Assorted Calibers Podcast Blooper Reel No 36: The Blooper Reel with a Little Bit for Everybody

Weer'd was out of town last week and so we didn't record an episode. However, we didn't want to leave our listeners without anything to do, so we made one of our usual Patron-only episodes available to everyone. NSFW! Contains swearing and adult topics.

Also, be advised that Weer'd screwed up and repeated a segment. He's not likely to change it because he thinks the notion of "a blooper within a blooper reel" is funny.




Did you know that we have a Patreon? Join now for the low, low cost of $4/month (that’s $1/podcast) and you’ll get to listen to our podcast on Friday instead of Mondays, as well as patron-only content like mag dump episodes and our hilarious blooper reels and film tracks.

Because I hate wasting my good material on Facebook...

If you need this explained, it's because the 1911 was designed by John Moses Browning (PBUH) and the hardcore adherents of JHM append the honorific "peace be upon him" to his name.

Because I hate leaving good lines on Facebook

So apparently there's a "Transgender War on English" now? Wow. This is the first I've heard of it.

How exciting!  This does however lead to several burning questions:

• Why was I not ordered to enlist or report for duty?
• Where exactly are the front lines?
• Do I need my Mosin?
• Which side do I fight on, anyway? Because as David Blackard at BCP will tell you, I am an intense grammarian; but yet I am also trans. 
• Do I still get to wear my witch costume if I end up fighting against political correctness?

I need to know these things!

And god bless my Facebook friends. They came up with some good lines, too:

Did you miss the draft? Oh good grief, seriously? Well ... I don't know what to say. Millions of letters went out. Oh dear god, I hope the addresses weren't mis-spelt. The shame.

I think you might be called to referee.

I can't say whether you would NEED your Mosin, but it's always a fine fashion statement.

But this is my favorite:

Perhaps because you're just in the Transgender Militia, which is only activated after the Active Transgender Army, Transgender Reserves and Transgender Inactive Ready Reserve. Surely the National Transgender Guard would be committed long before the Transgender Militia.

In conclusion, take it away, Eddie Izzard:

Not dead, just busy

Sorry I haven't been posting much. I had two projects with serious deadlines (now down to just one) and one long-term project. Between those, and Blue Collar Prepping, my time is mostly gone.

Speaking of BCP, check out today's post for some prepper-style April Foolery.

My Day

Here's how I spent my afternoon:

• 2.5 hours spent driving my father to the VA clinic in [city several counties over.]

• 1 hour spent sitting in the waiting room as he is seen.

• 2.5 hours spent driving home.

At this point I think I would welcome a rectal exam, if for no other reason than to say to the doctor "Since you're already down there, would you mind pulling on my tailbone to put it back into place?"

Or, if I wanted to be saucy, I would say that my coccyx needs a good tug.

I should probably add a rimshot at the end of that, but I'm pooped and don't want to seem excessively anal.

Sunday, Pony Sunday: An important message

Attention all Bronies!

PAY ATTENTION.

Fluttershy has something very important to tell you:

That is all.

The phrase that got me banned from Facebook

"I was once niggardly with a jigger full of chiggers."

Go read the PJ Tatler article about it. 

I am immensely proud of this ban, mostly because I know I don't have anywhere near the readership that Michael Z. Williamson has, and yet I was able to offend enough brittle people to get censored and timed-out just like he did. I've got game, baby.    ::flex::

Again, not a picture of me. I just like her expression and muscle tone. 

 Here's what I find darkly amusing:

• Mad Mike got blocked for saying "Chigger," but I didn't. Of course, I included a link to the Wikipedia article about chiggers, which probably helped my case. 
• I "confessed" to being a pedagogue. Which, curiously, did not result in a ban, as I assumed people would confuse pedagogue (which I am) with pedophile (which I'm not). 
• Yet in between those two, a bit of doggerel which included a legitimate word for "stingy" that only sounds racist got me banned. 
• And yet, the "Kill George Zimmerman" page somehow doesn't violate Facebook standards, despite having a credible threat of violence. 

Oh, Facebook admins. You're such a bunch of cunctators. 

A quick shout-out for fellow music nerds

Today, in the kitchen of Chateau Palette:

Me:  What's for lunch?
Her: Chicken piccata.
Me:  (singing) Chicken piccata... piccata mundi....
Her: (baffled look)

What's sad is that she should already know this, because she's practicing a version of Agnus Dei in choir. 

If you don't get the joke, go here. 

On this Labor Day...

... I give you a slightly edited and improved (for clarity) commercial I had in a dream, probably inspired by the day and this news item. 

Interior: a ledge of wooden rafters against a wall with high windows. We are made to think this is the interior of a church, perhaps Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow.

Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (hereafter VIL) steps into frame from stage left. Instead of his traditional black suit he is wearing a tight t-shirt with slacks and dress shoes, hipster-style. The shirt is festooned with colorful designs that simultaneously suggest Tetris blocks, political graffiti, and Soviet-era art. 

VIL thoughtfully takes a few steps onto a crossbeam, then notices the camera to his right. He stops, carefully turns, and addresses the audience. 

VIL:  Modern political fashion can be a bit of a balancing act. On the one hand, a dedicated revolutionary should make every effort to convince other workers that his cause is just. On the other...

Cut to: a scene depicting a bourgeois capitalist pigdog, finely dressed, getting rich off the honest labors of the working man by selling Che Guevara t-shirts to noble, hardworking proletariat for literal buckets of money.

VIL (voiceover): ... one does not wish to give aid and comfort to one's political enemies simply because they control the means of distribution.

Back to VIL, looking straight down the camera, face-only.

VIL: That is why, on this Glorious People's Day of Labor, I, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, am proud to announce...

Cut to wide shot. VIL's arms spread wide. To either side of him are large workmen, dressed in equally tight t-shirts.

VIL: ... the Second October Revolution! (SFX:  echo and reverb)

(Back to 3/4 shot of VIL)

VIL: Yes my friends! Today is a glorious day! Today, the workers take back style! From each, according to their sense of design! To each, according to their sense of fashion!

VIL begins stalking across the beam towards stage right, knocking over the workers in his way. Those further back, seeing the trend, dive off into oblivion.)

VIL: The workers control the means of production! Without the workers, you have no shirts! Do you truly wish to be seen as ideologically naked in this political struggle of class versus crass?

VIL stops again; head turns to the right to address camera once more.

VIL: (roaring) NO! Down with the industrial bourgeoisie! Up with the industrial  proletariat! Buy Second October Revolution apparel TODAY!

VIL stalks off-camera as the Second October Revolution logo appear: a dollar sign, a hammer and sickle, and a profile of Lenin, each indicative of the letters S, O, and R. 

Voiceover: Available at these fine outlets.

Fade-in logos of stores carrying the SOR brand, such as Aeropostale, Hot Topic, and Banana Republic. Linger for three seconds, then cut. 

Yes, even my dreams are full of satire.

Please tell me that all of you get this. I hate having to explain my humor...

Odds & Sods

1. The family computer is suspiciously fine. After I posted Wednesday's update, I had to go and do Suzie Homemaker stuff for like an hour. That accomplished (and fully awake now that the caffeine had kicked in) I decided to try to power the computer up just to see where it would fail, i.e. would it make it past the power-on self-test or not. Eerily, it booted up completely fine, with no hint of the earlier problem (a complete freeze, followed by a "BOOT SECTOR NOT FOUND, INSERT BOOT DISK TO CONTINUE" message). I've run all sorts of tests, and there appears to be nothing wrong; all the fans are working, everything is at a good temperature, no viruses or malware. I am at a complete loss as to what happened. Current theory is that the pixies who spin the hard drive were having a coffee break.
2. "You got me hung, Jack" is one of my favorite ways of saying "Fuck if I know." I'm not surprised that most folks don't get the reference, but you'd think that they'd figure out what it means just from pure context.
3. Last night I had a dream that I had stumbled upon a cache of various weapons, including such objects of desire as the Kel-Tec KSG and RFB, as well as enough ammo to bathe in. I was running around like Remy the rat in Ratatouille going AHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I was very, very sad when I awoke sans firearms. 
4. The best hat I ever bought was an "Eh, this'll do" boonie from Wal-Mart. I found it in the men's department near all the typical beer-and-sports teams baseball caps. What's nice about it is that it has an absolutely HUGE brim -- 3.5 inches from the band, which I think is a full inch shorter than most boonies I've seen -- and so not only does it completely cover my face from the sun, it gets most of my shoulders as well. It also makes a fantastic rain hat as well once it's waterproofed; I dosed mine back in '09 and I've only just now had to reapply the waterproofing. Between it, a poncho, and waterproof boots, I can stay dry in pretty much any downpour so long as the wind doesn't drive the rain sideways. 
5. Or flood. Fortunately for me, I'm on the coast opposite McThag, so by the time it got to us it was just a lot of rain rather than "Where did the car go?"
6. Weerd Beard has been assimilated into the Herd. That's another notch for my barn door.
7. There is something incredibly endearing about Gilbert Gottfried telling a filthy joke. One cannot prove this, but it is in the same sense that Mount Everest is, or that Alma Cogan isn't. 

Goodnight.

Irritation: A Play in one Act

This is essentially what happened to me today.


(SCENE 1: A GUN STORE)
Erin: Hello, I would like to pick up my gun which you have had for a month for repairs.
Owner: Here is your gun. Please pay us.
Erin: I shall.
(EXEUNT)

(SCENE 2: CHATEAU PALETTE)
Erin: Now I shall do a function check of my rifle before I spend money and gas to go to the range only to have the rifle malfunction.
Rifle: (jams in exactly the same manner as before)
Erin: Oh, it is ON, bitches.
(EXEUNT)

(SCENE 3: A GUN STORE)
Erin: Owner, we have a problem, namely, you did not fucking fix my fucking rifle.
Owner: That is indeed odd. Let me see it. (opens chamber, notes that bullet is jammed at a 15 degree angle to the bolt and is completely incapable of being fired)
Owner's Wife: Oh my fucking god, it's still loaded! (goes hysterical)
Erin: (Pointedly ignoring Wife) You will note how it jammed in exactly the same manner as I described, but was unable to replicate for you previously. I left it as such that you might see it firsthand.
Owner: (Also ignoring Wife) Yes, I do indeed see that. How curious. 

(technical discussion between ERIN and OWNER dissolves into a series of grunts and clicks which only firearms enthusiasts would understand)

(LATER)
Owner: With your permission I would like to take this to the range myself and shoot many different brands and grain weights of .22 bullets through it to see if I can experience the problem myself.
Me: You do that. (Note: the subtext here is that ERIN has neither the time nor the money to amass a collection of various .22 bullets to see if the problem lies with a certain brand or batch, but that the OWNER clearly does)
Owner's Wife: That gun looks too small for that ammunition, are you sure you're using the right kind?
Erin: (levies an icy stare upon Wife which seems to say, "You clearly know nothing about guns, you idiot, so shut your fool mouth and go back to the register where you belong before you embarrass yourself further.")
Owner: I will take it to the range this very weekend.
Erin: You do that. (see above)
(EXEUNT)


Owner had better hope and pray that Act 1 concludes with Erin happily blazing away at the range, or else Act 2 will begin with Erin lodging said Rifle up Owner's rectum, sideways.