Tuesday, December 6, 2016

As soon as I find out where, I'll let you know


Comment when you see it....I'll wait...


If wirecutter made chocolates


I can also see him as Willy Motherfucking Wonka just
so he could hang around with a bunch of orange midgets.

Only if someone promises to use me in a fake seance

Seattle-based company, Artful Ashes, will take a small smattering (about 1 ounce) of your loved one's cremains and swirl it into an artful blown glass globe or heart. This is a  beautiful memorial of your beloved to prominently display; or use as a paperweight, costing around $145 per piece.

I don't know, but this sounds like an AWESOME premise for a horror movie, The Haunted Orb of Death. A man murders his wife, has her cremated to hide the evidence, but has some of the cremains placed in a beautiful glass orb. He keeps it on the mantle, in full view of his new wife, formerly his mistress that demanded he leave his wife for her. It flies off the mantle and bashes the new wife in the head, then settles back in its spot covered in blood, hair and brain matter. The husband is charged with the second wife's murder, convicted and executed; his cremains placed in another orb and set next to the original. And so it goes. What do you think?




Microaggression Snowflake Trigger Warning

As if they hadn't driven their collective bus off the cliff with post-election safe spaces, Snowflake feminists are now calling for a ban on the classic Winter song, "Baby, It's Cold Outside" because it "promotes rape". Or something. I seriously doubt any of the little darlings have actually seen the movie that features it.

An original piece from the 1949 MGM movie musical, Neptune's Daughter, the song is sung by TWO different couples; one in which the man is the "aggressor", and shockingly overlooked, one in which the woman is the aggressor. It's not a story of rape; it's the charmingly sung and slyly choreographed age-old mating dance between a man and a woman. It's about a charming seducer, and the coyly seduced. Nothing more, nothing less.

Snowflakes, my advice to you (as if you'd take it), is trade your training pants in for some big gender-inclusive pants, pull those bitches up, and join the adult world of getting the fuck over yourselves. And while you're at it, pull your favorite gender-fluid person of emotional interest close (after having received an affirmative "yes") and watch the movie. You might learn a little something.


He's a Doberman Pragmatist


Monday, December 5, 2016

What? Too soon?


Blessings of Family and Tribe

The Rowe Family has reached their goal, and I know a lot of you and wirecutter's readers extended your help and prayers. I want to tell you how proud and grateful I am to have such a wonderful group of friends. I've always considered us to be Tribe.

Joshua, Patriot Extraordinaire that he was, understood thoroughly the concept of Tribe. He instinctively understood the bonds that form between people of like minds and spirits; the men in the Patriot community who talked with him on Facebook or through emails saw it in him, as he did in them. Tribe.

We come together when one of us is in trouble, in pain. We lift up and support each other in good times and bad. We are Tribe, and it's this bond, this throwback to community spirit of times gone by, that drew me to the Patriot movement. Not just the ideological parallels, but the way each man and woman lives with principle and honor. They way we care for each other. The way we come together.
Some have taken advantage of this good nature; that's fine, they were exposed and dealt with. But for the most part, Patriots are as reluctant to ask for help as they are eager to offer it. When a True Patriot breaks down and asks, you know their backs are to the wall; and 99% of the time, they only ask if they have loved ones depending on them. They are also some of the first to offer aid whenever they're able.

My wish for each of you is the Blessings of Family and Tribe; may you always have a soft place to land, and warm heart to hold you, and strong arms to lift you up.

Oh shit! Here comes Monday!


Pamplona has The Running of the Bulls.
This guy has The Running of the Hens.