Tripwires and telltales in the runup to war

BCE runs through some of ‘em, which list includes one of our most beloved warbirds around these h’yar parts. So naturally, despite my near-total disinterest in Biden’s Needless and Futile War against Russia via the Ukraine, I couldn’t possibly restrain myself from mentioning it here.

Now that the wars are over, the majority of NG units are back to the trash they were BEFORE Iraq and Affy ‘went live’ so, in this case, my guess? Ass and Trash Mission to support bringing in MOAR trigger-pullers…My guess? A Battalion or Two of Heavy Armor (M1A2s in 1st Armored Division) as this Krainian ‘thang’ is almost a pure Armor fight…the fucked up thing is that we haven’t heard shit about any A-10s being moved

THATS the TRUE ‘tripwire’. Even tho the zoomies FINALLY got the A-10 kil’t off, they’ll still be in use, in the ANG/Reserves until 2029, but they’re RUSHING to get rid of them, even tho the Flying Turducken ain’t anywhere CLOSE to being a capable substitute. You hear/see/RUMINT the A-10s moving and sure AF war is coming ‘cos besides CAS (Close Air Support) Anti-Armor War is what the A-10 was literally designed for.

Now, the aforementioned A-10?

Yep…well….

Seems that they have 2 Full Squadrons of A-10s

Attached to the Army Reserve

Not for nuthin’ BUT

IF you hear of ANY Air-Notional Guard Units at Moody AB in Georgia or any Army Reserve (Air) Units of A-10s getting activated, THAT is the ‘tripwire’ IMHEO (In My Highly Edjamahcated Opinion) then it’s now ‘off to the races’ in the Kraine. The F-35 Flying Turducken, despite the claims, is utterly incapable of CAS (Close Air Support) never mind ackchullydoing– REAL anti-armor shit like the A-10 was like, oh, I dunno…specifically designed to do during the Cold War!?!

Myself, I’da put “Flying” in sneer quotes before “Turducken,” but that’s a quibble, a mere bagatelle—a matter of style, not substance, as such only barely worth even mentioning. Anyways. Onwards.

SO Long Story Short:

You hear about A-10 Movements, it means it’s on like Donkey Kong. There’s ONLY 281 +/- A-10s left, and literally nothing in our inventory that can do what it does. So WHEN they start moving, prep for fecal oscillation storm inbound.

Big Country carries on from there with more analysis of what’s really going on with all this shite, beginning with US armor (in)capabilites—a gruesome sit-rep enlivened by plenty of been-there-done-that-WAY-too-many-times insider know-how—to arrive at a conclusion most gruesome, but nonetheless inescapable:

We go? Lots of body bags are going to be needed, and as someone earlier mentioned on Gab, we’re going to need a LOT of Graves Registration folks…Never mind a slug fest at 500 meters with NO air support…Air Support IMO is going to be ‘spotty’ at best as even OUR Air Farce hasn’t had a peer-to-peer challenge since the 60’s, and even then, the North Vietnamese and SOME of the Russians flying like the ‘Flying Tigers’ (contract gigs for experience points) shot a LOT of our guys down, which is actually why ‘the Top Gun’ school got set up…and the Rus these days purely own the skies over the Kraine.

If anything Ivan now knows HOW WE FIGHT as we trained the fucking tard-Krainians in OUR BATTLE TACTICS for use AGAINST THE RUSSIANS. And apparently, ‘the Book’ we used was dated from the “Time of Stalin” ‘cos man, they sure as fuck have adapted, improvised and kicked the fucking toofuses in of the Krainians stupid enough to utilize OUR book on the implementation of war against the Russians…And we keep crossing lines without impact…Note to our Leadershit:

Wir sind soooooooooo tot

(Look it up)

Having gleaned a VERY small smattering of Churman words and phrases from Brack back in our schoolboy days, I could readily recollect (to my own astonishment) what wir meant, but was at sea completely with the rest. So I did as duly and lawfully instructed and looked it up, and the translation is as follows:

We are soooooooooo dead.

That’s the fact, Jack. Not that the politicos, punditry, and sundry other shitlib bags of reeking shit—rabidly, unalterably antiwar, each and every last one of ‘em, until they maneuvered Their Boy into the White (bag) House—will be in the least troubled by it. Hell, for those evil schweinhundfickers, that only makes Bribem’s Unwinnable War proposition even more attractive.mjnk

MOAR NUKES, PLEASE!

Stat.

During the recent power outages and denial of interweb service, I took up reading a book I picked up a while back on a subject I have always had questions: The Case for Nukes: How We Can Beat Global Warming and Create a Free, Open, and Magnificent Future by Robert Zubrin (Polaris Books 2023). It’s a very thoughtful argument that debunks the toxic falsehoods that have been spread to dissuade us from using it by the ignorant, the fearful, and the fanatical from returning to the use of Nuclear power as a remedy to our festering Twenty First Century problems. Here’s a quick synopsis of what I culled from his book.

In a very literal sense, energy technologies have molded humanity. The invention of cooking with fire by those small brained Homo Habilis dudes cut the metabolic energy needed to digest meat, making it safer to consume and allowing the primates to eat more small animals or their enemies. Evolution directed some of these surplus calories to their brains, enabling the hungry organ to grow in size and ability, leading to the industrious little guys, Homo Erectus, the forerunner (to) us, the Bozo Sapien.

Over the millennia, humans learned to harness fire to smoke meats, craft pottery, bend metal, and more, forming much of the material basis of the pre-fossil fuel world. Wood power (or what is now called “biomass”) was such a good deal that parts of Europe started running out of forests in the 1700s. Britain was the first nation to innovate itself out of this dilemma, which they did by burning coal.

Mastering coal and other fossil fuels prevented energy scarcity, but also led to an unforeseen revolution in human life. Synthetic fertilizer, electricity, cars, plastics, smart phones, x-rays, ChatGPT—nearly all elements of modern life—exist because of fossil fuels. Today billions of people enjoy a prosperity that would be unimaginable to their ancestors.

This history of energy begins The Case for Nukes. Robert Zubrin, an American aerospace engineer of three decades tells the history of energy to set the stage for one of his core arguments, that humanity should use more energy. Over 700 million people languish in extreme poverty today and billions have not reached a standard of living equivalent to that of a developed country.

In contrast, radical environmentalists urge people to use less energy, which they believe is necessary to avert climate and ecological apocalypse. Zubrin contends that slashing energy use would be so harmful as to be borderline genocidal, but he does recognizes that the environmental harms of fossil fuels are unsustainable. Thus he endorses nuclear energy, asserting that only atomic energy can lift all people out of poverty while conserving the environment.

The fabulously talented and visually stunning Diogenes Sarcastica™ closes her post by gleefully declaring, “I say let’s start smashing some fucking atoms and keep the lights on,” a proposal with which I must enthusiastically agree; by gum, those fucking atoms have it coming. Before that beautiful, beautiful dream can hope to become a reality, though, it will be necessary to dispense with a great many Luddite shitlibs, which requirement I consider to be more plus than minus—a side benefit, shall we say, making the whole thing a win-win for everyone that matters.

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Burn the Transgender coal, pay the Transgender toll

Or: If you Transgenderize it, it will fall.

Not Just Bud Light: Anheuser-Busch’s Other Beer Brands See Sales Crash
As Bud Light continues to face plummeting sales amid a conservative boycott over its collaboration with a transgender influencer, other brands made by parent company Anheuser-Busch are also taking a hit.

Sales of Michelob Ultra fell by 4.3 percent in the week that ended July 1 compared with last year, and Busch Light was down 8.5 percent, the New York Post reported. Both brands are, like Bud Light, owned by the Anheuser-Busch brewing company.

Bud Light this year lost its position as America’s top selling beer. It was the second-best-selling beer in the four weeks leading up to June 3, making up 7.3 percent of U.S. retail-store beer purchases. Bud Light is now no longer one of America’s 10 most popular beers.

Bud Light’s problems come after months of boycotting by conservatives. The brand’s troubles began in April, when its partnership with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney became public. Mulvaney revealed the collaboration on social media on April 1, showing a Bud Light can featuring the influencer’s face. Mulvaney also posted a video drinking Bud Light in a bathtub.

As if an effete über-hipster doofus like Dylan ”Dirk” Mulvaney would’ve ever been caught dead drinking a common-plebe brand like Bumblaster Light anyway, unless he/she/it was getting paid to.

This is the first instance I know of where one of these boycotts has actually accomplished a damned thing other than to make participants feel all smug and righteous, and I must say it’s a beautiful thing indeed. Keep the skeer on ‘em, people; these WokesterCorp™ shitheels really do despise you, so you absolutely ought to give it right back to ‘em, measure for measure and to the very last bitter drop. Kick ‘em in the yarbles, bring the pain, and make them pay, each and every single chance you get. If nothing else, you’ll be drinking much better beer for your trouble.

Update! Lamont the Big Dummy, of course and as usual, has the right of it.

At Instapundit, Steven Green says they should just apologize.

I don’t know if I want a forced apology, which would of course be insincere. And anyway, forced apologies are kind of creepy.

I think I want more: For Anheuser-Busch to declare that men are men, and women are women.

Is that too much? I don’t think so. I don’t want every company to weigh in on contentious social issues. But I would like the precedent set that if a corporation weighs in on a culture war issue, they are now Fair Game to be mau-maued by the right into being forced to weigh in on our side of the culture war issue. Which of course is absolutely hateful to our leftwing corporate “friends.”

Let us make an object lesson out of Tranheuser-Busch, so that other corporations understand: Either avoid weighing in on political issues altogether, or we will fucking force you to propagandize for the social and cultural right.

Which we know you hate. And which will cost you your precious ESG ratings.

You’re advertising your “corporate values”? Well then I insist that your “corporate values” match my conservative values. How you like them apples?

Maybe you better just stay out of it altogether, huh?

Exactly, precisely so. As is so often said of stupidity, “liberalism” too should be literally, physically painful. That only happens if we make it happen, there’s simply no other way. Show them that there will be a cost involved, and perhaps one day corporate America will remember what business it was that they were originally supposed to be in.

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How gunslinging is DONE

A primer from American legend Wyatt Earp, who is renowned for having a little experience (a-HENH!) in the field.

I was a fair hand with pistol, rifle, or shotgun, but I learned more about gunfighting from Tom Speer’s cronies during the summer of ’71 than I had dreamed was in the book. Those old-timers took their gunplay seriously, which was natural under the conditions in which they lived. Shooting, to them, was considerably more than aiming at a mark and pulling a trigger. Models of weapons, methods of wearing them, means of getting them into action and operating them, all to the one end of combining high speed with absolute accuracy, contributed to the frontiersman’s shooting skill.

The sought-after degree of proficiency was that which could turn to most effective account the split-second between life and death. Hours upon hours of practice, and wide experience in actualities supported their arguments over style.

When I say that I learned to take my time in a gunfight, I do not wish to be misunderstood, for the time to be taken was only that split fraction of a second that means the difference between deadly accuracy with a sixgun and a miss. It is hard to make this clear to a man who has never been in a gunfight.

I imagine it would be, yeah. When the two-way shooting range goes hot, maintaining the requisite mental calm is gonna be pretty damned tough for a man who hasn’t ever stared down a gun-muzzle to look imminent death straight in the eye.

Perhaps I can best describe such time taking as going into action with the greatest speed of which a man’s muscles are capable, but mentally unflustered by an urge to hurry or the need for complicated nervous and muscular actions which trick-shooting involves. Mentally deliberate, but muscularly faster than thought, is what I mean. (What Wyatt meant is that he made the decision to shoot a long time before the trigger was pulled.)

In all my life as a frontier police officer, I did not know a really proficient gunfighter who had anything but contempt for the gun-fanner, or the man who literally shot from the hip. In later years I read a great deal about this type of gunplay, supposedly employed by men noted for skill with a forty-five.

From personal experience and numerous six-gun battles which I witnessed, I can only support the opinion advanced by the men who gave me my most valuable instruction in fast and accurate shooting, which was that the gun-fanner and hip-shooter stood small chance to live against a man who, as old Jack Gallagher always put it, took his time and pulled the trigger once.

TONS more fascinating stuff here, which will be of intense interest to shooters and history buffs alike. What better time to run another clip from one the very best movies EVAR.

“You nerve-wrackin’ sonsabitches.” “Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.” “Oh. Johnny, I apologize, I forgot you were there. You may go now.” Heh. So many great, unforgettable lines in that movie—up to and including a brief Latin-dialogue exchange between Johnny Ringo and Doc Holliday, no less—it almost beggars belief.

(Via Insty)

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Mike’s Iron Laws

A while back I threatened to collect all the ones I’ve mentioned so far into one handy-dandy post, just to be funny. Then, at BMNT last night (Begin Morning Nautical Twilight, the witching hour when the US military likes to initiate an attack, for all sorts of very good reasons) when I had been forced out of bed to take a(nother) leak, I remembered that pledge, and decided to just go ahead and do this thing already.

After the results of a local CF search were in, I was a bit surprised at how many times I had deployed this schtick of mine; sometimes the MILs had been given a number designation, sometimes they hadn’t. Heck, somewhere back in the deepest mists of time I even established a separate category for the things, in preparation for the day when I’d finally get around to creating this compendium.

So without further mucking about, I present to you all the MILs I could scavenge—directly quoted from the post they originally appeared in, in no particular order, with a link to the post of origin.

And that’s a wrap, kids—for now. Looking back over this list, it’s a thing of wonder and amazement to me that, even though I was just making the whole danged thing up as I went along, I somehow avoided repeating any of the numbers except for Number One/Numero Uno. Not sure how I managed to pull that one off.

Update! I think I’m gonna create a new WP Page, which will show up as a navbar link at the top, so’s I can add new MILs as they occur to me. That’ll archive all of them in one convenient place, for posterity’s sake.

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Poesy

In comments to the Horatius/Trump post SteveF mentions a certain pome with which I was heretofore unfamiliar. So I looked it up and MY, but it’s a dandy, albeit long as an afternoon suffering all the tortures of the dentist’s art. A bit more of it, then.

XXVI
But the Consul’s brow was sad,
    And the Consul’s speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
    And darkly at the foe.
‘Their van will be upon us
    Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
    What hope to save the town?’

XXVII
Then out spake brave Horatius,
    The Captain of the gate:
‘To every man upon this earth
    Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
    Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
    And the temples of his Gods,

XXVIII
‘And for the tender mother
    Who dandled him to rest,
And for the wife who nurses
    His baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens
    Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
    That wrought the deed of shame?

XXIX
‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
    With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
    Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
    May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,
    And keep the bridge with me?’

XXX
Then out spake Spurius Lartius;
    A Ramnian proud was he:
‘Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
    And keep the bridge with thee.’
And out spake strong Herminius;
    Of Titian blood was he:
‘I will abide on thy left side,
    And keep the bridge with thee.’

XXXI
‘Horatius,’ quoth the Consul,
    ‘As thou sayest, so let it be.’
And straight against that great array
    Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome’s quarrel
    Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
    In the brave days of old.

XXXII
Then none was for a party;
    Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor,
    And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portioned;
    Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
    In the brave days of old.

XXXIII
Now Roman is to Roman
    More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high,
    And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
    In battle we wax cold:
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
    In the brave days of old.

Rings all too familiar in the modern ear, no? Especially those last two stanzas, which encapsulate the current situation in Amerika v2.0 pretty thoroughly. Proving once again that, in art as in life itself, some things really never DO change, and that the same can truly be said of eternally-immutable human nature—the shitlib conceit of malleable, perfectible Progressivist Man notwithstanding.

Much, much more rich, buttery epic-poetic goodness at the link, incredibly enough, which you should read if you’re inclined in that direction, finally clocking out at an eye-bulging Stanza LXX. Pity the poor shoolkids who had to memorize the entire pome way back in the Aulden Thymes, if Pournelle’s claim is to be believed.

Inside baseball side note: Man. A. LIVE, but what a right royal pain in the ass formatting that was! Thanks to the abject failure of the MarsEdit find-and-replace function to do its ONE FUCKING JOB, replacing all the paragraph HTML tags with line-breaks throughout the above excerpt of the pome by hand was a most arduous task indeed. Necessary though, to keep things all clean, tidy, and looking as they should around here. I swear, the things I do for you people…

Ahem. And now, to get cracking on tomorrow’s Substackery.

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1

The Four Big Things

Which, according to Mike’s Iron Law #4,689, one should never, ever try to bargain-shop for, looking for the cheapest possible alternative: shoes, meat, doctors, and tattoos*. Free? Thanks, but…NO.

FourThings

Wouldn’t work anyhow, the target audience isn’t the least bit interested in showering.

(Via Arthur Sido)

* That first one, shoes, I can’t honestly claim as my own; that one was an Iron Law of my dad’s

Sen John Kennedy: a national treasure

Can’t say I have any real problem with that statement, especially in light of how handily he sliced, diced, and pureed Willie Brown’s onetime side piece—or, as Jesse Kelly so memorably dubbed her, Brown’s bratwurst bun. But before we get to that, I have a quibble to lodge with what Sister Toljah says in boldface first.

It has often been said that Sen. John Kennedy (R-La.) is a national treasure and that there will never be another like him in our lifetimes nor anyone else’s.

I suspect that despite their political differences even Kennedy’s opposition on the left would agree that those two statements are undoubtedly true, though his most recent round of “tellin’ it like it is” might not sit too well with them.

My GOD, girlfriend, what in the ever-lovin’ blue eyed world would make you think such a loony-tunes thing as that, prithee tell?!? Perhaps such an across-the-aisle show of respect and comity would have been at least somewhat conceivable twenty-forty-sixty years ago, but today? No way, Jose; once the Loyal Opposition had wilfully self-transmogrified to become The Enemy—which they did, and are—all such possibilities became extinct. Now, Kennedy is as loathed and reviled by the Rabid Left as the rest of us; even the prospect of playing nice with their own hated and despised opponents leaves them frothing at the mouth worse than Old Yeller, just before he was put down.

Anyways. Onwards.

Kennedy appeared Friday on Fox News, where one of the topics of discussion was the wacky word salad Vice President Kamala Harris gave us during the annual Essence of Culture Festival, which took place at the end of June in Kennedy’s backyard of New Orleans.

When Kennedy was asked by anchor Trace Gallagher for an analysis of what Harris said, the Senator first pointed out that he did “not hate the Vice President,” and remarked that during her time in the Senate that they had worked together on the Judiciary Committee, noting that they got along “very well” for the most part.

And after that happy make-nice horseshit is when we come to the truly toothsome tidbits, which I’ll again put in boldface to make sure you don’t miss any of ‘em. Direct quote, straight from the horse’s mouth:

She’s struggling, and you don’t have to be a senior at Cal Tech to know that, just look at the poll numbers. She’s struggling for a couple of reasons. Number one, she doesn’t appear to be prepared. Number two, no matter how well-prepared you are, you have to be able to express yourself. And with respect, I would say the Vice President needs to work on being a little more articulate. Some [in the Senate] might say that based on her performances, that English is not her first, second, third, or even fourth language.

But number three, you know, I think sound advice for anyone, politician or not, is always be yourself unless you suck. If you suck, have enough self-awareness to know you suck, and try to do better. And I just don’t get the impression that the Vice President is — she’s not being herself. She’s trying to sound smart instead of just saying what she believes and saying it in a clear, articulate manner that the average American who is busy can understand.

Heh. Good, artful rip, sir, and well done. Very well done indeed.

Right back atcha, Slick

The hippier than thou asswarts of Ben and Jerry’s get a little of their own splashed back on ‘em.

Ben & Jerry’s has called on the US to give back “stolen Indigenous land” including Mount Rushmore — and now a Native American chief in Vermont said he’d like to talk about the land that’s under the ice cream maker’s headquarters.

The “Chunky Monkey” maker — which previously has waded into controversies around Israel and Palestine — divided customers this week with a July 4 tweet that said: “The United States was founded on stolen indigenous land. This Fourth of July, let’s commit to returning it.”

Ben & Jerry’s added that the US should “start with Mount Rushmore,” writing, “The faces on Mount Rushmore are the faces of men who actively worked to destroy Indigenous cultures and ways of life.”

On Friday, Don Stevens — chief of the Nulhegan Band of The Coosuk Abenaki Nation, one of four tribes descended from the Abenaki that are recognized in Vermont — told The Post in an interview that he “looks forward to any kind of correspondence with the brand to see how they can better benefit Indigenous people.”

“Correspondence,” hell. File a lawsuit, Chief. Or better yet, as Glenn recommends, a lien.

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Can’t get their lies straight

Fun and games in the White (Bag) House.

Holy Coke: The White House Cocaine Story Changes Yet Again
You may want to sit down for this unexpected development, but the narrative surrounding the bag of cocaine found at the White House has changed again.

If you’ve been following this story from the beginning, you are probably aware of its many iterations. First, we were told that “cocaine hydrochloride” was found “near” the White House. The desired implication obviously was that the cocaine was medicinal (in this case, an anesthetic nasal spray) and that it wasn’t actually found inside the buildings.

Things then shifted dramatically when reports, including from The Washington Post, said that the cocaine was actually found in the White House library. Suddenly, the story wasn’t just about some hazmat situation nearby, but that was hardly the only twist. By Tuesday, things had shifted further, this time with a claim sourced to the Secret Service that the cocaine was found “in a work area of the West Wing.”

That’s quite the progression given how simple it should have been to figure out the truth from the start, and sure enough, there’s a new development. According to the latest reports, the cocaine was found in a “cubby” at the West Executive entrance.

We have entered the realm of absurdity, and I don’t think anyone should be expected to believe these constantly shifting claims being bandied about by the White House. This latest iteration is especially convenient in that it puts the cocaine in a highly trafficked area where the administration can wash its hands of the issue. But ask yourself, if the cocaine was actually found where this latest claim says, why didn’t they just say that from the beginning? Whoever found the cocaine initially knew where they found it. It wasn’t some grand mystery, only revealed after several days. Yet, we’ve been left with no less than four different revisions of the location.

All the while, the idea that the Secret Service doesn’t have the means to quickly figure out who left the cocaine remains laughable. There are cameras everywhere at the White House outside of the family areas. Certainly, the West Executive entrance is covered in them. There’s been ample time to view the tapes at this point and release a conclusion.

Well, sure, but as ever the truth is the absolute LAST thing they want escaping into the wild and becoming widely known amongst the Serf Class. Although, in light of a gathering shitstorm of ugly rumors that Hunter fled his recently-rented, extravagant LA mansion palace to go “stay for a while” at Daddy’s house because, due to having recently fallen off the wagon yet again (does any semi-sentient being really believe he ever WAS on the wagon? SRSLY?), Pedo Jaux wanted Cracky-boy someplace where a closer eye could be kept on him, it’s not even a little bit hard for Joe Layman to figure out what’s really going on here.

For a passel of such inveterate, compulsive liars, you’d think these hapless clowns would be better at it than they are.

Flying off into aviation history

After trying for decades to rid themselves of it—and, happily, failing miserably—the venerable, awesomely-capable A10 Thunderbolt II is finally getting shuffled off to Buffalo by the Chair Farce shitwits.

The A-10 Warthog Making One Final Flight — to the Boneyard
Beloved as much by the grunts on the ground as the pilots who flew it, the A-10 ground attack jet is being retired after five decades of very loud and effective service. Air Force enthusiasts everywhere are going to miss that ugly S.O.B.

The Air Force announced plans last week to replace two of the last remaining A-10 squadrons with more modern F-16s and F-35s. “This is all in line with the service’s goal of divesting the last A-10s before the end of the decade, if not sooner,” according to Yahoo News. Air Force brass have been trying to retire the hog for years but Congress has kept telling them no. This new announcement indicates that the A-10 will not keep flying until the 2040s, after all.

But what a jet, even if it did have a face not even a mother could love.

Hey, speak for yourself, Steve. I think they’re goddamned beautiful, myself.

Fairchild-Republic stepped up to meet the Air Force’s need, and the result was the A-10 Thunderbolt II. Neither sleek nor sexy, the Thunderbolt is usually called the Warthog or just the Hog. The whole jet was designed around the 30 mm GAU-8 Avenger rotary autocannon whose (airborne!) ammo magazine is the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. It’s capable of firing depleted uranium shells that tear through the thickest armor like a hot knife moving at 3,324 feet per second through melted butter.

Because the A-10’s job is to get in close, the pilot sits in a “bathtub” made out of titanium. During the Gulf War — when the Warthog first really captured the public’s imagination — I saw one jet on CNN that returned from a mission missing almost a third of one wing and probably half of the other. (I’ve searched for years for that clip but to no avail.) A fully-loaded Hog can carry an additional eight tons of various missiles and bombs.

The Hog’s engines are mounted high and to the rear with a slight tilt up towards the front. That’s to avoid sucking in debris on damaged airfields. Those Fairchild engineers really did think of everything.

The first development version of the Warthog flew in 1972, and it entered service in 1977. More than 700 were built, but only a few dozen are still in service. Although built in numbers to counter Soviet armor, our much-reduced force of A-10s found plenty of jobs that only they could do in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Yup—which tends to be the way such things go, even in an age of overemphasis on flashy new technological gew-gaws and gimcracks: the older, sturdier, battle-tested platforms seem almost to be imbued with a will to live as powerful as any sentient being’s, and somehow always find a niche to fill. This next passage makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

For what it’s worth, the Air Force has long argued that the F-35 Lightning II multirole stealth fighter is better prepared for ground attack in the 21st Century.

As a lifelong Warthog fan, it pains me to say this, but they’re probably right.

I wrote years and years ago at the original VodkaPundit.com that “stealth is the price of admission to the modern battlespace.” Non-stealth jets simply don’t stand a chance against the latest generation of air defense systems. Hell, they barely stand a chance even against a slightly older one.

The war in Ukraine has proven me (and many others) correct on that score. Despite having a much larger and more modern air force than Ukraine, Russia has been unable to achieve air superiority — even in the early months of the war, long before Western antiaircraft systems began service with Ukraine. Russia has no combat stealth aircraft in service, so even their most advanced Su-34 attack jets have been mostly limited to lobbing inaccurate dumb bombs from safe distances, outside the reach of Kyiv’s air defenses.

In a war with China or Russia, the A-10 likely wouldn’t survive. If — and this is a big if — there’s still a role for manned ground-attack jets, it’s with stealthy planes like the F-35 that are hard to see, harder to kill, and can fire a variety of long-range stand-off weapons.

Yeah, no, not so much. In the first place, war with China or Russia is unlikely in the extreme. In the second, you’re (and the Chair Farce as well) making some highly unfounded assumptions about the one-size-fits-nothing F35 Turducken, which is so bug-ridden, fantastically expensive to build and maintain, and over-engineered it’s no better than fifty-fifty whether a full squadron could even manage to get off the ground in-theater.

As for the casual dismissal of manned combat aircraft, that’s another thing the desk-bound zoomies have been pimping for decades now with little to no success, for a very simple reason: there is no substitute for boots on the ground, swabbies on deck, eyes in the sky, and Marines storming ashore. All the adolescent onanism extolling futuristic, bloodless warfare waged exclusively via drones, combat mechs, and AI geekery controlled from extreme standoff range will never replace the human ability to adapt, improvise, and overcome on-scene, in the heat of the moment—especially in the kind of 5G brushfire conflict against some dimestore dictator in Shitholistan’s ragtag army of goatherds we’re much more likely to find ourselves engaging in going forward.

Stephen’s point about latest-generation air defenses is well-taken, certainly. But how many of those exorbitantly expensive cutting-edge systems are going to be finding their way into the hands of the kind of backasswards Third Worlders we’re likely to be squaring off against, really? Admittedly, I damned sure wouldn’t want to be caught with my ass in the breeze at the stick of an A10 and have some illiterate yahoo set off my threat-warning alarms by pointing one of those high-tech death spikes at me. But still. I don’t have any numbers on how many times such a thing has happened to some poor ‘Hog jock, so I won’t offer any guesstimates on the odds for or against, or what the frequency of such incidents might actually be.

Looking at the bigger picture, though, the days of massive armies marching in serried ranks to take up entrenched positions along a clearly-defined MLR, underneath a sky-full of overly delicate air-superiority aircraft, are over. At least for the foreseeable future, war will be grubbier, dirtier, closer-in, and more vicious than some tech weenie peering at a computer screen a thousand miles away can begin to imagine. Modern warfare has become more of a shoot-and-scoot proposition, fought by adversaries close enough to smell each other’s weeks-ripe BO before things go loud. Hyper-sensitive, persnickety gadgetry that can be rendered combat-ineffective by a fistful of dust in the avionics suite or sucked into an intake won’t be up to the job.

Maybe the A10 really is past it, I’m hardly qualified to say. But I bet there would still be plenty of occasions when some poor ground-pounder up to his eyeteeth in the real, the bad, and the scary would be mighty glad to hear one in the hands of an experienced, crafty pilot loitering overhead. To abandon a proven-effective tool in favor of the premature forced adoption of an apteryx like the Turducken is exactly the kind of fanciful wishful-thinking shitlibs have become notorious for.

Independence Day placeholder post

As I’ve been repeating for lo, these last several years, in my opinion July 4th should properly be a national day of mourning, not of celebration. But honestly, I can’t help but be of two minds (at least) on that. Yes, we have utterly failed in our duty to uphold the documents of America’s Founding, the Declaration and the Constitution. That being the case, however, it does NOT necessarily follow that the ideals, the principles, the bedrock definitional values of the Founding are not themselves worth celebrating, each and every year from now until Doomsday. Yes, even when we have a senile, corrupt old grifter roosting in the Oval Office.

So over the last cpl-three days I’ve been engaged in an internal tug of war over which direction I should take with this year’s Independence Day offering, both here and over at the Eyrie—which, in the usual run of things, I would’ve already finished by now.

So whilst we’re all waiting for me to figure out whether I want to be the gloomiest of all possible Guses this year, as has become my habit, or to ignore certain current, ugly realities in favor of a less topical post extolling certain eternal verities everyone here should be quite familiar with by now—never wasted time, IMHO—enjoy this wonderfully engaging and inspirational scene from what I always thought was a wildly underrated movie.

And yes, of COURSE I have an up-close-and-personal story involving Moscow On The Hudson, in particular a certain popular NYC news anchor who makes a brief cameo appearance therein. Maybe I’ll just say heck with it all and write about that.

The Black Knight

Another stunning find from what I now consider to be the greatest email list there is, was, or ever will be.

Is it true that there is an ancient alien satellite which is known as the ‘Black Knight’?
Yes. In fact, the reason we know it exists is that photos of it were taken during manned space missions in 1998.

It has been reported that it appears and disappears, does not show up on radar, it changes shape and it was in an orbit that was stable – meaning it had been there for a long time. This was reported to be known that neither we nor the Russians had put this into space.

As a result of these reports, it supposedly became the object of study by a lot of people and organizations around the world. Over the years, various researchers, news reporters, Youtube videos and amateur astronomers have made various claims about it.

It was reported to have first been seen and reported in 1958 – about the time of Sputnik but others have said it shows up in ancient writings as much as 13,000 years ago. It has also been reported that radio signals emanate from it and that Nikola Tesla was able to receive and decrypt those signals in 1898.

The generally accepted theory is that because we did not know what it was or who put it up there, it was seen as a threat to be analyzed and monitored. This went on for years during which time it was not seen for long period of time. Meanwhile, our technology for tracking and photography got better and better so the next time it was seen, it was tracked and photographed extensively. All the data was sent to the Air Force center for analysis by the best methods possible. Or at least that is what has been reported.

Those reports state that all that analysis paid off. They finally determined what it was and where it came from.

Fascinating, no? Read on for the slightly, ummm, deflating conclusion (yeah, I know—sorry, I couldn’t resist). Pics and vid included.

Amusingly enough, a while back I read a sci-fi novel about a mysterious object yclept “the Red Knight” which, thanks to the above, I now realize was a fictional analogue to the Black Knight of legend, which at the time I hadn’t ever heard of.

This Red Knight, see, was on its way to crash-landing somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, sparking a race to recover it amongst several sinister factions possessed of varying degrees of ill intent. As things worked out, the Red Knight had originally been put into geosynchronous orbit as Earth’s sole effective defense against some malicious entity which wouldn’t or perhaps couldn’t approach us as long as the Red Knight remained present and on the job to fend his malevolent ass off. Thus, the Good Guys had to obtain the object and get it back into orbit as quickly as possible, before the alien planet-devouring entity learned it had fallen and made its move against our lovely Blue Marble.

I remember enjoying the book, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was called or who authored the blasted thing. Seems like maybe it was part of an ongoing series, I’m thinking. MR Forbes, perhaps? I dunno, seems like the kind of thing he might write.

Triumphant update! HAAAAA! I found it, I found it! Turns out it was “Red Knight Falling,” one of author Craig Schaefer’s fantastic Harmony Black/Vigilant Lock series of novels, all of which I absolutely love. The Amazon write-up:

FBI agent Harmony Black and her team, Vigilant Lock, face a new type of threat: one from beyond the stars.

They’d always heard the Red Knight was an urban legend: in 1954, three years before Sputnik launched, a mysterious satellite was sighted circling Earth, though no power on the planet had such technology.

But the Red Knight is real, and what’s more, it’s inextricably linked to a supernatural force no one yet understands. Like a moth to a flame, this dark presence collides annually with the airborne satellite. Except this year the Red Knight is on course to crash-land…in Oregon.

Vigilant Lock sets out to find the crash site and secure the remnants before the mysterious power is drawn to Earth. But they soon discover the mission is far from straightforward—and they aren’t the only ones tracking the Red Knight. To stop a deadly occult threat, Harmony and her team must use all their resources: technology and sorcery, science and magic. Fortunately, Harmony has only begun to discover her growing power.

I highly recommend all the books in the Harmony Black series, along with Schaefer’s very-much-related Daniel Faust series. They’re all fun, gripping reads, if you’re into that sort of thing at all. Schaefer’s Amazon bio, from the same page:

About the Author
Craig Schaefer’s books have taken readers to the seamy edge of a criminal underworld drenched in shadow through the Daniel Faust series; to a world torn by war, poison, and witchcraft by way of the Revanche Cycle series; and across a modern America mired in occult mysteries and a conspiracy of lies in the new Harmony Black series. Despite this, people say he’s strangely normal. He lives in Illinois with a small retinue of cats, all of whom try to interrupt his writing schedule and/or kill him on a regular basis. He practices sleight of hand in his spare time, although he’s not very good at it.

The occult; Vegas intrigue; cracked-open interstices between Earthly reality and Hell itself; official governing boards staffed and chaired by demons which require incredible feats of human derring-do performed by a slick Vegas magician who has some very powerful cards up his sleeve, all while managing his love-affair with one of those demons, a beautiful shape-shifting wench named Caitlin whose uncle is in a power-struggle with…aww, never mind, I’m getting too far afield with this.

I ask you, though, what’s not to like? I repeat: highly, highly recommended. With all my heart and, um, soul, you might even say.

Another ‘Zon bio for Schaefer can be found here, author’s own website here.

Braggadocious update! Not to pat myself on the back unduly or anything, but I just had a thought.

  • Steers to some top-quality fiction about Hell, demons, seedy-but-slick Vegas magicians, conniving space aliens, ’n’ shit
  • Fun-with-linguistics challenges
  • Brutal, heartless rips on the sudden undoing of the now-defunct Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly The Weather)™ doomsay narrative and those who’ve pimped it
  • Extended ruminations on secession
  • RAYCISS™ diatribes
  • Bare-knuckles exposes of the literally-Satanic nature of FederalGovCo
  • Godawful post-title jokes
  • Cool write-ups on old music, old cars, and old Harleys
  • Professional wrasslin’, boxing, and street-brawling
  • Unbowdlerized cussing rendered with style, aplomb, and elegance—nossirreebob, there ain’t any of that gingerly, annoying *** mincing-around here, and ain’t never gonna be neither; as they say about getting old, this blog ain’t for pussies

And most of those within just the past few days, too. I gots to say that even after lo, these many years, the free ice cream here at Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge still offers the best bang for your blog-buck in the whole dang ‘sphere. No need to thank me, gang, I’m happy to do it for y’all.

Helpful update! Forgot to do it before, but here’s the link to the Daniel Faust series, which I also wholeheartedly recommend.

4

Moar fun with language

The debate earlier this week about the proper use, intentional misuse, and abuse of the English language got me thinking about another fun aspect of this: phrases people use all the time that actually mean the exact opposite of, negate, or otherwise contradict the sentiment expressed by the words. Examples:

  • Forgive me for saying
  • With all due respect
  • I really shouldn’t say this
  • No offense/pun/irony intended
  • Not for nothing, but

CF linguistic scholars should feel free to add more in the comments as and when they occur to you. I look forward to seeing what y’all reprobates come up with.

1

A becoming humility

Quora provides a sterling example of one of Man’s finer qualities.

Rik Elswit
Musician for 60 years. Professional musician for 55

What are some rock songs that were just filler, but became huge hits?
My band went into the studio to make our fourth album after having had to declare bankruptcy in order to get out of a contract with CBS records where we were getting no support. Nobody would even take our phone calls.

So we signed with Capitol, and went to work at Pacific Recorders. This is where we found out that our manager/producer was of little use in the studio without having the CBS engineers holding his hand for him. We released three singles off it that he was sure would be hits, and they all stiffed. Finally, in frustration, the brass at Capitol actually ordered him to release our cover of Sam Cooke’s “Only 16”, which we’d recorded simply as fill to flesh out the album.

This was a tune that we had begun playing at gigs just because we liked to play it. Our lead singer really got it, and it was just like home. The sort of thing we could do in our sleep. We produced and arranged it ourselves, and it only took a couple hours, total, to get it in the can. We were even breaking up a pound of monstrously good smoke in the drum booth while we were doing the sweetening. I had to hand the scales off to the drummer when they called me out to lay in the guitar solo and fills.

It went gold. We had worked our own way out of bankruptcy on our own, and we made Sam Cooke’s widow very happy.

FOURTH album? Jumping from a contract with CBS over to Capitol, seemingly at will? A gold record the result of said major-label leap? One can only assume that this Rik Elswit fellow must be, or at least once was, a real Somebody in the music biz.

As it turns out, we quickly learn from the comments that one would not be entirely incorrect in one’s assumption.

Neil Matthews
I’d like to give Rik’s answers more upvotes, it’s a glimpse of what Quora could be; informative answers to genuine questions by someone who knows what they are talking about.

Huw Pritchard
No small amount of humility either – I’ll be honest, I ended up googling Rik because I didn’t know his name but figured out it might be an interesting search.

If I was in his shoes I’d start everything I wrote with “I was in Dr Hook for 13 years”, even if it wasn’t relevant to the answer.

Well, I will be dipped in shit, how ’bout that? For those of you out there who are a hell of a lot younger than me, here’s Rik Elswit’s band’s biggest hit—in days of old, when knights were bold, and condoms not invented.

And what the hell, since Rik mentioned pounds of weed, and it popped up after Dr Hook in my YewToob list, PLUS it’s still one of the songs that make me bounce around in my seat the hardest, let’s do this thing.

Man, you might not agree, but in my book that’s about as good as the rock GETS, right there.

Update! Okay, since I’m on something of a roll here and all. Rik mentioned major-label tapeworms refusing to even take the band’s calls back in their darkest days just before the dawn, so what do you suppose that reminded me of? Why, this, of course.

Just occurred to me that, if someone stumbled in here who didn’t know me personally and got a load of these, shall we say, wildly electic musical selections I’m always putting up here, then found out I mostly listened to classical music radio all day long, they’d probably think I was schizophrenic or something.

Says it all update! While we’re on the topic of rock and roll, I hijacked this from shit the great Ken Lane posted on Fakebook.

AC DC3BlocksAway

Really, what more can one say but: Heh.

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CF Glossary

ProPol: Professional Politician

Vichy GOPe: Putative "Republicans" who talk a great game but never can seem to find a hill they consider worth dying on; Quislings, Petains, Benedicts, backstabbers, fake phony frauds

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