Spider Jerusalem & The 99% Spring

So the media sphere is all atwitter with news of this "99% Spring" thing announced by some UAW and leftist leaders.

Unlike many gunbloggers, I have a lot of leftist friends. It was weird to see them cheering the so called "Arab Spring" revolutions-y'know, those violent mob events where secular governments were overthrown in place of a couple of democratic theocracies. I don't think that is what Occupy wants-in fact it is one of those things they accuse Republicans of wanting, sometimes truthfully. But they don't see it like that; they see the word "Democracy" and their eyes get all misty and their panties get all moist and they go "Yay, pure democracy, the answer to all of our problems!" forgetting what Spider Jerusalem told us about Democracy.

You want to know about voting. I'm here to tell you about voting. Imagine you're locked in a huge underground nightclub filled with sinners, whores, freaks, and unnameable things that rape pit bulls for fun. And you ain't allowed out until you all vote on what you're going to do tonight. YOU like to put your feet up and watch television. THEY like to have sex with normal people using knives, guns, and brand-new sexual organs that you did not know existed. So you vote for television, and everyone else, as far as the eye can see, votes to fuck you with switchblades. That's voting. You're welcome.
-Spider Jerusalem

The Coptic Christians in Egypt are figuring it out.

Dark skinned Libyans are figuring it out.

Are we going to figure it out in time, or are we going to spread our legs for the knife?

"Majority" does not mean "Right." The political far left upholds these "democratic" uprisings as heroic endeavors while ignoring the fact that while they enjoyed popular support, they still suborned the human rights of individuals-and the individuals can't do a fuckin' thing about it, the individuals have submitted to the will of the collective, and all it takes is for one stupid idea to take root in the mob and you are staring genocide in the face. They don't see what they are enabling when they call for a 99% spring...but I do. They want the tyranny of majority, but most mouth breathing jackoffs will simply stampede the way they are herded and that will be over the broken bones of anyone who dissents. After all, they are the 99%, they are an overwhelming majority, and that must mean they are always right.

Naming the Inkeeper: People vs. Encounter Based Gaming

I never can quite write the adventure I am trying to for this pathfinder game.

Since most of my players are old hands at WoD but new to D&D, I sat down at work last night while the calls were slow and banged out a sort of tutorial dungeon and a town that we will be using as a base of operations when we start cracking the big dungeon I am designing. The intro dungeon is just a couple of levels and some giant rats, just an introduction to the kind of things you can expect to encounter in a dungeon so when the PC's go into the Sunken Temple of Fucka-You-Humans (working title) they don't get annihilated in the first corridor.

I put in things that a D&D gamer would expect by default but a WoD gamer would have no clue about so they know how to save against a trap, how to make an attack roll, how to target an area effect spell...it kind of ended up like every tutorial to every first person shooter ever made. And, because at heart I am a wannabe writer, I tried to shoehorn a story into it that goes with the town that I had developed.

The town was just supposed to be a base of operations, but I can't resist creating some local color, from the wisecracking bumpkin mayor to the reclusive cleric in a crumbling temple. I have details about the architecture and history of the town in the dungeon and my players will never care about it; they just want to stomp another monster. I'm not complaining about this; I don't get all butthurt about the "right" way to game and I think people that do are fuckin' stupid. But I'm looking over this adventure and going "Aaaagh, it's just the resupply point and the tutorial dungeon, you don't need these kinds of details!"

But I can't help it, man-for me, gaming is less about the mechanical encounter challenge rating and more about the human interaction element. If I want a carefully patterned, ECL appropriate campaign with five or six limited cut-and-dry options, I'd fire up a console RPG-but I don't, I want the human interaction.

So the grubby little hamlet of Muckshire now has a complete history, some kind of buried sin in the town's past, some interpersonal conflicts, and a diverse cast of townsfolk that is ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY. And I haven't even started the main dungeon yet. I just can't help it-I love people based stories more than nifty collections of traps and monsters.

Hope the PC's don't burn it down in the first scene.

Chivalry in the Age of Internets

One thing I like about the gunblogger community is we treat the gals with some respect.

This thing right here, this whole crazy Smoke & Thunder thing where some dude is either shilling for the Joyce Foundation or viciously trolling his own tribe-has made me realize how prevalent this is. (We also saw this with the whole "Breda Porn" thing) Specifically, the responses of the gunnies to this behavior, which is overflowing with righteous and wrathful snark, make me glad to be a part of this community. Even the scruffy ragged edges of it.

We've gone this long being classier than we have to be. We don't even call ol' Joanie P a cunt very often though if any person deserves this epithet, is it she. However, we don't goddamn tolerate somebody talking rudely to a lady and I think if Mr. Smoke and Thunder said some of the shit he said to a lady in meatspace, he'd probably get his jaw jacked and rightfully so.

Granted, I'm not in the polite sphere of friendly gunbloggers, as evidenced by Mr. Zoomie's hater award. I can call anybody a spunk-spluttering bitch-whore-cunt-zilla on my own blog if I want. But I don't, because I recognize the convention, because I don't want a verbal smackdown, and because I AM A BETTER PERSON THAN SMOKE AND THUNDER.

If you are ego reading this, "Smoke & Thunder Admin" think about that for a minute-the guy who self identifies as Scumfuck is a better person than you. Son, I think if you aren't a troll, you need to take a good look at your own posts and figure out what kind of person you are. Maybe you need to get your mind right before you go all Hollywood nu-media on us, mkay?

After all, an armed society is a polite society, until we hit the internets and then we are all total dicks to each other, right? Google the last part of that quote and you might see why.

MOLLE & Crystal Meth

So I got my Beez Combat Systems AK chest rig in the mail not too long ago.

Besides strutting around my living room posturing like a jackass, I haven't done much with it yet. It is the first piece of MOLLE enabled kit that I have ever owned and really the only modular item as I never tried ALICE. It is replacing my Russian milsurp M-21 LBV, which is, charitably, hot, cumbersome, hard to store and too damn floppy. I didn't realize what a pain in the ass it was until I started wearing the BCS rig.

Anyway, this has me researching MOLLE attachments so I can set up a sort of minimalist ZOMG rig. The main reason I got the M-21 was because I was so sure I was going to get a good plate carrier vest set up later so the cheap rig was OK. Actually wearing it around with a pack, having it get folded up, struggling with the zipper, trying to fiddlefuck a storage method I can use in the field during our mock bugouts...it became a hassle. I had a fucking wooden hanger in my BOB just so I could take the damn vest off once in awhile and hang it off a tree. So I decided it was time for an upgrade.

This time I wanted something that was modular but that I could wear over an armor vest if needed as well as without one, so I'll have a good piece of kit even if the shit goes down before I can afford some body armor. It is very comfortable, rides right around stomach level, and holds 5 AK mags securely with elastic retention doohickeys. There is a hook-and-loop closure to a full sized admin pocket that I plan on using for maps and survival gear. The rig is low profile overall; I can cover it under a hoodie if I don't mind looking like a fat bastard. It is, quite simply, the nicest piece of kit I own.

Anyway, the problem here is that as I research MOLLE attachments to it, I'm getting that feeling like the first time a meth head sucks down on a chicken bone and lifts his head and screams WHOOOOOOOOOOOO-YEAH!!!!! I feel like I'm stepping off the deep end somehow.

I've got a bunch of rows of MOLLE stitching on the front. I want a mini Blow Out Kit, preferably in a tear away format, I want a radio pocket that will hold my FRS type blister pack radio, and I'd like a way to set up my fixed blade knife for horizontal weak side draw. Beyond that, I've got all this extra space and a deep compulsion to fill it despite the fact that it will make the rig heavier and more cumbersome.

But all that stitching! All that lovely stitching! Virgin space yearning for the touch of my gear! What am I gonna do with all this space? Christ knows I don't need much else on my ZOMG rig. Yet here I am, browsing cross draw pistol holsters and IPOD pouches and dump pouches and tactical Fastex Buckled Double Dildo sheaths with triple retention and Christ almighty knows what else and I get the feeling that addiction is a real possibility here.

Is there a support group for this?

Carnal Linguistic Love Affair

My relationship with the English language is fundamentally Nabokovian.

No, nothing that involves Pedobear-the language predates me by some time. If anything, this is a Mrs. Robinson affair.

Nabokov was well known to simply love the English language and the flowery expressions that were possible within it's boundaries. The bastard could go on and on for days describing a rusty light pole or a flock of butterflies touching down on a wilted peony in a cracked flowerpot. Everyone (read: no one) has read Lolita, which is an OK example, but give Pale Fire a try and you'll really see it. Thusly:

All my stories are webs of style and none seems at first blush to contain much kinetic matter. For me style is matter.
-Vladimir Nabokov

You'll notice in this blog that I tend to ramble on the same way a lot; once I get into a sexy word groove it becomes difficult for me to pull out. Like ol' Vlad, I hate psychology and I love flowery phrases. Perhaps unlike Nabokov, I don't stick to courtly love; I fucking love the spoken word and that love includes choking and double penetration. To wit:

• I don't always use proper spelling and grammar, sometimes because I am lazy or stoned and miss a mistake, and sometimes because I don't give a fuck because the language is mine and I'll use and abuse it as I see fit.
• I make it a point to use every derogatory slur towards every race, gender, ethnicity, religion and identity. All of 'em. The words are there, I didn't make 'em up, and I will by God use them-because the language is mine, and I'll use it and abuse it as I see fit.
• I use the slang of every deviant subculture, even those that are not my own, sometimes to illustrate my point and sometimes just because I think it's funny-because the language is mine, and I'll use it and abuse it as I see fit.
• And sometimes I just go on and on and lose my point. If you've ever wondered if me going "Wait, what was I talking about again?" is a cheeky self deprecating affectation, you are sorely mistaken-that is simply the machine gun cadence of my thoughts and sometimes I have a dead primer in there somewhere. Tap, rack, bang, motherfuckers-the language is mine and I'll use it and abuse it as I see fit.

The relationship is an all consuming worship and adoration with a predatory aftertaste. I can't help it, nor would I if I could-I love the language and I love to hold the language down and fuck it in the ass while it pounds on the window crying for a policeman. Okay, maybe a little pedobear, goddamn it.

Yet here we are, aren't we? Somehow you keep reading my shit. And I thank you for that-but know this; there will be literary abortions up in this piece, drivel that follows no accepted format or style and may only make sense to one person. If you fit in the Grammar Nazi camp, you will be driven to apoplexy-but you were warned. Beyond that I say only this, in the words of the acknowledged master of the art of flowery nonsense.

There is only one school of literature - that of talent.
-Vladimir Nabokov

CBTT Settles the Great Debates: Martial Arts vs. Combat Sports

Today in CBTT settles the great debates: Martial Arts vs. Combat Sports. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all Phil Elmore on you. I don't have a stake; I enjoy both methodologies.

In case you aren't familiar with this debate, this question is generally the AR/AK or .45/9mm of the martial arts communities. Some people choose to view this question as "What art is best for surviving a street encounter?" and some choose to view it as "MMA is superior and fuck all you faggots." (Note that this is not a question.) It seems to boil down to "Should an martial sport with full contact be considered superior for street fighting than a martial art with no or extremely limited contact?" That will be the version we discuss here.

(Full disclosure-I have trained heavily in both methodologies, with a later emphasis on Filipino stick arts. Also, I have a bit of gutter experience that predates most of my training.)

Let me start by answering that, the reasonable version of the question. YES. An airy-fairy dancing art that teaches you to block every hit in a pre programmed dance will get you killed on the street. Why? Because typically you don't see the attack coming and YOU WILL GET HIT. Sometimes you'll get hit hard, you'll get knocked down, you'll get blindsided by three motherfuckers in a dark alley, and you won't know what to do because you've never been hit before. I've seen some very good traditional martial arts practicioners just fall apart after they get hit the first time in an MMA environment-I mean everything, technique, zen, even blind instinct just comes apart because getting hit wasn't part of the plan.

That said, the main difference between a UFC bout and a street fight isn't that you are barred from kicking nuts or gouging eyes. The main difference is that in the UFC, you pick the time, venue and opponent for the fight, and in a street fight, you don't have that luxury. The street fight tends to come up as a surprise and even if you win, your day is pretty much fucked. You can look forward to a hard fight in the UFC, a test of skill, strength and will; on the street you want the easy fight, and more importantly your opponent does too. If you can, he'll use size advantage, numerical superiority, terrain and a wide variety of weapons to make it an easy fight so he can go home and smoke crack in peace. That is the fundamental disconnect between MMA and street fighting and, despite the chest thumping superiority of some MMA types, it can ruin your plan as much as not getting hit.

Fundamentally, you will fight how you train. If you train to never get hit, to dodge and weave and block Jackie Chan style through every encounter, that is how you will fight-and you will likely lose. If you train to take a guy to the ground and punch him until someone pulls you away, you'll fight like that-and win, until the guy pulling you off has a very small, very sharp knife that he ventilates you with over and over because you weren't even looking for him. Or maybe you just keep punching him because you aren't trained to disengage, and you drub the guy to death after he passes out and you end up locked up with a bunch of his homies instead. That is not winning.

So, what can we take away from this little foray into survivalist relevance from a guy who usually writes about Disney Sex?

1. Your style is not an ego thing. There are things to take away from any art-and things to leave hanging there as well.
2. You will get hit in a street fight. Make sure you've been hit before, or you'll be amazed at how little you know after it happens, assuming they ever finish unscrewing you from that mailbox.
3. What works in the ring doesn't always work in the street and no amount of chest thumping can make it so that it does.
4. None of these styles teach you enough about situational awareness. Situational awareness > technique.
5. Any style that does not teach you about the legal ramifications of using force against another person is an incomplete style. Period.

Thank you, and please don't flood my blog with pissed off comments because you think I called your dick small. Good night, folks.

In Lieu of Any Content Today...

...I present Joe Buck Yourself.

Now fuck off, I haven't even packed a bowl yet.