Monday, March 3, 2014

Building Milk Crate Grow Containers

Here is my problem. I don't have all the gardening grow areas I would like. The ones I do have, dont get the proper amount of sun/shade that I would like.

Solution?

Build growing containers.

I saw a cooking show where a restaurant in New York City did that, and converted an entire roof top into a modular grow area. Cool idea.

My idea is to use 4 or 5 milk crates to grow salad vegetables. If this works, then I'll expand into larger containers. Specifically I'd like to use 5 gallon paint buckets for tomatoes, broccoli and the like.

Here is how I did the milk crates.


You'll need a few things first. Obviously you'll need some milk crates. I had a couple of varying sizes, and had to buy a couple. Make sure that the crates have holes on the bottom. If the bottom is solid, then punch a few holes with a drill.

You'll also need a roll of landscape cloth, also known as weed barrier. The 36" size is perfect. I got a 36" by 50' for about $10.00 from Home Depot. After doing 4 containers, Ive got enough left over to do another 20 or so.

You'll also need a desktop stapler and a staple gun with 3/8" staples. Finally a good pair of scissors and a pair of pliers or cutters.


First thing is to mark off the size, this is no different than wrapping a gift. Make sure you hae enough to reach the top of both sides, and then make your cut.



  


After you make the first cut, then make four cuts up to the base of the crate.








You want to fold the ends together and then using the desk stapler, secure the ends together, again, like you would with gift wrap on a present. You are doing this on the "outside" of the milk crate. Once you have this done on all sides, then gently remove and insert into the crate. Now take the hand held staple gun and secure on the inside. Be cautious as the staples will poke through the crate and are pretty sharp. Once the inside is secure, take your pliers and mash down the exposed ends of the staples. Don't cut them as they will help to anchor down the cloth.  


 


When you're finished it should look something like this. Now just add potting soil, some fertilizer and whatever you've decided to plant.

I'm starting off with two types of lettuce, carrot, two types of radish and spinach. I'm hoping this will give enough "salad" produce for our family.

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Saturday, October 19, 2013

Ron Paul Confirms That The United States Will Suddenly Collapse Like The Soviet Union Did

I remember when the Soviets collapsed. That was a seriously scary time.

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(NaturalNews) Former U.S. Rep. Ron Paul doesn't seen a rosy future ahead for the United States. In fact, he sees a repeat of recent history - though not U.S. history - on the horizon.

In an interview with radio host Alex Jones, of InfoWars, Paul - who is a physician by trade and has recently launched his own radio and television network - said he sees the "bust coming soon."

"They're (Washington collectively) not going to work their way out of it, so it's just (all) going to collapse," he said. "Let's just keep working on the fact that, when we get around to rebuilding this whole entire system, that we do it the way it was intended originally, and actually improve upon it."

Less government, more freedom

Continuing, Paul said, "I think the concept of liberty has advanced even since the time of the founders, but we've regressed so desperately far from what they intended... I think we should anticipate that, you know, in the future, in the next several years, you're going to see a big, big collapse, and then we have to talk about what kind of a monetary policy, why we need to bring our troops home, why we have to quit expanding the deficit every day, and raising these debt limits, planning on total, socialized medicine - that all has to end, and it's going to end because it's going to fail. I think we should anticipate that, and look at it as an opportunity..."

He added, "Less government and more freedom is what we need."

Jones noted that many people believe the U.S. is headed for history's dustbin and that the country is currently in a death spiral, of sorts. Only question now, he says, is when - and how it will happen.

"It's hard to predict the timing," Paul said, "but I think I agree with the assessment that it will end... I look at it like a building standing [with] no foundation. It's sort of sitting there and wobbling, but it hasn't crashed, and I think it will, because you know, the financial system is so unstable, it's totally based on debt, and confidence in the dollar and confidence in the [Federal Reserve], that they'll always print the right amount of money and they'll always keep the interest rates right, and they'll always bail out everybody that needs bailed out - which I think is a total hoax..."

Paul says that the "big event could occur next week, it could occur in five years from now," but especially whenever the dollar is no longer credible as a reserve - or primary - currency.

The physician-lawmaker also said recent polling showing a distinct lack of trust by the American people in their government was "a good thing."

"Because that means that now they'll quit believing the government," he told Jones. "I mean, they don't trust the government, they don't believe the government, the government always lies to them... whether its foreign policy or domestic policy."

'We're probably about in 1987...'

He referenced recent testimony by the nation's spy chiefs, in which they appear to have lied about the actual number of terrorist plots thwarted by the NSA's massive theft of Americans' phone data, as well as the existence of the program in the first place.

Paul said "the system" we live in "was always assumed to be much healthier than it is today."

"But," he continued, "just think how quickly the Soviet system disappeared. I think that was the greatest miracle, or event at least, in the twentieth century" that nobody saw coming.

"You know, the day before, the month before, the year before, if someone would have said, 'Oh, you know, next year,' the Soviet system would be gone, everybody would have considered that person nuts. But it was fragile, and it fell apart, and quickly, and thank goodness we didn't have to have a nuclear war in order to get rid of the Soviet system.

"We're probably in 1987, where the Soviets were in '87, in two years they were gone," he said.

Sources:

http://www.infowars.com

http://www.ronpaulchannel.com

http://cnsnews.com



http://www.naturalnews.com/042560_Ron_Paul_US_empire_collapse.html#

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Sunday, August 18, 2013

Civil Disobedience....The Window War

Summer feels like its coming to a close, and that means more time to devote to blogs, and getting ready for hunting season...and the continual prepping for the eventuality of where we are headed as a nation.

A couple of years ago I ran across a short story which definitely piqued my interest. Im going to re post it for you.

Pass it on. Civil disobedience at its finest.

The Original Story here




The Window War

by Mike Vanderboegh

Author's Note: The events related in this story are true. It is set in the real town of Hobbs, New Mexico, although some names have been changed to protect the guilty. It begins early in the morning, the day after tomorrow.

"And he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had...and his sling was in his hand; and he drew near to the Philistines."-- 1 Samuel 17:40.

"We Americans have set dangerous precedents. We can rest assured that those pushing for gun control have no intention of stopping short of total gun confiscation. At some point, we who cherish liberty must summon the courage of our forefathers and tell America's tyrants, 'Give me liberty, or give me death!' The longer we wait, the greater the ultimate bloodshed." -- Walter E. Williams, Professor of Economics, George Mason University.


Bob Stone stared at the ceiling in the darkness, the popcorn surface barely discernible in the soft glow of the porch light filtering through the bedroom curtains. He had come home angry-- just about as angry as he'd ever been-- and he knew that sleep would not come with his mind still clicking along at about ninety miles an hour. Better to try to walk it off, he thought, since I can't shoot anybody over it. At least not yet.

As he gently rose from the bed, his wife stirred. He froze, and soon her breathing resumed its regular pattern. No need to disturb her anymore than he already had tonight. The meeting had been stormy and had run on into the late evening. Afterwards, he and his friends had refought the arguments for almost an hour. And yet, when he got home, his wife was waiting up (the kids had long ago been put to bed for it was a school night). Amy was anxious to hear what had happened with the Congressman. Bob told her in clipped, furious sentences and her anger rose to meet his with the re-telling. A half-hour later they had turned in, but Bob was too tired and angry to sleep. As Bob collected his pants and shirt from the chair, the clock clicked over to 1:47.

Ten minutes later, he was walking toward downtown in the New Mexico spring night. It was chilly, as it usually is when the sun goes down in the desert, and he was wearing his work jacket. Like most folks in Hobbs, Bob made his money working in the "oil patch". Times had been pretty thin for a while, but now that the price of oil was up thanks to OPEC, things were picking up in the oil and gas business all over the Southwest. It wasn't anyone messing with his money that made Bob Stone mad this night. It was someone messing with his God-given liberty.

They were being sold out. That was the long and short of it. Oh, the Congressman put on a long face, and swore it wasn't any of HIS doing, but they were being sold out, no doubt about it. The Republicans had come up with their own gun control bill, trying to protect their left flank against Clinton-Gore in the upcoming Presidential race. From now on (and for the first time in American history), law-abiding private citizens were going to have to ask the federal government's permission to sell a firearm to another law-abiding private citizen. Not even King George the Third had been so grasping. In addition, there would be no more "high-capacity" rifle or pistol magazines imported. ("High-capacity" meant greater than ten rounds.) Domestic production had already been forbidden in the so-called "assault weapons ban." George "Dubya", the Congressman said, insisted upon it, and the Republican majority leaders in Congress were going to go along. The latest shooting of children by other children (read: "gang members") at the national Zoo in Washington, D.C. hadn't helped.
"But don't they realize that D.C. has the strictest gun control laws in the country?" someone behind Bob had shouted. "How will passing one more law help that?" It wasn't about reality, the Congressman sighed, it was about perceptions. And he didn't have to add that the antigun liberal media had the corner on perception-making.

Bob had listened quietly for over two hours. He'd had enough and now rose to his feet. "But WE put you Republican jerks in power!" he half-shouted. "WE made you a majority party in '94 because you told us you'd try to roll back the Clinton gun-control agenda. Even Clinton blamed the Brady and so-called "Assault Weapons Ban" laws for the Democrat's loss in '94. It was gunowners who put you in power, and kept you in power these past six years, and now you're selling us out! Why don't you look up how much money Lea County gunowners gave you and your Republican brothers over the past six years?"

The Congressman opened his mouth to reply, but Bob cut him off in a low, determined tone: "But I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Republican Congressman, you'll never get another stinking dime out of me or my friends! We won't pay you for the privilege of pissing on our backs and telling us it's raining!" The room erupted into loud clapping and cheers.

Almost drowned out in the din, the Congressman cried: "But it's not MY fault!".

"Whose is it then?" three or four people shot back at him, almost in unison.
The Congressman had the look of a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He had come here prepared to talk about Social Security, but nearly every question had been about gun control. Reaching for an answer that wouldn't be a mistake in front of this hostile crowd, he came up with: "The Columbine killers. Everything changed after Columbine." Wrong answer.

The room erupted. Someone threw an empty coffee cup that landed well short of the Congressman. Bob was back up on his feet, shouting full-throat this time: "That's a load of crap and you know it! When your Republican bosses in the House came to you with this treason, did you tell them that passing it would violate your oath to uphold the Constitution and that you would be forced to resign from their party if they went ahead with it?!? Well, did you?!?"

The shouted question cut through the air and the crowd quieted, wanting to hear the answer. The Congressman was silent, looking down at the empty coffee cup on the floor.
Bob repeated the challenge: "Well, did you?"

The Congressman stirred from his appreciation of the trash on the floor to ask, "Did I what?"

"I think you heard me the first time, Congressman, but I'll repeat it so we can get an answer: When the House Republican leadership told you they intended to pass this treasonable bill, did you tell them that it would violate your oath to 'preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States' and that you would be forced to resign from their party if they went ahead with it?"

The Congressman hesitated, then answered: "Well, uh, no. Look, if I resigned my seat every time a vote didn't go my way..."

Bob cut him off: "I didn't say 'resign your seat', Congressman. I said, 'resign the party'. The people of this district sent you up there. You took an oath to uphold the Constitution. Your party is about to assist in the destruction of one important part of that Constitution. If you resign out of principle and become an Independent, I feel sure that the people of this district will return to your office when it comes time for re-election. So let me re-phrase the question: When you go back to Washington, will you seek out the House leadership and tell them that if they pass this bill, you intend to resign their party and become an independent because you refuse to be a party to treason?"

The Congressman's aide crossed over and, shielding the microphone, whispered something in the Congressman's ear. The Congressman nodded. The aide returned to the sidelines as Hobbs police officers began to filter into the room from the side and rear doors. The aide had summoned them on his portable phone the moment the coffee cup was thrown.
The Congressman leaned into the microphone, "Well, I'll have to think about it."

Bob wouldn't let it go. "What's to think about?" he shot back. "Either you have principles or you don't. If you don't, have the guts to say so now."

The Congressman shook his head. "I said I'll have to think about it. What you're asking is pretty extreme..."

"Extreme?!?" Bob countered. "Extreme?!?. Congressman, you ain't even close to seein' 'extreme' yet. Don't you realize that if you don't find the guts to stop these treasonable SOBs in Congress, and that if the judiciary doesn't have the guts to stop them in the courts, that someday soon gun-owners like the ones in this room are going to have to stop them in the streets with rifles in our hands? Congressman, you'd better pray you never see 'extreme', for if you do it'll take more than all the cops in Hobbs to protect you from the widows and orphans of the men who will die fighting to preserve the God-given liberty you didn't have the guts to risk your precious political career for!"

The room erupted once again, the cops moved to the front, and the Congressman departed out a side door, almost as fast as it takes to tell. And now, four hours later, Bob was still furious.

They don't roll up the sidewalks at sundown in Hobbs, but the streets were fairly deserted this time of night, or morning actually. Even the cops who usually patrolled every twenty minutes or so in the business district Bob was walking through were busy on drunk and disorderly patrol over on Del Paso or out on Bender Street (no pun intended). The bars close in New Mexico at 2:00 A.M. by state law, so between 2 and 3 is often the night shift patrolman's busiest time. As it turned out, that was a good thing for Bob.

To be truthful about it, Bob was still so mad he wasn't paying a whole lot of attention where he was walking. Later, he would attribute his arrival at the scene of the crime to either his subconscious mind or the hand of God. But all of sudden, without knowing why, he stopped and looked up from his thoughts. And there, smack in front of him, was 509 East Broadway. Now as it happens, 509 East Broadway, Hobbs, New Mexico, is a modest, well-kept building with sort-of old-fashioned windows flanking the entrance. It also happens to be the headquarters of the Lea County Republican Party.

Now Bob Stone was a church-going, law-abiding fellow. Oh, he'd done his share of tearing around violating traffic laws when he was young and stupid, but never anything serious. A Lea County boy born and bred, the only time he'd seen the inside of the local jail was when he'd bailed out Manny, his buddy from the gas plant, when Manny had been busted for driving drunk on Bender Street at 2:10 in the morning. But as Bob Stone looked up at the sign proclaiming 509 East Broadway as the Heaquarters of the Republican Party of Lea County, New Mexico, a snatch of conversation from earlier in the evening (yesterday?) came back to him like divine inspiration.

Bill Dodd, a hunting buddy of Bob's, was a bit of a history buff. They had been standing around after the meeting, trying to answer the question: "What do we do now?"
"Well, ah don't know about y'all," (Bill was originally from Alabama) "but when the Sons of Liberty wanted to make a point back durin' the Revolution they'd get a bunch o' folks together and go pay the local Tories a call. Usually they'd just bust their windows (Bill pronounced it 'winders') with rocks and tell 'em the next time it'd go harder with 'em. The Tories usually got the message and moved away or shut up about likin' the King. Glass bein' so expensive back then and Tories bein' mostly rich folk, it seemed the natch-rel thing for the Sons to do. An' it worked. Maybe we ought-ter do the same thing to these gun-control puke-politicians."

They all had laughed, and the conversation moved on, but Bill Dodd's words now came back to Bob loud and clear. He looked at the windows, he looked at the sign, and he looked up and down the street. Nobody. Nothing but the street lights going through their paces for traffic that wasn't there. But what to use for a rock?

The streets of Hobbs, New Mexico, are pretty well kept. On any other night, the plan that was forming in Bob Stone's angry mind would have failed for lack of ammunition. But as it so happened (and later Bob ascribed it to none other than divine intervention) there at the curbside was a piece of broken concrete which had dropped off the back of a demolition company's truck about ten o'clock the previous morning. Somebody, Bob decided, wants me to do this.

Bob Stone picked up the chunk of concrete. Smooth on one side, it had been part of the parking lot of an old greasy spoon south of town that had been demolished to make way for a new BP super-station. He hefted the chunk. Yep, he decided, just about right.
Even so, Bob hesitated. He wasn't a vandal by training or inclination, and if a car had come by just then, even as angry as he was, he'd have given the whole thing up. But in hesitating, another thought came to him: How would anyone know WHY he had thrown the stone through the Republicans' window? If he intended to make a political statement, the rock would have to be accompanied by a message lest the act be dismissed as ordinary juvenile hi-jinks. His hands went to his jacket pockets, finding (and instantly rejecting) his note pad. First of all, it had his company logo on each sheet (now wouldn't that be bright?), and secondly, he had no way of attaching it to the chunk of concrete. Tape and rubber bands were not items he routinely carried. But when his right hand found the felt-tip marker he always carried in his left breast pocket, he knew that the missile would be the message.
Moving a few steps to take advantage of the street light, Bob rotated the chunk so its flat side was up, and wrote across the top of the flat, "Second Amend." (he ran out of room). So he wrote underneath the first line in smaller letters: "Shall Not Be Infringed." He re-capped the marker, and placed the pen back in his jacket pocket.

His resolve had returned. He was going to do it now, even if a car came by. Even if a cop came by. He was going to send the Republicans an old-fashioned Sons-of-Liberty message. He didn't even check again to see if the street was clear, though it was. He positioned himself at what he judged was the proper distance and heaved the concrete telegram as hard as he could. With what seemed to him to be an atomic crash, the chunk sailed through the window easily. No alarm went off. Hobbs wasn't that kind of town. But Bob Stone began to run away.

He ran west down East Broadway, passing the Martin Boot Company, then crossing over to the other side of the street. He kept on running-- laughing, scared, and immensely proud of himself. He ran until he was winded, past where East Broadway turns into West Broadway. A thought occurred to him then that it was probably a stupid thing to be running down the streets of Hobbs at just past two in the morning. If anybody did drive by they'd rightfully conclude he'd been up to no good. And he didn't have the right shoes on to be able to convince a curious cop he'd been out jogging.

So when he caught his breath, he began to walk west on West Broadway at a normal pace. He passed Desert Guns, his favorite local gunstore, owned by one Mark Stone (no relation, unfortunately, for Bob wouldn't have minded a family discount). He wanted to put as much distance between 509 East Broadway and himself before he made the wide turn that would take him back east to home. So he continued a block or so past the Western Motor Company, when he realized with a start that his night's work was not yet done. For there in front of him was 604 West Broadway: The Democratic Party Headquarters of Lea County, New Mexico.

It was true that the Republicans had taken his money, his time, and his support only to sell him out. Bob supposed that that was why he was so angered at the Republican betrayal-- he expected more of them. You didn't expect your so-called friends to stab you in the back. But the Republicans in truth were only half the problem. It was the Clintonista Democrats who had brought the country to this state. And while it was true that Democrats could no more be blamed for stealing the rights, liberties and tax money of their fellow citizens than rattlesnakes could be blamed for biting (it was, after all, their declared mission in life), their windows deserved breaking nonetheless. Indeed, Bob reflected with a silent laugh that although he had killed many a rattlesnake in the desert around Hobbs he had not as yet killed a Democrat, although Democrats were an infinitely a greater threat to peace and the Republic. Well, there's a time and place for everything, Bob decided. Tonight, he would merely break their windows.

And as he stood contemplating the windows at 604 West Broadway, he noted to his satisfaction that they were nice big, expensive plate glass windows. It would cost the Democrats much more to replace these than it would the Republicans to fix their modest, old-fashioned window panes. This, Bob Stone thought, was more than fitting. But the breaking need a bit more preparation. Bigger rocks, perhaps. No, not bigger rocks, just more preparation. Bob fingered the automatic center punch in his work jacket pocket. Yeah, he decided, just the right instrument of destruction for these tempered-glass targets.
He went to the alley behind the building foraging for ammunition and found two new bricks pre-positioned there by what Bob Stone was now convinced was the hand of the Almighty. It could not have been by accident, of that he was certain. Bob pulled out his marker and wrote, lazy-dazy, winding the letters around the holes in the brick: "Second Amendment-- Shall Not Be Infringed."

Somewhat stealthier now, he checked the street before sidling up to the windows. To each he gave several preparatory hits with the automatic center punch. Spiderwebs of fractured glass appeared on each window. Then, checking the empty street one last time, he backed away from the windows and heaved the bricks one after the other with all the speed his overage pitching arm could muster. If the Republican window had sounded like an atomic bomb, these sounded like two hydrogen bombs, and Bob gave into his fear just long enough to run across the street. As the last shards of the windows were still falling, giving way to gravity and dropping with lesser explosions, Bob began to control his fear and slowed to a walk.

And so it was that he walked casually all the way home. As he passed one of the cross streets he noticed blue lights down toward East Broadway. He smiled, and walked just a bit faster. His wife stirred slightly when he eased himself back into bed, but Bob Stone had cured his angry insomnia and, happy now to be a criminal, he fell instantly asleep. Sleeping, he would later say to himself, the sleep of the just.

It all might have ended there had it not been for an editor at the local paper, the Hobbs News-Sun, who along with his college education had acquired a virulent liberal bias about things such as gun-control. Determined to show-case the "lawlessness" of gunowners, he assigned himself as the reporter on the story and also wrote the first of several (he thought stinging) editorials. The story was picked up by the state Associated Press, and eventually made its way to USA Today and the New York Times.

As if to prove that the Law of Unintended Consequences was alive and well, it was when the story went national that strange things began to happen. In Marion County, Ohio, somebody who read the USA Today story decided that breaking the windows of Democrats and Republicans was a pretty good idea. So did all his buddies at the Whirlpool plant.
As a matter of fact, it was about a baker's-dozen Buckeyes who first decoyed the cops, then smashed every window in both party headquarters the next night. Some were broken with nicely inscribed smooth stones that, like little David, they had fished out of a stream. On each was written the entire text of the Second Amendment to the Constitution. "A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." Windows too high, small or inconvenient to reach with stones were finished off with ball bearings fired from slingshots or baseball bats.
In lightning raids two nights later, the same crew smashed the windows of both party's' headquarters in three neighboring counties. It was bipartisan vandalism, and more news stories were generated. Fearing that the rock-throwers would come to his house, the chairman of the Marion County Republican Party resigned. When his Democrat counterpart did not, someone broke the windows in his house, too. One of the more thoughtful vandals taped the business card of a local glass company to his front door.

With "The Marion Incident", window-breaking on behalf of the Constitution began to spread. In about four weeks, 194 local headquarters of both parties were "ventilated" with rocks, bricks, concrete blocks, shotputs, lead weights, tire irons, antique civil war cannon balls and in the case of one Democratic party headquarters in Michigan, a twenty-pound brass jackass of unknown origin. Attached to, or written upon, each was the Second Amendment to the Constitution.

Similar missiles found glass targets at the homes of no fewer than 56 politicians of both parties who had been prominent supporters of gun-control.

Rewards were offered-- none was collected. Only in a few cases were the perpetrators caught, and most of those were teenage sons of well-known gun owners. In one case in Texas, the windows were broken publicly by a citizen who sought arrest for his civil disobedience. In a jury trial, he was quickly acquitted.

"The Window War" became nightly fodder for the television talking heads. And with more publicity came more broken windows. Commentators on the left condemned "vigilante justice" and "lawlessness" and called for political window-breaking to be classified as a "hate crime." Commentators on the right spoke against lawlessness more softly, pointing out that it was the Clintonistas who had made a business of flouting the rule of law (most recently in the case of Elian Gonzalez), and that destroying windows was probably a lesser crime than destroying the Constitution. And everyone agreed with MSNBC's "Hardball" Chris Matthews, a life-long Democrat, when he observed: "These are all gun-owners breaking the law. I suppose we should be grateful they're using rocks."

The polls sent the politicians mixed signals about how the public felt about The Window War. Initially overwhelmingly disapproving of such vandalism, the numbers began to shift as the "War" went on, the issues that had prompted the window-breaking became better known and nothing but windows were being harmed. There was a natural sympathy streak in many Americans for those who fought city hall.

Exactly one month after Bob Stone broke his first window at 509 East Broadway, copy-cat incidents were happening ten or twenty times a night with no end in sight. After two buckets, one containing rocks and the other containing a mixture of tar and feathers, were delivered to the Mississippi home of Senator Trent Lott, the Majority Leader decided, (with the concurrence of "Dubya"), that the political price of Republican gun-control had grown too high. It wasn't the implied threat that got to Lott so much as the fact that the card which accompanied the buckets was signed by some of his campaign contributors, one of whom was a distant relative. With the help of several relieved Democrats, Lott killed the bill.
With the Window War threatening to muddy up his campaign for President, Candidate "Dubya" called Larry Pratt of Gun Owners of America (it was widely recognized that the "rockers" were not listening to the National Rifle Association, which they regarded as a sell-out organization) and quietly promised that if he was elected he would sign a bill that rolled back all of the Clinton-era gun control laws if Pratt could just guarantee that no more windows would be broken. Since the window-breakers weren't under his control either, Pratt said he couldn't promise anything, but he would try.

Three days after Senator Lott killed the bill, the last "shot" was fired in the Window War by twenty members of a Veterans of Foreign Wars post in New York who snuck up on the home of the Empire State's virulently anti-gun Attorney General while he was away and peppered it with Revolutionary War musket balls fired from Gamo "Wrist-Rocket" slingshots. Police responding to the alarm found a big folding sign-board blocking the driveway. It read: "Sue this!"

Across the country, the volunteer soldiers of The Window War read the papers, talked among themselves, and decided to await further developments with a truce. The only Americans who were sad to see the rocks stop flying were the owners of the nation's glass companies.

The howling of Clinton, Gore, Schumer, Feinstein and Company sounded like a banshee chorus but it could not resurrect the bill. Nor could they make it an effective campaign issue against Bush--he had condemned the vandalism in the strongest terms. After George "Dubya" Bush was elected President, and the Republicans retained control of the Congress, the tide of gun control receded. It wasn't that Dubya and his GOP colleagues had "discovered" any principles, they were simply smart enough to recognize that that particular political skunk was best left in the bucket. The reminder that political decisions sometimes have personal consequences acted like a tonic on Republicans and Democrats alike.
The Window War was won, and to the astonishment of many gun owners, no one had been killed. It had long been thought that bloodshed would be required to make the liberals understand that God-given rights are not compromisable. All it had taken was a few hundred rocks and other missiles and one brass jackass.

Many men and women would later claim to have been window-breakers, ten times as many as there probably were. But back in Hobbs, no one ever knew who broke the first window in the gun-control war, and that was just fine with Bob Stone. The only person he ever told was his wife, Amy. Together, they decided to keep Bob's foray into petty crime just between themselves. Neither of them was sure just how they could explain their Daddy's night of window-breaking to the kids.

Author's Postscript: The story above is one possible future for this country. There are others far worse. As J.R. Nyquist recently wrote of the Elian Gonzalez federal kidnapping:

"Specific events, regardless of their actual importance to history, sometimes capture the human imagination. In doing this, they become rallying points for masses of people. They become pivotal to political careers. Such events can bring about the collapse of governments or determine the outcome of elections....Except for clueless and apathetic persons, America has been split into two hostile ideological camps. One is the anti-communist or anti-statist camp, which looks to traditional moral values, the Constitution, a strong family unit and the free market. The other camp is socialist or "progressive" in its outlook, globalist and environmentalist in its policies."
There is no reconciling the two futures these camps represent. One or the other will win in the end. The war up to now has been waged in the political and social arena. The time is fast approaching when this political and social "war" will spill over into armed conflict-- real civil war. If it does, it will happen mostly because everyone thinks it impossible. For sixty years, the liberals have used our respect for the law against us. Each time they moved the line of law to further their agenda, breaking off a bit of the Constitution, we, as law-abiding citizens have backed up grumbling but complying. And why should they stop pushing us back from our God-given liberties? We've never pushed back to stop them. We have been TOO law-abiding.

Remember one thing: Adolf Hitler was elected, and the Nazis passed laws justifying every horrible act they later committed. In such a country, law-breaking is not a crime but a virtue. Before we get too far down that road, perhaps a little window-breaking is in order. Waiting too late to oppose tyranny has always led to bloodshed. Let us avoid that if we can. But history holds such windows of opportunity open only so long, and ours is rapidly closing. Perhaps by breaking the window now, we can escape the horrible alternative. And if in the unlikely event my modest story should become fact, somewhere The Sons of Liberty will be smiling.


KABA NOTE: The above is obviously fiction and is in no way intended to tell people to go break windows. Any socialist ding dong who just read this whole thing and thinks otherwise should really study the history of this nation to understand that -- if the anti-rights people keep pushing -- windows will be the least of their concerns.

 



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Sunday, July 14, 2013

Black On White Violence





 OK, so after the media prosecuted George Zimmerman, under the guise of "fairness", the local court of law showed otherwise. Do you think that the judge and Prosecutors staff were not under pressure from The Dept of Justice?

The specific question is; 'Why do you think the news media was so obsessed with finding George Zimmerman guilty and sending him to prison?'  The generalized question that we have to find an answer for is; 'What message does this trial send?'


I will also add another question; "Why isn't Black on White violence reported with as much fervor as White on Black violence?"


A simple search on Google "Black on White Violence" brings up this article;

Black mob violence and the media silence


BIG LIST of racial attacks, assaults and threats




America is the midst of an epidemic of racial mob violence and the media refuses to report it.
In my book, “White Girl Bleed a Lot,” I documented hundreds of examples of black mob violence in more than 70 cities big and small throughout the country.

Many of the episodes are on YouTube. I also documented how the media and public officials ignore, condone, excuse and even lie about this wave of lawlessness.

Despite a growing mountain of evidence, some still deny this problem exists. (Curiously, the same people who deny the problem are always the first to explain it away.) 

So here are the links to racial mob violence throughout the country, following the organization of the chapters in my book: Some by city, some by theme, i.e. racial violence against Asians, “gays,” Jews, women and others.

I followed up many of the links with phone calls or emails to confirm the racial nature of the attacks and lawlessness.

Many of the individual links are definitive. Treat the others as clues that are part of an investigative package that help us determine the racial quality of the mayhem. And how public officials and media react to it.

Editor’s note: Some of these links will have images and language that is objectionable:


Personally I believe we are at the throes of a breakdown of our society and nation. Whether or not we have violence from this trial and verdict like we did with the Rodney King trial, the die is cast along racial lines.

I read a piece the other day from Fred and published here

He nails it. Here is an excerpt.

Watching the Zimmerman trial, I wonder whether we may not be in for big trouble. Racial hostility is much higher in the United States than it is allowed to appear. In the Twittersphere there is much traffic from blacks, saying that if Zimmerman walks, they will kill him themselves, riot, or kill random whites. On many sites around the web, whites of a sort not found on NPR are saying, “Bring it on.” This is not your granny’s recipe for domestic tranquility.

Let’s not kid ourselves. Race underlies almost everything in this country that spends half its time denouncing racism. This is true of trials, and particularly true of show trials. When the police who beat Rodney King, were acquitted by a white jury, the cops being clearly guilty, blacks burned Los Angeles. When OJ Simpson, clearly guilty, was acquitted by a black jury, whites didn’t burn anything, but were angry and perfectly aware that the verdict was political.

The prosecution’s case against Zimmerman is so weak that unless the fix is in, he will walk. Katie, bar the door.

How did we get here? It’s a long story.

An important part of the world view of blacks is the belief that whites enslaved them. This makes sense if you believe a race is a coherent being with a life stretching over the centuries, as a man’s life stretches over decades. (Compare The Jews Killed Christ. “Gosh, Rachel. You don’t look old enough. You sure you did it?”)

It makes no sense to whites who reflect that no white in America has ever owned a slave, and no black has ever been one. Blacks know this, but it is hard to focus anger on things done by dead whites long before you were born.

Blacks know, correctly if in most cases vaguely, that Negroes, as they were then known, were indeed brought in chains to America. Whites today weary of hearing about slavery since they had nothing to do with it, but it happened and it was ugly. The ensuing slavery was no better. Slaves were in fact whipped, raped, tortured, and kept illiterate, as anyone knows who has actually investigated. (If you want an introduction to slavery as it actually was, read Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation – 1838-1839.)

 I'd urge you to take a few minutes and read the entire article.

Yes, times are getting interesting.

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Sunday, June 30, 2013

Are You A Target? A Short Story

 After reading Guerrillamerica's article about the Syrian conflict, I gave some thought to how a conflict like this will affect our everyday life. Basically what we are going now, relaxing, reading and enjoying life will be a distant memory. Life will get hard, and quickly.

 I had an idea which I put the pen to. This a different perspective than what you are used to.


 

What Are You Advertising?



  The white slightly bruised and rust stained Chevy Impala idled quietly, its exhaust emitting thin wisps of vapor and drops of water in the chilly May morning. The occupant, twenty year old Sean Stein sat back in the driver’s seat, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. His life was about to take an irreversible turn.

  Sean nervously tapped the steering wheel, and for what seemed to be the hundredth time, glanced down at the towel covered, sawed off, double barrel 12 gauge shotgun laying atop the passenger seat. His mind wandered back to the recent past…


  “Professor!” Sean spoke rather loudly and increased his pace, trying to catch up to Professor Mark Dohrn.

  Professor Dohrn turned and smiled, recognizing the thin, bearded brown haired young man as one of his top students in his ‘Revolutions and Governments’ class. “Sean, what’s the hurry?” He asked.

  “Professor…” Sean said pausing momentarily, trying to gather his thoughts “…I’d like to ask you about…”Sean paused again and then stammered “…when you...”

  The Professor looked Sean directly in the eyes. “Let’s walk outside. We can talk privately.” Professor Dohrn put his arm around the student, leading him through the side door. Under ordinary circumstances, touching students by a teacher would be forbidden, but in Liberal Arts College circles, touching was quite accepted. They walked to a wrought iron and wood bench and sat. “What would you like to know Sean?”

  Sean nodded and said “I’m tired of this stuff. I mean, nothing seems to be happening. The world is collapsing around us, and al we can do is…” He said as his voice trailed off with a note of frustration. “Look Professor, I know you’ve done this before. You were very active in the 60’s right?”

  “I was.” He replied. “And let me say that there are some things I cannot talk about.” He said and paused a moment. “I understand there are rumors that I was on the FBI’s 10 Most wanted for a brief time.” He said with a wry smile. “It’s true. I was a part of the Weather Underground Organization.” He paused and looked around trying to see if anyone was within earshot. “I understand your frustration. There are some whose comfort level is holding signs and shouting protests, and some will attempt civil disobedience.”

  “But that wasn’t you, was it?” Sean asked.

  “No, and I suspect that the reason you’re here now is that civil disobedience and sign holding protests aren’t for you either, are they?” He asked.

  “No…I want to be more active.”

  The Professor looked Sean in the eyes and said. “I’ll have someone contact you.” With that said the Professor rose and started to leave.

  “Umm.” Sean tried to speak

  “That’s all I can say Sean.” He said with authority as he strode off.


…Sean looked at his wrist watch. His target has been in the grocery store for twenty minutes now. Sean’s nervousness was starting to get the best of him. After all, not many people plan on killing another human being in cold blood. Sean’s mind raced with the thought. His mind responded ‘This isn’t cold blood, after all this planet killing man deserves it. His advertising said who he is, a Republican, gun owning, cop or fireman. This guy probably voted against everything that was right…that meant voting against clean water, clean air, a woman’s right to choose, gay marriage…’The list went on and on, and as Sean’s mind raced, he now became angry. He now wanted more than anything else, to kill this guy. Sean took a deep breath and thought about his first contact with the Party.

…Friday evening, schools out and time to relax. Sean and his two most favorite people; Sarah Albright and Benson Fowlkes were all together, drinking wine and having dinner. Sean, Sarah and Benson were life long friends. They became friends early on from Junior High School. Since then they shared everything. Sean was the more aggressive and outspoken of the group, while Sarah was the computer nerd, and Benson was the engineer who could figure out anything that was mechanical. It was a full two weeks since Sean had his conversation with Professor Dohrn, and the trio were pretty anxious about it. A knock at the back door, interrupted their conversation.

  Benson answered the door and invited a man inside. “My name is Nicholas.” The tall athletic man said.

  Sean and Sarah came into the kitchen to see the person behind the voice and introductions were made. “The Professor sent me.” Nicholas said, getting to the point. “I’m your contact and will handle all of your training.”

  “So, you’ve accepted us?” Sean asked.

  “Accepted isn‘t quite the term I’d use. But yes, your initial background check as well as Sarah’s and Bensons were satisfactory.” Nicholas said eyeing the three.

  “What kind of training are we going to have?” Sarah asked.

  “We are going to teach you the basics of tradecraft. Like dead drops, coded communications, how to follow someone and being able to ditch a tail, firearms training and as you progress we will get into explosives.” Nicholas didn’t hold back, he looked at each for their reactions. He was pleased with what he saw. It was always nice to have fresh students. Once they understood their part of the Party’s goals and their personal mission, attitudes might change.

  Nicholas continued, “Your job is very important and quite risky. The rewards will come later as we gain victory over the enemy. You three will become a cell. You will have no further contact with the Professor. All contact with the Party will come through me, understand?” He stated. “It is for your protection and for ours.”


…Movement brought Sean’s mind back to the reality of the moment. His target now exited the supermarket, and with half of a cart of blue plastic bagged groceries and headed towards his late model club cab pickup truck. The man paused at his truck, glancing around at the vehicles within his immediate range. Unlocking the door electronically, he unloaded the food stuffs into the rear passenger seat, then got behind the wheel, and started driving. 

  Sean waited a few moments as the targets truck exited the parking lot. He then put the car in gear and headed out. He let the target get about three blocks ahead. After all, Sean knew where the man lived and as long as they were headed in the right direction, he was somewhat comfortable. The target made an unexpected stop at a local bakery. Evidently there was something not right at the bakery, as he took an inordinate amount of time inside. Sean tried to relax by closing his eyes and deep breathing.


…”So what makes you an expert in this kind of thing?”  Sarah asked Nicholas with a sly seductive smile.

 “US Army Special Forces, with two tours in Afghanistan.” He replied.

 “So you’ve…um…killed people before?” She asked, the seductive tone gone.

 Sean nodded his head. “Yeah, it was part of the job, No one likes that part, but when your ass is on the line, and it’s you or him…you just want to make sure it’s him.” He paused a moment. “The Taliban were very worthy opponents, good fighters. I mean, anybody that can stand up to the most advanced military in the world…and force US to the bargaining table for a surrender, has my respect.”

 “So, why are you now doing this?” She asked, while motioning with her hands.

 “You mean why leave the Army and train radicals like yourself to kill?” He said bluntly.

  Sarah was taken back with that comment. “Yes”

“I saw during my second tour what our country had really become.” He said pausing briefly, “We aren’t in Afghanistan to do anything noble, we’re there for the defense contractors. We think that we can take a country who is as backward as anything you’ll find on topside planet earth, and change them into a civilized democratic society.” He took a breath and continued. “We’re killers of the worst kind, cowards who use drones to take out whole families to get to one person.”

  Sarah looked at the young soldier affectionately, and reached out her hand to his arm.

  “Look, if I can help bring down those who are responsible, then I’ll die a happy man.” Nicholas said quietly, and withdrew slightly from her light touch. “Sarah, there’s a good chance you’ll get hurt or arrested, worst case, we all get killed.” He said looking her directly in the eye.” It’s best not to get too attached to someone in war.”

  “Are we at war?” Sarah asked.

  “We will be in a few weeks.” Nicholas said confidently.

  “Maybe you should explain to us before we go further, what we can expect.” Sean asked from the opposite side of the room.

  “Ok fair enough.” Nicholas paused and looked down, trying to arraign his thoughts. “You will be one of hundreds of cells scattered across the country. On Friday May 1st, you will be tasked with taking out one of the enemy. It will be completely random, and will be chosen by you. I’ll help you with this.” He said with a smile. “The next day, we will take out another of the enemy. By this time the news media might have a clue that something is up, as there will be hundreds of republican earth killers being shot.” He said and then added, “Sunday will be the turning point, we attack Christian churches and kill as many as we can. Now, you won’t be involved with the Sunday attacks, we have groups that have been specifically trained for this.”

  “So after three days of attacks…don’t you think that the enemy will strike back?” Sean asked.

  “We hope so.” Said Nicholas with a sly grin. He continued, “We want the enemy to attack us. You see after the third day, the news media will be clued in to the killings that follow. So any republicans that want to attack us will be singled out as murderers. At this time we hope…President Obama will declare a state of emergency and martial law.”

  “Martial law?! That’s NOT good.”  Sean exclaimed.

  “Hold on…” Nicolas replied with a chuckle “…ok look, I know on the outside Martial law doesn’t look all that good, and we lose a lot of freedom, but we figure…”

  “We?” Benson chimed in.

  “The Party.” Nicolas replied. “Now look, let me give you what our analysis is, ok?”

  The trio nodded.

  Nicolas continued. “There are four entities of this countries government. First is us, the Progressive Democrats. Now we control certain parts of the government and make policy, but there is another group which we don’t totally control. These guys are the alphabet agencies and the military. They are only concerned with continued governance. Third are the republicans, and the conservatives. Understand?” He said at the trio. “Finally, the general civilian population…and their three hundred million firearms.” He paused. “Now if we can get Martial law enacted, then we’ll have Martial law for a long time. We’ll do everything to disarm the population and then eliminate the troublemakers.”

  “Ok.” Sean said speaking for the group. “So if we are successful…we have a good shot of this thing succeeding?”

  “Damn straight.” Nicolas said with a determined smile.


  …The target exited the bakery with a large flat box, probably a cake of some sort, He put it in the passenger seat and started down the street. Sean held back a couple of car lengths and on the drivers side. At the next intersection, the light changed, and this was what Sean was waiting for. Taking the towel off of the shotgun, he pulled up beside the Ford truck. Sean used the window controller on his side of the door to lower the window. Taking a deep breath, he removed the safety, raised the weapon, resting it on the passenger window sill and firing the first round. The explosion was deafening, but expected.

  The driver of the ill fated Ford F150 pick up, Luis Gallego, was off duty today. Luis had 12 years in with the county as a police officer. Today was his daughter Alyssa’s sixth birthday. The explosion blew lead and glass into and smashed the head and shoulder of officer Gallego. After what seemed like an eternity, the officer shook his head and came to the conclusion he had been shot. Reaching down to his right ankle, Luis retrieved his small back up pistol, while looking at the car next to him at the same time. As he started to bring up the pistol, he saw the double barreled shotgun release its second round. In slow motion, Officer Gallego watched the pellets tear him apart. He felt no pain, but he knew he was dying.

  He slurred his last words silently. “I don’t remember if I told Helena that I love…her.”


  The black pick up rolled across the intersection and stopped after hitting the light pole at a slow speed. Witnesses would come up from behind and  see the blood splattered glass, which highlighted the rear windows stickers. Two red circular decals adorned the right side, one identifying the driver as a Marine and the other a NRA decal. On the left side a Sig Sauer decal and finally a bumper sticker of a Republican Governor candidate. 


  So, what’s your advertising?
 
It’s my hope that something is learned through this fictional story. If you want to repost to other sites, that’s fine. All I ask is that you give me credit and link to this site.

Thanks,

Jmurman                                             


 

 

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Sunday, June 16, 2013

Will The Real Criminal Please Stand Up

Snowden? or the Inspector General watchdogs?  Who is the larger criminal?

So, 9 TRILLION dollars is missing. Yeah, $9,000,000,000,000. The number is so large I can't even comprehend it. It is $30,000 for every man woman and child in the US. 

Take a few moments and watch the video of this Inspector General person being questioned about it by Congress.



Here is another way to look at it,  The image below is what 1 Trillion dollars looks like.


Folks, we are systematically being dismantled and destroyed. Our nation will not last much longer, and I don't know what the answer is to turning it around. Obviously, the political system we have is failing us. Our politicians are too busy lining their own pockets and shoveling pork for their continuance in power.

Time is getting short




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Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Trust?

The talking heads...and legs (as in Fox News case), are all talking about "Trust".

Trust being what the American people feel towards their government.

They all seem flummoxed that the "Trust Level" is dropping with the American people. You're kidding right?

I lived through the Kennedy assassinations, both of them, and that was a very very tough time for our country. We pulled through. It wasn't easy but we did. We didn't mistrust the government.

Viet Nam was another sore point in our history. We didn't have the depth of mistrust comparatively as we do now.

I don't think Ive seen a political administration as incompetent as what we have in place now...or are they?  I mean are these guys stupid or is it part of a larger plan?

I guess that its pretty much a moot point. The facts are we have a government that is becoming more and more tyrannical every day. The pressure on us, the civilian population, is growing daily...as are the scandals from the Obama administration.

If you haven't started prepping for that future...start NOW.

Set your goal of enough food for you and your family for three days. Once you have three days, then step up to seven days...then a month and so on. Make prepping a part of your daily life and routine.

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