Jetpack Joyride for iPhone

You guys should seriously check out this game on iPhone or whichever console you have near you (It's called Run Run Bear on Android Market). It is super fun and it was free a while ago. There is not much more to this post than that, but hell.. what do you expect from me? I mean, I tried to crash the Google server by describing Brian, which failed miserably. I will have to persevere in my quest of making fun posts; this is not a good example.

What is cool though, it that I’ll be brewing more beer on Sunday so hopefully it will turn out awesome like it did last time. I still need to go out and shoot off a few hundred rounds from the Saiga with Mike and Brian, but maybe just Mike (U Mad, bro?). Seriously though.. that thing needs to spray hot lead in the near future. My trigger finger is itching.

New year’s eve is coming; don’t drink and drive! 

*As Promised* Brian is a Little Bitch

I have a friend named Brian, who really likes to talk shit (which I REALLY love to do as well). He read this one day and noticed that all the ads were for things like tampons and Vagisil, which makes sense given his browsing history and major interests including being a weak, whiney, cunty little girl.

Brian told me “why don’t you blog about it” so I thought it was a good idea. I thought that there is so much info on his bitch-ness that it may indeed crash the blogger server. The man wears corduroy pants for God’s sake!! He is clown shoes… sloppy shit sandwich double cheese, go large!

Now, Ms. Brian is not all bad… “he” actually brews some pretty badass beer and entertains guests in a polite manner. The thing is: When you get a group of girls together, a fierce competition of who can nag, whine and cry the most is on. On, Like Donkey Kong, I believe the term is. Serious case of body dysmorphic disorder which makes him feast on diuretics, beer and angst.

While he owns guns and may well try to kill me one day if these posts continue (okay, probably not) his weakling hands probably do not posses the strength to charge the slide of a pistol or open the box of cartridges for a rifle; if his wife is there to open the box, I might be in real trouble. I have to give it to his wife though, she lets him wear the pants to make up for the apparent lack of testicles… just sayin.

He has a motorcycle and... well, that is Brian’s version of a lifted truck and he continues to use phrases like “Zombie hunter” and “Totally epic” to overcompensate for his love of My Little Pony. Eventually our mutual friends will rub off on him and one day, with hormone therapy and manly people like myself, Mike and Mike’s dad, he may even be “one of the guys” instead of just Brian.

Well, I know this is short for all the vast array of weenie-ness he normally displays, but it’s just a post in good fun…. Hope you enjoyed it a little like I did.  He is the one in the green coat trying to fake being one of the guys.

Still love you Brian.   J

A Very Savage Christmas

This year, as with the previous years in this house, we had a great time together as a family. My co-workers pitched in to cover my 12 hour shift so I could be with the family instead of watching monitors blink my life force away. I spent five days at home in a row which let me get caught up on a lot of chores I’ve been meaning to do; the garage is much safer for humans now.

I was up, along with many (perhaps the majority) other parents of young kids, stuffing stockings and laying out Santa’s gifts. That old fucker gets credit for my hard work…. Now Krampus is a mythical character I can get on board with. Look him up…  Anyway, we stacked it all out there and the boxes didn’t seem to stop; I wonder every year when I will be able to tone it down in a way that nobody is upset over.

I was pleased with the choices everyone made in the gifts I received; most things I received had either slipped my mind or I had neglected to ask for due to their frivolous nature. I like to get things that are immediately useful and at least somewhat warrant the givers’ efforts.

Many things I was fortunate enough to get were ones meeting the above criteria and a few were just because I wanted them. I will use the gunsmithing supplies to hone my skills and make some old firewood-quality weapons into something worth owning. My wife got me checkering tools to help restore the heavily worn areas on my uncle’s rifle and my friend Jeremy got me a glass bedding kit to make another rifle even more worthy at the range. In the end, none of these things were bought to allow me to do my work. They were bought to make me happy. Mission accomplished…. For real this time though.

I also got a gift card from my mother in law so I could buy my camping stove, but that was just my poor man’s method of doing Parkerizing and Bluing so instead I’ll whip up some proper stands to heat the liquid and apply the finish in the right way. Everyone helping me get my start is a great thing. Even though it may take many years, I am not suffering now; I have a good job and can manage all my tasks even if it means some extra hours.

My older son was inundated with gifts as usual and I hope he understands a little of the reasons he has what he has. I tried to make the point to him about each time we go out to eat at Red Robin or another fast food place, that it means I have to spend X number of hours at work to pay for that short period of time. Putting that into perspective for my son also did the same for me and accordingly I have stopped buying anything I don’t need; liquor, beer and eating out are at the top of the list there.

I’m not sure if it’s good or bad, but the last few days, when I think of something I want, I consider “Is it worth the X hours I will spend earning this money” and the answer has been “no” every single time. I’m not entirely sure what that is telling me, but it is certainly something. It’s not good to qualify everything in life, but the timing belt on the Subaru is a lot more important to me than a few bottles of scotch and a dozen trips to eat out over a 3 month period. Seriously, just think about that…   Between the Wifebot and I, we have sacrificed a lot and are still not even close to being bad off.

This is a long post.. sorry….  

~End

Maintaining My Sanity

Everywhere I look, most people seem to be crazy, stupid, evil or some combination of those three. I see politicians spouting nonsense about their bigoted views on gays in the military and others trying to tax one group more than others. The people in Washington are not the only ones who dole out this sort of ignorance either; just a few hours away in NY people are responsible for the biggest train wreck of an economy since the 1930s. Our country will suffer for generations from the poor choices made today.

 

So last night while driving home, I called and spoke to my father for a few minutes and the ways of the world came up. I realized that I sound like the crazy person in the conversation at every turn. First we spoke about the Patriot Act and how it has been used contrary to the intent and that the majority of people targeted were not affiliated with terrorism at all. The conversation shifted to foreign conflicts and then again, we struck a point where I was rambling about the injustices I help commit under the guise of freedom.

 

Anyhoo… these are things I’ve been thinking of recently. Nothing new I guess,

Tragedy, a Pistol and a Bent Gas Block...

Back story: A guy I know recently lost his brother to a tragic accident involving alcohol and a gun. He and his girlfriend were enjoying their night together and having some drinks when the pistol somehow discharged and killed the man. The surviving brother has been dealing with all the arrangements to save his parents the added heartache.

So, the guy (I'll call him Joe) has his brother's possessions and has been trying to dispose of them in a respectful and useful manner. The pistol which killed his brother has since been destroyed and he is left with one more pistol to get rid of. Enter me....

Joe knows I am trying to cut my teeth as a gunsmith and one day after the accident he asked me "Jack, will you do me a favor and not drink when you're working on guns?" Of course I told him I won't handle loaded guns while drunk and he seemed content. Well, over the next couple weeks, Joe seemed to be handling the loss better and returned to his normal happy self. One day he told me he had an old M4 carbine (Bushmaster XM-15E2) style rifle with a bent front sight and gas block and needed it fixed.

Of course, I offered to do the work for him, but we never discussed the price at all. He also noted off-hand about the Smith and Wesson pistol of his brother's that "I don't care if I get two hundred bucks for it, I want it gone" and this made me think a little more. I have been wondering, would I be wrong to offer to replace the part on his rifle in trade for the pistol? No money has to change hands, he gets his rifle working again, gets rid of a hurtful memory and I get another gun to sell off or trade. Good or bad?

I don't want to take advantage of anyone here, so I will tread lightly into this conversation. Worst case is that he'll say no.

Mr./Zombie/Asshole Duck is Dead

After getting super fucking lucky and not being eaten and killed (yes, in that order for the most part) by the aforementioned raccoon, Mr. Duck has died. I hoped that he would survive, but the chances were grim already. Not to post this as a downer, but the cute duck that is my avatar is no longer. The raccoon that soaked up one of my Hornady pills has not been seen since either.

 

At least Mr. Duck gets to be with his friends.  :’(

Premonition Numero Uno

Automatically, the title suggests there are more posts coming, but I figure I’d let it stay open (like the ending of The Terminator) to allow for more down the road.

 

We were all riding around town in the Strykers, the hot, dry air and the stench of burning trash filled northern Iraq’s largest city. Those around me were all familiar to me, but some did not belong to my squad; my team leader had been replaced by another member of the platoon with whom I had been in constant conflict with. We were then called up to a vehicle chase nearby where a car had been hijacked and a family taken hostage; we responded to the area to find the car pulled over and the occupants out.

 

As the ramp of the Stryker dropped, I was the second one out and immediately drew down on a man with my M4 rifle. In Arabic, I shouted for him to show me his hands or I would shoot. The man was heavy, perhaps 5’8” and 240 pounds. The other occupants of the vehicle were not near him, but were clearly victims of this crime. As the rest of the squad dismounted the vehicle, the man quickly reached down into his waistband. All I could think at this moment was “Congratulations! You shot the guy holding a cell phone” booming in my mind.

 

I watched, in a sort of slow motion, as the man pulled out a pistol and began to raise it. I saw this unfold in what seemed like several seconds, but was really only a mere fraction of a second. I flipped the selector switch from safe to semi and quickly squeezed the trigger several times. The fat man’s chest rippled as the 5.56mm projectiles tore through his flesh, sending fine mist spraying out the back. He slumped to Earth and the pistol clattered across the ground.

 

I woke up in a cold sweat…. This was not the type of dream I was used to having. This had not happened to me before in such absolute realism. I could feel every sensation in the dream for the first time ever. After this, I rushed next door to tell my friend Paul about it. He told me that sometimes you have weird dreams because something is trying to tell you something. Nice and vague.. thanks Law Dawg.

 

At the time of this dream, we had been deployed for about 8 months in North-west and north-central Iraq. We saw some wild action and suffered the loss of three members of the company. My mind had been conditioned to the sights, sounds and sensations of combat and I basically shrugged off the dream

 

About a month later, that near-exact event occurred. The differences were that my actual team leader was there, the guy was a skinny one and I shot him in the throat instead of the chest. After we bagged up the body, my buddy Paul yelled from the hatch of his Stryker: “Jack, it’s your fuckin’ dream, bro!”

 

So, this sounds like horse shit, but that’s okay. Real deal. Like it or leave it.   J

 

Peace out.

Sale Fail

Well, after a failed attempt to make some quick cash on something that I thought I could easily sell, the Saiga 12 has been removed (for now) from my "for sale" category. I do want to sell it eventually, but with other, nicer ones on the market for a close price, I am sick of getting low-balled to death.

I will be going out to break it in this week and then I'll have a better idea of what all needs to be done, if anything. I won't fail at this, but I am not successful as of now for this sale. I have four more projects in the wings, one of which is a gift for someone ....   :)

I have given my Christmas list out to people and most of the things I have asked for are ones I won't use soon, per se, but I will eventually. I need to build my capital pool and keep up three items for sale at once and then that will multiply.

Other than that, I am almost done with my math and phych classes... so happy for that. A three week break will be awesome.