Actually, it is kind of a porn gun.

But please keep it under your hat. This is being written in the wee hours when my compatriots are sleeping and won't find out somebody snuck back to the loophole for:

Provenance? You demand provenance? I got your provenance right here:

Corporal Styng of the 101st Airborne took it from a particularly thuggish SS Oberstleutnant on the Cotentin Peninsula about sunrise, June 6, 1944. For 11 months it was a comforting presence in his pocket, loaded with 7.65 rounds also liberated from the German supply chain.

Then, in early May on the Elbe, victory won, his artistic side appeared. The battalion armorer made up the grips from the wind screen of a downed Stuka, and S/Sgt. Styng lovingly fitted the photo of the Girl Back Home.  (A more sedate picture of the future Mrs. Styng is under the right grip panel.)

Geeking it out: FN Browning Model 1922, .32ACP, Nazi proofed, made in the captured FN factory in Liege, Belgium, probably in 1941 or '42, although it bears a batch serial number (with a letter suffix), making dating somewhat tricky. The slide is well polished and blued. The number-matched frame shows more hasty manufacturing. Insofar as the Luftwaffe had an official pistol, this was it, but the 1922 was widely carried by Master Race officers of all services.

The 1922 is a stretched version of John M. Browning's , PBUH, Model 1910 which Colt didn't want. So he had it built by the Walloons who showed it to the picky damned Yugoslavs who wanted a longer barrel and greater capacity.

Most guys would probably grade this one at very good, maybe a little better. 85 per cent? I expect it to shoot well enough -- minute-of-Nazi thorax  across a small courtyard. But that's secondary. What it is is foxhole art and the one of the most intimate possible pieces of history.  What is war if it isn't the story of a lonesome warrior, too far from Her?

 

Just maybe some piddly little Sandy deaths

I know a lot of Virginians,  and they don't talk this way. Just the politicians.

"...  no injuries so far and no fatalities of any significance," Governor Bob McDonnell told the electric teevee this morning.

Try it like this, Governor Bob. "No one hurt or killed yet."  You're just not ready for words of two or more syllables.

Other gun show spawn

That's it, the entire result of a couple of aisle-wandering hours up in Windom. Materially it doesn't  justify the fuel cost, So you have to look at it spiritually. Then the laughs and general bs-ing yield a rich profit.

But back to things. The items represent an expenditure of eleven Federal Reserve Cartoons, each humorously labeled one "dollar."

The booklets came at one FRC each, no negotiation involved. The taper crimp die traded for $7.50, a 25 per cent reduction in the ask. That's especially sweet because I've been wanting one against the likelihood that I may need to start rolling  9 mm.

The mink oil is even better, half off the tag price, or $1.50 and NIB.  Did you know that mink oil really comes from minks, usually Chinese ones in today's market? I didn't until I wikied it. Like you, I love it the stuff to soften certain leather  -- slings, dress belts, gloves that got wet, and so forth. (Never holsters.)  But it took the internet to teach me it will make my skin soft, smooth, and radiant.  I think I'll pass. My hide is none of those sexy things, but there are occidental mink all around Camp J, and that makes me fearful. Certainly among the locals there may be a bull mink who fantasizes Asian, and I'll bet a randy mink jumping my face would sting.

Lessee. What else? Oh yeah, the Fort William book was sort of a mistake. I stupidly assumed it was a history of Fort Laramie which began life as Fort William -- named Fort William by Mr. Sublette whose first name was William.  S'okay. After years of studying Rocky Mountain trappers, I need to know more about the Frenchies and their eastern fur trade.

One more thing. I'm diddling with the idea of going back today. If Wehrmacht Browning 1922 and the Remington 760 (another one of those damned things?) are still on the tables, I could re-open negotiations. If that happens, and if my pals find out about it, they will  snicker and smirk and point rude fingers at me and make  stupid cracks about a guy who can't make up his mind. Scroom. I mean, were they clever enough to get half-off on a cask of mink oil?

A social history of the United States

In microcosm. Really micro, as deduced from the literary spawn of a fine loophole up in Windom yesterday.

Some time in the last one-fifth of the 20th Century an American patriot went on vacation; "patriot" because he chose to see America first by sightseeing in Duluth before skirting the Lake Superior coast and crossing into exotic Ontario, destination Fort William on the storied Kaministiquia River.

There he purchased a chapbook -- a guide to the post and superficial history of the Great Lakes fur trade. The booklet was interesting enough, though written in the see how cute I write style. But more intriguing is the single sheet of scratch paper our traveler stuck in it, his to-do-before-leaving list and his itinerary. It's easy to quote in full. He would be ready to roll after:

--Move state park sticker. This pegs him as a probable Minnesotan. Even then that SSR required a permit for damned near everything.

--Lay out route.  We have here a prudent middle American; leave nothing to chance on wilderness roads or sinister urban concentrations. We can safely suggest that he remembered his Boy Scout motto and was prepared.

--PVC.  PCV  He knew his engine sported such a thing and, probably, what it did and how to replace it, representing a significant difference between than and now.

--Bug Spray. This was not  this ol' boy's first time in the woods.

--Clean garage. No respectable man wants to come home to a mess. Besides, he might come upon a forgotten can of bug spray, saving a bit of money as well as a special trip to town.

--Write Instructions For Shooting & ; lodge I.D. This is the most enigmatic entry. So he was an Elk, a Moose, or an Odd Fellow and wanted to make sure he would be welcomed as a brother in the towns he visited? But shooting instructions for what? This actually is wonderful. Without mystery, history would  be a bore.

And finally on this side of the paper:

--Money Box.  See? I told you this was a competent American who knew the ultimate requirement of travel, foreign and domestic.

The other side was even briefer, five penciled blocks representing the calendar of his vacation.

Tues Duluth late

Wed Sight see Duluth etc. That "etc." raises questions. Duluth was even then a seaport, and things can get racy down on the waterfront. But what the Hell. It's your vacation and these days it's no worse than a bad cold.

Thurs Ft. Williams & Grand Pro(???) -- Look, I didn't  claim he was a careful speller or skilled penman. He meant Grand Portage.

Fri Finish Dulht (Duluth?) Head to L.F. 

Sat Head Home.

---

I wish you had had  more vacation time,  Friend.  Having to punch the clock on Monday morning was a bitch, wasn't it? Still is.

And I hope you are still alive, in good health, living among people who love you, and entertaining  grandchildren with tales of your expedition to the great northern forests.