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That’s what Chad thinks…

NOT so common , NO MORE

cheapskates like me 🤣

I always look forward to your replies haha! Thanks for the good laugh today!

Now I know why you are such a troublemaker. LOL TM

To hear it sung like its supposed to be is refreshing.

"Let's get this over with!"

Definitely a Sweetheart and a Great Lady.

And the price would be ?

When i started a long time ago, I was "Short Fuse", named after the first GI Joe figure I got as a kid. At one point during college, I let me membership lapse just long enough for somebody else to snag my name, so I became "Mean Ol Doug", and was known by that name for quite a while. When Don Knotts passed away they were showing a bunch of episodes of Andy Griffith. In one episode, Andy is telling a trouble maker all about his deputy and at one point called him Crazy Gun Barney. My wife said "that should be your alias", and I was still laughing when I called SASS HQ to get it changed.

Schoolmarm does the same when Michael Weatherly messages her! 🙄

IMO, of all the Lightnings out there, the AWA was the worst of all. I had 3 of them, and not a one would run reliably. Was glad to be rid of them, even at a loss. Walk softly here. Save yourself some grief. Al. My 2c worth.

I most assuredly am not racist. I live and work in So Ca and as such I am the minority here. There is every race, religion, sexual orientation, ideology known to man within a stones throw at all times. There is one guy at work who went to HR to complain about my "racism". He is a full of himself woke idiot that has had way too much schooling and not enough common sense. When HR told me about it, I actually laughed. I told them I have no problem with him being from Turkey, I have a problem with him being absolutely useless and a hinderance to any team he gets attached to. At the time, management was doing a lot of off site team building. I mentioned this to HR, who is always there and she agreed. I have no problem at all with this guy in non work related activities. Dinner and drinks, bowling, "mystery/spy" games... no issues at all. Have him weigh in on my work to tell me what I am doing wrong when he absolutely has no idea what I am doing or why and I have issues. HR understood, and I was not the only person in the building that was having similar issues with this guy. many years later and somehow he still works with us, and still causes issues, but most of us have learned (and he has learned) how to get along...mostly.

Raises chill bumps.

California and Canada have a lot in common. Beautiful country and scenery. Friendly people. Lots of culture The stupidest, most ignorant and most self absorbed morons in public office.

I could play the William Tell Overture on the OLD (first issue) phones.

Ready

I've never shot a deer at night. I have misjudged legal shooting hours by just a bit, but never at night.

I have used many different brands of primers, Fed, Win, Rem, Tula, wolf, agila, some made in china and others. Genex were the most difficult to seat in 9mm of all. I was glad to see the last loaded and shot up. They all 1000 of them went off but difficult to seat. Bullett

July 17, 1944. Dale Evans stands barefoot on a dusty Los Angeles soundstage, taps the heel of her Gibson guitar twice for invisible count-off, and belts the first verse of a song she wrote on butcher paper while frying eggs for her son the night before. Nobody knows the tune yet—“Happy Trails” is still a scribble—but Republic Pictures suits lean in like prospectors hearing gold under shale. Three decades earlier she was Frances Octavia Smith, a shy red-haired farm kid who eloped at fourteen so she could escape cotton rows and taste city air; the marriage lasted less than a harvest, but the freedom stuck like prairie burrs. She waited tables in Memphis through the Great Flood of ’27, sneaking onto WMC radio after closing shifts to sing jazz standards under a fake name because minors weren’t allowed on the late-night frequency. A program director finally asked her real handle; she invented “Dale Evans” on the spot—“Dale” after a favorite cowboy serial, “Evans” because the script needed symmetry. The new persona unlocked doors. She became Chicago’s “Queen of the Air,” cashing twenty-five-cent requests while studying arrangement theory by transcribing Benny Goodman solos at half speed. Hollywood followed, and so did heartbreak: studio press agents wanted a glamor doll, so she performed vocal warm-ups inside a mop closet to avoid gossip scribes who mocked her Oklahoma vowels. Yet she weaponized those vowels, turning rustic honesty into a brand. When wartime producers begged for a duet partner to tame Roy Rogers’ rambunctious fan base, she brought her guitar, one coffee-stained lyric sheet, and the nerve to insist on equal billing. Roy nodded once and never looked back. November 29, 1952. A stiff breeze lifts the canvas walls of a makeshift tent hospital in Seoul, and Dale—clad in USO khakis stitched with a hidden pocket—slips harmonicas and peppermint sticks to wounded infantrymen who think she’s there only to croon. Between sets she scribbles prayer notes for mothers back home, then mails them from a Taiwan layover because Pentagon censors can’t track foreign postmarks. Returning stateside, she discovers her newborn daughter Robin has Down syndrome. Studio publicists urge silence; instead Dale writes the bestseller “Angel Unaware,” funneling royalties into scholarships for special-needs kids long before the term existed. She and Roy adopt four more children—two mixed-race, two war orphans—defying sponsors who warn it could “confuse Middle America.” She shrugs, records a Christmas special emphasizing family is chosen, and ratings jump twelve points. In 1969 she testifies before Congress, slipping a harmonica to a bored page boy and telling senators that inclusive playgrounds cost less than wheelchairs. During breaks on the “Roy Rogers Show” she sketches prosthetic-saddle designs so kids with cerebral palsy can ride horses; ten prototypes later, a San Bernardino ranch teaches therapeutic riding nationwide. At seventy she earns her pilot’s license, flying rescue dogs from hurricane zones because “trail bosses don’t retire, they reroute.” She dies at eighty-eight with boots by the bed and a half-finished lyric about Martian cowgirls grazing red-dust skies—a reminder that imagination’s horizon always shifts. The Friday after her funeral, children at a Phoenix rehab center strum borrowed guitars and shout her unfinished chorus. The staff hears something familiar: two heel taps, and a melody that still promises happy trails. #cowgirl #happytrails #trailblazer #usousa #texas dale evans hidden stories queen of the air roots angel unaware legacy roy rogers duet origins cowgirl innovation tales

Cmon man, no business end photo?!!!

For those of you ordering direct from Rugged Gear, use my code BU0770 and you will get 10% off. They offer a code of their own but with my code I do get a small commission. Everything helps. @Krazy Kajun - they have way too many three wheel carts in use to not support them with parts. I’ve not been told anything about not stocking parts. Hugs! Scarlett