Apparently the government of Iran has ordered the 1.5 million residents of the city of Isfahan to evacuate due to "pollution."

Or, could it have something to do with the proximity of the city to one of the government's facilities that processes yellowcake into nuclear bomb grade uranium?

If I was a resident of this town, I'd be out of there asap, and certain not to remain down wind of it for several hundred miles, at the least.  We will know more about this soon, no doubt.

Holy frijole! Watch how fast this guy is.  Thats really fast!



Via Ants in Pants.

From The New Yorker, and with a hat tip to Glen Reynolds, enjoy this:

   "A few years ago, at a Las Vegas convention for magicians, Penn Jillette, of the act Penn and Teller, was introduced to a soft-spoken young man named Apollo Robbins, who has a reputation as a pickpocket of almost supernatural ability. Jillette, who ranks pickpockets, he says, “a few notches below hypnotists on the show-biz totem pole,” was holding court at a table of colleagues, and he asked Robbins for a demonstration, ready to be unimpressed. Robbins demurred, claiming that he felt uncomfortable working in front of other magicians. He pointed out that, since Jillette was wearing only shorts and a sports shirt, he wouldn’t have much to work with.

“Come on,” Jillette said. “Steal something from me.”

Again, Robbins begged off, but he offered to do a trick instead. He instructed Jillette to place a ring that he was wearing on a piece of paper and trace its outline with a pen. By now, a small crowd had gathered. Jillette removed his ring, put it down on the paper, unclipped a pen from his shirt, and leaned forward, preparing to draw. After a moment, he froze and looked up. His face was pale.

“Fuck. You,” he said, and slumped into a chair.

Robbins held up a thin, cylindrical object: the cartridge from Jillette’s pen.

Robbins, who is thirty-eight and lives in Las Vegas, is a peculiar variety-arts hybrid, known in the trade as a theatrical pickpocket. Among his peers, he is widely considered the best in the world at what he does, which is taking things from people’s jackets, pants, purses, wrists, fingers, and necks, then returning them in amusing and mind-boggling ways. Robbins works smoothly and invisibly, with a diffident charm that belies his talent for larceny. One senses that he would prosper on the other side of the law. “You have to ask yourself one question,” he often says as he holds up a wallet or a watch that he has just swiped. “Am I being paid enough to give it back?”

Alright, I'm outta here on the way to a long out of town trip for work.  Back tonight.

From The Other McCain, this local story on the trials and tribulations of an Obama voter trying to buy the good stuff with other people's money.

Subsidizing stupid, indeed.

  "Tracy Browning, a 38-year-old Louisville woman, was jailed after she allegedly tried to purchase several iPads with a food stamp card, then fled to another location where she tried to make the same transaction.
According to Louisville police, Browning went to the Valley Station Walmart and tried to purchase two iPads with an Electronic Benefit Transfer card. When the transaction was denied, she assaulted a store clerk, pushed another employee to the ground and fled from the store with the merchandise.
Investigators say Browning went to another Walmart in the area a short time later and again attempted to buy several iPads with an EBT card. She was apprehended at the scene while attempting to flee with the merchandise."

The more things change...

Cabin porn.

Central California picture of the week.

Montezuma Hills, just past Rio Vista

New year's resolutions for liberals

Via American Thinker

It's time to start ramping up the messaging for those who think they can steal our rights and toss out the constitution.

I'm printing up these, and posting them up all over town.  I'm going to try to do five or ten a day.  For this, I consider myself fortunate to live in California, the home of traitor Diane Feinstein, as perhaps such actions will have a better impact.

Everyone is encouraged to do the same.  Like snowflakes in winter, let's let the elites know we will be ready for them by making these fall all over their home turf.

Hat tip to Bonnie Gadsden.

A contrary view of the fiscal cliff deal:

Obama's mantra has been that the country's fiscal problems are due to the rich not paying " their fair share," which anyone who knows anything about the nations economics knows to be complete stupidity, since even if you take 100% of the rich's assets doesn't solve the problem.

Now, however, Obama has gotten what he wanted, a tax hike on the "rich."  What's his plan now?   It's nothing, and the poverty of his position is or will be apparent even to low information voters.

Assessment: Republicans win by giving him what he wants.

Second, the tax rate has gone up for those in the top few percent of earners, but the Bush tax cuts for the other 98% are now permanent.  Plus, the AMT was patched to avoid hooking smaller income tax payers.

Assessment: Republicans win (in the eyes of most).

When these negotiations started, Obama wanted 1.6 trillion in tax hikes and no debt limit.  Boehner countered with 800 billion.  The final deal was for 600 billion.

Assessment: Republican win, as Obama and the Dems accepted even less than Boehner originally offered.

In a short while, the debt limit issue will become white hot.  Obama gave up a deal on that issue to cure the fiscal cliff.  He already got his tax hike on the 2%.  What's he gonna bargain with this time?  Why couldn't Republicans, who want smaller government, simply tell the Dems to live within their budget ( oh yeah, what budget?) and forget about a debt hike.  Spending cuts are now back on the menu.

Advantage: Republicans.

In France, of all places, people are turning the tables on the minions of the state.  In this case, the police are buzzed by a private drone, which we here in the states might want to emulate.  They should know that although they watch us, we are watching them as well.

Now this is my kind of patriot!! A veteran long before the War for Independence, Sam Whittemore was America's oldest, bravest soldier. By Patrick J. Leonard On April 19, 1775, approximately 1,800 British troops marched from Boston to Concord to capture a reported store of Colonial munitions and hopefully to bag such advocates of rebellion as John Hancock and Sam Adams. At Lexington Green, they were confronted by about 50 haphazardly garbed militiamen carrying a variety of weapons, some decades old, some manufactured by village blacksmiths and gunsmiths, some as modern as the guns carried by the Redcoats, but all in working order and capable of killing. When ordered to disperse, the Minutemen did not obey, and firing began that resulted in eight Americans killed; the rest hastily left the scene as ordered by their officers. The British then reformed their ranks and continued marching to Concord. On their arrival in Concord, where alerted citizens watched their every move, the British troops searched for but did not locate any of the munitions, which were cleverly concealed in a variety of ingenious hiding places. Hancock and Adams were miles away, fully aware of the British column, thanks to Paul Revere and his assistants. Learning that the Minutemen were swarming toward them from as far away as Worcester, and realizing that the munitions were too well secreted to be found without a lengthy search, the British began an orderly retreat toward Boston. Soon, guerrilla bands were firing from the woods and stone walls at the beleaguered marching troops. As British casualties increased, their ranks became somewhat disorganized. The Americans then struck even harder at their hated red-coated foes. While all that excitement was going on, 80-year-old farmer Sam Whittemore was placidly working in his fields at Menotomy (now Arlington), Mass. He knew nothing of the British invasion and the deaths at Lexington. In younger days, Whittemore had been a soldier, and a good one. He became a captain in His Majesty's Dragoons stationed in America, and fought against the French, the Indians, and renegades of all types. He even spent a brief period on board a ship that was hunting for a pirate. He was always ready to drop his farming tools, pick up his weapons and march off to battle. Most men below the rank of general have had their fill of war by the time they reach their 50th year. Not Whittemore! In 1745, he was among the forces that stormed the French fortress at Louisburg, Nova Scotia, where he captured a fine, albeit gaudy and overdecorated, French saber that he would treasure the rest of his long life. As legend has it, taciturn Sam said that the former owner of the saber had "died suddenly," but furnished no further details. For some inexplicable reason, Britain returned Louisburg to the French, who diligently spent years and a fortune rebuilding and rearming the fortifications. Then, in 1758, the British decided to retake and forever demolish Louisburg. Whittemore, now a hearty 64, buckled on his French saber and, as peppy as ever, joined the expedition. The fort was conquered again, and he remained with the wrecking crew until Louisburg was leveled. A year later, Sam marched away again, this time winding up in Quebec, where he fought for General James Wolfe against the French General Louis-Joseph, marquis de Montcalm. In 1763, Ottawa Chief Pontiac led an uprising in the wild, distant lands that would one day become Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania. Whittemore was then 68 and still looking for action. The sons and grandchildren were ordered to stay home and work on the farm. With his saber and other weapons, Whittemore rode creakingly away on a rickety horse. He returned in triumph months later, astride one of the best stallions ever seen in Menotomy, and carrying a matched pair of ornate dueling pistols. The former owner of the dueling pistols, an enemy officer, had "died suddenly" according to laconic Sam. Throughout his lengthy life, "Captain Sam" was as active in civilian life as he was in his military career. He served on important town committees as an assessor, a selectman, and in other capacities. As a young married man Sam built his own home, which he and his wife Elizabeth (Spring) soon filled with three sons and five daughters. The Whittemore home still exists, on Massachusetts Avenue in Arlington. Whittemore proved to be just as aggressive in private life as in war. During a heated election contest in January 1741, he loudly declared that one of the contestants for public office, the proud and haughty Colonel Roderick Shipley Vassal, was no more fit for the office than Sam's elderly horse, Nero, whose value he assessed at less than 5 pounds. The infuriated colonel promptly but illegally had Whittemore jailed, and while Sam was fuming in his cell, Vassal sued him for defamation of character. The ensuing trial was a heated and well-attended one. Dauntless Whittemore, who made an admirable witness for himself, won his case. He then promptly sued the arrogant colonel for false arrest; after another sterling performance, the court awarded Whittemore the equivalent of $6,000 to soothe his pride. After Pontiac's War, Whittemore tended to his endless chores on the farm, but he also became interested in the prospect of the 13 Colonies gaining independence from Britain. He believed that his descendants should have their own country, be able to enact their own laws and not be subject to the whims of a distant king and government. Whittemore somehow learned about the British action at Lexington at midday on April 19 (the sound of distant gunfire may have alerted the aged warrior), and he immediately stopped working and hastened to his house. There, before the eyes of his astonished family, Sam methodically loaded his musket and both of his famed dueling pistols, put his powder and ball inside his worn and well-traveled military knapsack, strapped his French saber around his waist, squared his grizzled jaw and, as he strode briskly out the door, simply informed his worried family that he was "going to fight the British regulars" and told them to remain safely indoors until he returned. Whittemore walked to a secluded position behind a stone wall on Mystic Street, near the corner of what is now Chestnut Street in Arlington, and calmly settled in. Some of the Minutemen pleaded with Whittemore to join them in their safer positions, but he ignored their admonitions. Soon the 47th Regiment of Foot, followed by the main body of British troops, appeared in view. On both sides of Whittemore, Minutemen were shooting at the approaching Redcoats and then sprinting away to where they could reload in safety. Waiting until the regiment was almost upon him, Whittemore stood up, aimed his musket carefully and fired, killing a British soldier. He then fired both dueling pistols, hitting both of his targets, killing one man outright and mortally wounding another. Not having time to reload his cumbersome weapons, he grabbed his French saber and flailed away at the cursing, enraged Redcoats who now surrounded him. Some of those infuriated soldiers were probably less than one quarter of Sam's 80 years; few, if any, were even half his age. One Englishman fired his Brown Bess almost point-blank into Whittemore's face, the heavy bullet tearing half his cheek away and knocking him flat on his back. Undaunted, Whittemore attempted to rise and continue the fight, but received no less than 13 bayonet wounds from the vengeful Redcoats. They also mercilessly clubbed his bleeding head and drove their musket butts into his body as they ran by. When the last Britisher had left the scene and was far enough away for them to come out in safety, the villagers who had seen Whittemore's last stand walked slowly toward the body. To their astonishment, he was still alive and conscious--and still full of fight! Ignoring his wounds, he was feebly trying to load his musket for a parting shot at the retreating regiment. A door was used as a makeshift stretcher and Whittemore was carried to the nearby Cooper Tavern. Doctor Nathaniel Tufts of Medford stripped away Sam's torn, bloody clothing and was aghast at his many gaping bayonet wounds, the other numerous bruises and lacerations, and his horrible facial injury. According to every medical text Tufts had ever studied and all of his years of experience treating injured people, the old man should have bled to death from internal injuries. Tufts sadly remarked that it was useless to even dress so many wounds, since Whittemore could not possibly survive for very long; the deep bayonet thrusts must have pierced many of his vital organs. The horrified bystanders, however, persuaded the reluctant doctor to do his best, and Tufts bandaged Whittemore. He did what he could with the frightful facial wound in an age when plastic surgery was unknown. When the bandaging was finally finished, old Sam was tenderly carried back to his home to die surrounded by his grieving family. To the surprise of everyone but indomitable Captain Samuel Whittemore, he lived! And continued active for the next 18 years, dying on February 3, 1793, at age 98, proud that he had done his part and more in America's fight for independence. When asked if he ever regretted his heroic deed, which had left him disfigured and somewhat lame, Whittemore would proudly reply in ringing tones, "No! I would take the same chance again!" One might question Captain Whittemore's tactical military skill and his judgment in his last battle, but certainly not his sheer courage and bravery. Via Free North Carolina.

Freckles: as good in 2013 as they were in 2012.

Bob Jones ( who is this guy?) describes exactly what will happen in the Second Revolution.

et me explain, gun grabbers, how your confiscatory fantasy plays out. Let us imagine for a moment that a sweeping gun control bill similar to the one currently suggested is passed by the House and Senate, and signed into law by a contemptuous President.

Perhaps 50-100 million firearms currently owned by law-abiding citizens will become contraband with the stroke of a pen. Citizens will either register their firearms, or turn them in to agents of the federal government, or risk becoming criminals themselves. Faced with this choice, millions will indeed register their arms. Perhaps as many will claim they’ve sold their arms, or had them stolen. Suppose that as many as 200-250 million weapons of other types will go unregistered.

Tens of millions of Americans will refuse to comply with an order that is clearly a violation of the explicit intent of the Second Amendment. Among the most ardent opposing these measures will be military veterans, active duty servicemen, and local law enforcement officers. Many of these individuals will refuse to carry out what they view as Constitutionally illegal orders. Perhaps 40-50 million citizens will view such a law as treason. Perhaps ten percent of those, 4-5 million, would support a rebellion in some way, and maybe 40,000-100,000 Americans will form small independently-functioning active resistance cells, or become lone-wolves.

They will be leaderless, stateless, difficult to track, and considering the number ofmilitary veterans that would likely be among their number, extremely skilled at sabotage, assassination, and ambush.

After a number of carefully-planned, highly-publicized, and successful raids by the government, one or more will invariably end “badly.” Whether innocents are gunned down, a city block is burned to ash, or especially fierce resistance leads to a disastrously failed raid doesn’t particularly matter. What matters is that when illusion of the government’s invincibility and infallibility is broken, the hunters will become the hunted.

Unnamed citizens and federal agents will be the first to die, and they will die by the dozens and maybe hundreds,  but famous politicians will soon join them in a spate of revenge killings, many of which will go unsolved.

Ironically, while the gun grab was intended to keep citizens from preserving their liberties with medium-powered weapons, it completely ignored the longer-ranged rifles perfect for shooting at ranges far beyond what a security detail can protect, and suppressed .22LR weapons proven deadly in urban sniping in Europe and Asia.

While the Secret Service will be able to protect the President in the White House, he will not dare leave his gilded cage except in carefully controlled circumstances. Even then he will be forced to move like a criminal. He will never be seen outdoors in public again. Not in this country.

The 535 members of the House and Senate in both parties that allowed such a law to pass would largely be on their own; the Secret Service is too small to protect all of them and their families, the Capitol Police too unskilled, and competent private security not particularly interested in working against their own best interests at any price. The elites will be steadily whittled down, and if they can not be reached directly, the targets will become their staffers, spouses, children, and grandchildren. Grandstanding media figures loyal to the regime would die in droves, executed as enemies of the Republic.

You can expect congressional staffs to disintegrate with just a few shootings, and expect elected officials themselves to resign well before a quarter of their number are eliminated, leaving us with a boxed-in executive, his cabinet loyalists trapped in the same win, die, or flee the country circumstance, military regime loyalists, and whatever State Governors who desire to risk their necks as well.

I can only add that what must be done after the collapse is to re-form the government based on the original constitution, but with a significantly reduced franchise, so the "takers" and the ignorant can never again wield political power.  Something along the lines of only those 30 years old or older, who have served honorably in the armed forces, or who are employed at least 30 hours a week and or own significant property, like a home or business.  The franchise extends to these after retirement.

Just a thought.