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It's only a flesh wound

When I was a kid we would give the dog half a can of dogfood in the morning, put a lid on the can, and put it in the fridge. It got various treats and table scraps during the day, and the other half can in the evening. He knew that food was kept in the fridge. A few times in the evening he came to the back door, scratched to get let in, and then stood by the fridge with a dead gopher in his mouth. He wanted to put his fresh food into the fridge. Mom didn't let us do it. She was unreasonable that way. I can almost feel my bones breaking if I tried that now.

There are FOUR references to "cross draw" holsters in the SHB. Three on page 3. One on page 7 (prohibiting simultaneous “double cross draw” method of drawing or holstering revolvers when shooting Gunfighter style).

More of a meme or joke, but too funny not to post here.

Dedicated to all the idiots in our lives... When Gandhi was studying law at the University of London, he had a professor called Peters who couldn't stand him. Gandhi was not a guy to be intimidated. One day the professor was eating in the dining room and Gandhi sat next to him. The professor said, "Mr. Gandhi, do you know that a pig and a bird cannot eat together?" " “Okay, professor, I'm flying away…” replied Gandhi, who sat at another table. The deeply irritated professor decided to take revenge in the next exam, but Gandhi answered all the questions brilliantly. Then he decided to ask him the following question: "Mr. Gandhi, imagine that you are standing on the road and you see a bag; you open it and find wisdom and a lot of money." Which of the two would you choose? " - “Of course it's money, Prof.” - "Ah, I would choose wisdom." - “You are right Professor; In fact, each one chooses what he/she DOESN'T have!” " The angry teacher wrote the word idiot and returned the exam. Gandhi read the test result and returned immediately. "Professor, you signed the exam, but you forgot to grade it!"

I’m a little less grumpy today! I’m headed off to the best party in Sass next week and I have already begun packing!! We won’t leave until Tuesday morning and I have a doctor’s appointment Monday morning where the doctor and I will make final preparations for me to shoot an entire match!! Schoolmarm will be going with me this time!! Been over a year since she has gone with me to a match! I went to a new, (to this most recent treatment episode) orthotics specialist earlier this week. I’ve used these people before, but over the last few years, they’ve chosen to NOT do orthotic insoles for diabetic patients, something to do with the Medicare system. My doctor wrote the prescription for treatment of a surgically repaired foot with partial amputation and permanent nerve damage. I know the specialist! He’s a friend and is familiar with my history and my activities. He took a cast of my foot and lower leg and is building a new brace to correct the foot drop, the twist in my step, and to fill the void created by the partial amputation. It’ll fit inside a regular boot/shoe!! It may require me to buy larger boots, but I will be able to walk relatively normally once we get it all tuned in. I SHOULD be able to work in the shop and ride my motorcycle again when I get all straightened out!!

Perfect example of…… “if you’re gonna screw up, at least make them wonder how you did it” Regards Gateway Kid

The thing pointing at the kangaroo (silver) is the lens. The black thing pointing towards you (seemingly the top) is an open top view finder and kind of underneath that is the film advance winder. Never had the Hasselblad but used Mamiya 645 for years in my wedding photography business. At the time mine cost over $25,000 and the Hasselblad were at least twice that. Regards Gateway Kid

A young bloke decided to go to Alaska. So he flew to Alaska. He arrives and heads into the closest bar where he announces that he is newly arrived from Australia “What do I have to do to become an Alaskan?” he asks. “Well,” replies one old grizzled man at the bar, “to be an Alaskan you have to drink a whole bottle of whiskey, fight a grizzly bear barehanded, and make love to an Eskimo woman, all in one night.” “OK” exclaims the young Ozzie. He grabs a bottle of whiskey and chugs it down, then stumbles out into the night. A couple of hours later, he crawls back into the bar, his clothes in tatters, bleeding scratches all over himself and fights his way to his feet. Holding on the back of a chair he asks, “Where’s that Shiela I got to fight?” ——-+ in truth this joke was about a Texan, but I thought an Aussie would fit.

When you're the reason for the safety meeting monday.

DUTCHMAN'S JUSTICE Sheriff Jacob Keller's face was expressionless as he turned off the screen. Ruth Keller came back into the parlor, sat carefully in her rocking chair: Jacob rose when she came into the room, as he always did, and Ruth smiled gently to see her husband's gentlemanly acknowledgement that a Lady had just entered the room. Ruth sat carefully, on a pillow she and her mother fashioned for the purpose. Ruth smiled again as she looked at her husband, one self-conscious hand on her belly. "Did you always rise for your mother and your sisters?" she asked quietly. "No," Jacob admitted with a bashful grin. "No, I had to cultivate the habit." She saw his eyes grow a little distant, the way they did when he was remembering. "Pa made mention of the habit, and I tried it -- but my bratty little sisters would leave the room and come back in and leave the room and come back in and laugh at my Jack-in-the-box." Ruth blinked, puzzled. "Jack-in-the-box?" she asked, and Jacob laughed. "I'll have to get you one. Or I can pull one up here ..." He turned the screen back on; Ruth heard his quick patter of keys, he turned the screen and she watched the animation. She didn't jump when the lid flew back and the Jack-in-the-Box popped out, but her eyebrows did raise rather quickly. "A common child's toy. If the child is too young, it can scare 'em." "I see," Ruth murmured. "I was looking at pending cases back home," Jacob said thoughtfully. "There's an open case, still under investigation." Jacob Keller waited in the shadow. The stepladder was set up in another man's garage. Jacob looked at common hardware store rope, tied off to a rafter: a short section of rope lay across the rafter, and a crude loop. His vision was quite good. He saw the rope was tied off with multiple overhand knots, two of which accidentally formed square knots, a third forming a granny -- the loop itself was commercial manufacture, available at any hardware store in a double handful of Western states. The rope itself was a little dusty, he knew, as if it had slept on a shelf somewhere for some long time. Jacob waited until the man he was waiting for, came into the garage. Jacob took a quick step forward, seized him from behind -- one gloved hand over the man's face, he pulled the head back and to the side, pressed something cold and metallic against the exposed throat -- a hiss -- he caught the limp body as it collapsed. He worked fast. Jacob climbed the stepladder, not an easy task as his other arm was around the limp figure's chest, holding him from behind. He got up to rafter height, grabbed the rope, dropped the loop over the twitching figure's head, made sure it was settled around his neck, then dropped him. Jacob descended the ladder, laid it over, looked around, then he returned to the shadow, activated the Iris, disappeared. "Michael. Victoria." The twins looked up from their just-emptied dessert plates, watched as Linn forked up his last bite of pumpkin pie with whipped cream. "Did you get filled up?" Linn asked in his gentle Daddy-voice. "Yes, sir," the twins chorused. "Is your homework done?" "Yes, sir." "Chores are finished?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Conference, my office." Shelly gave her husband a quizzical look: Linn gave her the slightest of head-shakes, barely a quarter of an inch, but enough so his wife knew that she was not to be part of whatever was about to happen. Linn rose, picked up his plate, his silverware, his empty coffee mug, carried them over to the sink: he took his wife's shoulders from behind, leaned down and nibbled the side of her neck, whispered "I'll take care of the dishes, darlin'." "Mmm," she purred. "Promises, promises." Linn refrained from smacking his wife on the backside -- the children were watching, after all -- he slipped around the head of the table, approached the twins, standing at the opposite end, waiting, big-eyed and watchful. They entered the Sheriff's study. The twins sat on the long, comfortable couch; Linn turned his office chair around, faced them, sat. The twins considered this was probably a good sign: if this were a matter of discipline, their father would be on his feet. Linn frowned at the floor, rubbed his palms together slowly, thoughtfully, looked up. "How much do you know about the juvenile justice system?" he asked. Brother and sister looked at one another, looked at the Sheriff, shook their heads. Linn took a long breath, exhaled through his nose, clearly uncertain, and this was more disconcerting for the twins than if he'd addressed them on some wrongdoing. "Sir," Michael hazarded, "have we done something wrong?" Linn looked up, surprised, then they saw his ears turn a little red. "No, Michael. No, neither of you have done anything wrong." The Sheriff straightened. "I have what might seem to be bad news." The twins each looked as puzzled as the other. "You remember that Nisley fellow tried to murder your Uncle Will." "Uncle Will saw his reflection in the store window," Michael replied. "Uncle Will turned and took the ax away from him and drove the head end into his gut," Victoria added. "Well, they had a hearing, and Nisley is not competent to stand trial." "Oh, bull," Michael protested: Victoria's mouth opened, she hesitated, then asked, "He's gonna get away with it?" "He's being evaluated and sent home with an ankle monitor." "Home." Linn nodded. "For trying to kill Uncle Will with an ax?" Victoria said slowly, then both twins' eyes turned toward the gun case, and Linn could almost hear the gears turning in two young skulls. "I wanted to mention the juvenile system," Linn said quietly, "because if you try anything against Nisley -- if you decide you have to kill him because he needs killin' -- this isn't Wyoming back when Old Pale Eyes was still alive. We have to let the system handle this." "The system didn't handle it," Michael said bitterly. "I know," Linn cautioned, "but it's the best we've got. We'll do nothing. Nothing at all." He looked from his youngest daughter to his youngest son and back. "Understood?" "Yes, sir," they both chorused, and they looked their long tall Daddy in the eye when they said it. "Thank you," Linn said gravely. "What about Jacob and Marnie?" Michael asked. "And Angela," Victoria added. "I'll talk to them, too." "Sir" -- Michael's young face was serious -- "sir, why did they turn him loose like that?" "Not competent to stand trial," Linn repeated. "He doesn't understand what he did, he's not competent to understand the courtroom proceedings, nor to participate in his own defense." "Sir, what's stopping him from doing it again? That ankle monitor won't --" "I know, Michael. I made that same argument to Prosecution and the Judge both, and I entered my official protest at the decision." The Sheriff's phone rang. "Excuse me," he said politely, sat up straight, slid the phone from his shirt pocket. "Keller." Michael and Victoria watched as their father stood abruptly. "When?" Each twin's hand found the other's: each felt the other's excitement as their father said, "On my way." Linn looked at his children, looked at the phone, slid it back into his shirt pocket. "Doesn't matter now. Looks like Nisely hanged himself." Ambassador and Sheriff Emeritus Marnie Keller stepped through the Iris into her brother's parlor, to the delightful smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and freshly-steeped Earl Grey tea. She hugged Ruth, smiling, murmured "How did you know?" -- then seized a sweet roll, closed her eyes with pleasure as she bit into the still-warm, freshly-frosted spiral. "Oh, God, that's good," she mumbled through her mouthful. "I've been craving these!" "We've Earl Grey and mint both," Ruth offered as the ladies sat: Jacob could not but smile at the sight. Their quarters would have been at home in the mid-1880s, and were very similar to the surroundings with which his offworld wife was familiar, and comfortable: both Ruth and Marnie wore long gowns, neither had much of a belly yet (though he knew this would change), and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, delighting at the sight of two truly beautiful women, pleased to see one another again. Jacob waited for the feminine kaffeeklatsch started to slow down, then he lifted his head a little and said gently, "Sis, could I borrow you for a minute?" The Sheriff asked the roommate what happened, and the greasy-looking fellow looked away, mumbled something. "Run that by me again," Linn said mildly. "I said he was on his phone, man." "Was he talking to somebody?" "No, man, I think he text somebody." "What happened then?" "He got a text, man." "A text. From who?" "I dunno, man, he diddn' say." "Where's the phone now?" "I dunno, man." Linn stepped closer and smiled, just a little. He was close enough to smell the unwashed roommate, close enough to feel his body heat. "Where's the phone?" the Sheriff asked again, closing his hands, then opening them again. "He, I, it, I got it, man." Linn held out his hand. "Give." When Linn came out of the house, he surveyed the front of the garage. Barrents turned, saw him approach, came out to meet him. "Nothing is touched," he said. "Ran a beam of light at ground level to try and highlight any footprints." "Any luck?" "No." "Ladder on its side, dead man hanging by the neck. Anything overtly suspicious?" "No." "We'll need to dust the ladder for prints. Glove up before you set it up and cut him down. Preserve the knot." "Right." Linn looked at his segundo. "I'm sorry," he said. "You already know what to do." Barrents winked. "I know you, Boss. You spoke out of habit." Angela came into Jacob's parlor, all smiles and bright eyes and a big plate of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. She hugged the ladies, skipped over to Jacob, laughed as she hugged him, whispered "I made your favorite," and Jacob hugged her again and grinned, "Floor sweepin's, baloney and pimento cookies! My favorite!" -- Angela smacked him on the shoulder with a sisterly "Oh, you!", picked up a still-warm cookie and stuffed it between her brother's teeth. Jacob hadn't gotten to borrow his sister yet. He had to wait for the happy conversation to slow down a little before interrupting. "Now that you're all here," he said, "I suppose you're wondering why I called this meeting." Angela picked up a cinnamon roll and threw at him: Jacob caught it, looked with dismay at the smeary mess of icing on his hand, stood up and went to the sink: a quick, one-handed wash-off as he ate the offending missile with the other, then he washed that hand as well, dried his hands, turned and accepted a big, steaming mug of freshly brewed Earl Grey with a little mint and honey. "So what's the big announcement?" Angela asked, doing her best to sound like an impatient little sister. "I just saw on the news where that fellow who tried to kill Uncle Will, hanged himself." "Good riddance," Marnie declared with a limp-wristed wave. "I do love good news this early in the morning!" "Any findings?" Angela added. Ruth tilted her head a little, interested, listening without comment. "According to Pa's report, he suspected the roommate -- he has a record, he's One of the Usual Suspects -- but his prints weren't on the ladder and his DNA wasn't on the rope they cut off the garage rafter." "What ladder?" "From the crime scene photos, he'd set up a stepladder to hang himself with and kicked it over, either a-purpose or when he tried to climb back on." Ruth grimaced, shivered. "Autopsy findings?" "Pending. Dollars to doughnuts he's juiced up on something." "I wouldn't doubt it," Angela muttered. "I heard the court let him off on insanity." "I heard that, too," Marnie murmured. "I was all set to go hang him myself." Jacob grinned. "Don't 'cha just love it when we don't have to work?" Marnie and Angela looked at one another, looked at Jacob. Marnie reached into her reticule and pulled out a bright-scarlet rose, fragrant and wet with dewdrops: she handed it to Ruth, who exclaimed with delight, smelled it, savoring the familiar scent, then pinning it to her bodice. Angela and Marnie each slipped two fingers into a pocket, drew out a gold coin. Jacob drew out his own. A Rose on one side, the superimposed Seal of Solomon and the Chrisian Cross on the reverse: pale eyes looked into pale eyes and into pale eyes, then looked at the coins they held. "I was ready to Rose Court him," Marnie said quietly. "Nobody tries to kill family and gets away with it." Angela nodded slowly, her eyes distant: she looked at the coin, turned it over, slid it away. "Same," she said quietly, and somehow neither Jacob nor Marnie doubted the deadly effectiveness of their pale eyed sister, should she make such a decision. "Dutchman's Justice," Jacob said as he slid his coin back into its hidden pocket. "Dutchman's Justice?" Ruth echoed, puzzled. "Back when Firelands was still the frontier," Marnie explained, "there was no such thing as an insanity defense. If someone was so insane that they killed someone, they were too dangerous to be allowed to live, so they were hanged for the good of society. I'm not sure why, but it was known as Dutchman's Justice."

A guy was walking along a beach in California when he stumbled on something. He bent down and picked it up and it was an Arabian lamp. He proceeded to wipe the sand off when a Genie appeared. The Genie seemed to be angry and said “This is the third time that I’ve been disturbed this week, so you’re only going to get one wish instead of three, so you’d better make it a good one!” The man thought for a minute and said, “I’ve always wanted to visit Hawaii, but I get sea sick, and I’m afraid of flying, so I wish that you would build me a bridge so that I can drive over.” The Genie exclaims “You’ve got to be out of your mind! Think about the logistics, all of the steel that would have to be sunk in the ocean and all of the asphalt! That’s too hard, think of something else.” The guy thinks again and says, “You know, I’ve been married and divorced three times and each time, they say it’s because I don’t understand them. So I wish to be able to understand women, know what they’re thinking when they’re quiet…” The Genie interrupts him saying “two lanes or four?”

Looks a lot like the county by county maps from USA elections. NYC,LA, Chicago, Detroit, Seattle, Portland Philly and Baltimore——all deep left wing liberal blue, basically the rest of the country conservative red. Regards Gateway Kid

That should be "HOW Marvelous" And yes, in my head I could hear Count Rugen saying it.

I'm quite cetain that the moderators know what those numbers mean.