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Today I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. For over two years I’ve been waiting for a chance to buy some 32-20 brass. Two weeks ago I got emails from Starline and MidwayUSA that they had limited availability. Yesterday 700 pieces of brass arrived between the two. Now I have some reloading to do.

I absolutely love this family!! We have watched all five kids grow up, constantly helping each other out, and becoming incredible shooters. You should have seen the look of determination on Lil Miss B Haven's face when I asked her if she was going to be beating her brothers in upcoming matches! Quick Chick and Chicken George are raising a wonderful young family, steeped in faith and hard work. It is always a joy to see them walking towards me with big smiles on their faces.

I would NEVER think of spoiling a dog like that.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this family! I sponsored the Junior Wild Bunch Shooters at EOT and Skrap P and Sweet K Oss stopped by the tent to Thank me!! I’m just glad none of them have found the fun of Frontier Cartridge Gunfighter! Thank you @Chicken George and the whole family for being such a big part of the game! Hugs! Scarlett

Places that refuse to allow people to carry guns should be required by law to provide bonded armed security for those who are prevented from protecting themselves and bonded storage for their firearms!! More guns and other weapons are stolen from vehicles in the parking facilities of places where carry is prohibited, by far and away, than anywhere else!! If you’re not willing to allow me to protect myself then you should be legally responsible for my security and the safety of my family, friends, and any property I bring into your place of business!!

I picked up a pair of (Circa 1995) Remington New Model Army 44's that have been road hard and put away dirty & dry . With a Little Cap Gun Love , Some Filing & Fitting . Some Cleaning & Soothing. Added a Few Springs & Two Cartridge Cilinders . I Breathed some Life Back into these Old Girls . Giving them a Chance to Keep Telling a story .

I owned a straight razor for years. I used it once. Here’s a piece of information you should keep in mind. If you’re sitting around drinking beer and whiskey shots with a few friends and someone says “You should give straight razor shaving a try. It feels great.” 1. Don’t decide after your friends leave to give it a try. 2. Styptic pencils really sober you up and hurt like a bear on 2 1/2” long razor cuts. 3. Don’t use your wife’s fancy hand towels to wipe up blood. 4. Electric razors are fairly safe. 5. Razor scars disappear fairly quickly. If you’re looking for a sexy scar to enhance your tough guy appearance try another method.

@Flanigan Flats I am the SASS dealer for APP… however I can only ship by the case which is 12 pounds. As @Abilene, SASS # 27489 said, Shooters World Multi Purpose Black IS APP 3F and is carried by many online retailers - Natchez, Grafs, Powder Valley, Midway, Midsouth Shooter Supply, and Scheels who will ship by the pound. Thank you, @Tully Mars for your willingness to share some of yours! I appreciate it. Hugs! Scarlett

Running Romulan Ale

Now I have no use for razors of any type.

A GIF?

No, you’re only “ close” like in horseshoes, hangrenades, and nuclear weapons, close but no cigar. FOFLMFAO

Rule 18: It's better to seek forgiveness that ask permission.

We all started together in 2021, which isn’t that long, but we’ve thrown ourselves into it that's for sure.....we've all shot competitively for a long time, our biggest regret is that we didn't take up Single Action Shooting a long time ago! For a laugh we put these magnets on our fleet of cars when we go away for a match, We have two heavily laden guncarts...so far – The whole Dale Gang (Minus Gemstone and Tommy Two Guns who are pregnant with our third grandbaby) – Some photos one of my pards on the Wire did for myself and Jenorado – Our two sons Tommy Two Guns and Red Justice

They were at the Shot Show just before that. Misty and Ruby just spent a week, or more, at EoT which had a lot of visitors. They were at the Red Dead Redemption gathering last year, and they'll probably be there this year. Misty puts a lot of time and effort into promoting SASS. I don't know their itinerary, but they'll be at many of the large shows/events this year.

We did stay in a motel in Pratt, Kansas that had a sign in room saying not to clean your ducks and geese in room!

Common sense? kR

“If you are in a spaceship that is traveling at the speed of light, and you turn on the headlights, does anything happen?” - Steven Wright

SIREN SONG Fire Chief Chuck Fitzgerald looked across the bay, raised a finger, thrust his arm out like he was casting a line. The German Irishman hit a cast aluminum button that hadn't been used for a decade anyway. He had no doubt the siren would work -- the Irish Brigade took pride in their equipment, in their station, in each other; they kept everything -- everything! -- ready for use at a moment's notice. The pale eyed Sheriff was clutching a K9 harness vest, with its built-in remote-trigger strobe, with its radio tracker, with its six point star and the words SHERIFF K9 embroidered in gold on the black Kevlar surface. Marnie gripped her father's shoulder. "Daddy," she said quietly, penetrating the black cloud of the Sheriff's self-absorbed anger, "you know what kind of a nose Tank has." Linn glared at his daughter, his jaw muscles bulged against the language he wanted to use. Marnie brought her other hand up, gripped his other shoulder as well. "Tank wants to please, you know that." An impatient finger hit the cast aluminum button again, pushed hard, held it. "He'll be scenting and he'll be looking. You know him. He's a scent-and-sight hound, even if he does like to steal your socks." Linn closed his eyes, took a long breath, his hands crushing into shivering fists, the harness material of Tank's unused vest wadding up in his palms as he did. "He got the scent and he took out. He's like that. He's fast." "He's fast and we don't know where he is." Linn looked at Fitz. The German Irishman turned from the switch, strode across the firehouse: he shoved the latch with his thumb, swung the grey breaker box panel open, ran his eyes down the row of breakers. "You know how he hates the siren," Marnie continued. "Now let's get outside and listen." Marnie did not wait for her father's reply: she turned, raised her talkie, pressed the textured, flush-mountted transmit button on the side. "This is Mary Seven. All hands, now hear this. We're about to blow the fire whistle. When we do, listen and listen good. Tank will howl when he hears the siren. Get a bearing and report when we run the inventory, Mary Seven clear." Marnie thrust a boot into the black doghouse stirrup, swung onto her Daddy's black gelding, kneed him about, gigged him into a fast trot. When the fire whistle blew, she wanted to have some distance. As much as Tank hated that fire whistle, the gelding hated it more, and if she didn't have some distance, she'd have to play rodeo right in the middle of the street, and she didn't want to do that. Not with God and everybody watching. There was a brittle click as the breaker was turned back on, the sound of hurried steps crossing the bay floor. The German Irishman raised a hand, looked across the firehouse, cheerfully called "Fire In the Hole!" A little boy can cover a surprising distance, but a little boy at high altitude will wear out kind of quick. A little boy sat on a handy rock and threw his head back, breathing hungrily, laid back, leaned over, curled his legs up: the sun was warm, he was out of the wind and he felt half sick. A brown-black-and-tan Malinois cast back and forth on the depot platform, tail swinging: he pattered down the stairs, stopped, turned, nose in the air, tasting the wind. The Malinois turned his head, swung around, mouth open, tongue curled, the happy expression of a dog doing what he loved. He took off running, running toward a path he'd run before, a path that went up the side of the mountain. Tank had a snootful of scent, thanks to the coat held down for his inspection: he'd cocked his head a little and shoved his nose deep into the quilting, his tail whipping. The Sheriff rose, turned: they were outside the firehouse, the wind was carrying down the mountain, toward them, when Tank drove his muzzle deep into the coat, when he drew his head back, when he raised his muzzle, sniffing the air: Linn turned to pick up the canine vest, turned back. He saw the retreating backside of his K9 partner, full sprint, disappearing around the back of the firehouse. Marnie gripped the gelding's barrel, snatched off her uniform Stetson. If we're going to dance, damn you, I'll beat you to death with my hat! Midnight hated that tower mounted siren with a deep purple passion, and Marnie knew it: she felt like a condemned man must feel, strapped to a keg of powder, when the sizzling fuse just disappears into the keg, in that bright tenth of a second before detonation. The ancient, surplus, tower mounted air raid siren began to rotate, began to howl, began to scream: the timer was handmade and ancient, strips of curved copper driven by a washing machine motor, a V-belt and two pulleys: as long as the curved contact strips were touching the metallic brushes, the siren ran; the curved strips broke contact, the siren began coasting down, its alarming howl dropping in pitch, if not volume. Midnight shivered, danced a little, shook his head, muttering. "Don't you dare, damn you," Marnie snarled. Her head came up, as did her hand: she mashed her Stetson down on her heat, snatched the talkie free. "THIS IS MARY SEVEN. KILL THE SIREN, KILL THE SIREN, KILL THE SIREN!" She sat very straight, listened, turned her head a little, turned it back, smiled. "Gotcha." A little boy rubbed his eyes, confused. He had no idea where he was and he didn't have any idea why he was hearing a wolf howl, then he opened his eyes and there he was. Big and brown and black and tan, a wolf, big as he was, sitting there looking at him, right before he raised his muzzle and sang again. It was not the first time the wild song of a yellow eyed canid sang for the joy of singing, and it would not be the last, but it was the first time a little boy sat up, delighted, threw his head back and sang with him. Deputy Sheriff Marnie Keller urged Midnight up the path, toward the Wildsong, toward a happy and somewhat discordant harmony. She raised the blocky talkie and pressed the textured, flush mounted transmit button. "Dispatch, this is Mary Seven. I believe we've found him." A little boy's mother would include the picture cut from The Firelands Gazette in a scrapbook. The picture was of a delighted looking little boy riding in front of a mounted Sheriff's deputy, with the deputy's jacket around him: the picture was taken quartering-on, from a little distance: it showed the shining-black horse, the laughing deputy, the delighted little boy with his arms thrown wide, and a black-brown-and-tan Malinois trotting along beside them, looking up at the mounted pair, mouth open in a doggy grin, curled tongue declaring his absolute happiness.

I really like congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Green. She ran for office holding an AR15.