Author: Frank DeRienzo


Dunnage as Sackcloth

Recently more than in times past, the month of April triggers some ominous memories that have become more vivid somehow with distance in time. I had relegated my memories of the events of Operation Eagle Claw (OEC) to my mind’s recesses after leaving the First Ranger Battalion for Special Forces (SF) in August of 1980 following the ill-fated mission that past April.


Popcorn Venue for Normies

So-called conservatives have been orchestrated into indignant self-righteous action again, this time by a low budget action film about child sex trafficking, ‘Sound of Freedom’ (SoF). The usual pop celebrity mainstream voices on the left all panned the film thereby baiting the attention of many normies and affecting their predictable knee-jerk reactions. 


Cobra-chickens, Roadkill, and Ingredients

It is not surprising that where Canada geese are protected, they defile golf courses, beaches, and attack cyclists in parks. One of my coworkers from Ottawa refers to them as cobra-chickens. Low flying slow heavy geese do however save my pride at the end of a lackluster deer hunting season.


The Crisis is the Revolution

The censoring elites with their fact checkers on social media are not so much checking facts but sniffing for any opposing conceptual frameworks and filtering out anything that challenges the false worldview composed of false paradigms.


Sloth, Spandex, and Goose Cassoulet, Part Two

Moving from the deer stand over to the nearby goose pond required a few steps. I had initially put a rifled choke on my 12-gauge shotgun and zeroed it at the nearby range along with the Nagant using slugs in anticipation of using it for deer. It was of course not nearly as accurate beyond 50 yards as the Nagant, so I did not use it the last week of deer season in favor of the rifle. I came to realize the more economical choice of a rifled choke over against the cost of a fully rifled shotgun barrel would...


Sloth, Spandex, and Goose Cassoulet-A Neophyte’s Hunting Adventure, Part One

I have a chronic reluctance to get up before dawn to perch myself in a tree-stand at first light in the middle of deer season, but, as I faced  the final week of hunting,  my sloth yielded to an insatiable venison-jones which drove me, regardless of moon phase or feeding schedule, temperature or precipitation, to go out early every morning of that final week, shivering in wind and rain, before work hoping for the arrival of a doe into my kill zone.