Aug 31, 2013

The Internet and Sexual Identity Crises

Sometimes I worry about me.

Who's the hippie chick of "Clouds Got in My Way?"  Can't remember and don't care enough to look it up.

But I'm like that, God save me. Jake could have been comforting me with a slight adaptation, "A Focus is a Sometime Thing."


I was up, coffeed, and ambitious at sunrise. Goal-oriented, ya might say. Get that durned shop straightened up for Phase Two of the kitchen beautification project  and, at a decent hour when the neighbors are up, put the screaming diamond blade to the slate.  For 30 minutes I was Mr. Achievement. Hell, Babbitt would have approached me about joining Rotary.

Then I got to the cluttered bench where I usually do crude metal work. In a far corner, on top of some chain hooks, shone the Combat Commander hammer with strut.  I was happier than Betty Furness with a really white wash. Been looking for it ever since I brought the new Commanderish project home, looking in all the wrong places, like the room where I keep gun parts.

A true Rotarian would have smiled, pocketed the hammer assembly, and continued methodically accomplishing the Main Thing, checking off the shop titivation achievements one-by-one on his carefully prioritized list.

Damned clouds. Two minutes later I was at the gun room bench with the Commander parts spread out. It seemed wrong because the other half of my attention was locked on the ugly holes in the kitchen wall. But what pretty steel parts...

I was the starving donkey between two hay stacks. Clearly a decision was called for. So I came in and wrote it up for the furshlugginer internet.

Aug 30, 2013

Dear Secretary Kerry


Just caught your speech about Syria. You're probably right that President Assad gassed a few  thousand of his fellow Syrians and it was horrible.

Sorry to say that after that part, you got a little gassy yourself. Part that I had the toughest time understanding is that Assad is the guy who did it but
you and your boss want to bomb somebody or something else. If you said who or what, I missed it.

I figure Bashir needs punishing, but it seems to me that since he gassed Syrians, Syrians ought to do the punishing. I listened to you say it was really our job (this was your gassy part I mentioned a sec ago), but I didn't hear anything more than about  Saddam Hussein's old Weapons of Mass Destruction that will be shot  at us pretty soon. You remember. Bush and those guys.

Seems to me if your boss reallly needs attention that bad, you might just go ahead and have somebody shoot Assad. Geez, with all the money we give you guys, how hard can it be to keep another Matt Helm on the payroll? Or maybe Nicolai Hel if you don't mind working with foreigners.

The CIA could pay a pretty handsome hit fee out of its petty cash drawer. 'course, you'd want to find a different bunch of guys to actually find Bashir.

And you'd have to make your staff write a speech for your boss full of plausible dunnowhodunnitability, but with a wink and a nudge everyone will know he's the hero. You too.

Anyway, just my 2 cents. Have a nice day.


Aug 28, 2013

Introducing Audra J. Wolfe

I suppose some readers already know of this young scholar, but she is new to me. I found her on my electric teevee a few minutes ago, on  C-Span's American History channel.

She is mentioned here for one reason only.  In discussing pre-Vietnam Pentagon funding for basic academic research, she said usually anti-militarist universities rationalized taking defense money because (a) they assumed military goals and general state goals to be one and the same and (b) they assumed state goals to be proper.

I read into her comment that she has vast doubts about a goal being proper simply because it is a policy result desired by the high federal establishment.

Her book on the subject,  Competing with the Soviets, will be my next serious read. She says of it:

"... a short, accessible introduction to the special role that science and technology played in maintaining state power during the Cold War, from the atomic bomb to the Human Genome Project."

Maybe I'll find us another credentialed libertarian thinker who does her home work. Hope so.

The Innkeeper's Daughter

(Lest anyone think I snicker at all  the French.)

Inspired by brief channel surfing trying to evade  the 50th rerun of the annual canonization of MLK.

"What Price Glory" flashed by and triggered a memory.

Aug 27, 2013

Squeaky's 1911

Other than the locals reporting that I'll be hot today, only three electric teevee news flashes stirred my parts this morning. Miley's undies, of course, followed by Team Obama's decision to Cruise missilize those Syrian Islamists whom we currently dislike.  War is fun, so let's make something go bang.

Like  -- and this is story three -- Squeaky Fromme. Thirty-eight years ago she tried and failed to kill Jerry Ford in a pique of annoyance that he was polluting things and killing all the redwood trees.

Poor little Squeaky idiot, no better at making guns discharge than anything else in her incompetent life. "Fromme managed to say a few sentences to the on-scene cameras, emphasizing that the gun "didn't go off."   That often happens when would-be assassins neglect to chamber a round.

Now, to quickly dispose of the moral issues, a guy shouldn't pollute or chop down redwoods unless he needs to make some nice patio furniture or something like that. And, in general, one should avoid pointing pistols at people, even politicians.

Forget all that. Assuming that this is the actual Fromme pistol,* "Gee, what a nice piece."

It appears to be an honest 1911, unbubbaed, unarsenaled, never converted to to  A1.  Grips, mainspring housing, grip safety, and long trigger point to an as-issued 1911, issued to (and quite possibly stolen by) a Yank officer  who went Over There in 1917.  The magazine catch looks newer, but that could be an honest repair

The Colt has lived actively and shows bluing wear and freckles. Nevertheless, it would be a pricey item without any historical significance at all. Given that Lynette Fromme made it  famous, I wonder if it might be the world's most valuable 1911?  When I finish my new kitchen window treatment, I think I'll scrabble around for its provenance since 1975.

Edit to add: Nothing  complicated on provenance. The prosecutors gave it to the Ford library where it is still on display.


*Historiography note: To claim the pictured gun is the actual Fromme weapon puts a certain amount of faith in a number of people and agencies -- cops, Secret Service, the news and image archive industries,  and Wikipedia. It rings true to me, but I leave open the chance that some frenzied breaking-news editor  screamed to his staff, "Hey, I need a picture of an Army gun!", and things just went on from there.

Aug 25, 2013

Achtung! Part Two

The Luger was a vast disappointment, ground and polished. Still someone, neither of us, decided it was worth about $800.The others:

P-38 (AC44 code) 9MM-Nazi proofed

Rough wartime product, honest and not badly used. $400.

P-38 BYF/44 Code 9MM Nazi proofed

A  Mauser gun,  a little nicer than the Walther above, $450

DWM LUGER-7.65MM Nazi Commercial  Eagle proofed


Mauser Broomhandle MDL.1896 .7.63 (circa 1931)

Personally urinated upon by Himmler and left out in the weather for several years.. $900.

Mauser Broomhandle MDL..1896 -7.63 (circa 1928) 

Only a little worse than the other one. $600.

But first, an ammo check, et al.

1 -- Discounting shotgun shells, I own more ammunition than the local WalMart.   Quite a lot more.

2. --  The "value packs" of 100 cheap 12-gauge shells are back at just under $27, about 25 per cent more than the the early 2012 price.

3. --  The variety of shotgun ammunition is staggering. You can have your bird meat flavored with lead, steel, bismuth, copper, and probably a few other compounds I didn't notice.  The marketing psychology is apparent. The closer you get to one dollar per round, the better your chances of consistently splashing Canadas at 235 yards.

4. --  Chairman Bernanke's "tame" inflation to the contrary notwithstanding, a pound of Milk Bones for New Dog Libby costs $5.35 with the tax. Or would have had I not recalled that this was the price of prime beef about 18 months ago. Sorry, Sweetheart. Generics.


We're off to Rembrandt this Sunday morning to commune with others lusting for WW2-ish Teutonic blastenscheutzens.

Five of them, to be exact.

P-38 (AC44 code) 9MM-Nazi proofed
P-38 BYF/44 Code 9MM Nazi proofed
DWM LUGER-7.65MM Nazi Commercial  Eagle proofed
Mauser Broomhandle MDL.1896 .7.63 (circa 1931)
Mauser Broomhandle MDL..1896 -7.63 (circa 1928)

My partner in crime wants to bring home the Luger.

Probably because  Mom used to read "The Ugly Duckling" to me,  I've always always had a soft spot for P-38s. I suspect the prices will be prohibitive, but we'll see.

Lots of other shooty stuff being sold, most of it boring. I'll try to record and post hammer prices of the better items.

Aug 23, 2013

The Bastard King of Handguns*

It was time for a chore, pawing through the parts inventory of a deceased friend. Little on the planet will humiliate a man more. You amble through life thinking you're a pretty savvy firearms enthusiast. Then you start examining box after box and find you can confidently identify perhaps one part in 100. Toward the end you babble about whether this gizmo is for a Daisy Red Ryder or a Holland and Holland .577 Nitro Express.

I did okay on the .45 ACP stuff and actually carried away two projects. One is simple enough, a small tray of  parts which I'll try to sell for the family. The other may constitute a career.

It appeared to be about three-fourths of an AMT-frame-based  Colt Commander clone. I brought it home half-minded to try to sell it with the other parts, half-inclined to finish it up and buy it myself. That's still the unsettled state of my ambition, but the build is looking iffier and iffier.

The new aluminum frame is cut for a 4 1/4-inch barrel. The slide is a butchered reblue of  an unmarked something for a 4 and 1/4 inch barrel. Among other issues, the slide safety cut is 1/8-inch to far aft, meaning the safety can be engaged only with the gun out of battery that much. Not to mention the the barrel is .38 Super and the slide .45.

If I decide to take on the project, I'll report the geekery with photos -- not in hopes of  acquiring your admiration, merely to illustrate that there are still men who like to audition for the role of Sisyphus.


Advertisement:   If any blog buddies are interested, the parts box holds a few GI:

triggers ... recoil spring plugs ... thumb safeties ... grip safeties ... and new  Coltish checkered walnut grip panels.  Also that barrel marked "Colt  .38 Super Match" looking lightly used.

Pricing: Check Brownell's. Knock off 40 per cent. Add about $5 for the USPS. Pay by  personal check made out to the family member, not me. Email me at  --   alongfordmick aht yahoo daught kahm.


*Referring only to the Commanderish project, not the sainted JMB's concept and execution of the world's only really necessary center-fire handgun.

Aug 20, 2013

Happy Birthday, Crazy Horse

I have decided that Crazy Horse, of the Oglala Lakota people, was born in 1843.  The historians' best guesses place the year as early as 1838, as late as 1846, with the general drift in the middle of that range.  So I choose 1843 because that makes this year one of those newspaper fillers announcing a birthday ending in the "iconic" zero, in this case his 140th.

Furthermore, I have designated the precise day to be my own birth anniversary. It isn't too much of a stretch. Things got dreary in the buffalo hide lodges out in Powder River country in the Moon of the Deep Cold. After you heard the same coup-counting tales for the third time since autumn raid on the Crows, there wasn't much to do other than crook a finger at one of your wives and settle in under the sleeping robes. Nine  months later, in the Moon of the Yellowing Cottonwood, Sioux camps reverberated with papoose squalls.

I have no physical gift to offer to Curly (later Crazy Horse, also called Strange Man). Murdered at age of 34, he's beyond need of powder and lead and three-point blankets, so probably something symbolic will be appropriate.

Something honoring his memory as a three per center of his people, just as  some of us try to be among ours. Something noting that he fully accepted  and fought for the traditional libertarian life of the Teton nations. Something lamenting that it got him killed by timid and traitorous friends, even though the instrument was a blue-coat bayonet at the door of the Iron House at Fort Robinson.

Maybe I'll publish it; maybe I won't. If I do I'll title it "The Man Who Was Not a Savage."

Alert; Old Fart with Gun

Now that's cool and might start a trend . Cap the home-invading bastard and then call 911. "No hurry guys. He's bleeding out on the linoleum.We'll have a snack  for ya' when ya" get here."


Life is fairly  forgiving. You can make some whopping mistakes without becoming dead on a nice old lady's kitchen floor. Rodney Long managed it though.

He was in trouble, of course, for breaking jail, shooting a deputy sheriff, stealing the patrol car, crashing it, and leading Iowa  cops on a merry chase through the woods and fields . Had his misjudgements ended there, he might have survived to metabolize at citizen expense for decades to come.

His deanimating mistake was waking Mr. and Mrs. Mauderly in their rural home last evening and waving his pistol around for a few hours. First reports say  71-winter Jerome did the shooting. Then Carolyn, 66, made the phone call, and, if she plays true to our hospitable form,  some nice cookies for the nice young officers who had been traipsing around the section for about four days.

Today's debate resolution: Resolved: That a private citizen should never take the law into his or her own hands.

I will defend the negative.


(Lots of details still unreported.)

Aug 16, 2013

Tattoo a warning on the little bastards?

An Iowan who is quite likely to be an eligible voter went to the doctor requesting a tapeworm removal. He (she?) bought it online and popped it down, hoping to get skinny. Perfect logic. The worm would eat the excess calories from the daily triple bacon burger with extra cheese, fries, and a large chocolate shake, for breakfast.

The healer called the official state doctor who tsk-tsked to the press that eating tapeworms is a sub-optimal idea and suggested that stricter regulation may be necessary.

“I’ve heard that say 150 years ago, the proverbial snake oil medicine people would go around and, indeed, sell tapeworms as a weight loss remedy back then,” she says. “Those were the days before there was any government regulation on these things.”

Couple of things:

--The doc misses the larger problem which could, and should, henceforth be known as

--A supremely apt Internet gag hit my inbox a day or two ago: "I don't say we should kill all the stupid people. Just take all the warnings off all the labels and let the problem sort itself out."

A Pound, a Pound, My Kingdom for a Pound

Things are tough in Merrye Olde Theme Parke these days, and at first I thought this was a made-up deal -- Parliament looking for ways to stimulate the economy, specifically the enterprises of barristers, solicitors, Her Majesty's royal judges, and, probably only indirectly, the powdered wig industry.

It occurs that I was wrong, or mostly so, because the English have discovered an avid interest and much controversy in the dug-up bones of Richard III. 

I dunno, but probably, if you had asked him, he was sufficiently content to continue resting under the Leicester church  (later a parking lot) for 538 years, until some busybodies (busier than his, anyway) dug him up for a DNA swab. Yes, it was  White Rose himself. That settled, it was time to replantegenet him, and here the issue got thorny.

His relatives, including a  -- get this -- 17th great-grand-nephew* demand he be sent to York for his final resting place; or maybe just semi-final given the English propensity to seize any excuse to relieve boredom.

The issue went to a judge who said the relatives could, in fact, sue, but he really wished they wouldn't. He asked them to get together over a nice cup of tea and work it out to avoid a trail which would be, shudder, "unseemly, undignified and unedifying...". 

Just so. And there it stands for the moment, bearing in mind that we have not yet addressed the question of why Leicester wants so badly to keep the majestic bones. AP to the final-paragraph rescue:

Leicester is hoping for a tourism boost from its association with the king, and is building a 4 million-pound ($6.3 million) visitor center near the spot where his remains were found.

Gee, so it is about money. In which case may your American cousin, suggest something? Thank you.

Stuff him. Put him on a flatcar and roll him around the countryside, charging a few pence a peek. Every week you can count the take; dole out a little here, a little there. You know, something like Jumbo.

Aug 15, 2013

White man speak with forked tongue; Red man, too

If you're visiting Mt. Rushmore from the east or south, and if you enjoy pale blue highways, you could easily wind up in Whiteclay, Nebraska where the population is in danger of seriously declining.

Whiteclay and its 14 citizens exist to sell booze to the Indians, specifically to the Pine Ridge Lakota-Oglala people. Federal law makes the huge South Dakota scrub land dry. Thirsty descendants of the Crazy Horse days must cross the southern border of the reservation (and the South Dakota-Nebraska boundary) for legal fire water.

And do they ever. Is there any other world population center of 14 which sells 13,000 cans of beer a day?   However, if Whiteclay were a corporation, speculators would be selling it short. The Oglala people have just voted the reservation wet, which Washington "gives" them the right to do.

(It's as though the northern forest Indians in 1800 or so had finally decided to distill their own whiskey, sending the beaver-hungry Hudson Bay Company  English and John Jacob Astor scurrying for new trade goods. Astor, in fact, did quite well smuggling opium.)

The contentious election offered not one original idea. The arguments would have been instantly familiar to the white eyes of a century ago: Who should run the country, Carry Nation or the East Boston Kennedys? The undertones were also hoary. "Indians can't handle booze" is no more than an iteration of the19th Century  "Back people can't...".

Even the politics of the Pine Ridge vote owe a nod to the Chicago Machine. Disputed ballots outnumbered the counted vote margin, and when tribal officials reviewed them, they adjudged a sufficient number valid to, ta-da, ...

...Take the booze profits away from those 14 interlopers down in Whiteclay and transfer them to, (again a fanfare) ...

Tribal officials.

That body of politicans promises to use profits from its new and exclusive booze franchise to improve education and perform other notable miracles to make reservation life wonderful at last.

Of course the  Pine Ridge Paradise will be delayed for a few months or so.  After all, it takes a while to appoint new firewater bureaucrats and form up the several fresh official committees to maladminster the transition from lamentable drunkenness in Whiteclay to socially useful intoxication in Pine Ridge.


I accept that this will be construed by a semi-literate few as racist. No personal problem here because I've said for years that when my fantasies aren't urging me to be Henry Morgan, they compel me to be Crazy Horse, himself.

The point addresses political power as a club to enforce someone else's personal morals. It suggests that if scientists placed a random sample of red politicians and white politicians under the most powerful electron microscope, they would be hard-pressed to find one iota of difference, either in hypocritical motivation or in methods.

Aug 14, 2013

Grizzly Grub

An  AP story on the big bears of Katmai quotes a young lady psychologist on her mind-blowing honeymoon there in Brown Bear Heaven.

“There’s a bear in the water, and there’s a bear coming down the beach ... and then, we were coming in to eat and there was a bear running by, and there were three bears just over there by the river. So, that was amazing to have it so accessible.”

A mis-attribution? Actually, I think that's what the bears said.

Aug 13, 2013

Travis McGee said...

"A truly lazy man is always misunderstood." I qualify in spirit and even grammatically under all three modifiers and the object of the verb. No problem. I'm used to it.

It's when I break the pattern that my fellow Smugleye-On-Lake-ites really get confused. I half-expected someone to call in a dustoff  at sunrise when they spotted me stacking firewood and titivating the grounds for all I was worth.

Everything before eight was quiet work, then noisy gear was deployed  -- the little blade tractor,  leaf blower, power washer.  Aside from the firewood and general pretty-up, the driveway is graded; the mailbox approach is rut-free and somewhat leveled, and the moss and grime has been blasted from the seldom-used but highly visible guest-cabin deck. There's more, but I'd sure hate to be accused of bragging.

It's amazing how much a man can accomplish  before 10:30 a.m. with a drastically reduced cable television input. And when he decides that Blogger has no authority to demand that he write something every day, before breakfast.

Aug 10, 2013

Travis McGee is sad

He mentioned her more than once. She got him through one lonely night aboard The Busted Flush, balladeering in Spanish with Trio Los Panchos.  She made many another 60s pop/jazz star sound like a soloist at the swing choir recital.

RIP, Edie Gorme.

Aug 7, 2013

Six weeks agoe I cudnt evin spell gunsmith

...Undoubtedly more than you want to know about that First Series Colt Woodsman Match Target that moved in a few weeks ago, the one who didn't bring a magazine along.  So sue me.

I mentioned in the second post down that I found an old High Standard HD mag for it, along with a similar empty body. I  claimed I could make the follower and find some sort of workable spring.

Half done in less than 45 minutes.

The left follower is the new one. It looked correct and measured correct. Just to make sure, I installed it in the mag with the spring. Works fine.

Two complications remain. A spring could turn up in one of my "miscellaneous" boxes during my next paw-through. If not, almost any from a gun-show-junk  .22LR magazine should be adaptable.

The retaining pin will give me more trouble.  JMB designed it as slip-in. The groove under the head holds things together by engaging the body tin. There's no lathe here, so I'm leaning toward tapping the hole for a 6-32 machine screw. Might work. Might get a better idea.

The new follower began life as a steering arm from a junked-out Dixon ZTR42 mower. Most of it went to Ken's iron pile, but I squirreled away a few likely looking bits of steel for just such an emergency gun repair. Because I live a pure and virtuous life, the handle happened to be the exact thickness of the factory follower, saving me some tedious surface grinding.

Tools involved: Makita angle grinder. Baldor bench grinder. One-inch vertical belt sander obviously built by a Mattell subsidiary. Twelve-inch muslin polishing wheel on  big old 3450 rpm Craftsman table saw motor. Chinese drill press. (Twenty minutes after you drill a hole you want to make another one.) Couple of mill bastards.

Technique: Use the factory part for a pattern. Cut your new one a few thousandths oversize. Trim to fit. (That's what the bastards are for.) Shine her up a little.

Aug 5, 2013

Tough men, sick cows, and good horses.

At least Jinglebob's horse was nice enough not to break his glasses.

It's a report from the dirty end of the food chain, and you might want to mention it to your city friends who still think their hamburgers originate in Ronald McDonald's back room.

Aug 4, 2013

Open Carry

Being an After-Action Report on the Sioux City loophole where, uncharacteristically, I open carried.

I carried it in a wrong holster, a fine old piece of Bianchi basket-stamped leather built for and home to a Ruger RST4. The pony barrel  stuck out a couple of inches, and the high sight made drawing a two-handed comedy. I was no candidate for a Badass-of-the-Show award.

It was the only handy sheath that came close to accommodating the Colt. I used it because we planned to be there for a couple of hours, and I needed both hands free to coon-finger vendor guns while seeking what I really wanted.

(Maybe I was also dreaming of tangible sympathy, the kindness of stangers.  Some Christian soul would notice the empty magazine well, empathize with my anguish, and offer me one for a song, of which I have two available,  Kumbayah and Wabash Cannon Ball.)  

Finding a proper 1st Series Match Target clipazine was the objective. Finding one that would simply work was the fallback aim.  Any of you who have performed the drill (Hey, you gotta magazine to fit my old {name-that-gun}?)  know it's crucial to have the gun at hand. The vendor's word, even if he's dead honest and dead sure, is not to be taken literally.

The Colt search was fruitless, but I nodded reverently toward the final resting place of John M. Browning for his decision to make the same bullet holder fit both High Standard HDs and his pre-war Colts. A hobby dealer had one and one-half of them.  Mister Complete fed eight fast ones faultlessly upon testing last evening. Miss Half needs a follower -- already roughed out from a scrap of steel -- and a spring.

Back to the open-carry theme. Unless I'm in the field it always make me feel a little silly,  as though I'm trying to announce that my junk is more impressive than yours.

But not as silly as one portly young fellow should have felt as he strode the aisles with camo leg holster, leather combatish shooting vest, and a tactical quick-open stabber clipped to a pocket of his black cargo pants.  The empty holster marred the image. We figured he had spent all his money on tactical accessories and was still saving up for an actual pistol.

Aug 2, 2013

Altogether now, kids, "The Itsy-Bitsy Hoplophobe..."

As my friend John of the GMA mocks the anti-gun statists: "Well, whaddya know. They do have a playbook."  He found it at the blog of our dependable Robb Allen.

Even the "executive summary"  is gagworthy. For instance: "Advocates for gun violence prevention win the logical debate, but lose on more emotional 

Right. After every headline shooting, the antigun forces take to their research cubicles, calmly compile facts and responsible opinions and historical references, then soberly present them to a waiting world in carefully worded white papers. It would be unheard of for them to bawl and snivel all over the teevee audience, beshitting better minds with temper tantrums and crying jags that would get a pre-schooler sent off to the special needs room.

I recommend a read on this. Not that we didn't already know it, but it confirms that   the marching orders to the Pelosi crowd order them to go for the gut, and anything like honest understanding be damned.

Aug 1, 2013

I got the power, Baby

So you wanna go for a ride in my shiny wheels?


It's about a magic power washer, a cheapish one from a big box, about seven years old.  I used it for a few years.  In 2010 or '11 It developed a bad leak somewhere in the important machinery, shrouded in a plastic that would have frustrated Houdini.  No pressure. Trashed. I gave it up for lost and stashed it away. I kept meaning to haul it to the landfill.

This afternoon I got to feeling shame over the appearance of two of the Camp Jiggleview VEE-hicles, the command mini-van and the mobile assault wagon  carrying my Texsun field headquarters.

Generally, since the death of the washer, I've been counting on precipitation to keep them titivated. It hasn't rained in a month, and some wags have been writing undignified notes on the windshields.

For no logical reason I decided, what the Hell, to hook up the old washer and see what happened. I suppose I figured I'd make a quick guess about the problem and devote 30  minutes, no more, to an attempted fix. My confidence level was zero, and the plan was mostly an excuse to put off a tedious hand-wash.

There is something going on around here, and maybe it's true that all is better when you ignore reality and count on Barry's unicorns to breathe well-being into a man and all he owns.  Hook up the hose, plug it in. Instant power washing, as though it was new, and still going strong when I shut down after an hour.


I have a Remington 12-gauge 1900 double that has been driving me nuts for two years. Can't make it go bang -- or even click -- despite by-the-book assembly of good parts. I am going to set it exactly where the power washer was and wait two years. I'll let you know