The Ultimate Answer to Kings

Since somebody asked a few days ago, I’ll tell you that Paulo is recovering nicely from his impromptu surgery. He’s eating well, and surprisingly quickly coming back to his sweet self. Today while I was cleaning his paddock he was calm and friendly as can be, demanding affection and actually considering obedience when I demanded he get the hell out of the way.

H is starting to lightly work him in the round pen, and he’s even taking that cheerfully. Hopefully she’ll get her awesome saddle horse back from this disaster.

…But the song in my head comes from a bootleg copy of a Leslie Fish riff on a Rudyard Kipling poem. Which means no crappy video of a crappier ’70’s song today. Sorry.

I’ve never figured out how to post .mp3 files here (and PLEASE don’t put instructions in the comments. Oh, please. I looked up instructions, found them, and failed to understand anything that came after “It’s real easy. Here’s what you do…” Not a computer guy. Really.)

But I can still cut&paste a poem!

The Quest
Rudyard Kipling

The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
Fighting we take no shame,
Better is man for a fall.
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call:—
“Here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
Here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
But I paid as good as I got!”

“Oh, dark and deep their van,
That mocked my battle-cry.
I could not miss my man,
But I could not carry by:
Utterly whelmed was I,
Flung under, horse and all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call!

“My wounds are noised abroad;
But theirs my foemen cloaked.
Ye see my broken sword—
But never the blades she broke;
Paying them stroke for stroke,
Good handsel over all.”
Merrily borne, the bugle-horn
Answered the warder’s call!

“My shame ye count and know.
Ye say the quest is vain.
Ye have not seen my foe.
Ye have not told his slain.
Surely he fights again, again;
But when ye prove his line,
There shall come to your aid my broken blade
In the last, lost fight of mine!
And here is my lance to mend (Haro!),
And here is my horse to be shot!
Ay, they were strong, and the fight was long;
But I paid as good as I got!”

And if anybody’s got any idea as to why I keep waking up with these offbeat damned songs in my head, I’d appreciate your giving me a clue.

So today J&H poured concrete. Eight yards worth. Three pads: One for the front door entry, one (the one that started the whole thing) for a new storage room attached to the house (which will also incidentally insulate the pipes inside that outside wall, which is why you don’t put your main plumbing in an outside wall if you can help it) and one at the main hitching post.

Had a fair turn-out. J&H, of course. D&L. Me. And another neighborhood couple I don’t talk about much, who – since I’m sure they wouldn’t give a damn about my privacy – I’ll just call Darrell and Marta*. Three hours of hilarity ensued, leaving us all feeling rather battered. But then there were hamburgers and bratwurst, which was very, very nice. Except that my normal diet is very bland and damn near vegetarian, and bratwurst invariably gets me running to the john. Which, since afterward I needed to shovel the shit of J&H’s horses, could have been better timed…

*He’s a cop. She does admin work in whatever government office will hire her. No neighborhood is perfect. I keep my distance, and forbid friends to discuss The Secret Lair in their presence.

Jon Stewart has something to say about the Repub’s Pledge to America…

Meet the new boss/something something old boss…

You can’t even make the weak argument that the executive at least has to claim this power in the course of protecting national security. Because it doesn’t matter. Obama is arguing that he has the right to keep everything about these executions secret — including the reasons they were ordered – merely by uttering the magic phrase “state secrets.” In other words, that this power would only arise under a national security context is deemed irrelevant by the fact that not only is Obama claiming the president’s word on what qualifies as “national security” is final, he’s claiming the power in such a way that there’s no audience to whom he would ever need to make that connection.

If you’re not familiar with the Hardyville columns, you’re in for a treat. It was a long-standing feature of Claire’s columns that she decided to bring to an end a couple of years ago, and that I feared would fade away forever. But now she and Backwoods Home have revived some version of them in book form, and I’m a’gonna get me one as soon as I figure out a mailing address to send it to. Especially if you haven’t read the columns, I can strongly recommend this book even though I haven’t actually seen it yet.

M: (After replacing the fuel filter) “Think we can start it up now?”

Me: “Can’t hurt to try.”

Tractor: Crankcrankcrankcrank…crank…crank.

Me: “Stop. Memory kicking in. I suddenly recall that with real diesels, you can’t start the engine after opening the fuel system without highly intricate bleeding procedures.”

M: (Goes and gets the manual) “Holy crap! Dig this: ‘Open and bleed the filter housing, the fuel pump, the injector pump, each fuel injector…’ We could build a tractor with less effort than this!”

Me: “Uh…heh. Belated memories are a terrible thing…”

Me: “Augh. Concrete is just spilling out of this hole. I’ve got to plug it with something.”

M: “Here you go.” (Cobbles together Rube Goldberg contraption of blocks and boards) “What could go wrong?”

Me: “GYAAH!” (Contraption collapses, and Uncle Joel is inundated with wet concrete)

M: “…Except for that…”

…or from anywhere else. This is the first time in my personal experience a castration was ever viewed as emergency surgery.

Paulo’s excessive hormones have been driving him insane for some time now. Friday he went over the line – or at least over the fence. He managed, more or less from a standing start since he had virtually no running room, to clear a five-foot iron fence without killing himself for the purpose of murdering the horse in the next paddock. In J’s serious opinion, it was dope and cut him or just shoot him. Once upon a time he was H’s favorite saddle horse, because his trail endurance is very impressive for an Arab, and she likes spirited horses. But she’s progressively been less and less able to ride him because of his unpredictability – it’s been quite a while since she could ride him at all in the company of other horses. There’s a line between spirited and crazy, and Paulo had pretty clearly crossed that line. Selling him in that condition was out of the question, so they decided the best of the list of bad alternatives was to geld him.

It is to be hoped that, in a few weeks when the testosterone works its way out of his system, Paulo will go back to his sweet self. He really can be a very pleasant horse. I’m sorry it happened, but can’t really say I disagree with the decision.

The spectacle of corrupt government officials* arresting other corrupt government officials for being too publicly corrupt is…amusing, if meaningless.

Hey, here’s a joke! What do you call 1000 tax-eaters at the bottom of the ocean?

*Yeah, I know. Report me to the Department of Redundancy Department.

…Though I confess I’m still not exactly sure what a “meme” is. Guess I should have gone to college, huh?

Anyway – I see, courtesy of Sebastian at Snowflakes in Hell, that there’s this hoplophobic broad who wants to play 20 Questions with gun owners. I’m just absolutely convinced she’ll treat the responses she receives with a completely serious and respectful attitude. Also, she asks that responses be backed up with “peer-reviewed articles” or something similar. I can’t do that, since I have no peers. I am peerless. Er…I know of no one who will admit to being my peer.

(Ahem…)

Since as usual I found Sebastian’s responses unduly conciliatory, I hereby offer my own, for your time-wasting pleasure. I assure my readership that they’re worth every dime.

1. Do you believe that criminals and domestic abusers should be able to buy guns without background checks?

I believe that they will continue to easily do so anyway, and that any “solution” you propose will succeed only in disarming their intended victims.

2. What is your proposal for keeping guns away from criminals, domestic abusers, terrorists and dangerously mentally ill people?

I have none. Wouldn’t begin to know how to do that effectively, short of locking everybody up. I can, however, offer detailed proposals for keeping arms in the hands of their prospective victims. The first would involve getting you and your friends away from the ears of politicians.

3. Do you believe that a background check infringes on your constitutional right to “keep and bear arms”?

Yes.

4. Do you believe that I and people with whom I work intend to ban your guns?

Yes.

5. If yes to #4, how do you think that could happen ( I mean the physical action)?

The question is incoherent. “Banning” requires no physical action at all, and is quite simple to do. Even Clinton managed it. If you mean confiscation, well, there you’ve got a problem. Were you really coming to me for suggestions?

6. What do you think are the “second amendment remedies” that the tea party GOP candidate for Senate in Nevada( Sharron Angle) has proposed?

I think they involved getting her elected.

7. Do you believe in the notion that if you don’t like what someone is doing or saying, second amendment remedies should be applied?

No, I have no intention of helping Sharron Angle get elected. Demonstrated desire for any position of power should comprise automatic disqualification.

8. Do you believe it is O.K. to call people with whom you disagree liars and demeaning names?

Just for saying something I disagree with? No. For being a liar or a low person? Yes.

9. If yes to #8, would you do it in a public place to the person’s face?

That’s the only way it should be done. What does this have to do with gun control?

10. Do you believe that any gun law will take away your constitutional rights?

This question assumes I accept the concept of a “constitutional right,” which is not a safe assumption. But for the purpose of the exercise – No. An unconstitutional law does not negate constitutional rights. It may take away my ability to openly exercise them, though.

11. Do you believe in current gun laws? Do you think they are being enforced? If not, explain.

Do I believe in them? You mean, do I believe they exist? Yes. Er…seriously, I don’t even know what these two questions are asking.

12. Do you believe that all law-abiding citizens are careful with their guns and would never shoot anybody?

Heh. Good one.

13. Do you believe that people who commit suicide with a gun should be included in the gun statistics?

I don’t believe there should be gun statistics.

14. Do you believe that accidental gun deaths should “count” in the total numbers?

You keep asking the same question.

15. Do you believe that sometimes guns, in careless use or an accident, can shoot a bullet without the owner or holder of the gun pulling the trigger?

Modern guns? I’m unaware of any plausible means by which this can happen. I suppose someone could reach over and pull the trigger on someone else’s gun, but…

16. Do you believe that 30,000 gun deaths a year is too many?

Compared to what? I can imagine scenarios in which it’s not enough.

17. How will you help to prevent more shootings in this country?

Mostly I stay away from cops.

18. Do you believe the articles that I have posted about actual shootings or do you think I am making them up or that human interest stories about events that have happened should not count when I blog about gun injuries and deaths?

Self-referential much? I have no opinion about anything you’ve ever written, lady.

19. There has been some discussion of the role of the ATF here. Do you believe the ATF wants your guns and wants to harass you personally? If so, provide examples ( some have written a few that need to be further examined).

Oh, seriously – I’m not even going there. Don’t get me started on the ATF.

20. Will you continue a reasonable discussion towards an end that might lead somewhere or is this an exercise in futility?

That last one. You and I will never have any point in common. I’d be prepared to deny, under oath, that we belong to the same species.

Erik Scott won’t be going to his USMA class reunion…

Erik turned to find three officers facing him, guns drawn, and all three shouting different commands: “Get on the ground!” “Drop your weapon!” and “Keep your hands up!” Erik held his hands up, spoke calmly, told them he DID have a concealed firearm and a legal CCW and was an ex-Army officer. His girlfriend was screaming about Erik being a West Point grad, former Army officer, etc. Erik leaned to his left, hands still up, to expose the pistol inside his belt, and repeated, “I am disarming; I am disarming…” Witnesses say he started to lower his right hand, palm OUT, as if intending to remove holster and gun together — but never got the hand below his shoulder, when one of the cops (William Mosher, who had committed a fatal shooting in 2006) shot Erik in the chest with a .45-caliber weapon. Erik dropped to his knees, clearly in shock, his face a picture of disbelief. He was shot a second time and collapsed. The rest is ugly. The three officers unloaded again, firing a total of seven hollow-point rounds. At least five, possibly six, hit Erik in the back, after he was on the ground and dying.

Do you still think Mr. Policeman is your friend?

Yesterday it rained ALL FREAKING DAY – and then all night. Today there is literally not one tiniest cloud in the sky. Weird.

I had to slog through squelching mud to shovel shit this morning – there was no way I was going to do it yesterday short of a threat to the gig. Spirit the Freakishly Big Mare is gone to some sort of training today, and Paulo the Stallion from Hell was back to his mellow self. Didn’t give me a bit of trouble. But between the mud and the rain-soaked hay, I thought I was going to break my back hauling the shitwagon back and forth. C’mon, end of Monsoon.

Still, pretty good day. I went down to the lair, having finally worked up my nerve to cut the hole in the loft floor I need for the permanent ladder. I got two holes drilled and one saw cut done, and then the cordless battery gave up the ghost. I need to bring the corded Sawzall and really give my Lair batteries a workout. The “new” one I hauled out there has so far been pretty underwhelming. I’m afraid it’s toast. But since dead batteries are pretty much standard procedure, I had a backup plan. I now have all the loft insulation done, and can start on the siding up there. I’ve also learned that a bed Landlady gave me will indeed fit up there, which means I get to sleep like a civilized person and not on a pallet on the floor. That’s pretty cool.

Now – assuming I ever get that hole cut – I need a boatload of iron plumbing. The Latest! Greatest! plan for the loft ladder involves using 1″ pipe and flanges screwed to the wall behind the entry door. Since there’s now substantial damage to the loft floor right there, I guess I’m committed as to location if nothing else. Putting it there not only puts the ladder in a spot that isn’t where something else absolutely has to be (it’s a very small cabin) but also permits the railing to reach all the way across the open part of the loft and secure to the walls at both ends. That’ll be way stronger. Uncle Joel’s kind of afraid of heights.

So I understand the Republicans have come out with a new “Pledge to America.” This is, I’m sure, nothing at all like the “Contract with America” they started reneging on roughly three picoseconds after the 1994 election results were in. For example I’m gonna go ahead and guess there’s nothing in it about term limits, because those broken promises didn’t go over very well as I recall. It seems to be 21 pages long, and no, I haven’t read it. Nor will I: Since a .pdf file makes lousy toilet paper, it holds no interest for me at all.

Still, there’s this phrase stuck in my head. How does it go? “Meet the new boss, something something old boss…”

Pt. 1:

Pt. 2:

Oh, this is WAY better than the birth certificate kerfuffle. Somewhere a White House PR flack is hanging herself…

H/T to Treacher.

H/T to TJICistan

Last couple of evenings Monsoon has made itself felt again, which isn’t too surprising. You don’t expect it go to away all at once, or without a fight. But this morning dawned gray and cool and dripping, like autumn in Michigan. Every time I think I’ve waited it out so I can go shovel shit like a civilized being, it starts coming down again. This sucks – I should move to the desert or something.

Offered without comment:

I’ve been deliberately laying off the videos lately and today I post two. Sorry.

H/T to WRSA

Warning: May not be safe for viewers with low gag thresholds.

Sometimes the ol’ blogger noggin goes dry. Once again, I got nuthin’.

In the only news, Paulo the Stallion from Hell did not bite me today. It was not for lack of trying, and I finally told J&H that if they want me to do a proper job of cleaning his paddock they’re gonna have to restrain him first because that horse is batshit crazy lately. Turns out even H is becoming afraid to go in there with him. J wants to get him castrated, though in terms of his financial value they’d be better off buying a freezer and turning him into dog food. He’s a relatively valuable stud. He used to be a fairly valuable saddle horse when H was doing endurance races. But these days she can’t even ride him in company; the last time he tried to mount the horse ahead of him while she was on his back. That’s the sort of thing that’s amusing only in the stories you tell afterward. Assuming you don’t end up in traction during the event, in which case it’s never amusing. Ask me about all my really funny motorcycle accident stories.

That horse is wearing out his entertainment value.