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Not a bill collector! Thank you all for answering! PM replied to @Cypress Sun!

Have to ask. What the heck is a SASS 18583?

You know it's kinda crazy if you think about it . You got a product that many of your customers love . You can sell all that you make . You can charge as much as you want to charge . And then you Discontinue it 🤪

Thanks. If I wasn't a 45 Colt man I would likely not be getting rid of this one. I just picked up a 45 Colt Bisley that is being worked on by Alan Harton and Fermin Garza. No reason for me to have two in a caliber that I dont shoot much of.

Beautiful Lady. Free Bump

I love baseball, I mostly watch my home team, but I do occasionally watch some good matchups. The All Star game was never a big deal to me especially since it doesn’t determine home field advantage for the WS. It did for a few years but they dropped it. https://www.cbssports.com/mlb/news/reminder-mlb-all-star-game-does-not-determine-world-series-home-field-advantage/

I know alot of Muscle car owners use Blackvue https://blackvuenorthamerica.com/collections/dashcams/camera-coverage_front-and-rear?srsltid=AfmBOop8blHoAEH0TBMXi125CpLFW7gQ_ZXgB3XWkGrfa-_FLgHItINd

Professional baseball lost me years ago. The millionaire crybabies are not representatives of the game I loved and played. I watch college baseball when I can, it comes closer and little league too.

Hey Tombstone, Foxy wanted me to ask you if Lady T will traveling with you.

Frio, I have the shotgun SPF to quicksilver. If it doesn’t work out it yours.

BIG MEDICINE Michael was young. Michael was lean. Michael was tall and getting taller: he was not yet close to looking his pale eyed Pa in the eye, but the day was approaching, and they both knew it. Michael was also puzzling over an idea. He and one of the Martian schoolboys were well up on the mountain when they dismounted, when they worked their quiet way to a hanging meadow, where they bellied down, where they waited. Schoolboys are notoriously impatient -- Michael knew this, he'd been one himself -- he reached over, laid his hand over the back of his younger companion's hand and winked. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head, looked toward the meadow. Michael was as curious and as interested in history as the rest of his family. He'd read of Sarah McKenna taking an elk with a hand-knapped, obsidian-tipped spear. He'd read of Willamina, slipping away and bellying down behind a little rise, peeking through grass and brush and watching elk file -- cautious, majestic, BIG! -- into the meadow. Michael read delighted, hand-written accounts of hearing their joints click as they walked, of seeing a restless and very gravid cow elk (he'd called one such a "doe elk" at the kitchen table, and knew from shared looks he'd just miscalled something!) -- he himself saw such a very pregnant Mama stop and turn into the sun, and with the sun shining longways on her swollen side, he saw movement of new life within her. Now he lay bellied down at the edge of that same meadow. His breathing was slow, controlled, directed down. The schoolboy that came with him had never seen his breath steam before: Michael gave him a slight smile and an approving wink as the boy pulled his shirt collar up and breathed into it to keep a drifting breath-cloud from betraying their position. Michael expected to either see a few elk -- not many -- come in from the far side of the meadow, if they were lucky he might see a bull -- he'd shown the Martian classes holovids of the inside of the Silver Jewel Saloon, and they were curious about that set of antlers over the bar. He'd had to side track and describe Charlie Macneil teaching Sarah Lynne McKenna about life and about death and about life again, with the help of obsidian and rawhide leather and a straight shaft of hand cut wood. Michael heard his stallion mutter. His eyes swung across the meadow -- no threat -- they swung to its right margin -- Movement -- He turned his head to get both eyes on the movement -- "It was big," the schoolboy said solemnly. He looked around the classroom, he looked at the class sitting cross legged on the floor in rows of semicircles before him. "Earth is really big," he said. "We were way up on the mountain and we thought a string of elk would come in and graze." He took a long breath, shivered it out, looked at the floor, then looked up again, his eyes just above his classmates' heads, seeing something a couple miles on the far side of the classroom's back wall. "Michael called it a bull elk," he said, and a hologram sizzled into life beside him: life-size, its rack nearly touched the high ceiling: it was alive, it looked around, blinking, then disappeared. "Michael put his hand on my back and said 'Stay here and don't move,' then he got up and ran for his horse." A sleepy-looking Appaloosa stallion appeared beside him, head down, hip shot, looking like he might pass out and fall over, at least until something happened: the stallion's head came up, he spun, ears up and forward -- his white tail slashed spotty flanks as he danced on steelshod forehooves, muttering as his ears laid back flat against his skull. Even without his trademark black suit, Michael was well known to them: it was Michael, in a faded brown Carhartt and blue jeans that took two running steps to his stallion, shucked a rifle from the scabbard. Michael's body lit up with living fire as the bull elk trotted toward them. Michael heard bulls bugle before, but from a distance. This one did not bugle, it SCREAMED. Michael planted a hand on the schoolboy's back -- "Stay here!" he said, his voice urgent, then he launched from the dirt and drove toward his stallion. The Appaloosa was shaking his head and muttering, clearly not liking this situation. Michael seized his rifle's wrist, pulled it free. It felt like a toothpick in his hands. Michael cranked a round into the chamber, took two deliberately aggressive steps toward a bull elk with his fur up and a rack wider than Michael was tall. "DAMN YOU BIG SON OF A BUCK, GET BACK!" Michael yelled, rage in his voice and a rifle in hand that felt like the famous .30-30 Winchester just might be as effective as a hard thrown rock against this Monster of the Mountains. The elk looked at Michael. Michael looked at the elk. I don't want to gut that thing out, he thought, I'll play hell packing the meat out -- Michael drove a round into the dirt just shy of the bull elk's forehooves. "GIT ON! GIT!" Whether it was the sting of dirt, the rifle's sudden blast, or the memory of incensed Daine women chasing a bull elk out of her table garden with a bresh broom, the bull decided maybe he'd actually turn around and go someplace else. Michael sat at his father's desk, frowning at the computer screen. He had loading books open in front of him, he'd drawn up charts and had columns of data carefully scribed on a yellow pad: his expression was serious, his industry undeniable. Linn lingered over a late coffee before sauntering into his study with an exaggerated casualness. He bent over Michael -- he didn't have to bend far -- looked over Michael's head and studied the glowing screen as he rested a fatherly hand on his son's shoulder. "Ballistics charts?" he asked quietly. "Yes, sir," Michael said, leaning back and taking a deep breath, then blowing it out. "Sir, I have not found that for which I search." Linn squeezed his son's shoulder, just a little, the pulled up a chair and sat. "Sir, I ... there was this really big elk ..." "Schlitz," Linn said quietly. Michael blinked, surprised. "Sir?" "The Schlitz Malt Liquor Bull." Michael shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell." Linn laughed, shrugged. "I'm old. Never mind. Monster elk, biggest rack ever." "Yes, sir. Wider than me." "I've seen him." "He ... surprised me, sir." "Rack that size and a neck big enough to hold it up? That would surprise a man on a good day!" "I had one of the schoolboys up on the mountain. I was hopin' to show him some elk. This fella comes ..." Linn waited as he saw the memory in his son's eyes. "Sir," Michael said softly, "that was genuinely impressive!" "I'd reckon it was," Linn replied, his voice just as soft. "Sir, it come at us." "And?" "Sir, I fetched out my rifle." "Did it stop?" "Not until I put one into the dirt in front of it." Linn nodded thoughtfully. "And ...?" Michael swallowed, looked over at his father's gunrack, then looked at his father. "Sir, that Marlin rifle felt just mighty puny." "I've ... had things ... that made a rifle feel ... puny," Linn nodded slowly. "Sir, I could go for a .444 or a .45-70." Linn leaned forward, elbows on his knees: he drained the last of his coffee, set the mug on the floor, then thoughtfully sandpapered his palms together. "You could," he agreed. "Sir, I was looking at ... there's an AR platform that runs a .45-70 Rimless." Linn nodded again. "I don't want to go into the belted magnums, or up to a .458." "Your back?" "Yes, sir." Linn nodded, considered, looked to his gunrack. "If you like, we can try and fine one of those ARs for you to try on for size." "Yes, sir." "I can also put a mercury tube in the butt stock of my Marlin. I've already got a shotgun kick pad on it." "Yes, sir." "As I recall, you already try to pull a shotgun in two when you bring it to shoulder." "Yes, sir. It does help." Linn nodded again, looked at the evidence of his son's work. "You're trying to calculate felt recoil." "Yes, sir." "That is quite a bit of work you've gone to." He looked at his son, a smile tightening the corners of his eyes. "You're doing the right thing." "Sir?" "It's easiest to make design changes while it's still in the planning stage," Linn said quietly. "A buddy of mine told me their new firehouse was one inch too short to fit their new pumper, and it took an unholy amount of cash money to fix the problem. Since then, every department in the state takes a physical tape measure, chalk lines and levels, gets the exact height of their tallest apparatus, and then compares this to dimensions on the blueprints." Michael grinned. "Yes, sir." "I'll ask around for that AR. Lower bore axis and gas system might well reduce recoil." "My ... back ... hopes so, sir," Michael replied carefully. Linn chuckled, stood, looked at his son. "I used to complain about my poor old back, until you went through all you did," Linn said seriously. "At my worst I don't have a damn thing to complain about!" Michael wasn't sure quite how to reply. "Carry on. I'm headin' for bed." Michael watched his father ascend the stairs, then looked back at his work, realized that he, too, was about worn out. Michael cleared his work off his Pa's computer, gathered his charts and calculations, stacked them neatly in a dark-brown briefcase: he checked the back door, set the alarm, turned out the lights. An Iris opened and closed, and the house was quiet once again.

C M Ducks ?

ON A SEPARATE SUBJECT!! We try to keep water for drinking at convenient locations around the range ‘cause it usually gets hot during all the activities that go on at Black Gold, but that’s no substitute for proper hydration!! Y’ALL SHOULD START HYDRATING TODAY IN PREPARATION FOR THE MATCH!! Tomorrow at the latest! Just add a few extra glasses of water to your routine, starting today, and you’ll feel much better when ol Sol is settin’ up there in the sky tryin’ ta’ bake or broil you next week!! Water is best! Sports drinks are okay, but they contain sugar and salt that are better left out until you’re already in trouble. Coffee and tea and alcohol are not good for hydration!! If you’re well hydrated, they ain’t as bad, but they aren’t what you need to beat the heat!! SEE YA’S NEXT WEEK!!

Not all BMW & Audi drivers are horrible. Here in the Northeast it tends to be entry level to mid range cars driven by men in their 30's that are the problem: high rates of speed, weaving around cars and tailgating are the most common problems.

I have worked around machinery for my entire life! The first rule of clothing in a machine shop environment is “NO LOOSE OR DANGLING CLOTHING!!” I made the mistake of wearing heavy gloves that had long, gauntlet style cuffs while working outside with a post hole digger mounted on the back of a tractor. I was also wearing a heavy coverall because it was really cold. At one point, the auger hit a rock and bounced up out of the hole we were digging and it flopped over to one side. My dad was running the tractor and he shut down the machine. I stood the auger back up into the hole and he engaged the PTO. The damned thing jumped up as it spun and snagged the cuff of my left hand glove and I went for one hell of a ride! When the thing stopped spinning, my left hand was wrapped around my left elbow, I had a fractured skull, and my right leg had a fracture just above the ankle. I never lost consciousness, but at first, I didn’t know how bad I was hurt. Long story short, I spent a couple hours on an operating table, a couple days in the hospital, and nineteen weeks with my left arm in a cast!! The lesson learned!! I keep my clothing tight and tucked in wherever I’m around machinery! I will play in cold weather, but I won’t work in it unless at great need. AND!! You’re never gonna see me, wearing long sleeves unbuttoned, wearing a tie or anything loose around my neck, or walking around with my shirt tail out!! And if I AM wearing long sleeves, you’re probably going to see them rolled up above my elbows!!

My father, like many of his generation, had a soft spot for 410's and rabbit hunting. He bought this one new back in the late 70's, but by then had virtually stopped rabbit hunting. It's been a safe queen since. It's in excellent, virtually new condition. 26" barrel, fixed chokes, 2 1/2" and 3" shells. $1325 shipped to your FFL. First I'll take it posted here gets it. Consider all trade offers, mostly looking for the following though: Ruger #3 45-70, Ruger HAWKEYE PISTOL, Ruger 357 MAXIMUM, Browning 71 CARBINE, H&K P7 M13, Bren Ten, Browning MEDALIST, Colt MATCH TARGET 22 4”, Marlin 62 256 WIN MAG, TC contender barrels. Please start a PM conversation if you have a trade offer. Thanks.

Full disclosure: I am a Project Farm fan. He drives manufacturers nuts because he will not accept free items or sponsors for his evaluations.

Chevrons are wrong. I was a Gunnery Sergeant. I never did wear that into combat but with the dropping of several items...tie, cummerbund, cover, and all of the shiny stuff...it could have been done.

Why are you still here? Go get to cooking. I have about 150 things I want to try. I have to be careful, though. It's very easy to fit 3,4, 0r 5 things into a day and then a week later all my clothes begin the shrink. It can be an expensive thing what with buying new ingredients, new spices, new cookware and a new wardrobe.

If you stand your ground , You are a threat to them They want unarmed sheep to rule over they let the wolfs run free and PUNISH the sheep dogs CB

If the Supreme is still available, I'll take It. Frio

I always wear a loose fitting scarf and I use it for wiping sweat, I never wore a bolo and never will.