Well, I’ve been hooked up to SiteMeter since June 5, which should make it about one month now.
So far, I’ve racked up 19,500 plus change in visitors during that time.
I’m not sure if that’s good or not, but I’m fairly impressed.
Majority of other-blog-referrals are by way of Lady Tam over at A View From the Porch, thanks, Tam. Lot of other visitors bounce in from the other linked blogs, appreciate it, guys.
I seem to have regular visitors from all over, including (but not limited to) Baja California, Japan (Hi, Sgt Aytch!), Korea, Sweden and a whole bunch of folks with .gov addresses. Thanks for reading, ladies and gentlemen, the gift of your time is sincerely appreciated.
Mostly seems like the amounts of visits drops during weekends and holidays — as it should.
I don’t quite have a handle on what most of my readers prefer to read, but the buffet-style of blogging (little of this, little of that) I’ve done so far is what I’m comfortable with, so I’m sticking with that.
Just out of curiosity, I’ve noticed that a lot of blogs out there — and some of the most popular blogs — are actually just a collection of links to other blog posts with short descriptions for each link. Is this really what most people want to read in a blog? How odd.
All-in-all, I’m quite pleased with my little blog.
Thanks, folks.
LawDog
Reader Huck Phinn asks:
Years ago I had the privilege of working with a Nigerian, Assamawari. Assams spoke of having watched a “shape shifter.” In a village commons, the shape shifter, surrounded by villagers, turned into a large python.
Assams says “Chuck, I am an educated, Christian man and I know it cannot be so, but my memory says I saw him become a snake.” No screen, no smoke, no trap doors, no buxom babe for distraction.
While in Nigeria, did you encounter anything like it?
As a matter-of-fact, on more than one occasion.
Mom and Dad were requested to observe a witch-craft trial at a local town.
Bear in mind that in Nigeria at the time, a good number of the important people had been educated at British and French universities. They may have been poor, but they were educated.
The defendant at the trial was a goat.
Witness after witness took the stand to declare that they had seen this man attempt to kidnap a child in the middle of the town market. The child screamed, and the townsmen began to chase the kidnapper. The end of the chase came when the man was cornered ina blind alley, but before he could be seized by the irate townsfolk, in front of their eyes he turned himself into the very goat that was tethered to the defence table.
The goat was found guilty of kidnapping and the practice of bad juju, tied to a stake, blindfolded, and executed by firing squad.
Mobs are funny things, and a mob is a lot more suggestible than the individual people that form it.
Another time Dad needed to clear more jungle to extend the plant. Things were going right ricky-tick until the workers found out that a pig-man had cursed the area. Things came to a sudden and complete halt.
Worker after worker came forward to describe the pig-man and how he changed from pig to man right in front of them.
Dad finally had to track the pig down to a hole under a fallen tree, bring the little bosses of the work gangs to the hole, let them agree that here was the lair of the pig-man, and then Dad stuffed about five pounds of gelignite down the hole and pulled the igniter.
Apparently, Dad’s juju was stronger than the juju of the pig-man, because the little fella never showed his snout in the area again.
LawDog
Post-4th of July recovery
I have finally tried the bottled Guinness Draught.
Someone should have told me that you’re not supposed to pour it into a glass; it’s to be consumed out of the bottle.
Who the hell drinks Guinness out of a bottle? Guinness is supposed to be poured into a glass, as God intended.
Ah, well.
Much dead animal flesh was smoked, or slow-cooked, or scorched to perfection, and wolfed down by all involved. Fireworks were watched, fireworks were initiated, small children were shown really nifty tricks with pyrotechnics — out of sight of their mothers — and this Independence Day was solemnly declared to be one of the “Best Ever.”
In other news, North Korea had a firework display of their own when their deadly, dangerous Taepodong-2 “imploded” (that’s boffin-speak for “fell apart”) after 35 seconds of flight. Several others were launched throughout the day, none of which had a flight-time that came close to anything flown by the The Amateur Rocketry Society of America at a weekend meet.
Whole buncha folks who really ought to be keeping their traps shut are having kittens over the whole North-Korea-launching-missiles-thing.
I am somewhat less than impressed. World-class Bad Guys and they can’t keep a rocket in the air for a full minute?
Want to borrow some bamboo, gaffer-tape, and a house-lizard? I’ll even brew up some black-powder for you.
I suppose I shouldn’t joke about it, because I imagine that the Head Geek In Charge of Missile Launching probably felt so much shame over the results of the missile test(s) that he drove over to North Korean Secret Police HQ and shot himself. Four times. In the back of the head. While handcuffed.
The Good Ol’ U.S. of A, on the other paw, managed to get the Space Shuttle Discovery into low-Earth orbit again, despite pieces of fuel-tank insulation deciding to part company at odd times.
Hey, North Korea, if you look real close, you might be able to see some dude in orbit wearing an American patch cocking a snook at you through the shuttle window.
Yes, Kim Jong-Il, we’re still better than you. Get over it.
LawDog
04JUL1776
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world. He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.
In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.
Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.
We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.
And that, as they say, was that.
In the midst of the long weekend, the BBQ’s, the fireworks and the parties, let us take a moment to reflect on the reasons why we have a Independence Day.
Something that some Congress-critters should be required to do twice a year.
Happy Fourth of July, y’all.
LawDog
Walking the warrior path
“Boys look for the warrior path. Someone must teach them how to find it, and how to walk it. If they are not taught this, they will try to find it on their own, and they will miss it.”
I’m not sure if I read this, or if it is something that someone told me. It has the taste of something I was told.
The male of the human species is aggressive. It is hard-wired into our systems on a genetic level, and has been for the last 250,000 years.
4,000 years of civilization does not, can not, and will not erase 200,000 years of blood-and-bone instinct, no matter how much people wish it would.
My father was a strong man. Every child’s father is strong, but mine was scarily so. I saw him lift things at the plant that other men required help to lift.
I never, ever saw him touch my mother — or any other woman for that matter — with anything but gentleness. I can’t say the same for me — he tanned my hide more than once — but never more than necessary and never with anything but a fraction of his strength.
Little steps.
My father stood tall, and I saw how to do that without crushing other people.
He showed respect where respect was due, and he expected the same in return. However, when faced with disrespect, my father did not react with violence, he either ignored it, or dealt with it in other ways. Walking with him, I learned the same.
Little steps.
I learned, as I walked with him, of duties, responsibilities and obligations, and how they were more important than those things which you felt you deserved. I learned to accept when I was in the wrong, and to accept the results with grace.
That’s the thing about walking the warrior path. ‘When’ and ‘how’ to use your strength is easy to learn. It’s learning not to use your strength where people — boys — stumble.
I have had many people show me further along the path, but each part of that journey is based upon the baby steps that my father showed me. Everything that I am, is based upon those steps that my father showed me.
I write this, because I have just realized that my father has been dead for a longer part of my life than he was alive for.
A fact which just really sucks today.
I love you, Dad. Thanks.
Your Son
Get out of there, part III
Okay, we’ve got a ratel in a pit, me and my brother with a banana-tree-trunk, four innertubes, a chicken and a peanut sack; and Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe.
Oh, and Azikiwe’s two bodyguards.
Before I go any further, I want it noted for the record that Chris and I had nothing to do with Azikiwe getting bodyguards. That was Not Our Fault. We were Innocent Bystanders on that one.
*sigh*
Right after we discovered the wonder of Ammonium Tri-iodide — which led to the unfortunate incident with the back-door-steps (Word to the Wise: Sapper lizards. Good theory; bad practice) — which led to the permanent, and mysterious, disappearance of our chemistry sets, one of Dad’s engineer buddies gave us a book on medieval siege weaponry.
Immediately and thoroughly fascinated by the subject, Chris and I constructed a trebuchet out of 2 X 4 timbers and a bucket of concrete which flung croquet balls an impressive distance, for all that it stood about four feet tall.
Our efforts and subsequent activities were watched with great interest by the horde of not-quite-drunk-yet engineers who were more-or-less permanently encamped at our house.
Whom, once Chris and I decided to upgrade our trebuchet, began to give us advice. And maybe some guidance. A little oversight. And a lent paw here-and-there.
Of course, they wound up taking over.
Not that we minded so much — especially after someone fired up the arc welder.
The results were absolutely beautemous. The counterweight was drill pipe. A lot of drill pipe. The business arm was almost up to the house eaves when unloaded. Needed a winch truck to drag it into firing position.
Like I said: beautemous.
Once complete, Mom, being less-intoxicated than the rest of the bunch (note that I did not say ‘sober’), drove us the hundred yards to the scrap-field behind the office, where us kids helped the adults stack a bunch of empty 55-gallon drums three deep as a simulated castle wall so that we’d have a proper target for our Engine of Doom, and Mom hung a suitably defiant tablecloth as a flag for the rebellious defenders.
Then … the Moment of Truth. Dad fetched his 16-pound bowling ball from the closet. Mom ceremoniously poured a beer over it, before it was loaded into the sling, and after a respectful pause, Dad’s Brit Buddy whacked the firing pin with a sledge-hammer.
The result was … magnificent. I never saw the arm move. One moment it was down, the next moment it was vertical. And the sound. A mighty crash it was.
“Did it go?”
“Oh, hell, yes.”
“I told you [hic] the release hook needed more hook.”
“‘S’going, [gurgle] innit?”
“Aye, but maybe more…” a finger pointed somewhat horizontally, “…’n’ less…” the finger pointed more-or-less vertically.
“Dear,” said Dad, somewhat bemusedly, “Did we bring the range rover back?”
Mom waved the keys at him.
“Oh,” sloshed a Brit engineer, “‘Oo the hell is that [hic] then?”
“Isn’t that that little [hiccup] sticky-fingered chappie with uniform? Sneezy?”
“Azikiwe?”
“Geshundheit.”
Sure enough, down there in the middle of the company scrap-field — having had to open a couple of gates to get there, I might add — was Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe. And his Nigerian-Army-Issue Land Cruiser. Which was parked about twenty feet away from the wall of Barrel Castle, where Azikiwe was …
“Is he STEALING MY TABLECLOTH?!”
Sure enough. Apparently, after having successfully infiltrated private land, and a gate, and then company land, and another gate, Azikiwe had spotted a perfectly good tablecloth hanging on some barrels and had decided — out of the kindness of his heart, you understand — to give this abandoned tablecloth a loving home. And had clambered to the top of Barrel Castle wall in his philanthropic endeavour.
“Oh, hard luck, old girl.”
“He can’t … I didn’t … That little … How DARE …”
About that time, Azikiwe’s Nigerian-Army-Issue Land Cruiser suddenly kind of bottomed-out. And the window glass kind of sprayed across the scrap-yard, along with the roof sort of crumpling up, followed by this wonderfully baritone CRUMP sound.
“Cor…” opined the witnesses. Glass clinked off glass, and then off teeth. There was a Contemplative Moment.
“A skosh [hic] right, I think.”
“Nah, a bit more [gurgle] than a skosh, I’d say.”
“Izzat a military term [hic] ?”
“And more hook to the hook.”
“RELOAD!”
Chris and I hared off to the scrap-yard to retrieve our bowling ball ordnance, which turned out to not be very difficult, since the drivers side door of the Land Cruiser (One ea., Nigerian Army Issue) was laying in the dirt.
We had just pried the bowling ball out of the drivers seat, and were scooting back to the trebuchet when one of the palm trees lining the fence of the scrap yard said, and I quote: “PidginpidginpidginDEVIL CHILDRENpidginpidgin!”
Sure enough, peering from the top of the palm tree was the Brigadier-Captain. Looked damned odd without his aviator glasses and corn-cob pipe, and the ashy sheen to his face clashed terribly with the gilt on the uniform, but it was definently him.
“PidginpidginBAD JUJUpidginpidgin!”
Figuring that this was one of those Adult Situations Mom and Dad had told us about, we returned to the house, the palm tree still shrieking curses at us.
“He still there?”
“He’s in one of the palm trees over by the right-hand gate.”
“Not for long he’s bloody well not,” giggled an engineer as he lovingly placed a wicker laundry hamper full of empty beer cans on the sling.
Which doesn’t sound altogether too bad, until you realize that beer cans back then were made out of steel.
Didn’t even come close to Azikiwe, but the racket of the ensuing multiple impacts in the general neighborhood caused the Brigadier-Captain to retreat under fire, as it were, legging it down the road to safety, and leaving his issue Land Cruiser as a war trophy, repatriated back to the Nigerian Army only after six weeks of negotiations and conditions.
And somehow, he wound up blaming Chris and me for this.
I don’t know what he was whinging about, anyway. He got bodyguards out of it, didn’t he?
Anyhoo, there we were. Ratel. Pit. Bodyguards.
Oops. I hear the call to supper.
Oh, well. We’ll get the tale told sooner or later.
LawDog
The 419 scam defense
For those readers following the Winkler murder trial, a mildly interesting detail has energed.
The defense is alleging that Mary Winkler murdered her pastor husband after an argument concerning the family finances. According to the defense, Mary Winkler had been caught in a variation of the Nigerian 419 scam, and had lost a great deal of the family money.
The version of the scam that is mentioned in the story has become fairly widespread recently. As most good scams, it is fairly simple in design: The scammers contract with the victim to provide assistance in transferring money overseas. The victim is told that cheques will arrive, and that the victim is to deposit the check into their account, then convert the money into a bank draft — less 10%-15% for services rendered.
Seems relatively harmless: getting 10-15% of each cheque is a nice salary.
Trouble is, the cheques are forged. The victim deposits the bad cheque, the bank shows the extra money, the victim draws out the money and sends a good draft to Nigeria which is cashed right skippy. A week to two weeks later, the bank discovers that the cheque the victim deposited was no good, and wants their money back. The victim winds up owing all the lost money, and since passing a forged cheque is unlawful, there’s usually a criminal trial which is virtually unwinnable.
The scammers get more money, the victim has to reimburse the bank for the money the scammers stole, usually after the prison sentence is served.
Seems like scammers may have gotten to Mrs. Winkler to the tune of just under 20 grand. A bad hit for any household to take, and the defense is alleging that stress led to the murder.
Interesting defense. I don’t think it will work, but if the cheque scam part is true, that’s another one we can mark against the Nigerian 419 scammers.
I hate those sonsabitches.
Time to hook up another couple of scammers and see how much of their time I can waste.
LawDog
Hey! Part 2…
Now, the ratel at the bottom of our pit wasn’t a fully-grown member of the species. Matter-of-fact, looking back, I’m pretty sure he was a bit more sullen than other ratels we had run across, and might have had a bit of a sneer, so he was most probably a teenage ratel.
Anyhoo, Chris and I had concocted a complicated plot to extract our ratel using a banana tree trunk, four innertubes, a chicken and a peanut sack, when Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe showed up.
*sigh*
Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe was one of those annoying little gits who constantly has a finger up, testing the breeze. No matter who was in power, Azikiwe had always been one of his most loyal subjects. In other words, he was a complete toady, lick-spittle and yes-man. The only convictions he had ever carried were in his criminal record. Thoroughly irritating little suck-up.
In addition to his other charming attributes, Azikiwe was a bit of a bully. Since he was alarmingly small, the only safe targets were those smaller than him.
Which would normally include Chris and myself, unfortunately, 1) We were the offspring of Chief Jim, the Big Boss of the Plant, major source of bribes for a struggling Nigerian Army Officer/Civilian Junior Minister of Gummint (depending on who was in power that month); and 2) We really didn’t give a damn.
Which, near as I can tell, was the reason that Azikiwe barely tolerated us.
Mom, on the other paw, asserts that the Brigadier-Captain actively loathed us, and was entirely due to the Famous Phydeaux Lunch Incident.
Phydeaux was our Yard Frog. He was also a West African Giant Frog, which meant he was about the size of a small terrier. He lived under a rock in one of the flower beds and was responsible for outside varmint control.
On the Lunch Incident Day, Phydeaux had decided to nosh on a juvenile Ball Python, who held opinions most firm about the matter. The debate wound up under the house, which was a decided no-no for Phydeaux, due to his habit of singing the froggy version of “Henry the Eighth, I am, I am” in the wee hours of the morning, and when under the house, directly under Mom’s pillow.
So, to prevent the execution of the stated promise of “Frog Jambalaya”, Chris and I scooted under the house to extract Phydeaux.
Now, you may not know that Ball Pythons get their name from their habit of rolling up into a tight ball to avoid predators. Junior had done this exact thing, and was fortunate in that as big as Phydeaux was, the balled-up python was just a wee smidgen bigger than Phydeaux could get into his maw.
We got there as the frustrated frog was rolling the snake about, trying to get a thumb into the coils to unwind the munchie, to no avail. We separated snake and frog, causing Phydeaux to retreat under a beam to sulk.
Hoping to take Phydeaux’s one-track little amphibian mind off of lunch, Chris grabbed the snake and backed out from under the house. And there, standing proud in the garden decked out in a crisp khaki uniform absolutely dripping with yards of gilt, was Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe, come to pay his respects and hint gently that he was more than happy to give any orphaned bribe money a good home.
Chris, seeing a handy adult, and not wanting to waste a perfectly good snake, promptly grabbed the paw that Azikiwe had regally extended, dumped the snake into it, said, “Hold this!”, slapped Azikiwe’s other paw onto the top of the snake-ball and dove back under the house.
*scratch, scratch*
You know, the last thing one would expect to find in a West Africa native is a snake phobia.
Unexpected, really.
Anyhoo, Chris and I managed to coax the sulking Phydeaux out from under the house, only to discover that the person to whom Chris had entrusted the snake had apparently decided to take a nap, face-first, right on our lawn.
This, in and of itself, was nothing surprising. Several of Mom and Dad’s friends had been found in an identical state on Saturday mornings, although they were usually on the carpet, so we really didn’t think too much of it.
We did, however, want our snake back. After lifting and checking various limbs and pockets, and rolling the unconscious Brigadier-Captain over, it became apparent that the snake either wasn’t present on the carcass, or that the Azikiwe had hidden it somewhere even we couldn’t find.
Getting a bit frustrated, Chris poked and prodded the Brigadier-Captain into semi-consciousness and immediately demanded, “Oy! What about our snake, then?”
Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe stared at us for a moment, and then looked at Chris, shrieked like a girl and dashed pell-mell for the street.
Good riddance, I say. Although we never did discover what the hell he did with our snake, the bastard.
Anyhoo, back to the current story. We have a ratel in a pit. We have Brigadier-Captain Azikiwe in all his smarmy glory. Can it get any better?
Yes!
Stay tuned…
LawDog
Whoopsie
An international team of scientists is excavating an Egyptian tomb and find an unmarked mummy.
The German scientists get it first, study it for a month, finally release a study proving it’s from the Middle Kingdom.
The US team goes in, does their thing for a week, then announce the mummy is from the 19th dynasty.
Then the Russian scientists go in, come out a day later, and announce it’s Amenhotep the III, 19th Dynasty, 53 years of age, ruler of Egypt for 37 years.
Everyone is stunned. “How did you discover this?” they ask.
The Russina wave a piece of paper, “He confessed.”
I post this joke, because the Russians have done had enough.
Last weekend, the Mujahedeen Shura Council, a group with ties to al-Queda, distributed the video of themselves murdering some Russian diplomats.
In response, the Russian president has, and I quote: “…ordered the special forces to take all necessary measures to find and destroy the criminals who killed Russian diplomats in Iraq”
Not, “Find them and arrest them”
Not, “Find them and bring them to trial”
Not, “Find them, but don’t violate their civil rights in the process”
Our boys hve been hampered by International opinion and embedded journalists.
The Russians flat don’t give a damn about that stuff. And when the Russians start asking questions, you can bet your last bippie that there aren’t going to be any of that panties-on-the-head kindergarten bushwa.
I realize that the Russians have been fighting insurgents in Chechnya, with aruable results.
I also realize that the Russians don’t have the American technology, assets and intelligence networks in Chechnya that are present — and accessible — in Iraq.
They may not know it yet, but it just started sucking to be involved in any way with the Mujahedeen Shura Council. And I have every confidence that they’ll be discovering that fact for themselves pretty quick.
LawDog
Hey! Get out of there!
One year in Nigeria, Chris and I discovered the books of Gerald Durrell, and the wonderful world contained therein.
It didn’t take long for the two of us to decide that Mr. Durrell probably needed assistance in his acquisition of animals for his zoo, so we decided to capture local species and send them to him.
Before I go any further, I should inform the Gentle Reader that at the time this took place, the national sport of Nigeria seemed to be revolution.
Anyhoo, after several days of chasing things through jungle and swamp, Mom had decided that the active route to animal capture was a bit too … strenuous:
Mom (slightly big-eyed, and stiff): “Is that a green mamba in that jar?”
Dad (tapping on jar with forefinger): “I don’t think so. Looks like a green vine snake. Harmless.”
Mom: “Thank God.”
Kids: “Are you sure it’s not a mamba?”
Dad: “Yes. Small gripping teeth only. No fangs.”
Kids (with feeling): “Bugger!”
Confined to the back-yard it didn’t take too long for us to realize that sneaking up on animals was a wee bit difficult if every animal within nine square miles is actively avoiding getting anywhere near our back-yard.
I have suspicions that the surviving astro-lizards had been spreading malicious propaganda regarding our activities, but however word spread we couldn’t find anything bigger than a bug in the yard.
After much pondering on the extensive cowardice of the daylight species, we decided to see if the lack of moral fiber extended to the nocturnal varieties. Since Mom would never allow us to lurk in the back-yard until dawn, obviously we needed to build a trap of some kind.
Out came the shovels.
As a point of pride I would like to inform the Gentle Reader that — by God! — Chris and I dug that hole down shoulder-deep before the gardner came out, contemplated our engineering thus far, shrugged, grabbed his shovel and laid to with a will. Shortly to be joined by the estate gardner, whom, upon seeing his compatriot excavating, apparently figured, “Mine not to reason why,” grabbed his shovel and ’round about twilight we had one heck of a tiger pit. Required ladders for the grown-ups to get out. Beautemous.
Dad, of course, was brought out to inspect the work of his progeny. He made the proper parental noises, then mentioned, absent-mindedly, that as narrow as the pit was, bigger species might be able to scramble out. The traditional solution, he went on to say, was to place stakes near the top of the pit angled down.
Stunned by the simplicity and beauty of this, we immediately chopped some bamboo stakes and added them to the pit.
So. Before we go any further, I wish the Gentle Reader to fix firmly in his, or her, mind a pit. Measuring about six feet long, by about six feet wide. Eight to ten feet deep. At the top of which are not one, but two rows of downward angled bamboo stakes. Which, given the nature of bamboo, are wickedly sharp.
Call it a double-wide grave from hell.
Across the top of this, picture two misanthropic little hellions happily spreading a thick layer of palm leaves and a little dirt, for realism.
Yeah.
Next morning, Chris and I go sprinting out to our trap to discover what the night had wrought. And — oh joyous day! — the palm fronds which had been laid to disguise the trap had been disturbed. Matter-of-fact, most of them were gone. This boded quite well, and (quivering with excitement) we snuck up on the trap to discover …
…a ratel.
For those in the audience who are not familiar with African fauna, ‘ratel’ is an Afrikaans word meaning ‘Psychopathic Buzzsaw From Hell’.
Also called a ‘honey badger’, a ratel is best described as 500 pounds of pure distilled pissed-off crammed into a 25 pound body.
To get a proper perspective, understand that wildebeasts and buffalo have been found dead after a ratel attack, and that lions and hyenas will give an irritated ratel a wide berth.
And we had one of the little darlings in our trap. The day was looking good.
Continued in part II.
Same Bat-time, same Bat-blog.
LawDog