A Glorious Revolution

Results are coming in  but Boris Johnson's Tories are on track for a massive win in today's General Election, with Comrade Corbyn's Islington socialists and Jo Swinson's Liberal Democrats heading for crushing defeats in the polls.

Labour's "Red Wall" in the North, Wakefield, Grimsby, Workington, Darlington, Redcar, Sedgefield, Scunthorpe and on, all Tory. Lib Dems wiped out, with Swinson herself, the once and not so future Prime Minister losing her seat along with loathesome traitors like Anna Soubry and Chuka Umunna.

What happened? Great Britain looked Marxism, identity politics and the bureaucrats in Brussels in the face and voted no. It voted for sovereignty and the people, call it a second Brexit referendum if you like. More than that, it's a smackdown delivered to the transnational, globalist elite asset-strippers and their useful rainbow idiocracy.

That in mind, tomorrow belongs to BoJo. He'll have a mandate to get the UK out of the clutches of the Beast and he'd better deliver.

Looking forward to that.

Rule Britannia,

LSP

Thunderstruck Again

Blogger won't carry this, watch it here.

Carry on,

LSP

Yuletide Street Art

Here at the Compound we like to think of ourselves as patrons of the Arts, which is why we're delighted to showcase this new installation, "Yuletide."

"It's like a dream I had, of Detroit," gushed one visitor to the gallery, "That I'm lost somewhere scary with junkies, hookers, winos and burning oil drums."

What a terrifying dream!

Mirabile,

LSP

IG Report

I don't watch TV, much less the abhorrent, faux conservative Fox but Tucker sure knocks it out of the ball park. 

There's many takeaways from this awesome video, but I enjoy "like endlessly barking dogs" and "in 2019 being a progressive means taking the side of bureaucrats with guns."

Right. Because it's so leftist progressive to back the FBI to the hilt of your tofu smoothie. Leaving aside the remarkable hypocrisy and lies of the Left, it looks like the gloss is coming off our Deep State, Illuminati machinery. Let's see what Durham and Barr have to offer. 

Indictments, please,

LSP

Fish Till Your Arms Ache

Today was beautiful in this part of Texas, slightly misty but warm, like an autumnal Spring. Such is Fall in Hill County, season of mists and mellow respite from having to turn on the AC. Pleased by this happy turn in the War on Weather I drove to the dam in search of fish.

Idea being to replicate last week's success against the fluid adversary and get out in the clean air, rod in hand, which is exactly what happened. First cast, up came a baby bass, then perch, followed by baby striper, followed by decent sized drum, followed by young catfish.

OK, the fish weren't as big as the ones I would've caught with a boat, granted, but there were plenty of rod-benders, tug, pull, snap and here we go, battle on. What a lot of fun, to say nothing of the tranquility of the sound of the water coming gently off the dam in the rare moments of peace between strikes.

And on it went 'til I lost count and a fierce wind blew in from Waco, exciting the immature catfish but making it hard to cast. Throw out your line and watch it go horizontal in the gale, type of thing, so I packed up and headed for home.

On the way back over the bridge a vulture dive bombed the rig, like an avian Stuka or feathered Richtofen. No kidding, I thought the thing was going to hit the truck, first time that's ever happened.

In other news, you can read about the looming threat of war between Greece and Turkey here. And while you're at it, consider how good it would be to see Sultan Erdogan sink beneath the waves of the Med in Lepanto 2.0 and Hagia Sophia restored to its glory.

Fish till your arms ache,

LSP

Cossacks

Here at the Compound we think this inf-video speaks for itself.

Ride on,

LSP

Pocahontas

The one is a beautiful Red Indian Princess.

The other is a globalist elite mountebank.

Which one is witch? You be the judge.

MAGA 2020,

LSP

NATO

"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,

LSP

Age Of Aquarius

So, how do you celebrate the Feast of St. Nicholas of Myra? Simple, load up the rig with a couple of light rods and head out to the mighty Brazos.

Boom. Pretty much every cast a fish, it was like... like the Age of Aquarius. No kidding, I lost count.

Mostly perch but also drum, a couple of cats and curiously, baby striper. Ferocious little fish, all of them, but especially the striper. Big fun to catch when they're big and not bad when they're small. And here's the thing.

My friend Pedro was fishing silver spinners, slabs, the live perch which I gave him, and caught exactly nothing. He was going after big fish and failed. 

By contrast, I was pulling the aquarian adversary out of the water every few minutes or so on a worm, small hook, two split-shot rig on a light rod. Big success, "You're rippin' 'em up, man!"

Moral? No libs, fish smart,

LSP

Rolling To Civil War?

"Gotta say, LSP, mebbe it's lookin' like Civil War," said a rancher I was riding with back in the days of the Great Rhetor, Barack Stilted Delivery Hussein Obama. He had a point, way back then. Fast forward to today.

Two fundamentally opposed points of view are facing off in America. The one, a rainbow hued neo-pagan expression of the radical liberal project, with total personal autonomy as its end goal, see transsexualism. And the other, God, Guns, Church and Country Life in Texas, and beyond. 

The radicals, rightly, see abortion and getting a sex-change as a sacramental, an outward sign of something inward and spiritual. In their case, the promethean or luciferian desire to create themselves in their own image. To be, as the Good Book puts it, "as Gods."

Red State America, however imperfectly, says no. You're not a God and guess what, if you're a man you can't use the woman's restroom. And by the way, a country has borders or it's not a country and don't kill your babies, that's sick and evil. 

Now, granted all of the above and more, how can these two states of mind, heart and soul exist in peace? Impossible and we're seeing the clash right now in Congress. But picture this.

45 will doubtless survive the Democrat attack on him and the Constitution, but will nonetheless leave office in 2024. What then. Who knows, perhaps there'll be a Trump Dynasty and Ivanka will become the first woman president, yes please.

Well Done, Aberystwyth

Or the globalist elite deep state will snap right back and resume Federal control. If that happens, expect resistance, real resistance, and here's the thing. If Washington DC bans your guns or tells your kid's school to set up trans bathrooms and Texas says no, what are they going to do, send in the troops?

I tell you this, the Army won't fire, and states will ignore federal laws they don't like, it's happening already. The result? The balkanisatoin of America and hopefully an unbloody civil war. But hey, perhaps we'll all come together under Ivanka.

In the meanwhile, is anyone taking the impeachment farce seriously?

LSP

Olympia Trans Awesome

Do you remember a time when the Left was supposedly about helping the "working man"? You know, people in low paying jobs. Not any more; move over, proles, it's tranny time. Freedom or what. And bear in mind these people are protesting a trans event held by the city.

Scheming antics of the genderless, transnational globalist elite, risible identity politics, Illuminati Hivemind aside, I'm most in favor of The Royal Majesty,  being a Monarchist. But perhaps you have a different preference?

Thanks for the tip, GWB.

Over the rainbow,

LSP

Hunter Thompson What A Man

Some of you may have heard of Hunter Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hell's Angels, and all the rest. He was famous as the King of Gonzo journalism, and though he shot himself in 2005 he lives on in myth and legend, "We can't stop here, this is bat country!" Uh huh, quite, and Hell's Angels is great too, but consider this, from American Digest:

Warren (Hinckle, Scanlan's) liked to drink and spend other people’s money on himself and writers. Naturally, such a honey pot was going to attract Hunter Thompson.

Thompson liked to drink, snort coke, and spend other people’s money on articles he might or might not write. Sometimes the small staff working with me and the larger staff working the con with Warren at Scanlan’s would decide to drink together. We liked to drink at our bar of choice up at the end of the alley, Andre’s.

And so one night, when Hunter was in town, we all went up to Andre’s for a non-stop night of drinking.

Andre was an elegant French-Canadian who ran an elegant bar and restaurant. He was old-school and could mix any drink anyone could name and it was always perfect. He was polished, polite, and a good listener. But he was a pro and usually knew when you’d had enough. Then he politely asked you to leave. If you ignored him, he had a very large mallet with a three-foot handle behind the bar and you didn’t ignore that.

So there we were, eight or ten of us I think, hanging around and drinking with “Hunter S. Thompson, man!” And, as they would, Warren and Hunter got into a drinking contest — sort of like watching a match between Ali and Frazier in their prime.

It went on and on long past the point where I could or would keep up. It was getting late and Andre announced to the assembled cross-eyed drunks, that he was giving us our last round. The regulars took him at his word, but Hunter had to push the envelope. Except with Andre there was no envelope. Just a polite, “Non.”

The next thing I know there’s a gun in Hunter’s hand and three rounds into the ceiling of the bar. (Did I mention that there were apartments where people were sleeping above the bar?)

Then I think there was a blur of Andre, in suit and tie, coming over the bar with the mallet. Then more blurs and everybody is out on the street dragging a semi-conscious Hunter back down the alley mumbling something about getting his gun back. After that I don’t remember much and, frankly, haven’t thought all that much about Thompson in the nearly 50 years that have intervened.

Later Hunter left this Earth  in the same way that he lived — gun-crazy, thoughtless, self-obsessed and selfish to the last second. A gunshot suicide at home, leaving his wife and son to discover and deal with his ruined corpse and clean up the room.

What a man.

Whoa, what a damning obit, and Vanderleun tells a good story, shooting right in the X-Ring of a crew of boozy hacks. But consider this. HST managed to fire off a few rounds and guess what, no one called the police, it was handled the right way, with a mallet, by old school Andre.

Such was, apparently, the '70s and we've clearly lost a lot, the flawed gonzo genius of Hunter Thompson and perhaps more to the point, the greatness of Andre. We're a smaller world for that.

Your Old Pal,

LSP