The S&W 645 makes me feel so tactical

I almost wish I lived close to a mall so I could dress up ninja and impress some girls wearing tattoos and chewing gum.

The SW is home, admired, and tested.

I expected one magazine and got four -- plus one of those high-fashion black nylon pouches that holds two spares back and forth instead of up and down. Tacticool.

I already had the tactically-tooled leather holster --  made it decades ago to a "speed scabbard" pattern for GI .45s. . It holds the Smith nicely but will benefit from a small  sight cutout. I needed to do that anyway for the GI here that carries adjustable Micros.

The field test:

-- Functioning was perfect with everything I tried, including semi-wadcutters. (The 645 is said to be a garbage disposal unit -- if your junk ammo won't work in anything else, shoot it in the Smith.)

--Excuse-wise, this gun hasn't been shot enough to wear off the proprietary Smith and Wesson burrs. It's rough, especially the DA trigger. The SA pull is nothing to brag about either.

--I am pleased no one witnessed this tryout session.

-- I consider the  hood of a pickup a bench rest analogue. So lean across, get a good two-hand hold, squeeze off factory loads carefully. Gotta see where the gun shoots, don't we?

--In my hands, all over the damned place, that's where. At 50 feet a string of five scattered low left over a good seven inches. I can fix the impact point. I can't even identify yet how to fix myself. Flinch? Jerk? Total cognitive breakdown? Motor skills eloped with O'Reilley's daughter?

--Repeating the hoody position with a load of home made 200-grain SWCs at a peppy 850 fps or so,  the results were better by about half an inch. It isn't the gun, nor the ammunition.

--Switching to the combat mode,  I moved in to 30 feet, took a Weaverish stance and banged off eight as quickly as I could reacquire the target -- a sheet of typing paper. Three in the kill zone,  two possibles, two that would have made him mad, and one clean miss. A couple of repeat strings had similar results.

Excuses: New gun. Very windy (the flimsy target holder moved a little).  Distracted by cows mooing in the nearby pasture. Libby emphasizing that I was making entirely too much noise. Lost concentration worrying about CERN failure to find Higgs Boson.

Proper reaction to excuses: Bull Roar, James. Go practice.

Crime in the Capital? Not a chance.

I lived in Washington-on-Potomac when Mayor Barry was in control, so I am shocked that Vincent Gray, current mayor of our federal city,  is under suspicion of criminal wrongdoing.

After all, the government of the District of Columbia is under the ultimate oversight of the United States Congress which, like the district itself, is heir to a two-century  tradition of truth, justice, and selfless public service.

As to former Mayor Barry, he seems to be doing right well for himself, having been fully  rehabilitated in federal prison. The later accusations of drunk driving, stalking,   tax cheating, official corruption as a city council member, and  a few other peccadilloes are undoubtedly the work racist liars in the Tea Party.

Why we're broke

We shouldn't let Baby Huie chew our bullets.  Eating lead is a bad idea. It might damage his brain. That would make him too dull for any profession except politics.

So we certainly applaud our governments' drive to keep Huie lead-free and smart. Except, maybe...

The grant is for $2.45 million. Local taxpayers will be extorted to the tune of another $2 million. If you total that and add a few hundred thou left over from the earlier HUD $3 million grant  -- plus whatever local tax bite that one "leveraged" -- and you get something north of $6 million. But let's be conservative and say it's only $5.5 million.

Peanuts, of course, if it preserves enough Huie brainpower to permit him to prosper as a vinyl siding salesman.

Or maybe not. All that money permits the county health czars to tidy up 142 homes in the next three years.

Time for the world's most useful tool for politico-economic analysis -- a five-buck pocket calculator.

Lessee. Five and a-half million divided by 142 equals, ta-dahh,  $38,732 dollars per house. And 39 cents, to be precise.

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Okay, but it's for the poor and therefore righteous, right?

"Funds from the grant are available to assist homeowners whose income is less than 80 percent of the median family income and landlords whose tenants’ incomes are less than 80 percent of the median family income. "


The median family income in this state is a little more than $60,000 per year, apparently meaning you can heist your neighbors for a new paint job even if you gross $48,000.

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Yeah, even our official state health masters say you can pretty much eliminate Baby H chewing lead paint chips by repainting with latex. 'course  you must use obscure techniques known only to practitioners of that mysterious profession known as (shhhh) "painters."

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H.L. Mencken: "Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats."









  

Because the judge said I can, that's why (with gun porn)

A district court judge has cleared me to own a pistol.

Naaah. I'm not in the system. His Honor is overseeing an estate and has yes/no authority over the selling price of an adequate little pest control device made by Smith and Wesson in the 80s. I petitioned for a 10 per cent reduction in the reasonable asking price, and a writ of acceptance was issued.

It's the minty stainless steel spawn of the Model 59 concept, and after inspecting it I conclude Dan Wesson's descendants learned something about making DA semi-autos (only) after issuing the 59.

Besides, it's in a more noble caliber. Besides again, the magazine holds just eight rounds, so maybe Senator Boxer will start returning my calls.



(Sister ship pictured. I collect my 645  tomorrow.)