Dirty Girl

I hate a dirty handgun. This little beauty came in today covered in grime.

Her barrel was black as the bottom of a coal digger's butt.

Each cylinder required about twenty passes.

.32 S&W Safety Hammerless, 2nd Model circa 1902-1906.

Isn't that nickel finish purty...the little Lemon Squeezer is in fine shape and as soon as I find a box of ammo we'll take a walk, hand in hand.

Stephen

City Boy Sports

This dude, "I need to shove off. Can't miss the Gators."

He hops from foot to foot, all bouncy and stuff. Gotta be fifty if he's a day old. Flannel shirt, jeans. Wants to sell me his Ruger Blackhawk in .357; problem is he failed to bring the firearm. Told him I will not offer a price sight unseen. Also reminded him he'd need to give me his price. Didn't like that...'tuff.

I'm dreaming its a three screw. He's not a member of our club. He's a 'ball' fan, which borders on wussy. Sorry if you fall in the same crack but that's just me. Nothing personal so don't drop off the follower list...matter fact I'd like two more...so get with it.

Him, "I just love those boys." See what I mean....ball fans are strange. I give him a look, then, "You know, if firearms were incorporated into all forms of ball sports it would make it an interesting game."

"Ah, get out of here...."

"Really, just think about it. When the sides shift, say when the defense takes the court or field, they arrive on stage packing sidearms. Then, anytime said ball is in the air, the defense is given the chance to shoot the silly piece of rubber or pigskin flat. Just imagine the excitement."

Him, flushed face. Panties in a wad. Said, "Oh my God, that isn't safe."

I'm telling 'ya, wussies, metro-sexual. All of 'em.

(Sorry, I'm in a foul mood.)

Stephen

Me, the Owl

I should grow feathers and talons and join the friggin owls on the limb. Here it is three-thirty in the friggin morning and I'm still awake. Just sat the Kindle down and I'm on my second glass of cold milk. Aside here - next gallon of milk I buy will be the full fat, bring on the cream, real milk. I'm sick of this watery pale white stuff.

I'm this close to downing a full bottle of sleep medication. Took one earlier...nothing, nada. Might as well eat candy. I expected to open my business between eight and nine...what, five hours from now. I'm telling 'ya, if I find sleep between now and then...it isn't gonna happen. Damn, I hate late middle age.

Well...just look at me. I've written a rant.

Excuse me. I've another chapter to read.

Oh, I've replied to your most kind comments. You can thank me in the morning, ah wait....never mind.

Stephen