Books

If you love a good read as I do I'm sure you'll enjoy Matthew Bracken's work. His 'Enemies' trilogy has been around for a few years now and are action packed thrillers. If you're a fan of all things 'gunny' you will love them.

Pictured in order of publication...

Castigo Cay is Bracken's new novel which I've just ordered. Should be a good one. Give them a try...

I have no interest in Mr. Bracken's business, just a fan. Here's the link. http://www.enemiesforeignanddomestic.com/

Stories Online

Just for the fun of it here are a couple of links to stories I believe you'll enjoy. The subject matter of these fiction pieces are apocalyptic. Business is slow today and I've a very bad headache and way too much time on my hands, and I'm feeling sorry for myself. I guess it shows with my lack of intelligent posts today. Anyhow, enjoy.

http://www.homesteadingtoday.com/showthread.php?t=192640


The next link is a short story written by Halffast, the author of 'Lights Out.'


http://www.thehighroad.org/archive/index.php/t-172494.html

Might post this sign on my sidebar just to tick off a few liberals. Still thinking about it....

Anyhow, have a nice evening.

Stephen 

Are We Surplus Terrorist?

According to the FBI, I am. Why, because I frequent surplus supply stores. I've been purchasing items and gear from surplus stores since it was still possible to buy real surplus gear in them; the 'old dusty musty stacked to the ceiling stores' of my youth. Now, not so much. You're more than likely to find mass produced  China junk at the local 'prepper' emporium than you are genuine and useful gear. But, it doesn't excuse this, well, crap.

http://oathkeepers.org/oath/wp-content/uploads/ColoradoFBISurplusStore.pdf

Click the link and read....it's enough to piss off the Pope.

Stephen

Thank You

To my new followers, James Swartz, James Smith, and Keads; thank you very much for hitting that little blue 'follower' button. It is very much appreciated.

Stephen

Amen

Hat tip to: PawPaw at http://pawpawshouse.blogspot.com/

All I can add is, amen, Amilya, amen.

Urban Camper

During the late fall and winter when I arrive at my shop it's well before sunrise. I like to get here early as it gives me time to have a cup of coffee and eat my breakfast, then read the local liberal rag. Most of my customers know this about me and normally leave me alone. I'm a bear in the morning.

A few years ago I was here in my back office (the boar's nest) sipping my black brew and reading the paper when my door chime rang. I waited thinking the offending person would read my posted hours and walk away...it rang again.

I fold the paper and sit aside my coffee and walk out into the waiting room, pull aside the door curtain and see an older woman beneath the street lamp. She appeared cold and disoriented. I unlocked and opened my door, asked, "May I help you?"

I had a hard time at a guess of her age. She could have been anywhere from forty to fifty, even older. She held a strong odor, not pleasant. Her clothing consisted of, I think, shorts and a very dirty down to her knees t-shirt. Flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was a crows nest of snarls and stringy and by my nose alone I could tell she hadn't bathed in days.

It didn't take a genius to know she'd slept across the street in the city park. She held an old much used blanket, rolled under one arm, and a brown paper bag in her left hand. It was cold outside, guessing the low forties. She shivered.

She didn't respond, at first. Shifted foot to foot. Would not look directly at my face. I felt sorry for her.

I get this all the time. My business is located (like I've said) across the street from a large city park. It has a baseball/softball field, basketball courts, a combined restroom, a very old railroad caboose for the young ones, and a democrat shower. The democrat shower is a flat basin which contains a fountain activated by sensors. It's used frequently for bathing by the urban campers. Like my early morning visitor.

Again, I asked as she hadn't answered my question, "Is there something I may help you with, 'Mame?"

She caught me by surprise. The lady, all in one motion, dropped her dirty blanket and her brown paper bag, and took the hem of her shirt in both hands and jerked it high over her head, as she said, "You gots a dolla?"

I was exposed to two very saggy, down to her navel, breast. I was so caught by surprise my next action was to darn near fall flat with laughter. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt. It was the sight of this poor woman's flat breast, all fat I'm sure, long eaten away by her obvious alcoholism and extremely poor diet. I soon controlled my fit of laughter.  Then my shame set in and I'll felt like a fool.

She had dropped her shirt back in place and was stooped to retrieve her items when I said, "Please, I'm sorry."

Her, "It's okay, I get it all the time. I'm just hungry." Not sure I believed her. Probably wanted a drink. But who am I to judge, even if I do so on a daily basis. Still doesn't make it right. So I reached into my pocket and gave her a five dollar bill. Said, "Hey, sorry, it was worth the show."

She smiled, took my money and walked away. Haven't seen her since.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Stephen

Cop Attitude

Let me first state I like cops. They have a difficult down and dirty job. In my line of business I deal with men and women in all forms of law enforcement; local, county, state, and federal, both current and retired. Over the years I've had relations with the DEA, Treasury (what many of us refer to as the Secret Service), U. S. Marshals service, Border Patrol, the FBI, ATF and its police force the BATFE, and various wildlife protection agencies. You name it, I've dealt with it.

When they come into my shop they're on my turf, and there are rules; we're equals, leave the cop mentality at the door.
They carry weapons and so do I, and they know it.  Many of these men have become friends, not close, but we're on friendly terms, a mutual respect if you will. I've purchased, through private sales, firearms from many of these nice men. I've helped them repair their guns; as a matter of fact a couple of months ago I helped a retired policeman clear a jam from a handgun. He tired for hours to clear the stuck round and came to me for help. No big deal, it happens.

Cops and I have swapped rifles, gear (never swap a holster with a cop, it'll be worn out) and I, at the request of an officer, sold her late father's estate which consisted of several handguns, rifles, and a few shotguns. It was fun and she was very happy with the proceeds, and I enjoyed helping her. Even purchased a couple for my collection.

I've sat with marshals and debated the merits of knives, Glocks versus Beretta, night patrols, shooting matches, and if local news stations should have access to police scanners, they said, no. I've stood in my parking lot as they opened the trunks of their cars to show me their favorite custom built shotguns, all the while scaring the hell out of the local moonfleas.   

I've been invited and have shot at the local police range by a couple of police firearm instructors; I qualified, by the way. It was fun, hot out in the blazing open to the sun range, but fun. I felt out of place and as is my way, when I wasn't on the firing line, I stood aside and quietly watched, observed. I felt honored.

I've had this relationship with these fine men for close to thirty years. For the most part my dealings with these gentlemen and women have been friendly and fun; for the most part. But ever so often one will come in with an attitude. You know the type, I'm a badass and I carry a badge and you don't, little booger. That kind.

It's been awhile but I still remember him. A detective, burglary division. Short, even in his high-lift shoes, bald, chewing gum popping swagger.
I heard my chime ring and after a quick glance at the door buzzed him through. He walked in and took a seat. I was busy and remember I'd dropped something on the floor and had bent to retrieve the object.

Then, "Hey, is that a gun on your belt?" I remember thinking, 'one of them.' Guess my cover shirt slipped a bit too high.

"Yes, it is."

"What is it?"

"Glock 27 in .40"

"You licensed?"

Sigh, "Yes, officer, I'm licensed, and as you well know since I'm a business owner in this state I don't need the license while I'm conducting business."

Then the sarcasm, like venom dripping from his mouth, "Do you even know how to use it?" This, from a kid half my age. From a boy that doesn't even know me. A child that wasn't a gleam in his father's eye when I took the oath.
I turned to him and gave him my best fake Clint Eastwood look and said, "Yes, I know how to use it." Tried to stay all cool and stuff. Hoping this problem would walk back out the door of my shop.

Chew, pop, chew, swagger, stand and walks over and, get this now, reaches to touch my weapon. Now, we have a problem.
As he reaches I turn my body away and said, "Isn't gonna happen, pardner." He swells....pop, chew, pop. Then, "Hey, I just wanna look at it."

Me, "Give me yours and I'll hand you mine."

Steps back, all five foot four of him and glares up at me and said, "We, never, allow, a, civilian, to touch, our, guns." Indignant. Gives me the 'ole glare. Then, "Why would I let an amateur hold  my weapon?"

I waited for a second, smiled, again in an attempt to keep the situation on friendly terms, then replied,

"My point, exactly."

He didn't get it.      

Stephen