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  2. Use a RN lead with about 5.6gn of WW231 powder. OLG
  3. I have three Browning trail camera's.
  4. I am shooting a wild bunch match with my brother in Nov and told him I would load the ammo. What cast bullet is being used in the 230gr weight. He is using a stock Colt 1911 Model 70 that likes hard ball best. I would like to stay as close to what it likes as I can. Black powder .44-40 I know but this new smokeless powder and 1911's are strange to me.
  5. I'm completely normal. I still have my unmatched good looks, wit, charisma, wisdom, and humility.
  6. would have loved to be there instead of .......................here
  7. I have an American. Very well made.
  8. Just move along folks. The coroner will determine the disposition of the bodies.
  9. ask here - good folks in that era and area of collecting - https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/britishmilitariaforums/index.php
  10. Actually I like all these songs....and Country Roads has been in my head since yesterday.
  11. American Derringer. Had one in .45 amp. Have one in .45. Solid.
  12. other than bond, is there another large derringer maker? i seem to remember one back in the 90s or so but cant remember who made it...
  13. Thanks Dutch Nichols, changed it in the listing to reflect shipping for one box, rather than two.
  14. Talk to your tax guy and see if the drill is deductable.
  15. Texas Brushpopper was Cimarron's name for the 18" half-octagon rifle when it first came out. Evil Roy has sold a number of those, as well as other configurations. Cimarron used to sell them both straight stock and pistol grip, but it sort of looks now like Taylors sells the straight stock version only and Cimarron the pistol grip only.
  16. That Little Miss Sunshine. I thought a movie with a dumb title like that just had to suck. I was sooooooooooooo wrong!
  17. I never really considered Take Me Home, Country Roads to be an earworm. I like the song, along with a number of other of his songs. If you want earworms, I give you: and perhaps worse:
  18. Keith Richard won't get a facelift, they'll just lower his body.
  19. Ballistol is your friend. +100 to Cypress Sam
  20. welcome to the most fun you can have with your clothes on!!!
  21. Today
  22. If you get the square medium flat rate box it will hold 2k of 45 brass. I’ve done it a bunch. Not trying to be anything but helpful as lower ship cost should help sell it quicker!
  23. It was Sheriff Willamina Keller's retirement. Her son Linn was the new Sheriff-elect; the county was, in general, sorry to see Willamina leave office -- but if their pale eyed Sheriff had to hand over the badge and take up the rockin' chair, why, they were more than happy that her pale eyed firstborn was her replacement. Mayor and Council, notables and residents, all gathered in the Sheriff's office: everyone was in their class As, every pair of trousers had a crease sharp enough to cut, every pair of boots were burnished to a high gloss: the new Sheriff raised his right hand and swore, the Sheriff smiled ever so slightly as her son said "I relieve you, ma'am," and she replied, "I stand relieved." Each unpinned their badge, removed it from their pressed uniform shirt: each carefully, simultaneously badged the other: the Sheriff pinned her ancient, hand engraved, six point star on her son's uniform shirt, and Linn slid the pin from his deputy sheriff's six point star into his mother's badge grommets. A crisp, military salute might have been expected, but when mother and son embraced, when the mother whispered "I'm proud of you," and her son whispered back "I love you, Mama," the heavy glass doors pulled open and heads turned at the shout: "THERE'S SOME GUY OUT HERE TRYIN' TO KILL ME!" Now it's not particularly bright to bring a fight into a hornet's nest, especially when the nest is full of hornets; the doors were pushed out and lawmen fanned out, forming a V, focused on the individual advancing with a revolver in his hand, thunder on his brow, screaming something incoherent. Willamina reached across, swatted her forearm across her son's belly: "I've got this," she said quietly, and then she leaned forward and charged. Blued steel whispered from holsters and at least a dozen gunbarrels leveled out, every deputy's jaw tightened as fingers curled around triggers, making the last assessment before sending a deadly payload downrange, holding only because their pale eyed Sheriff, or rather the past Sheriff, was almost in arm's reach and not slowing down a bit. There was a single gunshot -- that's all he had time for -- a security camera later recorded the bullet-strike on the Sheriff's uniform shirt, right under her badge: Willamina's hands were up and open and at the bullet's impact, she seized the offending revolver in both hands, twisted, drove her shoulder into the screaming man's gut. A madman's angry roar soared up the scale into the soprano, the sound of a man in profound pain: Willamina's grip was unbreakable, her two-hand twist well practiced, the trigger guard's narrow edge cut into flesh, broke bone; as she dropped, rolled, the revolver came with her, as did a spray of blood and a torn-free finger. Linn walked up on the bent-over, screaming assailant: the man looked up just in time to inherit a fast moving boot right under the chin: his head snapped back and he came up until a second boot's heel drove into his gut, doubling him over. Linn reached down, took his mother's upper arm, helped her up. She shook the avulsed finger from the pistol, handed the revolver to her son. "Mama," he said quietly, shaking his head, "you do know how to make an exit!"
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