MooPig Tech Coroner :: "Nuclear Missiles"

Uranium and Other Heavies
Half-life Articles Mashed by Pat Darnell  |  Sep 20, 2013  |  Bryan TX

[Picture LINK]

I have a friend on faceBook who has been posting blurbs about movement of Uranium ore around the world. It seems the mining and handling of Uranium is a clusterfrak, like everything else in the world of technology, industry, banking, living, etcetera ... etcetera ... etcetera. The uranium supply chain is prone to misdirection or black-market-like foiles, and used as a political football, or is it ... no one really knows. But from her blurbs I gather that the primary motivator in mining uranium and other heavies is "Money, Profit, and Corporations' Financial Health."

It turns out the mining, processing, refining, enrichment of uranium and other heavy metals continues despite the end of the Cold War. Yes, MooPig Uranium Enrichment Department is a musky closet with spider webs and the smell of Grandpa.

Very little is ever discussed about uranium and rare earth metals. If you search faceBook for "uranium" you get a page about a social club. We have missiles in rural areas throughout the USA, and many more that are in unknown locations. The entire Titan II missile and its underground silo is a toxic chemical nightmare.

" ... Absent the Soviet threat, it's easy to forget that these ungodly devices are still all around us. An entire generation, as Schlosser told me recently, is blissfully unaware of the specter of nuclear devastation. (Michael Mechanic | Sun Sep. 15, 2013. LINK) ... "

Special thanks to rebellious Mother Jones Magazine for posting a review on Eric Schlosser's new book, Command and Control. Schlosser tells of danger lurking in American landscapes that could match the Japanese Earthquake-Tsunami-Nuclear Disaster at Fukushima. If one of these "dormant" Titan II nuclear missiles was caught in an earthquake, it would blow up in dozens of ways, for dozens of reasons.

" ... The nose cone on top of the Titan II was deep black, and inside it sat a W-53 thermonuclear warhead, the most powerful weapon ever carried by an American missile. The warhead had a yield of nine megatons—about three times the explosive force of all the bombs dropped during the Second World War, including both atomic bombs. (Michael Mechanic | Sun Sep. 15, 2013. LINK) ... "

A Sneak Peek at Eric Schlosser's Terrifying New Book on Nuclear Weapons | Mother Jones: "Here's the truth: Just days after JFK was sworn in as president, one of the most terrifying weapons in our arsenal was a hair's breadth from detonating on American soil. It would have pulverized a portion of North Carolina and, given strong northerly winds, could have blanketed East Coast cities (including New York, Baltimore, and Washington, DC) in lethal fallout."

" ... EXCERPT  | Eric Schlosser: 'I spent some time with the Air Force ... I was interested in the future of warfare in space: space weapons, particle-beam weapons, lasers, directed-energy devices. A lot of the people who were involved in it had started their careers as missile-crew officers. As I spent time with them, I became more interested in their stories from the Cold War about nuclear weapons than I did in the future of warfare in space. ... I find it remarkable how little public attention has been paid to the safety of nuclear weapons since the end of the Cold War.' (Michael Mechanic | Sun Sep. 15, 2013. LINK)... "

'via Blog this'

CONCLUSION
Friendly fire and collateral damages will be understatement if one of our own nuclear warhead missiles does detonate on American soil. Our US Government, and all its affiliate corporations working for it, has misinformed the American public about the threat of this happening.

We quoted it once, we'll do it again -- this one is for you Dr Patton:

" ... What is the greatest threat to humanity? We are, of course….and our technology. Like a dangerous weapon in the hands of a child, technology has overtaken our capacity to control potential consequences. Oxford University’s Future of Humanity Institute, led by director Nick Bostrom, says we have entered this new kind of technological era that we have no track record of surviving.

Our technological intelligence may have the potential for creating a better world, but so far, in areas of the economy, genetics and biologics, arms and warfare, security and surveillance, as well as the environment and energy, technology is also completely indifferent to the law of unintended consequences.

Fukushima is what happens when we have the moral responsibility of infants and the technology of adults. (Dr Caldicott. March, 2011. LINK)... "

_____________________Reference
http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/08/eric-schlosser-command-control-excerpt-nuclear-weapons
http://www.wise-uranium.org/upusawy.html#GASHSTM
http://www.wise-uranium.org/upcdnon.html#ELLIOTLGEM
http://www.wise-uranium.org/ureg.html#GLZTP
http://www.wise-uranium.org/upmn.html#DULAANUUL
http://www.wise-uranium.org/eples.html#NEF
http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/09/interview-eric-schlosser-command-control-nuclear-weapons-accidents
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cold_War
http://moopigwisdom.blogspot.com/2013/09/moopig-tech-coroner-pacific-ocean.html

Seven Years Long, Drawn Out, Evil Empire Drudgery of Whining, Threatening, and Squealing ...

The diplomatic process began in 2003 to persuade North Korea to halt its pursuit of nuclear weapons.
[SOURCE] | Retrieved by Pat Darnell with Mr. I. Eat Ur Miss-isles

EXCERPT  |  "If war breaks out, it will lead to nuclear warfare and not be limited to the Korean Peninsula," Uriminzokkiri, the communist state's official Web site, said. The Koreas remain technically at war after the 1950-53 Korean War ended in a truce ... "

In a separate editorial carried in the North's ruling party newspaper, Pyongyang reiterated its long-running demand that Washington agree to a peace pact to formally end the war and withdraw its 28,500 troops stationed in South Korea as a deterrent.

The violent rhetoric came as New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson was in North Korea on a private mission aimed at taming the regional tensions heightened by the deadly bombardment and the revelation of a modern uranium enrichment program in the North. (SOURCE) ... "

" ... Uranium provides a second track to developing atomic bombs in addition to plutonium. Pyongyang, which has conducted two nuclear tests in 2006 and 2009, claims its uranium enrichment activity is intended for "peaceful" purposes."

" ... U.S. State Department spokesman Philip Crowley said in Washington that the North should first carry out a series of steps to restore peace in the region and denuclearize itself under a 2005 six-nation agreement."

" ... The six-nation talks have not been held since late 2008. (SOURCE ibid) ... "

MooPig wants to know: "What is New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson doing in North Korea?"

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Navy Story from one of my Classmates

Wyatt's Inferno
by John Wyattcopyright 1976
(For those who are unfamiliar with Navy traditions, the Crossing the Equator ceremony occurs when those who have never crossed the equator (the slimy polywogs) are initiated by the forces of King Neptune (the Honorable Shellbacks). This a a true account of my initiation, though I may have embellished it just a little.)
I wake violently. Cries of "WAKE THE WOGS!" assault my sleepy ears. With a groan I turn over, flip on my bunk light, and peer at my watch. Six a.m. With an even greater groan I roll out onto the floor. Weary faces peer at me from behind green bunk curtains. The dead awaken.
A curious creature, dressed in early torture chamber, approaches; its right claw holding a formidable looking weapon formed from a two foot section of old fire hose. It cracks its weapon upon the floor and shouts "UP WOG!" This must be a dreaded shellback. With great difficulty I realize that this monster was once human.
I dress in the polywog uniform of the day: trousers on backwards, shorts on the outside. As I venture forth into the central area of our berthing compartment I see many other armed shellbacks running unfortunate wogs through a variety of tricks. I am directed to join the antics. Although I would rather return to bed, I hear myself cry “Yes most honorable shellback sir!” So begins my day in Purgatory.
After numerous activities, including wog-dog fights, meowing, rolling over and a personal tour of each and every floor tile, we are paraded up to breakfast on all fours. Shellbacks, all armed with weapons of cut fire-hose, line the way. They exercise these weapons vigorously upon my hindquarters.
I arrive at the breakfast line and am permitted to stand. The line stretches to infinity. An occasional shellback wanders by and is met with a stream of invective. Strength in numbers. The Royal Chicken walks by, wearing only shoes and shorts, covered head to toe with grease and feathers.
After breakfast I return to our berthing area, along with the rest of the dammed (on all fours, of course), to await the pleasure of his Highness King Neptune, whereupon I will be cleansed of all my slime and muck.
Our shellbacks are not present, thank goodness, being preoccupied with those poor wogs already before Neptunus Rex.
At last we are called. We are instructed to “Creep, crawl or slither up the starboard side to the foc'sle.” Upon arrival we all must lie on our bellies in several inches of salt water and are informed that we are the foulest, slimiest, lowliest wogs ever to venture into Neptune's realm. We must be cleansed.
Demons crack their weapons about my head and upon my rear. I must crawl upon my belly and up to an open fire hydrant, where I am told to swim upstream. Obviously these Hellhounds will be content with nothing less than my complete drowning!
After what seems like eternity, I am permitted to proceed onward. I meet a fiend who coats my face with grease. Through the cries of tormented wogs I hear the fiend inquire as to my well being. From his greedy look, I realize that it does not really want the truth, so I reply “Fine, most honorable shellback sir!” The fiend, its lust satiated, allows me to proceed.
I now must crawl on a non-skid surface. My knees protest, but I am too emotionally exhausted to heed them. Armed shellbacks line the path to the fantail. Their duties are painfully obvious.
At last I reach the fantail. My behind, thoroughly reddened, is granted a temporary reprieve. A demon wearing a friends face informs me that I am an especially slimy wog and must receive a shower. I force myself to follow it.
I am stood up in a stokes stretcher. I see a devil grinning horribly at me as it turns on a fire hose. Through the pounding torrent torrent of icy sea water I am instructed to hail King Neptune. For lack of anything better to do, I comply. Eventually it decides that I am clean enough and turns off the hose. Pleased, the devil allows me to return to the line of wogs awaiting audience with King Neptune.
As I wait, I wonder how I ever got myself into this situation. I can only conclude that I have some sort of mental aberration, bordering on the masochistic.
King Neptune will see me now. I propel myself, with total lack of dignity, into his august presence. The charges are read and sentence pronounced. I feel oddly unconcerned about my probable fate.
First, I must kiss the Queen's Royal Toe. Not very exciting, to say the least. Next my face is thoroughly immersed in the greasy belly of the Royal Baby. Then into the Royal Coffin: a trash can. The sides are beaten and I emerge half deaf. Then a visit to the Royal Doctor. Blue grease on my arm and a horrible concoction on my tongue cure whatever diseases to which polywogs may be susceptible. Through the garbage chute and I find, with weary astonishment, that I have survived to meet the final obstacle!
I am set upon the edge of a large tub of salt water. A shellback holds each arm firmly. Dimly, through the infernal cries and gnashing of teeth arising from this hellish nightmare, I become aware that one of these Vampires is asking me what I am. Wheels, sorely tried, revolve slowly in my head. I open my mouth and manage to utter a single word: “Shellback!” I am dunked and released from damnation.
As I remove my ruined clothing and revel in the shower erected for my benefit, it seems somehow strange that I should feel slimier now as a shellback than as a wog.
fin.
Thanks to John Wyatt for sharing that experience; I want to hear from polywogs....

GPS, Golf Carts, Distance to the Hole....and a Whisper

When I was a little boy, my daddy took me to Herman Park where he teed off with three others on a Saturday morning at least once a month. I was his caddy. I pulled the bag cart and tried to keep up, that was my task. I always got to have an Orange Nehi bottled soda at the start of the back nine, at 8:30 in the morning.

Too bad there is no narrative in literature for the years between 1 through 11. That is because all memories from then are in images, and sensations, and pictographs.

Can you relate? Sort of a self-speak, creates fillers when there is little going on upstairs.

So yesterday while I was doing nothing, it popped in my head, "Hey, distances.... to the hole.... which iron? ........GPS!"

"The ProShot Golf Traditional GPS system, in its simplicity, keeps with the traditional mind-set prevalent in the golf industry by keeping the golfer focused on his game. The system steers away from offering the bells and whistles that our competition feels a player needs to play his game, when in fact they only serve to distract a player and ultimately decrease your course?s pace of play.
The ProShot Golf Traditional GPS system is a steering column-mounted unit that is un-intrusive to the player?s line of site. Yardages to lakes, bunkers and other hazards, as well as to the front, center and back of the greens (accurate to within one yard) are readily displayed. In addition, pro tips are also provided to help the golfer make an informed decision of which club to use and what strategy to employ. Golfers can also get their drive distances if they choose. Ultimately, your golfers will leave your course with a more enjoyable overall golfing experience..." (www.proshot.com ).

So I thought I had a brain wave originating faroff away from the distant golf men who whisper to me still through the River Oaks of Houston. Hey I have a new gadget that my golfing friends will want for their plenary golf carts.
I even called Rick, who rebuilds g-carts and asked him if he installs GPS on the carts, "Huh?" he said.

"You know distance to the hole and picking your club?" I said. Then I remembered he doesn't play golf. "Okay, I'll get back to you. I haven't researched it yet."

Who am I kidding?
Well, that was yesterday afternoon. Google came up with about 1,320,000 hits for gps, golf, distances. in (0.12 seconds). So I felt the usual foolish and pound pour idiot with an idea. Can I get a witness?

GIZMODO... more like quasi-gizmodo
The SkyKap Advisor is a GPS-enabled golf cap controlled by voice commands. First you plug it into your PC's USB port and download course maps from SkyKap website. Then you wear the cap out on the links, asking it for information about distance to things such as the pin, water hazards and fairway boundaries, and it whispers the info into your ear.
SkyKap Advisor was just introduced, so there's no information on pricing or availability yet. But if this actually works as advertised, it adds a new layer of simplicity to GPS technology on the golf course. It's like wearing your own satellite-enabled caddy on your head. – Charlie White {Product Page [SkyKap, via GPS Gazette]

says:
SkyKap Advsior -- AKA, brain cancer.
02/08/07 02:09 PM
you-say says:
If you visit their website and click on the news tab, it is all in Latin.
Whiskey, Foxtrot, Tango?
02/08/07 02:42 PM
nickie says:
that's really really weird. The thing will probably explode on you the 1st time you wear it.And then you won't be alive to sue the company.
02/08/07 02:48 PM
1of3Stooges says:
I'm a golfer.This is nuts.
Will it also whisper "you can't reach the green with that 6-iron you orange-and-green-plaid-panted-pansy, better use your 5."
After you dump one in the lake will it whisper "who did you think you were, Tiger Woods?"
02/08/07 05:01 PM
ThongDollarz91 says:
Wanted: a cheaper one that just whispers "Gooo the dissstance..." before each shot like in Field of Dreams.
02/08/07 05:46 PM
Geisrud says:
They better make one with a "PING" logo...
02/12/07 11:47

Camouflage

There was a once in a lifetime trip to Monroe, La. which was the greatest time ever to spend with their mother of course. There is always one thing to set of the beginning of the worst of the vacation. That is when I realized that camouflage should be banned from being worn in certain parts of the states. When I moved to Texas, all I thought about was the great weather, being down with family, and of course, the women.

Photobucket - Video and
Image Hosting" "http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g155/VinVin5975/319550.jpg" width=175
border=0>

The beginning of the trip was great, I took the initiative to make the drive down so mother could relax for once, because I know personally, she is always on the go. We did check in to the so called Hotel, which ended up being a Motel, but hey we enjoyed our stay. I THINK!! As the days went by, we made friends to talk to and had a blast at the civic center. The civic center is where we set up for the big boat and gun show, where I finally discovered that camouflage makes me sick every time I see it now.

I realized the more I help the mother out with the sales and all, I have found out that I have the potential to talk to people and sell. While were down in Monroe I did all the driving around, (I felt like a taxi/limousine service) which felt great. We shared such a love and hate bond that weekend, which was lovely. There's two more things I forgot to mention, the crazy drivers, and the paper mill that blew towards the motel every morning.

The crazy drivers out there truly are crazy. We went to Wal-mart, that was another disaster, inside was huge, I would like to add. Leaving out of the parking I was trying to make a right, this other car came from nowhere and almost took us out. I gunned that big Impala V-six to just get out of there. That’s Chevy power for you.

Drive back was tiring, as I had to read the map backwards. I stopped four times in the median to double-check directions, because as one gets older you know the eyesight goes (HA HA).

It was the worst and best time with my lovely mother. We got home and the first thing we saw was my little brother and sister... dressed, of course, in camouflage.