This poast contains horrifying content from the intellectual/moral wastelands in the north. Bed wetters, fart suckers, shirt lifters, smooth boys and other turd brains are advised to pass on by and give this one a miss.
You Americans don’t know the first thing about
swamp monsters.
I was on the socials the other day and the Yanks were all prattling about swamp monsters. And by the way they were talking you’da thunk they invented them or something. They were quite convinced the monsters came from the sweltering, mosquito infested bayous of the southern US. They ran their mouths but their words drifted across my iPad without landing. I was looking into the malevolent visage of this tentacle faced terror I haven’t seen in 55 years or more. I might have even had this very same comic book as a matter of fact. But the truth is… he didn’t come from the swamps of the south. He came from the Albertan muskeg country in the north. I knew this because the leader of my early childhood gang told us all about him. Greg was one a the big kids and he knew everything. All the big kids did.
The monster first showed up in history by going after Alberta’s natives. He was attracted by the smell of human waste. He attacked when the little kids shat their pants or left the teepee at night to take a dump. Then one day… he just disappeared! The natives thought the bears got him or maybe the ancestral spirits drove him off.
But the truth was that the monster found a better place to live. He moved into the basements of the White Man’s outhouses. And then he went on a bloody, peanuts and corn spackled killing spree! He slept down there in the dark, Stygian stench, and awoke when his victims came to use the outhouse. Then he’d come roaring up out of the fetid hole, grab his victim and haul him back down into the depths to eat him. Greg personally saw him do it and somehow survived to tell the tale.
We learned all this during a summer camping trip. Beside the campfire one night, Greg told us that just the year before the monster’d gotten half a troop of Boy Scouts at this very campground just the year before. My big brother assured us it was all true. The fag thought it was all funny!
Fucken Greg. His little brothers, Bradley and Cameron began to cry. I accused Greg of lying but he told me confidently that it was all true… and that li’l kids are in the greatest danger of all. They’re easier to kill, dontchya know. Good grief… that was a horrible night. Our flashlight batteries died conveniently early after the sun went down. The adults were all sleeping like logs in the trailers, and had left us horribly exposed in the tent. Somehow I managed to fall asleep until I was awakened in the wee hours. Bradley was hearing footsteps out in the bush. Li’l Cameron had gone catatonic. I could hear nothing. I hunkered down in my fart sack and tried to ignore my fear. Somehow I fell asleep again.
We all awoke early the next morn. The stench was awful. Bradley had shit his sleeping bag. Cameron had wet his. When the adults found out what was going on they were livid. The big kids all got reamed out for terrifying the little ones. I got bawled out for being too old to believe the childish nonsense. Cameron and Bradley drove their parents crazy because they started having potty problems and one of the other adults was talking about something called “arrested childhood development”.
All I know is that for years after… I shat in the woods with the bears and avoided the outhouses at the campgrounds like the plague. I got in trouble for that too.
I remembered these guys like it was yesterday. The monsters, the kids, the campfire after dark. I actually met Bradley again about ten years ago when I was filling up with gas. His family moved away and I forgot about him as the years rolled by. He was the size of a gorilla, 45 years later and I still recognized him right away. He smiled and asked if I still shat the bed at night and I assured him that I most certainly did! I didn’t remind him that he was the one that shat himself. I asked about Greg so I could hunt him down and kill him. But Brad shrugged - the brothers had fallen out and no longer spoke. Cameron was doing well and had a pretty wife and kids of his own. That was the last time I ever met anyone from our old childhood gang.
At least… until I met ol’ Tentacle Face again. It’s not the same. The horrible Outhouse Monster only makes me laugh now. All the same, though… I think I better make my preps for nightfall. When I go to bed tonight, I’ll put my .45, my mag lite and a roll of asswipe on the nightstand. The wife’ll flip… but I will poop in the bed tonight. It’s a matter of personal safety!!!
And old-time’s sake.
😂 👍
****
The Artisans
What a small world. I am so old and boring that I watch restoration videeyahs. The stubfart pickers find literal JUNK on ebay and other websites - and restore it. No fast forward, no skipping… you could do that and save a bunch of time… but some of these guys have developed hacks and work-arounds that can be applied to other projects. Here, we see a severely corroded old dead meat cleaver brought back to life by blog visitor TysyTube. I was tickled pink by being visited by such a distinguished fellow garbage picker. One thing’s for sure: Tysy is a sorcerer that can breathe life back into the dead. Believe it or else!!!
Lookit that POS! I’da thunk that thing was toast!
But after snorting a few lines of rust and sawdust… Tysy has this cleaver ready to go back
to work in no time.
I just love stuff like this. I’m trying to find one where the guy had a beat to chit vintage big cigarette lighter from Nazi Germany. It had already been through the wringer with botched attempts at restoration by people that had no clue as to what they were doing. Anything that wasn’t rusted was dinged and dented. Pieces were missing. Bubba must have had a ball with it. But the intrepid restoration specialist lovingly pounded out the the dents without marring the nazi inscriptions. He expertly re-soldered the fuel reservoir, made and replaced parts… and when he was done… it looked exactly like it had when it was made in the 1930s. I don’t think Tysy did that one… but one of his fellow craftsmen sure did! Tysy is going up on the blog roll.
Another favourite is Road Agent Leather. He’s a blade restoration guy but also specializes in custom gun leather.
What pishes me right off is that I see this, and the rotten wood between my ears starts burning. When I go on ebay to find a junked knife to restore… finding the junker is easy but the sellers want premium knife prices for a box full of rust with pieces missing! Screw that, thank you very much! Being able to scrounge up the beaters is part of the art form I guess…? If only the original owners could see them now! I wonder what stories these artifacts could tell?
Our last featured stubfart savante today, is Count Dracula from Transylvania. He’s adopted a mortal’s name for his knife hobby. I don’t care what anyone says: this kind of etching is straight out black magic. If you watch his early stuff… and the things he’s doing now… he’s getting even better. This isn’t craftsmanship - it’s inspired art. You have to master chemistry, electronics, shading, metallurgy and visualization of negative spaces - and that’s just for starters.
(Okay - he’s probly not an evil super natural boojum… but this stuff goes right off the scale for the home hobbyist.
That’s the kind a blade Frankenstein used to pick his parts for the monster he made.
I shudder to think what would happen if I tried that? I’d probly end up going for a low amp hair raising ride on Old Sparky for my efforst! HAR HAR HAR!!! But Comrade Kirill makes it look easy…. I guess that is the hallmark of the real professional though, isn’t it?
****
A Tale Of Historical Horror by WL Emery
Today we get a sneak peak at WL Emery’s next literary tour de force. Put on your thinking caps, gentlemen, as his epic retelling of the real story of Columbus unfolds!
A Crockumentary About Columbus Day
Ooops!!! My bad! That’s not WL’s work at all! That’s actually the work of our esteemed historical revisionists and social engineers. In order to create their version of Utopia - ya gotta invent a history to base it on.
I almost spit up 100 years ago. There was a Hollywood movie out where they literally did this. The premise of it was that the guys at NASA never could have landed on the moon, were it not for a sooper smart negro lady who worked in the baseMINT. She was ackshually a gifted math whiz - and apparently the only person at NASA that could do orbital mechanics. For my fellow nose pickers and mouth breathers out there… orbital mechanics is just elementary vectors and basic calculus. But the woman slaved away in a fetid baseMINT doing the really hard math in her head, and selflessly sent the products and solutions upstairs to the idiot white men that took all the credit for her genius.
It looks like the historical revisionists may be at it again:
Pull my other finger, Barkie.
It has bells on it.
We all,know what’s really going on here.
If that blue arsed baboon is involved in handing out medals - it carries all the weight and legitimacy of my Special Olympics gold medals, or Donald Trump’s donated Nobel Prize! Barkie Obutthole only gave out medals to his fart catchers, finks, and fellow *aggots. It’s no wonder the conspiritards think the moon landings were faked. According to the official ignoratti, Margaret Hamilton was the real talent behind the Apollo space program dontchya know!! The hell of DEI is that it cheapens the work and accomplishments of the people that actually did the work. And it demoralizes the people who are really doing the heavy lifting. The fake and gay historical revisionists only generate more resentment and scepticism, it seems? It’s said that the victors in any conflict write the history books. In this culture war going on… I wonder if the winning side will be able to write at all.
****
I’m Gonna Be Rich Beyond My Wildest Dreams
And all you bungholes will never have to worry about power and electricity bills again!!!
Get your (wife’s) Visa card out fellas!
It’ll power ya house with energy to spare! Read it, and believe it or else! 😊👍 I’ve always said thermodynamics are gay. Just lookit the steam tables and tell me that entropy isn’t the devil at work!
Ughhh. Much as I hate to concede anything… Pa Filthie (and to a lesser extent - Isaac Newton) remain correct. Ya can’t push up on a rope. Turd will always roll downhill. And you’ll never get more energy out of something than ya put into it. But…even so…
****
They’re All Full A Chit!
Well we had a big blow come through the other day - and a good chunk of the pretty fall leaves are gone. This morning dipped below freezing and I layered Ferguson up against the cold. Only -1C… but his people come from Mexico and I dunno if those guys acclimate to cold weather and if so… how well? But he did alright on patrol this morn. We put 2 or 3 miles in without incident.
And with the flying of the leaves… it’s time to retreat to the warm, fetid workshop in the basement! The Reclusium beckons! Stinking and reeking of feet, farts, and stale BO! Sometimes we get wholesome odours down there like ozone and sawdust… but usually…I’m in catch up mode. I finally got the rusty axes cleaned up and oiled and put away…
Aw jeez…wouldjya lookit dat?
What kinda meat head lets his tools end up lookin’ like dat?
Grrrrrr… that’s an afternoon blown on sandpaper, windex and steel wool! I still gotta do my damned buck saw too. FFS! I need to resharpen ‘em both too.
🤬
Bah! Serves me right I guess. I built some knives awhile back and they all got stolen by my ignorant friends. Then I got some blanks they bought off Amazon and Fleabay to put handles on. They’ve been sitting on my bench forever too.
I think this li’l boot blank cost $7.00 on Amazon.
I’m going to try a stacked leather/curly maple design. Can a
Harelip stubfart retard do it??? Toon in next…year for the result!
I’ve also got a couple home made blanks that need to be heat treated but that fag - Pete The Meat - still has to build a forge for me. He started yapping about charcoal and I shut him right down. I want a proper gas fired forge that can get things white hot… and I want an oil quench too! At least… that’s what I think I want…? I’ve been reading all the bloviating coming from the blade smiths and they’re as bad as the gun guys: They’re all full a chit, they all have different opinions and half of then are MOAR retarded than I am! HAR HAR HAR! It’s just like the Cast Bullet forum - ya got guys there that build their own guns from bars of steel and round stock. Then there’s the pin heads with rusty guns they’ve never fired, giving advice like they’re old pros. I got in chit there once from one of them for not properly researching a question I had asked. I barked right back at him - I HAD so done a search of relevant threads but nobody agreed on anything. I asked the question again hoping that some non-retarded, bonafide experts might reply! It’s a thing over there… Bubba and his thumb fingered buddies get mad at the noobs asking questions… and the real experts are happy to drop a few gears, slow down and help them out. The Cast Boolits forum is an excellent gunnie forum and resource… but ya gotta be wary of the retards. The knife builders are much the same.
****
Well… that’s all I got for this week. Last Tuesday I went down and vooted on the referendum for Alberta independence and separation from this broken, idiotic country known as Canada. There were 9 or 10 questions that all basically boiled down to “Do you approve of a stronger province that will challenge federal overreach and abuse of authority? The line up for advance polling was a mile long and I was probably one of the few people there that was under 65. Like… these geezers showing up to voot were old. We’re talking wheelchairs, canes, and walkers.
It was depressing too - some of these geezers got easily confused and needed to be babysat. Others got disoriented and needed to be chaperoned. Groups of them formed to chat and talk and get in the way of the voters lining up. Others wanted to chat with the staff as they tried to work. I did see one younger couple of enormously fat zoomers - pushing a stroller containing one obviously very retarded child. These are not the kind of people that crave independence, freedom and self determination. They’re the kind that want their freebies and other govt issued perks and bennies and will sell their souls for them. Their favourite daytime TV and radio celebrities are telling the geezers that if Alberta flips off the feds, they’ll all lose their free healthcare and pensions and they’ll either eat cat food or starve. So… they’ll vote exactly the way the TV tells them to. One of my blog visitors said that if they carry the referendum, he’ll change his viewpoint on medically assisted dying and support mass boomer euthanasia whenever possible. I’m a boomer and I’m 100% on his side. I was raised to respect my elders but… I’m an old fart now too, and I will not put up with their shit. The fricken kids can’t afford homes, they have to go to the food banks, and they can’t afford families of their own. We’ll see what happens I guess. I hope the kids are smart enough to show up to voot but… it’s not looking good from what I saw.
In any event…I’m sure you got things to do this fine Friday! I hope your workday is fast, and your weekend is slow… and I will look forward to seeing y’all again next week.
Cheers!
Filthie
Medieval parents sacrificing their child to the horrible
Alberta Outhouse Monster.
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