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This great Nation & Its People

North American F-107 Ultra Sabre: Too Advanced to Succeed? By Friedrich Seiltgen

During the 1950s and early 1960s, the Century series of fighter aircraft — the F-100 to F-106 — ruled the skies. The first in the series, the F-100 Super Sabre, also known as the “Hun,” was the first U.S.A.F. Fighter capable of supersonic speed in level flight, and was created as the successor to the F-86 Sabre. The F-86 was the Air Force’s first swept-wing fighter designed for air-to-air combat against the MiG-17 and was considered the best fighter during the Korean War.

North American F-107 Ultra Sabre in flight
Shown here is the North American F-107 Ultra Sabre prototype in flight. Image: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force

The F-100 served in Vietnam as a fighter-bomber and close-air-support aircraft. It later flew as a reconnaissance / forward air controller aircraft during “Misty Fac” missions under the code name Commando Sabre.

Development

In 1953, North American began in-house studies of improving the F-100 for various missions. The U.S.A.F. was looking for a Mach 2 bomber capable of delivering a tactical nuclear weapon. The F-100B featured a recessed weapons bay, in addition to hardpoints under the wings, a single-point refueling capability, and a retractable tail skid. Another feature was the all-moving vertical fin, which, combined with the automated flight control system, allowed the aircraft to roll at supersonic speeds using spoilers.

North American Aviation F-107 Ultra Sabre on the runway at the National Museum of the US Air Force
North American F-107 Ultra Sabre on the runway at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force. Image: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force

The most unique feature of the aircraft was the dorsal-mounted variable inlet duct, mounted directly above and behind the cockpit. The inlet automatically controlled the amount of air entering the engine. This early system proved very efficient. The intake was placed on top, as the U.S.A.F. required room on the centerline hardpoint to mount a semi-conformal nuclear weapon. Although the intake limited rear visibility, this was considered a non-issue, as it was assumed that true dogfights were outdated and enemy aircraft would be dealt with by air-to-air missiles at beyond-visual-range.

North American F-107A in flight during testing
North American F-107A in flight during testing. It was unofficially named the “Ultra Sabre” and the “Super Super Sabre”. Image: U.S. Air Force

The J-75 engine would power the new fighter. With 24,500 pounds of thrust, the F-107 had twice as much power as the “Hun.” As the modifications mounted, the U.S.A.F. gave the F-100B the F-107A designation.

ground crew working on first F-107 Ultra Sabre
The ground crew works on first North American F-107 Ultra Sabre delivered for testing and evaluation. Image: NASA

In August 1954, the U.S.A.F. signed a contract with North American for three prototypes and six additional airframes. On September 10, 1956, the F-107 made its maiden flight with chief test pilot Bob Baker. The flight went well, reaching a top speed of Mach 1.03. Still, the landing went awry when the brake parachute failed to deploy, resulting in a hot landing and nose-gear collapse. Two months later, in November, the prototype reached Mach 2.

As the program progressed, the aircraft designation was changed to F-107A. While it never received an official name, it was informally known as the “Super Super Sabre” and the “Ultra Sabre”; many North American employees referred to it as the “Maneater” due to the intake above the cockpit.

The Fly Off?

Since the U.S.A.F. had already given the go-ahead for production of the F-105 in March 1956, some 6 months before the first flight of the F-107, many wondered why have a fly-off, as the decision was preordained. The U.S.A.F.’s Tactical Air Command ordered a fly off between the Ultra Sabre and the Republic F-105 Thunderchief.

North American XF-107 at the National Museum of the US Air Force
The North American F-107A went head-to-head with the F-105 Thunderchief. The F-107 was faster, while the F-105 had a higher ordnance capacity. Image: National Museum of the US Air Force

Both Jets were built for the same mission and were powered by the Pratt & Whitney YJ75 Turbojet engine. While the F-107 had a better rate of climb and a higher ceiling, the internal weapons bay required by the U.S.A.F. for nuclear weapons use had a 14,000-pound capacity, which was 40% larger than the F-107.

Another reason alleged for picking the F-105 was that Republic Aviation required contracts to stay afloat. They were in the final stages of production of their F-84 Thunderjet, with nothing else in the pipeline, while North American was extremely busy working on a plethora of designs.

Another view was that the U.S.A.F. wanted a bomber designed to deliver a nuke — not a fighter that was modified for the mission. U.S.A.F. Gen. Otto Weyland stated that senior U.S.A.F. staff seemed to be obsessed with nuclear weapons.

Ultimately, the F-105 “won” the flyoff and went on to serve as the primary strike aircraft for the first few years of the Vietnam War, until it was replaced by the F-4 Phantom. Still, the big selling point about nuclear capability was moot. The bomb bay was fitted with a 400-gallon fuel tank to extend range, and all ordnance was fitted on external hardpoints.

Testing, Testing

In late 1957, prototypes #1 and #3 were leased to NACA (National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics), which was the predecessor to NASA, for high-speed flight testing. During testing, the variable inlet caused problems. The engineers couldn’t seem to get it dialed in, and ultimately, the intake was fixed into position, limiting top speed to Mach 1.2.

North American F-107 Ultra Sabre at the Armstrong Research Center
A North American F-107 Ultra Sabre at the Armstrong Flight Research Center at Edwards Air Force Base. Image: NASA

Another area of testing concerned the use of a right-side-mounted control stick. The side-mounted stick was used to test the system mounted in the North American X-15 rocket-powered aircraft, which was under development. The X-15 had the side stick installed to cradle the pilot’s arm and prevent any unintended control input when the rocket motor ignited. After burnout, the pilot would use the center stick to glide back for landing. Airframe #3 was configured this way.

North American F-107A Ultra Sabre at the National Museum of the United States Air Force
North American F-107A Ultra Sabre on display at the National Museum of the United States Air Force. Image: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force

In September 1959, NACA test pilot Scott Crossfield, who was slated to fly the X-15, was taking off when the plane ground-looped, blowing both main tires and causing a small brake fire. Although the airplane was not badly damaged, it was decided not to invest in repairs, and the prototype was used for firefighter training.

Where Are They Now?

Prototype #1 now resides at the Pima Air and Space Museum, located next to Davis Monthan AFB, aka “The Boneyard.” Prototype #3 is located at the Mecca of Aviation, the National Museum of the United States Air Force in Dayton, Ohio.

Legacy of the Ultra Sabre

The F-107 introduced several design innovations that are in use today. The VAID Variable Area Inlet Duct system is used on several aircraft types to control airflow into the engines. Positioning the inlet on top also minimized aerodynamic interference with the bomb bay, reduced overall drag, and improved shock-wave control at supersonic speeds.

North American F-107 with canopy open on the flight line
A North American F-107A Ultra Sabre with its canopy open on the flight line. Image: Museum of the U.S. Air Force

The Ultra Sabre was a prime example of Cold War innovations in supersonic aircraft that influenced aircraft designs to this day.

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The Pussification Of The Western Male by the Great Kim Du toit!!

We have become a nation of women.

It wasn’t always this way, of course. There was a time when men put their signatures to a document, knowing full well that this single act would result in their execution if captured, and in the forfeiture of their property to the State. Their wives and children would be turned out by the soldiers, and their farms and businesses most probably given to someone who didn’t sign the document.

There was a time when men went to their certain death, with expressions like “You all can go to hell. I’m going to Texas.” (Davy Crockett, to the House of Representatives, before going to the Alamo.)

There was a time when men went to war, sometimes against their own families, so that other men could be free. And there was a time when men went to war because we recognized evil when we saw it, and knew that it had to be stamped out.

There was even a time when a President of the United States threatened to punch a man in the face and kick him in the balls, because the man had the temerity to say bad things about the President’s daughter’s singing.**

We’re not like that anymore.

Now, little boys in grade school are suspended for playing cowboys and Indians, cops and crooks, and all the other familiar variations of “good guy vs. bad guy” that helped them learn, at an early age, what it was like to have decent men hunt you down, because you were a lawbreaker.

Now, men are taught that violence is bad — that when a thief breaks into your house, or threatens you in the street, that the proper way to deal with this is to “give him what he wants”, instead of taking a horsewhip to the rascal or shooting him dead where he stands.

Now, men’s fashion includes not a man dressed in a double-breasted suit, but a tight sweater worn by a man with breasts.

Now, warning labels are indelibly etched into gun barrels, as though men have somehow forgotten that guns are dangerous things.

Now, men are given Ritalin as little boys, so that their natural aggressiveness, curiosity and restlessness can be controlled, instead of nurtured and directed.

And finally, our President, who happens to have been a qualified fighter pilot, lands on an aircraft carrier wearing a flight suit, and is immediately dismissed with words like “swaggering”, “macho” and the favorite epithet of Euro girly-men, “cowboy”. Of course he was bound to get that reaction — and most especially from the Press in Europe, because the process of male pussification Over There is almost complete.

How did we get to this?

In the first instance, what we have to understand is that America is first and foremost, a culture dominated by one figure: Mother. It wasn’t always so: there was a time when it was Father who ruled the home, worked at his job, and voted.

But in the twentieth century, women became more and more involved in the body politic, and in industry, and in the media — and mostly, this has not been a good thing.

When women got the vote, it was inevitable that government was going to become more powerful, more intrusive, and more “protective” (i.e. more coddling), because women are hard-wired to treasure security more than uncertainty and danger. It was therefore inevitable that their feminine influence on politics was going to emphasize (lowercase “s”) social security.

I am aware of the fury that this statement is going to arouse, and I don’t care a fig.

What I care about is the fact that since the beginning of the twentieth century, there has been a concerted campaign to denigrate men, to reduce them to figures of fun, and to render them impotent, figuratively speaking.

I’m going to illustrate this by talking about TV, because TV is a reliable barometer of our culture.

In the 1950s, the TV Dad was seen as the lovable goofball — perhaps the beginning of the trend — BUT he was still the one who brought home the bacon, and was the main source of discipline (think of the line: “Wait until your father gets home!”).

From that, we went to this: the Cheerios TV ad.

Now, for those who haven’t seen this piece of shit, I’m going to go over it, from memory, because it epitomizes everything I hate about the campaign to pussify men. The scene opens at the morning breakfast table, where the two kids are sitting with Dad at the table, while Mom prepares stuff on the kitchen counter. The dialogue goes something like this:

Little girl (note, not little boy): Daddy, why do we eat Cheerios?
Dad: Because they contain fiber, and all sorts of stuff that’s good for the heart. I eat it now, because of that.
LG: Did you always eat stuff that was bad for your heart, Daddy?
Dad (humorously): I did, until I met your mother.
Mother (not humorously): Daddy did a lot of stupid things before he met your mother.

Now, every time I see that TV ad, I have to be restrained from shooting the TV with a .45 Colt. If you want a microcosm of how men have become less than men, this is the perfect example.

What Dad should have replied to Mommy’s little dig: “Yes, Sally, that’s true: I did do a lot of stupid things before I met your mother. I even slept with your Aunt Ruth a few times, before I met your mother.”

That’s what I would have said, anyway, if my wife had ever attempted to castrate me in front of the kids like that.

But that’s not what men do, of course. What this guy is going to do is smile ruefully, finish his cereal, and then go and fuck his secretary, who doesn’t try to cut his balls off on a daily basis. Then, when the affair is discovered, people are going to rally around the castrating bitch called his wife, and call him all sorts of names. He’ll lose custody of his kids, and they will be brought up by our ultimate modern-day figure of sympathy: The Single Mom.

You know what? Some women deserve to be single moms.

When I first started this website, I think my primary aim was to blow off steam at the stupidity of our society.

Because I have fairly set views on what constitutes right and wrong, I have no difficulty in calling Bill Clinton, for example, a fucking liar and hypocrite.

But most of all, I do this website because I love being a man. Amongst other things, I talk about guns, self-defense, politics, beautiful women, sports, warfare, hunting, and power tools — all the things that being a man entails. All this stuff gives me pleasure.

And it doesn’t take much to see when all the things I love are being threatened: for instance, when Tim Allen’s excellent comedy routine on being a man is reduced to a fucking sitcom called Home Improvement.

The show should have been called Man Improvement, because that’s what every single plotline entailed: turning a man into a “better” person, instead of just leaving him alone to work on restoring the vintage sports car in his garage. I stopped watching the show after about four episodes.

(The Man Show was better, at least for the first season — men leering at chicks, men fucking around with ridiculous games like “pin the bra on the boobies”, men having beer-drinking competitions, and women bouncing on trampolines. Excellent stuff, only not strong enough. I don’t watch it anymore, either, because it’s plain that the idea has been subverted by girly-men, and turned into a parody of itself.)

Finally, we come to the TV show which to my mind epitomizes everything bad about what we have become: Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. Playing on the homo Bravo Channel, this piece of excrement has taken over the popular culture by storm (and so far, the only counter has been the wonderful South Park episode which took it apart for the bullshit it is).

I’m sorry, but the premise of the show nauseates me. A bunch of homosexuals trying to “improve” ordinary men into something “better” (i.e. more acceptable to women): changing the guy’s clothes, his home decor, his music — for fuck’s sake, what kind of girly-man would allow these simpering butt-bandits to change his life around?

Yes, the men are, by and large, slobs. Big fucking deal. Last time I looked, that’s normal. Men are slobs, and that only changes when women try to civilize them by marriage. That’s the natural order of things.

You know the definition of homosexual men we used in Chicago? “Men with small dogs who own very tidy apartments.”

Real men, on the other hand, have big fucking mean-ass dogs: Rhodesian ridgebacks, bull terriers and Rottweilers, or else working dogs like pointers or retrievers which go hunting with them and slobber all over the furniture.

Women own lapdogs.

Which is why women are trying to get dog-fighting and cock-fighting banned — they’d ban boxing too, if they could — because it’s “mean and cruel”. No shit, Shirley. Hell, I hate the idea of fighting dogs too, but I don’t have a problem with men who do. Dogs and cocks fight. So do men. No wonder we have an affinity for it.

My website has become fairly popular with men, and in the beginning, this really surprised me, because I didn’t think I was doing anything special.

That’s not what I think now. I must have had well over five thousand men write to me to say stuff like “Yes! I agree! I was so angry when I read about [insert atrocity of choice], but I thought I was the only one.”

No, you’re not alone, my friends, and nor am I.

Out there, there is a huge number of men who are sick of it. We’re sick of being made figures of fun and ridicule; we’re sick of having girly-men like journalists, advertising agency execs and movie stars decide on “what is a man”; we’re sick of women treating us like children, and we’re really fucking sick of girly-men politicians who pander to women by passing an ever-increasing raft of Nanny laws and regulations (the legal equivalent of public-school Ritalin), which prevent us from hunting, racing our cars and motorcycles, smoking, flirting with women at the office, getting into fistfights over women, shooting criminals and doing all the fine things which being a man entails.

When Annika Sorenstam was allowed to play in that tournament on the men’s PGA tour, all the men should have refused to play — Vijay Singh was the only one with balls to stand up for a principle, and he was absolutely excoriated for being a “chauvinist”.

Bullshit. He wasn’t a chauvinist, he was being a man. All the rest of the players — Woods, Mickelson, the lot — are girls by comparison. And, needless to say, Vijay isn’t an American, nor a European, which is probably why he still has a pair hanging between his legs, and they’re not hanging on the wall as his wife’s trophy.

Fuck this, I’m sick of it.

I don’t see why I should put up with this bullshit any longer — hell, I don’t see why any man should put up with this bullshit any longer.

I don’t see why men should have become feminized, except that we allowed it to happen — and you know why we let it happen? Because it’s damned easier to do so. Unfortunately, we’ve allowed it to go too far, and our maleness has become too pussified for words.

At this point, I could have gone two ways: the first would be to say, “…and I don’t know if we’ll get it back. The process has become too entrenched, the cultural zeitgeist of men as girls has become part of the social fabric, and there’s not much we can do about it.”

But I’m not going to do that. To quote John Belushi (who was, incidentally, a real man and not a fucking woman): “Did we quit when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?”

Well, I’m not going to quit. Fuck that. One of the characteristics of the non-pussified man (and this should strike fear into the hearts of women and girly-men everywhere) is that he never quits just because the odds seem overwhelming. Omaha Beach, guys.

I want a real man as President — not Al Gore, who had to hire a consultant to show him how to be an Alpha male, and french-kiss his wife on live TV to “prove” to the world that he was a man, when we all knew that real men don’t have to do that pathetic crap.

And I want the Real Man President to surround himself with other Real Men, like Rumsfeld, and Ashcroft, and yes, Condi Rice (who is more of a Real Man than those asswipes Colin Powell and Norman Mineta).

I want our government to be more like Dad — kind, helpful, but not afraid to punish us when we fuck up, instead of helping us excuse our actions.

I want our government of real men to start rolling back the Nanny State, in all its horrible manifestations of over-protectiveness, intrusiveness and “Mommy Knows Best What’s Good For You” regulations.

I want our culture to become more male — and not the satirical kind of male, like The Man Show, or the cartoonish figures of Stallone, Van Damme or Schwarzenegger.

 

(Note to the Hollywood execs: We absolutely fucking loathe chick movies about feelings and relationships and all that feminine jive. We want more John Waynes, Robert Mitchums, Bruce Willises, and Clint Eastwoods. Never mind that it’s simplistic — we like simple, we are simple, we are men — our lives are uncomplicated, and we like it that way. We Were Soldiers was a great movie, and you know why? Because you could have cut out all the female parts and it still would have been a great movie, because it was about Real Men. Try cutting out all the female parts in a Woody Allen movie; you’d end up with the opening and closing credits.)

I want our literature to become more male, less female. Men shouldn’t buy “self-help” books unless the subject matter is car maintenance, golf swing improvement or how to disassemble a fucking Browning BAR. We don’t improve ourselves, we improve our stuff.

And finally, I want men everywhere to going back to being Real Men. To open doors for women, to drive fast cars, to smoke cigars after a meal, to get drunk occasionally and, in the words of the late Col. Jeff Cooper, one of the last of the Real Men: “To ride, shoot straight, and speak the truth.”

In every sense of the word. We know what the word “is” means.

Because that’s all that being a Real Man involves. You don’t have to become a fucking cartoon male, either: I’m not going back to stoning women for adultery like those Muslim assholes do, nor am I suggesting we support that perversion of being a Real Man, gangsta rap artists (those fucking pussies — they wouldn’t last thirty seconds against a couple of genuine tough guys that I know).

Speaking of rap music, do you want to know why more White boys buy that crap than Black boys do? You know why date rape is supposedly such a problem on college campuses*? Why binge drinking is a problem among college freshmen?

It’s a reaction: a reaction against being pussified. And I understand it, completely. Young males are aggressive, they do fight amongst themselves, they are destructive, and all this does happen for a purpose.

Because only the strong men propagate.

And women know it. You want to know why I know this to be true? Because powerful men still attract women. Women, even liberal women, swooned over George Bush in a naval aviator’s uniform. Donald Trump still gets access to some of the most beautiful pussy available, despite looking like a medieval gargoyle. Donald Rumsfeld, if he wanted to, could fuck 90% of all women over 50 if he wanted to, and a goodly portion of younger ones too.

And he won’t. Because Rummy’s been married to the same woman for fifty years, and he wouldn’t toss that away for a quickie. He’s a Real Man. No wonder the Euros hate and fear him.

We?d better get more like him, we’d better become more like him, because if we don’t, men will become a footnote to history.

– 0 –

*since debunked as bullshit, based on crap statistics

**“I’ve just read your lousy review of Margaret’s concert. I’ve come to the conclusion that you are an ‘eight ulcer man on four ulcer pay.’ It seems to me that you are a frustrated old man who wishes he could have been successful. When you write such poppy-cock as was in the back section of the paper you work for it shows conclusively that you’re off the beam and at least four of your ulcers are at work. Some day I hope to meet you. When that happens you’ll need a new nose, a lot of beefsteak for black eyes, and perhaps a supporter below! Pegler, a gutter snipe, is a gentleman alongside you. I hope you’ll accept that statement as a worse insult than a reflection on your ancestry.”

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All About Guns Cops You have to be kidding, right!?!

Adam Johnson and his Fight-Ending Sniper Pistol by Will Dabbs

The Barrett Light Fifty is a great tool for long-range engagements against hardened targets. However, it would have been tough for mounted patrolman Adam Johnson to carry concealed.

In the world of tactical shooting, you pick the right tool for the right target. There is some overlap, to be sure, but you wouldn’t choose a Walther P22 if you were trying to ring steel a kilometer distant.

By the same token, a Barrett M82 .50-caliber anti-materiel rifle is a suboptimal choice if your goal is exploding water-filled Coke cans in the backyard of your rural home. While pretty much everybody who has ever squeezed a trigger is familiar with these facts, apparently nobody bothered to tell Austin, Texas, mounted patrolman Adam Johnson.

Table of contents

The Shooter

Ummm, yeah. Whatever this is. Perhaps I’m just jealous.

By any reasonable metric, Steve Mcquilliams was one seriously quirky dude. Despite being shot to death by police under some truly extraordinary circumstances back in 2014, his Facebook page still remains active. It depicts an enormous white guy with a shaved head and an affinity for both the martial arts and renaissance fairs. One image has Mcquilliams striking his best Mr. Clean pose surrounded by, I counted them, seventeen scantily-clad belly dancers. I have no idea what that was all about.

If the police reports are to be believed, Mcquilliams had some pretty eccentric political views as well as a fairly impressive rap sheet. He was arrested for both drug and armed robbery offenses and had done time in federal prison. He was a self-described “High Priest of the Phineas Priesthood.” I had to look that up.

I had never heard of the Phineas Priesthood before. Apparently it is something like this.

It Gets Weirder

Wikipedia claims, “The Phineas Priesthood, also called Phineas Priests, are American domestic terrorists who adhere to the ideology which was set forth in the 1990 book Vigilantes of Christendom: The Story of the Phineas Priesthood by Richard Kelly Hoskins.” Once again, I have no idea what all that means. Mcquilliams split his time between Austin, Texas, and Kansas City, Kansas, before apparently losing his mind one fateful morning in 2014.

Austin, Texas, is a pretty left-wing place. My son used to live there. The motto of the Austin Independent Business Alliance is, “Keep Austin Weird.” They take that mandate seriously.

No idea why this guy struggled to find a respectable job. He seems a natural choice for child care, hair styling, life coach, or psychiatry to me.

The cops postulated that Mcquilliams had difficulty finding a decent job and projected his failures onto others. Mcquilliams found himself mightily agitated that illegal immigrants were being so vigorously coddled while he struggled to make ends meet. He honestly had a point, but he chose a pretty strange method of expressing it.

The Attack

The Arsenal SLR95 is a nicely-executed Bulgarian-made, forged-receiver Kalashnikov rifle.

At 0218 on Friday 28 November 2014–Thanksgiving weekend–shortly after the local drinking establishments closed, Steve Mcquilliams produced a Smith and Wesson M&P-15 .22-caliber rimfire rifle along with an Arsenal SLR95. The SLR 95 is a fairly high-end Bulgarian-made Kalashnikov.

He was decked out in a tactical vest full of magazines and a CamelBak hydration system. He was also carrying a bunch of those miniature propane cylinders designed for camp stoves.

Mcquilliams cranked up the party by shooting up the federal courthouse. He then indexed to a local bank and peppered it with gunfire before turning his attention to the Mexican consulate.

After riddling the facade with bullets he tried and failed to set it afire. He then made his way to the headquarters of the Austin Police Department.

Austin, Texas, is an objectively attractive city. It’s just weird.

Kicking Over the Hornet’s Nest

It was the middle of the night, but there were still lots of folks wandering about in the streets. Thankfully, these first three buildings were all but deserted. However, there are always cops at work. There were plenty of folks at the police HQ.

Mcquilliams’ rampage lasted roughly ten minutes. During this time he fired about 100 rounds. Miraculously, he didn’t actually hit anybody. Whether he was a sucky marksman or perhaps just wasn’t in a particularly homicidal mood has been lost to history. Regardless, you can’t shoot up the heart of Austin, Texas, and expect everybody to be good with that.

The Solution

I found this on Steve Mcquilliams’ Facebook page. Nobody realized where it was going at the time.

That’s the problem with crime. You just never see it coming. I have been privy to a couple myself, and it is always out of the clear blue when you least expect it. In this case, police Sergeant Adam Johnson was just putting away his horse.

Even this deep into the Information Age, there yet remains a place in American Law Enforcement for horse-mounted patrols.

The Austin fuzz used mounted patrols to help maintain order in the party district. Horses are obviously fairly docile creatures, but they are also both huge and intimidating. My little town maintains mounted patrols as well. If nothing else, the horses are so cool that lots of drunk folks get sufficiently distracted petting the beasts that they tend to avoid trouble. In this case, SGT Johnson and his partner were occupied putting their mounts to bed when they heard gunfire.

I kind of doubt that Steve Mcquilliams was wielding a real-deal automatic weapon. However, truth be known, the presence of a genuine giggle switch doesn’t really make all that much difference, particularly in untrained hands. Get some, Vasquez…

Actual Machineguns Are Pretty Rare

The official police press release described it as, “Distinct sounds of loud automatic bursts of gunfire in the area of the main police headquarters.” I’d have to inspect the entrails of that rifle myself before I’d actually believe that. Regardless, it was obviously nonetheless still pretty unsettling.

SGT Johnson’s partner quickly tossed him the reins to his horse, drew his service pistol, and ran toward the sounds of gunfire. SGT Johnson now found himself holding onto two restless horses while also striving mightily not to get shot to death. Forensic assessment the following day showed that Mcquilliams cranked off at least five rounds toward Johnson and his horses from a range of about one hundred meters but missed.

Magnificent Marksmanship of Adam Johnson

Johnson wisely ducked behind a cement pillar that was part of a parking garage as Mcquilliams merrily blasted away. Then the hulking shooter ran dry. As he paused to reload his Kalashnikov, Adam Johnson did something truly extraordinary.

The Smith and Wesson M&P is an exceptionally well-executed service pistol.

While still holding the reins to not one but two agitated horses in his left hand, SGT Johnson drew his department-issue Smith and Wesson M&P .40-caliber service pistol, steadied his right hand against the concrete pillar he was using for cover, took careful aim, and fired a single round. From roughly the length of a football field, SGT Johnson shot Steve Mcquilliams straight through the heart, killing him where he stood. Wow. Just wow.

Precedents

SWAT competitions allow tactical teams to polish their skills in a collegial environment.

Several years ago I read about a memorable SWAT competition. I’ve been to a couple of those. They are generally convivial and fun, offering an opportunity to cross-pollinate, learn new skills, polish techniques, and cultivate friendships all in the spirit of healthy competition.

The capstone exercise had the unit sniper in an overvwatch position while the entry team cleared a structure, engaged bad guys, and rescued hostages. The timer started when they blew the front door and ended when the building was secured and the sniper struck a 12-inch steel plate located one hundred meters downrange. All went well for one particular team until the sniper suffered a mechanical failure with his rifle.

Ticking Clock

I don’t recall the specifics, but it was one of those breathtakingly improbable events that so rarely occurs with a bolt gun. Regardless, the clock was ticking, and the man’s rifle was out of the fight. The sniper in question immediately popped up onto his knees and drew his issue Beretta 92 service pistol. Taking a steady two-handed hold he struck the 100-meter plate with a single 9mm round and stopped the timer.

 The circumstances under which a Law Enforcement officer might be called upon to make a live pistol shot a football field away are obviously vanishingly rare. However, Adam Johnson and Steve Mcquilliams showed us that, while the odds are indeed small, they aren’t quite zero.

Creepy Details

This is Steve Mcquilliams in happier times. With the benefit of hindsight, he was just a strange guy who really went off the deep end.

Nobody knows what was going through Steve Mcquilliams’ mind the night of the shooting. Unlike many spree shooters, he did not leave a manifesto. Some of his Facebook posts are fairly colorful, but they didn’t give me a mass shooter lunatic vibe.

Two days before the attack he posted a link to the Audioslave song “Set It Off.” That fateful Friday morning he changed his profile photo to a Tarot card that read, “The Hierophant.”

According to Wikipedia, a hierophant is a person who brings religious congregants into the presence of that which is deemed holy. I obviously had to look that up as well. When the cops got to his body they discovered that he had written, “Let Me Die” on his chest with a Sharpie Marker. He also left a stack of nice clothing folded at his apartment with a note on top that read, “Funeral Clothes.” It’s just tough to get your head around all that.

Steve Mcquilliams could pass for Pennsylvania Senator John Fetterman in dim light. However, I’d just as soon not encounter either of them in dim light myself.
This is Pennsylvania Senator John Fetterman. You gotta admit, he kind-of favors Steve Mcquilliams.

Crack Shot Adam Johnson

So, here we have a big geeky bald-headed John Fetterman doppelgänger who enjoyed LARPing his way around Renaissance fairs and hanging out with belly dancers but apparently couldn’t land a decent job. For reasons unknown, he went berserk and shot up downtown Austin, Texas, at 2 o’clock in the morning over Thanksgiving weekend. A crack-shot horse cop named Adam Johnson ended all that with a single .40-caliber round fired at a range of roughly one hundred yards…while also simultaneously managing a couple of skittish horses.

Steve Mcquilliams was a big, weird guy. Early one morning he just snapped.

Denouement

We’ve made light of Steve Mcquilliams’ sordid circumstances here today. His entire story is actually quite tragic. Mcquilliams was obviously a lost soul who just never quite found his place in the world. It was terribly fortunate that no one else was hurt.

Ballistic savant Jerry Miculek has successfully made a 1,000-yard shot with a 9mm handgun, but that guy is clearly not human. For us normal folk, tossing a little handgun ammo in a parabolic arc at distant targets can be quite the enjoyable way to kill a lazy Saturday afternoon at the range. I find it simply fascinating that Austin police Sergeant Adam Johnson actually pulled that off for real.

Categories
N.S.F.W.

Grandma!?! NSFW

Categories
California

Goodbye California & Thank You!!

Now it would of been easy to write a rant about what the way you have been changed for the worst. Like this one.

What with the Mega fires due to stupidity & greed, The Race Riots, overcrowding, an unfixable housing problem by again greed and stupidity and the mudslides that come every year during the Winter rains.

Also the Earthquakes, High Speed Trains that go no where, our ridiculous taxes, a vastly expensive & invasive state, county and local governments. Or the wonderful brown outs, expensive gas prices. Or the political idiots & the powerful government unions that basically run this state.

That & the vast number of sad, crazy, drug addicted, disgusting, smelly, thieving, begging Bums / Freeloaders out here. Oops I mean the “Homeless Folks” as we might upset those poor creatures feelings. So lets throw BILLIONS of hard earned Californian tax dollars at them. As I won’t mention the amazing amount of additional Federal Tax Money either.

But then surprise!! We never really see where the money or how it was spent. Seeing as our wacked out Governor VETOED a bill that would of created a review of where the money went and how effective it was.

(And this Clown thinks that he will one day soon become President of the USA. God help us all if that disaster happens!)

Now I say bring back the chain gangs and tent camps out in the Mojave Desert near Barstow. That and throw in some really sadistic guards into the mix. Or how about a one way bus tickets back to where you were born. Seeing as that you just lost your California Ticket.

That and if you do come back without a say a job. Then you get to live at San Quentin Prison with a Kiddie Rapist Jacket. Where you will then get some real intense personal treatment from Guys who have nothing to lose.

“Hey I just got ANOTHER triple life without any chance of parole. So come here sweetie it’s time to party!!”

As I am sure that all the folks on Death Row would just love this idea of mine also. As it must be very boring there just sitting around with nothing to do. While thinking of ways to making the guards lives there as miserable as possible. As that’s your only real entertainment. That is until the BIG day comes for you after sitting there for several decades.

Speaking of which. I also want to thank all my former students in Juvenile Hall. I hope that you all got your act together. Or failing that you got life w/o parole. But may God bless you guys anyways!

Moving on. OR HOW ABOUT?

Maybe the unbelievable gun laws here? Which just beg to attacked by the Civil Rights section of the US Justice Department. Since the Supreme Court finally said that the Second Amendment actually is the law of the land!

Or a huge gang problem that feeds off of our citizens that just can’t face live without its daily fix of drugs and prostitution. I think that you would be just amazed at the huge sums of money involved in this area.

(Now to be honest. I admit that I went to a few Whore Houses here when I was a lot younger and even more stupid than I am today. Before I settled down with the worlds greatest wife.)

But frankly that dead horse has not been beaten into hamburger meat.

No instead I want to just say Thank You for the many kindnesses that you have given me and my family. Most of them that now rest in your loving embrace. (I really hope that you guys are happy now where ever your Souls may be!)

So where to start? I mean it’s been a wild ride since that day on the 30 December 1958 at Good  Samaritan Hospital in Down Town Los Angeles. (Now lets see now, I subtract Dec.1958 from 2026 and get 67.)

Yes I am that old now, Moving on People!

Where my great old Dad then put me in a Black Salad Bowl which we then ate out for years to come. While Mom shook open a Champagne bottle and got it to sprayed all over the place. (My folks and the nurses then drank what was left.)

I also want to thank all of my Teachers many of whom were really good and dedicated folks.

Where by the sheer grace of God. I was finally able to read and write. That gave me a few College Degrees too! (Yes there must be a God as that really was a Miracle!)

Now I could bore you with some clever and nasty remarks about all the idiots, rascals, assholes etc. etc. that were either spawned here or invaded the place. But that’s not your fault really Sunshine State!

Instead I want to thank you for all of the Great and just Wonderful folks that I had the great fortune to run into.

Now sadly I would have to easily take the rest of the day to write a list of these wonderful, smart, tough, kind folks. Who have by their sheer existence have taught me so much and made my life so much better. While I frankly have given back so little to them. All I can do is to give my humble thanks to you all!

So before The Boss & I blast off to Connecticut of all places to be closer to the Son & Heir & the Grand Kids. I will say that there are going to be quite a few things that I am going to miss with you.

One is the weather and your almost complete lack of humidity. Which makes it almost boring as my soon to be ex neck of the woods has really only two seasons.

I.E. Its Hot or it rains a bit for a couple of months in winter. (“Gee Grumpy that’s too bad!’)

Another is you sheer beauty of your landscape. What with your great beaches, purple mountains, vast forests in the north to your desolate deserts. All of it you can see either driving or take a hour long plane ride.

But what I will really miss is the prettiest place on earth. Which is the Central Coast between Morro Bay and Santa Cruz. As the Big Sur has captured my heart forever.

Now if you don’t believe me about Big Sur. Then why is it that all of those car ads show on TV. Have their new cars being driven down it? Huh? I can wait for an answer.

The other thing is the wonderful & diverse types of food we have here. Like Mort’s Deli or Bee’s Bakery out in Reseda. Or the sadly gone Burger Continental over in Pasadena. Which that wonderful place was forced closed by those idiots Pasadena city government as I think that they did not pay them off enough.

Another long gone treasure was Alioto’s on Fisherman’s Wharf in Frisco which had the best seafood I ever had and a great view of the Bay too.

Moving on. I also want to take the time to thank all of the ladies that took pity on me & were kind to me. Thank you for all that you taught me & I REALLY wish you well! That and we do here have a huge surplus of some of the best looking women on the Planet.

Now I guess that I could go on forever about you and the things you have invented.

What with California giving the rest of the world a lot of stuff. Like the Movies, Disneyland, some great wine, a ton of fruits (Yeah the stuff you eat, But we do have more than our fair share of those folks here too.) & vegetables. Also a  lot of Gold was & is dug up here!

Computers, a couple of really great harbors that help with trade with Asia. An amazing University called Caltech that with MIT over in Boston is the best university in the world.

The Rose Bowl, an active Volcano that we don’t mention much about for some reason. A couple of huge and I mean huge banks (Wells Fargo and Bank of America)

Well I could go on and on. So all I can do is this! I will miss most of you. I also hope that one day that you get a better class of Leaders than you have today.

(Geez how the f*ck did we get these fuck ups? That and how in the Hell do they keep getting re elected?)

As you really do deserve better! Anyways if I forgot something well I’m sorry about that. So good bye and good luck! It’s been a great ride California. 

I will miss you. Grumpy