BURNING TOAST

To remember

Crusty cheese bread tomato problem.

Hey Fat Albert

. . .you can kiss my carbon footcheese, dickhead.

Welcome to Mississippi, Globullshit Warming style.

Bang Bang Ur Ded

This is why I love Smith & Wessom firearms.

On January 22nd renowned gun maker Smith & Wesson joined Sturm, Ruger, & Co., by announcing it would cease California sales of its semi-automatic pistols due to microstamping requirements that went into effect last year.

And here's another reason I love Smith & Wesson firearms:

Part handgun, part flamethrower.

Choices

Disgusting.

And partially funded by our tax dollars.

Live Action has proved this in our investigations over and over again, catching Planned Parenthood covering up statutory rape and child sex trafficking. And while abortion apologists like to claim that our investigations are manipulative and false, Planned Parenthood and the abortion industry have shown repeatedly that our investigations are, sadly, extremely accurate. An abortionist in Indiana was caught covering up the statutory rape of a 13-year-old girl. And there are more real-world examples, like the 13-year-old impregnated by her stepfather and forced into an abortion, or the 11-year-old girl raped by her 17-year-old boyfriend and given an abortion. 40-year-old Adam Gault kidnapped teenager Danielle Cramer and held her captive for over a year, impregnated her, and took her to Planned Parenthood for an abortion. They killed the baby and then gave Cramer back to Gault. There are more, of course, but all of these crimes have one thing in common: the clinic staffers knew and did nothing.

Sometimes. . .

I feel like a nut. Today is not one of those days.

Locked Up

Dumbass kid.

I hope someone loses the key to his cell for a couple of years.

The local denizens of the Dade County lockup are gonna love those pants.

He that cooketh. . .

. . .also spake.

A very interesting in-depth article about the chef who brought down a governor.

He probably got tired of making tourneed potatoes.

Life is never what you think it is. Always full of surprises and you wake up one day and realize, fuck, I'm old. But with age comes wisdom. And psoriasis. And a colonoscopy. And fewer boners. And larger bills. And maybe less hair on your head and more in your ears.

But you know what? Your dick may not work like it used to. And you might find yourself rubbing the old monkey while you sniff the dirty panties that you stole from your wife's best friend, but fuck it man, when it all comes down to what you can have and have not as you age, I'd take wisdom over everything. And your old lady's friend is probably a skank anyway.

George Carlin once said "Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that." Don't be stupid, be smart. Be smart. And buy your dirty panties online. If your old lady finds you wearing her friend's purple ruched-back hip-huggers over your face as you rub it out to some Thai Ladyboy porn she is going to kick you right in the old. . .

Which really won't matter cause those fuckers don't work no more anyways. Good luck with the rest of your life. Your testosterone might be gone, but you've still got your fucking brains.

And your tranny porn.

Things are looking up!

As clear as day

A blind and deaf three-toed sloth could have predicted this.

I'm not even sure what to say about this other than the 2014 mid-term elections cannot come soon enough. Reasonable people must eject the cancerous moles of Washington who are spending us into oblivion. Goddamn money don't grow on trees, ya know.

Open Sesame

Once Pandora's Box has been opened it is awfully difficult to get the lid back on. Especially so once someone has been granted "rights".

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

Sometimes. . .

I have something to say. Today is not one of those days.

The Beginning Times

It's about damn time someone found the intestinal fortitude to stand up to the monkey circus that is Obamacare.

No surprise that it is being spearheaded by a woman.

The states need to fight this thing tooth and nail because once it collapses and needs bailing out, it is going to make the 2008 mortgage collapse look like a penny poker game.

Some say the end is near

Closer every day.

Blood and gutted

Even while the current leadership of our nation continues to downsize and gut our military and punish veterans for their past service to this great nation, behind the scenes there are wonderfully amazing things happening.

Like this.

I remember back in the Reagan days they said stuff like this would never work. Indeed.

Connect this!

Stop it humans, just stop it.

You do not need an internet connected toothbrush. Repeat after me: You don't not need an internet connected toothbrush.

Why? Because you do not need an internet connected toothbrush!

Monday

Baby, it's cold outside.

This global warming business is getting out of hand. It was a balmy 18 degrees at Camp Burning Toast this morning and the grass was frozen, the stairs were frozen, the door to my truck was frozen, even poor Number 72, our completely untamed outside tomcat, made no attempt to run away from his bed on the porch as he usually does. I guess he was frozen too. In hindsight, maybe I should have checked on him.

As a matter of fact, I have just been informed that we have a 7 cat mutiny at home. No one wants to spend the day outside as is the norm. Who can blame them?

All this talk of cold makes me lust for things of warmth. Good whiskey, tabasco sauce, a hot cup of Costa Rican coffee. And women from Colombia.

Since I missed out on my normal Friday pinup, here is a Ms. Monday instead. . .

Stay thirsty my friends. And remember: Colombia ain't just about coffee and cocaine.

Brand Awareness?

What are you, fucking Coca-Cola?

These goddamned communists need to be flushed out of our political system like the slimy turds they are. Half-a-million bucks on a LinkedIn profile? Good heavens!

Gulliver's Travels

Earlier this year my favorite cat, Wildcat, disappeared from Camp Burning Toast. We didn't think much of it at first as we were used to his frequent disappearances, sometimes two or three days at a time, sometimes longer. But this time it seemed different.

After a week, I was quite worried. After two, I was fearing for the worst. Regularly, I would ride around the property on El Kabong with the hopes that the engine noise would help draw him out of whatever obscure hiding place he was in. My mind would drift often, conjuring up images of him flattened or being hit by a car and slowly dying in the scrub alongside a road. Or worse yet, a potential encounter with coyotes of which there a many. Legions, in fact. I would try to right myself and not think of such things, but after all he was my favorite cat. A cat who was much like a dog.

Over the last few years he had a regular habit of meeting me at the top of the hill near the gate where he would happily climb in the truck for the two hundred yard trip down to the house. I missed him each day when I turned the corner at the gate and he was not there and I couldn't enjoy his silly companionship in this simple act of bonding.

Eventually, my searches became less frequent but I had never really given up hope. I never felt inside like he was gone. I imagined that he had simply moved on like many of my cats have before. Black Kitty left and I am pretty sure that I see him from time to time at another house up the road a bit. Something was always nagging at my heart with Wildcat.

On one fine, hot summer evening my better half and I were outside pottering around in the flower garden when my love shouted in a breathless and unbelieving voice: WILDCAT! And there we was trotting up the gravel drive, filthy, emaciated, and injured badly on his legs. I just couldn't believe that after almost two and a half months he was finally home. I don't think he could quite fathom it either as he was somewhat cautious during his approach, at times galloping on his bad legs, but stalling every now and again to take another look as if his eyes didn't understand what he was seeing.

We finally coaxed him into the house and naturally the other nine felines had to investigate the new arrival. Cats can always sense weirdness and are of course curious and what was going on was only compounded by the emotional vortex of what we humans were experiencing. Needless to say Wildcat was starving and in pretty bad shape. He had a festering, gaping hole in one foreleg and another injury that seemed to be healing relatively well considering his overall condition. He was covered in grime, fleas, had a few ticks, assuredly intestinal worms, and just looked like hell warmed in a microwave oven.

In between gobbling up mouthfuls of food and milk and grumbling at his investigators, he eventually simmered down and took a long nap. We were infinitely relieved about his return and immediately hatched a plan to get him to the vet the next day to make sure his overall health was in check.

He recovered well over the next couple of weeks after some antibiotics, a bath, and some down time at home, but it didn't take him long to return to his rambling ways. He doesn't stay gone as long, he's back to the two or three days stints, but every now and then we won't see him for a week. Lately however, his has been home in the evenings, almost a regular as rain. And he still likes to take a ride in the truck or on El Kabong, but he has changed just a little.

I suppose I would change too if I were lost God knows where for 2 months. I often ponder what goes on in his little cat head about his ad-, or, misadventure really, but there is no way that I will ever know what happened, where he went, or what he saw. He lives with it and I can only be happy that he is home.