Assumption

 

Today's the great Feast of the Assumption and the Compound's celebrating with garlic, spring onion, and ginger stir fried pork, sweet and sour to boot. It's not hard, just shake it up in an iron skillet or wok and off you go. But some people don't like this.

"The Assumption, that aptly named feast," said one famous Anglican cleric. And for sure, it's not in Scripture but is it "repugnant to the Word of God"? Of course not. If Elijah can get assumed into heaven why shouldn't the same be true of the incomparably more holy ever virgin Mother of God? No, they snarl, that's idolatry. But is it. 

At this point in time excessive reverence of the saints is the least of our worries. Where, really, do our idols lay? Not in plaster, polychrome images of holy men and women, but in wealth and power, in Mammon. In worldly, carnal, atheistic disbelief.

To put it another way, if you conducted a thorough interrogation of an average congregation, asking the hapless Christian captive what thing or series of things was most important in their lives, their god, what would you get?

I'll wager the fighting monkey that it wouldn't be Mary or her divine Son. And therein lies the decline of the Western Church, call it apostasy if you like. In the meanwhile, the unpleasantly lib/smug Atlantic magazine's run an article saying the Rosary's an extremist war symbol. Well yes, especially if you're a Turk at Lepanto.

House of Gold,

LSP

Meet The New Rig Almost The Same As The Old Rig

 

Finally bit the bullet and got a new rig, which meant reaching over to the monkey, yes, a floor safe, extracting necessary bullion from the snarling simian and driving to Dallas and a cash only dealership. Run by Iraqis, no less.

There it was, a fleet 2018 F150 4x4, low miles, realistically way under dealership price, and it drove well, the truck I was after. So I bought the V8 beast, cash on the nail, and drove it back to the Compound, where it sat looking powerful next to the old rig. But not for long.

After Mass at Mission #1, a young soldier came downstairs; no, not to go to Mass at Mission #2, "Dad, there's a Battalion recall, I've got to get back in an hour." I pondered this for about a second, "Good thing there's an extra truck. Take it, don't crash, insurance docs in the glove compartment." And off he went back to the Hood where, apparently, someone had scored a DUI causing the Battalion to parade. Huh. 

In the meanwhile, the new rig's a definite upgrade, with a spacious cab, icy AC, a computer which tells you things, 4x4, and these massive great off road tires. Awesome. But... and I can't grumble given the price/miles, it has an IWE vacuum issue, maybe a faulty check valve, certainly a cracked hose. Easy fixes for cheap, rubbish, built to fail plastic/rubber parts. So, I'll get the rig checked out tomorrow.

Ride On,

LSP

FEROX

Note razor sharp Kukri. Thanks, LL.

Your Old Buddy,

LSP

 

Broumas Memorial Park

Well it's all fine and dandy until a literal TANK starts rolling. I know you know, but there it is, these massive beasts, rolling on, and utter respect to LT. COL Broumas. He died in '69 with a chestful of medals and grateful vets set up a memorial park in Fort Hood. Look, here's a Priest:

And a tank. Note the Fiddy

Low Pro? Yet another Fiddy (above) and some typical Sov rubbish from Iraq. Check it out:

 Jagdpanzers in UKR? Still, what a massive beast. But I like this little fella, handy range taxi, eh?

Panzers roll,

LSP

The Streets Of Olde Dallas

 

The halcyon streets of Dallas, so glitzy, right? Yes indeed, but there's a reverse side of the medal.

Just look at that sidewalk. Land of the free, home of the brave

And don't forget all important razor wire

But all's not bad, there's always the leafy glens of Olde Dallas.

And lest we forget, shade trees are important in the furnace.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Time Travel

 

Do you remember the days when we were able to afford meat? Yes, actual meat which we cooked on carbon footprint grills. Perhaps you recall that halcyon time and here at Dallas HQ we dialed back the clock last night to relive them.

After a brief dimensional shudder, a rip in the fabric of space and time, there it was, a grill with two New York strips sizzling above the charcoal.

Quick! Grill those bad boys before the Rainbow Time Cops bust down your door like so many SWAT teams ransacking Mar-a-Lago. Then let those steaks rest as you consider the future you've just escaped, a crazy timeline where America's run by a power mad gerontocracy, the Uniparty.

Can the future be changed by going back in time? And if so, where do we start? Perhaps with General Lee winning the War or Archduke Ferdinand's assassin apprehended before he took the fatal shot which set the end of Western civ in motion. But why stop there.

Portal through to the 11th C, stop the Eastern Schism, perhaps a saint speaks sense, turn the 1st Crusade into an allied operation against the Moslem horde and... Asia Minor would still be Christian, to say nothing of the Bosphorus. 

βασιλική Ἄννα Κομνηνή, Princess Anna Comena would rejoice.

Xαῖρε,

LSP

Prophecy

 

Imagine your Grandson, a citizen of the future, a place of flying cars, massive arcologies and limitless fusion power, a place of peace. He looks up at you innocently and asks, "What was it like, Grand Father? Back in the '20s?" And we look back at the child through hoary eyes, looking back in time.

"Well, son, we had to take a vaccine that wasn't a vaccine. We weren't allowed to leave the country. And there was an election that wasn't an election and we didn't know the difference between a man and a woman. 

"So we sent all our money to a country that used to exist in Eastern Europe to give Raytheon and Lockheed Martin even more money than they already had. They called that country 'Ukraine;' now it's part of Russia, Poland and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. And there was Climate Change, which meant a tax to make us richer even though it made us poorer."

Picture the young 'un scratching his head as he plays with your razor sharp saber, "But, Grandfather, why did they do such a thing?" The innocence of youth! "Because, you see, they were driven insane by the evil spirit, by Satan. Its outward and visible sign, you understand sacraments, was Drag Queen Story Hour."

Seriously, we've sent another billion bucks, yes, a BILLION, to our corrupt Ukrainian satrapy and for why? Because Western Values? Laugh your way to the nearest trans toilet. ROI? Now you're talking, and with it the golden opportunity to carve up Russia itself.

Word to the wise, going to war with Russia has a way of going badly, see Napoleon and Hitler. But perhaps this time will be an exception to the rule because we're led by the great Philosopher Kings of the DC Genius Patrol.

Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam,

LSP

A Good Sunday

 

After spirited, uplifting Sunday worship we ended up at Fort Hood's training grounds. Well, one of the entrances to the thing, and there it was, big Texas under a big sky and enough space for big Army III Corps to do its not inconsiderable thing, and then some.

The kid's proud to be part of that and fair play to him, I would be too, "Look, dad, this is where we ruck, and check out the 15 yard sight-in ranges, dead on at 300." Several motor pool drive-bys and a pit stop for food later we landed at the home of 57th Expeditionary Signals BN  (Enhanced) and that was that, "Train hard, think positive, fight easy," I offered by way of UKLF inspirational cozy farewell, and was met with a grin.

What a good result and what a good Sunday. The Sacred Mysteries offered, ite missa est, a son fast becoming a man under the watchful and doubtless patient eyes of good Command, thank you NCOs and Officers, and Fort Hood itself. Great result.

Next time I'll visit some of the post's museums, stay tuned.

God bless,

LSP

Alright? Rollright

 

Years ago, whaddya do? Drive out of London for the ROLLRIGHT STONES. Set up with a few tarps, grill venison on ye olde homely fire pit, drink a few Hackney Spritzers and then go to the stones as the Moon waxes full.

And there they were, us and the ancient stones themselves, shining in the silvery light of the moon, so ghostly Selene. Witch way? But no Wild Hunt. No UFOs. No ghosts. No portals to another time and space, or were there? Maybe not so fast.

Mr. Winwood sings about it in his acclaimed song:

Rock on kids,

LSP

Look What Happens

 

You take a short break from mind blogging and lo and behold, war nearly breaks out in Serbia/Kosovo, Azerbeijan/Armenia, Taiwan and, in fact, does on the Gaza Strip. Huh, let that be a warning. 

nice cope, rubbish collar

In other news, something called the "Lambeth Conference" is going on in Canterbury, in which the Anglican Communion reaffirms its commitment to heterosexual marriage but equally affirms its gay provinces which don't. The phrase "utterly useless apostate mountebanks" springs to mind.

Grads

More happily, a young soldier's in the house on a weekend pass. This seems to mean playing FPS (First Person Shooter) games with a Death Metal pal in Calgary on the internet, at great volume. Most annoying, but so much better than other alternatives, let the reader understand. And in fairness, the kid gets up at 0500, runs around and does the soldier thing, which is good.

get outta there

He's good at it too, in a rambunctious, fast charging 22 year old kind of way, and's set to become a Team Leader next month. Well done, kid. He deploys to Africa in April '23 for a year, which I think's a good thing. He'll be working with some interesting people.

random Dubonnet Cat marketing

But that's in the future. Here and now, being in the great state of Texas isn't dissimilar to living in a preheating oven. Character building, what? Blessings on this Feast of the Transfiguration.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Let's Get Funky

 

Hey now. All hail Detroit and well done, girls.

Cheers,

LSP

Sol Invictus

 

The sun rises over Texas, incandescent, unrelenting, invictus, unconquered. Do we back down and hide, skulking like so many knaves in our air conditioned dens? No, we stride out to meet the challenge, all the way to the nearest Pick 'n Steal.

Sure enough, there's modern age debris strewn across the way. A rubberized glove, some ear defenders, but no weaves, dime bags (right price, Ed?), needles, losing lottery tickets and beat up VIP passes to Taylor Swift gigs. Such is life in this blighted second decade of the Great Reset.

No matter Green New Deal, whoever said life'd be easy? Here's our 81 million vote beloved ruler, Old Joe, whom everyone loves:

Your Very Best Pal,

LSP