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Or people who drive on my ass when I’m driving slow in the left lane.

Rye continued with his rangering and occasionally stopped in Stone Creek to say howdy. He wound up in Tucson and met a beautiful Mexican lady named Rosa. The sheriff position was open and the sheriff they had was going to retire. Jack Beauchamp, was the sheriff's deputy and decided to run for sheriff. He was well known in town but not always for good deeds. He was known to use the brothels a little too much and treated the ladies of the night pretty rough. He never showed up at church and always had a slight smell of liquor on his breath. People didn't care if he drank, heck everyone did but it was frowned on if he was on duty. Rosa helped Rye put together a campaign for sheriff. She had posters printed up and bragged to everyone about her man. She fell deeply for Rye and it kind of scared him. He had never been this involved with a lady before. She was beautiful with long black hair and the deepest dark brown eyes he'd ever seen. He was pretty much mesmerized by her. As the campaign rolled along, Rye and Jack had words and not any civil. Jack was jealous of Rye. Who was he to come into a town that he's been the deputy sheriff of and run against him. Rye was an outsider. Jack hated Rye and as the campaign rolled on it became obvious to everyone. That turned people against Jack and besides Rye was an outgoing, friendly sort. He played piano some in the saloon and also played some guitar at a couple church services along with the piano player and choir. People were flabbergasted by him tuning the pianos in town. Rye soon became popular with most of the town. One night as Rye walked Rosa home from a nice dinner they had. Jack stopped him. He reeked of whiskey and staggered some. "You should just take that greaser lady with you and get out of town before something bad happens", said Jack. Rye scooted Rosa off to the side and cold cocked Jack without even saying a word. He staggered and got his balance and came after Rye. He was met with a kick in the shins and another good solid punch to the jaw. Rye grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the gut as hard as he could. Jack stumbled and fell over holding his stomach. Rye left him there and hurried Rosa to her house where she lived with her mother and father and two younger brothers. Rosa was shaken up and Rye said, "Don't worry darlin', I've been dealing with punks like this for as long as I can remember. Everything will be fine. He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a gentle kiss and she smiled and went in the house, as she was closing the door she blew him a kiss.

I've always like the manual indexing of the 550, when something doesn't go right like a cracked case or crushed case or whatever, nothing moves until YOU move it! It's plenty fast for my needs.

One Sunday a cowboy went to church. When he entered, he saw that he and the preacher were the only ones present. The preacher asked the cowboy if he wanted him to go ahead and preach. The cowboy said, “I’m not too smart, but if I went to feed my cattle and only one showed up, I’d feed him.” So the minister began his sermon. One hour passed, then two hours, then two-and-a-half hours. The preacher finally finished and came down to ask the cowboy how he liked the sermon. The cowboy answered slowly, “Well, I’m not very smart, but if I went to feed my cattle and only one showed up, I sure wouldn’t feed him all the hay.” (I do believe that if only one of his kine showed up he'd go try to find out why the others weren't there)

We lived through it like the rest of the world. We supplied everything for the war effort long before we were drawn into the actual conflict. Whole units of aircraft and pilots were involved in voluntary action and support. Our shipping was under constant attack, almost from the very START of hostilities!! It wasn’t official, but we were involved almost from the first shot fired.

“Wild Bunch Action Shooting 101” probably would have been a good title for this episode. Enjoy! And let me know what y’all think...

Well, I got one done and it came out great in my humble opinion. Used the 5/64 drill bit and kept the factory end showing. The pix don't do it much justice! It pops caps, we'll see how well they work this weekend. The pin fit tight so I used Std & Bearing mount to keep it in. Looks like good factory work, no file marks or anything. Let's hope I can do as well on the second. Not bad for a Jorgenson clamp and cordless drill.

I thought that the problem with The Onion was that while it is obviously a satire site, it is often more accurate that the NY Times, CNN, et alia.

The problem with The Onion is the people who actually believe it.

Calamity Kris called a meeting in the back of her shop for all the watch volunteers. Uno Mas was in attendance as well. Word of Mathias Gardner's murder had already spread through town. People were on edge and wanted to know what was being done about it. Calamity assured everyone Sheriff Cody was working on plans for a posse to arrest Zeb Gardner and would make sure he was brought to justice. In the mean time, he would like us to begin watches again. Farmer Johnson jumped up and shouted "I lost a lot of planting time and crops because of these watches. I can't do that again. I have a family to feed and cattle to raise. I NEED these crops." Calamity nodded in agreement. "I completely understand Mr. Johnson. Please feel free to go back to your farm and your family. I wish you the best." Farmer Johnson grabbed his hat and stomped out of the store. "If anyone else wishes to leave, you are welcome to do so." Calamity stated. "I can't blame you for wanting to be with you families and homesteads. This is a difficult task and it takes a lot of time away from home." No one in the room rose. "If you wish to speak with me in private, I will be available after the meeting" Calamity stated. From there on, plans were discussed on positions for the watches and the schedule. We would begin the watches on Friday evening, allowing the volunteers time to get things situated in their respective homes. After the meeting, Clara approached Calamity. At the same time, Uno Mas was approaching but left a respectable distance to allow Calamity and Clara to chat. Clara was worried. The worry of the towns people really hurt her business. She wasn't sure how long she would be able to keep the cafe open. Calamity assured her "You were there for me when I needed help. I will be there for you. Sheriff Cody believes things will be over quickly but he wants to make sure we're all safe, especially Doc Ward. Cody is sure Zeb will target Doc and wants to make sure he and Sarah Jane are protected." Clara gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. "Do you think Zeb Gardner will really try to harm them?" Clara exclaimed. "Yes most certainly" Calamity stated. "Most certainly". Clara paled and said "I will do what I can to help". "Thank you my dear friend, thank you" Calamity said grasping Clara's hand in hers and patting it gently. Uno Mas waited outside while Calamity closed up her shop. As they walked away, Uno asked "Do you need any help with the watches? I would like to help and it sounds like you could use some more people." "I appreciate the help" Calamity said. "We could use more people. The towns folk are weary of this and I understand. I wish it were over too. Unfortunately, we have to keep everyone safe so we must do what we must do." "Please let me take Farmer Johnson's watches on the bank roof" Uno asked. "I'm pretty handy with a rifle. I've hunted many a deer at long range." Calamity agreed. "Ok. You can take Farmer Johnson's watches." "Please be careful up there." Uno assured her "I will be."

I love this place...

Politicians are not interested in crime, nor in safety. They are interested only in absolute power and control of every aspect of their subjects' lives. Any claims to the contrary are just more lies from politicians. For decades, the government has refused to enforce the existing Federal gun laws that would put away dangerous thugs with guns. The Marxist Left wants ever-more new gun control laws they will never enforce. Eventually they will call for all-out confiscation because "nothing short of total confiscation will work". I propose for all intentional firearm crimes, give the perpetrator full due process and swift execution upon conviction. Intentional firearm crimes are those proven beyond any shadow of doubt: • Armed Home Invasion • Armed Robbery • Armed Rape • Armed Car Jacking • Deliberate Shootings and Attempted Shootings Give the perpetrator full due process under the law. No delays. No lawyer tricks. Find him guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. Then immediately execute his sorry ass. It matters not if the perpetrator had a bad childhood, is stoned out of his mind, was raped by his priest or has 12 personalities. Summarily execute him after full due process and conviction. There should be zero tolerance for *ALL* intentional firearm crimes. The smart ones will be deterred, and the stupid ones will only do it once. Strike One and You're Done. As a free people, Americans have the Constitutional right to be armed. Along with this right is taking responsibility for their own actions with firearms.

Word travels fast. The orphanage was not even built and we had our first two, a boy and a girl, both eight years old. The boy's name was Kris, and he didn't submit to orphanhood: he decided he wanted to stay close to me, and I think given a chance he'd have forge welded himself to me. Kris -- he pronounced his name with the barest shade of a trill, like he was flipping the K off his tongue -- was blond haired, blue eyed and fair skinned, freckles running almost a band across his face: he was active, and I put his energies to use, and the two of us would muck stalls together, we'd split wood together or shape wood together, he was quick to learn and eager to learn -- I think it's more likely it wasn't an eagerness to learn, but rather the eagerness of a boy who'd found a man who would actually pay attention to him. I've known a number of boys who didn't have a father, or didn't have a good one, and I recall one telling me that a bad Dad was better than no Dad. I had a really good father, and this young fellow didn't have any. Besides, few things flatter a grown man's heart any more than the careful attention of a boy. Unless, of course, it's a pretty girl that hangs on your every word, but I don't really want to talk about that. Anna Mae does that and I wish to content myself with the wife of my ... I can't say my youth, but I'm nowhere near old age. I'm also wandering again. I had to build my own son's crib, so while Kris and I were at it, we built one for Doc and Sarah Jane. Kris helped, and I showed him how to measure and mark and how to use a jig I whittled out to make sure the spacing was right, he watched as I used a hand drill and pegs, he listened closely as I told him how to glue the pegs in and they'd hold forever, and I had him glue the last half dozen and tap them into place -- "That's why we tried them for fit first," I explained, "they were a good snug fit and now with glue on 'em you seat 'em with one tap of the mallet -- go ahead -- just like that!" I'll swear, Kris just plainly glowed at my words of praise. I spoke no false praise, the lad was quick to learn and careful with his work, and I made sure he knew I approved of his work, and by the time we were done knocking the second crib together, why, he was walking on clouds all the way back to the house. Kris came to us with a long German last name that got whittled down rather quickly, from Oppenheimermann to Opper, and that got corrupted to Copper, and Kris laughed and happily took to his new name, and so Copper he became to all and sundry. The girl was named Kitty and her last name was Tivner, and she fell in beside Anna Mae like she belonged there, and when Kris and I went in at Anna Mae's summoning call, Kitty was industriously helping Anna Mae serve up supper. The orphanage was not yet built, I reflected that night, after we sat in a circle and talked about the Scripture I'd just read, and Anna Mae and I talked about my thoughts that night, after our son was fed and changed and sound asleep between us. Once the orphanage was built, I didn't want to banish Kris and Kitty to a new and mostly empty building. Anna Mae agreed with me, and the next day Kris and I sat down and drew up plans, and then we started hammering stakes in the ground and stretching good hemp string from here to there, we used a measuring stick to lay out the planned expansion, and Kris was excited. He was not only doing something with me -- I've found I could be fishing in a water pail and Kris would like it -- but this held a special meaning for him. We were planning something he'd never experienced. We were planning to build onto the Parish house, we were planning to expand the Parsonage, we were making room for our growing family. Especially since it just grew faster than we'd ever thought possible.

This is my father in the cap I had made for him. He witnessed nukes after WWII.

While we're at it, how about the person taking up the whole isle at the grocery store with their cart parked sideways and their fat rump in the way!??

After finishing the letter, Doc Ward set it aside for the morning. He sat for a time, feeling as though he were forgetting something. Some task that needed to be done. Finally it dawned on him. J. Mark Flint. Doc had no idea as to his whereabouts, but it bothered him that he hadn't thought sooner that Flint should be warned. Doc knew Flint had kept a contact in Nashville, and suspected that if he were anywhere near a telegraph, he still did. "First thing in the morning," Doc spoke aloud to himself as he walked into the parlor where Sarah Jane sat. Looking up, she asked, "I beg your pardon, honey?" Looking at her, Doc said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was thinking aloud. I need to see if I can get a telegram to J. Mark Flint first thing in the morning. I don't know where he is, but if he can be warned, I need to do so." Sarah Jane slowly nodded, her worry about her husband still written on her face. Walking to where Sarah Jane sat, Doc took a knee, and reached for his wife's hand. Looking up at her, Doc studied her face as she looked down at him, her face showing her curiosity at what he was doing. Blue eyes that were full of life and always able to cheer him up, but seemed able to see into his heart. A nose that was long and prominent without being overly large for her face. Full lips, with a rough looking scar underneath, but were ready for a smile, or to open in laughter that lifted his spirits. The freckles splayed across her fair cheeks and nose, even over the scar that ran along her right cheek. Her full, long auburn hair, pulled into a braid laying down over the front of her shoulder and down. Doc felt he was looking at her for the first time, and for the thousandth so that he could trace her features in his mind. He wanted... needed... to see her, to picture her in his mind, so that her image was there with him. Doc couldn't explain to her, or to anyone else, that he didn't fear dying, but he feared things about dying. He feared not dying well, and he feared not being able to see her in his mind at the end. Finally, Doc took a deep breath and spoke. "I can't predict what the future holds. I swear to you I will do my best to be careful, to be wise in my decisions about my safety, and to be alert to the dangers that might exist as a result of Zeb Gardner." Lowering his hand to her still flat stomach, Doc looked down, amazed at the thought of a child inside her. His child. "I want to be here with you, to raise our child, or children if we are so fortunate. I want to grow old with you, and enjoy the long years. But I want you to know, if the worst should befall, you've made my life worth living again, and made it complete again. I never thought those things would happen. I think it is also important for you to understand, I believe the man is insane. Or simply evil. Perhaps both. I would not put it past him to try to get to me through you. So I want your promise that you will recall everything we've talked about, and will work to keep yourself safe. The thought of going through life again with a hole in it is something I fear far more than death" Gripping Doc's hand with hers, she lifted her other hand to run long fingers through his hair, saying simply, "I promise." Smiling, Doc leaned in, pressing his head to his wife's bosom, listening to the slow, muted beating of her heart and feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. "I believe it is also important that we do our best to enjoy our lives. If we live in terror, and are unable to enjoy our lives and one another, then in his own way, Zeb Gardner has won." Sarah Jane put her arms around her husband, pulling him tighter against her. "You're right, but it is hard not to be afraid for you. When you have been out, going after those others, I trusted in you, your experience and abilities. But how can you predict or plan against someone doing what that evil man did to Matthias?" Pulling back, Doc looked up. "By being aware. Keeping as few patterns as possible. Being unpredictable. Being with others. And most of all, making it apparent that even if caught by surprise, it will not be a one-sided fight." Looking into her eyes, Doc asked his wife, "You're from the hills of Kentucky, have red hair, and probably have gaelic blood in your veins, so let me ask you. Have you had any premonitions? Anything causing you to fear for me?" Sarah Jane shook her head in response. Doc grinned, "Then I should be just fine." Rolling her eyes but smiling, Sarah Jane put both hands in Doc's hair and ran her fingers through it to muss it, then put her hands to his cheeks and leaned forward to kiss him.

Pretty good deal Optics Planet

What ticks me off? Well, OFF and Cutter both work well at keeping those nasty critters away.

That's what we do. EVERYTHING goes on a card. Then she pays it/them to $0 every month. To me. They cash back after not paying any interest is like free money. For buying/paying for things you was going to buy anyway. Plus helps keep credit info up and in good shape. Credit cards can work for you. IF you pay them off EVERY month. Which they don't really want you to. They want you paying on those things forever.

Something Y'all need to remember is these laws have nothing to do with guns or crime, it's all about control. They know criminals won't go through a UBC and they don't care, all they want to do is control the great unwashed masses(Us) so the can continue building their version of utopia.

I just finished reading House to House by S/Sgt. David Bellavia, about service in the Iraq War. I could not put it down. Partially, because of my time with A Company 2-2 Infantry, but because of the sheer impact of this man. All I know of Medal of Honor recipients is what I have read in some official narrative. This guy bares his soul in the book. He has humbled my opinion of my service record. I feel honored to have served in the same outfit and Company, but I have to say, he brought back memories of the men I had the honor to serve with. We had some Giants in their own right, such as Col. Ward, First Sgt. Willingham, and SSGT Buxton. These were men of Leadership. I was just a skinny wet nosed kid, but I would followed them anywhere. God bless all those that serve with honor.

Ammunition can carried in ANY manner as long as it is not used for STAGE RELOADS. SHB p.3 SHB p.4

As far as I know .... "Tom Horn" is NOT a recognized SASS category. Therefore you should be able to anything you like. In my neck of the woods, we shoot modified Planesman where your ammunition can come from where ever you can grab it. Even stages onna prop. YMMV I personally prefer a fabric (smooth) Butt Wrap. I get mine from Duluth Trading

No. I leave the right one on. Keep’s em from passing me on the right.

After I'm geared up...15 minutes!

If you only count declared war you're right, but if you only count declared wars we weren't in a war in Korea, Vietnam, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, and a host of other places either.

Gentleman, I charged this on my account....(on account I have no money)...so you can enjoy the full story. “Stay here and guard the castle,” I would say to my dog, Dusty, every time I left our condo. Over the years, his eyes — one blue, one brown — had become washed with gray, his sight was failing, and his hips were becoming tight. He was hardly a guard dog. When I came home, he no longer greeted me at the door but would raise his nose in welcome. I gave him peanut butter for his bravery, sometimes with painkillers to help with his hips. Eleven years earlier, I adopted Dusty-Danger Dog (his full name) from the Town Lake Animal Shelter in Austin. I stopped by the shelter one day, came back the next, and Dusty was the only dog who remembered me. He had pointy ears like a giant fox and was at risk of being euthanized. Since then, he and I traveled the country in my bumper-stickered Toyota pickup, visiting 28 states while putting 290,000 miles on that truck. During our years in Austin, Dusty became a local legend, helping to raise thousands of dollars for nonprofit organizations such as Austin Bat Cave and the Fusebox Festival. For a monetary donation to the nonprofit, Dusty and I would take someone’s dog on a special date, and I would write an essay about it for the donor. This raised a surprisingly large amount of money. For this, Austin’s mayor proclaimed August 17 (this very weekend!) “Dusty-Danger Dog Day,” citing Dusty’s “meaningful contributions to the city and people of Austin with volunteerism, fund-raising and four-legged ambassadorship for the arts, environment, education and health.” On a personal level, Dusty became the manager of my life. He got me up in the morning with a lick to my face. When he ate, I ate. In the middle of the day, he forced me to turn off my computer and go for a walk. I enjoyed the sun on my face and the smell of wildflowers. We shared sandwiches and pizza and watched comic-book movies together. Dusty never cared if I changed my clothes. I would read to him from my favorite book, “The Little Prince,” lines like: “You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” I had those words tattooed to my arm. Dusty taught me everything I needed to know about life, but over the years there had been something missing. My friends Ben and Rachel insisted I join a dating app to expand my horizons. That’s how they met, but I loathed the idea. Why would I want to expand my life? I had a dog, a place to live, a pickup truck smothered in bumper stickers. But out of curiosity (or God knows what), I humored them. I created a Tinder account with a picture of Dusty as my profile picture. No one matched with me until Rachel explained that I was swiping in the wrong direction. The first time I swiped right, I matched. On my date with Ilse, we had salad and calamari. She was shy, lovely and, as a person with diabetes, checked her blood sugar when food came. On our second date, we drank wine, bowled at a speakeasy, and talked about Dusty and her cats, Dori Ann Gray and Oscar Wilde. On our third date, Ilse held my hand and shared that she had been assaulted in New Orleans in June, years ago. As a result, June makes her sad, and so does New Orleans, a town she loved and lost, and Dusty and I had come to love in our travels. As a landscape architect, she works with plants and water. She doesn’t like comic-book movies and watches the Hallmark Channel. She makes me eat brussels sprouts, which are surprisingly tolerable on pizza. With Dusty everything was safe and there was never a compromise, but with Ilse I had to listen and negotiate. Ilse knew how to manage her life, and she made me change. Sometimes she made me change my clothes. After a year of dating, Ilse began pushing for marriage, an idea that terrified me. I’m not afraid of commitment; I’m afraid of divorce, of failure. But I was also afraid of losing Ilse. She said it’s difficult for an entrepreneurial woman in her 30s to find love with someone who has a good job and is nice to animals. We had a back and forth, like playing chess. For every argument I made for not getting married and giving up my perfect life, she had a better counter argument. She used words like “us” and “ours,” words I had previously reserved for my relationship with Dusty. One evening, Ilse said if I wasn’t going to be with her, I had to let her go so she could find someone else. As much as I loved my dog and my perfect life, I didn’t want to lose Ilse, especially knowing I was about to lose Dusty, whose health had deteriorated to the point where he could barely walk. The next morning, I told Dusty, as usual, to stay home and guard the castle. I was driving to the University of Texas at San Antonio at 5:30 a.m. to lecture about subjectivity and causality when I was hit from behind by what I think was a drunken driver. The collision launched my truck, at 70 miles per hour, into a cement barrier, where it was ripped to pieces. The force of the impact peeled two of my bumper stickers from the tailgate. If it weren’t for the airbag, I would be dead. As the paramedics cut me from the truck, all I said was: “Take care of my dog, take care of my dog, take care of my dog.” In that moment, coughing from airbag dust, I thought none of this was worth anything unless I had something more to live for. So I designed an elaborate, weeklong wedding proposal that included a writing class, rock climbing and a party at an urban winery. After Ilse said yes, she moved into what is now our condo, bringing her cat, Dori, who became fast friends with Dusty, napping together and sharing food. My goal was to marry in June so Ilse could reclaim that month with a fond memory. I asked Dusty to be in my wedding party. “Maybe he can tie my tie,” I thought. Ilse and I registered for small appliances and dishes. Everything changed. Two weeks before our wedding, Dusty caught his paw on the rug as he tried to get up from his nap with Dori. He hit the floor hard and whimpered. I held him and gave him peanut butter with painkillers. He looked at Ilse as she stacked wedding gifts in our office, and then he looked at me. His eyes said, “It’s time.” I took Dusty for one last walk so he could feel the sun on his nose. We had treats and watched a comic-book movie together. The vet gave him drugs. Dusty died at home, in my arms, his nose on my knee, only days before Ilse and I got married. As he closed his eyes, I whispered, “I’ll guard the castle.” We wrapped him in blankets, placed him in a basket and a white van took him away. Within minutes I was lost, pacing the living room, looking out the window for the white van to come back, hoping the vet had made a mistake, wishing everything could return to the way it had been. Ilse asked if I wanted to hike or swim to take my mind off Dusty, but I couldn’t. “All I ask is you smile for pictures,” Ilse said as our wedding approached. We had been taking classes for our first dance to Wilco’s “California Stars,” the song we first danced to in my kitchen, and I could hardly shuffle my feet. When I went to pick up Dusty’s ashes at the funeral home, they also gave me wildflower seeds to plant in his name. I placed his urn in the back seat of my new car and belted it in. We drove by our favorite pizzeria, our favorite parks, our favorite everythings in Austin, and as we drove, I thought I saw Dusty’s shape in a cloud. I knew he would always be with me. On the day of the wedding, I led a team of true believers to Town Lake, not far from where I adopted Dusty, to plant those wildflowers. I bought kazoos and we gave him a 21-kazoo salute. Five hours later, after my groomsmen had tied my tie, Ilse and I stood before friends and family as my best man read from “The Little Prince,” ending with: “You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” I thought I had been responsible for Dusty, but really he had been responsible for me, and now he was passing the torch to Ilse, my new partner for smelling the wildflowers. With the sun on my face, I said, “I do.”

I also understand the desire and satisfaction of doing it yourself. I did however, loose track of the number of times gun came into the shop and after removing ALL the screws, I just shook it over the trash can and replaced EVERYTHING that fell out. Then started from scratch.

Never saw one that said she was in it for the money either.

We were preparing for war in 1938-9. Designing planes, tanks, war games. gas was more expensive in the North.

The election of Sheriff was taking place in the Old Stone church in the middle of town. Ballots were handed out to residents of the town. Most everyone knew everyone else and since there was no ID's, they kind of took your word for it as to whether you were a resident or not. Some of the folks on the outside of town were also allowed to vote. There was no county lines drawn as of yet so pretty much anyone that lived within a 20 mile radius voted. The election took place from 8:00am to 6:00pm. Rye and Rosa and her family went together to vote and then went to the Corral Cafe to have a nice lunch. Since Rye was not a resident he couldn't vote but no law stopped him from running for Sheriff especially since he was an Arizona Ranger. They all kidded him about voting for Beauchamp. After lunch they went home and Rye and Rosa went out for a long ride. Rosa rode with the best of them and sat side saddle as most women of that era did. Her side saddling did not hamper her riding ability in the least, she was very good and agile. They tied their horses up at a small clump of trees and sat down and relaxed. They talked about if Rye was elected, where would he live? Would Beauchamp seek revenge? They kissed some and Rosa decided it was maybe going to get a little out of hand and she got up much to Rye's surprise but he understood. Rye would not have been able to stop himself. He thought that it was a good thing one of them had some restraint. They mounted up and rode back to town.

I don't think the word 'scrawny' has been banned....yet....

It's a State Law, not a Fed. I use to always order BP 25 lbs at a time before I was aware of the law. Yes, there are still places that will ship cases of it directly to your house in California. It is NOT illegal for them to do that.... but it is for you to have that much. After I found out about the law, I hid it out until I got it used up and then started using Sub powders for my less critical shooting, such as CAS. I would keep a can of SWISS 1 1/2 on the premises for the big guns. Even that put a crimp on things. As much as we shoot in this game we need to buy right, and buying by the case is indeed the best way. Then we all have to face those periods of time when there is a shortage, and powder and primers are hard to come by.... so we stock up on them just to make sure that we are covered. First thing you know, you have far too much powder on hand than the law allows. I don't know of any situation where someone has been busted for having to much powder, but it could happen. If for some reason Law enforcement had a cause to Look up under your skirt, they could and would certainly use everything that they found to make you look bad. How many times have you seen a news cast that talked about the police finding several rifles and handguns, along with several hundred rounds of ammo in some guy's house? How many of you have that many guns and even more ammo? Heck, we can go through several hundred rounds with just my wife and I shooting two matches a month! I'd bet most of you do to. Best bet is to just keep a low profile, keep your mouth shut, don't get caught up in all the BS stupid Blusterous and Bantering talk about ".... from my dead hands", etc. I always liked what Teddy said, "Walk softly, but carry a big stick". Since there is no limit on amount of ammo at this time, load as much as you can.... that is the best way around the limit on powder. Once it is in the cartridge it is no longer an issue. Lets face the truth... you can easily build a bomb using BP. It has been used for that purpose for many years... it can be done with smokeless powder too, but not as easily. I believe that is one of the reasons for the limit. Snakebite

I don't know about that. If he's shooting outlaw his hands will probably be beneath the table.

If you have access to Amazon Prime, there is a great docudrama called Quest For The Bay....8 intrepid Canadians live as 1840 fur traders and undertake an 800 mile trek in a period correct boat that weighs a ton with three tons of provisions. All clothing, food, tools etc are 1800 correct. The portages are grueling. The crossing of the big waters are perilous.Very interesting....

In the latest news... The makers of Bikini Atoll Beer have a renamed their beer due to the sensitivities of others. They have changed the name to Fat Man Little Boy Beer in honor of all the scientific research it took to end World War 2. The owners said “After a hard day at the test site we only wish our brave scientists could have come home to enjoy a cold Fat Man Little Boy Beer.” They have also removed the picture of the island from the label and replaced it with an image of their favorite mushrooms. It is good to see a company that cares for others...They had thought about changing the name to “Good For You” Beer. The crew lovingly abbreviated the name to GFY beer but felt that some might be sensitive to the fact that beer may not be healthy so GFY is out.

I guess they have every right to be offended. But, I also have every right not to care.

People who are too timid to pass on a two-lane road and instead bunch up behind a slow car so nobody else can pass either.

Or people who drive slow in the left lane.

Flame Thrower or Napalm.

Nuke the entire car from orbit it's the only way to be sure.

Lightweights. I have Dick Durbin and Tammy Duckworth. "I'll take dumb Senators for a $1000, Alex."

This is why I've called, written, and E-mailed both of my senators repeatedly for the last several days!! It is important that each of us does this if we have any hope of staving off this attack and future attempts of the same variety!!! It isn't hard or time consuming. If you go over to Team SASS and look around, you'll find several opportunities to contact all of your representatives AND the president!! Do it if you value this and other freedoms!!!

You misspelled communists.