I’m going to write a book I said, it’ll be fun I said…

And I was right!

I just printed it for the first time. Really weird to hold something you created in your hand, kind of like a baby… but not gooey. Awesome feeling. The awesomeness to weight ratio is about 122.5%.

Which is perfect.

This is the working title, but it has really grown on me… because it’s just kind of nifty. 🙂

The ‘Badass American Novel’ part needs to stay though. Cause – ‘America.

Anyways… SO close to being done. I can already taste the ink on the paper.

Novel

Reasons why Liberals assumed Kavanaugh was Guilty.

  1. He is a straight, white male – thus the absolute worst humanity has to offer.
  2. He was nominated by Trump, a serial abuser of women.
  3. He is a conservative, and wants millions of women to die instead of letting them kill millions of babies.
  4. He supports the Constitution, which is archaic and outdated, written by racists slave owners.
  5. Republicans support him, and they want women to pay for their own birth control and will ‘put ya’ll back in chains!'(According to Joe Biden)
  6. He is probably a Russian bot.
  7. He is a Christian. And Christ is the absolute worst, unlike Mohammad, the founder of the religion of peace, who raped/married children and enslaved/butchered people who wouldn’t convert.

This entire spectacle was a sick, demented, twisted Hail Mary of the left with three potential outcomes.

  1. Kavanaugh would decide this wasn’t worth it and quit.
  2. RHINO’s would pull a Flake and… flake.
  3. The FBI would pull a Comey/Mueller and spend two years searching for evidence of a crime that doesn’t exist.

In the end, it backfired spectacularly as it should. It’s fired up the Republican base, pissed off a large chunk of rational moderates/Democrats, and turned public opinion in even larger favor of Kavanaugh being voted to the SCOTUS.

As it should, it appears that good will triumph over evil.

But it ain’t done yet. So, keep praying. Because this sort of thing needs to be stomped into the mud with such swift, fierceness that it will never be attempted again.

In other news.

I’ve researched a bunch about Cannons lately to make sure I get the details right. Because the most important question every kid should have, is ‘What happens when a Tyrannosaurus catches a 12 pound cast lead ball from an 1857 Napoleon Cannon right in the kisser?’

I’m 95% done with this book. But there’s just so much cool stuff to add, I’m having a hard time wrapping it up. And the final battle is a struggle as well.

No wonder in GoT, the first massive battle that occurs in the books is the one Tyrion is involved in. GRR Martin just knocked him out at the beginning and he woke up once it was over. Clever play, dude.

Hero to Zero, in 5 seconds.

Gather around.

It’s embarrassing story time.

Oh yes, so basically, I’m just tired of reading about Kavanaugh and all the stupid lemmings who can’t see a political smear campaign for what it is. The same ones who are tweeting #BelieveSurvivors and not #BelieveDueProcess. Thus, I figured I’d just post something mildly humorous instead of dealing with the foolish masses.

BTW – What exactly does a walk out do? What are you demonstrating? That you don’t want to do your job? Or learn? Because pretty sure, it’s just a meaningless gesture. The world still turns, even though you stand outside under the sky, howling your rage at whatever ridiculousness you misunderstand.

“Oh look at me, I’m going to protest the injustices of the world by going outside and escaping my responsibilities for a few minutes!”

Pfft… What bravery… it’s a glorified smoke break.

But I digress…

Once upon a time, six months ago or so, I went to the gym.

Like I do five or six days a week.

Because I need a big body to defend my big mouth.

At the gym, there’s a large parking lot, steps leading into a smaller parking area and a single, one-way lane for cars to drive around. On the other side of the single lane, is a concrete entrance way to the gym, and a cage for children to the immediate right.

Well, a playground. Same thing.

I’m diddy-bopping along, minding my own business. Probably shaking my BlenderBottle  full of protein powder and water. Getting myself mentally psyched to go pick heavy things up and put them back down again, over and over.

I park, walk up the steps and as I cross the single lane road, a large ball bounces towards me. It was sort of like an inflatable beach ball. I bravely grab it… before a car comes along later and runs it over, or worse, it rolls into the parking lot and under a vehicle.

Little kids cheer. The watchful moms leaning on the fence smile, probably happy that they didn’t have to chase it. (Or because I was showing a lot of leg in my gym shorts.)

Walking triumphantly by the kiddie-cage, I give a big grin, like the hero I am… and chuck the ball in… underhanded.

It bounces and smacks a toddler in the face.

Poor kid goes sprawling backwards into the mulch and immediately begins howling, crying, snotting…

All that happiness that was radiating towards me… just… evaporates.

It got quiet, real quiet.

Everyone is in shock. They are either staring at the crying child, or at me in abject horror, as the ball rolls away. Even the kids swinging on the swings stop to stare.

Everyone… except for the one mom frantically fighting the kiddie-cage lock to get to her… based off everyone’s reactions… mortally wounded child.

I just keep walking inside the gym, trying to not make eye contact. Because I had no idea what to say. I don’t think there are words for such moments.

Then I hid in the bathroom.

Okay, not really. I just worked out longer than normal, hoping everyone would be gone by the time I left. I didn’t want to get worked over in the parking lot by a mob of angry moms.

In the end, everyone was just fine.

I think. I don’t know what happened to that kid. But he looked okay as I walked on by.

Just thought I’d share that today.

 

Dear Instagram Diary, Day 1 – 7

Last week, I added an Instagram account to this site. So many memes, so little space… It’s to the right. If you are on a phone, or reading it via email, you ain’t gonna see it.

GunpowderedInk <–Instagram Clicky.

I chronicled my adventure.

Day 1.

Dear Diary, today I created a public, but Top Secret Instagram account. This way I can avoid offending anyone who doesn’t want to see this stuff on my private personal account. GunpowderAndInk was taken, so GunpowderedInk will have to suffice. Time to post some humorous, but factually correct pictures promoting Christianity, Conservativism, and Pew-pewing… and smacking liberals with logic. A few of my favorite things.

Oh look, 5 likes. And two adds already. One is selling bottled hotdog water, supposed to cure acne. The other is a holster company.

Day 2.

Dear Diary,

Today I had the following conversation with my wife.

Wife: “Someone stole your identity! They took your picture. Wow, you are so handsome. I’m such a lucky girl to be married to a hunk like you. But they are posting a bunch of funny, but thought provoking, and truthful stuff on Instagram! (Paraphrased, but mostly correct.)”

Me: “Yeah… that’s me.”

Note to self. Next time don’t use real name or picture, dumbass…

Oh, look. More likes, more adds. More companies of random stuff. Including a sunglass company.

Day 3.

Dear Diary,

More friends are adding me on Instagram. Because Instagram is suggesting my not-so-secret account to friends on my real account. Buckle up kiddos. While I try to stick to posting family stuff on my private account, this account doesn’t care about your feelings. Regardless of how incorrect or fragile they may be.

A bunch of more companies for random crap are adding me. One is a dude with a lot of hair, who lounges on boats all day with stacks of money next to him. Hmmm… can’t be real. The money would wash away.

A few real people. I’ve been asked several times now what sort of gun I carry by a holster company. Then told to check them out. No thanks, I like my IWB Comp-Tac Minotaur. 10+ years with the exact same holster, cause it’s that freaking awesome.

Sunglass Company liked every single picture I had then unfriended me.

Day 4.

Dear Diary, liberals have already begun arguing me. That was quick. Let the educationing and hurt feelings commence.

Sunglass company added me as a friend again. Yay? Hitting about 10-12 likes per picture. Is this fame? Someone pinch me.

Day 5.

Dear Diary, someone called me a bad name. Since I’m not a Beta Male, it has no effect on me. I laugh at their silliness. I played Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, a lot back in the day. I’ve heard every possible variation of “I banged your mom” in a multitude of languages I didn’t understand.

Except North Korean, cause they don’t have internet.

Sunglass Company liked all the pictures I posted over the past couple of days. Told me to buy stuff from them. I didn’t respond.

Had my first repost of a picture I posted and hit 18 likes on one picture. Heeeeyyyy. I’m officially INSTA-FAMOUS! I’m going to start offering online coaching for something… I dunno. Whatever makes you feel bad about yourself and you think some random dude on the other side of the internet can give you for money…

Day 6.

Dear Diary, nothing new to report. I posted some pictures and followed ESEE Knives. Cause I just bought one of their ESEE 3’s, military version. It’s beautiful. I’m going to kill and eat things with it.

Sunglass Company unfriended me again.

More random companies keep adding me. Some real, living people mixed in. I’m thinking of offering ‘Good Vibes’ for money. That’s a thing. Instead of praying, people offer ‘Good Vibes’. Whatever the hell that is…

$5.25 per vibration.

Day 7.

Dear Diary, I wonder if women are bombarded with obvious fake accounts, with women in lingerie  as the profile pic, who directs them to click an obvious porn link? Or do they get offers from thonged men?

Do the bots know how to differentiate male and female accounts due to our profile pictures?

If unsure of gender, does it double-down and just send one of both?

How do bots differentiate between the other 50 made up genders? Or like me, do they not care.

Sunglass Company refriended me. Woohoo. Liked all of my pictures again. Commented the exact same pitch as several days ago. More companies are pestering me. A few more real people.

Instagram is ridiculous. This is why my personal account is set to private.

Yet I still post pictures, because my phone storage is full of them. And it makes me happy.

Oh, yeah. Still offering ‘Good Vibes’. $5.50 each now. Because I’m INSTA-FABULOUS.

Postal Money Order only.

 

“Kind of like reading Louis L’Amour, but with dinosaurs.”

That’s from one of my books Beta (Rough Draft) Readers. As someone who grew up reading pretty much all of Louis L’Amour’s books – that’s as high of praise as I could ever hope for.

Mathematically speaking, I’m 36% through the final draft. Which doesn’t mean much since the story length grows and shortens as I edit. After this draft, it will be the ‘return to the beginning and nit pick every single freaking sentence for errors’. Writing a book is kind of a PITA.

I’ll hit walls sometimes, a scene usually that takes a few days to work my way through. It’s draining, but bursting through that sucker and rampaging through the next few thousand words of good stuff makes it all worthwhile.

There should be a general rule for a writer, if you realize the opportunity to do something awesome in your work, freaking do it. The reader will thank you for it. No one will ever thank you for making something mediocre.

Never.

Except Stephen King’s readers. They keep rewarding him with monies for his mediocre crap.

(Side note, he wrote Dream Catcher while tripping on Oxycontin. Another one of his, AHH! THE SPECIAL KID WAS AN ALIEN THE WHOLE TIME! SURPRISEEE!)

Sigh.

I’m anxious to start the next series.

Because while the outline on the sequel is mostly finished, I really have another story I want to tell about Marines on an island during WWII.

Because the ocean covers 70% of the planet, and 95% of it is unexplored.

That leaves 95% of crazy shit I can make up and stuff into a book full of BARs, Thompsons, M1 Garands, Japanese suicide charges, Mitsubichi Zeros, P51 Mustangs, and…

Did I mention Flame Throwers? Oh heck yeah.

hqdefault.jpg

Forget this book – I want to write THAT ONE.

(Excuse me while I go type faster.)

I once planned my entire life out.

Facebook reminded me of that today with this picture that I posted four years ago, when I picked up Sergeant.

I even had a pair of LT chevrons inside my cover. I was just waiting for the perfect opportunity for an officer to get waxed.  Then I could slap those bad boys on and scream for everyone to FIX BAYONETS, CHARGE!

battlefieldpromotion

Oh Marine Corps, how I sort of, kind of, sometimes, miss you and all the dreams of violent glory that never came to fruition.

Slayin’ Nazi’s is as American as eating apple pies.

WAR &amp; CONFLICT BOOKERA:  WORLD WAR II/WAR IN THE WEST/FRANCE
Landing on the coast of France under heavy Nazi machine gun fire are these American soldiers, shown just as they left the ramp of a Coast Guard landing boat, June 6, 1944. CPhoM. Robert F. Sargent. (Coast Guard) NARA FILE #: 026-G-2343 WAR & CONFLICT BOOK #: 1041

“You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The  hopes and prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you.

In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened. He will fight savagely.

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men.

The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!

I have full confidence in your courage and devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.”
Dwight D. Eisenhower

Today is the 74th Anniversary of D-Day.

The day when 160,000 allied troops converged on a 50-mile stretch of heavily fortified open beach. By the end of the day, almost 10,000 Allied soldiers were killed or wounded and we owned a chunk of France.

The oceans ran red with the blood of their sacrifice that day.

We owe them great thanks.

Now go watch Saving Private Ryan or Band of Brothers to get the heebie-jeebies at seeing what they went through. Because they broke the mold after the Greatest Generation.

Personally, if I could pick an era to spend my prime years in, it’d be the 1940’s.

Cool clothes, cool hair, fantastic weaponry, Kate Beckinsale, and slayin’ Nazi’s. (That was a reference to the movie Pearl Harbor by the way)

Doesn’t get more American than that.

And speaking of weaponry.

43M1Garand

My 1943 M1 Garand. (Ooo! Aaaahh!)

If you aint’ got one, go to TheCMP.org and buy a Garand. For reals.

First off, it’s not considered an evil ‘assault rifle’ because it uses a 8 round enbloc clip and not one of those horrid 30 round magazines. So it’s legal pretty much everywhere.

Second, of the 5 million Nazi’s killed during WWII, I’d say the M1 Garand waxed a good 20 percent. I pulled that number of thin air, but my point is this – it’s lethal. 30-06 is a superb round.

Third, they are CHEAP at CMP. For $650 bucks you can have a ‘Field Grade’ Garand capable of killing every land critter in the world. Buy one anywhere else and you will pay $1000 or more. And they won’t last forever. Once they are gone, the price will sky rocket.

Fourth, the history. Personally, I hope mine protected it’s carrier by slaying everything that moved before him in a Fascist’s uniform. And hopefully, it wasn’t some unlucky one that went through multiple dead GI’s before ending up in my hands. -shudder-.

But it’s kind of like these reincarnation folks.

They are always some reincarnated King, or Prince, or Princess.

They’re never some gutter rat who was ran over with a wagon after stealing a rotten apple in the streets of England back in the early 1800s.

You kind of just hope for the good possibility.

All that aside.

Today was a good day.

Men with giant brass balls clanged their way ashore, kicked evil in the teeth, and pushed them back until their hell-bound overlord shot himself in the face with a Walther PPK.

God bless them for their courage, sacrifice, and valor.