Kino

Have you watched the video of the young UKR guys in the minefield? So horrible and let's pour scorn on the rich beyond imagining monsters accelerating this wickedness. Yes, GloboTrans Elite, I'm looking at you.

And you, all you sick parents that'd demonically trans your kids into blasphemous parodies of the male and female sex. That caveat in mind, GloboTrans was betting on a fast war, a "we'll be home by Rainbow Baalzebub" war and it didn't happen. 

Oops, Russia still has manufacturing capacity and we don't, coz we sent it all to China, which is so totally not a second or third front. Long story short, what utter blood-bathed psychos, can we vote them out? And with that let's see our armored corps thunder to DC.

Nooses down the Mall and see you at the Army & Navy.

Best,

LSP

Devil Dogge? I Say Good Boye

 

Everyone's heard of Charles the First's talented if impetuous cavalry commander, Prince Rupert of the Rhine (PROTR), but did you know he had a war dog called Boy? Boy was a large and rare hunting poodle(!) given to the prince by the Earl of Arundel when Rupert was imprisoned in Linz during the Thirty years War.

When the English Civil War broke out, Boy joined his master on the Royalist side and valiantly ran with the King's cavalry against the insurrectionist Paliamentarians. These hated Boy with puritan fervor, assigning the dog magical powers.

PROTR

Boy, they claimed, was a devil dog, a Lapland sorceress in canine form with the ability to speak arcane languages, a mix between Hebrew and High Dutch, apparently. He could prophecy, perform acts of espionage, make himself invisible and far more besides; Boy was bullet and knife proof, a valuable asset on the battlefield.

One Royalist pamphleteer lampoons doggish puritan superstition thus, in Observations Ʋpon Prince Rupert's white Dogge called Boye:

He is weapon-proofe himself, and probably hath made his Master so too, my self and the rest whom you have imployed to be of the conspiracy against him, have alwayes failed of our at∣tempts, as if something more then witchcraft watcht over him. Once I gave him a very hearty stroke, with a confiding Dagger, but it slided off his skin as if it had beene Armour of proofe nointed over with Quick-silver. Besides he hath been tempted with pieces of Capon and other choice morcells, as well seasoned all, as poyson and extemporary prayer could doe it: but the Cur as obstinately rejected them, as if he had knowne beforehand what they were, so that they hurt him no more then the plague-plaister, sent in the Letter did Mr. Pym.

Read Observations, it's short and amusing, but alas Boy wasn't bulletproof and met his end at the battle of Marston Moor in 1644, which saw the Royalists defeated with Rupert himself having to flee the field.

I'm no expert but I think the figure in the foreground is a LAPLAND WITCH

On Charles' defeat, Rupert left England only to return at the Restoration and serve as an Admiral in the Second Dutch War. How did this bold cavalryman become an Admiral? Therein lies another tale. 

In the meanwhile, here at the Compound we salute you PROTR and your dog, what a good boye.

Cheers,

LSP

The Army Arrived

 

Well at least a part of it, and left all its kit in the Anteroom; got to go somewhere, in fairness, and why not lay down on a Moslem rug? That in mind, what do young soldiers do to pass the time? Many things, not least playing computer games with their pals around the world, in which they slay digital enemies.

So that's all good and, speaking of which, have we just witnessed the shortest ever civil war in Russian history? A 24 hour, ahem, coup, in which Prigozhin  gets a dacha in Belarus, WAGNER PMC folds into the Russian Army and 5th columnists and traitors get rounded up and killed while Putin consolidates his power base as rubbish generals are fired?

Possibly, but who knows. perhaps Prigozhin got ferociously drunk, drove most of the way to Moscow with his crew, sobered up, apologized, and made friends. Now he must go to Belarus, because that's so obviously not a potential second front.

I tell you, what a strange 24 hour evolution it's been. Regardless, our plan is this. Worship God in the morning at the Masses and then grill steak. Yes, steak, we can still afford meat here, if only just.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Jukebox Friday

 

By popular demand, here's Amie, by the Pure, ahem, Prairie League. And Hank Jnr., who's awesome when not posturing, thank you, Jim.

Can't you see? Quite. Here's my jukebox call.

Requests welcome.

Your Old Buddy,

LSP

Actium

Octavian, adopted son and great-nephew of Julius Caesar watched on from grey-eyed distance as his general, Agrippa, faced off against Mark Anthony and Cleopatra's fleet. 400 ships versus 500 ships in Antony's favor, and whoever won would rule the world.

no, not a negro

You can imagine the tension on Bridge, to put it mildly. Of course Agrippa won, sinking Antony's wretched fleet and Octavian, Augustus, emerged triumphant. We celebrate him still, August, and his uncle, July. Antony killed himself afterwards as did his lover, Cleopatra, who was a Ptolomaic Hellene and not an African American negro. 

Octavian went on to rule all that was, under the deadly eye of his mother. And his victory, Νίκη!, still resounds as remarkable. Wow, stand back in awe, a pal (acquaintance) made a song about it. Here it is:

Shades of Ost Front, what?

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Already The Axe Is Laid To The Root Of The Trees

 

Already, says John the Baptist, the axe is laid to the root of the trees. What a terrifying warning and it applies as much to us as it did in the days of the Baptizer. 

Do you think people and nations which sacrifice children in the womb to Pink Moloch, who celebrate blasphemous parodies of men and women and surgically mutilate children in the name of big trans money tolerance will somehow be allowed to stand?

Of course not, go against Truth, that which is, against God himself, and see how far it gets you, "And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." (Matt. 21:44)

No, you are not a woman, you demonic pedo freak

Terrifying, and as the stone drops and the axe lifts into its swing, the enemies of God and Man are being driven insane to the point at which they're not even able to define sex and gender. Male and female, our fundamental God-given identity, is beyond them. Lo and behold, they've erased their identity as humans in the name of identity politics. Welcome to the satanic hive mind and the abolition of man.

But enough of this cheery line of reasoning, let's cut to the chase. Here's Mr. Cash:

Tomorrow's the Feast of the Nativity of John The Baptist.

Salve,

LSP

The After Mass

 

One of the things that happens here is that we meet at 5.30 pm on Thursdays to worship God in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and no, this doesn't mean we blasphemously attempt to repeat the one all-sufficient sacrifice of Christ but rather, by grace, unite ourselves to it. 

Magnum mysterium, to put it mildly, sacramental unity with our Lord's paschal offering of himself for our atonement on Calvary. And right there in supernatural power  in Bosque County, Texas, there on the Altar was Christ's Body and Blood given and shed for us for the forgiveness of sins and the reconciliation of Man to God.

Heaven, for a moment, breaks through to us and we to heaven, "peace be to this house." Then we're dismissed with a benediction and vale, "May almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, this night and forevermore. The Mass has ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord."

Reflect on this. If Christ is truly present in the Mass, if we meet him and enter into communion with him in the Eucharist, for the forgiveness of of our sins, if all this is true how could any faithful person not want, fervently, to meet our Lord at the Last Supper which is Holy Communion? Yes, judgement for sure, but also mercy and infinite compassion.

That in mind, I was heartened by the congregation this evening, our worship is growing, and waved goodbye to the guys, "See you Saturday (men's group), I'm going fishing." And there it was, Soldiers Bluff, resting under a hot Texan sun, just a minute or two away from the church.

It was beautiful to be out by the water as the sun began to set and fun to catch a scad of little perch who went back in to fight again another day.

God bless you all,

LSP

Let's Calm Right Down - Fire On The Mountain

 

Yes indeed.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Cult & Culture

No Cult, No Culture, runs the slogan, along with Vatican Two Empty The Pew. The cult in question being the liturgy and worship of the Western Church which was eviscerated by liturgical geniuses in the late '60s, early '70s. And go figure, as the worship of the Church was destroyed so too was the culture from which it sprang. 

Here in Texas and around the world we're reversing this apostate trend. No guitar playing nuns, no priestesses, no liturgical dance, just the Altar against the East wall and the Mass done right. I tell you, it appeals to young people. And who can blame them?

Lex Orandi Lex Credendi,

LSP

Well Done Boy

We love it when our children do well and, of course, it grieves us when they don't. So well done boy on passing your promotion board this morning, by unanimous consent. This means he's off to Sergeant School in July.

front row, second from left

It's been a bit of a journey, both before and after he marched off the field at Benning, but he's risen to the challenge. Good work, keep it coming, and thanks again to LL for solid mentorship.

Happily,

LSP

Bluegill Fun

 

If yesterday, "Juneteenth," was all about celebrating famous Scots regiments, today's been about fishing. You see, the last two expeditions to Soldiers Bluff on Lake Whitney were busts, Fish 2, LSP 0 and that dismal record couldn't be allowed to stand. So, after Morning Prayer I geared up, climbed in the rig and headed south west for a counter offensive against the piscine adversary. 

Good thing too, the fish were jumping, predator bass after schools of shad and minnows. Seriously, no end of bait fish and the occasional bass strike thrashing up the water, so I cast off with a topwater torpedo. Big expectation, slow, twitchy retrieve and... nothing. Useless.

Try a worm, and guess what, almost instant tugs and ferocious little bites. Yes, bluegill were back in town and up they came, small at first, then larger. I tell you, those fierce and sometimes not so little beasts put up a fight. Tasty, too, but they all went back.

Then bass started blitzing for shad about 200 yards off, out of my casting range, but would they come in to shore? Almost, they got around 70 yards in and out went a topwater lure, which they hit with thrashing ferocity. I let it sit under assault and waited for an attack fish to take it down into the depths but that didn't happen. 

After a clamorous strike they bounced off and disappeared in search of other prey. The lure, with hindsight, was perhaps a little too large. Still, great action and a near miss or two made up for by brisk bluegill engagement. Fierce fish, light rod, big fun.

Bluegill in mind, I'll keep a few next time and fry 'em up, beer batter style, delicious.

Fish On,

LSP

Juneteenth!

 

Hurray! Hurray! It's Juneteenth! And what does that mean? Apparently an excuse to post some Scots. Here's these boys, all hail ASH with pipes.

Your Old Pal,

LSP