Cantique de Jean Racine

Gentlemen and women, you might want to rent a blue tooth speaker for the Cantique because this version's sound challenged. Still, appropriate for the time, d'ye not think?

Some of you may be thinking muh flu, deepstate hoax. I'd urge you to go here, here and here.

Whatever the case, mourn the death of Western Christendom, what's left of her. Strive to rebuild. And remember.

An armed citizen is a citizen. Not a slave.

Your best Pal,

LSP

Walking The Eschaton

It was like a midsummer day in Borth on the Welsh Riviera. Overcast, a drizzling rain, not too cold, not too hot but no, this was North Central Texas and time to take Blue Eschaton for a walk.

The streets were empty, because of the Chinese Virus or because they always are? A mystery, and so was our old friend the Meth Shack. The Shack's under new management, who've been busy gutting the place with a view, presumably, to newer and better renters. Good luck with that worthy project.

Mourning the passing of an age, we advanced to the Pick 'n Steal. It still stands, essential business in the midst of lockdown. I tethered the Eschaton to an empty newspaper vending machine and went inside for a coffee "refill" in an invincible Yeti mug. 

The store's Owl Idol looked down with unflinching eyes on its supplicants, the usual crew of pajama wearin', slipper shufflin', lottery playin', blunt buyin' punters. There they were and there it was. Reassured that some things never change, I walked the furry apocalypse back to the Compound, mission accomplished. And then a curious thing happened.

Within a space of minutes, clouds rolled in from the north and with them a fierce wind. The temperature dropped like a stone in seconds, taking us from Borth in August to Borth in April. Fearing a Polar Vortex, I showed the Eschaton inside to warmth and safety.

Poor dog. You can imagine, centuries later, explorers discovering an elderly Heeler encased in ice, the remains of a fried cherry pie in his mouth, frozen where he stood on the awful day the Climate Changed.

That aside, I hope you've all managed to recover your firearms from the lakes and rivers and sensibly saved on SCUBA by use of powerful magnets and sturdy ropes.

God bless,

LSP

Arm Up You Fools

A lot of people lost all their firearms and ammo in boating accidents over the last year, and that's a tragedy. Maybe now's  a good time to hire SCUBA teams to salvage?

Just a thought, as looting and two-bit lawlessness starts to break out here and there. To be succinct, in the words of one of our London correspondents, "Junkies are fighting outside my window." The supply chain's diminished, you see.

Trump sends a letter to Sen. Schumer and it is worth reading in full. pic.twitter.com/jrvFnEI8oa

— Kaitlan Collins (@kaitlancollins) April 2, 2020

In other news, the Pelosi/Schumer combine have started a new impeachment drive because they can't kick the habit, viz. junkies, and 45's announced war on the cartels. Meghan Markle, on the other hand, has made a stunning debut on Disney.

Coal Burner?

Whatever. Message to market. Arm up, be prepared. It's simple math and you've lost nothing for following it. Heck, you can always shoot the rounds later if they're not needed. 

As it is, they might be.

God bless,

LSP

Stardust

I love this song, calms you right down.

Your Friend,

LSP

Coronavirus Pandemic, Day 16.

Here's a report, from a survivor:

If anyone is still out there, I’m alive but struggling. Food is running low. Down to only 459 days worth. My hands are super sanitized and my butt is super clean.

Down to 1599 rounds of ammo (dropped 1 round down the heat vent while doing daily inventory). Power still on, but for how long? 

Missing human interaction but I have my dogs... for now... (I'm soaking their food in BBQ sauce in an attempt to marinate them from the inside in case I have to eat them). I fear dark days ahead. News is all bad. Neighbors have attempted to leap from windows to their death, (or near death... most have single story homes so they are badly bruised). 

Blew through most Amazon Prime TV series so may have to rewatch some again. Basic Survival is a definite challenge. I vow to persevere to the end, I am a survivor! 

Please, if there is life out there, communicate with me to help preserve my sanity.

*Copy and pasted from another fellow survivor *

For a viral roundup see Zero. For something more chilling, check out Aesop.

Cheers,

LSP

The Left Fears This

Full screen, please, and can't say as I blame 'em, what? Monkey on the home team.

#5w,

LSP

Tin Soldier

Here we go now,

LSP

Navajo Bread -- Cooking With LSP

What, cooking with LSP? That's both dangerous and stupid. Not so fast, punters, here's how it's done. First up, gaze wonderingly at all your wisely stockpiled flour and ask, what're you gonna do with it, eh? Make bread, obviously, Navajo Bread. It's easy and goes like this.

Put 2 cups of regular stockpiled flour in a mixing bowl. Add 1 stockpiled teaspoon salt, then follow that bad boy up with a tablespoon of baking soda. Throw in two teaspoons of hoarded vegetable oil and a teaspoon of salt. Or not, anarchist, your call.

Whisk it about but don't run off and fall asleep under the nearest tree like some kind of Mexican, your job's not done. No, add lukewarm water to the mix until it becomes a tacky, shaggy, workable dough. Around one cup perhaps.

Then mix that beast up, put it on a floured surface and knead the thing until it's elastic, around three or four minutes. Well done, congratulate yourself on getting this far and place the dough in an "oiled container," the original mixing bowl will do. Cover it up and let rest for an hour.

Next step? Cut the dough into six pieces. Roll each piece flat on a floured surface and fry the offerings in a hot, oiled, iron skillet. Don't be an idiot and burn the delicious bread, take each piece off the heat as brown spots occur and it's obviously done. 

You'll find, if all goes well with the culinary odyssey, that you end up with something like a cross between a tortilla and a naan. Awesome on both counts. And then, bread on hand...

Fall on your scoff like a warrior,

LSP

Lazarus Come Forth

Here's a short reflection on today's Gospel:

We see Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. This is terrifying because it confronts us with our own mortality, like Lazarus we're destined for death. As Ash Wednesday reminds us, "Remember, O Man, that thou art dust and to dust thou shall return."

Rather than face this unsettling truth we're inclined to run from it, to pretend immortality, and the culture around us bolsters the myth. We live in a world which has pushed death to the sideline, as if by denying it we will by some strange alchemy remove its specter. "You will not surely die," says the snake, eat of the apple "and you will be as God." (Gen. 3:4-5)

Satanic deceit and DFTR aside, the recent crisis has punctured the bubble of our supposed, godlike immortality. A disease looms over us which can be fatal, we must thank God that it's not more so, and over which we have little control, there is no cure. 

No wonder, then, that society around us is panicking. Our mortality, the very thing we've imagined out of existence, stares us in the face, the bubble is burst. Today's Gospel confronts us with the reality and tragedy of the thing. Lazarus is dead, Jesus wept. But consider.

Lazarus is dead and can do nothing about it, he has no power to help himself in the grave and neither do we. Christ, however, does.  He raises his friend to life, "Lazarus, come forth!" and Lazarus returns, alive, after four days in the tomb. 

We see that Jesus, the only begotten Son of God, has power over death. He defeats it himself, dying on the Cross only to rise again, triumphant over Hell, and he will raise us up too, his friends, his faithful, as he raised Lazarus.

So, in the words of our Lord who walked over the waters to his disciples, "be not afraid." (Jn. 6:20) Have no fear, we live in Christ, we are his friends, and neither the grave nor Pit has any power over us. We share in his victory, alive in him, to  everlasting life.

Take courage and rejoice in the mystery of our salvation and may God bless, preserve and keep you all, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Here endeth the Lesson, 

LSP

Victory Over The Turk

Sultan Erdogan wasn't happy with his failed drive to expand his wannabe Caliphate further into Syria, his embarrassment at the hands of Vladimir Putin, and declining popularity at home. There he sat, a dismal failure with a wretched 41% approval rating, hardly the stuff of Ottoman Imperial glory. So the Sultan turned West.

Humiliated by Putin And Forced to Stand Under Catherine The Great

In a bold barbarian attempt at blackmail, Erdogan told the European Union that the billions they'd paid him in 2016 to keep millions of unemployed military aged males from their borders wasn't enough. No, they had to pay him more, and when they didn't he opened the Turkish border to Greece, the gateway to Europe and the ultimate prize, Rome itself. The Big Apple.

Asylum Seekers

The Sultan was apparently counting on the multicultural, diversity is our strength, Islam's a religion of peace weakness of the West and Greece in particular. He might have failed in Syria but by the Beard of the Prophet, Greece would be annexed by a sheer movement of people rolling over a hollowed out, supine people, ready and waiting to be dhimmi slaves of the Ottoman overlord.

Rapefugees With Ladder

So thousands of Afghans, Iraqis, Libyans, a few Syrians and the contents of Turkish jails were unleashed on the Greek border. Greece said no, you can't come in. The Moslems lit fires, threw tear gas with the help of Erdogan's operators, attempted to storm the border fence with makeshift ladders. And still Greece said no as Austria and Poland sent the beleaguered country reinforcements to man the border while patriots offered the Hellenes a Gurkha Greek Legion (GGL) to assist in the fight.

The Miserable Turkish Camp

As of yesterday, the Sultan has withdrawn his army from the Greek border to undisclosed locations in the barbarian hinterland, after torching its makeshift and miserable camp. A victory for Greece and the West, a resounding defeat for the Turk.

Is the fight over? No, a battle's been won and thank God for it, but the war continues.

Deus Vult,

LSP

Adrenochrome Come Down

Living in Special Times............thank GOD for imagination and fried fish! 🐠🐠🐠 #quarantine #covid_19 #staysafe #becreative pic.twitter.com/AsStqQObOO

— Madonna (@Madonna) March 20, 2020

A lot of people are asking, "What's an Adrenochrome come down look like?" Here at the Compound we're happy to supply the answer, "Look no further, readers."

#quarantine #covid_19 #staysafe #becreative pic.twitter.com/DvU0i8GZzX

— Madonna (@Madonna) March 21, 2020

Adrenochrome medical studies report that the high level drug triggers "psychotic reactions such as thought disorder, derealization, euphoria and dissociation."

Bob Fosse is always a good distraction. Feeling inspired to write my own musical!! Feel free to make suggestions! 🎭🎤🎼🎬. #quarantine #staysafe #becreative #bobfosse pic.twitter.com/2nBsviiKQB

— Madonna (@Madonna) March 26, 2020

The elite, sought after drug is harvested in vivo from the adrenal gland of living humans, or by oxidizing epinephrine. Users typically exhibit fits of bizarre, narcissistic withdrawal and borderline to extreme psychosis.

Madonna, get well. You're better off without it!

Your Friend,

LSP

Shopping In The Plague Year

“And here I must observe again, that this necessity of going out of our houses to buy provisions was in a great measure the ruin of the whole city; for the people catched the distemper, on these occasions, one of another.” 

Daniel Defoe, History of the Plague in London.

Mindful of Mr. Defoe's admonition, I traveled to Walmart, not so much to shop as reconnoiter. The shelves were mostly full of necessities such as milk, bags of frozen fish, even a small amount of flour, though there was little meat. But there were few enough people to take advantage of the newly provisioned shelves. 

Stuck between the menace of Scylla and Charybdis, of the pest looming North to Dallas and South to Waco, they had stayed at home, such that you could fire a canon down dairy to beyond and not hit a soul. Still, some few had ventured out. 

Several, like myself, on reconnaissance. They stared silently at newly restocked pizzas and looked in vain for dry goods. Others, actual shoppers, pushed carts full of supplies. Some wore face bandannas as impromptu masks and  plastic gloves as protection from the plague. Both, doubtless, made in China.

I left the store with a Four Cheese pizza and a bottle of red wine and the words of Luke's Gospel echoing:

"...as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man: People were eating and drinking, marrying and being given in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all..." (Lk 17: 26-27)

What a moment. Pope Francis in pouring rain, praying alone from the steps of an empty St Peter’s square.

“We are all in the same ship. We cannot make it alone. Only together.”
pic.twitter.com/aa2o3nrNRl

— Joyce Karam (@Joyce_Karam) March 27, 2020

Lest it do, pray with Pope Francis that this pestilence will pass over us and take note of his prayers before the miraculous crucifix of St. Marcellus and the icon of Mary Salus Populi Romani. A friend commented, "Ancient and spectacular and terrifying."

Ave,

LSP