss in town, and he's got a Golden Tower.

The Monkey King

This was all foretold by the Monkey King.

Libs, take note.

LSP

Election Night

That is all.

LSP

Rest in Peace

I said a Requiem for a friend and strong churchman today. He was a good man, and I don't say that lightly, who'd fought cancer for 4 years, a brain tumor no less. 

That in itself is something of a miracle and, if anything, the disease seemed to make his faith stronger. Sorry, problem of evil "philosophers." Also, until the very end he was able to live an active life; I thank God for that.

I can also say, with confidence, that he'd made his peace with God before he died, which is no small thing.

So, may JA rest in peace and rise in glory. And all you many heathen that read this lighthearted blog, reflect on this. What god do you worship and what hope does it give or offer you.

The world, the flesh? With no thought for eternity? And what comes after those two objects of adoration. Oh yes, the Devil.

I'll resist the temptation to refer you to John Podesta and the ravening elitocracy that seeks to devour the whole world.

May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace.

Sure and certain hope.

LSP

Cooking With Spirit

I don't think any further comment's necessary, except to say tied in the polls, really? That's damning.

God bless,

LSP

The Magic Island

Imagine this island, owned by a really rich guy, where millionaires go to have their "needs serviced" by underage sex-slaves. They fly there on a special plane, the "Lolita Express" and get to indulge their deranged lust in a frenzy of orgiastic luxury. That sounds ridiculous, right? The stuff of cheap novels. Except that it's not.

Jeffrey Epstein invited the rich and famous to his sex-slave island with a kind of devil-may-care profligate abandon and was sent to jail for his crimes. Bill Clinton was a favorite aboard the Lolita Express, go figure, and chalked up an impressive 22 flights on the orgy plane. Hillary went, too, but maybe it wasn't really her thing, she only flew the Lolita 6 times.

Maybe you think this is absurd, ridiculous mudslinging and the product of a fevered imagination. You know, like emails that show Democrat Supremo, John Podesta, taking part in Satanic ritual magicke.

Go right ahead and think that but remember, it's all a larf until you wake up and a demon's gnawing on your inner thigh. Or ruling your country.

These people need to go.

LSP

Podesta Satan Shocka!

In what is undoubtedly the most bizarre Wikileaks revelation to date, Clinton campaign chairman John Podesta was invited to a “spirit cooking dinner” by performance artist Marina Abramovic, to take part in an occult ritual founded by Satanist 

Aleister Crowley.

Clinton campaign supremo, John Podesta, a Crowleyite Satanist? Well I never! And we have to ask, how many more top-level Democrats are Thelemite initiates. Go on, have a guess.

Marina

In the meanwhile, as you're reflecting on this dark mystery, have a look at the magic ingredients favored by Aleister's disciple, Marina, and her friend, John Podesta.

Remember this, Abramovic, Podesta, Hillary et al, the Devil devours his own. As above? Certainly so below.

You have been warned.

LSP

Day of the Dead

Every culture has its outward sign or symbol. The Winged Nike, the Imperial Eagle, the Cathedral, with its spires soaring to heaven. Even the golden glass tower dedicated to the demon idol Mammon. And the sign of our present moment?

Perhaps a skull would suit. Think of the millions of children killed in the womb, or the hundreds of thousands killed by our foreign policy in Iraq, Syria, Libya and Afghanistan, or the constant, incessant, deathly way of life in the hollowed out shells of once great cities. Think Detroit, Baltimore, St. Louis, and on.

Not so happy, is it. Imagine all of the dead and the stratospherically rich insiders that rule what's left of our culture. The very same people who are working to destroy it for their own gain regardless of the will of the people. 

The stench of their corruption reaches to heaven and we've seen a little bit of it thanks to the Assange Publishing House in Ecuador. And what about our economy or money? Hint, it's all debt! Hedge on that.

Now the person who represents all of the above, its unashamed ambassador, has flies landing and resting on her face. Ask yourself what that means.

I must go, there are funerals to attend to.

Your Cheery Old Pal,

LSP

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