Thursday, March 15, 2012

I'm An Old Fart

It's official for me.

If you remember when only sailors had tattoos, you are an old fart.
If you remember when civil rights meant equal rights, not reverse discrimination, you are an old fart.
If you’ve never uploaded naked photographs of yourself, you are an old fart.
If you know how to spell, you are an old fart.
If you ever waited to hear your favorite song on the radio, you are an old fart.
If you remember when being radical meant hating the government, rather than relying on it, you are an old fart.

Sally forth and read here. 

H/T Joel


Cute Girl

Watch her control of the weapon. I'm impressed by her too. M11 SMG on full rock and roll.

H/T to Manfred


Bits & Pieces

Beautiful Spring day here...bright and sunny with temperatures in the high 70's. Awful weather.

Still hard at work on my taxes.

My good friend, Duke, just left the shop. He came and we chewed the fat on many subjects from farm stands to AR part kits. I made a comment I wanted a stripped lower receiver which brought a half hour discussion about lowers. I want forged, paperless, private sale if possible. Might take in the gunshow this weekend and try and find one.  Lord knows I've enough parts to build another ten or so AR's. Just lack a good lower. Yes, I could sign a few papers and purchase one, but why...

I would like to apologize to all of you nice folks that have left comments over the last two or three days, and the time its taken me to answer. This isn't my normal routine. I leave here each night, drive home and basically pass out. I just haven't the strength and stamina of only a few months ago...anyhow, please rest assured I will answer comments as quickly as possible. I didn't even open my laptop last bed by 2100...dead to the world at 2102. Sorry. I must admit I feel better.

Now, to all those that have requested a Little Bit update....

This morning at the McDonald's breakfast table.

Little Bit is busy eating her meal and at play with the game consul. This cute little girl (I guess about three years old) walks in with her grandmother. We always say hello, good morning. Like that.

This cute little girl's name is, Elizabeth. She's as pretty as a Spring flower. For some unknown reason Elizabeth walks over to me, and without hesitation or by your leave, climbs up and into my lap and wraps her arms around me, places her head on my chest and clings.

I heard a gasp, glanced to find Little Bit's mouth wide open her eyes big enough to drive a Mack trunk into and park, and her face just this side of red. Then, all hell breaks loose.

"Papa, what are you doing holding her? You're my Papa."

Now the tears flow fast and furious. I'm caught totally by surprise. This little bundle in my lap, with her arms wrapped tightly about me hasn't moved. I look over to see her grandmother is all smiles.

"Little Bit, please, she's just a little girl."

"So am I, and you're my Papa, not hers." In a VERY loud voice...the old farts at the next table, morning regulars, are tinkling in their pants with the fun of it. I feel a warm red glow begin to flush my face. Little Bit has gone from leaking tears to a nice heavy flow.

Elizabeth purrs and states to all within earshot that I'm warm and smell good.

Little Bit leaves her seat. She screams at the little girl, "Leave my Papa alone, now."  Guest of the establishment stand and watch...many look towards me as if I'd just made some awful rape attempt on the children's person. I'm truly at a loss for words.

This, has gotten way out of control. I'd never seen Little Bit act this way before in her life. She's gasping for air, and her cries are so hard and came on so quickly I truly hadn't had the time to react or even speak on my behalf. Little Bit is now screaming, "Put her down, Papa. Put her down."

Grandmother comes to my rescue. Thank God. She gently reaches and takes the child from my lap. Pried the little girls arms from around me and carries her to their table. Now, Little Bit climbs into my lap. I hold her, take a few paper napkins and as tenderly as I can, wipe her runny nose and dry her tears....she sobs. It hurts.

I look at Elizabeth's grandmother and mouth, sorry. She nods and right back at me, it's okay.

We leave. Back in the truck it takes me a good long ten minutes to help Little Bit compose herself. I held her. After she's back to normal we drive away and I park on the campus of her school. After a few minutes of reassurance that I indeed love her and she's the only little girl in my life we proceed to the drop-off point.

Just before she steps from the truck she turned and said, "Papa, don't ever do that again." She smiles at me, throws a wave and yelled back, "You do smell good."

Some days are like that...sad, and sweet.