Take me to the green grass veldt

With Carlos the Jackal today being reported that he is writing Marxist fan mail to his comrade Barack Obama, it is interesting the thoughts which occur and do not occur to writers and publishers by the lack of company they keep.

For example, when terrorist Carlos was saluting Obama via his grandfather, Hussein Onyango Obama, who in the 1950's was imprisoned over the Mau Mau uprising, my thoughts returned to those salad days of yore experienced by one of the Queen's subjects of that era who was the polar opposite of the Luo Obama clan, in being Finn Aagaard, Norwegian ancestry, Kenyan nester and one day American immigrant, legal America immigrant with his family.

The reason my reasoning was focusing on Mr. Aagaard is who would have thought this Gentleman who went home in 2000 (heaven) was actually what scientific theorists would term a point in destiny. By that I will explain in who Aagaard was.

Mr. Aagaard was like thousands of young white Afrikaaners in that period whose parents or grandparents had come to Africa like others had come to America, Canada or Oz, all seeking a better life and building it.
Aagaard was typical of this class in being self sufficient, stoic, resolute and a perfect rifle shot.

There is no difference in nesters anywhere in this world in who they are. Aagaard could tell a tale of a friend who was given 3 rifle shells on any given day, and that son had better come home with 3 shells still unfired or the equivalent in game or he would be whipped.
Waste not want not.
To which I can tell tales of a Russian in Montana who decided his children would have all their teeth filed with a horse hoof file so their teeth were all flat. He was not real popular with the kids, but they were interesting types these settlers.

If you want to know the Aagaard type, North Dakota is still filled with them. They will talk your leg off if they like you and if you have offended them or royally pissed them off, to use a local term, all you will get is nods and silence.
Strangely a dude outdoor writer from a major publication noted that Mr. Aagaard once sat writing for an hour in silence and then just got up and left without saying good bye. Norwegians are no impolite, but like John Wayne they do not suffer fools.

In that, Mr. Aagaard started with his partner Joe Cheffings a Professional Hunters company in Kenya. It was during this time that the Mau Mau terrorists set rapine ablaze in Kenya to which the Queen's Rifles were called out which Aagaard was a member of. They were colonial militia and nice set of people with killing rifles has never been assembled except in places like the Alamo.
That is what I would have loved to have put to Mr. Aagaard had he been alive over a pitchy fire in Colorado, perhaps warming his hands as he quartered an elk, because he might not have answered but he sure would have thought about it.
Aagaard liked thinking and liked thinking in print. I was amazed in the dude writer noting all of Aagaard's calibers from 7x57, 30.06 to 375 H&H, but apparently never knew the intimacy of Finn.
Finn Aagaard loved his little .22 Brno bold action rifle. He is probably the reason an entire class of those high grade rifles are littering America now as he deemed them the loveliest of hunting rifles in even slipping in solids behind the shoulder of moderately big game in Africa.
He loved the 22 hornet, interestingly did a great deal more shooting with the .270 Winchester than the legendary Jack O'Connor who basically was Mr. 270 and had a strong liking for the .35 Whelen on elk. The .35 Whelen was named after gun legend Col. Townsend Whelen who necked up an .06 case to make a wonderful, magnum, non magnum killing cartridge. The .338 diameter in fractions is a wonderful elk and bear dispensing medicine of death.

In those moments of silent reflections, I would have liked to have just dropped on Finn Aagaard a hypothesis of, "You know Mr. Aagaard, back in the Mau Mau terrorist days, there was a Luo terrorist named Hussein Onyango Obama. If you would have cropped him, Stanley Ann Dunham would have had to have settled for some Polynesian in Hawaii who probably liked listening to communist opera singers in Paul Robeson for her jungle fever thrill.", and just left it at that as he rubbed this large hands over and over warming them as he stared into the fire acting like he never heard a word.

Sort of amazing isn't it all, that Carlos the Jackal knew Barack Obama's grandfather was a terrorist just like al Qaeda's Zawahiri and yet Americans never had a clue just how deep the Marxism and terrorist links ran in the Obama Luo clan.

Amazing too that if Finn Aagaard, the shining example of Kenyans, who never tried to usurp the United States Presidency, had just slipped a Queen's Rifle round into a terrorist instead of pampering all of them, Barack Obama would now probably be Bari Ollakawaii, growing his Hawaiian weed in the Dole pineapple fields and selling it just like an old black dude used to out of his hot dog cart in, Frank Marshall Davis.
Michelle Robinson, would probably have found a way to adore Jesse Jackson jr. and now be wearing sleeveless dresses to the house balcony watching junior Jackson with doting eyes give his forgettable speeches.

Fascinating what one gets when one lets terrorists live. I suppose all those Gitmo terrorists are about to have springing from their loins too the next Islamocommunist terrorists supplanting the entire elected federal government.

Vote for me, my grand daddy was once a terrorist in Gitmo, because you voted for Barack Obama as his grand daddy was once a terrorist in Kenya.

Neem me aan de groene grasgrasvlakte
Waar ik in vrede zwierf
Een geweer ontsproot mign enige muziek
In geboren Kenia houdt mign hart niet op

Take me to the green grass veldt
Where I roamed in peace
A rifle shot my only music
In Kenya born my heart does not cease

Avond M. Aagaard and M. Kipling, I hope your heavenly vale was bright, the game was good and the starlight bright and your words flowed the Nile and Hindus bound in cheerful ripples by verses bowed.


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