Field Fuel For Hard Days: Essential Provisions Delivers Clean Power When It Counts
Essential Provisions Field Fuel is the only ready to eat meal I trust to keep me sharp and moving when the shift runs long and the terrain gets ugly.
Essential Provisions Field Fuel is the only ready to eat meal I trust to keep me sharp and moving when the shift runs long and the terrain gets ugly.
Writing is the long, bloody slog between inspiration and execution, but when it hits—when the scene fires clean—it’s like kicking in a door and finding the whole damn world on the other side.
The ghosts in McGarvey’s weren’t haunting the bar—they were teaching the living how to remember without breaking.
When Washington stops cutting checks, it’s the folks keeping the lights on and the flag flying who get burned—while the Beltway’s elite keep clinking glasses at the D.C. Buffet that never closes.
Barrett’s 30×42 PGS family arrives like a sledgehammer for the squad: programmable air bursts, proximity fused rounds to punch drones out of the sky, and a staged Mod rollout that turns a grenadier into a squad level fire support hub.
Your feet are your lifeline in Selection, so get two pairs of issued boots that fit snug in the heel with toe wiggle room, break them in until they feel like an extension of your leg, use a two sock system turned inside out with light powder, dry and rotate nightly, and build miles gradually while fixing hot spots the moment they flare.
Batman made it look cool, but the real Skyhook riders were the kind of men who trusted a steel wire, a balloon, and a pilot’s nerve more than luck or legend.
If you want MCX Rattler handling and three-round-burst attitude without the noise or paperwork, this CO₂ BB rifle delivers the look, the controls, and grin-inducing mag dumps that make backyard drills feel like a mini range day.
At one point during the service, a friend led Hawkeye, JT’s faithful chocolate Lab, to the military casket sat draped with its American flag.
In McGarvey’s, the jukebox glowed like a field altar, each slot a dog tag on a guitar string, and Marcus realized the living keep the dead in tune.
Putting a Qatari fighter school in Idaho feels like parking a lit cigar in a powder magazine and trusting the wind to behave.
When devils start pricing snow tires and pitchforks double as ski poles, you know the ceasefire paperwork is real enough to fog a mirror, even if the lava in the background stays at a slow simmer.