Ohhhhh...Rich Food....

Yeah, excess indulgence in free food is not a good idea. I'm gonna go find a blackboard so I can make myself write that 100 times.

A typical breakfast for me is a pot of oatmeal, or maybe an egg sandwich. Because I eat what I store, my diet is generally very basic and rather bland. It's what I've grown used to. Because I rarely bestir myself to hunt, I'm basically a vegetarian; not by inclination, just by circumstance. Which is why rich food can hit me like a thermonuclear gut bomb.

It happened that I was just cleaning up after some oatmeal this morning when I got a call from my weekender neighbors, S&L. "Had breakfast yet?" The honest answer was yes, but...well, hey. Free food. I was planning to take the boys for a walk up their way anyhow, so let's go! Yum. French toast, sausage, spicy potatoes, watermelon salad. Gooood stuff.

And that would have been fine, except that I had also been invited to a neighborhood barbeque later in the day. Just got a ride back from that, because I didn't feel up to walking yet. Steak, bratwurst, potato salad, beer...you get the idea.

"Hey, Joel?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, hey, this is your large colon, dude. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Is there a bathroom, like, very close?"

"Uh...yeah, there's one right over there."

"Okay, my advice would be to run in that direction. Now."

Sigh. Sure tasted good, though.

Bag of Weed

Now, I don't indulge in the sacred herb, myself. In fact as far as I know I don't know anyone who does. Got nothing against it, ain't no prude, just never was much exposed to it. My poison was always bourbon.

But I was blogcrawling after Snacky Time and found this on Bill St. Clair's site. This is just some kinda funny, right here. Was this really on the TV show? I never watched it, so I don't know.

Spring is here, spring is here...

...Life is skittles and life is beer
I think the lovliest time of the year is the Spring
I do. Don't you? 'Course you do.

And Spring means sweating like a pig during the morning Walky, and then waiting for the wind to pick up and blow us all to Kansas. But there I go bitching about weather again.

Got an early start this morning; I meant to water the trees yesterday but forgot, so decided to get it done while I was thinking about it. Lately for some reason my new coffee-maker seems to kill the electrical power just when the brew is finishing up, so while I was re-booting I started the generator and plugged in the well pump. Cistern's only about half full anyway. Turned on the flow to the meadow hose and let the basin around the apricot tree fill. When I went down to change trees I helped the boys chase a skinny white cow away. The trees are starting to leaf now, and that draws the frigging cows like flies to shit. Nice tender buds.

I've recently lost the washing machine to my greedy, avaricious landlady who moved to a place where she could use it. She decided she wanted her own property back; can you believe the nerve? Fortunately my friend I has access to a truck with a lift gate, plus it freed up a hose. I got a new spray nozzle last weekend, and extended the hose to the Lair. The stovetop had gotten so disgusting by the end of the winter that I couldn't get it clean without flooding the kitchen, so I took it off, propped it on some sawhorses and gave it a good scrub. Now while I was thinking about it I propped open the Jeep's hood; the coolant has run low again and I can use the hose and the last of the stored coolant to fill it. Also want to blast out the black-water tank before coiling the hose again and setting up the garden sprinkler.

I started a bunch of herb seeds in these little plastic greenhouse thingies from Home Despot, and I'm hoping my landlady will agree to let me clear out some of the strawberry vines that spread like kudzu but never produced any berries. She should be visiting in a week and a half, and I'll ask her then. If not I'll see if I can't amend the soil near the Lair's gray-water pool and plant them there - assuming they sprout at all, of course. Ol' black-thumb Joel.

Time for walkies. We've been staying away from the roads lately, getting over the winter "let's just take a quick walk" habit. Climbed the neighboring ridge, crossed it till we got to the cliff-face, then paralleled it for a while till we came to the fence that bisects the ridge. There's an easy way down there, and a big meadow between the cliff and the wash. Follow the fence to the wash, do a u-turn, and follow the fence back to the cliff. The junipers are high enough and close enough there that there's lots of shade. I'm doing all right, but the dogs are looking for a chance to cool down a bit. They dig in under the branches and I wait ten or fifteen minutes till their respiration rate falls. It's true, what I was reading in a book recently: Whole-body sweat is a much better strategy for dumping excess heat than panting is. This is why humans rule the earth and dogs don't. That and thumbs: dogs will never abandon us while we hold the can-opener monopoly. Up the cliff, which hugging the fence is still an easy climb, over the ridge, down and into our wash, and away home. The boys queue up at the water bucket, and now the big fellas are hiding in the cool of the workshop next to the scriptorium and settling down to their morning snooze.

It always seems to take a good bit of time while it's going on, but when I get home and look at a clock the total elapsed time is almost always less than an hour; sometimes far less. I'm such a wimp: When we go on a good multi-hour hike my stump is so sore at the end that I'm good for nothing for the rest of the day. That, as much as my natural indolence, is what keeps me from being a serious hiker here in this place that cries to be seriously hiked.

Whew. Now it's time to start feeling guilty for not being at the build site, pouring concrete. I really, really must get to that, but damn. My back just healed from buying the stuff and getting it here. I'm too old for this shit, but it must be done.

Click the Magnificent, the Sublime...

...God-Empress of the Desert Realms. Behold her beauty and despair, ye mortals! Behold her mighty jaws and fear - for the finish of your bathtub.



Click was coming out of her shell for a couple of months before Butch took the Long Trip. She was catching mice and rats again, spending afternoon time down off the loft, and generally getting back to what passes for normal around here.

But other things have changed besides Butch, of course. God-Emperor Kwai Chang Cain set off, condescending to rule heaven (in a truly bizarre event - remind me to tell you about it sometime) and Click's sister Point (Yes, Point and Click - bite me) disappeared during their six-week sojourn in town last summer. We've had a veritable epidemic among the cats until only Click remains. All of this - except for the business about Butch, whom she despised with righteous passion - sent Click into an emotional tailspin that lasted for several months.

But as I said she had been coming around in the past couple of months. Then Butch disappeared, and all was well with her universe. She is now THE cat, she is THAT cat. She has ascended the Topaz Throne, and wants her subjects to know it.

The dogs, as I've mentioned, were literally raised by a cat. They love and differdefer to all cats, even Butch, even though Butch hated them all. Okay, toward the end they didn't exactly differdefer to Butch - they often stopped him from pushing Click around but that's my point. They would not allow harm to come to their cats when they could help it. Now Click is the only cat. You can imagine how she behaves around the dogs. They are her dogs; her loyal, devoted subjects.

She has also become extremely active at night, and by active I mean viciously predatory. She sleeps all day, becomes active in the evening, disappears after dark and by the time I wake at first light she's snoozing comfortably in my bed or in the loft. I must then go see (and clean up) what carnage she has wrought - it's gotten to be a normal morning routine. She and Point used to catch rats daily; they'd behead them and bring the otherwise unmolested bodies into my neighbors' lair. But Click doesn't settle for death; she must also have destruction. And dinner. So I don't pick up rodent bodies, I scoop up heads and tails and entrails and I mop up pools of blood: There's very little left.

Most commonly, she has the courtesy to confine her slaughter to the bathtub. I don't know her reasoning for this, but I do appreciate it. The goop goes into a paper towel, and I can just wash body fluids down the drain. Not always, though. When I rise in the morning it's dark, and I hop about the lair one-legged. I've had to learn to do this more carefully: Yesterday morning I managed to hop right into a soggy mass of innards right in front of the toilet, which the day before had been decently contained within a large rat. Can't say I appreciated that very much.

Nevertheless, I'm happy she's back. She's happy, the dogs seem very happy to have her back, and I guess that's what counts.

A word about content and request for feedback

When I started blogging here back in the first part of December, I had in mind to post my day-by-day impressions of the 'gulching life'. There were two problems with this; first, while I'm currently the only one here I'm not the only one involved, and everybody's very privacy-oriented. They were amused and supportive of my little blog, but also concerned about security. I am too and have tried to keep it always in mind, but there have been posts that I modified or removed after emails flew. There are things going on that you haven't read about here, and that you won't. Not mine to share.

Second, most of my day-to-day activity is simply boring to read about. Today I took a walk with the dogs. I finished laying pipe to the barn's salvaged water heater, then learned that the frigging inlet pipe not only faces the wrong way but is apparently cemented into place with JB Weld, forcing me to do bizarre things with the pipe routing and consequently run out of pipe 99% of the way from the finish line. We've finally had three warm days in a row. Jesus, I'm putting myself to sleep.

The fact that, to my surpriseshock, in its brief existence my little blog has actually developed a loyal readership is kind of a problem in that regard. I started this as much as a way to get through the winter as anything else, and never expected much of a readership. We're not exactly in Lew Rockwell territory, but still quite a few people come here every day. I feel obligated to post every day regardless of whether anything interestingly gulch-related actually occurred. Also, my camera died. So if it seems to you that I've been leaning pretty heavily on news links and other blogs for content, well, I have. This was not my original intent, because you probably already know how to read the news. My take on various news items can be a bit...skewed, and I do try to keep it entertaining. But still, there are lots and lots of link blogs out there. You don't need this one.

So I'm asking those of you who do read here regularly for input. Is the way this has been going of value to you? Do you really care what-all Magnus is up to today? More boring gulch items? Less? Have I been wasting your time? Please respond.

Tragic. Tragic!

Linky:

Thomas Patrick Destories, a 68-year-old Phoenix man, was booked into Maricopa County jail on suspicion of first-degree murder after he made "incriminating statements," Phoenix police spokesman Sgt. Andy Hill said.

Doug Georgianni, 51, was shot Sunday night as he operated a photo radar van on a Phoenix freeway and later died at a hospital.

Hill said investigators believe Destories pulled up behind the van and then slowly pulled alongside it and fired a gun multiple times, hitting Georgianni in the driver's seat. Investigators don't believe Destories knew Georgianni.
...
Authorities said they found Destories less than 24 hours after the killing because a Department of Public Safety officer recognized the suspect vehicle, a Chevrolet Suburban, in video footage taken by the photo radar camera.
...
"While we don't know at this time what the motives were for this senseless killing, many have understandably speculated that it was due to anger against the speed cameras," [Rep. Sam Crump of Anthem] said. "To the extent there is any truth to that, I call on all individuals to reduce the war of words on this topic. Whatever the motives for this crime were, there is absolutely no justification for such a heinous act."

I quite agree. It's senseless. I mean, c'mon. He used his own vehicle? And spoke to the cops after he was arrested? Show a little sense, people!

Okay, I'm getting really creeped out now.

Guess who Our Divinely Anointed Maximum Leader (ODAML) just tapped as head of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Go ahead; guess. Hint: It ain't L. Neil Smith.

The Detroit auto crowd is, of course, intimately familiar with Mr. Hurley's MADD antics and have grown to just love him. If, by love, we mean really really despise:

His nomination on Tuesday sent shudders down the spines of everyone who considers motoring a special part of the joy of being American. If his prior record is any indication, we can expect more in the way of arbitrary interference with the way the car companies do business at a moment when they can least afford the burden of bureaucratic meddling.

And drivers can expect a ratcheting up of the low-grade harassment they already endure on a daily basis — in the form of more obnoxious regulations, pullover "safety" checks and very possibly lowered speed limits, ala Claybrook’s 55-mph national limit on federal interstates.

All of this will be imposed on states in the time-honored Washington way: Those that fail to comply will lose vitally needed highway funds.

As the head gauleiter of MADD since March 2005, Hurley led the group — already considered one of the most unreasonable and totalitarian-minded "special interests" in all of D.C. to even new vistas of reactionary Puritanism.

That's okay, of course: The Obama adminstration already owns the auto industry, so who gives a shit what Detroit thinks? Right?

And ditto about the opinion of every driver in the country. No ticky no washy, America. We've got your "highway funds." Sit, doggy. Roll over. Now beg!

REALLY reactive targets

One thing happened during my daughter's visit that I'd forgotten about until this morning, when I happened to walk down to the short range.

Daughter and AtH wanted to do some shooting while they were here, and brought fun targets with them. Some cute bunny-face paper plates, and a bunch of dollar-store cans of shaving cream. That last one had honestly never occurred to me. Do you know what happens when you shoot a shaving cream can with a rifle? Well...it makes a mess. It makes a big, instantaneous mess. Very entertaining. And the good news - I'm happy to say, since I didn't know how long the mess was going to last - it does eventually go away on its own, so all you have to clean up is the cans. Though if you have to pick up the cans right away, you've got some really, really gooey clean-up in store.

Wish my camera still worked. It's impressive.

Ghost the Misguidedly Aggressive

Ghost has two aggressive modes. When he goes down to the meadow and barks, I don't pay it much mind; he's very possessive of his territory (a virtue in a watchdog) and sometimes feels the need to express his ownership to the neighboring critters. There may or may not be a specific reason for this; if the coyotes start singing, he's certain to put on a show but sometimes he does it for no discernible cause.

But then sometimes he shoots himself like an arrow, without making a sound other than the drumming of paws. This means he's going into battle, and that as a proper nanny I'd damned well better gun up and find out what he's getting himself into.

Often it's just cattle. Cattle used to be a problem, because he'd lead the whole pack into battle against the invading hordes and somebody could get hurt. If the cattle didn't do it, the rancher damned well might if he happened to see or hear it. They may by law and will by inclination shoot cattle-chasing dogs. While in my heart I don't really blame them for this, it is imperative that they don't take it into their heads to shoot MY dogs. So when I see bad stuff going down, I really need to get my elderly ass down off the ridge and head off trouble.

This morning I happened to be in a position to see the whole thing go down. We were headed from the barn to the Interim Lair. Ghost saw a couple of cattle in the little triangle of meadow across the road, maybe 300 yards away. He went into Instant Hyperdrive. I swore in irritation, looked again harder, and then started running as best I could. There were three cattle down there, and one was a calf. Momma cows act completely different when there's a calf involved.

Sure enough, instead of heading off or ignoring the whole brouhaha, as they usually do, a big black cow turned and started heading right at Ghost. Okay, that one's the mother. Now: Will Ghost have sense enough to realize how much he just bit off? Alternately, can I get within pistol range before he becomes a moist spot on the meadow? Dammit, why didn't I grab my rifle? This is why I keep it handy.

As it turned out, Ghost had no intention of either giving in to the (now very motivated) cow or getting stomped into a tortilla by her. He was in heaven, dodging and dancing around her while she worked herself into a slobbering, stamping mass of pissed-off beef. If she'd had two brain cells and a synapse hidden somewhere in that thick skull she might have figured out that Ghost wasn't paying any attention to her baby at all; he was just having fun getting a rise out of her. That wouldn't stop him from becoming an ex-dog if she got her way, but by that time I and the two BIG dogs were obviously approaching. That was enough opposition to get through to her: She and the second cow bumped the terrified calf and headed for the wash. Ghost ignored my shouts enough to follow, though he didn't chase. He'd had his fun, and finally came at my call and we went for a walk in the other direction.

Little shithead.

April 19, when things just seem to happen...

Some call this "Patriots Day" - I've never quite figured out what a patriot is, but I'm pretty sure I'm not one. Nevertheless 4/19 is just about the only date I tend not to miss, just because historically things do seem to happen on this date:

1529 - At the Second Diet of Speyer, a group of rulers and independent cities protests the reinstatement of the Edict of Worms, beginning the Protestant movement.

1775 - The Battle of Lexington and Concord begins the American Revolutionary War.

1861 - Baltimore riot of 1861, a pro-Secession mob attacks United States Army troops marching through the city.

1933 - President Franklin D. Roosevelt announces the abandonment of the gold standard.

1943 - The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising begins.

1961 - End of the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba. (Oops)

1993 - Eighty-one people are slaughtered by fire, gas and gunfire by forces of the Federal Government at the end of the siege of the Branch Davidian building outside Waco, Texas.

1995 - The Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA, is bombed, killing 168.

And lots of other stuff. Happy Interesting Times Day!

Elfland

Yeah, funny mood this afternoon.

I've been out wandering
In foggy country
Out where strange things exist
The edge of magic
The edge of science
Meet and merge in the mist

And I've come back with a book full of songs
A handful of tactics for righting old wrongs
And all you can say is I've been gone too long
You don't know me at all

I've been out wandering
In hidden country
Out where your rejects reside
Where dreams are solid
Where words are fire
Out where the free thinkers hide

And all you tell me is you don't care
You can't put a meter on sunlight or air
You've got no use for the new world out there
You don't know us at all

Guess I'll go back there
With all I'll get here
All that will help us go on
That country's growing
With every outcast
You'll never notice we're gone

And when you've won all those games that you play
You just might see there's no one left to pay
We'll have the whole world that you threw away, and
We won't know you at all

- Leslie Fish

Private to Ghost...

I understand that you enjoy chasing trucks. I really do. I don't like it, it worries me, I wish you'd stop, but I do understand.

But, dude. Biting the tires - that's just dumb.

Watch this video

It's longer than I usually post here, and it's not at all frivolous. Watch it anyway, then spread it around.

H/T to David Codrea

Hey, I'm getting good at this!

UPDATE: The article linked in the post immediately below has been expanded and revised. It now contains even more and better lies. The paragraph mentioning military bases is no longer present.

In other news, George Orwell sues the Washington Post for theft of Intellectual Property. Can I call it, or what? ;-)

Nobody's safe when rulers get together...

So I understand that, though Our Divinely Anointed Maximum Leader (ODAML) doesn't plan to do anything dastardly to gun owners himself he is being forced, quite against his will, to bow under the crushing weight of international opinion and will now "push the U.S. Senate to ratify an inter-American arms trafficking treaty designed to curb the flow of guns and ammunition to drug cartels and other armed groups in the hemisphere."

This is a treaty originally signed by Bubba - er, that is, the Divinely Concupiscent Maximum Leader - and ignored for all the decades since. Suddenly, however, ODAML finds the dusty relic to be simply inescapable. He tried, he really did: He begged, he pleaded, he threatened nuclear war against Mexican President Felipe Calderon because he is just so fervently devoted to the rights of American Citizens. But President Calderon reportedly overpowered ODAML's security guards, knocked ODAML to the ground and tortured him with feathers until he was forced to give in on this one tiny, itsy bitsy point. You'll understand.

"The Obama administration's commitment to seek ratification [of the treaty] is important because stemming the number of illegal privately-owned firearms which flow into Latin America and the Caribbean - well, anywhere - is a high priority for the region our rulers and would-be rulers and addresses a key hemispheric concern relating to people's their personal security and well-being," said a senior Obama administration official who wished to remain anonymous so his name wouldn't appear on the post-revolution indictments.

Yeah, I fixed it for them.

I especially enjoyed this bit, which apparently slipped past the government copy editor:

Many of the guns used by the drug cartels travel south from the United States. Some assault rifles recovered by Mexican authorities have been traced back to U.S. military bases.

Doubleplus ungood! Minitrue malquote military bases rectify rewrite fullwise upsub antifiling...

Many of the guns used by the drug cartels travel south from the United States. Some assault rifles recovered by Mexican authorities have been traced back to U.S. gun stores.

Ah, that's better. Whew. I'm going to step outside for a Victory Cigarette.

UPDATE: The link above now leads to a completely different article, containing more and better lies. The paragraph mentioning military bases is no longer present.

In other news, George Orwell sues the Washington Post for theft of Intellectual Property. Can I call it, or what? ;-)

More $%&! Snow

Yeah, I know. Half the readers are going, "What the hell is he whining about?" as they shovel the latest foot of white stuff off their porches.

For years before I left Kali I firmly intended to. The only thing I didn't completely hate about Socal was the weather. I knew Kalians who actually complained about it; said it was boring. Hey, I'm from a winter state; boring is good. So I always used to joke, "I don't know where I'm going when I leave here, but I know that wherever it is I'll never stop bitching about the weather." So far, so good.

All day yesterday I hunkered down through a non-stop windstorm. It was mostly sunny, but sometime during the night it clouded up and dumped a bunch of snow. Now it's already melting off and I know it'll be gone everywhere but the shadows in another hour, but still. It's officially late April and we're back to numb fingers and frozen toes. Give it a rest, gods. This is the desert; let's have some frigging heat.

Heh - a month from now I'll be bitching about the heat.

Montana - Here's a bit of good news!

For some strange reason I just don't understand, two interesting developments in Montana haven't been getting a lot of press.

Two Montana legislative bills, HR 228 and HR 246, have been kicking around for quite some time. 246, in particular, has been talked about for months on the gun blogs because it's a tenth amendment states-rights challenge that goes far beyond toothless "resolutions." According to today's release from the Montana Shooting Sports Association (MSSA), which wrote the bill's wording,

HB 246 declares that any guns and ammunition made and retained in Montana are not subject to ANY federal regulation under the authority of Congress to regulate commerce “among the states.

The Montana legislature passed the bill, and - to my shock - the governor signed the thing today.

The bill becomes effective on October 1, and the MSSA release goes on to suggest that nobody rush right out to take advantage of it because there's no freaking way the feds are going to let this go by unchallenged. There's a big court circus in this law's future. Even so, Way To Go Montana!

(H/T to Bill St. Clair's End The War On Freedom)

The other, related Montana law is HB 228, which expands the legally-recognized right of self-defense and - if I'm reading this correctly - establishes Vermont/Alaska-style carry law to Montana where it damned sure belongs. I gather there's a fight in the legislature, adding and removing an amendment that would strip that part from the bill.

As I said, there's not a helluva lot of news available about this business, so I'm not sure about HB 228's status. (Can you believe I'm doing web research about a law? I think I need to go take my temperature.) I know I've got at least one Montana reader - can you fill me in?

Anyway, congratulations MSSA and Montana on sticking up for Montana-made guns and ammo! Here's hoping the rest of the fight goes well.

UPDATE: HB 228 has passed both houses, I'm told. Along the way it lost Alaska carry, alas, though it explicitly permits open carry and every other good thing in it is intact. It awaits the gov's signature, which apparently it will almost certainly get. Y'know, that place is getting more and more attractive - except for all that frigging winter.

All Kidding Aside...

The supposedly radical statement "Taxation is Theft" is not nearly radical enough to suit me. Theft is evil; taxation is far worse.

But don't take my word for it. Let's listen to the Great Teacher:

The fact is that the government, like a highwayman, says to a man: 'Your money, or your life.' And many, if not most, taxes are paid under the compulsion of that threat. The government does not, indeed, waylay a man in a lonely place, spring upon him from the roadside, and, holding a pistol to his head, proceed to rifle his pockets. But the robbery is none the less a robbery on that account; and it is far more dastardly and shameful. The highwayman takes solely upon himself the responsibility, danger, and crime of his own act. He does not pretend that he has any rightful claim to your money, or that he intends to use it for your own benefit. He does not pretend to be anything but a robber. He has not acquired impudence enough to profess to be merely a 'protector,' and that he takes men's money against their will, merely to enable him to 'protect' those infatuated travellers, who feel perfectly able to protect themselves, or do not appreciate his peculiar system of protection. He is too sensible a man to make such professions as these. Furthermore, having taken your money, he leaves you, as you wish him to do. He does not persist in following you on the road, against your will; assuming to be your rightful 'sovereign,' on account of the 'protection' he affords you. He does not keep 'protecting' you, by commanding you to bow down and serve him; by requiring you to do this, and forbidding you to do that; by robbing you of more money as often as he finds it for his interest or pleasure to do so; and by branding you as a rebel, a traitor, and an enemy to your country, and shooting you down without mercy, if you dispute his authority, or resist his demands. He is too much of a gentleman to be guilty of such impostures, and insults, and villanies as these. In short, he does not, in addition to robbing you, attempt to make you either his dupe or his slave.

- Lysander Spooner

Der Tag!

Today's the day! The happy, happy day on which all loyal Americans express their love, appreciation and support of their Glorious Nation! This is a great day! Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

And should you have any difficulty fulfilling your fiduciary duty to the State, never fear! Our courteous, professional staff is at your disposal, ready to assist in any way.



They'll even take care of your pets for you, while you deal with necessary matters. They wouldn't want you to be distracted.

Only one more day!

And in case you're feeling resentful about your joyful patriotic duty to pay your fair share, maybe this will cheer you up:

On these taxing days, when we become a defiantly bipartisan nation of whiners convinced that we are handing over to the Internal Revenue Service our blood and sweat and mother’s milk, our pound of flesh and firstborn young, maybe it’s time for a little perspective.

Legions before us have donated all these items and more to the public till, and not just metaphorically speaking, either. Benjamin Franklin was right to equate paying taxes with a deeply organic behavior like dying. It turns out that giving up a portion of one’s income for the sake of the tribe is such a ubiquitous feature of the human race that some researchers see it as crucial to our species’ success. Without ritualized taxation, there would be precious little hominid representation.

Yes, paying taxes is not merely a patriotic duty, not merely a way of keeping Uncle Sugar's Legions from damaging your front door, household pets and furnishings, or sphinctal diameters - it's a biological imperative! Birds do it, fish do it, and you'll by god do it if you know what's good for you. Otherwise, how would you know you live in the Land of the Free? Hmm?