Friday, January 20, 2012

Sonnuva -- !

Well, it seems my lungs felt left out of the other night's performance.

I've not felt ... right ... since the Great Body Clear-Out of 2012, so I finally staggered out of bed and over to my witch-doctor.

You know, when Ye Olde Potion Pusher is listening to your chest and he stays at one spot for a looooong time -- this is what us finely-trained law-enforcement types call "A Clue."

When he steps out into the hall, closes the door, and then two more people come in to listen to your chest, it becomes time to raise a finger and say, "Oi, doc. Something I need to know about?"

One chest x-ray and one blood-work later, the nurse comes in and cheerily says, "Well, your A1c is 5.4. That's some good news!"

I could have strangled her.

I've got a stomping case of aspiration pneumonia, most probably the result of something I'd rather not think about right now going a wee bit astray during the six hours of Wagnerian 'Speaking to God On The Porcelain Phone' from earlier in the week.

I'd never heard of Solu-Medrol before today, but it is apparently lovingly gathered from the fiery depths of Kilauea, gently mixed with extract of naga jolokia, and seasoned with just a pinch of thermite before being loaded into a hydraulic press and shot into my right bum cheek through a sewer pipe.

When the wee lass said, "There's probably going to be a little burn" be aware that the little darling probably referred to the sinking of the Titanic as, "A little oopsie."

Too right there's a burn. The only thing that kept me from doggie-dragging my butt across the carpet on the way to the fire extinguisher was male ego -- and that was losing the fight.


Two albuterol treatments later, some heavy-duty antibiotics, and I'm back to home. Thank various and sundry gods.

I'm going to find a bag of frozen peas and spend the rest of the day napping.



Monday, January 16, 2012

Don't read this. Graphic depictions of bodily functions.

One of the few acupressure points that actually seems to work on me is the one for nausea on the inside of the wrist.

When I was younger, I'd do anything to not throw-up. As I've gotten older, however, I fall more in with the whole, "Better out than in" school of thought.

Early this morning, I awoke to my stomach telling me that things were about to go all splodey, so I hie'd myself into the khazi and arranged myself properly.

Unfortunately, moving seemed to quell the savage beast, so I was sitting on the loo, getting more and more miserable by the moment, when I realized that what kept me from puking, might aid the process -- so to speak.

For those of you who don't know, the acupressure point mentioned earlier is on the inside of the wrist. You take a thumb, and press firmly and -- on me anyway -- a lot of times the urge to chunder goes away.

So, I figured if pressing on the inside of the wrist made the pukey feeling go away, then maybe pressing on the outside of the wrist might ... expedite things.

Yeah. We aren't going to touch that pressure point. Ever. Again.

That little SOB must be connected directly to the pelvic splanchnic ganglion because, while I did NOT throw up, stuff was evacuated. And a damned good thing I was sitting on the porcelain throne, might I add?

To get some idea of what happened, understand that when things cut loose, at that moment, in the Old NASA Engineers Home, several members of the Apollo Space Program made little slide-rule motions in their sleep, and smiled.

I can now positively state that my throne has been G-tested.

The .. umm ... performance was so ... umm ... dynamic, that it apparently caused my stomach to go sit in the corner and sulk, because once I got done hanging on to the walls for dear life, I wasn't all that ready to throw-up anymore and staggered back to bed.

Fast-forward some minutes, and my stomach decided that it had the perfect response to the performance earlier, so -- once more -- I fling back the covers and high-step it to the bathroom.

Where I discover that apparently my stomach likes opera. Wagner, actually.

To get some idea of the next several minutes, I'd like you to think of that classic Bugs Bunny cartoon using opera, the one where Elmer Fudd is the viking out to "Kill da Wab-bit!" take the score, and replace the words of the song with variations of "Blargh!" and a gentle undertone of, "Ohgodohgodohgod."

Blargh--bl-bl-blargh, blargh! Blargh, bl-bl-blargh, blargh! BLLAAAAARRGH!!!

In true Wagnerian fashion it went on. And on. And on.

Finally, my stomach dug down deeeep for the last aria, put down the baton, re-fastened the bow-tie, adjusted the tails just so, and regarded my lower GI tract with a "Hmph".


So, how was your day?


Sunday, January 15, 2012

Note from Phlegmmy- LawDog's notes

This time last year, I was getting ready to take my math credit course at a local community college, and I needed a pad for working out my algebra problems. LawDog gallantly gave me one of his half-used old notebooks and I used the remainder for my scribblings. Today I was going through my backpack, making ready for my Anatomy and Physiology I class which begins Tuesday and I pulled out the old notebook. In my frenzy for the subject last year, I never read what Himself had written in the beginning of the notebook, and today I find rich meat-food lay therein. Of course, occasionally, someone says in person (or I note in his comments) that he should publish a volume, and though I do not nag, I will mention the same about once a year or so. I'm not kidding when I say I held my sides with mirth whilst reading some of his notes taken in class. I implored and he conceded to allow me to post just one here, and I must say I feel guilty hoarding the rest of the lot to myself. I hope you'll enjoy this tiny taste:

"Be the guiding light." Hell, I'm usually the on-coming train. And I'm good at it. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on how you look at it.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Wow. Just ... wow.

This is beautiful.

I have often said that the gun community is not quite like any other, and this young lady quite succinctly sums that up.

Well done.


Tuesday, January 10, 2012


The Texas Alcohol Beverage Commission has nifty little official warning signs posted, that I have been noticing for some time, but one of which kind of kicked over my giggle box.

The signs in question read:

Drinking any type of alcohol while pregnant can hurt your baby's brain, heart, kidneys and other organs and can cause birth defects.

The safest choice is not to drink at all when you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant.


This particular sign is above the urinal.

In the men's loo.

*blink, blink*

Rest assured, chappies, that if I might be pregnant, I will most certainly stop drinking. Right after I call the National Enquirer.


Monday, January 09, 2012

Spam-bot fail

Apparently there's a personal injury attorney in Tampa, Florida (who may or may not be named "Simon") who has retained a spam-bot for the purposes of spamming the comments of blogs.

Found some of that spam in several comments here, point-of-fact.

Now, I'm not a big fan of defence attorneys, because over the past couple of decades they're usually hinting broadly to twelve complete strangers that I'm a liar, incompetent, a lair, crooked, a lair, racist, a liar, poorly educated, a liar, misogynistic, a liar, sadistic and that I lie through my teeth.

On several occasions they weren't hinting, and on at least one really memorable moment the tile-crawler hit most of the points above.

All the while knowing that not only was I not any of the above, but knowing for a fact that his client was guilty as hell.

Like I say -- not a big fan.

However, our Republic needs defence attorneys for our system to work. And -- truth be told -- when they are maligning me to a jury and insulting me to my face on the witness stand, they're just doing a necessary job; it's not personal (most of the time); and (most of them) don't really believe that I would violate my oath.

So, I will needle them on this blog, I will write elaborate comparisons to sharks and other creatures, but I do not indulge in elaborate fantasies involving a defence attorney, a dark alley, a wombat, a sack, and a jar of grease.

Personal injury attorneys, on the other paw ...

... They're the lawyers in "Lawyer-proof triggers".

They're the reason that my cup of coffee says, "WARNING: CONTENTS MAY BE HOT".

The label on a go-kart that says, "CAUTION: THIS PRODUCT MOVES WHEN IN USE"? Personal-injury lawyers.

Neutered chemistry sets? Wimpy slides on playgrounds? "No Swimming" signs at the local watering hole? High dive platforms removed from the YMCA pool? Ban on rat-busting at the city dump? Proof-against-everyone-except-children pill bottle lids?

Thank a personal-injury lawyer -- or the fear of one -- for all of the above.

That feeling that the entire world wants to wrap you in bubble-wrap and only let you have stuff made from Nerf? Personal-injury lawyers.

Near as I can tell, personal-injury lawyers are primarily responsible for sky-high insurance rates, increasingly louder screams for tort-reform and the entire State of California.

"The officer used a blackjack against my client. If he had used an ASP, there wouldn't be any need to sue."

"The officer used an ASP baton against my client. If he had used OC spray, there wouldn't be any need to sue."

The officer used OC spray against my client. If he had used a TASER , there wouldn't be any need to sue."

"The officer TASER'd my client. We're suing!"

Sweet haploid Judas on a crutch!

I'd like to put into print some of my fantasies involving personal-injury attorneys, particularly the one that makes the police psychologist back slowly out of the room ... but someone named "Simon" in Tampa, Florida would probably sue me.


Spam-bot fail! Get off my blog!


Sunday, January 08, 2012

Something Tookish woke up inside him ...

I have seen the teaser trailer for The Hobbit, and after listening to the song of the dwarves that I have read so many times in print ...

... I am experiencing a serious urge to gather up my hat, walking-stick and handkerchief, and run to catch up with the dwarves.

I want to have an ale in Hobbiton, walk the halls of Rivendell, explore Mirkwood, watch the sun come up from the docks of Lake-town, and take on Smaug -- preferably with a Stinger MANPADS.


Instead, I guess I'll just go to work.



Saturday, January 07, 2012

Dateline: karaoke bar from Phlegmmy.

I'm at a karaoke bar with my beau and he flatly refuses to sing "dirty deeds done dirt cheap" with me. I'm inclined to pout.


Let there be light!

Lady Tam has discovered the Streamlight Microstream, one of which has been living in my left front pocket for ages.

It is, indeed, a handy little light -- even more-so if you stoke it with a lithium AAA dry-cell, rather than the standard alkaline version -- but the pocket-clip might leave a little to be desired.

I say this, because I was recently in the north of the Texas Panhandle as part of a convoy To Somewhere Interesting. We had stopped at a convenience store to do the needful, and were loading up for the final push when MattG and Tam pulled across the fuel pad, pointing and making yelling faces.

Turns out that a mischievous gust of Panhandle breeze had plucked my Microstream out of my pocket and was rolling it across the parking lot.

This is actually the second of these little jewels I have carried, because the first disappeared out of my pocket ... somewhere ... probably under similar circumstances.

Since you can find them for between $13 to $19 dollars on-line, and I had gotten at least that much use out of it fairly quickly, I wasn't as torn up about the loss as I would have been if one of my Surefires had done the same.

And I really don't know how Streamlight could make the pocket-clip any better, come-to-think.

Anyhoo, good lights, but watch them if you clip them to a pocket, like I do.


Friday, January 06, 2012

Meditations on cameras

Apparently there has been some Internet kerfuffle involving officers being videotaped by citizens. Seems some officers get their Hanes all up in a half-hitch about it -- to the point of pulling some truly feather-legged stunts.


And I'm asking that question of both sides, by-the-by.

I ask the officers because, well, duh. If you're not doing anything to be ashamed of, why do you care if someone videotapes you?

The advent of the dash-cam was a turning point in modern police work. It has cleared more cases and exonerated more officers than any other single instrument in history.

The only problem with the dash-cam is that it has a relatively narrow field-of-view ... which is fixed. Once the cruiser is parked, the dash-cam can't move.

And I'm here to tell you, when critters decide to resist, or evade, or get really squirrelly, most of the time it doesn't happen on the hood of your cruiser.

So, now you have a dash-cam that's going to follow you, that you don't pay for, that the tax money of the citizens of your County doesn't pay for, that pays for it's own maintenance, supplies it's own parts ... where's the downside?

Hell, if someone wants to follow me around on patrol with a video camera I'd probably hand him a ride-along sheet and offer to buy him coffee.

Remember, children, even as officers we have the Sixth Amendment right:
"to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor."

Allegations of minor misconduct by officers are on the rise. By "minor misconduct" I mean complaints that officers were unprofessional, or rude, or abrupt, or any number of things that can ding your personnel file.

Hell, I know of a neighboring department that opened a file on an officer because someone complained that the officer
"displayed his tattoos in a menacing manner."

Call it Death by Nibbling Ducks.

And here we have someone with hard evidence that can either show that the allegation is a distortion, is an exaggeration, or is an outright lie; or it can show the totality of the circumstances of the event.

As long as you are abiding by your oaths ... like I said: where's the down-side to this?

As for the citizens ...

... I love you to death, I will happily buy you coffee, I will insist that you take this card with the direct line to Infernal Internal Affairs, as well as a map to their lair office, I will probably send you "Thank You" notes -- but, I think you're crazy.

For Freyja's sake, I hope you never video anything Really Good.

I won't ask you your name when you first start following me -- because it's not really any of my business.

However, the moment Anything Good happens in your presence, you're no longer A Citizen, you are A Witness; and it becomes my duty to demand your name, address, and date of birth.

I will not seize your camera -- unless someone is heading for the Emergency Room, or room temperature, and even then I'll probably just wait for the detectives to seize your camera.

And that's the worst thing I could do to you. I'll let you noodle about for "Chain of Custody", but you're going to learn to hate that phrase.

Another one you'll learn to hate is: subpoena duces tecum.

Just for giggles some time, look up the Latin translation of that phrase, and understand that judges have no sense of humour at all about it.

My friend, you see that person with the big white grin in the thousand-dollar suit sitting next to the defendant? You know why that suit costs a thousand dollars? Because it has to be specially tailored around the dorsal fin.

When Mama's Little Dumplin' who ain't never done nuffin' except sing in the choir, deliver home-cooked meals to the disadvantaged, and rescue kittens is accused of resisting arrest/assault on public servant/retaliation against a public servant/domestic violence/drive-by shooting/armed robbery/fill in the blank here ...

... your video of the incident, or of the victim, or of the crime scene is going to become an important part of the case against Mama's Little Dumplin', because juries just looooove videos.

And the tile-crawling shark defence attorney knows that juries just looooove videos. So he (or she) knows that if he wants to earn his retainer he's (or she's) is going to have to get the video either thrown out, or discredited on the stand.

Welcome to the prosecution. This is the witness stand. Yes, that is a bulls-eye on your chest. With appeals and the probably inevitable civil trial, you could be here for years.

Love ya. Shift starts the usual time on Monday. If you're late, I'll swing by the Stab-and-Grab on Main every so often so you can catch up.



Victor Borge had a classic skit in which he added punctuation marks to conversational speech:

For some time now, whenever I speak of a well-known maker of tactical gear, I have been adding a verbal exclamation mark to the name. A habit which has, no doubt, confused a great many people.

I have just now figured out that Mr. Borge is responsible for it.


Sorry, Blackhawk. Or, rather, Blackhawk-ffsstt-pck.


Thursday, January 05, 2012

Smoky burny goodness

Chipotles are chili peppers -- usually jalapenos -- which have been allowed to ripen to the point that they're starting to lose moisture, then allowed to dry over a smoky wood fire for some days.

Come to think, chipotles are to chilies much as jerky is to beef.

Anyhoo, chipotles add a nice, smoky bite to various recipes, and are a staple of Southwestern and Tex-Mex cooking. However, if you don't do your own chipotles, you generally have to buy them in a can, which can be a bit of a pill when you just want one chipotle for your pot of beans.

Yes, I realize that you can get ground chipotle powder. Not the same.

Recently Herself and I discovered Clemente Jacques Chipotle Topper.

Oh. Mah. Gawd.

It's a squeeze bottle of pureed chipotles in a nice little adobo sauce, and it sits on your 'fridge shelf and lets you squeeze as much -- or as little -- goodness into your pot of beans, or chili, as you want.

Turns out, it's also good on hamburgers, chicken planks, BBQ, fish fingers, any steak you had a "whoops" with, and probably burritos and such.

A warning, though: if a house-guest grabs the wrong bottle and doses his french-fries with not-ketchup, that first bite is going to be a bit ... dynamic. Warnings for anyone coon-fingering the 'fridge looking for tomato sauce are probably advisable.


Wednesday, January 04, 2012

Hypocrisy, much?

If I want to buy a bottle of bourbon -- which I have the right to do -- I have to provide some form of State-issued photo ID to do so.

And the Federal Government is not only okay with this, the Federal Government encourages it.

If I want to drive my pick-up on a public road in the State of Texas -- which I have the right to do -- I have to provide a specific form of State-issued photo ID to do so.

And the Federal Government is not only okay with this, the Federal Government encourages it.

If I want to exercise my right -- a right guaranteed by name in the Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States -- to buy a firearm from a dealer, I have to provide some form of State-issued photo ID to do so.

And the Federal Government is not only okay with this, the Federal Government actively encourages this. At the point of a gun, sometimes.

If I wish to board an aeroplane to travel to some other part of these United States -- which I have a right to do -- I have to provide some form of State-issued photo ID to do so.

And the Federal Government is not only okay with this, the Federal Government mandates it.

I opened an account at a credit union recently. I had to provide a picture ID -- mandated by the Federal Government -- to do so.


Voting is a right which when misused or subverted creates far more damage, damage that lasts for far longer, than any use of a firearm. Than any boarding of a plane. Than any drive down a highway.

The Constitution guarantees my right to keep and bear arms. The Federal Government says, "If you show ID first."

I have the right to travel -- Ninth Amendment to the US Constitution -- the Federal Government says, "If you show ID first."

I have the right to buy booze. "Show ID first."

I have the right to buy tobacco. "ID, please."

I have the right to rent a P.O. Box. The Feds demand that I show ID.

I have the right to open a bank account. IF I show ID first.

Mr. Holder and the US Department of Justice will break the Fed.Gov's foot off in someones butt if you do any of the above -- or more -- without ID. And he -- they -- are perfectly okay with this.

But have one State decide to ask for ID before exercising another right -- the right to vote -- then Holder, the DOJ and the Fed.Gov decide that it violates the Constitution.

Every other right, it's okay to demand that we show ID before enjoying such right.


I haven't checked yet -- if you look up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, is there a picture attached? Of whom?