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I couldn't get you on the phone so I figured I'd send you this private message. I agree with what you said about Pat Riot, but you shouldn't talk like that about Blackwater. He's good people and my kin to boot. Just try not to mention that too much on the wire or the saloon. Did the doctor ever figure out what those weird spots are? I don't think I'd worry too much since you don't get much use out of it anymore. But, I'll bet you'll be glad after that hemorrhoids surgery. Man, I bet that's awful. Grape size you say? Man oh man. I did get out to the carnival to talk to that bearded lady for you. She said she'd be happy to go to the movies with you, and can meet around 2. That'll give yall time to get to know each other better. Hated to send all this to you on private message. I'll try calling you tomorrow. -Tennessee

Yea...... call me tomorrow...... at my Lawyers office. BR-549 I heard you had a close female (?) friend that is one of those 'tree huggers'. And she only shaves her legs below the knee. And she never shaves under her arms either. I saw her the other day outside Walmart and she was pointing up in the sky at a jet. You would swear it looked like she had Alfalfa in a head lock. ..........Widder

If he’s talkin’ bad about me, it’s just to give you a break!!

It’s no wonder Wild Bodie Tom used it as his alias. Damn, I miss him.

is it gonna be a LONG winter ?

Insegreviously speaking, of course, it appears no insegrevious words were shared in a cross-eyed manner of which an insegrevious person of your tenure would speak. …. an insegrevious word has been spoken by the one and only Tom Eagle Talker.

No ill words shall my lips utter about Cousin Blackwater. The last time a Southerner cast an insigrievous word or looked cross-eyed towards Blackwater, they were cursed for 7 years. And part of the curse was they started speaking like they were from New Jersey. ..........Widder

Throwback Thursday What A Town! Photographer Romanzo E. Wood visited Bodie in 1879 to photograph the rapidly growing mining town of Bodie. This view, looking west, shows mostly the north end of Bodie. Behind Main Street, in the foreground, you see the small cabins of Bodie’s red light district. Wood, who credited his photos, “R.E. Wood,” was a Massachusetts native who came to California on the Oregon-California trail in 1859. He traveled widely over the state, photographing not only Bodie and nearby Lake Tahoe, but also cities and towns up and down the California coast. His collection, held by California State University at Chico, includes over 400 wet-plate glass negatives and albumen photographic prints. We think you’ll agree the detail and sharpness in this photo is incredible. We’ll be sharing more of his photos in the months to come. Photo courtesy of California State University, Chico, Meriam Library Special Collections #ThrowbackThursday

Howdy JOE. Hope all is well with you. I went to bed at 3 a.m. this morning with a happy attitude. I woke up with a happy attitude. Wonder why? I'll keep a good attitude till TW calls me on the phone today, wanting to borrow more money or seek my wisdom on how to handle his 'women' problems. He seems to attract women who are mentally disturbed and broke....... like a broke down Yugo. ..........Widder

Don't look like it.🤩

WE don't elect them! They are elected by idiots who believe every lie they are told, don't look beyond the TV idiots, don't investigate on their own, and really want all the promises to be lept that are made to get them into Utopia.

Three degrees all around. There is no "side" on a circle. On a two dimensional illustration, it's 3º on each side.

and it's melbourne cup day ............... Just Another Bloody Horse Race .......... and I don't care ..... 😶 I do hope that your big (US) event today goes well (for the whole world) 🙃 Vote early, Vote often 🙃🙂🙃

I like it! Not enough to spend $30 on it, but I like it https://hardaddy.com/collections/Christmas-hot-sellers?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=ZL1605&utm_content=839162141475405&utm_term=04700&adp=16525466%2C16518223%2C16518226%2C16491623&fbclid=IwY2xjawGXnspleHRuA2FlbQEwAGFkaWQBqxgAkhEYsgEdvmCLhajwfBAmTseJe1ALiL6lsc7td-TrGEfPvdNlpaX_R5N9H3Sh7o2I_aem_PWZyBH1soyN4xil_Y-U1tg&utm_id=120216148498820706#1

https://youtube.com/shorts/-UVnRsNhqeM?si=zrIV7zAUa-ANPGJs ADDED: For some reason the above video won't embed, you need to click on it.

there be a snack for Blackwater

SIZZLE, SPIT, CLAW AND BITE Sheriff Linn Keller seized the man by his throat and his crotch. His grip was fast, hard, crushing, painful. It didn't last long. The Sheriff could not hear his angry roar. Everyone else could. The Sheriff was known as a patient man, the Sheriff was known as a reasonable man. The Sheriff was now known as someone who would cheerfully throw an opponent through a plate glass window. Perhaps "cheerfully" isn't the right word. When a lean waisted lawman's eyes turn dead white and he can't hear himself screaming, when he spins once and throws a grown man with the ease of slinging a child's doll, when he drives the offender through the window, climbs out after him, picks him up off the sidewalk and shoves him face first in the only remaining horse trough on the main street and holds him underwater until a great gout of bubbles come to the surface, when he hauls the man's head out by the hair, picks him up overhead and body slams him to the sidewalk -- hard! -- it probably can't be said that the Sheriff was cheerful. Paul Barrents slammed his hand down on the offender's chest -- hard -- he drove claws into him hard enough to bring up all the shirt and most of the underlying chest hair, he hauled the man off the ground and pinned him against the brick wall beside the blasted-open window, he pinned him hard and hissed, "Give me an excuse." The Navajo Chief Deputy, best friend of the pale eyed Sheriff, peeled his lips back to show clenched white teeth. "Just one. Please." There was, of course, court action that followed. The Sheriff was exonerated. It seems that video of the event showed the Sheriff faced a knife, close-in, that his actions were to keep himself from getting flayed, filleted or gutted, not necessarily in that order, even if it did involve the unorthodox method of launching the offender through a window. The court stared in open astonishment as an expert in knife fighting demonstrated just how much damage could be done to the human body, with the help of an anatomic dummy, followed by multiple witnesses who knew the offender and swore under oath as to the assaults and murders performed by said offender. Perhaps the greatest surprise was the Sheriff's youngest daughter, Victoria. She was addressed by the Judge, as she was not yet of majority, nor even close: she was able to assure His Honor she knew the difference between a lie and the truth, that she would speak the truth, but it wasn't until she came out of the witness stand and said "Let me show you what he did, and what I did to him," that the court realized they hadn't grasped the entire situation. One of the Sheriff's deputies, about the same height and build as the man who tried to gut the Sheriff rather than submit to arrest, wore a padded suit for the occasion. Victoria was wearing a frilly dress and anklets, her little block heels clicked sharply on the floor as she stepped forward, looked around and said, in a child's innocent voice, "There I was, minding my own business, when that man" -- she turned, thrust an accusing arm at the defendant -- "tried to grab me." "Tried to grab you?" the prosecutor asked. "Well, he did grab me, and I'll show you how." "What did you do afterward?" Victoria seemed to draw inside herself: she closed her eyes and shivered, then she opened her eyes, and her eyes were pale. The deputy seized her wrist and snarled, "You're coming with me!" It was the first time in Firelands history that a pretty little girl in a frilly dress and hard-toed dancing shoes, turned into an honest to God wildcat in a little girl's body. Victoria didn't try to pull away. She thrust into her attacker, just like she did on the sidewalk in front of a building under renovation. Victoria was an Irish dancer. An Irish hardshoe dancer. Victoria drove two fast kicks into the shin bones, drove her steel-plated heel down onto the deputy's arch -- and made him grateful he'd listened, and wore jackhammer sabatons over his boots and under the red suit's padding -- she literally climbed his frame, clawing, raking, her fingernails leaving chatter-marks in the suit material. He tried -- reflexively, spontaneously -- to block her. She grabbed his arm and drove her teeth deep into the padding, reached up, clawed his cheek, surged up further -- she climbed his frame without mercy and with a surprising speed -- her fingers were clawed, rigid, she seized his cheeks and pulled her face up to his and drove her teeth into his neck, or tried to. She started screaming when he first grabbed her wrist. She didn't stop until she buried her teeth in the red suit's neck, or as near to it as she could. Victoria pushed free, dropped easily to the floor, spat out a chunk of red padding: she smoothed her skirt down, then she spun, glided across the floor on her toes like a ballerina, spun back into the witness stand. Victoria looked at His Honor the Judge with big, innocent eyes. "It was easier with my attacker," she said in the pure, innocent voice of a child: "that red suit is kind of hard on my fingernails." For some odd reason, Defense had no questions for this witness. After the ER physician and two nurses were sworn in, after they gave their sworn testimony that the injuries on the defendant were indeed consistent with clawed fingernails, that there was not just a bite mark on the defendant's neck, but a chunk bitten out of his neck, that they'd taken evidence photographs of the bruising on her wrist, bruising consistent with being seized -- hard -- they'd carefully taken fingernail scrapings from Victoria that were DNA matched to the defendant -- though Prosecution was forbidden to bring in the offender's past attacks on young female children -- the jury had very little difficulty upholding the Sheriff's justification in his actions. Sheriff Linn Keller went back to the building under renovation and spoke with the new owner. He offered to pay for a replacement window, as he'd been the one who broke it. The new owner thanked the Sheriff for his kind offer, then he thrust a chin at the hole where the window used to be and said, "It was old glass, single pane. I couldn't afford to heat the place with glass like that. I'm replacing it with a double thickness of insulated glass." He gave the Sheriff a long look and said, "It was coming out anyway." The man's eyes hardened and Linn knew there was something behind his words, and he was right. "I heard what that fellow did," he said quietly. "Sheriff, I've got a girl at home. Can you teach her to fight like that?" Linn considered for a long moment, then he thrust his bottom jaw out and nodded. "I know someone who can." Victoria Keller danced across the barn floor, steel-tapped heels and hard-toed dance shoes loud on smooth cement. She glided like a magical creature, floating on her toes with the ease of a ballerina. She spun and high-kicked, but she didn't give the graceful, pointed-toe kick of the Irish dance she practiced so much. When she turned, when she kicked, she kicked for the chin of a ballistic dummy she'd positioned for the purpose. She kicked it under the chin, a precise strike with the hard, reinforced toe of her hardshoe, then her hands fisted and she spun again, drove her heel into the dummy's belly. Victoria Keller, the pretty young daughter of a pale-eyed Sheriff tore into the ballistic dummy with claws and fists and feet and elbows, she drove it to the floor, she seized it and hauled it off the ground and slammed it face-first onto the concrete, she jumped as high as she could and drove her heels into its kidneys and then she stood it back up, danced backwards from it, drew her Daddy's stainless Walther and walked ten rounds from the bottom of its breastbone to the bridge of its nose. She had the fresh magazine slammed into the handle before the empty mag hit the floor. Victoria Keller saw the sights, the screaming-bright orange front, sharp and clear, perfect in the flat-black rear notch, and she heard something she didn't expect, something she didn't recognize, something she didn't know she was doing. She heard herself snarl, deep in her young chest, and she realized ... This is what Daddy meant by the Rage. The pale eyed daughter of a pale eyed Sheriff held the sight picture for a long moment more, then thumbed the hammer-drop, shoved it back up, holstered her Daddy's pistol. Victoria closed her eyes, took a long breath, blew it out, then she squatted and started picking up her fired brass. A girl has to be tidy about these things, you know.

Four on the floor and a fifth under the seat!!

I say Widder Yeeeeeh Haw pilgrim and Waaa, Haa ! ............Jackrabbit

WELCOME!!! And don’t pay no attention to Imis!! He’s been described by people of good taste, when wearing his hat, as looking like… “an umbrella with a fat stick!!”

1848 Seneca Falls

Ah, so this is when they first got together to learn to be sneaky, manipulative and cunning.

Yep, agree with that. If you want to find out which states are socialist, poorly thought-out, stupid and anti-American, look no farther than the Blue colored states on the Electoral College map tonight. All the states still not committed to EC votes are all Blue states. I'm going to bed, but I figure Comrade Harris will be the new prez in 2025. God help us all.

Tonight is like a combination of Christmas Eve and the night before a colonoscopy

I say make them messages public. Enquiring minds want to know if you're talking bad about Blackwater again.

We have a "rope holder" set at 30 feet. It's nothing special, it just holds the rope tight. The rope is ¼" diameter. All you have to do is cut it with your rifle, pistol, or side match pistol. i.e. derringer. Randy St Eagle and myself are the only ones I know cut it with the derringer. Randy did it twice so far and didn't take nearly as many shots at it as I did. I think he cheated and used the sites but I aint sure.

Not funny, just the pepper tree we see from our front window.

What you mean WE, pale face?? Ive NEVER voted for a democrat!!

YOUR HAND, MY DEAR Jacob Keller picked up his son in one arm, his daughter in the other. His little boy grabbed his Pa's Stetson, dunked it on his own head and laughed as it came down to the bridge of his nose. His little daughter put her finger to the corner of her mouth, the hugged her Daddy with the quick, happy spontaneity of a happy little girl-child. The photographer fired the flash-bar, burning magnesium dust seared the air and a cloud of smoke rose, rolled toward the ceiling: it was a rare thing for a photographer in this era to get a spontaneous expression of filial delight, but somehow, unexpectedly, he'd managed. When he developed the plates, when he fixed the image, when he washed it in clean water and let it stand and dry off, he presented the plate to the pale eyed Sheriff and his wife. They exclaimed in delight, for it was exactly what they'd hoped for: it was a perfect depiction of Sheriff Jacob Keller, lawman, husband and father, in a moment at home with his family. More formal images were taken, of course; these were duly examined, and pronounced good, but by far the favorite image of husband, of wife, of photographer as well, was the one where the Sheriff was laughing, with a laughing little boy usurping his skypiece as his own, and a happy little girl delightedly embracing her big strong Daddy. Another Sheriff Jacob Keller, another planet altogether: photography was somewhat more advanced than the days when flash powder was used to illumine a photographer's subjects. Jacob Keller stood, stiff, one arm at his side, his hand thrust inside his coat, looking as stuffy and as officious as he possibly could: his rich red mustache was curled into a truly villainous handlebar, he looked sternly at the camera, then turned his head and winked at his wife and said "Well? Do I look enough like a stuffed owl?" Mother and children laughed: Jacob squatted quickly to receive the charge of his son and of his daughter: in accordance with the whispered conspiracy they'd engaged in earlier (which conveniently excluded the photographer and his in-laws, in whose study the photographs were being taken), Jacob's little boy happily snatched the brushed-black Stetson from his Pa's head, dunked it down on his own, laughing: Jacob stood and his little girl hugged her Daddy, laying her head happily over on his shoulder, giggling shyly for the camera. Glaring light flashed, the image chemically seared on glass plates: copies were made, at the request of Jacob's delighted father-in-law: he took pleasure in hanging the image of his grandchildren laughing with their father in a moment of what looked like unplanned, spontaneous happiness. The other photograph was taken with more conventional methods, but was no less cherished. It was a close-up, just Jacob and his wife, and had his father-in-law any doubt as to the gentlemanly nature of the man his daughter had chosen to marry, they were utterly dispelled, and the photograph reminded him of the moment when Jacob looked at his bride and murmured, "Your hand, my dear," and raised it to his lips, and looked at her with a gentleness few outside immediate family ever saw.

Too many people are voting for a living. The free stuff. Toxic empathy!

Move the targets out 75 yards for rifles 25 yards for pistols 15 yards for shotguns Anyone that cleans the stage AND doesn’t whine about the distances is in the running for the win. 100 yard rifle targets for tie breakers. Whining is an immediate DQ. Tell them Pat Riot came up with the idea so you don’t get nix’d next year. I will accept PMs from the whiners.

What part of PRK are you prisoner in? Have you attended any shoots yet? Buy NOTHING, until you have attended a few shoots and done a hands on live fire!

Have y'all ever done a post shoot? 4x4 or 2x4 planned in the ground several in a row and whoever shoots it in half first wins. Used to do them at rondevous. Can take a bit with rocklocks. I imagine between 2 pistols a rifle and shotgun should be able to cut lumber.

There are plenty of people working hard to turn this whole country over to such nonsense. Remember that when ya vote today

They have these table top tablets or mini computer pods. These all came out during Covid. Duh…stop disease by having every one handle a computer. Idiots!