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There is a theoretical limit to height over bore, but I’m not really wanting them to stop until “firing from the hip” is taught as a discipline

A knife is not a gun, but it is a tool all the same.
I have knives, and many of them are razor sharp, but not all.

A busted tire, a felled tree, a crying child, each of these a priority in no particular order as is often the case.

So the unsharpened knives go on, dull and unused.

I had opportunity today to address the chip in a particular blade and it is now usable, perfection being the enemy of the good.

In the back of garage drawers and rusty toolboxes lies a blade or two of your own.

My suggestion is that you pay attention to the tools you have, and whether or not they are of any use to you in their current state.

Fix something, my goats, whether it be yourself, a long neglected heirloom, or the thing that may one day save you from necessity, that Mother of All Inventions.

A knife is a simple thing indeed

If one is a subject, then there is no doubt in the certainty of servitude, whether one’s master is *personally* recognizable it does not matter — a man is a slave.

If one is sovereign, willfully directed, then one is one’s own master and slave only to one’s whims — it is imperative then that your whims carry speed and action, like an arrow, unto compression.

A thesaurus isn’t a dinosaur and obligations are mandatory to put relics of an ancient and fake organism into the ground to once more draw a dark and holy oil.

The last was not for you, but consider the former and crown yourself king before one becomes the rot of ages, a pool of lifeless and listless potential

Even here.

We were the virus all along

It does have an effect but rain isn’t it

Some will defend these degenerates, others will oppose. If anyone is the former, it’s a tough sell for the latter, so what say you?

Crafting a rifle from a bin of parts is an enjoyable past time that I recommend because *it is not difficult*, but it does require some moderate effort and mindfulness on the part of the craftsman.

Everything has a set of tolerance ranges that is important to abide when constructing but ultimately, for not a lot of technical difficulty, a bespoke rifle can be crafted to your exact desires.

“What’s in a name?”

I suppose it is appropriate for one to consider manufacturer’s efforts and purchase a fully-built, turnkey, rack grade rifle but whatever I call *mine* I’d be lying if I wasn’t a bit prideful in the end result and for that reason, I build — and because I can.

My rifle fucks, and is a reflection of the man who built it. I wish that for yours too, because what does it say of a man whose rifle is impotent and broken?

The establishment bureaucracies and associated technocracies, they have to fight for their lives, but their minions, ie their puny individual voice pieces, the masktards and vaxtard and transtards and pedotards, they are done. In my world at least and in yours too perhaps, since I haven’t heard a defiant or smug peep in months and the silence is deafening, especially after they fought so hard to virtue signal to each other their trust in science and government made them superior humans.

They may or may not be literally dead or dying by their own hands, I’m unsure because I don’t see that, just as plainly as I didn’t see anyone dying of the coof. It’s demoralizing and embarrassing to own one’s gullibility, especially when the circumstances are dire, but these idiots, many our own flesh and blood, are wearing absolute clown shoes, and I don’t know how to further decleat them other than to continue existing as before

I’m sure it’s being screened in Ukraine when the soldiers get some downtime

If the rod is spared but then given to a spoiled child to wield, the result is the vast majority of the United States’ political class.

What then to solve for the initial failing — a rod taken to a child is promoted by some as discipline, but in nearly all cases, a rod taken to an adult is assault.

What then to solve for the initial failing when votes don’t matter, and the child becomes adept at the rod to punish adults and children alike?

If you have the patience, don’t spare the rod, lest it be taken from you by a person with no experience on *when to stop*

…until today.

Admittedly, she was a replacement for another more well loved mongrel, but she was never neglected.

Everyone loved her and were concerned for her well being — until they got to know her. She appeared smart, and seemed outwardly loving, but truth is, she was more cunning than cute. In time, we recognized her as a benign parasite, often getting herself into trouble with indifference towards those who spent countless hours working on her comfort and well being.

But today, she crossed a line and claimed something for herself that was obviously *not* and for that she was summarily expelled, though only for the morning I’d hoped. When I returned to call her in, she was gone. For a brief moment, I was alarmed, but then placated, knowing she’d left willfully, and not because I’d done anything overtly condemning or violent.

In my mind, I’d imagined her journey — would she meet a swift end, a friendly companion, or perhaps a new and not so loving owner?

In all, the pondering was for nothing, because before I could complete my thoughts on her final outcome, she was gleefully returned, flea bitten and begging for scraps of beef medallions.

I think my dog is a jew

Two inventors discussing the motivation, insight and problems associated with the development of one of the most prolific small arms in modern history