The following audio-book is extremely Not Safe For Work. Or to be played anywhere near children.

However, I do believe that most fathers can understand, if not sympathize, with Samuel L. Jackson’s rendition of this particular book.

But you really should be careful where you play this video.

Trust me.

Happy Father’s Day!

LawDog

The Tonga Defence Services are the pointy end of things for the Kingdom of Tonga in the Pacific. Numbering about 500 troopies — more or less — in total, a significant percentage of them have been serving in Iraq and, more recently, in Afghanistan.

The following is a video of the Royal Tongan Marines ending their recent tour with the RAF in Afghanistan:

You ever get the feeling that sometimes civilization doesn’t stick as thoroughly as some folks might want to believe?

Heh.

LawDog

Does anyone make a good quality blackjack-style sap anymore?

By “blackjack-style”, I mean round head, coil-spring handle and woven leather, like the old Bucheimer 720.

My favourite sap makers Boston Leather and D3 Protection either don’t make a blackjack, or their model is folded leather instead of woven — and I’m a bit of a traditionalist.

Oh, I realize that there is no dearth of blackjacks out there — every gun show I’ve attended has a tub full of blackjacks somewhere. Trouble is, I’m fairly sure that they’re all from the same Chinese manufacturer: the leather is stamped basket-weave instead of woven, and they’re glued instead of stitched.

Just simply will not do.

So.

Anyone know of someone making a quality blackjack, about eight ounces or so, and eight to nine inches in length?

LawDog

… I’m a food snob.

My earliest memories of a food variety are from the Mediterranean Basin. Maltese and Gozitan (of course), Italian, some Greek and a little of the western Iberian Peninsula.

One thing that all of these cultures had in common was that the diner never got up from the table hungry. The concept of an evening meal that lasted less than a couple of hours was a completely foreign concept to me until I got to England and the United States.

Well, that and serving a no-name house wine with your meals, but that’s a rant for another time.

When I sit down at a table for a meal — especially one that I’m paying for — I want food on my plate, not two Brussels sprouts and a stalk of asparagus delicately balanced on a chunk of pork the size of a quarter and surrounded by a pattern of sauce which I’m fairly sure is actually the chef’s signature.

Some months back, Herself and I were noodling about in a small town some ways south of home when we stumbled across a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place where the maître d’ greeted us with a lilting Italian accent.

Not a Brooklyn accent, mind you, but one just off the boat from Tuscany.

Scarcely daring to hope — I mean, seriously, it’s a town of about 5,000 souls in North Texas — we ordered food.

Oh. Mah. Gawd. About half-way through a glorious chicken piccata, I looked at Herself and opined, “Somebodies Nonna is chained to the stove back there.”

Seeing our absolute rapture, the maître d’ apologized profusely for not being able to serve wine with the meal (his utter bafflement at the concept of a “dry town” sent Herself into giggles), confided that the quality of bread had forced the restaurant to buy a five digit specialty bread oven, insisted that we try the house blend coffee with the tiramisu, and finally confessed that business had been good enough that they were opening a second eatery in a town that would allow them to serve wine.

A town that just happens to be about fifteen minutes from Rancho LawDog.

Now, the fact that I’m in an area of the country that thinks that Pizza Hut is great Italian food makes me a bit concerned that my taste-buds might have been deceiving me. That maybe my missing that sort of food makes me think that second-rate chow is magnificent merely because it’s not from a chain restaurant, so last weekend the Atomic Nerds were staying over after PhlegmPhest and since they’re foodies we decided to see if the food was as good to them as it was to us.

Heh.

As we reluctantly left the restaurant, Stingray was plotting various methods to drag it back to the Nerd Ranch behind the Nerdmobile.

Snerk.

Good food. It pops up in the oddest locations, and often where you’d never expect to find it.

LawDog

While cyanoacrylate is, indeed, used as a liquid suture, it might be advisable to seek some form of training in that particular application, because the “intuitive” thing to do — in your words — just might send the ER doctor into orbit.

As a “fer instance” let us say you have developed a sudden gaping wound in your leg. Let us further say that you have been told that your best friends’ fathers’ brother may (or may not) have used Super Glue to save the life of his Company Commander in VietNam…

(Only a complete cynic might opine that it is more likely that you read it on an Internet Forum, or heard it in a Hollywood screenplay, but I digress)

… If you hobble into the kitchen, grab a full tube of Super Glue from the drawer, stuff the nozzle into the afore-mentioned gaping wound, squeeze the entire contents of the bottle there-in — well, let us say that the next fifteen minutes of jamming the sides of the laceration together are less than useful, shall we?

That was a masterful use of invective on the part of the ER doc, though, wasn’t it? Almost poetry.

Nothing but love,

LawDog

… but this made me spew Darjeeling across the room.

Snerk!

LawDog

… your drinking cup is ready.

So. Usama bin Laden has been turfed off this mortal coil courtesy of several months hard Intel work, followed by a late-night visit from a SeAL Team.

Well done, lads. Very well done.

LawDog

My brother Chris is a proto-gunnie. He has a couple of .22 rifles, a 4-inch .357 Ruger, and an 1899 Mauser; but guns are pretty much like the air he breathes — something he takes for granted and doesn’t really notice until you point out an interesting one.

Since he has a degree in Humanities, with a minor in History, “interesting” usually means an old gun, with an old military gun being a gold star. The 1899 Argentinian Mauser (which used to be mine) mentioned above is a prime example.

A couple of days ago, I got an outraged call from him asking if cops were actually allowed to commit felonies. A bit non-plussed, I stated that that was actually a bit of a sticky wicket,and could he point out the felony in question?

Turns out, he has discovered the ATF malfeasance in Project Gunrunner.

Snort.

Anyhoo, I pointed out that he had a very good question, and one that I really couldn’t answer.

Today I discover that not only does he Get It, but that he dashed off a quote that will probably be showing up in .sig lines all over the Internet:

“Oh, and why is there a Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms anyway? That makes as much sense as having a Bureau of Coal, Petroleum and Citrus Fruit.”

Snerk. I’m so proud.

LawDog

By way of e-mail, I discover that my choice of fountain pen at work is apparently a subject of interest.

Huh.

Oookay, anything for blog fodder, I guess.

It’s a Lamy AL-Star, the aluminum version of their popular Safari line. I like the Safaris, but I’m used to a bit of weight in a fountain pen, and the plastic Safari just doesn’t feel like a fountain pen to me.

I have a Z-24 piston converter installed, which is kind of new to me. When I discovered cartridge systems for pens, I whole-heartedly leaped onto the new (for me) technology, trumpeting the ease of use and vowing to never use a converter again.

Here recently, though, I’ve become dis-satisfied with fountain pen cartridges. Unless you want to go to some trouble, you’re pretty much stuck with whatever ink and colour the manufacturer thinks you need, and they can be a pain-in-the-tuckuss to change out.

With a converter installed, I can use whatever ink or colour strikes my fancy, or even mix my own personal variety.

As far as ink goes, I’m a fan of Noodlers, but I’ve picked up a couple of bottles of Levenger‘s house brand ink that I’ve been quite pleased with; and I’ve developed a bit of a jones for the Iroshizuku ink.

I seriously doubt if any of my critters will ever see a note scribed in that last, though. They’re simply not worth it.

Why a fountain pen?

Well, I’d be lying if I said that ego didn’t have something to with my choice of writing instrument. People will stop what they are doing when you un-cap a fountain pen, and watch in fascination as you write with it.

And in today’s world of mass-produced ball-point pens and gel inks, there is something satisfying to the soul to be found in writing with an instrument which dates to the 1850s and can trace it’s direct lineage back to the 10th Century.

The big plus to a fountain pen is the simple fact that it is easier to write with one. Fountain pen ink is liquid and flows freely. The scribe need only guide the nib across the paper, and the ink will apply itself.

Ball-point pens, on the other paw, use paste ink, and require the writer to firmly apply enough pressure to rotate the ball, dragging the paste out of the reservoir and onto the surface of the paper.

Granted, it is not a lot of pressure, but it does add up over the course of a day. Since I initial or sign over a hundred documents in a shift; answer a score or more Inmate Request Forms, Grievances and the occasional Citizen Complaint, and annotate or add suggestions to a double handful of stuff written by other officers — my writing hand gets a bit of a work-out.

It may just be imagination, but at the end of the day I can tell a palpable difference between a shift using a fountain pen and a shift using a ball-point.

And I just like them.

LawDog