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Showing content with the highest reputation on 02/19/2022 in all areas

  1. Pretty funny people get all bothered by modern firearms in the Saloon. Here’s a favorite of mine…it oughta irk some of ya. And it uses Glock mags!
    6 points
  2. Here’s a couple of modern ones that I like very much….and my dog Maddie. Not sure how her picture popped into the little menu dealy, but what the heck.
    5 points
  3. If 1958 can be called modern, I offer a S&W Model 18 Combat Masterpiece in .22 LR.
    5 points
  4. A Finnish story…. In 1939, Stalin grew tired of tolerating the existence of Finland on the Soviet Union’s western border, so he decided to crush it. In December, 120,000 soldiers, backed up by six hundred tanks and a thousand artillery pieces, readied themselves to invade Finland. The Finns were unperturbed. Their generals were competent, their borders were fortified, and their people were ready to fight and die for their homeland. As Russian bombs fell on Helsinki on the 30th of November, and Soviet divisions began crossing the border, a joke began to spread among the Finns. Whether apocryphal or not, this surely has to rate as the coolest line in history: “They are so many and our country is so small, where shall we find room to bury them all?”
    5 points
  5. A man in New York walked into the produce section of his local supermarket and asked to buy half a head of cabbage. The boy working in that department told him that they only sell whole heads of cabbage. The man was insistent that the boy ask the manager about the matter... Walking into the back room, the boy said to the manager, "Some old b***** outside wants to buy half a head of cabbage." As he finished his sentence, he turned around to find that the man had followed and was standing right behind him, so the boy quickly added, "...and this gentleman kindly offered to buy the other half." The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way. Later, the manager said to the boy, "I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier, we like people who can think on their feet here, where are you from son?" "Brazil, sir." the boy replied. "Why did you leave Brazil?" the manager asked. The boy said, "Sir, there's nothing but prostitutes and soccer players there." "Is that right?" replied the manager. "My wife is from Brazil!" "Really?" replied the boy. "Who did she play for?"
    5 points
  6. Thanks Primus! I was wondering what to do today!!
    4 points
  7. True story: I once pulled a vehicle over as it was leaving a subdivision. When I approached the woman driver, she immediately went off on me about the stop, threatening to report me to the media, the mayor and the police chief. As she sat there giving me hell, I reached up and got her purse off the roof of the car and handed it to her. I never spoke a word to her.
    4 points
  8. My MODERN revolvers!!
    4 points
  9. 3 points
  10. Why not welcome this thread? Many here have used or still use 21st Century firearms.
    3 points
  11. That’s some of the best stuff I’ve seen in a long time!
    2 points
  12. 572. UNPROFITABLE It is distinctly unprofitable to trouble a quiet man. Quiet men generally enjoy the quiet and don't like being aggravated. The Sheriff was a quiet man, and he'd been aggravated, and he showed his displeasure in a most understandable way. Jacob's head came up as he heard two gunshots -- muffled, but close -- The Bear Killer's head came up, as did the fur on his back: the big mountain Mastiff did not stand as much as he levitated, with legs extending almost as an afterthought: Jacob seized the double barrel shotgun, yanked open the door, cleared the steps in one jump, looking around: he heard his father's angry shout, he turned, ran toward the barn. The Bear Killer was a streak of black death, outpacing the tall boy with pale eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the Damascus barrels of his Mama's bird gun: war and ruin sang in the big Mastiff's throat, and the war-bay of a hound intend on death and the rending of man-flesh offered to run ice through the veins of any who heard. Jacob's blood was up and hot and did not chill; he sprinted into the barn, skidded to a stop. His father was angrily forking smoldering straw out the door -- angrily, for his moves were normally smooth, controlled, contained: he attacked what was apparently a small fire as if he were attacking a personal enemy, and Jacob, seeing a dead man on the floor and seeing no other threat, looked at his Pa. His question was unspoken, as was his father's answer. Jacob parked the shotgun, seized a shovel and went outside, smothering the forked-out flames, sliding stamped Ames steel over the fires, the smolders, suffocating them against cold, muddy earth. They worked in silence, father and son; Jacob seized the dead man's ankles, dragged him outside, dropped the legs with an utter lack of ceremony. There was no need to keep an eye on him. There was a hole just above the lip, just below the nose; the back of the head was somewhat the worse for the .44's exit: blood, and other matter, left a broad streak as the carcass was dragged outside. Jacob used the shovel to scrape the floor down to the bare, looked around; smoke still hazed the barn's interior as he looked at his long tall Pa and asked quietly, "Sir, are you hurt?" Linn's knuckles were white as he stopped, as he set the pitch fork's tines carefully, almost gently against the floor boards -- Jacob did not miss the gentleness of his father's move, and from this he deduced the Grand Old Man was quietly, deeply, to his soul, boiling mad, even yet. "No, Jacob," Linn said quietly, his words carefully shaped, confirming Jacob's suspicion that his pale eyed Pa was more than madder'n hell. "What happened, sir?" Linn's bottom jaw thrust out slowly, he took a long breath. The Bear Killer padded outside, sniffed at the bloodied carcass and cast his ballot upon the situation as he usually did: Linn looked at the watering dog, looked at his lean waisted son and said, "Jacob, that fellow tried to kill me." Jacob raised an eyebrow. "He was over here" -- Linn thrust his chin in the indicated direction -- "he was behind some straw piled where I hadn't piled it. He had his pistol stuck through the straw and when he fired, he missed me and fired the straw." Linn's already tight hand tightened further and Jacob heard two of his Pa's knuckles crack for the strength of his grip on the work-smoothed pitchfork handle. "He missed," Linn continued quietly, "and I did not." Jacob nodded slowly. "No, sir," he agreed. "I had to get that smoldery straw out before the place went up," Linn said, his voice hoarsening a little as his anger started to wane: "no way in hell did I want to lose this barn!" "No, sir." "Jacob." "Yes, sir." "Mount up and ride in to the Irish Brigade. Tell Sean I want him to come out and take a look at our two wells and see if they're good enough for his steam machine. It takes water to put out a fire and I want to make sure we have enough." "Yes, sir." Linn waited until Jacob whistled up his stallion, until he was saddled up, until he and The Bear Killer headed into town -- Jacob would fetch back the dead wagon, Linn knew, and that would give him time to go through the dead man's particulars and see if he could figure out who this Bush Whacker was. Linn had put enough men in prison, killed enough who didn't want to be taken, that he had enemies: this had been an amateurish assassination attempt, or an extremely professional attempt: a rifle or a shotgun at this range would have been fatal, but shoving a pistol through a pile of straw and firing? Linn considered for a long moment. Of all the professional killers he'd known, of all the hired murderers he'd heard of, or read about, none to his recollection preferred a shortgun for assassination, and none fired through a pile of straw in a barn. No, a professional would have waited just inside, with a shotgun, and given him two barrels in the back of the coat. Linn stood unmoving for a very long time, still and silent, a quiet man in a quiet barn, a man who simply wished to be left alone to enjoy the moment's peace. It does not profit to trouble the quiet man.
    2 points
  13. Looks like the original got removed from wherever I had the link, so: Different meme, same idea
    2 points
  14. Yes it can be done. However done incorrectly the hammers are worse than if they had never been bent. There are smiths that can do it correctly I suggest you buy a second set and have them fitted to the gun. Then send one set to a smith that knows what they are doing. I had a pair of 58s that a previous owner attempted to bend themselves. Were useless for shooting duelist as your thumb would slip off the hammer as you cocked them.
    2 points
  15. 2 points
  16. Mr. Rat... I have a writ here says you're to stop eating Chen Lee's cornmeal forthwith. Now it's a rat writ, writ for a rat, and this is lawful service of the same. See? Doesn't pay any attention to me.
    2 points
  17. Gee, if I had any modern guns I'd post some photos.......
    2 points
  18. 2 points
  19. I'll bite. I'm in the purple shirt. Daniel Defense Ambush, converted from 300 BO to 5.56mm x 45. Burris 1x4 optic. On my hip is my Springfield Marine Corps Operator. Active shooter training from a couple of years ago.
    2 points
  20. Someone say "Space Gats?"
    2 points
  21. We can post them in The Saloon and since the thread is now here… A California legal AR-15…soon to get new furniture and a YHM Phantom flash thingy. The greatest battle implement ever devised…with a modern stock. My Glock 45 with my S&W 327 Night Guard. They play well together. My 2 Glock 34s
    2 points
  22. 1 point
  23. Perhaps I used the wrong descriptive! I passed grumpy years ago!! Ill tempered, impossible to satisfy, often offensive, foul mooded, irascible, overly critical, detestablly spiteful, acid tongued, contrary old SOB!! If you don’t believe it, ask my mom!!
    1 point
  24. To me, a definitive one. One to live by, I try. “I won't be wronged. I won't be insulted. I won't be laid a-hand on. I don't do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.” ― John Wayne "The Shootist"
    1 point
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