Author Archives: krispykirk76

Critical Mass

Hello there. It’s been a while since my last post, how have you been? Is 2019 being good to you so far?

You might be curious as to what it takes to get me to type up something witty and post it here. Well, today it took a “critical mass” of outrage.

Last month James Fields was sentenced to 419 years for a crime he did not commit. I did not post.

Last month the government partially shut down over the failed deal to fund the southern border wall. It became the longest government shutdown in US history (yawn) and yet I did not post.

Last week Iowa Congressman Steve King was forced to grovel and beg forgiveness for a statement he made that was 100% truthful yet virtually destroyed his career. I did not post.

A few days ago Gillette (Proctor & Gamble) launched an ad campaign that pretty much declares war on (white) men. I did not post.

Yesterday, there were a bunch of marches in a bunch of places. People marched for for the unborn. People marched for pussy. And people marched for the genocided aboriginal peoples of North America. A group of innocent Catholic school boys from Kentucky got caught in the middle of it all and are now paying the ultimate price: doxxing, depersoning, and removal of all future opportunity.  These kids are screwed.  How do I know?  Because even the cucks over at NRO say so!

Now I feel the need to post. Critical mass has been achieved. Watch the video and tell me where the “crime” is.

Never in my life have I seen such a disconnect between an event – as it really happened – and the (((media’s))) coverage of it…which, just as in the aftermath of Charlottesville, is filled with lies. No, the old Indian wasn’t being assaulted. He was the one doing the assaulting with his stupid drum and chants of “Go back to Europe!” Nor is he a “Vietnam Vet”. Nathan Phillips is a professional victim. He has been caught doing this before. But let’s crucify a bunch of “racist” children instead, OK?

I guess we should just be happy that the (mostly white) school boys didn’t beat the crap out of that pitiful old redskin.  They stood their ground in their MAGA hats and let the whole sad scenario play itself out with “smirks” on their faces (which apparently is now racist behavior).  There just might be hope for this newest generation after all…

One more thing thing to be happy about is this new writer they’ve got over at Counter Currents named “Nicholas R. Jeelvy”.  Dude is one heckuva writer.  I am deeply envious but also in total admiration of the guy.  His latest essay is easily the best thing I’ve read on the Internet so far this year.  Check it out and keep an eye on this new talent.  I have a feeling he will have much more to say about Current Year Clown World and our place in it.

Carl Jung & The Gray Race Pt. 1

A friend asked me the other day why NPCs are gray.

I don’t really know buddy” I replied “Maybe it’s some form of camouflage.” Later I realized that sometimes a spur-of-the-moment guess like that can be the most accurate form of analysis.

The Gray Race” is a 1996 album by American punk group Bad Religion. The music inside isn’t nearly as insightful as the montage of gray faces on the cover. The takeaway: no matter what our skin might look like, we are all gray.

Take a gallon bucket of white paint. Mix in about 16 ounces (the size of a typical water bottle) of black paint. Stir well. What do you get? You get the most perfect shade of gray you’ve ever seen.  Not “battleship gray”, “Haze Gray”, or “gray sky gray” but NPC gray.

That same 1:8 ratio just happens to mirror the “blackness” of America’s demographic. Americans are indeed the “gray race”. Now whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I will leave for you to decide. But it is instructive to pause and reflect on the wider cultural implications of our grayness.

Swiss psychiatrist and philosopher Carl Gustav Jung wrote “Another thing that struck me [in the American] was the great influence of the Negro, a psychological influence naturally, not due to the mixing of blood. The emotional way an American expresses himself, especially the way he laughs, can best be studied in the illustrated supplements of the American papers; the inimitable Teddy Roosevelt laugh is found in its primordial form in the American Negro. The peculiar walk with loose joints, or the swinging of the hips so frequently observed in Americans, also comes from the Negro. American music draws its main inspiration from the Negro, and so does the dance. The expression of religious feeling, the revival meetings, the Holy Rollers and other abnormalities are strongly influenced by the Negro. The vivacity of the average American, which shows itself not only at baseball games but quite particularly in his extraordinary love of talking—the ceaseless gabble of American papers is an eloquent example of this—is scarcely to be derived from his Germanic forefathers, but is far more like the chattering of a Negro village. The almost total lack of privacy and the all-devouring mass sociability remind one of primitive life in open huts, where there is complete identity with all members of the tribe.

Deep Carl, real deep. So does this mean that White folks like you and me are some kind of wiggers because we live in a thoroughly Negrified culture? Not hardly. But perhaps it’s high time we own up to the grayness that surrounds us and flows barely noticed through our lives.

There are certain activities that signal one’s “blackness”: driving a Cadillac, drinking Heineken out of the bottle, elaborately choreographed handshakes, liberal applications of cocoa butter or coconut-scented body lotions, calling peers/colleagues “brotha”, caring excessively about your hair, talking to the screen while the movie is playing, etc. But I can also name for you a white person who checks each one of those boxes. Much more hilarious (to the general masses at least) are those signifiers of whiteness – things we call “SWPL” (for “Stuff White People Like“). Does this mean that Whites are funnier? No way. Most Whites aren’t that funny at all. But we are allowed to mock them. Big difference.

Just for fun, let’s go through your personal possessions and leisure activities and see how gray you really are.

Are you into sports? By “sports” I mean “sportsball” or the act of passively watching highly paid persons-of-color chase each other around with a ball.

The NBA is almost completely black, the NFL is mostly black, and baseball is pretty much a brown sport. If you watch any of these, give yourself a point for your grayness (bonus points if your sportsteam jersey that you wear on game day carries a black man’s name and number). Oh and don’t think that watching tennis, golf, or Olympic gymnastics doesn’t count. These traditionally White sports are blacker than ever.

Me? I swore off all non-participatory sports activities a few years ago. Not because I’m a proud White man either. No sir. I did it because watching sports is a massive waste of time. Read a book, take a nap, go for a walk, almost anything a man does is more beneficial for that man than sitting on his couch yelling at other men playing children’s games on TV.

Next let’s go through your record collection, or your CDs or your iTunes or wherever it is that you keep your favorite music. I fully expect the average White person to own at least some Rap, Hip Hop, R&B, or “Urban” music. Why? Is it because those jungle beats seem to tickle our European DNA the most? Or is it because we are deeply afraid of being viewed as “too White” by our hipster friends? Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Take Bob Marley, the alleged “King of Reggae” for example. Most folks (white or black) don’t know dick about Reggae as a musical genre (sorry bud, UB40 does not count), but every whiteboy I know sure as hell knows Bob!  In fact, Marley’s 1984 greatest hits compilation “Legend” is the biggest selling Reggae recording in history.  I’d venture a guess that 90% of those copies are owned by White folks like you and me.

Me? I deeply love Reggae. It’s my favorite “Black Music” by far. And there’s far more to it than dear ol’ Bob. Check out Burning Spear, Toots & The Maytals, Israel Vibration, Black Uhuru, Steel Pulse, Linton Kwesi Johnson, The Wailing Souls, Pablo Moses, Culture, or Gregory Isaacs for some genuine Reggae. I also love those two purely American musical genres Jazz and the Blues – two genres that were created by blacks a century ago but have been SWPL’d into ridiculous caricatures of themselves in recent decades. Yeah, my record collection is pretty black (even without the Rap and Hip Hop). So what? There’s also some of the whitest music ever made in there: The Carpenters, Kraftwerk, Waylon Jennings, Devo, Slayer, Neil Diamond, Flatt & Scruggs, and Nick Drake (just to name a few).

We’re gonna head to your kitchen soon (oh boy!), but let’s take a swing through your DVD collection on the way, shall we?

What have we here? “The Sound Of Music“?  Nice. “The Wizard Of Oz“?  Very nice.  “Gone With The Wind“?  You are a whiteboy, aren’t you?  Go back 50 years or more, and almost everything Hollywood put out would be considered “White” today. Times have changed, and I’d guess that most of us collect more contemporary movies than dusty old classics.  I’m not sure if there are any such things as “White Movies” or “Black Movies” in today’s gray culture.  Do this: pull a dozen randomly selected movies off your shelf. Take every one that features a) a black leading character; b) a black social cause; or c) the ubiquitous “Magical Negro” (Morgan Freeman also counts) and set them in a pile. The ones that don’t, put over in another pile. Now which pile is bigger? Face it, you have a pretty gray movie collection there pal. So stop being a graycist and deal with it.

Stay tuned for Part 2…

Weird Scenes From Inside The Bunker

It’s been almost two months since I’ve posted on this blog and you must certainly be curious about how I’m getting along here at my mountaintop bug-out location.

I’m fine, thanks. Just feeling like being quiet lately. There’s so much to take in as we careen towards Civil War II that, when I get a chance to “put something out”, I generally just grab a gun (or my new crossbow) and shoot at something. I’m sure you know the feeling…

When I ask myself why I blog so rarely these days two things stand out: 1) I lack anything to say that hasn’t already been said better elsewhere. Go to my blogroll and click around on the many excellent links. I refuse to be one of those blogs that “aggregates” other bloggers’ superior work (I call that cheating). And 2) you – my three dear readers – have stopped commenting. No feedback for me = no motivation to write for you. I know you’re all “busy” and I know you’re all trying to read this on a shitty little phone but would it kill you guys to give me an “Amen!” (or a “STFU”) once in a while?  It would mean a lot to me…

In the meantime, allow me to drop off some NPC memes and offer a bit of commentary.

It’s October, so enjoy this NPC-o’-lantern:

If you’re not sure what you’re looking at, then maybe you should get out more. The NPC meme is the hot new thing and the most brilliant way to skewer SJWs I’ve ever seen.

Seriously. I’ve been a fan of shitlord memery and SJW-baiting since I was redpilled a few years ago. And this new meme is top shelf Kek-magick indeed. When the (((New York Times))) complains that the NPC meme is “dehumanizing”, you know a crucial go-ahead goal has been scored for our team.

Bottom line: the New Left (aka “Cultural Marxism” aka “Progessivism” aka “libtards”) has nothing original to say.  When they open their yaps (which is constantly), all we hear are parroted lines of programming (often chanted in unison).  It’s as if they are soulless automatons carrying out commands embedded in code.  In fact, I can find no evidence to the contrary.

Another salient characteristic of the Non-Player Character is an utter lack of an “inner monologue“.  I prefer “Cartesian Theater”  – aka the little man (“humunculus”) living in my head.  I know he’s up there because I met him once back when I was in college performing chemistry experiments on my own nervous system.

Lights on, nobody home.  That’s your NPC.  Not having that little man upstairs is like a jumbo jet flying around on autopilot with an empty cockpit…

Here’s a savagely delivered batch of actual NPC code someone posted on Reddit.  Read this and try not to be triggered:

And you can bet that “getting extreme” is how this will all end for Team Whitey.  The enemy has been dehumanized (step one per Grossman) and the next step is putting all those mad video game skillz to work wiping out the NPC hordes on a massive scale…using something other than memes.

Me?  I’ll be obeying Derb’s Law and avoiding crowds as I continue cultivating my personal sense of hygge here in my 100% NPC-free mountain bunker.

The Song Rhymes The Same


Among my three or four all-time favorite bands is Led Zeppelin. Over the course of my half-century on this planet, I’ve watched them become totally rehabilitated from critical outcasts of the Rock World to something transcending Rock Royalty. When I was a kid only burnouts and stoners listened to Led Zeppelin. Today they are considered “founding fathers” who have influenced nearly all popular music since the late 60s.

But, before we go any further, as a drummer I owe it to you to admit this: I hate drum solos.  I refuse to play them and I avoid listening to them.  On record, John Bonham’s “Moby Dick” sounds like four-plus minutes of tippy-tappy filler deep on side 2 of Led Zeppelin’s magnum opus second album.  I can tolerate it because, by that point I’m usually grinning from ear to ear having just devoured the first 30 minutes or so of this beast of an album (my personal favorite, can’t you tell?) but in a live setting “Moby Dick” becomes a thinly-veiled excuse for the rest of the band to enjoy an intermission backstage.  To me, this allegedly whale-sized drum solo has always sounded like some (admittedly muscular) drummer trying out new kits in a music store.  It comes off as a sort of “test drive” of the drum kit if you will.  Boring.


Prior to 2003, the closest any fan could get to experiencing Led Zeppelin “live” from the comfort of their own couch was the band’s “home movie” The Song Remains The Same.  Released in 1976, the film combines footage from a 1973 New York City concert with a bunch of self-indulgent scenes that have nothing to do with the concert and, occasionally, nothing at all to do with the band or its music.


To be honest, TSRTS is just not that good.  As a concert film, it’s near the bottom of the pile of many dozens I’ve seen or owned.  As a movie, it is so poorly assembled and amateurishly conceived that it’s almost unwatchable.  But I still get my copy out and play it once or twice a decade – purely for sentimental reasons, of course.  You see, I’m slightly too young to have had a chance to see this legendary band live; I turned 8 a few months after their arguable peak in 1973 as captured in TSRTS.  The band officially dissolved in December 1980 (following the death of drummer John Bonham) five days after my 15th birthday.  All there ever was for me to collect and cherish while growing up was the band’s nine majestic albums…and this quirky little movie.


I watched TSRTS last night for the first time in over a decade.  I had heard a song (Sun Kil Moon’s “I Watched The Film The Song Remains The Same”) earlier in the day and I took it as a sign that it was time to watch the movie.  Several things struck me…


Certain camera angles create a sense of forced perspective that, at times, makes Jimmy Page appear to be shrinking down to hobbit size while his sunburst Les Paul guitar appears to be magically swelling to almost twice its normal size.  Page isn’t a particularly small fellow and the Gibson Les Paul isn’t a particularly large guitar – in fact, it’s on the small side – so I have no idea why this happens throughout the movie.  The weird thing is that it only happens when Page is playing this guitar.


For reference, here is a photo of Page on stage several years later playing the exact same guitar.  Notice how much smaller it seems.  In TSRTS, the body of this Les Paul extends from approximately Page’s ribcage almost down to his right knee.  In the later shot, it barely covers his groin/thigh area.  Weird, huh?


Also bizarre is the stage at the concert’s Madison Square Garden venue.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Led Zeppelin where playing a show in a department store.  There are full-length mirrors behind the band and crowds of folks backstage just casually strolling around right in the middle of the show!  I swear at one point this one guy stops in front of one of the mirrors behind Page’s amps to check himself out.  “OK buddy, the pants fit.  Now beat it!  The rest of us are trying to rock out here you know?”  Anyways, it’s the least likely stage you’d ever expect to see a massively huge band like Led Zeppelin play on.  It seems too low, is poorly lit, is far more shallow than contemporary concert stages, and there are non-musician types lollygagging all around at the back of it.  The resulting milieu can be mildly distracting, especially to anyone who’s seen a proper rock concert in the past 40 years (or tried, like I have, to play a show on a crowded stage).


Of course, everyone’s favorite things to love and/or hate about TSRTS are the “dream sequences”.  Each band member gets one (including manager Peter Grant who fancies himself a Roaring 20’s-style gangster).  My favorite?  Jimmy Page’s “into my eyes” sequence: he climbs to a parapet of some dilapidated old castle-like structure to meet with a wizard who seems to beckon him.  When we see the wizard’s face, it’s an elderly version of Jimmy Page!  Then the camera fixes on the wizards eyes and takes us backwards through time showing increasingly younger faces of Jimmy Page until at last all we see is a tiny fetus floating in space.  Then the whole process speeds forward until we are back to the old-Page-as-wizard face.  The wizard then swings this trippy multicolored light sabre thingy over his head.  It’s all very deep and super psychedelic.  The message is obvious: Page is a wizard.  Just watch his guitar playing throughout this concert.  He appears to be in a trance and only opens his eyes a few times as if to check to see if the real world is still there.  Seriously, the man is on another level throughout and TSRTS ultimately ends up being The Jimmy Page Show.


The second best “dream sequence” is singer Robert Plant’s.  Like Page’s it is a wordless fantasy but is filled with broadswords, flames, horses, mysterious boats coming ashore, and a lusty wench.  Sounds like an episode of Game of Thrones, huh?  The shot above is of right as the golden locked Sir Robert takes a big bite out of this red mushroom that he finds growing under a tree.  Gee, what do you think that’s supposed to represent?

Alright, if you’ve read this far you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with this blog.  Simple.  Next month, this concert film will be reissued as part of a massive boxed set.  The release is timed to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the first gig that Robert Plant and Jimmy Page played together, ostensibly the “birthday” of Led Zeppelin, in 1968.

So, if I’ve inspired you to dust off your copy of The Song Remains The Same and stick it in ye olde video player, you’re welcome.  Love it or hate it, you’ve got to admit that TSRTS satisfies the #1 criteria of any pop culture experience: Does it entertain us?

Indeed it does, in many obvious and not-so-obvious ways.

Happy Birthday Led Zeppelin!


It’s Time For The Alt-White

Ever heard of Abdul El-Sayed? He’s the swarthy looking chap on the right (full name: “Abdulrahman Mohamed El-Sayed”). Inshallah he will be the next Governor of Michigan.

How about this big-boned Georgia sista Stacey Abrams? Hint: she did not do math problems at NASA to help put a (White) man in space. Stacey (or as I call her “Stay To The C”) has a better than even shot at becoming the first black female Governor in U.S. history. You go girl.

Surely you know who wide-eyed upstart Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is, yes? The pride and joy of the Democratic Socialists of America, young and totally inexperienced Alexandria recently trounced an old White guy in the primary for New York’s 14th Congressional District. We’re gonna keep her on our radar going forward…

If these three names don’t ring any bells I can hardly blame you. Socialist-Progressive political candidates are hardly my forte either. But the times they are a’changin’ and nonwhites are taking over slowly, surely, and totally within the framework of democratic society. And aren’t you just prouder’n’shit for them?

All kidding aside, this might be the most important post I’ve written in years. Maybe even right up there with my masterful Civil War 2.0 OOB post.

But since this is the place where history rhymes, let’s rhyme a little history…

I believe we are on the cusp of a third wave of 21st Century reactionary populism in this country.  And it might even surpass the first two in size and impact…


The first wave was the Tea Party Movement – a conventional conservative reaction against an unlikely (but well-deserved) black socialist President. Alas, that nominally tax-revolting movement sputtered out as it was slowly absorbed by the status-quo-accepting cuckservative GOP.  A decade later “Tea Party” is just another way of saying “Republican.”

The second, even bigger, wave was actually a synchronization of two waves: the nativist, pro-Wall, America-first Trump campaign; and the red-pilled identitarian Alt-Right.

Sadly, the Alt-Right was smothered in its crib at a staged event in Charlottesville, Virginia almost exactly one year ago today. Who does that leave to defend our White and Western European civilization and values against the invading hordes?


My prediction: the next wave will be the Alt-White Movement. Like the Alt-Right from whose ashes it rises, the Alt-White is a reactionary movement against Progressivism, Egalitarianism, “Social Justice”, feminism, cultural Marxism, Meetooism, open borders, but – most of all – White Genocide. Put another way, if the Alt-Right was a tendency to fight against every degenerate post-modern cosmopolitan trend in society, the Alt-White is the same basic dissident tendency but is informed first and foremost by an awareness of White Identity.

The three nonwhite political candidates at the top of this post weren’t supposed to scare you. They were supposed to make you feel irrelevant.

America’s newspaper of record (((The New York Times))) just hired a diversity pick to join their editorial staff. Sarah Jeong is virulently anti-White and seems perfect for the job of continuing the crusade to beat down, disenfranchise, and replace the very Whites who descend from this continent’s original founders, settlers and colonists.


What is the average Chad Normie supposed to do about this ongoing “brown wave”?  Throw in his lot with the Alt-White of course.  There is no other choice.  It doesn’t matter if Chad is a Democrat, a Republican, an Independent, or an apolitical slacker.  If he’s White, he needs to join with his tribe in order to survive.


You see, simple little luxuries like politics don’t really matter when you and everyone who looks like you is dead.

So, until those well-dressed missionaries from the Alt-White knock on your door and offer you the plan of White salvation, I encourage you to continue to exercise all of your rights – especially the ones protected by the 1st Amendment.  I’m talking about your Freedom of Association here.  Live where you want, work where you want, shop and recreate where you want.  If you’re White then you already know where that place is…and what it looks like.


Oh, and don’t neglect your right to self defense (as enumerated in the 2nd Amendment).  The purest White communities, White lives, or White values are worth little if they are not adequately defended.

Diversity + Proximity = War.  Be ready.  Be on the winning side.


Escape? From What? To What?


Well folks, tomorrow is August.  That month of dog days that squats astride Summer like a big sweaty fat dude.  In fact, that’s exactly what August is: a big sweaty fat month.  It’s also vacation time.  The time when entire European countries shut down so that their overworked masses can escape the drudgery of living in a socialist worker’s paradise and achieve some kind of temporary sun-drenched bliss on an island in the Mediterranean.


For Americans, this time of the Summer used to mean one thing: the classic family vacation…in your Dad’s Wagon Queen Family Truckster…packed full of crap…with you in back trying to ignore your little sister who just wouldn’t stay on her side of the seat.  Kids: “Are we there yet?”  Dad: “Don’t make me stop this car!”  We’ve all been there and survived that.  Was it fun?  Not exactly, but it probably did – like all things that fail to kill us – make us tougher.  Where did we go on those brutally endless vacations?  To some overcrowded, overpriced and overrated theme park?  (yay!)  Grandma’s house?  (boo!)  The beach?  Who cares?  We were getting out of the house.  That was all that seemed to matter.

The essence of a vacation is the act of escape.  And, just as in a prison break, the destination is immaterial.  The entire point is to vacate your current location.

But why do we all need to escape/vacate?  Are our surroundings really that miserable and dull?  Did we suddenly discover that we are trapped in some gigantic Matrix of electronic overstimulation, intellectual starvation, and mass media-driven distraction?

I’ll let you answer that for yourself.


I lived in Hawaii for nine years as an adult after living literally right on the beach (east of A1A if you know your FLA) for nearly half of my childhood.  That was more than enough beach for one life thanks (I’m still digging the sand out of the crack of my ass).  When I recently lived in the Mid-Atlantic, folks were constantly asking/pestering me about my total disinterest in that jewel of the Delmarva coast Ocean City (the one East Coast destination I am proud to have avoided).  My response “You call that a beach??!!!”

I live on my own mountain now so I kind of get the whole need-to-escape thing.  But what I never really understood was the appeal of the annual Summer vacation.  You do know you’ve got to go back to that hell when this is over, right?  And are vacations ever really worth all the stress, expense, and hassle?  Newlyweds should take a royal one (aka a “honeymoon”) to some place truly exotic right after the wedding.  Make it so special that it gets vacations out of your system for the remainder of your life.  It worked for me.  Alternately, choose a career that requires frequent travel and relocation.  This is guaranteed to beat that love of travel and “adventure” right out of you for good.  How do I know?  Because all of my fellow retirees who completed a full career in the military are, to a man, 100% homebodies.

Bottom line: vacations are almost always a drag.  They over promise and underwhelm.  And if you really find yourself needing an escape, perhaps what you really need is to reconsider that prison you are living in.

So, yeah, I just outed myself as anti-vacation.  Add that to my recently-revealed anti-holiday stance and I’ve now grown into some kind of ornery old crank.


As preppers, we should ask ourselves “Can I do something prepperish and have it masquerade as a vacation?”  Maybe, take a week off to scout out good bug-out locations in a nearby mountain range or National Forest.  Drive back roads the whole way.  Behave the whole time as if you’ll never see (or need) civilization again.

Just a thought.

Better yet: don’t go anywhere at all.  If you love your location and your current situation, you certainly shouldn’t feel any need to escape from it.  So have a staycation instead.  (<That’s a good link there, you’d better take a few minutes to check it out before proceeding)

I’ve blogged before about the joy of doing nothing.  Why not do nothing for an extended period of time, say a week, a month, or even a year?  And then, if anyone asks, you can say you had the best vacation of your life.  Works for me!


“Sorry folks, the park’s closed.  The moose out front should’ve told you.”

Behold The Tacticooler

I was in the hardware store a few weeks ago and the staff was clowning around over a new display of coolers. They were playing a game of “Guess The Price”. The product? Yeti coolers.


The least expensive model on display was selling for $350.  Everybody in the store was laughing in disbelief.  Right next door at Wally World, an equivalent-sized cooler might set you back $30.  Yeti’s top-of-the-line cooler sells for $1300 – or about as much as a “normal” person would spend on a nice rifle.  Who on Earth spends this kind of money on a COOLER??!!


Me?  I’ve owned a few coolers but I’ve never been a cooler snob.  When you stop and think that 99% of these coolers are just going to be crammed full of Natural Light and tossed in the back of a fishing boat, a realization starts to set in.  Some of us are “Cooler People“.  And some of us aren’t.


This guy is a “Cooler People”.  You know the type: likes to hook his bass boat up to the truck and drive around town with it dragging behind…just for looks.  He paid good money for that boat and wants validation dammit!  I’m gonna guess that he even has a Yeti sticker on his truck (right next to the “Salt Life” one – you know what I’m talking about if you’ve ever lived near the Chesapeake Bay area, Gulf coast, Florida, etc).

So what’s my point?

If you own – and are damn proud – of your $350 Yeti cooler, you have a) too much money; and b) too little brains.  You probably have on a $40 pair of underwear, own at least two pieces of Apple gadgetry, and haul your pretty little bass boat around with a $51,000 pickup truck.  Conspicuous consumption tends to cluster after all.

If not, congratulations!  You are one of us – the normal (non-Cooler) people.  You also probably, at the beginning of this post, instantly thought of a dozen things to spend $350 on and none of them was a cooler.  Am I right?

But seriously, Yeti isn’t a good value.  Yeti also comes with some (albeit minor) political baggage.  I wish I had a punchline to put here but I’m confident that brand-hyper-consciousness is its own joke.  Hey, after the collapse how about we bury you in your cooler?  Deal?

The cooler makes the man?  Yeah, good luck with that Bub!

The Lonely Prepper

Most of us, unfortunately, live in a society where instant gratification is king, where everything is bought on credit, and consequences-be-damned is the status quo.  We preppers fight these – and many other – prevailing tendencies on a daily basis as we move among and interact with Chad & Stacey Normie (who live packed like sardines in a hellishly conformist bedroom community very much like the one pictured above).

Honest question: do we really care what happens to Chad & Stacey after the SHTF?

Honest answer: that depends (but ultimately we probably should care very little, if at all).

There was a very thought-provoking piece on American Partisan recently about this Big Question. Click the link and take a minute to read the whole thing. Don’t skip the comments!

There, on one page, is a concise distillation of the hardest parts of being a prepper. Some preppers stress about quantity: “Do I have enough?” Others worry more about quality: “Did I go too cheap on my AR? My flashlight? My EDC folder?” But the scenario I fear more than anything isn’t running out (it will happen), or things breaking (it will happen), but people you know (and possibly care about) showing up at the door of your bug out location/doomsday retreat with empty bellies and empty hands.

What will you do?


I think the author of that AP post nailed what it means to be hardhearted. When survival is on the line, you absolutely positively have to be able to say “No!”  And saying “no” requires courage…and leadership.  And leadership can be a very lonely thing.

But before it ever comes to that let’s ponder what it means to be a leader in a post-collapse world.

A leader has influence.

Have you ever convinced someone to buy a certain caliber firearm, “strategically relocate” to a different state, begin prepping, or collect silver/gold just by talking to them? If so, you might be a leader.

A leader sets the example.

Are you the most prepared person you know?  The one with the broadest skill set, the deepest ammo pile, and the best-stocked pantry?  Then you could be a leader.

A leader constantly improves and trains.

Do you do more PT than any other civilian your age that you know?  Do you get more range time?  Do you read more?  If not, then you know what you need to do…


Bottom line: We will need leaders to help us survive what is coming.

Be one.

Start today.


The Fourth Of What?

This country celebrated a holiday a few days ago. I say “this country” because Independence Day is a silly holiday and I don’t usually observe silly holidays. St. Valentine’s Day, Halloween, and MLK Day are all silly holidays. I’ve got nothing against you if those are some of your favorite days of the year.  It’s just that my values are a little…different.  Here’s one easy way to spot a silly holiday: the proper celebration of a silly holiday depends entirely on purchasing something; a tree, bags of candy, champagne, a turkey, a cake, etc.  When you are programmed to buy things for a certain day because it’s what you are supposed to do, it’s no longer a holiday, it’s an obligation.  It’s a Pavlovian response to where you are on the calendar.  Your silly holiday has become what we used to call in the military “mandatory fun”.  Holidays are all just thinly veiled orgies of consumerism anyways and celebrating them – in this consumerist way at least – can be self-defeating if you are prepping and looking forward to surviving the coming hard times.

“Gee. What happened to you to make you so bitter about your own country’s birthday, Kirk?”

Well, in a general sense, being retired means you stop looking at a calendar. Most days I simply don’t care what day of the week it is, what numbered day of the month it is, or how long it is until the next three-day weekend. You see, only slaves obsess about those things. Slaves to the clock that is. A wage slave. A prole. A mindless commuting & consuming drone. I was one for 30 years but I’m better now, thanks.

So that pretty much wipes out all significance of 99% of all “holidays” for me. Not that I ever cared much for them anyways. A sunny day, a clean pool, and a full cooler were always the most important things for me around this time of year.

This year – my first full summer on the mountain – the 4th came and went without any fuss. Out here in the mountains of Central Appalachia, you hear a few fireworks and (more than) a few gunshots. But there are are no big spender aerial spectacles like those that once surrounded me on the old farm back in the Mid Atlantic. Folks don’t have that kind of disposable income around here I’m guessing.

OK, so I celebrated in my own way by blasting a full magazine of tracer ammo at an old styrofoam cooler I had stuck upside down on a stump out in the woods. That was more satisfying than any fireworks I’ve ever lit. If you have ever shot tracer ammo out of an AR-15 at night, you know what I’m talking about.

Shooting a gun is the purest form of celebrating (alleged) national independence that I can think of.  Otherwise, it was really just another day.  I think I ate barbecued ribs, baked beans and potato salad too…

But when I sit here four days later and wonder “What the heck is that holiday all about?”  I can only shake my head. The always-reliable Z-man can speak for me. I think he nails it. He makes many quality observations the most salient of which is the simple fact that “USA” (and Old Glory) is merely a brand. And that brand is being crammed down our collective throats more and more by elites who don’t give two shits about this nation, its borders, or the culture of its original European colonist/settlers.  “Oleaginous grifters” indeed, Z-man.  Waving the flag is no different than wearing a Harley-Davidson trucker hat or putting one of those stickers of the little dude pissing on the Ford logo on the bumper of your (non-Ford) truck. It’s silly and rather pointless.

Another reason I shy away from outward displays of patriotism as our way of life fades away before our very lives here in FUSA is that almost none of us know our history as well as we should. Read this.

Now tell me how you feel about the 4th of July.

The time for “patriotism” is over folks.  I hope you’re ready for what comes next…

(More) Shooting Practice

Alright sports fans, I promised you another shooting session and here it is. A few weeks ago, I shot a bunch of guns from 15 yards and posted the results. Sharing the crappy results with you was supposed to motivate me to shoot more and improve my skills. Let’s see if that worked.

Today the weather at the range was almost identical to last time: 78 degrees, 47% humidity, and a 3 mph breeze on my back. I shot all the same guns, the same ammo, and at the same targets. The only variable I tweaked was the distance. This time, I shot – offhand – from 7 yards. I shot clean guns without any warm up or fouling shots. I gave myself ten rounds (of regular ball ammo) for each gun and tried to make them all count.

The most striking difference in halving your range to a target is how your groups tighten up. I’m still not a great pistol shooter but at 7 yards I kept all my groups to under 3 inches and got everything on paper (most shots were in the black). At a shorter range I was able to focus more on my grip, my trigger squeeze, and my breathing. The results speak for themselves…

My Browning Buckmark .22LR autoloader shot well but not like a laser. This is a sloppy three inch group for 7 yards but it was the first gun I touched today so I was fairly shaky. Still, I scored 90 points (an all-time) high for me on these targets.  I “double-holed” two of the shots in case you were wondering where all ten went…

I was calmed down and a bit steadier by the time I picked up my Taurus Model 85 .38SPL snubbie. This gun should excel at ~20 feet. And today it did. I scored 83 points in this decent 3″ group (a major improvement over how this gun shot at 15 yards).

I was getting in the groove by the time I picked up my Taurus PT111 9mm. Last time I shot this pistol, I was all over the place. Did cutting the range in half help my grouping? Without a doubt it did. If you count that shot at 6 o’clock as a “flyer” (I don’t), this was my tightest pistol group of the day at 2.75″. If you don’t call it a flyer, my group stretches to an abysmal 4″. Still, I scored 86 points and felt very confident shooting my newest handgun.

My Glock 21 is always a smooth shooter and it shot like a dream at 7 yards. 88 points and a 3.5″ group. I know I can do better but keep in mind this was shooting offhand from a sort-of-Weaver stance at under one round a second. I don’t see any point in leisurely pistol shooting. When that day comes that you need to draw and fire your pistol, you won’t get more than a second or two to do the most damage you possibly can. Therefore, the best way to practice pistol shooting is quickly – singles, doubles, triples, it doesn’t matter – just dump your mag as quickly as possible while keeping a good sight picture and avoiding flinch and trigger slap. .45ACP is a large enough caliber that a group like this on center mass will put anything down…for good.

Done with the pistols, I loaded ten rounds in a 30 round mag, slapped it in my DPMS AR, and proceeded to rapid-fire the whole shebang…from 7 yards. A true pro would’ve only made one small hole. I’m no pro, so I’ll have to settle for this 2″ group. It’s interesting how an AR zeroed at 50 yards shoots this low at 7.  In fact, at this range, you can almost measure the offset of the optic used above the barrel axis.  In my AR’s case, the center of the optic is about 2″ above the the barrel.  The good news is that my group is almost perfectly centered, at 50 yards this group would blow the red right out of this target.

Also interesting is how the shot cups in 12 gauge 00 buck shells make bigger holes in a target at 7 yards than the pellets do. I’ve noticed this effect before and always marvel at how much damage a plastic “flower” can make at short ranges. Compare/contrast this pattern with the pattern I shot at 15 yards. It still looks like a pistol shot this but I only had to pull the trigger twice instead of ten times.

Any questions, potshots, or snarky jokes? Please leave a comment. Until then, happy shooting!