The Plan

 

Typical Cadets

The kid has a plan, and it's this. Complete two years of a remote/online computer science degree and then go "green to gold" for the final two years at Texas A&M's ROTC, the Corps of Cadets. Then, riding boots burnished to a reflective glow, get a commission and go from there.

Good plan, eh? And  it starts this week as classes commence. So let's see if the onetime cadet will become the genuine article, a real Cadet. But first things first. Our conversation went like this as we were about to take the Bernie Beck gate exit to the home of III Corps.

Swords Are Key 

"Let's get you fixed up for a vehicle." He paused and went lateral, "One private bought an old fire truck." I slowed down as the old rig made it's way to the Great Place, "What?" Quick as a flash the boy replied, "A firetruck. The CO got mad and made him get rid of it." 

What a wasted opportunity, I thought to myself, and then out loud. "That's pretty shortsighted. I'd have made him give it to Brigade and made it the THUNDERBIRDS truck. You know, paint up the Thunderbirds logo and drive around base playing the brigade song. From speakers, loud, very loud. It'd boost morale. You do have a brigade song, right?"

The once and maybe future Cadet pondered this and promised to find the rousing song, "There has to be one, dad." And surely there is.

In other news, our new Afghan friends are sexually attacking US servicewomen at various bases around the country. How totally unpredictable. Good work, Team Biden.

Cheers,

LSP

Jungle Warrior

 

Today's warfighter has to deliver mission critical, cutting edge solutions in a fast-paced, high threat environment. That's why I sent the Specialist on the Compound's justly famous Jungle Warfare Training School (JWTS). 

Some people go to Belize, others to SE Asia, but here in Texas we do it in house. "Take this cutting edge to the enemy, son," I announced with typical paternal affection, "And knock down the green menace. Chop, chop. That hedge won't cut itself." Quite.

Arboreal,

LSP

The Apocalypse Begins

And so the Reich collapsed, only to be replaced by our own rainbow version of stainless steel tolerance. You'll note the Colonel v. Luftwaffe interaction. Someone's said, "So nothing's changed?"

Make of this ghostly infovideo what you will,

LSP

The Light

Here we are on the porch, with the light shining in darkness, back from Fort Hood with a happily off-duty Specialist. "Hey, dad, we're off work at 1300, can you pick me up? I'll serve Mass on Sunday," some kind of bribe? 

Regardless, off I went only to return to the sylvan groves of this small but steadfast farming community, at the Compound. But maybe trouble is brewing, a cloud's on the horizon, perhaps.

simpering poof

You see, the troops are excited, ecstatic and enthusiastic about the vax mandate. They're veritably lining up to get the jab. Like my kid, who got in early and nearly died because of it. No. Kidding. "What happens," he asked on the outskirts of Temple, "when a third, a quarter or even an eighth of Command refuses to take the jab in the face of a dishonorable discharge?"

terrifying

I told him him to keep his head down, get the degree (CS) which starts in October, and see where the wind blows. "We're in uncharted waters, son, and bombarded with so many lies that it's hard to keep track. And who knows, the Pentagon might strike a deal like the postal workers."

Go figure. You can be a "postie" and don't have to take the vax, but a soldier? Don't even think it. Illegal immigrant? No vax for you, no, of course not. That'd be racist. Again, here we are at the Emmys, maskless, rich, cavorting and free, unlike our waitserf underlings. Which forces us to wonder if the whole thing is utter BS.

you elite mountebanks

Wonder? There's no wonder in it at all except in the sheer magnitude of the deceit and the success of the thing. People are, still, consumed with fear of imminent death from a batflu with a >99.70 recovery rate. It's almost as if they wanted the STATE to control them.

That said, Truth, with a capital T, has a way of winning out. Take heart in that. And so we do, The light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not.

God bless,

LSP

Oops, Fail

 

I love the Church of England, with all it's glorious patrimony, stately worship and beautiful buildings. So very awesome. But what's the point of it if nobody goes? To fix this knotty conundrum, the venerable CoE spent >$248 million on "renewal and reform." between 2017 and 2020. The result? Fewer people going to church.

What a dismal fail. According to Breitbart "typical Sunday church attendance fell to 690,000 in 2019 from 740,000 in 2016." So strange, and despite all those millions.

Maybe the English, or anyone else for that matter, aren't convinced by the Baphomet Rainbow. Maybe they're not drawn to the 1st Church of Trans, and who knows, could it be that all those wymyn bishop figures don't cut it when it comes to souls in church, on an actual Sunday.

Readers may recall that the Church, writ large, has been saying for decades, "Unless you conform to the age no one will take you seriously and the pews will empty." My, how that worm's turned. And go figure, why should any Guardian/NYT/NPR zombie go to church to have their disbelief reflected back on them.

Well the proof's in the data. No one, much, is. What does this mean? That the libs, like parasites, will destroy their host and a righteous remnant will remain. Against this, all you jaded cynics, the gates of Hell shall not prevail.

Cheers,

LSP

Country & Western

Years ago some fool said "I thought the Grateful Dead would be cool, but they were just Country and Western."

Yes, fool.

Your Old Friend,

LSP

Midweek Roundup

 

Typical Texas Street Scene

It's a hard life. When not watching inspirational videos of Eva Peron who could, per LL, launch several B 52s, it's all about Vespers or Evening Prayer.

Speaking of which, do you remember our bizarrely incompetent retreat from Afghanistan? How much money, we have to ask, was paid to the "big guy," and why aren't the people he paid in full control of the Panjshir Valley? Apparently they're not. "Ban, ban, Taliban," as the song goes.

Let's see how the resistance plays out. In other news, more and more people are getting sick from the vax, China's facing a Lehman moment and Biden's popularity is tanking, which is weird, coz he's the most popular president ever in the history of popularity. 

And lest we forget, the millionaire celebrities at the Emmys were exempt from masking because they're "performers." Quite unlike you, the serf. Maybe we need some frontier justice?

Your Old Pal,

LSP

The Feast of St. Matthew The Apostle

 

Not only is it beautifully cool in north central Texas and even rained, miraculously, but it's also the Feast of St. Matthew. We all know how Matthew was converted and went from being a wicked tax collector to a holy man of God, an Apostle. Less well known is the great saint's mission to Ethiopia, in which the Apostle confronted two sorcerers, Zaroes and Arphaxat.

Zaroes and Arphaxat were in the habit of secretly enchanting people, causing them to be immobile and then, cunningly, curing their paralyzed victims. It's possible that the adepts used magically conjured snakes in these acts of occult chicanery, regardless, they were hailed as Gods by the incredulous and doubtless made a lot of money.

Matthew, no stranger to fiduciary malfeasance, occult or otherwise, saw through Zaroes and Arphaxat's trickery and went out to meet the sorcerers. These mountebanks of the dark side proceeded to set their two dragons on the Apostle, who promptly put the reptilians to sleep. A 13th century Legend describes the encounter:

Then said Matthew to the enchanters: Where is your craft? Awake ye them if ye may; and if I would pray our Lord, that which ye would have committed in me, I should soon execute on you. And when the people were assembled, he commanded the dragons that they should depart without hurting of any, and they went anon.

 

Needless to say, the dragons went on their way, Matthew preached a remarkable sermon, the occult mountebanks were thrown in prison, and the Apostle retired to the Queen of Ethiopia's palace. Yes, the enigmatic Candace was his patroness. 

He then raised the king's son from the dead, converted the nation, and was promptly martyred by the king's successor for challenging the monarch's sexual immorality. How dare you take the Virgin Ephigenia?

The evil king then imitated Herod, beheaded the Apostle and burned Ephigenia alive. Perhaps conscience got the better of him, as the Legend tells us he "slew himself with his own hand by the sword." Our friends Zaroes and Arphaxat survived, curiously, and fled to Persia. 

Their spirit is evidently alive, well and kicking. Just ask any country whose money is an IOU at interest to a privately owned bank. 

St. Matthew, pray for us and vanquish the sorcerers and their dragons.

God bless,

LSP

Justine Trudeau

 

Canada goes to the polls tonight.

Your friend,

LSP

Vaxxing It Up

Did you watch the Emmys, in which a cast of self-congratulatory, MillSoc celebrities gave themselves awards and partied? No? Neither did anyone else, much, but those that did will have noticed a curious thing. The celebrity leftists didn't wear masks, but their servants did.

You'll be reminded of the Met Gala and Obama's birthday party, where rich and powerful socialists met together to celebrate their wealth, all the while waited upon by their masked serfs. Which raises several questions.

Obscene

Apart from the brazen hypocrisy of it all, how seriously do our rulers take their own own laws? Obviously not very when it comes to themselves. You wear the mask, serf, and we don't because we rule you. Science. And more seriously again, why this bizarre level of dissonance between truth and the law and our rulers?

Demented

Surely not because a self-perpetuating crew of charlatans, pastry cooks, knaves, weavers, crooks, acrobats and mountebanks are running the country for their own pandemic profit. Follow the money, it pays them to enforce lockdowns, shots and fear. 

Martyr

But when the masks are off there they were, partying, reveling in their shame. It's like Versailles, but gross, without the talent or beauty, and we all know what happened to that. Apologies to Antionette.

Still, as someone famously once said, "Let them eat cake. Oh, they can't, they're wearing masks."

Sun King,

LSP 

An Officer And A Gentleman

 

You may not have heard of Lieutenant Colonel Alfred Wintle MC, but he was a remarkable man. An eccentric Lion of the Empire who fought with great distinction in World War I and II. He was, needless to say, difficult. Here's a snapshot via the loathsome Wikipedia:

After the French surrender, Wintle demanded an aircraft (with which he intended to rally the French Air Force to fly their planes to Britain and continue fighting Germany from British air bases); when refused, he threatened an RAF officer (Air Commodore A.R. Boyle) with a gun. It was alleged that he had threatened to shoot himself and Boyle, and for this he was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

Wintle enjoyed himself in the Tower thus:

My life in the Tower had begun. How different it was from what I had expected. Officers at first cut me dead, thinking that I was some kind of traitor; but when news of my doings leaked out they could not do enough for me. My cell became the most popular meeting place in the garrison and I was as well cared for as if I had been at the Ritz. I would have a stroll in the (dry) moat after breakfast for exercise. Then sharp at eleven Guardsman McKie, detailed as my servant, would arrive from the officers' mess with a large whisky and ginger ale. He would find me already spick and span, for though I have a great regard for the Guards, they have not the gift to look after a cavalry officer's equipment. The morning would pass pleasantly. By noon visitors would begin to arrive. One or two always stayed to lunch. They always brought something with them. I remember one particularly succulent duck in aspic - it gave me indigestion - and a fine box of cigars brought by my family doctor. Tea time was elastic and informal. Visitors dropped in at intervals, usually bringing along bottles which were uncorked on the spot. I don't recall that any of them contained any tea. Dinner, on the other hand, was strictly formal. I dined sharp at eight and entertained only such guests as had been invited beforehand. After a few days of settling in, I was surprised to find that - as a way of life- being a prisoner in the Tower of London had its points.

You will note "for though I have a great regard for the Guards, they have not the gift to look after a cavalry officer's equipment." Quite. Here's Wintle after the war, at El Vino's on Fleet Street, from a 1999 letter to the Spectator:

Sir:

Frank Bower was not always able to eject unwanted patrons from El Vino (Letters, 1 May). One morning in the late Fifties, a West Indian workman entered what he thought was a pub and asked the proprietor for a pint of bitter. Empurpled with rage, embroidered waistcoat at bursting point, Bower was hustling him into Fleet Street when interrupted by a crisp military command from the back of the bar: 'That gentleman is a friend of mine. I have been expecting him. Kindly show him to my table.' Colonel Wintle - celebrated for inspecting the turn out of his German guards when a prisoner of war and for debagging a solicitor - had spoken.

Rising to greet his guest, Wintle trained his monocle on Bower and ordered, 'Pray bring us two small glasses of white wine.' When this had been drunk and a convivial conversation concluded, the Colonel and his new friend rose, shook hands and went their separate ways.

Wintle wore a monocle because his eye was blown out in the war

 

Yes, there were giants in those days, and thanks Anon for the link and make of this what you will.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

It's A Woke Woke World

Thanks, WWW, for the awesome infotoon.

Cheers,

LSP