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After an absolutely fabulous time in Tombstone, we began the 20 hour drive home. Just outside of Amarillo, we decided to spend the night. Two miles from our hotel, a bag of tools fell off of a flatbed pickup in front of us. I swear it was the proverbial "bag of hammers." We had no where to go and ran it over. Heard metal dragging on the road immediately. Oh $#@%! At that moment I thought about all the tires I had changed for people during my career. All hours of the day. All types of weather. Hoping I had built up some "brownie" points and could get some of that goodwill to boomerang back. Pulled into the hotel parking lot and looked. The tail pipe had been ripped off the back of the muffler and was dragging, and the muffler hanging with no rear support. And it was 8:30 PM and dark. In the dark, 600 miles from home and I am thinking about coat hangers. Guy parked next to us rolled down his window and said, "You guys need a welder for that." Yes we do. Where do I find a welder in Amarillo, Texas going on 9 PM? The guy said, "I have one right here." Our parking lot neighbor, Daniel, had a big Lincoln welder in his truck bed. He is a pipeline welder and a welding instructor. Wow! While Shortcake went to get food, I helped Daniel get set up. An hour later I was having a beer with our new friend in a hotel parking lot in Amarillo. He didn't want money. I assured him that if he didn't take my money, Shortcake would just use it to buy more clothes, and she has too much already. He finally relented and accepted our cash. Karma, sometimes can be sweet. Some angels don't have wings. They have welding equipment. Cowboy on, Daniel!

Been having great difficulty logging in here for the past several days. Bit of a front came through today but it’s moved on now. A bit chilly but I’m prepared. Got a cigar and Irish coffee. Should be sunny tomorrow. Go Braves! IMG_3937.MOV

A fella was driving home from his buddies place which is out in the middle of nowhere. He'd done this drive a dozen times, so wasn't paying much attention to the road, giving glances to his phone. He saw the street light ahead about a mile or so down the road when BOOM, he hit something. He stopped his car and looked down the road to see a pig laying on its side. He checked his car and didn't see any real damage, then looked around and saw no street or farm signs or anything of the like. The pig then tried to get up but fell down again. He looked at the fella with a "help me" look in his face, but the guy was no vet and wasn't planning on throwing the pig in the back of his car. He - the pig - looked rattled, but had no signs of serious injury to him (no blood, his head was intact, no missing limbs, etc), so the fella decided to get out of there. The next morning there was a knock at the door and his wife answered. She yells to him, "Babe, the cops are here for you..." He got to the door and one of the cops said, "hello sir. I'm officer White, and this is officer Smith. We would like to ask you a couple questions." "Okay, how can I help you officers?" "Well, you can start by telling us where you were last night" "I went to my buddies house out in the country to play some cards, then came home," he said. "Okay, do you drive a white Honda Civic with license plate ....?" "Yes," he said. "So, what is this all about?" "Sorry, sir, but we have a report from a local farmer who said that you were involved in a felony hit and run with his pig. Unfortunately, we are going to have to take you in." He tried pleading his case by saying that there had been no one around, and that he looked for signs for someone to call but found none. The officers didn't seem to care. They put the cuffs on him and I started to walk to their car. As he made the walk, he looked at one of the officers. "Sir, I'm sorry, but how did this even come about? Who told the farmer that I had hit the pig? I don't understand. It was in the middle of nowhere, no one was around and it was night out!" As he pushed the fella down in the back of the car, and right before he closed the door, the officer said: "Simple. The pig squealed." 3 Comment

@Tennessee williams @Widder, SASS #59054 I’m sorry that you and others can’t accept that someone we shoot with would take my knife. (I spoke to the guy who’d been runoff before). I did NOT jump to this conclusion on a whim. I spoke to 6 people who SAW OR HELD the knife. There weren’t youngsters around when it went missing - it was an adult social Thursday night. Then, by about 7:40am Friday I realized it was missing and was told it was in Lost/Found. I went back and forth along the range speaking to folks trying to trace its whereabouts until it was almost time to shoot the second flight. I felt sure it would show up by the time the dinner started and when it didn’t, I got upset. This wasn’t some trinket. It was a Christmas gift. It was $225. Tommy picked the sambar stag scales (handles). A Derringer or pocket pistol has the same value… This is about the fact that this kind of thing happens and we are UNWILLING to hold each other accountable. I’m as guilty of blaming stuff on “spectators” “the public”, too, however, my research and footwork says different in this case. Anything, in this case, is not possible. Many of the NAR crew/members apologized to me and are angry it happened. They should be. We all should be. However, this event in NO WAY casts a shadow on this match or the fine committee who run it. I blame the person who took my knife out of the L/F box, NO ONE else. I have the utmost appreciation for the NAR committee and their hard work. I can’t wait to go back next year. Hugs, Scarlett

A Northern Territory farm hand gets on the radio to the farmer. 'Boss, I gotta helluva problem here. I hit a pig with the ute. The pig's OK, but he's stuck in the bull bars at the front of my ute and is wriggling and squealing so much I can't get him out.' The manager says,'Ok, there's a ...303Rifle behind the seat. Take it; shoot the pig in the head and you'll be able to remove him.' Five minutes later the farm hand calls back; 'I did what you said boss. Took the 303, shot the pig in the head and removed him from the bull-bars. No problem there, but I still can't go on'. 'Now what's the problem?' raged the farmer. 'Well boss, it's his motorbike. The flashing blue light is stuck under the right-front wheel arch.' '... You there Boss?'

Thanks, got it!

Gave me a Chuckle ,,,, Time that we ease up and Laugh this ole world is getting kind of up-tight ... Jabez Cowboy

There is plenty of room in the game for on the clock non shooting activities. As long as those activities encompass, what I have termed as "Universal skills": Carry the moneybag Push open the door Throw the drink into the bartenders face Stab the dummy Etc. When these activities become an issue is when the performance of a given activity penalizes because of the shooters speed (or lack thereof) I.e. a moving target that hides after a given time and bonuses are given for each hit. A moving target that moves away from the firing line/ shooter requiring an already slower shooter to fire more of their rounds at a more distant target. OR when there is a time bonus for a non universal skill (usually one practiced by the stage writer and home club). Throw (stick) the knife/ tomahawk etc. Additional issues can be created by the "Flip the card" scenarios that change the sequence for each shooter resulting in inconsistent stages. All of these things can be incorporated into our current game - it simply takes a match director willing to consider the varying impact of any addition and how to negate the same.

Email from Wolff Matt, We appreciate the emails and the pictures. We have pulled springs from some of our previous batches and they are slightly longer, you are correct. The other issue we have noticed is the wire is physically slightly thicker. While it was listed at the same size, the ten thousandths decimal value was a little higher and this may have played into some of the factor as well. We have pulled a few guns at our factory and we are going to be doing more in house testing. Likely what is going to happen is we will get a new batch into production. Once they are done, we will be glad to send replacement springs. Oddly enough, we have had no calls about these until last week a few have popped up. I have you on our list that has effected customers to send replacements to. Thank you Sean Wolff W.C. Wolff Company

Just buy a turkey hunting license. You won’t see any after that.

My wife, Diamondhead Dame, is a rookie SASS shooter. But she did shot a stage clean! I don't know if I should be happy or scared that my wife is getting to be a good shot?!

As many of you know, I had heart surgery August 2020. They replaced my Aorta valve with an actual 'pig' valve. Now, whenever I eat Bar-B-Que, I feel like a cannibal. Last week, I dreamed I was being chased by a small herd of pigs. They were squealing..... "Oinkel, Oinkel, Oinkel". I was yelling back...... 'No, I'm your cousin'. ..........Widder

We have a beautiful start to the day here in East by-God Tennessee with the sunrise just breaking the Smokies. I hope you’re having an equally good start wherever you call home.

I, for one, enjoy seeing this sort of thing re-introduced into matches without taking it too far. I very well know that the game today is not the game that I played 30 yrs ago and it will not go back to that. One guy’s description about the game on another thread referred to it as a bunch of Old Fat White Men. I found that description a bit unpalatable though there is no doubt some truth to it. We welcome everyone, but it is in fact heavily populated with that very group. Taking the time to accommodate them is IMO a very smart move for those putting on a match. The pendulum has made it’s swing to the far side where every target is virtually unmissable, lined up in your face and 10 shooters in every category walk away a winner. Yee-haw, what fun! Now, it appears to me, that at a number of places the pendulum is swinging back a bit. I hope it continues and that it stops somewhere in the middle leaving plenty of room for both sides to enjoy the match/game. Snakebite

Stolen from a FB post: Via Instapundit, a good, GOOD read: Robert Heinlein, speech at the Naval Academy on patriotism, 1973. (To the Brigade at large:) Why are you here? (To a second plebe:) Mister, why are YOU here? Never mind, son; that's a rhetorical question. You are here to become a naval officer. That's why this Academy was founded. That is why all of you are here: to become naval officers. If that is NOT why YOU are here, you've made a bad mistake. But I speak to the overwhelming majority who understood the oath they took on becoming midshipmen and look forward to the day when they will renew that oath as commissioned officers. But why would anyone want to become a naval officer? In the present dismal state of our culture there is little prestige attached to serving your country; recent public opinion polls place military service far down the list. It can't be the pay. No one gets rich on the pay. Even a 4-star admiral is paid much less than top executives in other lines. As for lower ranks, the typical naval officer finds himself throughout his career just catching up from the unexpected expenses connected with the last change of duty when another change of duty causes a new financial crisis. Then, when he is about fifty, he is passed over and retires... but he can't really retire because he has two kids in college and one still to go. So he has to find a job... and discovers that jobs for men his age are scarce and usually don't pay well. Working conditions? You'll spend half your life away from your family. Your working hours? 'Six days shalt thou work and do all thou art able; the seventh the same, and pound on the cable.' A forty-hour week is standard for civilians - but not for naval officers. You'll work that forty-hour week, but that's just a starter. You'll stand a night watch as well, and duty weekends. Then with every increase in grade your hours get longer - until at last you get a ship of your own and no longer stand watches. Instead you are on duty twenty-four hours a day... and you'll sign your night order book with: 'In case of doubt, do not hesitate to call me.' I don't know the average week's work for a naval officer but it's closer to sixty than to forty. I'm speaking of peacetime, of course. Under war conditions it is whatever hours are necessary - and sleep you grab when you can. Why would anyone elect a career which is unappreciated, overworked, and underpaid? It can't be just to wear a pretty uniform. There has to be a better reason. As one drives through the bushveldt of East Africa it is easy to spot herds of baboons grazing on the ground. But not by looking at the ground. Instead you look up and spot the lookout, an adult male posted on a limb of a tree where he has a clear view all around him - which is why you can spot him; he has to be where he can see a leopard in time to give the alarm. On the ground a leopard can catch a baboon... but if a baboon is warned in time to reach the trees, he can out-climb a leopard. The lookout is a young male assigned to that duty and there he will stay, until the bull of the herd sends up another male to relieve him. Keep your eye on that baboon; we'll be back to him. Today, in the United States, it is popular among self-styled 'intellectuals' to sneer at patriotism. They seem to think that it is axiomatic that any civilized man is a pacifist, and they treat the military profession with contempt. 'Warmongers' - 'Imperialists' - 'Hired killers in uniform' - you have all heard such sneers and you will hear them again. One of their favorite quotations is: 'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.' What they never mention is that the man who made that sneering remark was a fat, gluttonous slob who was pursued all his life by a pathological fear of death. I propose to prove that that baboon on watch is morally superior to that fat poltroon who made that wisecrack. Patriotism is the most practical of all human characteristics. But in the present decadent atmosphere patriots are often too shy to talk about it - as if it were something shameful or an irrational weakness. But patriotism is NOT sentimental nonsense. Nor is it something dreamed up by demagogues. Patriotism is as necessary a part of man's evolutionary equipment as are his eyes, as useful to the race as eyes are to the individual. A man who is NOT patriotic is an evolutionary dead end. This is not sentiment but the hardest of logic. To prove that patriotism is a necessity we must go back to fundamentals. Take any breed of animal - for example, tyrannosaurus rex. What is the most basic thing about him? The answer is that tyrannosaurus rex is dead, gone, extinct. Which brings us to the second fundamental question: Will homo sapiens stay alive? Will he survive? We can answer part of that at once: Individually h. sapiens will NOT survive. It is unlikely that anyone here tonight will be alive eighty years from now; it approaches mathematical certainty that we will all be dead a hundred years from now as even the youngest plebe here would be 118 years old by then - if still alive. Some men do live that long but the percentage is so microscopic as not to matter. Recent advances in biology suggest that human life may be extended to a century and a quarter, even a century and a half - but this will create more problems than it solves. When a man reaches my age or thereabouts, the last great service he can perform is to die and get out of the way of younger people. Very well, as individuals we all die. This brings us to the second half of the question: Does homo sapiens AS A BREED have to die? The answer is: No, it is NOT unavoidable. We have two situations, mutually exclusive: Mankind surviving, and mankind extinct. With respect to morality, the second situation is a null class. An extinct breed has NO behavior, moral or otherwise. Since survival is the sine qua non, I now define 'moral behavior' as 'behavior that tends toward survival.' I won't argue with philosophers or theologians who choose to use the word 'moral' to mean something else, but I do not think anyone can define 'behavior that tends toward extinction' as being 'moral' without stretching the word 'moral' all out of shape. We are now ready to observe the hierarchy of moral behavior from its lowest level to its highest. The simplest form of moral behavior occurs when a man or other animal fights for his own survival. Do not belittle such behavior as being merely selfish. Of course it is selfish... but selfishness is the bedrock on which all moral behavior starts and it can be immoral only when it conflicts with a higher moral imperative. An animal so poor in spirit that he won't even fight on his own behalf is already an evolutionary dead end; the best he can do for his breed is to crawl off and die, and not pass on his defective genes. The next higher level is to work, fight, and sometimes die for your own immediate family. This is the level at which six pounds of mother cat can be so fierce that she'll drive off a police dog. It is the level at which a father takes a moonlighting job to keep his kids in college - and the level at which a mother or father dives into a flood to save a drowning child... and it is still moral behavior even when it fails. The next higher level is to work, fight, and sometimes die for a group larger than the unit family - an extended family, a herd, a tribe - and take another look at that baboon on watch; he's at that moral level. I don't think baboon language is complex enough to permit them to discuss such abstract notions as 'morality' or 'duty' or 'loyalty' - but it is evident that baboons DO operate morally and DO exhibit the traits of duty and loyalty; we see them in action. Call it 'instinct' if you like - but remember that assigning a name to a phenomenon does not explain it. But that baboon behavior can be explained in evolutionary terms. Evolution is a process that never stops. Baboons who fail to exhibit moral behavior do not survive; they wind up as meat for leopards. Every baboon generation has to pass this examination in moral behavior; those who bilge it don't have progeny. Perhaps the old bull of the tribe gives lessons... but the leopard decides who graduates - and there is no appeal from his decision. We don't have to understand the details to observe the outcome; baboons behave morally - for baboons. The next level in moral behavior higher than that exhibited by the baboon is that in which duty and loyalty are shown toward a group of your kind too large for an individual to know all of them. We have a name for that. It is called 'patriotism.' Behaving on a still higher moral level were the astronauts who went to the Moon, for their actions tend toward the survival of the entire race of mankind. The door they opened leads to hope that h. sapiens will survive indefinitely long, even longer than this solid planet on which we stand tonight. As a direct result of what they did, it is now possible that the human race will NEVER die. Many short-sighted fools think that going to the Moon was just a stunt. But those astronauts knew the meaning of what they were doing, as is shown by Neil Armstrong's first words in stepping down onto the soil of Luna: 'One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' Let us note proudly that eleven of the Astronaut Corps are graduates of this our school. And let me add that James Forrestal was the FIRST high-ranking Federal official to come out flatly for space travel. I must pause to brush off those parlor pacifists I mentioned earlier... for they contend that THEIR actions are on this highest moral level. They want to put a stop to war; they say so. Their purpose is to save the human race from killing itself off; they say that too. Anyone who disagrees with them must be a bloodthirsty scoundrel - and they'll tell you that to your face. I won't waste time trying to judge their motives; my criticism is of their mental processes: Their heads aren't screwed on tight. They live in a world of fantasy. Let me stipulate that, if the human race managed its affairs sensibly, we could do without war. Yes - and if pigs had wings, they could fly. I don't know what planet those pious pacifists are talking about but it can't be the third one out from the Sun. Anyone who has seen the Far East - or Africa - or the Middle East - knows or certainly should know that there is NO chance of abolishing war in the foreseeable future. In the past few years I have been around the world three times, traveled in most of the communist countries, visited many of the so-called emerging countries, plus many trips to Europe and to South America; I saw nothing that cheered me as to the prospects for peace. The seeds of war are everywhere; the conflicts of interest are real and deep, and will not be abolished by pious platitudes. The best we can hope for is a precarious balance of power among the nations capable of waging total war - while endless lesser wars break out here and there. I won't belabor this. Our campuses are loaded with custard-headed pacifists but the yard of the Naval Academy is not one place where I will encounter them. We are in agreement that the United States still needs a navy, that the Republic will always have need for heroes - else you would not be here tonight and in uniform. Patriotism - Moral behavior at the national level. Non sibi sed Patria. Nathan Hale's last words: 'I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.' Torpedo Squadron Eight making its suicidal attack. Four chaplains standing fast while the water rises around them. Thomas Jefferson saying, 'The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots'' A submarine skipper giving the order 'Take her DOWN!' while he himself is still topside. Jonas Ingram standing on the steps of Bancroft Hall and shouting, 'The Navy has no place for good losers! The Navy needs tough sons of bitches who can go out there and WIN!' Patriotism - An abstract word used to describe a type of behavior as harshly practical as good brakes and good tires. It means that you place the welfare of your nation ahead of your own even if it costs you your life. Men who go down to the sea in ships have long had another way of expressing the same moral behavior tagged by the abstract expression 'patriotism.' Spelled out in simple Anglo-Saxon words 'Patriotism' reads 'Women and children first!' And that is the moral result of realizing a self-evident biological fact: Men are expendable; women and children are not. A tribe or a nation can lose a high percentage of its men and still pick up the pieces and go on... as long as the women and children are saved. But if you fail to save the women and children, you've had it, you're done, you're THROUGH! You join tyrannosaurus rex, one more breed that bilged its final test. I must amplify that. I know that women can fight and often have. I have known many a tough old grandmother I would rather have on my side in a tight spot than any number of pseudo-males who disdain military service. My wife put in three years of active duty in World War Two, plus ten years reserve, and I am proud - very proud! - of her naval service. I am proud of every one of our women in uniform; they are a shining example to us men. Nevertheless, as a mathematical proposition in the facts of biology, children, and women of child-bearing age, are the ultimate treasure that we must save. Every human culture is based on 'Women and children first' - and any attempt to do it any other way leads quickly to extinction. Possibly extinction is the way we are headed. Great nations have died in the past; it can happen to us. Nor am I certain how good our chances are. To me it seems self-evident that any nation that loses its patriotic fervor is on the skids. Without that indispensable survival factor the end is only a matter of time. I don't know how deeply the rot has penetrated - but it seems to me that there has been a change for the worse in the last fifty years. Possibly I am misled by the offensive behavior of a noisy but unimportant minority. But it does seem to me that patriotism has lost its grip on a large percentage of our people. I hope I am wrong... because if my fears are well grounded, I would not bet two cents on this nation's chance of lasting even to the end of this century. But there is no way to force patriotism on anyone. Passing a law will not create it, nor can we buy it by appropriating so many billions of dollars. You gentlemen of the Brigade are most fortunate. You are going to a school where this basic moral virtue is daily reinforced by precept and example. It is not enough to know what Charlie Noble does for a living, or what makes the wildcat wild, or which BatDiv failed to splice the main brace and why - nor to learn matrix algebra and navigation and ballistics and aerodynamics and nuclear engineering. These things are merely the working tools of your profession and could be learned elsewhere; they do not require 'four years together by the Bay where the Severn joins the tide.' What you do have here is a tradition of service. Your most important classroom is Memorial Hall. Your most important lesson is the way you feel inside when you walk up those steps and see that shot-torn flag framed in the arch of the door: 'Don't Give Up the Ship.' If you feel nothing, you don't belong here. But if it gives you goose flesh just to see that old battle flag, then you are going to find that feeling increasing every time you return here over the years... until it reaches a crescendo the day you return and read the list of your own honored dead - classmates, shipmates, friends - read them with grief and pride while you try to keep your tears silent. The time has come for me to stop. I said that 'Patriotism' is a way of saying 'Women and children first.' And that no one can force a man to feel this way. Instead he must embrace it freely. I want to tell about one such man. He wore no uniform and no one knows his name, or where he came from; all we know is what he did. In my home town sixty years ago when I was a child, my mother and father used to take me and my brothers and sisters out to Swope Park on Sunday afternoons. It was a wonderful place for kids, with picnic grounds and lakes and a zoo. But a railroad line cut straight through it. One Sunday afternoon a young married couple were crossing these tracks. She apparently did not watch her step, for she managed to catch her foot in the frog of a switch to a siding and could not pull it free. Her husband stopped to help her. But try as they might they could not get her foot loose. While they were working at it, a tramp showed up, walking the ties. He joined the husband in trying to pull the young woman's foot loose. No luck. Out of sight around the curve a train whistled. Perhaps there would have been time to run and flag it down, perhaps not. In any case both men went right ahead trying to pull her free... and the train hit them. The wife was killed, the husband was mortally injured and died later, the tramp was killed - and testimony showed that neither man made the slightest effort to save himself. The husband's behavior was heroic... but what we expect of a husband toward his wife: his right, and his proud privilege, to die for his woman. But what of this nameless stranger? Up to the very last second he could have jumped clear. He did not. He was still trying to save this woman he had never seen before in his life, right up to the very instant the train killed him. And that's all we'll ever know about him. THIS is how a man dies. This is how a MAN . . . lives! 'They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old; age shall not wither them nor the years condemn; At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them''

So about a week ago I made a post about some possibly mixed up Clays powder. I had purchased the powder about a year ago from a cowboy who was getting out of the game. I also purchased his guns, gun cart, dillon loader, mec loaders, and a bunch of powder, bullets, primers, etc. I spent several hours at his house going through and loading up all the stuff. We visited a lot and he revealed to me that he had cancer and didn't think he had very much time left. After that meeting I called him once every few months just to visit and see how he was doing. The last time I had spoke to him was last may. I get very busy over the summer from end of may to first part of september so I hadn't called him. When the powder situation happened I tried to call him and phone just went to voicemail and I left a message. I was afraid something had happened so I searched the internet for an obituary in the town where he lived. Didn't find an obit but did find an estate sale with his address that took place in July. I asked on the mixed powder thread and someone said they thought he had passed. I was really saddened by this news. He was a great guy. Well, yesterday my phone rang and the caller id popped up his name. I answered the call, expecting it to be someone telling me he had passed, but my heart jumped up in my throat when I heard his voice! Apparently he became really sick just after we talked in May and was in the hospital for over a month. He slowly recovered and is now feeling much better. He has moved and has no cell reception at his new place and has to wait until he goes to town to return calls. We talked for over an hour. So to anyone who read the other thread, Smokin' D is alive and well!!! Oh, and I got the straight scoop on the powder and it is not mixed!

I remember a stage I shot back about 1994. You were seated at a table. There was a bowling pin on the table representing a bottle of whiskey. To start the clock, you threw the "whiskey bottle" at a popper about two yards away (you didn't have to hit it). Then you shot a cardboard silhouette with a deringer (or pocket pistol of your choice) then stood and engaged 10 pistol and 10 rifle down range. I miss having those little tricks and scenarios in the sport.

I didn't see the hole in the bucket when I first watched this video. I have somewhat of a suggestive bladder and I'd have to add in a trip to the outhouse.

I understand. It reminded me of an incident I've experienced. Years back, A new Cowboy acquittance needed a rifle to use until he decided on what he wanted to buy. So, I loaned him one of my Marlin's. After a short spell, I offered to sell him that Marlin, if he wanted it, at a SUPER GOOD PRICE. But he refused. Why buy it when he can use it free. Actually, he had decided (unknown to me) that he wasn't gonna continue shooting Cowboy but had considered that Marlin as his own when talking about it. Then one day, another Cowboy offered to BUY that Marlin from him at a MUCH HIGHER price than I was selling it to him. So, before he decided to leave Cowboy, he tells me that he now wants to buy it from me. I had heard about his plans and told him I was no longer interested in 'giving it away' and decided to keep it. He stopped shooting Cowboy right after that. YES, there are some greedy folks that live by standards 99.99% of us don't understand nor agree. But it hasn't stopped me from trying to help folks when possible and keeping a good thought about our Cowboy community. Being involved in SASS and CAS has help me get to know more GREAT folks in our society than I realized. Discovering that one of them might wear 'tainted spurs' is indeed discouraging and heartbreaking, but nonetheless, something we all must face as a reality. Hope to see you and Tommy soon. P.S. - Your '97 is fixed and ready to Rock-N-Roll. ..........Widder

I spent 27 years with the Canadian Military Police and I thought it was funny. We used to wear pig tie tacs and pig lapel pins on our civvy clothes. We were not offended by the term. PIG = Pride, Integrity, Guts.

Joe Biden boat parade

I showed this joke to my son who is the chief of police here in our home town, he laughed and said he was taking this one to station tomorrow that the guys will crack up!

Thanks to my good Pard Joe LaFives for posting that video, and helping out keeping score. Also big thanks to Gilly Boy, C.N. Double, and all the rest of the shooters for pitching in to make it a sucessfull day. That was the 7th or 8th time (lost count) I've run a variation of the Hole in the Bucket stage, nobody has ever dropped anything. The twist is you have to be able to fill up a shot glass with water from the bucket after the last shot is fired, or you get a procedural. The bucket is calibrated for 80 seconds, but you can go back to refill it anytime before last shot is fired. I try to make sure the average shooter can finish the stage in less than 80 seconds. I slightly misjudged this year, should have only had four shotgun or rifle, then it would have been just fine, although just about everyone had to refill, so it worked out okay. I can get away with doing things in Plainsman that nobody wants to do in a main match. Great fun was had by all.

The early 90s. I was working for a company in Chesapeake, and we were making a modular doctor's office for Egypt. Building it out of three connex shipping containers, that would be shipped over to Egypt and then bolted together. Each container would have two air conditioning units in it - these units were made for the overhead crane in steel mills and blast furnaces. They put out some cold. Anyway - I was a flunky and the guy that I was flunkying for and I were painting trim. We had just put a coat on, and the trim was sitting on the sawhorses drying, and we were just kicked back against the wall BSing. The president of the company walked by and glanced in and saw us apparently doing nothing, and jump down our throats. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?? My superior says, "We're watchin' paint dry boss". Boss man looks at us for a minute, then walk saw shaking his head. My boss says, "I have always wanted to say that".

You will be a Cart Boy before you know it. I myself am a Certified Cart Boy. Even have a towel and certificate to prove it. First it was. There is Anvil and his wife. Then it was. There is Anvil and Sierra. Then came There is Sierra and Anvil Now it's. There is Sierra and that guy that push's her cart for her, And I'm ok with that. I am a proud Cart Boy.

This Eric Holder?? Surely not! He has an honest face!

Yup. That’s what I remember most. A shooting sport that stressed fun.

It might be different in the US, but every back room of a cop shop (police station) in Oz that I've been to they have pig joke paraphernalia everywhere. Most Aussie cops (at least in NSW) have a cop 'handle' that the other cops use, a lady cop in town many years ago her handle was 'Miss Piggy', she's moved onto somewhere else now but if she's still a copper her handle would still be 'Miss Piggy'.

Here is one example of keeping the off hand doing something while shooting the other. That is the one thing a DD can do the single duelist can not. That is the one advantage that DD have. And to me is part of the fun of it is adding a few transitions in that you can not do the other way.

I keep reading this post, hoping the next time I read it I’ll see that the knife has been returned, sadly it still hasn’t happened. I hope that this was all an accident and it’s still in an unopened box at the range. If the knife was taken by someone it’s disappointing to think that anyone in this sport would think that it’s ok, we all know this. But what really bugs me is that with all the folks that have gotten the word out and it still hasn’t been returned, and especially knowing who’s it was. Everyone that knows Scarlett knows that she goes out of her way to make pards feel welcome and takes time to talk to anyone who wants a minute of her time, she deserves better than to be treated like this.