For all of the bloggers who’ve discussed politics and shooting over the years with the Vietnam Special Forces veteran known as Vladimir Solaratov, we have a PoliNation exclusive report on how old Sol is doing. Last month, Grunt and GruntSon#2 ventured into the Midwestern backwoods to visit Sol in his bunker to shoot the sh*t around the fire, do a little minor work on the homestead and help Sol celebrate his 70th birthday and his survival of a rather serious recent bout with spinal cancer. He’s doing really well, considering the challenges he’s faced in his retirement. We had a blast spending a few days with him and his faithful attack beagle, ‘Buddy,’ and the one cat that was brave enough to associate with us while we were there. Here is the one picture we took of Sol and Buddy.
After undergoing chemotherapy until very recently – around Christmastime, Sol has become a little slow on the draw, so I was able to snap the photo quickly and dodge the 7 or 8 .45 rounds that he squeezed off in my direction. One of them ricocheted off the wood stove and grazed the ceiling before hitting my son in the neck, but it had lost enough energy by that time that it only bruised him. I explained to Sol that if he only carried a 9mm instead of his big .45, he could have had a lot more rounds to shoot at me. That’s when he got me across the forehead with the Louisville Slugger he had stashed under his computer desk. I was just glad I regained consciousness before nightfall so I didn’t miss out on the black tequila they had at the local Mexican taco joint in town. That is good stuff!
So, honestly, I can report that Sol is as bad-ass as he ever was while blogging at HillBuzz or the Treehouse or 4GFC, and he seems to be surviving quite nicely. When our other friend and fellow blogger Harvey went to visit Sol in the hospital last summer, she reported that he was still looking pretty good, despite the toll of the cancer surgery. I’m sorry to say that is no longer the case. Sorry Sol, but the temporary hair loss has made you almost as bald and ugly as me. After a few months, I think the mustache should be fully restored, and you’ll be fuzzy on top, and the ladies will be knocking down your door again. But in the meantime, I suggest talking to them on the phone. Know what I mean? Still, if there are any eligible ladies out there who long for the company of a bona fide war hero who is in seriously good shape (from carrying firewood and chasing the attack beagle when he’s gone after random raccoons), who is clearly a genius and who will have his rugged Clark Gable looks back in a few months and has only modest firearm allowance requirements, let me know. I will get you in touch with him pronto.
Cross-posted at PoliNation.