Friday, July 30, 2010

Do let me get this straight

From Gentle Reader D. Fisher in the comments to the "WikiLeaks" post:

Ethically, I don't think either Wikileaks nor the leaker is in the wrong, and that's coming from someone who's ex-military."

Do allow me understand you. WikiLeaks has released -- for all to read -- the names of Afghanistan citizens who have helped American and NATO forces in Afghanistan. Afghani citizens who have provided the names of Taleban leaders to American so that we may remove these Taleban.

WikiLeaks has released -- upon the World Wide Web -- the names of Afghani citizens who have identified Taleban who were hiding from Americans; who have provided invaluable intel on the activities of the Taleban; who have, in point of fact, aided NATO and the Americans in hurting the Taleban.

These informants -- whose names we held in secrecy to protect their lives, the lives of their families and the lives of their friends -- WikiLeaks has posted these names on the Internet for the Taleban to read at their leisure. And then to do ... whatever the Taleban feels to be appropriate.

And you don't find anything ethically wrong with WikiLeaks doing this.

Is that about right?

Correct me if I'm wrong, do.


Thursday, July 29, 2010


By now anyone not living under a rock has heard that the Internet whistle-blower site called WikiLeaks was provided several tens of thousands of pages of US military documents relating to Afghanistan which it promptly published for all to read on the World Wide Web.

The little dacoit who runs WikiLeaks -- one Julian Assange -- piously asserted that all the documents had been checked to make sure that names were not named that would put people in mortal jeopardy.

Yeah, well, not so much.

A dozen -- or more -- people who tried to do the right thing now have their lives, and the lives of their families, placed in jeopardy by Mr. Assange for ... what?

Mr. Assange's ego? His self-aggrandizement?

On the altar of what god, what idea, has Julian Assange seen fit to sacrifice the lives of these people, the lives of their families and those of their friends?

What religion does Mr. Assange follow that demands the blood of the innocent and the righteous to be spilled in such a cowardly fashion?

I truly can not wrap my mind around the end-justifies-the-means mindset of such a creature.


As Mr. Assange is an Australian national, and seeing as how Australia's children have their own boots on the ground in Afghanistan, I'll leave the Aussies to deal with their own garbage.

However, I would like to take a moment to point out that Mr. Assange couldn't have done this without the willing co-operation of an American with access to the information leaked.

That American, when he is found -- and he will be found -- will be tried.

If, and when, convicted, that American should be immediately dragged out of the courtroom, placed against a wall and shot.

Period. Full stop. End of story.


Wednesday, July 28, 2010

And the problem is ... what, exactly?

In news from Afghanistan, seems that the Brits identified a high-value target -- in this case a Taleban warlord.

Local British Command rounded up a Gurkha patrol, gave them the intel and mentioned that they really needed positive ID once the Gurks caught up with him.

Well, catch up they did, with the result that said warlord became intimately acquainted with the Gurkhas "Air In, Blood Out" diplomatic skills.

Things got a little too warmish for the Gurkhas to retrieve the body -- positive ID and all that -- so when the patrol returned to base and the CO asked if they were sure they got the bastard ...

... A Gurkha pulled the warlord's head out of a backpack.


The end of the tale should read: "The Gurkha patrol was issued one case of gin, and three days leave."

Unfortunately, we have discovered that the British Army has deemed this as being "culturally insensitive" and is in the process of disciplining the Gurkha who did the whacking and the carrying.

You have ...

Of all the ...

Are you sodding ...

Words can not ...


"... it offends the Muslim tradition of burying the dead with all body parts, attached or unattached".

Bushwa. How many body parts do you think they recover after a suicide bombing?

And I can sure tell that they're all sensitive about traumatic head removal, seeing as how they pretty much lead the world in beheadings, televised and otherwise.

Tell you jackanapes what: you stop cutting the heads off of police officers, engineers, headmasters, nuns, soldiers, journalists, Christians, women, geologists, and anyone else who trips your "We're Offended" trigger, and we'll stop cutting the heads off of your bloody-handed buddies.


Seeing as how said body part is still in inventory -- so to speak -- sounds like an amiable solution to this stinker is to grab some good paper, write a nice little note explaining how you're sorry that the grieving kin got stuck with a terrorist dirt-bag as a relative, nail it to the forehead with a sixty-penny nail, and have Wee Jock hammer-throw it over the Hesco for the dearly bereaved to collect come sun-up.

See? That's diplomacy, that is.

While we're being all culturally-sensitive here, part of the Gurkhas culture involves lopping (significant) bits off of designated Bad Guys with bloody huge knives. Isn't it a bit "culturally insensitive" to chastise one who is, after all, just expressing his culture?

The allies are blowing quantities of Taleban into mincemeat with assorted artillery rounds, bombs, mortar shells, bombs, rockets, bombs, missiles, and bombs -- you damned well can't tell me that all the sticky bits are getting recovered after Abdul the Moderately Rabid catches a 500-pound GBU amidships -- so why are you getting all wrapped around the axle because one or more Gurkhas did the needful with a knife instead of high-explosive?

There is not one single, gods-be-damned thing "culturally sensitive" about war. It's war. It's killing the other guy, and breaking his stuff, in job lots, until his side gives up.

Period. Full stop.

The Afghanis know this. Britain used to know this, and they'd better jolly well remember it.


Monday, July 26, 2010

Squirrel, interrupted*

I don't mind squirrels.

Truth be told, I find the cheeky little beggars to be quite charming -- most of the time. With two huge pecan trees in the back yard, I've been known to waste an afternoon or two sipping tea and watching them wind up Herself's Jack Russell Terrier into an absolutely incandescent (albeit adorable) froth.

Howsomenever, attic access is verboten to arboreal rodents.

I've no particular desire to discover -- at zero-dark-thirty -- that in the course of wearing down his incisors upon handy bits of copper, Johnny Flufftail has burned down my sodding house.

So there is an official slam order on any, and all, attic trespassing skwirls.

Unfortunately, it seems the residents of my current municipal area have a bit a complex when it comes to random gun-fire; and while I kind of figured that a .22 maggie was out of the question, I had no idea that a single, solitary .22 Long Rifle report would get that many knickers into knots.

Odd, that.

Any-the-hoo, I was dinking about with the idea of purchasing a dedicated Arboreal Rodent Assassination Air Rifle, when it dawned on me that we had a couple of boxes of Aguila Super Colibri left over from Blogorado.

What, ho, I thought to myself, and hied over to the ammo closet to grab a couple of rounds and Herself's Browning lever-action. Experimentation soon showed that not only would a Super Colibri go through both sides of an empty bean can at fifteen feet -- it would do so with not much more noise than snapping fingers; and the holes always appeared right on top of the front sight.


Soon enough Miss Praline worked herself into a right tizzy just outside the back door, and when I went to have a shufti, I discovered a fat tree rat sticking it's head out of a vent in the attic and cussing that little terrier for all it was worth.

Matter-of-fact, it was so busy describing Praline's parentage, sexual proclivities, and general lack of moral fibre that it didn't notice the kitchen window stealthily sliding open, nor the muzzle of the Browning rim-fire just inside of said window.

I am happy to report that a 20-grain Super Colibri into the Brain Housing Group from a range of about eight feet will turn off a squirrel like a light switch.

For Close Combat Squirrel Eradication the Aguila Super Colibri gets the LawDog Paw of Approval.


*Shamelessly stolen from a conversation with Herself.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

I'm schizophrenic; and so am I*.

*Yes, I realize that schizophrenia isn't MPD. The joke flows better this way.

Spent a bit of time dinking about with a New Internet Toy today:

I Write Like.

Allegedly, if you input several paragraphs of your work, this proggie will analyze it and tell you which Famous Writer your work most resembles.

For a lark I've been submitting some of my little scribbles -- from this blog and elsewhere -- for analysis.


Apparently I write like Cory Doctorow, Dan Brown, HP Lovecraft, Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk, David Foster Wallace, so on and so forth.

Sweet Freyja on a twister mat but it must be busy in my head.

Meh. Personally, I think those blokes happen write like me once in a while.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010


Last October I wrote a wee piece about The Warrior Song, a soul-stirring and magnificent bit of music about -- and for -- our guys and gals out on the pointy end of the spear by Mr. Sean Householder and some friends.

All purchases of the music, and goodly percentage of T-shirts and hats, go to the Armed Forces Relief Trust.

Today we have been informed that Mr. Householder has done a version of The Warrior Song for the United States Marine Corps.

Oh, hell, yes.


Sunday, July 11, 2010


Look! We're back!

As mentioned earlier, the Magic Elf Box here at Rancho LawDog had a brief dalliance with a bit of code named "the Antivirus 2010 virus" obviously written by a socially-deficient, sexually-repressed, basement-dwelling, vertebrae-lacking, yellow-bellied, gonad-deprived, rubber-nappy-wearing little script monkey for fun and profit.

Not only did it sleaze right past the Windoze firewall, but running Malwarebytes Anti-Malware not once, but five times (twice in Safe Mode) didn't even touch it.

Finally jerked the cables on the tower and drove it down to Best Buy to turn it over to the tender mercies of the Geek Squad.

Got a call from the resident Alpha Geek cheerily informing me that, "We ran two tests, and they both say you've got a bad hard-drive."

*blink, blink*

The hard-drive was working fine when that sodding virus kept opening Explorer and visiting such lovely sites as [deleted].com, [deleted].biz, and [OhGawdMyEyesDELETEDDELETEDDELETED].info. Anti-Malware did a complete scan five -- count-'em FIVE times -- and didn't seem to have a problem accessing the hard-drive.

Of course, it didn't find the bloody virus, either, but that's beside the point.

Not to mention that Herself and I have a great deal of data (read: stories) stored upon said hard-drive.

No go, sayeth The Geek.


So the old hard-drive is sitting in a cardboard box on the desk next to the Magic Elf Box as I type this.



Saturday, July 03, 2010


I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I'd like to get the code monkey who wrote the antivirus 2010 virus someplace where I could get my paws on a blowtorch and two hours headstart on the local gardai. Hopefully back up tomorrow.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone