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

DFTR

Have you been scared of the virus and had to stay at home, cowering like a frightened little girl in your basement or whatever safe space came to hand? Such an awful affliction.

Here at the Compound we feel your onesie latte pain and want to help. Yes, with Blue Oyster Cult's notoriously awesome Don't Fear The Reaper.

DFTR,

LSP

Donald Trump And The Liberal Tears Factory

Via markmaycott. In other exciting news, I'm fixing to grill up some chicken kebabs later on, Turkish style, not that the Compound's in any way, shape or form in favor of Sultan Erdogan. In fact, we want to see the Bosphorus, Constantinople and Hagia Sophia back where it belongs.

Cheers,

LSP

A Sunday Reflection - The Wicked Tenants

Do you remember the parable of the wicked tenants, the murderous usurpers who attempt to steal a husbandman's vineyard for themselves only to come to a miserable end? (Matt. 34-44)

It's a terrifying warning. What will happen to the tenants who beat, stone and kill the owner's servants and murder his son, asks Jesus of the priests and elders. They reply, unwittingly condemning themselves, "He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen, which shall render him the fruits in their seasons." (Matt. 21:41) 

So it came to pass, and I usually take the opportunity to wax large on the siege of Jerusalem and beat on the iniquitous, apostate heretics infesting the Western Church. Watch out, you brood of vipers or the vineyard will be taken from you.

All well and good, and doubtless an appropriate sermon at, say, the Church of England's York Synod or the Episcopal Church's General Convention. But pause for a moment and consider the features of the vineyard.

It stands for Israel of course, planted by God, with a hedge, the Law, a winepress, the Altar, and a watchtower, the Temple. All of this is present in the new Israel of the Church, which is called to "render him the fruits in their seasons." What is this fruit and where is it offered?

On the wine press which sits between hedge and tower, Law and Temple, as does the Cross between the Incarnation and the Resurrection. And what is the Cross but Christ's sacrificial altar, on which the perfect fruit of the vineyard, righteousness, the Word made flesh, is offered to the Father.

The fruit then, ultimately, is Christ himself, righteousness incarnate, sacrificed on Calvary, and we enter into union with this offering and "yield it up" sacramentally at the altars of of our churches. There, we abide in Christ and he in us. "Abide in me, and I in you," says Jesus,  "As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me." (Jn. 15:4)

This, surely, is the endeavor of the Christian life; as faithful tenants of the vineyard to live ever more closely in Christ, offering up the fruit which is pleasing to the Father, Jesus himself. And as we do, by the grace of God and the working of the Spirit, become channels of his righteousness in the world. 

Unless you're a wicked heretic of course, in which case the concluding words of our Lord ring true with awful effect, "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) 

And so we come full circle. Take note, Justsin Welby and, for that matter, everyone else.

God bless,

LSP

Out of Control Swine

According to Zerohedge the US feral swine population is exploding, with an estimated 1.5 wild hogs in Texas alone.

The pigs weigh between 75 and 250 pounds on average and can run up to 30 miles an hour. They're fast. Of course some pigs are larger, like this 300 pounder shot by a churchman's nephew a couple of nights ago.

But out of control swine aren't limited to Texas. They're advancing across the country at a rate of around 35,000 square miles a year. My old pal GWB shot this one in Georgia the other evening.

The ferocious tuskers cause more than $2 billion worth of damage every year. And no wonder, have you seen a field that's been attacked by pigs? Looks like an exploded minefield.

America's out of control swine are hybrids, a cross between the European wild boar and domestic pigs, creating a new breed of super-pig, with all the genetic advantages of the Euro Boar and its domestic US cousin.

Here at the Compound we remind all readers that there's no bag limit on these savage, diseased predators. Remember, too, to pray for POTUS' speedy recovery.

The number of feral swine living within DC's infamous Beltway is currently unknown.

Root and Branch,

LSP

Cooking With LSP - Fish on Friday

Cooking with LSP? That's a great idea. Look, enough of your sarcasm, here's how it's done. Get on a boat and catch some Striper, then watch in awe as your Guide fillets the fish in a fraction of the time it'd take you. Guide magic, but hey, it's his job. Next step?

Take the fillets back home and put 'em in the fridge, only to be taken out later in the day. Behold their piscine glory and as you do, pour an inch or two of oil into some heavy metal (dutch oven), put this on medium/high heat along with a candy thermometer. As the oil does its thing, wash the fish, salt and pepper it, and leave it on a cutting board while you prepare the batter. This is easy.

Put 1 cup of flour into  a mixing bowl, glass or plastic, your call. I use glass, not being Eastern European. Then add 1 teaspoon of baking powder, a pinch of salt, some cracked pepper and whisk it about. 

Job well done, pour in a bottle of beer or soda water and stir it up. The mixture should end up like thinnish pancake batter. But that's not all, put half a cup of flour in a bowl next to the batter, you'll use this to dredge the fish.

Done? Salute your endeavor with a glass of wine or something else, your call, no rule, but don't take too long, there's oil to be watched. So glance over at your heavy metal and check the oil's temperature. It should be between 365-70 degrees.

This is important. If the oil's too hot it'll ignite and destroy your kitchen like some kind of air bomb, you don't want that. If it's not, whatever's being fried will sit in the unpleasant oil and become a greasy mess. So, make sure it's hot, I recommend 370*, this will fry your fish without it becoming a grease nightmare.

This achieved, take a piece of fish,  dredge it in flour, coat it in batter and place it in the heavy metal. Watch it boil and fry as you add more fillets to the cauldron. You'll know when they're done, crispy, golden brown awesomeness. 

And just for kicks you can do the same thing for a side, I went down the onion ring route, you may choose differently, your choice.

Then fall upon your scoff, like a warrior,

LSP

Listen Up

Imagine you were a church or denomination which says it believed in the divinely ordered givenness of human sexuality, male and female he created them.

Likewise, you hold marriage as something which takes place between a man and woman. More than this, you think babies shouldn't be killed in the womb, not least at the point of birth, and that Jesus is God, the Christ, and his commandments, his Word should be obeyed.

I know, it may be hard, but try to imagine it. Then picture a group of people violently, enthusiastically in favor of abortion. People who believe gender's a construct, gay marriage a right and Christ, at best, one guru amongst many. And in his Western expression, a racist oppressor.

That in mind, you'd expect the churches concerned to stand together and denounce a movement which is antithetical to their belief, Christianity, and to do so clearly, unanimously and loudly. But no.

The Roman Catholic church? Silent or busy making deals with Communist China. The Anglican Church in North America? All about investigating "systemic racism." The venerable Church of England? Very upset about racism and statues. Baptists? Crickets.

Granted, there's notable exceptions, like Cardinal Vigano and priests like Fr. Altman and Fr. Goring in Canada. But this is rare and in ACNA, the Anglican Church in North America, the silence is deafening or even complicit.

Churches, listen up. Cowardice in the face of the enemy won't win you any favors. Stand and be counted while you still have that option in the public square. 

The fight is on, and don't kid yourselves that people who hate, scorn and despise you aren't coming to shut you down.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

PS. Whether the Jesuits should be suppressed, again, is an entirely valid question.

Joe Biden Urfa Man

 

Did you watch last night's presidential debate? If so, you may have noticed the Grim Creeper's uncanny resemblance to Urfa Man. It was the eyes, staring out at you like dark, soulless obsidian. 

Never mind the insults, interruptions and outright deceit, look at the eyes set in a face of skin-stretched plastic surgery. The face is fake, the message is fake, a collection of media endorsed talking points, but the eyes are real, a window into the soul.

And what do they reveal? A void. A hollow candidate with nothing to say beyond worn out agitprop, Racist! Virus! Nazi! And all from what was once a man who used to boost segregationalist klansmen Senators. Back to Urfa Man. Trump's not fake, he is who is, good or ill.

Biden's something else again, unreal and inhuman, a career politician who's made millions from inside-the-beltway graft. Seriously, like a wicked game show host he's grown rich off the fat of the land. 

And as with the obsidian-eyed statue, he has no soul, he's hollow, his essence has been sold to the highest bidder, and what looks out at you is an ersatz facsimile of what used to be human.

To put it another way, he's a demonstrably corrupt, lying, phony, evil career politician, who's made millions of dollars through plying his faked-up trade. He's at it still, in his wired 78 year old dotage.

I ask you, what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?

Good question, eh?

LSP