Shoot!

Get a haircut, hippy

We'd been planning a shoot for some time but things kept getting in the way, broken femurs, a boy graduating Basic, climate change, a deadly Chinese plague, you name it, all conspired to keep us off the range. Until today.

RHT drove over from the DFW connurb and we headed off to J's place to try out some weaponry. All well and good, and then disaster! My rig sank into the sand of an ancient seabed on the way to our objective and had to be pulled out by a handy tractor. Obstacle overcome, we set up at 200 yards and shot.

J knows how to shoot

I went first with an Aero Precision AR10 firing 168 grain .308. Would it work and more to the point, would I remember how to shoot? 

Watch out kids, don't bet the monkey, but I did, just, and ended up with a decent group in the 10 ring, which should've been in the X. RHT followed up with a Hogue stocked .308 Howa and a Redfield scoped M1A. They shot well, very well.

Good Call

Now, all of the above were great to shoot and made considerably more accurate by RHT and J's hand loads. I don't reload or cast bullets, unlike these two very friendly competition shooters, and was struck by the difference. Wow. Speaking of which, RHT and J's Howas were X-Ring on the money for a ridiculously low price. I want one.

Do Not Scorn This

Then, after a quick remedial bout with .45s it was time for lunch at Los Verdes, which always serves excellent Mexican food. Did we discuss the satanic evil of Marxism, the wickedness of banksters and the importance of wine? Possibly. You be the judge.

Back at the range it was time for RHT to roll out an 1872 Remington .50-70 and an 1873 Trapdoor Springfield .45-70. For me, this was the high point of the shoot. There's something about firing these now exotic and antique firearms which appeals. Is it the history of the thing, their provenance, or the nature of the guns themselves? There they are, muskets turned into rifles.

Regardless, the Remington wasn't too keen to get on paper but the Springfield noisily got on a gong, in the appx. 10 ring in my hands and in J's it was hitting the bull. With iron sights. At 200 yards. All 1873 of it. We were amazed. This old rifle was outshooting... ahem. What a lot of fun.

RHT on his awesome M1A

We finished off with some AR action, J stealing the show with a series of X-Ring excellence. 3 shots, left to right touching on the X. A testament to Geissele, the barrel, Nightforce optics, the loads and the shooter himself. Seriously, a lot of people would've been pleased with that group at 50 yards with a .17 HMR. Good shooting.

Random LSP guns

And that was that. Huge enjoyment out in the clean air and big skies of Texas. And about time that this shooter actually got out and shot. Big thanks to RHT for getting the wheels rolling and thanks too to J for such warm hospitality, and a great range which goes out to 1000 yards.

Bullets

Hmmm, can I shoot that far? Good question, perhaps it's time to learn. We'll see about that and calling the shot as this mission progresses.

In the meanwhile, thanks guys for a great day out, what a perfect result.

Shoot straight,

LSP

Do You Remember Punk Rock?

What! That's not Punk Rock! Apologies to Lemmy (RIP) and Hawkwind, but do you remember Punk Rock? I do and I didn't like it at the time, with notable exceptions, like the Stranglers. Whatever, Punk Kingpin impresario Johnny Rotten's come out again in favor of Trump.

Joe Biden is, in all practicality, senile, and delinquently senile. My wife has Alzheimer’s — I know the symptoms,” Lydon said in the BBC interview.

 

Who knew Phil Lydon aka Johnny Rotten had such wisdom? He joins erstwhile leftist pop icon Morrissey, who loves Trump and hates open borders and NWO oppression. 

To be honest, I always scorned the appalling "Smiths." You'd go by some student's room humming Urban Guerilla like a good 'un, and there was a kid lying on his bed with a hand over his his eyes, listening to Meat is Murder. Pathetic.

Well said Mr. Rotten, and previously despised Morrissey. Let's see 45 become 46.

Rock on,

LSP

Happy Columbus Day

Some people don't like the remarkable navigator and explorer Christopher Columbus. They hate him and his discovery of America, and they hate the country his exploration made possible. Such evil, colonialist, racist oppression, said no one when US forces liberated Dachau.

1945 aside, the Compound's neighbors, Eduardo, Maria and friends seem to have forgotten Columbus Day is an evil homage to racism. That's why they've been partying for two days solid, and I'm not complaining. Music fills the air along with the delicious aroma of constant BBQ, doubtless cooked up in some kind of underground kiln in their backyard version of the homestead south of the border. Nice.

Columbus' Tomb

Speaking of the evil of this incredibly evil day, I like this, from the White House:

Sadly, in recent years, radical activists have sought to undermine Christopher Columbus’s legacy.  These extremists seek to replace discussion of his vast contributions with talk of failings, his discoveries with atrocities, and his achievements with transgressions.  Rather than learn from our history, this radical ideology and its adherents seek to revise it, deprive it of any splendor, and mark it as inherently sinister.  They seek to squash any dissent from their orthodoxy.  We must not give in to these tactics or consent to such a bleak view of our history.  We must teach future generations about our storied heritage, starting with the protection of monuments to our intrepid heroes like Columbus.  This June, I signed an Executive Order to ensure that any person or group destroying or vandalizing a Federal monument, memorial, or statue is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

 

Good work, speechwriters, and thanks Mr. President for standing up for the country you lead. Seriously, it's about time we stopped apologizing, pandering and kowtowing to the people who would tear us down. There's a lot to celebrate about the West, not least its current standard bearer, America.

Following the light of the sun, we left the Old World.

I love that,

LSP

Math is Racist

όταν  ό δαίμων άνδρΐ πορσύνῃ κακά, τον νουν εβλαφε πρώτον ώ βουλεύεται 

Did you know mathematics is racist because it "inherently carries human bias"? At least that's what the Mathematical Association of America thinks. Reflect on this homely, perhaps familiar scene.

There you are at the local pick 'n steal where you've been charged the outrageous sum of $8.60 for a pack of Marlboro Lights, and a coffee refill in your indestructible Yeti 20 Oz Tumbler. You hand over a $10.00 bill. 

So far so good, but thanks to your inherent racism you expect a sturdy Fascist $1.40 back in change. Whoa, El Jefe, Generalissimo! But you can't help it, it's the way you've been raised by white supremacy. So when you're given $1.00 back in change you'd better suck it up, you unrelenting, literal Nazi.

And why? Because according to rainbow logic people of color can't do math. If you think that's somehow racist you'd be right, which brings us back to the old axiom, Viz. Everything the Left attempts to effect produces the exact opposite of its intended result.

When a demon (δαίμων) plans harm (κακά, let the reader understand) against a man, he first damages the mind of the person he plots against. Or in military and concise Latin, quos deus vult perdere prius dementat, those whom god wishes to destroy he first makes mad.

Listen, if you can, to the beating wings of the Harpies before they dive into silence.

Your Classical Buddy,

LSP

HARPY EAGLES

 ‘through vows and prayers alone we must seek security, whether those creatures are of heaven or uncanny birds of ill omen.’  Virgil.

Thanks to an influential art blogger everyone knows about Harpy Eagles. Harpy Eagles circle above places like Surbiton and swoop down on XR vegans, literally carrying them off to their eyries in Epping Forest.

Harpies watch, then they dive in for the kill, gripping their tofu-chewing prey with razor sharp talons and ferocious beaks.

Harpy Eagles scorn wymxn priestess figures too, and don't even bother to take them back to their forests for food. They just attack, savagely.

You're probably thinking of crossing a Harpy Eagle and arguing with it. Go right ahead and find out what happens. Good luck with that.

Speaking of which, Hillary Clinton and the Cabal have not been brought to justice, yet. Do you hear the sound of beating wings?

Αληκτω,

LSP

Rest in Peace

 

I know this jingoistic and shallow mind blog's mostly about the glory that was the British Empire, rodeo and the perfidy of the Left, but step back and consider this excerpt from a sermon preached by Austin Farrer at the end of World War II:

‘May they rest in peace, and may light perpetual shine upon them’ - those millions among whom our friends are lost, those millions for whom we cannot choose but pray; because prayer is a sharing in the love of the heart of God, and the love of God is earnestly set towards the salvation of his spiritual creatures, by, through and out of the fire that purifies them. 

The arithmetic of death perplexes our brains. What can we do but throw ourselves upon the infinity of God? It is only to a finite mind that number is an obstacle, or multiplicity a distraction. Our mind is like a box of limited content, out of which one thing must be emptied before another can find a place. The universe of creatures is queuing for a turn of our attention, and no appreciable part of the queue will ever get a turn. But no queue forms before the throne of everlasting mercy, because the nature of an infinite mind is to be simply aware of everything that is. 

Everything is simply present to an infinite mind, because it exists; or rather, exists because it is present to that making mind. And though by some process of averaging and calculation I should compute the grains of sand, it would be like the arithmetic of the departed souls, an empty sum; I could not tell them as they are told in the infinity of God’s counsels, each one separately present as what it is, and simply because it is. 

The thought God gives to any of his creatures is not measured by the attention he can spare, but by the object for consideration they can supply. God is not divided; it is God, not a part of God, who applies himself to the falling sparrow, and to the crucified Lord. But there is more in the beloved Son than in the sparrow, to be observed and loved and saved by God. So every soul that has passed out of this visible world, as well as every soul remaining within it, is caught and held in the unwavering beam of divine care. And we may comfort ourselves for our own inability to tell the grains of sand, or to reckon the thousands of millions of the departed. 

And yet we cannot altogether escape so; for our religion is not a simple relation of every soul separately to God, it is a mystical body in which we are all members one of another. And in this mystical body it does not suffice that every soul should be embraced by the thoughts of God; it has also to be that every soul should, in its thought, embrace the other souls. For apart from this mutual embracing, it would be unintelligible why we should pray at all, either for the living or for the departed. Such prayer is nothing but the exercising of our membership in the body of Christ. God is not content to care for us each severally, unless he can also, by his Holy Spirit in each one of us, care through and in us for all the rest. Every one of us is to be a focus of that divine life of which the attractive power holds the body together in one. 

So even in the darkness and blindness of our present existence, our thought ranges abroad and spreads out towards the confines of the mystical Christ, remembering the whole Church of Christ, as well militant on earth as triumphant in heaven; invoking angels, archangels and all the spiritual host.

I came across it while preparing an obit and found it helpful, I hope you do too. Farrer was a genius and a holy man.

God bless,

LSP

All Hail The Empire

 

Behold the glory of Lord Curzon and the Raj. Of course people, especially the English, say the Empire was a terrible, heinous thing, because medicine, roads, no slavery, schools, law and all the rest was wicked and racist, unlike suttee and thugee.

And you know what those things mean. Chucking living widows on funeral pyres and strangling people, to the tune of 20,000 a year to the goddess Kali. Wicked? Yes. Racist? Hardly, it was homegrown, but don't talk about the equitable caste system.

Regardless, if you go to Trafalgar Square, even now, you'll be struck by the triumph of the thing, an exuberance of Union Jacks. I love that and I suspect a lot of English people do too, even as they're scorned by the dead hand of Blairite globalist leftism.

So, fire Cressida Dick, Sadiq Khan and all the other comsymp lefties who've taken over the sceptered isle with a view to destroying it.

Your call, Great Britain. Rise to it, please.

Emp. Ind.

LSP

Party

 

What a great night. Good, honest, straight-up, friendly people, tasty food, plenty of drink and a lone busker to boot. 

He was out of Nashville, he told me, and I tipped him for the tale. The rest of the crew were rodeo stars, cattlemen, judges and all else in between. The occasion?

A church couple's 40th wedding anniversary. I listened away to stories of "out of Cheyenne," and "blood was spilling out of her shoe after a horse span on her toe. So we took her to ER and I cut the toe out of her boot and she was racing barrels the next day." All very Florence Nightingale. Thanks, MC.

With that, a glass raised and a salute to LSP, "He's got a story too, tell him about your hip!" Three screws in the upper femur and an Arab later the tale was told, and kudos to me, badly damaged by a horse like everyone else in the room. But whatever.

Such a good evening, and here's the thing. These people are not demonstrative, politically. They consider it bad manners, but I'll tell you this, they are mighty pissed about the state of the nation. Let the reader understand.

Ride on,

LSP

Remove Kebab?

 

We love classical music. This piece is entitled Remove Kebab. Don't say Maestro.

OLV,

LSP

Our Lady of Victory

 

This is a naval blog and today's the great Feast of Our Lady of Victory, now known as Our Lady of the Rosary, which celebrates the utter defeat of Turkish Sea Jihad at the battle of Lepanto in 1571.

The Ottomans, some two decades fresh from conquering Constantinople, launched across the Mediterranean with the grand aim of conquering Rome itself, the Big Apple. They were smashed by a Christian fleet led by Don John of Austria, the first decisive victory of arms against the Jihad in hundreds of years.

Don John's fleet sailed under the protection of the Virgin Mother of God and miraculously routed the Moslem aggressor. You can read about the action here and as you do, don't forget GKC's Lepanto. Death light of Africa? Love light of Spain.

Poetry in mind, here at the Compound we're about to grill Turkish style kebabs on short swords in homage to the victory. For breakfast? Croissants.

Deus Vult,

LSP

War Dog

 

Via Vincent Kennedy. Note Battle Dog. Here:

Good dog!

LSP

DEPLOY SMOKE

 

Everything was going well. Chicken? Marinading in the fridge. Weber? All fired up, deploying smoke and ready to go. Then, just as we were about to launch over the start line LL called from the mountain fastness of the Wolf's Lair in Arizona's infamous highlands.

"Hey LSP, thanks a lot for inviting me. I like kebabs too."

"Look, you know it's an open invite."

"Do you have swords?"

"Of course."

"I thought you would."

"And don't get me wrong, I scorn the Sultan. That's why I made Tzatziki. You know, Greek. We need the Bosphorus back, and Hagia Sophia with it."

"Yeah, I know. And you need to expand from Fleet Padre to that guy who gives the thumbs up or down in the arena."

"Hippodrome?"

"Exactly."

 

 

Remove Kebab aside, we waxed large on Mozambique's pirate problem and the upcoming buccaneer LCS fleet. OK, the ships are pathetically underarmored and undergunned, only having one lightweight canon ("pop gun" - LL). We'll have to sort that out, perhaps with batteries of surplus Bofors. Nice touch, and they can go on the landing deck. Bad luck, Jihad. 

But what had happened to the deliciously grilling chunks of chicken in the meanwhile? Well, they were doing their thing but the fire had burned down low, throwing off timing. The Compound's version of naan got in the way too, roll out that dough, LSP. Bread's a production.

All this and more stood in the way of what was supposed to be a Cooking With LSP super kebab post. The chicken was OK but not the kind of perfection we expect. Naan? Alright, but not awesome. And you say Naan, but it was more like a regular flatbread than anything else. No rule? On the contrary, it should be fluffy, delicious and melt in your mouth. Tzatziki was right on the money though. Nice.

So stay tuned for a kebab special, in which we grill the Turk, free Levantine Christendom and take back Justinian's remarkable cathedral. And end up with good scoff to boot. As it is, the leftover chicken's simmering in a pot and curry beckons.

Your Culinary friend,

LSP