Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude

Filthie's Mobile Fortress Of Solitude
Old World Solutions To New Age Sewage Problems

Sunday, 31 July 2016

There Is Seriously Something Wrong...

... at Unca Bob's Treehouse! It's one of the reasons I like to hang out there! I'm strongly tempted to start throwing feces and shrieking with the rest of the blue arsed baboons but in a scrum like he has going on over there...who do ya aim at? HAR HAR HAR!!!! Holy Mackeral - there's more dung in the air there than there was at the DNC convention awhile back! (Try not to get any on ya if you go over there; for me...it's way too late! I yam covered in it!)

Sitting here, spattered with the dung of every known primate ever to surf the internet, I have the entire works of every modern and ancient philosopher, zealot, leader and shyster at my finger tips. About the only truth I have been able to discern is that all ideologies break down at some point and stop working. Capitalism rewards and encourages greed. Socialism encourages sloth and kills initiative. Libertarianism extolls personal freedom but neglects personal responsibility. Liberal progressivism isn't right about anything. My personal take on ideologies and the men that fall for them is that humans like order and will try to impose it even where none exists. So it is that I pick and choose from the supermarket of ideas and take what works for me.

Others are doing the same and the guy that wrote that dreck for Unca Bob... I suspect he is shopping in the 'organic' section where everything is grown in pig shit. One of the redeeming facets of Unca Bob is that when he hits 'em - they go right out of the park! And the boys in the comments are hitting a few homers too.

There is merit in the Manosphere just as there is in Christianity. If you boil them both down and distill the best of them they compliment each other very well. Take care of yourself. Take care of others. Stay positive. Be honest. Be virtuous. Be independent. Be prepared You have to put something into life to get something out. Etc etc. The point of these philosophies is to enable and encourage these things but folks get hung up on pushing the ideology rather than their objectives - and that's where the whole shooting match goes off the rails.

I'm not perfect, but my lowest, most unhappy times in life coincided with times when I was untrue and unvirtuous with myself and others. I'm no saint now either...but on occasion I try. I live in the real world like so many others. I've done things that cannot be forgiven, and have had things done to me that can't be forgiven either. None of it was fair or just - but life is not fair and just. You deal with it and get over it. Some things are harder than others

I suppose the point of all this is that sometimes - you're on your own and the ideologies go out the window. If you throw them out and proceed in those situations as a fair and honest man - my personal feeling is that you'll be way better off than that scholar who is trying to mix the Manosphere with Christianity. I strongly suspect that one is going to be an exothermic reaction with a result nobody is going to like.

These Boots Were Made For Walkin...

Well the road trip's been pushed back a bit... Nothing serious, just a few loose ends to take care of. The wife has a horrible cold too. Hope to peel out tomorrow.

Footwear is on the agenda here at the hovel, and it's a subject that's been chapping my arse for years now. And it's getting worse!

Most of our footwear comes from friggin China or Taiwan or some other 3rd world dump and it shows - but not always. There's a time and a place for Crocs and you can tell just by looking at them that they're cheap and disposable. But some of the other stuff looks legit. I almost got scammed when I was ordering a Canada Goose parka and it turned out the company was a Chinese knock-off. One may snort in disgust at my obvious lack of intellect, saying that the alarm bells should have gone off when I saw a $1200.00 parka going for $800.00. But - in my defense, I have seen 'hot' brands do this before. Sun Ice used to be top of the shelf winter wear - and then they went out of style and their prices went waaaaaay down. Are they even still in business?

In any event, I am changing my buying habits. I'm sick of this crap - ya pay $250.00+ for a pair of boots, they look like hell in a year and they're garbage in two. I want a good boot. A pair that when it wears out, ya go down to the shoemaker and get them re-soled and you're off to the races again.

These are hand made by Dayton out of Hongcouver (prolly by chinamen) but they have been getting some rave reviews for durability and comfort. I like the shit-kicker look so I went with these for the motorcycle. They're in the lineup now so I should see them in October or December at the latest. Hopefully my 5.11 desert boots will hold together until then... or I may be making sales calls in my Crocs.

I've heard that if you are caught wearing Crocs by the cool kids, all acts of assault and battery become instantly legally justified. I would imagine there's a provision for age in there though, right? Like - if you're an old fart, you can still wear them? Like it does for Velcro shoes...?

Friday, 29 July 2016

One More Post Before I Hit The Road

The blog counter rolled over 50,000 views this week.

Thanks a lot for stopping by - your time is always sincerely appreciated. In meat space I tend to be a quiet and guarded man among strangers and it's nice to have a place to let it all hang out and at least try and get the odd good rude joke out of it.

Cheers,
GF

Distant distant roads beckon. And
so does this apocalyptic Beemer,
come to think of it.
What is it? A mutant café racer?


Thursday, 28 July 2016

On Vacation!!!


Glen Filthie will be on vacation Aug. 1st ~Aug.5. 2016, returning
to work Aug. 8.


While I'm away:
  • Prostitutes, drug dealers, bar keeps and bookies expecting payment from me can see Uncle Bob for prompt and cheerful resolution of my financial obligations. (Word to the wise... Don't take a cheque).
  • For complaints and financial compensation resulting from my careless and negligent use of firearms, explosives and dangerous chemicals, the always-sympathetic Knuckle Dragger will be courteous and understanding of any butt hurt complaints you may have.
  • Anything that bloody goat says about me is a damned lie. What goes on in the goat shed STAYS in the goat shed. You can't prove anything!
  • those who have gotten lost or are needing the protection and advice of a rational adult, you can find it here and only here. Whatever ya do don't go here - he's lost too (and has the pics to prove it)!
  • Finally, for sheer boredom, lunacy and the frowning of your life - be my guest. You were warned, don't say I never did nothin' for ya.
Finally, please do not urinate, defecate or expectorate in the comments, or say rotten things about me while I'm gone.

Cordially,

The manageMINT.

Arts & Entertainment: Friday PhilthHarmonic Pops ...Er...Moms?

What a let down.

It was SUPPOSED to be a night of cultural exhibition and sophistication. Yeah - classical music! Wirecutter was dressed in his immaculate neoprene chest waders. PP came all the way in from The Smallhold wearing his expensive new rubber boots. I put on my best formal green plaid shirt and Trilene suspenders. BW combed his hair! We were dressed to kill as you would expect sophisticated gentlemen to be at such a formal affair.

And it was all RUINED by these egotistical harridans! Goddammitalltohell!


I'm sorry everyone. Maybe we can salvage what's left
of the night with a fart contest or something...


Good gravey!!! They're still at it!!! Sigh - might as well
wipe and call it a night here at the Thunderbox.
We'll see y'all sometime later in the week!




When We Were Kings (And Queens)


This is one of those vintage tin plate signs they sell for home décor now and then. This one just strummed my heart strings the right way. I remember my wife snuggled into my back, just happy to be there and me oblivious as hell. She even had shoes like that. She would hug me the same way and still does on occasion. I'm one of those dim bulbs that has the world by the tail and forgets it all the time.

Of course, back then we rode a used Honda 360T and wore jean jackets but we thought we were just as cool as these two. Last year me and the dogs went over to the big Show and Shine they have at the end of every summer and someone had restored a 360T and it was an official antique!

Gawd, I am ready for my vacation...

Wednesday, 27 July 2016

Is Somebody Missing Their Girlfriend?






Ordinarily I would suspect a lady like this to be in the company of Wirecutter over at Knuckle Draggin but he's happily married. (Or at least he is, can't speak for the missus though, HAR HAR HAR!!!!). Uncle Bob? She's a little too classy for a guy his speed.

Stackz O. Mags maybe...?

BARF


Prolly shoulda called this one: BW, The Early Years


I have wet the bed at night
from nightmares like this

A Dream Rebuilt


That's the Honda CX500 re-imagined as a café racer. Of course it's anything but - that engine is a 500cc (or a stroked 650) liquid cooled transverse V-twin with a shaft drive output. Even stripped down and carbed she won't be fast...but she will be oh-so-pretty all the same. You can hardly see them in the pic but if memory serves (and sometimes it does) - those are the original Honda Comstar wheels. Back in the day when most motorcycle wheels were spokes this was a pretty snazzy farkle.

Next week the wife and I are off on vacation and just following the nearest road that goes 'that-a-way'. I want to get rained on. I want to cover my bike in bug guts. I will want to get off regularly and see the sights with no rush and no schedule. I want to leave my watch and computer at home.

Pigs Gone Wild







Low and slow - this is where the A10 Warthog is in its element.
The military has been trying to obsolete this bird for decades
but it stubbornly remains the best bird for the job where close air support
and pin point precision are the order of the day.


Put it this way: The A10 Warthog is as popular with the military bean counters
as this guy is with the ladies.
Fortunately nobody cares what bean counters think, and as for the ladies...errrmm..
I forgot where I was going with that...

Comic Books

When I was a kid I made an opulent living on returning beer and pop bottles and invested my fortunes in the comic book industry. Had I kept those comic books and taken the time to sort through them today I probably would have realized a 50 to 1 return on investment by selling them to pastey faced cellar dwellers  collectors today!

Worst post EVER!!!

I had boxes and boxes of them. When I was about 10 or so, I noticed something odd starting to happen to my comic book heroes. They used to fill the pages beating up the bad guys but all of a sudden they just seemed to turn into soap operas. They became boring. Who wants to read about Peter Parker bickering with Mary Jane? If I wanted to see that Mom and Dad would do it for free, HAR HAR HAR! Decades later I learned that DC and Marvel had decided to grow comic books up a little bit to appeal to older readers and reach a bigger audience. They started introducing drama and romance to the story lines that I just wasn't old or mature enough to appreciate. The comic books had left me behind which was just as well, considering.

I started reading magazines. I still remember my poor mother ripping a TIME magazine out of my hands. "Lookit, Mom! The Americans cut off some gook's head and stuck it on their army tank! I want to go to Viet Nam!!!" (Of course, that wasn't exactly what happened, and mine wasn't the proper reaction - but journalists will be journalists). Mom started buying me books. The comic books slowly got pitched as I filled the boxes under my bed with books. In the space of a year my reading tastes had pulled ahead of the comic book industry and this time I left them behind.

When the super hero movies hit I was just smitten. They did them right: Jay Jonah Jameson was an ignorant prick. Peter Parker was a hapless young man. When the monsters showed up the men all gobbled in fright and the women screamed in terror and only The Amazing Spiderman could save the day! Michael Buble and his big band even did the Spiderman theme song when the hero saved the day AND rescued the pretty girl.


Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!
I've never laughed so hard in my life. Turn up
the volume!

Today the cellar dwellers, fan boys and geeks are all a-flitter because the social justice wankers are making the comics politically correct. Spiderman's black now, apparently, Thor is a woman and Captain America is a fudge packing faggot. One thinks of those 1950's parents railing against the comic book industry saying they were mind numbing dreck that was unhealthy and unwholesome...welp, I guess we know what visionaries look like, don't we?

All the frooty colours of the rainbow!
I wonder if his tights have the hole in the back...

As a grown man old stubfart watching the world going off the rails all I can do is chuckle and pity the kids these days. In my day parents didn't want their kids reading the works of poisoned minds but today they want to ram that shit right down their throats. This isn't entertainment - it's indoctrination. This is how you make little fascists and commies. Except we are making perverts and degenerates.

I gotta admit though that I did appreciate some of the female comic book villains in their smoking hot latex costumes. I suppose now, to get with the times, they're gonna make them all hairy assed white guys in the interests of social justice.


Great Ceasar's Ghost! It's Cat Man!!!
Hit the bath house, Captain America!
This is a job for Captain Sweatpants
And His K9 Crime Fighters!!!



Stop That Laughing! Who Said That...?!?!?

Making the rounds on the e-mail:



The Muslims are not happy!
They're not happy in Gaza .
They're not happy in Egypt .
They're not happy in Libya .
They're not happy in Morocco.
They're not happy in Iran .
They're not happy in Iraq .
They're not happy in Yemen .
They're not happy in Afghanistan.
They're not happy in Pakistan.
They're not happy in Syria .
They're not happy in Lebanon.

So, where are they happy?

They're happy in Canada.
They're happy in Australia.
They're happy in England.
They're happy in France.
They're happy in Italy.
They're happy in Germany.
They're happy in Sweden.
They're happy in the USA.
They're happy in Norway.

They're happy in every country that is not Muslim.

And who do they blame?

Not Islam.
Not their leadership.

Not themselves.

THEY BLAME THE COUNTRIES THEY ARE HAPPY IN!

AND THEY WANT TO CHANGE THEM TO BE LIKE THE COUNTRY THEY CAME FROM .

WHERE THEY WERE UNHAPPY.

Excuse me, but . . .
How stupid can you get?

HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR! HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR! !!!

Ooops!!! Errrrrrrrrrmmmmm....sorry everyone! *Cough*cough*cough*

Uhh....ahem....Why, that's RACIST!!! Shame on you!!!  :)

Here at the Thunderbox we remain openly contemptuous of political correctness and the lickspittles that live by it. We hate everyone equally and our right to rude jokes shall not be infringed.


Tuesday, 26 July 2016

A Possible Fork In The Road Looms...


Going off the grid. Minimalism. Enjoying the decline. Go your own way. Gawd, there are days when I just want to just chuck it all and say to hell with it - and go live in a tar paper shack!

The ruling NDP here in Alberta have decided the top priority has to be the environMINT. In their ads they show pictures of happy retirees (probably former snivel servants) fly fishing in pristine streams. A chick with nose jewelry and tats is growing crops on the roof of her house. Urban bee keeping beardoes give us smarmy words about how they are preserving the environMINT for the good of all generations. There'll be no eeeeevil Big Oil in this province, dammit, and what little is left will be taxed out the wazzoo! There's carbon taxes coming, both federally and provincially - and this at a time when our oil sands petro-economy is in the toilet. Alberta is going head-first into another oil bust...and the Dippers are gonna make it as painful as possible for anyone that actually works for a living.

My newer, less established customers have been dropping like flies. They can't keep the doors open and their buildings are going up for lease or sale. When the carbon taxes hit, more will fold. It's quiet out here and it's going to get quieter. It hasn't started yet but it will soon, it always does. People are going to start walking away from their homes because they can't pay for them. The kids are going to get hit the hardest as they always do. The only people going to have good, steady jobs are the gov't slobs. The rest of us will be on phony make-work programs and welfare if those idiots have their way.

There's only so much of that that can go on until the rest of us start feeling the heat. The upper management in my company are getting skittish and erratic and I just can't bring myself to give a hoot anymore. They're screaming at us sales guys to bring in more sales. The senior guy quit a couple weeks back and his baggage fell on me. We finally got a mature adult for a branch manager - but he's new. Previous to that we had a clot headed cnut that swore at customers, bungled their orders and told them to go fly a kite, and that was just him - he hired for the shop, and we had everything from purple haired 400 lb. lesbians that got in fist fights with delivery drivers, to homeless beardos, to crack-heads trying to tick the customers off too. For years we did that. And now that - finally - we've started hiring mature, rational adults - the execs think we should be getting record sales and won't concede how much damage the previous manager and his chuckleheads did to our business! What is the problem? And now - they're looking at me.

Of course, none of those guys wants to get in the truck, go visit customers that we've pissed off and try to settle them down and make amends. According to them the customers have no right to me mad - we ticked them off years ago! But we have our house in order now!!! They should be over it by now - or so they think. Is the lack of sales my doing, they're asking?

My house is paid off. We have a little bit of money saved. The cars are all paid off. I'm educated and will find work if I have to. I don't know if I want to do this anymore.

If I've made the management out to be bungholes I must apologize - while they certainly are that... they're nice folks too. I love them in spite of their dumbassery and they've always tried to treat me well. It's the middle management flunkies they've hired that I can't stand. I've put in 8-1/2 years with these guys.

I'm thinking it might just be time to pull the pin. No, I won't go dirt-farming but maybe soft office job might be the way to go. All I want is eight hours, no bullshit, and no stress. I've survived economic downturns before...and I will survive this one.

It's a time of uncertainty around here for now.

Monday, 25 July 2016

There Is A Streak Of Libertarianism...

...running through Coopville, and it is starting chap my authoritarian arse...!!!


You're free to go, Charlie. THIS time. Be advised that
Filthie is watching you VERY closely...

Stackz O. Mags Spotted



One of my favourite black rifle geeks - Stackz O. Mags - went MIA awhile back because he started making money and was afraid his creepy fans in the blogosphere would start hitting him up for cash and loans. He was too smart to lend me any money, but that's the story of my life. For now I make a modest living taking Uncle Bob's beer bottles in to the refund depot.

In any event ol' Stackz is doing so well, he's throwing his beloved AR15 in the garbage (screw you, I got dibs) - and has decided to go a little upscale!


Sweet!!!!








Do I need a handheld chain gun? Oh hell yes...!!!

Hmpfffff!!!! That boy's doing so well, stacks a mags full of ammunition doesn't cut it anymore! He's buying his ammo by the friggin yard!!!


Looking good, Stacks!!!

Incidentally, the phrase "I gave him with the whole nine yards..." is a slang expression that comes to us from the gunners on the B17 bombers of WW2. When they were fighting pitched gun battles over Germany each gunner had a belt of ammunition that was roughly 9 yards long. If they survived, when they returned to base, out of ammo they would brag that they gave "the whole 9 yards" to the Krauts.

That's a serious dose of Hell when you're talking about .50 BMG.

Garbage Night In Canada

Because it's been a whole week or so without a post about GARBAGE!



He shoots...! He GOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLS!!!!!
If you've never played table hockey - you
are missing out.

Up here in Canada the province of Queerbec is rightfully held in the same degree of contempt that you Yanks might reserve for a place like NYFC. 92% of Canada's biggest assholes come from it's three biggest cultural sewers: Hongcouver, Tranna, and - most of all... Mon Trail!

Contrary to popular belief there's TWO good things that come out of Queerbec: the road coming out of it, of course...and the Montreal Canadiens!

Fromage au cottage! That's fwench for 'There's
something good about everyone' - even fwenchmen!'
Betchya didn't know Old Man Filthie was a sophisticated and cultured linguist,
didjya?

With the help of these diabolical fwenchmen, I figuratively skull raped my idiot father in law and stepped on what was left of his brains with dirty shoes! HAR HAR HAR! It was awesome!

It was in early summer, 1993 when my father in law was in his own private version of heaven: he had a mason glass full of home brew, and the hockey game was blaring on the TV. He and I were polar opposites on most things and hockey was no exception. He had no problem with fwench-canadians but made an exception for the Habs whom he hated with the heat of 1000 suns on general principles. I had no use for fwench-canadians but made an exception for the Habs. The playoff finals were in full swing and the Habs and the LA Kings were duking it out for Lord Stanley's Cup.

"What kind of fuggin idiot watches this dreck," I asked my father in law. "It's all fixed - the Habs are gonna win it and everyone with a triple digit IQ knows it." Oh man... Doug was ordinarily a civil man but that night I scored a direct hit on his bang button. "Oh piss off, Glen! Why would you even say something like that? The Kings are going to crush the Habs - and all the experts know it. Shut your friggin gob." I cut a billowing fart and left him to his retching and his game. The Kings won, and Doug got out of his chair to do the Hideous F*** You Dance for me. I feigned indifference and nonchalance. "Fixed!" I snorted. "Screw you!" he responded.

Couple days later I caught up with him after game 2. "Why, lookit that, Douggie - the Habs won! Who woulda thunk it Doug? Who? Oh wait - why...I did! The Habs are gonna take the series! The outcome is only in doubt among stupid people and wankers that don't understand that the whole shootin' match is FIXED!" The Old Man was in a snit. "You're full of shit and twice as thick," he grouched. I shouldnae  razzed him because he lived for this stuff. I started feeling sorry for Doug and decided to stop teasing him about hockey. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valour, and to be truthful the old buzzard's team could still win it - and if that happened then there would be no putting up with him.

I can't remember what it was. Some passing insult? Some cheap shot? Whatever it was, Doug had pissed me off and I decided to start tormenting him again. The Habs won game three, and my father in law started to lose his chit. "How much money have ya got, Glen? There's not a hope in hell of those filthy Frenchmen winning this! Care to place a small wager?!?" Hooo boy! Ol' Douggie was smokin' mad! HAR HAR HAR! "Not a chance, Doug. Ya see, I have a triple digit IQ and this shit show is so obviously fixed. If I were to indulge in that wager I would be taking unfair advantage of stupid people - which of course, goes against my creed of chivalry and honesty...". The stench of my own pretensions even made me a little green, HAR HAR HAR!

Back then I still chewed tobacco and Dean and I were outside loafing and gobbing and shooting the breeze. Dean actually WAS a talented linguist. He could do any number of superb impersonations and for the price of a can of snuff and a beer - he called my father in law during the day to leave a message on his voice mail. Back then voice mail and cell phones were still a novelty for the cool kids and high rollers and Doug liked to make a show of his high tech savvy as he checked his messages and flipped his cell from time to time. I was there well before Game 4 when he was going through his messages for the day. He even had the speaker box going to make his high tech show even more impressive to his ignorant peon of a son in law. A heavily accented, deep voice boomed out from the message machine:

"Allo? Allo! Dis is Patreek Waugh, goal tender for da Mon Trail Canadiens... hand I ham looking for Douglas.... Douglas, I understand you 'ave a problem with da team, hand I would like to discuss it with you in the parking lot of da Aaadmontim Coliseum hat your convenience...AFTER we win da Stanley Cup in Game Five..." Doug slammed the phone down and pinched the bridge of his nose. Looked like he had a migraine coming on. Somehow, by the grace of God I managed to keep a straight face and appear relatively innocent. "Sounds like ya really pissed off the best goalie in NHL history, Doug," I said disapprovingly. The poor man looked like he had swallowed a turd. Dean should have won an Oscar for his performance!

Game 4 was roller coaster. The Habs would score a goal and I would yawn. "She's a done deal, Douggie. Aren'tchya glad I didn't make that bet with ya?" Then the Kings would score, and Doug would flip out in glee and tell me to shut up or put up - he was still willing to bet. The nerves of the players were flayed ragged but finally the Habs won again - and Doug was coming apart at the seams.

Game 5 wasn't even CLOSE. Those horrible Habs WALKED all over the LA Kings and wiped their muddy boots on them. The Kings had lost their nerve and caved under the pressure...and so had Doug! The old buzzard sulked in his chair and inhaled an entire mason jar of home brew at a breath.





"Well, well, well," I said in a chit-eating tone of voice, "Who, Doug, in your opinion, is the ultimate authority on the sport of hockey? It certainly isn't dapper Don Cherry, is it?" Poor Doug - he was a sickly tone of grey. "Jesus Christ!" he mumbled. The poor man looked physically ill: the team he hated most had taken the Cup, his asshole of a son in law had told him it would happen when all the experts guaranteed it wouldn't, and the salt stung badly in the open wounds ... and now it was all over but the gloating! "It is just as I said," I lectured in an insufferable manner, "It's like playing a game with a child or a retard. You have to let the retard win once in awhile, or he gets depressed, loses interest and walks away... and that's why the Habs had to win this series..."




Is Don Cherry still alive? Looking at Don,
is there anyone out there that wants to dispute
the fact that NHL hockey
appeals to the idiocracy?

Poor ol' Douggie looked physically ill. And foolishly, I started to feel sorry for him again.

"Okay! Alright! I'm done effing with ya, Doug! I admit it! I didn't have the slightest clue who was gonna win, I pulled it all out of my arse and I even had one of my friends phone you up and pose as Patrick Roy! I shouldna been such a dink about all this and I'm sorry."

By way of apology I produced a bottle of cheap 5 Star whiskey and the poor old boy gulped half the bottle down before pausing for a breath. I'm not lying either - poor Doug was so distraught he was chugging whisky! CHEAP whisky! By the time most of the bottle was gone and he had fallen asleep in his chair - I had been grudgingly forgiven for my ignorant priggishness.




Fair warning: this rot gut isn't fit for the thrill of victory OR
the agony of defeat.
But - if it's all you can afford, it's better than nothing.


That's it for the hockey lore of Castello Di La Filthie, on this sweltering sunny summer day. For a better appreciation of this most Canadian of sports, and of fwench-canadians that are an indispensable part of it...


Today the Habs are a bunch of worthless bums as are the Aaaaaadintin Oilers and a few other favourite teams. They say that time is circular, and what has happened before will eventually happen again. One day the planets will align, the heavens will shine down on Queerbec and the Habs will win the Cup again. When that happens... I will give it to Doug again - with both barrels! HAR HAR HAR!!!

I suppose I shouldn't have referred to Doug as an 'old boy' in my foolish narrative above - back in the early 90's he was about the same age I am now. It makes me wonder if I am as clueless and retarded as he was now that I am an old fart too...?

Sunday, 24 July 2016

This One Has To Go Upstairs!


Is this a visual statement on the Black Lice Matter folks...or one about  the lunacy in California?
The knuckle draggin authorities have been alerted and will
pass judgement shortly.
Stay tuned.

Even Filthie's Gotta Be Somewhere


Yesterday I went in for work for a bit and then peeled out on the murdercycle for a little jaunt to blow the dust off the brain. I like BW's blog because he does this all the time and gets off the back roads to find places most of us will never see. His seems to be a journey of the soul and as I get older, his journey makes more and more sense to me. There is a certain satisfaction to be found in the middle of nowhere with only the ghosts and wind for company, and you get a certain appreciation for them knowing that you may never be back this way again.


This is St. Matthews church in Viking. It was built in 1935 "In a unique 16th century design". Yannow, I see this as more like a bunch of stubble jumping farmers trying to build a church that they think looks like something out of the 16th century! The construction must have been a little spotty; the place is falling apart today and looks to be held together with duct tape and the love of volunteers. They probably built this thing for fun, in a time when there were no phones, internet, TV, radio and probably not even any electricity.



 I wasn't ready to go home yet so I went down the road a bit to Killam AB. It's infuriating...now that I'm an old fart sometimes I get so sleepy while driving that sometimes I just have to pull over and grab a 15 minute cat nap. I am so shiftless and lazy that I even start getting drowsy on the motorcycle!

I pulled into a playground in Killam shucked off the leathers and helmet, put on some elevator music on the motorcycle stereo...and sat my old fat arse down on a park bench. It's high summer and hotter n' hell...but God sent me a cool breeze and my eyelids started to droop. I did manage to snap a last pic before I started sawing logs.


There were a few splotches of yellow leaves on the trees. Then I just clunked out, carried away on a summer breeze with the rustling of the leaves in my ears.

I woke up about a half hour later with my chin on my chest and my ass on pins and needles - and headed for home.

That was 350 kms well wasted.

Fuck The RCMP


Look, Fellas. I've been a staunch advocate for the cops all my life. I know what you guys do. I know the toll it takes on you. I know it is a great job but a shitty one as well. Years ago RCMP officers coached my hockey teams. As a kid I was a rebellious young man that could have gotten into big trouble had not a very special constable taken the time to straighten me out and make me fly right.



As it stands right now, if these two come banging on my door
at 2:00 am in the morning - I will stumble to the door,
invite them in and put on the coffee and ask how I can help. I
am a father, a son, a brother and a law abiding citizen
that respects the law... but there are limits.


The RCMP round here have been sensible about gun control. They won't enforce it for the most part. One day at my gun club some kid started banging away with a Mini14 with a 20 rounder - and the ERT guys a couple benches down pretended not to notice. One of the kids pulled me aside and said "Filthie - can you have a word with our friend with the Min 14? He probably doesn't know that's illegal and we are having to much fun here to ruin it with a dumb ass arrest like that...". So I had a word with the kid: no high cap mags around when the cops are about. Simple, we can all get along if we put our minds to it.

I'm not threatening anyone. I will not say anything in print that will get me in legal trouble.

I believe threats are better left unsaid. Suffice it to say that if the RCMP are going to enforce bullshit like this, they WILL lose my admiration, my cooperation and my respect. That's just for starters.



And as for this mealy mouthed cock sucker and his gun grabbing meat puppets, I
suppose the less that's said of him around here,
the better too...

Saturday, 23 July 2016

An Elegant Saturday Night Pool Party At Uncle Bob's Tree House




All the blog celebs are gonna be there including Wirecutter
and the lonely libertarian


Bob is the modern millionaire Playboy. You can
bet that there'll be beautiful bikini clad bimbos 
in attendance


I think I'll be giving that one a miss. Might go swimming
with Homer and the family under the waters of the clean, clean
sea..


GAH! Let's finish this Saturday post off right, shall we?


Great Big Sea will redeem the Thunderbox
on this sensational Saturday...

As for me... I'm off to work! I'm not broken up about it, these days in Alberta a fella has to be thankful he has a job. Think of me while your schmoozing with the elite over at the Treehouse, and pass my disregards along to Unca Bob!


Friday, 22 July 2016

Friday Night Kareoke

Last weekend I headed out on Dusk Patrol on the Fireball. The plan was simple: an easy milk run through known space around Aaaadmintin and Fort Saskratchmebum - and then rev the rocket up for a line drive straight down 15 toward Mundare. Adding some spice to the mission was an approaching weather front from the east. If I booted her east into the face of the approaching squall, I could beat the weather to Chipman, hang a right up to the Yellowhead right along the front of darkling clouds and weather, then pin it back west to home and beat the weather, nice and dry!

It all went well and I figgered I was home free when I hit 16 and started heading west away from the front.


I revved the Fireball up to a buck twenty and was giving the finger to the weather gods - and ran right into a microsystem. Big, fat, cold rain drops started to fall. You could feel the air pressure drop and the next thing I knew I was gargling louder than my motorcycle as I plowed into the weather. In seconds I was drenched through my leathers. I slowed down... and the weather broke. Chastened, I kicked up the throttle and ran like that for 10 minutes and started to dry out - and then hit another localized rain storm even worse than the last. Hail started and I just groaned...twice more I got hit like that on the way home. Woe be unto he that trifles with the weather gods!

Most people would learn a lesson from that - but tonight I dared them again. Didn't give the gods the finger this time - and I barely got the bike back into the shed when the lightening and rain and hail started. Awesome!!! Booyah!!!! In your FACE, weather gods! Niether rain, sleet or snow prevents Filthie from making his appointed rounds, and no gods shall hand me my comeuppance!!! Do ya hear me, weather gods?!?! NO COMEUPPANCE!!!



Remember Murray? A fitting song for the weather gods,
humbled by The Mighty Filthie and his Heavy Metal
War Machine!

Jeez, that lightening is striking awfully close tonight! That last one damned near singed my eyebrows!

This next one is a good one for our friends over at the Small Hold. PP is advised that if he gets any static from the Weather Gods, the Great And Powerful Glen Filthie will take a very dim view of the deities responsible!!!


For all our farmers and freeholders, great and small...have a cold one this fine
Friday night! You've earned it.

Other People's Kids


I shouldn't go over to Unca Bob's Treehouse. A couple days back I was over there and a food fight broke out and I got pelted with rotten fruit and feces by the shrieking gibbons and laughing hyenas! I'm still mad about it!!! Bob and his minions are IDIOTS!!!

Except, of course - when they are exceedingly brilliant.

Yannow I never really turned my formidable intellect and powers of observation and deduction on this. Bob is bang on the money with this: The press and mainstream media doted on Chelsea Clinton. They were absolutely furious and outraged when Dubya's 12 year old daughter had the unmitigated gall to stick her tongue out at them! I can barely imagine their chagrin!

But...what about Obama's kids? They've been silent as church mice about them.

As a bullshit artist err...technical sales guy, I know that you have to often pay greater attention to what the customer ISN'T saying when your are sizing him up or sparring in a negotiation. Given the idiots those poor kids have for parents... I suspect Bob and his minions are entirely too correct.


From The Bowels Of Filthie's Dungeon


My basement workshop is an unplumbed profane profundity where some truly awful and ghastly things have happened. Events so twisted and evil they boggle the imagination. Devilry and sin combine and compress to the point that light, morals and ethics warp and and distort. The Devil's Filthie's Workshop is where perfectly good lumber goes to die.


Oh yes little one. You will enjoy the tender
mercies of Doctor DeWalt and Mr. Mikita...,

Errrrr... did I say that out loud? Sorry everyone! Be good to your psychiatrist, enjoy your meds and have a happy Friday!

Thursday, 21 July 2016

Friday Crockumentary



As the internet's moral authority it often falls to me to correct and admonish bloggers with sensitivity problems. Today CW is off to the woodshed for a bare-bummer.


Lookit that white creepy-ass cracker mofo! Foatin'
around in space like he owns it! And not a single
stain on that lily white space suit, oh no!
It's not like whitey has to do any WORK when
he's floatin' around in outterfuckenspace.
Check yo privilege home boy!

Clearly CW is a racist sonofabitch and needs a remedial lesson on the contributions of African americans on the Final Frontier. From the archives of Rodger Schlong's site - please give your undivided attention to this fine documentary, filmed in Schlong-O-Vision, and a fitting tribute to our black African American astronauts.


When was this? Oh about nineteen fiddy seven..fiddy eight...put
on your cone-head hats everyone!


Ahhh. That's better! No we can have some proper sexually and racially inclusive space opera as a treat!



Happy Friday everyone!

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

The Looming Financial Meltdown

Don't mind me -I am just foaming at the mouth in rage again

As everyone knows the petro-economy is in the toilet right now. So it goes for my province of Alberta in Canada. Federally our liberals are in power and they are doing exactly what you would expect liberals to do: spend like drunken sailors, tax like medieval robber barons, and obsess over queers, minorities and other divisive social issues. On the provincial level, my province is being run by the fuggin NDP - officially they're called the New Democrat Party but that's just a polite way of calling them scum sucking commie bastards. The party is made up of public school teachers, cocktail waitresses and sexually disturbed miscreants that want Alberta to be an ecological haven where retired snivel servants can spend their gold plated retirements fly fishing, and the roof top bee keepers and metrosexual cyclists can frolic on the taxpayer's dime. Anyone else will either work for the gov't or be on welfare.

Shit. Say it, don't spray it, Filthie! My computer screen is covered in gob and spittle - and I'm ranting again! Sorry everyone!

In any event the writing is on the wall. Stupid people want eeeeeeevil rich people to pay their way. Since the real rich people run the politicos and are untouchable here as they are in the states - it looks like the middle and upper - middle class are gonna take it in the hooper for all this socialist progression. And - like socialists everywhere, they are quietly setting up the legal machinery so that they can raid your bank account a la Cypress. I'm sorry, I don't want a financial haircut and I know where these guys are taking us. The 1930's beckon.

Anyhoo... I've just started buying metals for insurance purposes. I don't have nearly enough for a catastrophic currency melt down...but who knows in a few years? At the rate our politicians are going we will be down to bartering if they have their way. Those idiots think money grows on trees.




That's a five ounce ingot, a one ounce round and a copper coin.
What is it? A Sistercian? A denarius? A Rusbucknik?



Is copper even worth anything these days? My wife is a recent Christian convert and I guess she just saw these and had to have them. If we do face a global currency meltdown...I dunno if these things are part of the prepping or not.

She will be happy with them I suppose.

Crapcopter II: Channelling Your Inner Idiot



Earlier in the spring my first build multirotor was lost with all hands aboard in the bush.


This one was a V-Tail build that looked evil as hell
in the air. With it, I got some pics of Wirecutter
sun bathing in the nude which I posted on the internet.
I'm still getting death threats and complaints about it,
HAR HAR HAR!


I still remember my shock and amazement when
the damned thing flew. Later I
cleaned up the wiring, streamlined it and put three
Minions aboard with a Mobius camera.

I can hear Wirecutter, Uncle Bob and BW working the actions on their shotguns over the internet! If I am going to violate their right to privacy and spy on them with a multirotor...I will need to be mighty fast!!!


This one's going to be a Y6 configuration multirotor. Is it going
to be fast enough to evade the trap and skeet shooting
Knuckle dragger and Uncle Bob?
I doubt it, but the crew seems confident. I'll
keep you posted as the build progresses.

I am just ticked right off. The motor mounts they shipped were incorrect so I gotta re-order the right ones and re-drill all the booms which means I gotta wait for another week and a half before I can get this beast airborne. I want to annoy and harass people with it now!!!  :(

Of course the usual weasel words and caveats apply to a post like this. Don't fly these things around people that don't like them, make sure you are in an area where others won't get hurt if the thing fails and crashes. These things are like guns: a few assholes can ruin it for everyone so fly them responsibly. If yer lookin' for a great father/son project (or mother/father/son/daughter) - this is it. The kids at Flite Test make some excellent DIY kits.

The 'Do It All Rifle'


The 'do-it-all rifle' used to be a mythological creature not found in the real world: it's deadly accurate for varmint and target work and it's of a calibre that will take down anything that walks anywhere on the continent. When bullet technology finally caught up with the times all that changed.


Looks like the goldsmith puked on it...

The gun above is technically referred to as a 'Drilling'. They're not common and their popularity seemed to be with the Euros - back in the day when the titled rich and noble classes ruled the roost. That thing has a barrel for every occasion and I would not want to be futzing with the selectors when a shot presented itself... but guns like this aren't about hunting.

For the man seeking the 'do it all rifle' the experts and gun gurus will tell ya it isn't possible to have a gun that will function in every scenario with aplomb. They're full of beans, of course. There's actually several that will:

 Knock out two pins and the receiver and barrel (the 'upper') come off the AR15. Start with gophers in the classic .223 caliber in the morning. Swap uppers for something like the .458 SOCOM and you're hunting deer in the bush after lunch. Swap in a precision air-gauged National Match upper for the shoot at Camp Perry for the afternoon. Finally, swap in the 7.5" upper for home security and house cleaning before ya go to bed. This beast will bring home the bacon and the trophies - AND put paid to gophers, tin cans and hobgoblins with aplomb.
It doesn't get much more versatile and practical than that!

It's too bad Stacks O. Mags isn't around - he was an expert in the AR15 but old farts like Carteach0 and Wirecutter are familiar enough with this gun that they can be relied on for good advice when dealing with them. I have one in a 7.5" chopper that I shoot at the range for gits and shiggles. My preferred high power match rifle is the M14, because I believe a military gun should have character, nostalgia and mystique as well as accuracy. I don't care if the AR is more accurate and versatile, I am an old fart and I am just fine with old school guns! (But in the real world, the M1 and M14 are pretty much as obsolete as I am).


The scout rifle concept was first forwarded by Jeff Cooper over 20
years ago. It's a noble effort at the 'Do It All' concept
but going to be overkill for varmints in the more manly calibres.


When I was a kid the 'ultralight rifle' became the rage for sheep and goat hunters in the mountains - and for old farts not wanting to lug around heavy rifles all day. That fad morphed into the 'Scout Rifle' fad and was started by my hero - Col. Jeff Cooper aka The Underground Grammarian. The man had little use for extraneous speech and absolutely none for extraneous farkles on his scout guns. If it was not pertinent to the gun's mission as he defined it - it went out the window. He ended up with a super-lite rifle that was fast enough, accurate enough, and versatile enough to meet the vast majority of the shooter's everyday needs. I never built one because I stumbled on my own version of the perfect 'Do It All' gun:


Behold my love: The Ruger No.1 V in .25-06

One day we were after antelope down by Hannah and the boys had tagged out but I just couldn't get a shot for love or money. The skittish animals just wouldn't let me get in range. We were on a ranch that was 11 square miles in size and BSing with the owner at the end of the day and Rotten Rob and Baloney Bob were laughing at my lack of success. Old Ward (the ranch owner) was drinking my whisky and laughing at me too. Assholes.

Anyhoo a gopher popped up about 75 yards away and the game was on. I had a snootful the same as they did and when I lined up on the gopher the bets were on and the cat calls and jeers started. I blocked them out, lined up, carefully squeezed the trigger....BOOOM!!!!

And must have missed the rodent by about a foot! But I DID scare the living shit out of every last gopher in that patch!

I ate chit for weeks after that because this rifle would shoot 1/2~3/4" groups all day long. With a 24" pipe it is only a smidge longer than a .30-30 lever gun. It's much heavier than the .30-30 but far, far more accurate. I shot crows and gophers with it and they just vapourized in a red mist when I did my part. Deer always went down like they were pole-axed - which is what the game is all about! When you shoot a gun like that - you don't need more than one shot! Ruger Inc owes me money - I sold more Ruger No.1's than your average gun counter guy! People would see that gun shoot and just had to have one for themselves. I dunno how many people tried to buy mine off me but I refused to sell. How many pounds of IMR4350 went down it's gullet? I lost count. All things must come to an end, and eventually my rifle started to spray its shots and the velocities fell off - I had burned out the throat on it. I gave it to Flapz' son and he just stashed it in the closet and pretty much forgot about it. I might yet buy another one - and if you are looking for a classic single shot that can do it all AND look good doing it - this may be the gun for you.

So the long story short is that any number of guns will now 'do it all'.

What's yours?

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

Hinterland Who's Who - The Otter




Mob Otters are NOT playful, fun loving mammals. They're
rude, disrespectful, profane and violent!

The answer to Hinterland mob bosses is the same here as it is in NYFC (Noo Yawk Focken City):




I know the Hollywood Mafioso is all BS. But if Johnny Bosco, Tony Soprano and the Good Fellas were all real people I think I would get along with them just dandy. Up here in Aaaaadmintin we have the small time pikers and shit-skinned race gangs doing nickel-and-dime stuff for the most part.

A hundred years ago in Millwoods (or Little Bangladesh as we locals call it) - the peace was shattered one winter night when a local packie drug dealer went down in a hail of lead during a drive-by. It was hilarious - his father was in the news the next day wearing a turban and sobbing 'My boy was not involved in organized crime! He wasn't...!!!'

A smirking cop was on a short time later saying "Not only was his oldest son in organized crime - but his youngest is too... and five'll getchya ten that he goes to his final reward soon too...!"  And a week later - the little brother got whacked too! The Vietnamese did it and everyone, including the cops knew it, but couldn't do anything about it because RACISM! There were a couple reprisal killings and then everything settled down as the monkeys figured out their place on the totem pole and the law of the jungle re-asserted itself.

We get bent out of shape about gun violence and we shouldn't. The vast majority of gun crime is like this - criminal on criminal violence. I'm sorry but I don't have a problem with it. I think we should give them free ammo.

True North: Canadian Mario Kart


A Modern Filthie Fairy Tale: The Faggot And The Ho

Oh good grief. Sorry about the false advertising everyone! Fairy tales and fables are supposedly about teaching morals and ethics... and we ain't gonna see any of that here! This is why I won't twitter or tweet or facebook or any of that shit. The bitchy faggot would tell us that harassing an actress is actually literary critique; and the big black ho would have us think that any critique is motivated by racism and sexism. Morons.

I saw the original Ghost Busters at the Drive In. (There's a whole generation of adults alive now that probably doesn't even know what a Drive In is). Bill Murray was still half-nobody back then - an emerging talent that would either go far in the industry or fizzle out like so many others do. It was a summer blockbuster and even the music for the movie got on to the charts. Every weekend we were at the drive in for the dusk-to-dawn stuff. They always showed the good stuff first and then ran the 'b' and 'c' movies afterward. It was the only affordable way my wife and I could get away from her awful, suffocating parents for a date.

Apparently a lot of people are taking offense to this re-make and are livid about it. Other folks could care less, it's all about fun and entertainment and that's it - why get your nose out of joint?

I'm not going to go see it. And not because it is another social-justice-warrior stinker (which it is) - I go to movies and buy books to be entertained, not lectured. I am also an old fart that was a voracious movie-goer and reader as a kid. There aren't too many stories out there that will rivet my attention the way they did when I was a kid. That is the hell of getting old... you start getting to the point where you've seen and heard it all! It's even worse for my wife - she can tell who the murderer is 5 minutes into any Hollywood Who Dunnit.  At about the ten minute mark she'll have the plot accurately mapped...and it's all downhill from there.


Gawd, I wish I were young again. I would wait on pins and needles for the blockbusters to come out. Back then all the old geezers of Hollywood were young too - the women were achingly beautiful and the men were strapping handsome brutes and none of them had to worry about their sexuality. My wife girlfriend and I would go in with a Tub-O-Popcorn and within minutes we were under the timeless spell of the story tellers. Nowadays I go in with my tub of popcorn, eat half of it and fall asleep. Then the next thing I know, I'm rudely awakened and I'm getting in shit from the wife because I'm snoring or snuffling or farting in my sleep! Hmpff, maybe I should go see the Ghostbuster remake after all, HAR HAR HAR! I am going to sit right behind Uncle Bob and that smoking hot old cougar he's dating...



The modern pan-sexual social justice warrior. There's
something oddly familiar about this one...
.

UPDATE: A respected literary scholar weighs in for an objective critique of the show.

Monday, 18 July 2016

Motor Porn?

It's an obscenity! My head hurts just trying to think about the harmonics and timing on it!

Whattsa matter Filthie? It's just a V16...


But the cylinders are arranged in banks...it's just too WEIRD...!!!


What's wrong with people? Why would ya do something like this?

I am looking at all this mechanical ass-hattery and I call bullshit. If some demented twerp can envision a mechanical abortion like this, a warp drive engine should be child's play...

BW Bandy: The Early Years

Often the creepy bloggers I hang out like to make disparaging comments about their simian fellows and their upbringing. I can do no less. Behold the childhood of BW Bandy, of Everyone's Gotta Be Somewhere:



For those of you unfamiliar with Cow Town the Deerfoot Trail is much like Aaaaadmontin's Whitemud Freeway - mostly straight with a few very mild curves. It is impossible for a person with a triple digit IQ to get into trouble on these roads and yet most rush hours...they turn into fuggin parking lots. Foreign and immigrant nine irons and rag heads hit the merges at 100 MPH or greater; stressed out $5.00/hour hoople-heads finish their  work day in a murderous rage and take it home with them...or try to. Then there's just your regular dumb ass on the cell phone or not paying attention.

There's days when I dream of living off the grid in a tar paper shack a hundred miles east of nowhere. I keep tabs on BW's blog very carefully... ya never know what kind of real estate he may come across in his travels.