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If you stay proficient at ejecting live rounds, the rifle reload practice takes care of itself.

Wanted one for a long time.

Arizona says..” We rarely get rain and snow...” Mother Nature says..”Hold my beer!”

While work in the bar with dancers we called them pasties...Some came with tassels...Good dancers could go both directions.... But I guess this not what we are looking for...Just remembering my younger days.... Texas Lizard

First let me say I'm glad this site is back to normal.....or as normal as can be expected considering the people that one meets here. Second, this part of blazing hot Arizona has about a foot of snow and more falling. Not much by most standards, but this is Arizona. Winter Range is a non-starter for us this year and reports have it mostly washed by torrential rains anyway I just came back from checking my mail and had to tell you all about the most unusual and amazing sight I've seen in ages: a full Iditarod-style dog sled with a man bundled against the weather driving three booted GREYHOUNDS in full competitive harness. The dogs seemed to be having as much fun as the driver, pulling the sled along at a great clip. Every time I think nothing can amaze me any more something like this happens. Think dry and warm and it will happen.....in about three more weeks.

For those of you who say there’s no need to practice this skill because we don’t do it anymore, you couldn’t be more wrong. I just arrived at Winter Range a few hours ago. I’m now going through the Shooter’s Handbook. The very first stage of our national championship has a rifle reload on the clock. Practice this stuff people. You need these skills.

The Night Fred Shot the Cook Those of us who lived in the Kappa Phi Delta house lived well, indeed. There was always good company about; guys with shared interests, ranging from sports to poetry, theater to hunting, philosophy to politics. Shared knowledge for academic pursuits, including a file cabinet filled with several years’ worth of term papers and reviews of mid-term and final exams and profiles of professors. And of course, social activities. We were only a staircase commute to the legendary frat parties. And food. Food! Not only did we have a well-stocked pantry, but when school was in session we had a staff dinner cook. Sunday through Thursday evenings (holidays excepted!) we could count on a most marvelous meal served at six-thirty. All we had to do was check our name on the meal list and we’d have a spot reserved at table. Guests were always welcome, with notice, and for a nominal $2 fee would share in good home cooking. Sundays were always the best, with fifteen to twenty (or more) guys and guests sharing good fellowship as well as the fanciest meal of the week. Now, the cooks were usually students. And, as students, they would “serve” for one or two semesters before class schedules or even graduation pulled them away. These co-eds were more than happy to spend a couple of hours a day hanging out in the testosterone-soaked atmosphere of the Edwardian mansion full of jocks and scholars. And, although most indeed did possess the necessary skills, occasionally we’d get one whose interests extended beyond (or in rare cases totally ignored) the nutritional needs of the brothers and pledges. Needless to say, there were one or two whose primary mission seemed to be the pursuit of the coveted “M R S” degree. Consequently, we had a fairly consistent turnover. And over the course of a few years we got to experience an interesting variety of foods. Now, with birds, not all fly at the same altitude. So with the abilities of part-time fraternity cooks. Some were better than others for sure! After forty-five plus years, I don’t remember all their names. But the young lady who had the position when I was a pledge – fall semester, 1969 – consistently produced wholesome “comfort food” meals; pot roast and stew were standards. There followed a couple of girls who were reasonably decent cooks. Kept the guys fed, but neither they nor their meals were remarkable. Then there were those who were memorable. Shelley! Fairly tall, blonde, borderline gorgeous in a wholesome fashion, with a sweet personality to match. I doubt anyone remembered anything she cooked, but would swear that it was delicious! Visiting girlfriends were always sure to sit possessively close to their boyfriends during supper. Every pledge had a crush on this “older woman,” who must have been every bit of twenty-two. Oh, and the Gloria semester. Gloria! Petite… cute… attractive in her petite and cute way of wearing see-through blouses with floral-print undergarments. Make that cute in a “kid sister kind-of-way,” which I’m quite sure was not her intent. And although she was rather accomplished at turning out Italian dishes, she would literally bring along an assistant when the menu called for traditional American fare. Evidently the assistant’s “compensation” was the chance of landing a Kappa Phi man. The English girl was okay – sometimes. But the typical San Francisco male palate of the period was not in tune with kidney pie, bubble-and-squeak, or mutton. But she was pleasant; we managed. The best of all was Bonnie! That lady could COOK! She was not a student, and a bit older than most of us - probably late twenties. I’m not sure, but I think Half-Breed Pete came across her while grocery shopping – one of his duties as Kappa Phi Delta “House Mother.” Anyway, her meals were the stuff of Kappa Phi Delta legend – appetizers, main courses, and desserts! Desserts… remembering the time she made a batch of “special” brownies for her own use that somehow got loose… oh, but that’s another story. But, again, not all cooks fly at the same altitude… Before Pete took on the role of House Mother, we had Freddie E. And before Bonnie, we had Miss Vivian as Cook. But Miss Vivian was not a very good cook. In fact, the mere memory of her tenure makes me shudder and throw up a bit into the back of my throat. Not only were some of her dishes unrecognizable, even if arguably edible, but she was not exactly a fount of sweetness. Truthfully, her demeanor tended to be vapid at best, and went downhill from there, slipping to borderline surly. Might’ve even breached that border on occasion. She had to go. As difficult as it was for the mild-mannered, the “live-and-let-live” House Mother of the time, Freddie E., had to let her go. Fire her. It had never before been done, but as the Alumni Association’s in-house representative, the sad duty fell to Freddie. Besides… if he didn’t, he might risk being tarred and feathered his own self. And as I recall, he was highly allergic to feathers. So he did it. Advised her that her services were no longer needed. We were saved! Even if we had to share KP for a spell, at least we’d know what we’d be eating and know it wouldn’t kill us. B’sides, we had a few pledges we could press into service! Unfortunately for all, Miss Vivian would not stay fired. We never knew whether she didn’t understand what being fired meant, or considered that her mission was incomplete, as there may still a few fellas remaining who had not experienced cramps or land-based sea-sickness. Most likely because many of us had learned to skip house meals and dine elsewhere – attendance for Sunday dinner had dropped from twenty or more to as few as five or six – poor souls (like myself!) who didn’t have local parents or girlfriends to mooch off of. Anyway, even after her second firing, she was back and cooking – if you could call it that. Until that fateful Sunday evening… Fred G. (not to be confused with House Mother Freddie E.) and Jerry returned from another unsuccessful duck hunting foray. They were already tired and a bit grumpy, and when they walked through the front door and experienced the wafting fragrance of Vivian’s latest creation, they exchanged a glance. Jerry commented “Well… she’s back again. I can smell it. She’s up there, hunched over her cauldron…” They quietly climbed the stairs, up to their fourth-floor “Chalet Room,” under the rafters. Dropping their gear, they plopped onto the edges of their bunks and glared. “Dammit, Fred… what’re we gonna do? Eighty bucks a month room and board shouldn’t mean we have to EAT boards! I can’t take it anymore!” “I know, Jer… we gotta do somethin’. Let’s think about this a minnit…” Well, they thought. And they pondered. And they came up with a plan. A dandy of a plan! They were gonna be heroes! Half expecting the worst, on the way back from duck hunting they’d stopped at some hamburger joint to fortify themselves against the possibility – likelihood – of Miss Vivian having returned. Not only were they glad they had, but fortuitously, they discovered that they had a bunch of extra ketchup packets stuffed in their jacket pockets. Just the thing! Ten minutes later, Miss Vivian was in the kitchen. Hunched over her cauldron, undoubtedly focused on adding a half cup of spider web and some tincture of newt, when she became aware of a commotion. She paused in her labors, and looked up curiously as the kerfuffle grew nearer. Fred and Jerry were making their way down the stairs. Although she at first could not make out what they were saying, the argument was loud and becoming increasingly bitter as they approached and entered the kitchen. When they came through the door, Miss Vivian backed away from the stove and into a corner, large wooden spoon grasped in her hand and her mouth and eyes opened wide with bewilderment as the two young men quarreled. “I saw her first, and you WILL stay away from her!” Fred demanded. “Like hell! Debbie likes ME! I danced with her at that last party! I got her phone number! And I’m gonna call her and I’m gonna take her out and there ain’t nuthin’ YOU can do about it!” “Dammit, Jerry! You STAY AWAY FROM HER! She’s gonna be MINE!” “No way! You’re just a jackass – I’m goin’ for it and you can’t stop me!” “Oh, can’t I?” Fred shouted. “Like HELL I can’t!” And with that, he pulled up the small rifle he’d been carrying and, pointing at Jerry, snapped off three shots. Bang! Bang! Bang! Miss Vivian gave a short, squeaky scream with each Bang! She dropped the dripping spoon and stared in shock as Jerry’s hand clutched his chest. Red oozed from between his fingers as he slumped to the floor. His eyes fluttered, he gave a last, rattling moan, then lay still and silent. She screamed. A pitiable, wavering wail. Shocked at his deed, Fred lowered the old gun and dropped to his knees at Jerry’s side. “Oh NO! Jerry! I’m SORRY! Ohhhh…. Jerry… Jerry… Please be okay… Jerry…” Miss Vivian pointed at Fred. Accusingly, she screamed “You! You! You shot him! You KILLED him! YOU KILLED HIM!” Without taking his eyes off Jerry, he answered, “But I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to… Oh Jerry. Oh Brother… Please… I’m sorry!” Miss Vivian continued to point at Fred and scream. “YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED HIM!” Fred again said, “But I didn’t mean to…” One more time, she screamed “you KILLED him!” Finally, Fred looked at her. “I did. I didn’t mean to but I did. And… and…” his eyes tightened as he focused on the shocked cook. “And YOU are the only one who knows!” With sudden comprehension, her horror reached a new level. As did her screams and screeches, which could be heard fading into the distance as she bolted out the kitchen door, down the stairs, out the front door, down the street and around the corner, decreasing in pitch with the down Doppler effect as she accelerated. “HAR Har har har HAR…!” Jerry sat up, gasping for breath as he howled with laughter, wiping the ketchup from his t-shirt with a dish towel. He and Fred supported each other, both guffawing with vigor, tears the size of road apples coursing down their cheeks, Fred still holding the blank-loaded ancient .22 carbine. We’ll never know how long they would have laughed if they hadn’t been suddenly interrupted. “FREEZE! Drop that gun!” They both looked up and froze as they found themselves facing the muzzles of revolvers in the hands of two of San Francisco’s Finest. Fred dropped the gun. They both raised their hands. “WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON AROUND HERE?” One of the officers demanded. Fred snerkled… Jerry grinned… and they started laughing again, which thoroughly baffled the Boys-in-Blue. “What IS going on here?” they demanded again. “Oh… nothing, really, Officers…” said Fred. “Bull Bleep!” rejoined Officer Number One. “We just were driving up Oak Street when some lady went screaming past us like she’d seen a banshee! I had to chase her two blocks before I could catch her… and she said there was a murder here! We have her downstairs, safe in the back of our cruiser. Now, for the last time, WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON HERE?” Well, between bursts and spurts of giggles and laughs, Fred and Jerry shared the story of Miss Vivian, the Cook-Who-Would-Not-Stay-Fired, and their solution to the problem. By the time they finished their tale, there were four guys sitting on the kitchen floor, streaming tears and howling with laughter – two still in partial duck-hunting garb (except for Jerry’s “bloody” t-shirt) and two in blue. Eventually, they all recovered to the point of functionality. And the two policemen recruited themselves as accomplices: “Tell ya what, fellas! We’ll take her home. And we’ll tell her that we’re gonna call the coroner and file the reports, but that the shooter got away and is still at large. We’ll tell her that the neighborhood just ain’t safe, and it’d be a darned good idea to NEVER come back here. Bet she’ll stay fired this time!” She did. * * * * *

I used to practice rifle reloads a lot more frequently than I wanted to. Randy

12 gauge coach gun with Holy Black. Even if you miss with the shot column, you might cook the varmint.

Nipple covers? Isn't that what a bra is for?

I saw a woman give an interview where she said, and i quote: "A mother shouldn't have to worry about her child getting killed every time they rob somebody"

Marlin 94 is much lighter than any '73. Way stronger action than the '73. The M/94 is the KISS of all lever rifles, and the easiest to maintain. You can also clean the barrel from the chamber end with ease. OLG

Pics or it didn't happen.

I thought that was for bears. Bell let's them know it's dinner time and pepper spray in case they want some seasoning.

Reloading is still well & truly in play down -under, always somewhere that will have a one in each pistol or one in the rifle..don't mind them myself & everyone has to do it so all's equal at the end of the day.

If you want to know who to blame for all the problems in the Middle East, blame the Brits and the French after WWI! After the Ottoman Turkish Empire was defeated, a handful of "diplomats" sat down at a table with a map. They simply drew lines on the map to divide up the areas that would come under British and French control, without regard to the ethnic groups that were also divided up so that different groups had to live with other groups whom they hated! Thus, Sunni Muslims wound up with Shiite Muslims in a "nation" that became known as Iraq. Over on the Indian continent, Hindus and Muslims, along with Sikhs got pushed together. That didn't work out, and ultimately West Pakistan and East Pakistan were split from India proper. That didn't work too well, so you got Bangladesh and Pakistan, plus Afghanistan! Back over in Messypotamia, Kurdistan got split between modern-day Turkey, Syria and Iraq, which is another mess of fish! And people wonder why we have what we have in that are of the world today!

He was always shooting to the side of the bed. If you are shooting toward the foot of the bed, it would pay to pull the gun out from under the covers, and watch where your toes are!

Two major things will keep properly loaded rounds from popping out of the magazine into the lifter on a 73. 1 - dirty mag tube, weak spring, dirty follower, or a binding of cartridges in the tube. The zig-zagging of cartridges in the tube rarely keeps rounds from popping out of tube, so let's forget about that for now. Clean the mag tube, the spring, the follower. Lightly lube all the parts with just a touch of oil or waxy lube. Check that you have enough spring pressure to get a single cartridge out of tube - that is usually the weakest the spring applies pressure to the cartridges. 2 - the lifter (carrier) is not going all the way down and there's a bit of a ledge keeping the round in the mag tube. With lever closed, examine that the bottom of carrier is flush with bottom of the frame. If not, crud in the action or a bent lever or lifter arm may be a culprit. If carrier is going all the way down, check for burrs on the chamber in the carrier into which the cartridge must slide. IF that doesn't let you find a problem, then get several dummy cartridges (or load some cases leaving dead primers in and just load a slug, no powder). Fill up magazine, work action, and each time, carefully lay rifle down, open loading gate half way and see if you DON'T see the base of a cartridge right inside. When you can recreate the condition of a cartridge not getting fully into that carrier, shine a flashlight up into the carrier's chamber and see how far the base of cartridge has come in, if any at all. That should tell you where it's hanging up, and give you more to go about what to fix. You can also look down from top of action with a light, looking around the bolt down to the cartridge in the carrier to see much of the same thing from a different view. Most likely, it's a dirty mag tube. If you have never cleaned the "Uberti factory rust" out of the mag tube, it's almost guaranteed that is the source of the problem. Good luck, GJ

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2019/02/20/supreme-court-states-cant-impose-excessive-fees-fines-forfeitures/2919411002/ Good. Also good that the leftists on the Court seem to be reversing their arguments that supported Kelo. Also interesting that anti-gun RBG called on McDonald and confirmed that ALL the rights are fundamental civil rights and, basically, need strict scrutiny. This also reinforces :"The very purpose of a Bill of Rights was to withdraw certain subjects from the vicissitudes of political controversy, to place them beyond the reach of majorities and officials and to establish them as legal principles to be applied by the courts. One's right to life, liberty, and property, to free speech, a free press, freedom of worship and assembly, and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections." : Robert H. Jackson, US Supreme Court Justice West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette, 319 U.S. 624 (1943)

Before all the jokes start filling up this thread, I would suggest you look into Vinyl Vacuum Cap / screw protectors, that you can trim down to fit over your nipples. They can be found in the hardware section of most hardware stores.

You could wear a little bell and carry pepper spray

Even I have my own sense of humor.

Good news! Rain is supposed to quit late Saturday. GW

Resistance is futile.

Pretty hard to beat this with free S&H. https://www.starlinebrass.com/brass-cases/44-Special-Brass/ OLG

Here is a Winchester Miroku out of the box above Winchester Miroku with Pioneer short stroke kit. So little to gain for all the expense and trouble.

TYREL, Indeed, Clean Shot is a VERY good powder for the C45S, especially when using the 160 grainer. Here are my Chronograph results, using my 3.5" barrel Vaquero's. All velocities listed are the average of 10 shots. ALL bullets were 160 grain. Clean Shot 4.6 gr. 640 fps Clean Shot 4.8 gr. 677 fps Clean Shot 5.0 gr. 713 fps Here is the actual comment I also noted in my notes: "All loads had some minor powder residue. No obvious pressure signs. All cases extracted well. Many of the cases freely fell out. Cases were clean and showed little or no burn marks. Favorite load: 4.6 grains Clean shot meters great." Call me if ya got any questions: 865 / 696-1996 ..........Widder

Since you're posting Jeep porn, here's a few more. The CJ8 was my baby many years ago in Arizona. Sadly in a moment of stupidity, I sold it after moving here to Indiana. The wife got her dream Jeep in 2017. It's a 2017 Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon Hardrock Edition. She has since bought an electric convertible top for it. My baby is the 2006 Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon. It is a unicorn and I think something like only 1,600 units like mine were made. And it currently only has 16,000 miles.

Let us remember the Hammer on a Cap Gun needs enough forward travel to reset the Bolt. When making little nipple covers, ya gotta allow for that forward travel. Eventually, the title plastic thingie will get pounded down and the hammer will whack the nipple (bad juju). If you absolutely MUST dry fire you Cap Guns (not recommended anyway) take a few extra minutes and pull the nipples. No matter what you do, eventually, damage will occur.

Not me and not Woody Harrelson especially!! I know they're pretty much all anti-gun but he's one of the worst! No thank you, I'll pass! Sometimes you just have to stand by something you believe in with a passion!

If pp finds out they freeze both accounts for 90 days. You’ll spend hours on the phone pleading with 5 different people trying to get your money out and then close your account. All some buyer has to say is he didn’t get his gun or something else and bam the jig is up.

Like many others on here have said it's not always about cost. I reload shotshells because I want a light shot that doesn't kill my shoulder. Is it cheaper - no, is it hard to do - no, can you get the load you want - yes. I've got a MEC Sizemaster and even though it's a single stage it's fast enough for me.

Jim - Whatever you do: "Don't slam the doors." Church Key

Maybe the 5lb containers don't sell as well as the other choices.

I think reading English is just as likely to have thrown them off.

You sure got that right, John! I keep coming back to the Kingston Trio's song, "They're rioting in Africa, there's strife in Iran. What nature doesn't do to us will be done by our fellow man!"

Ms. Allie Mo: Still trying to acquire funding to build the wall fence! Actually we already have a fence which is chain link. Squirrels use the giant oak tree branches to breach the yard. Armadillos dig under the fence. Rabbits, if you can believe it, can actually squeeze through the chain link fence!

I knew just what he was talking about when he said "Ring Knocker". I was just a lowly enlisted man but there were more than a few ring knockers in the nuclear field. But not all of the grads of the aforementioned illustrious school of higher knowledge were that way. We had a division officer that someone told me that he was a grad of said institution. He was leaving to go to another duty station and as I was saying goodbye I mentioned that I heard a vicious rumor about him being a grad. He said that it was true and I said that I would not have thought that he was. He asked why and I said because he was not an a**hole. He laughed and I said my goodbye.

That would be a SDQ

It appears The Highwaymen is scheduled to debut on March 29, 2019, on NETFLIX. That's good. I have Netflix. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Highwaymen_(film) .

I don’t go to the theater buy I do have Netflix.

I could have bought a new in the box 1897 Win for $12 when I was a kid. Imis others also