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In a contraction, the purpose of the apostrophe is to take the place of missing letters. When you take two or more words, put them together to make one word, and remove some of the letters, you replace them with the apostrophe. Is not - remove the O, replace it with an apostrophe, isn't Do not - remove the second O, replace it with an apostrophe, don't Can not - remove one N and the O, replace them with an apostrophe, can't You all - remove the O and the U, replace them with an apostrophe, y'all That is how it is spelled - y'all. If you say it can be spelled any other way, you are simply incorrect. But I noticed that you don't know how to spell you - you spell it ya, so you might wish to consider going back to second grade and learning how to spell.

Isn't a piano a "percussion" instrument? And a xylophone? And a rack of chimes? Or bells?

I use a 50/50 mix of old school ATF and acetone, fingernail polish remover. I use a PVC pipe with an end cap. to soak longer parts. Give several days and try to loosen parts.

Sam Walton would cry his eyes out if he could see what his grand idea has become. So would Joe Albertson and others whose ideas have been "corporatized" into mega-money makers and the customer be damned.

What about the investment in a unicorn ranch ?

That was my first choice. But no luck so far

Sounds familiar.

Kroil

Declare Independence from your disposable income! This percussion Pedersoli Mortimer 12 gauge is in near mint condition with only minimal handling marks (safe rash?) on stock. Metal near 100%. Bore is pristine. Definitely unfired. Its 32.25" barrel is cylinder bored. LOP is 14". Gun weighs 8 lbs. Sold Out at most retailers. $1400 + Shipping.

Yes, understood. This will be a back burner project but the price was too good to pass up and, looking at it, it appears to have been a centerfire conversion. As it was in a fire. All the springs are shot and the bolts are fire rusted in place. So my first job is to free the bolts loose.

https://www.midwayusa.com/product/1004359074?pid=821208 They show both stainless and “in the white” in stock

The Zombie Apocalypse is here. Look at the number of people walking around with the hoods up, shuffling along with their cell phones in front of their expressionless faces, dead eyes, totally oblivious to their surroundings. The walking dead.

There is nothing "civil" about any war.

I take that back... the one I have is from a NMV.

Door kicking is unfortunately an effective way to gain criminal entry into a structure. Someone kicking the door unexpectedly is someone with less than kindly intentions. My years in law enforcement were enough to teach me that such actions never, ever, end well!

I used it for my daily lunch money until I got out of high school. Then I bought a $2.00 pocket watch at J. C. Penny (I still have it but it hasn't worked in forty years.) and now they carry a watch and a tiny little folding knife that I carry because I like it and I can.

Prayers continuing for all those effected.

Don't you mean Alpo's Salon? LOL TM

I have a SS one here at HOW.

If it was a kid, horrible in every way.

I hear someone kicking in my door, out comes the Smith & Wesson🤬

Ava Flanell, based in Colorado, is a rising star among pro gun social media personalities. She may not have all the flash and glitter of a Colion Noir, but she pulls her weight. She goes to public meetings, legislative hearings, press conferences, etc. Even though the deck is stacked against her in Colorado, she keeps on pushing. There is a lesson there for all of us. I encourage you to follow her on social media.

I have a few guns that are only "wall hangers", totally non-functional, that are on my wall just because I like the look and they fill a gap in my collection. A Hammond Bulldog that had been nickel plated and deliberately made into a lamp, a Manhattan Hero, and a Frank Wesson (coincidentally) small frame superposed pistol... a close copy made in about 1960..., and a couple of others. I asked around and found a few gunsmiths that have been willing to "make them look better". I also have a couple that I simply carefully cleaned up myself and hung them up as they were. A Remington Iroquois and a Remington-Elliot Deringer four barrel .32 are two that I fixed up myself. I have sold a couple that someone wanter more than I did I'm glad I prettied them up but it isn't cheap. In the case of the Manhattan I could have bought a working gun in fair shape for less, but who knew? Over the years I have done this a few times but you'll have to judge for yourself if it's worth it. Good luck and let us know how it turns out.

CONDUCTOR The ER doc looked up and smiled at the sound of sudden, happy, feminine voices. He liked working Firelands General, as his predecessor called it: their hospital was generally well run, their ER was superb, and the pace was nowhere near as frantic as the trauma centers he'd worked in more urban settings -- until, of course, they inevitably were. From the sound of it, he thought as he reviewed a new arrival's information. Sounds like someone's long-lost sister just showed up, or someone got engaged -- He looked away from the screen at the sound of a man's angry voice, then the sudden punch-the-chest concussion of a gunshot -- The ER doc looked around -- Where's the damned phone? -- it's at the nurse's station -- He had the impression of something white and fast-moving, something that streaked across his open door and was gone -- A woman's voice, harsh, commanding -- "DROP IT, DAMMIT! DROP THE WEAPON, DROP IT --" Two more gunshots, louder, heavier, more powerful: his hands went reflexively to his ears, he crouched, rolled forward onto his knees, jaws clenched, eyes squinted shut -- One uniformed man, running -- Angela Keller came smiling into the Emergency Department like a gust of cool spring air, tossed a mesh bag of assorted miniature chocolates to two startled nurses in scrubs and clogs: they caught the bounty, looked up, eyes widening: two nurses dropped their treasures on the nearest horizontal surface, squealed happily, threw their arms wide and ran toward Angela. Angela Keller, in her archaic white uniform dress and winged cap, squealed with them, seized them both in a happy embrace: three nurses jumped up and down like excited cheerleaders, all talking at once, loud, happy, laughing, looking for all the world like high school girlfriends that hadn't see one another for just forever! -- Their arms pulled away and each took a step back at the shouted voice. One of the two nurses in scrubs crouched quickly against the back of the stainless-steel, computerized, state-of-the-art medications dispenser. Angela's jaw thrust forward, her hand went to her belt. No one remembered seeing the gunbelt around her trim horsewoman's waist when she came in. No one missed the fact that she'd just gotten a handful of blued-steel Smith & Wesson from somewhere, and when Angela ran around the corner of the center island and toward the still-shouting voice, nobody watching could help but realize that war was declared, and they were involved. One nurse shot up from her crouch like a cork from deep water, reached over the countertop, seized the telephone receiver and punched a blue button, spoke quickly, urgently, then realized her effort was for naught as their sole security officer came through the doors, looking around, hand on his sidearm: he looked at one nurse, then the other, then saw Angela as she turned, looked at him. Angela sliced the pie. A quick peek, another, a third: she drew back as a gunshot's concussion slammed against the air. "DROP IT, DAMMIT! DROP THE WEAPON, DROP IT!" Angela went horizontal. The running officer saw it in slow motion. She was proned out before she hit the ground -- how she did it, he never knew, she just did it -- Angela fired twice, rolling the engraved Smith's narrow, grooved trigger back through a smooth double action stroke. Angela Keller was a Sheriff's deputy. Angela Keller was a Police Chief's niece. Angela Keller was granddaughter of a particular pale eyed Sheriff with a short temper and really good legs. Angela Keller was also intolerant of shots being fired in her hospital. Two rounds of factory loaded, 125-grain, Controlled Expansion Projectile, drove into a subject who may have had a drug related issue, or a psychiatric issue, or a criminal bent, or an attack of stupidity. Whatever the cause, the action had to be stopped. Angela Keller, Nurse-Paramedic and Sheriff's Deputy, did just that. She remained on the deck, rolled up on her strong side, revolver fully extended in an absolutely crushing, two-hand grip. It was a move she'd practiced, and practiced often, for just such scenarios. Angela performed under stress, as she'd practiced and practiced and practiced again. As he'd practiced, one of Uncle Will's officers, who worked hospital security and had been halfway down the back hall when things started, stopped: he had weapon in hand, chest high, pulled back against his shirt buttons, just around the corner from hostilities. He looked down at Angela, who rolled back, came up on her knees. He took the corner as she reloaded, fired brass ringing cheerfully as it hit the polished floor. Marnie's face was serious as she looked at her younger sister's solemn image on the screen. "Unofficially," Angela said quietly, "I'll be no-billed for this one, but we have to wait for the Prosecutor's official pronouncement." "What about hospital administration?" Angela's smile was tight. "When I went in to see them, I had another revolver in my holster and I went in Sheriff's uniform. They were ... not expecting that." "They didn't know you were a deputy?" "They claimed they were unaware. I shoved the CEO aside and accessed his computer, I pulled up my employee jacket and I showed them the hospital's agreement that I was LEO and their agreement that they would not interfere with law enforcement procedures by myself or any other such agency." "You shoved the CEO aside." "He was on a rolling chair," Angela shrugged. "They went into executive session and came out looking like they'd bit into a sour pickle. They couldn't deny I'd stopped a deadly threat, especially when I pointed out the Jack Doe shot holes in the wall that penetrated the hospital corridor where an X-ray tech was pushing a patient. I dropped the evidence folder on his desk top and pointed out evidence photos taken of the bullet and where it went through the swing arm of the rolling table's siderails and stuck partway through, then I pointed out if he'd fired again, he'd have hit the patient or the tech and the hospital would be shelling out multiples of a million dollars for failure to protect. "Their legal counsel leaned over and said something to him and that looked like the turning point. They didn't like that a nurse is also a cop but they had to agree I saved them a hell of a lot of difficulty." "What about the Jack Doe ...?" Marnie asked, dropping automatically into the vernacular she, too, used as a Sheriff's deputy in her own younger years. Angela smiled: she pulled two bobby pins free, set her white winged cap aside, picked up a round, black cap with a red rose embroidered on its front, and a shining-black bill. Angela clapped a railroad conductor's cap on her head and said quietly, "I punched his ticket aboard the Hell-Bound Train!"