Shooting

It's a simple game. You load the gun. You shoot the gun. Sometimes you hit. Some times you miss, and sometimes it malfs.

Inspired by a MSM denizen discussing one of her favorite movies.

Gun dream

Bet the farm that every serious gun enthusiast  has a fantasy of walking into a thrift store or garage sale and finding a  box of shooting goodies marked $5. Couple of 1911s, most of an artillery Luger,  a Pederson device.  The best that has happened to me in the past few years is a pretty good WW2 issue shoulder holster for the S&W Victory (Model 10) from a DAV shop over on the Mississippi River. Three bucks including  a second non-descript holster.

So imagine the joy if the  Goodwill employees had just put this stuff out, tagged at  10 cents on the buck. Instead, the spoilsports called the law.

Alphecca suggests that "safe disposal" meant the cops stashed them  away in their personal closets. Probably.

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I'm adding Jeff to the blog roll. Who can resist a Vermont libertarian gun writer?

Paging Noah again

The latest rain -- in yesterday's wee hours -- dumped just under five inches on us.  We are saturated, and even 80 degrees is a little uncomfortable in the energy-sapping clammy air.

Poor little me. Poor, poor, me.

A word of thanks

In the year 1763:

1. The man whose surname I bear, and whose direct descendant I am,  was born in Kilkinney. He was in the colonies in time fight the King with the Virginia Continental Line.

2. Across the Irish Sea from G+/Grandpa John's birth place, William Pitt the Elder, First Earl of Chatham, wrote  a mighty paragraph.

"The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the crown. It may be frail - its roof may shake - the wind may blow through it - the storm may enter - the rain may enter - but the King of England cannot enter."  

Thank you both.

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(Simply reading the Pitt dicta is well enough, but for the full impact you should find a recording of that old ham actor Sam Ervin declaiming it during the Watergate Hearings.)