Ideal rate of twist (MLP firearms and shooting thread)

Who

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You're correct on both counts! :applause:

The very first karate dojo I was ever a member of-- Liverpool Martial Arts-- was directly across the street from Heid's as well. I spent several years training there, and then joined the army.

***************​

You know, a lot of things happened to me in that weird little crossroads you posted an image of... things that would have lasting consequences in my personal life... :hmm:

Example:

One time my mom figured to send me to the old drive-in theater adjacent to the strip mall where the recruiter's office was. My job was to keep my sister from boffing her boyfriend-- though nobody told me that specifically. But mom's plan to use me as a spoiler went awry when the sis and her boyfriend installed me in the front seat while taking the back seat over for themselves.

This was a triple feature movie-thing, too. The first movie was "Hells Angels on Wheels", followed by "The Glory Stompers" (another trashy biker flick)... and then, finally, the Really Big One: Easy Rider.

I think we were only halfway through my first hearing of the theme song, "Born To Be Wild" when I realized that before I died, I was gonna be one of those outlaw biker-type people myself. This turned out to be one of the three very serious life goals I set for myself when I was 10 years old:

1. I for sure wanted to be a soldier-- an infantryman of some sort.
2. I for sure wanted to one of those dirtbag biker guys.
3. I wanted to be a cop, though the ambition wasn't as strong in me as the first two.

By golly: despite the seeming contradictions between those ambitions as seen in the list, I did achieve all three of those goals... albeit only temporarily in the first and third cases listed above. ;)

The biker thing was the biggest kick of 'em all, and (by far) lasted the longest... I still ride, yes: but I sure don't get into the kind of shit I got into during the true peak years of the experience.

Hell, these days I wouldn't *even* walk into the kind of shitholes I used to live and almost died in. Wonder of wonders: it finally got old! :shock:

But then, so did I! :rofl:

***************​

I also relish this recollection:

I had three older sisters. Two of them were what we'd call Flower Children, the third was a really good-looking, boozy redneck type of chick... a Central Square cowgirl. CS had lots of 'em. :thumb:

The two flower children were constantly plying me with books, lectures, and so forth to espouse what I'll simply refer to here as "The Cause" of the Sixties. I must be the only person I know who was reading shit such as Cleaver's "Soul On Ice", Rubin's "Do It", Kunen's "The Strawberry Statement" and on and on and on... all between the ages of ten and thirteen. The sisters were attempting to replicate themselves through me, I think.

Weird as shit. Meanwhile and however, at the same time I was reading everything else I could get my hands on, including shit that was distinctly not complimentary to their hippie - yippie thing.

But for a while there, the Flower Children were winning in this tug-of-war for my soul...

Though I did sense a lot of hypocrisy in the so-called "counterculture" of those times-- and found many of their leading lights to be offensively sanctimonious on a routine basis-- at least they weren't such a bunch of no-fun death-breaths as some of these others' worldviews I was absorbing at the very same time.

At least the counterculture people seemed to actually have fun once in a while.

But... there was something missing. Like... they just seemed a little bit lame.

It's pretty bad when a kid who is only 10 or 12 years old can listen to your rap and spot enormous holes in it, plus there was just something... I dunno. :dunno:

***************​

But then, while sitting up in the front seat with the speaker blasting Steppenwolf so loud that I couldn't even hear the groanings of the two idiots in the back seat, I was inspired. It was at that very place, and at that very instant, that I knew that one of my chiefest goals in life was to be one of those rotten biker guys! What could possibly be better? :laugh2:

***************​

So, not only was mom short-circuited when it came to her goal of using me as a cock-block, but the hippie-dippy sisters were both horrified to suddenly find me reading "Hell's Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs" and telling them that I liked Sonny Barger a whole lot better than Timothy Leary. When they asked why, I told 'em it was because all Leary did was talk a lot of shit that wouldn't work in any world other than the one in his acid-addled imagination, but Sonny took care of business the real world, in a way that was remarkably clear, clean, pure, honest, and simple.

Plus, I liked the idea of all the nutty, slutty chicks. :thumb:

The flower-sisters were aghast. Just one night at a drive-in theater, and about 18 months of their shit went down the tubes. Their only consolation was that at least I didn't appear to wish to be part of The Establishment.

But still! :shock:

****************​

And so it is, Dear Who, that just the other night I was actually thinking about that very strange meeting of three roads, where so many truly influential and lasting life decisions were made by myself, as a child. So curious to find myself reading about it tonight! :thumb:

No epiphanies in Heid's-- though I sure wish I had one of their coneys in my hands right this second.

Don't bother telling me about Hoffman Franks, I already know-- everybody does and always did.

But for some reason, unless they're cooked at Heid's, Hoffman Franks are nowhere nearly so tasty. Or so I have found the case to be.

Personally, I think that it was the presence of the unbelievably-polluted Onondaga Lake that gave those weenies that incredibly robust flavor. Like, maybe there was something in the water? :laugh2:

It's very interesting to me, that you chose to publish that photo... so strange to me, that some weird little speck on a map would be the very site of some of the biggest decisions I ever made in my entire life.

Whoa, Memory Lane! Thanks, E! :applause:

--R :hmm:
WHERE'S MY BOOK, GOD DAMMIT?! ;)




While I would love a Roberteaux memoir, there is one thing that makes me even happier that you aren't writing it.... you are still busy living it.

Instead of looking back to "glory days" you continue to take something new, and dig in deep (classic @Roberteaux - style!).


Your adventures in the new machine shop is an example. You don't let grass grow on your brain cells, you keep right on going. It's a pleasure to see. Even though we'll likely never actually meet, it has been a joy for many years to read your take on life.
 

pnuggett

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You're correct on both counts! :applause:

The very first karate dojo I was ever a member of-- Liverpool Martial Arts-- was directly across the street from Heid's as well. I spent several years training there, and then joined the army.

***************​

You know, a lot of things happened to me in that weird little crossroads you posted an image of... things that would have lasting consequences in my personal life... :hmm:

Example:

One time my mom figured to send me to the old drive-in theater adjacent to the strip mall where the recruiter's office was. My job was to keep my sister from boffing her boyfriend-- though nobody told me that specifically. But mom's plan to use me as a spoiler went awry when the sis and her boyfriend installed me in the front seat while taking the back seat over for themselves.

This was a triple feature movie-thing, too. The first movie was "Hells Angels on Wheels", followed by "The Glory Stompers" (another trashy biker flick)... and then, finally, the Really Big One: Easy Rider.

I think we were only halfway through my first hearing of the theme song, "Born To Be Wild" when I realized that before I died, I was gonna be one of those outlaw biker-type people myself. This turned out to be one of the three very serious life goals I set for myself when I was 10 years old:

1. I for sure wanted to be a soldier-- an infantryman of some sort.
2. I for sure wanted to one of those dirtbag biker guys.
3. I wanted to be a cop, though the ambition wasn't as strong in me as the first two.

By golly: despite the seeming contradictions between those ambitions as seen in the list, I did achieve all three of those goals... albeit only temporarily in the first and third cases listed above. ;)

The biker thing was the biggest kick of 'em all, and (by far) lasted the longest... I still ride, yes: but I sure don't get into the kind of shit I got into during the true peak years of the experience.

Hell, these days I wouldn't *even* walk into the kind of shitholes I used to live and almost died in. Wonder of wonders: it finally got old! :shock:

But then, so did I! :rofl:

***************​

I also relish this recollection:

I had three older sisters. Two of them were what we'd call Flower Children, the third was a really good-looking, boozy redneck type of chick... a Central Square cowgirl. CS had lots of 'em. :thumb:

The two flower children were constantly plying me with books, lectures, and so forth to espouse what I'll simply refer to here as "The Cause" of the Sixties. I must be the only person I know who was reading shit such as Cleaver's "Soul On Ice", Rubin's "Do It", Kunen's "The Strawberry Statement" and on and on and on... all between the ages of ten and thirteen. The sisters were attempting to replicate themselves through me, I think.

Weird as shit. Meanwhile and however, at the same time I was reading everything else I could get my hands on, including shit that was distinctly not complimentary to their hippie - yippie thing.

But for a while there, the Flower Children were winning in this tug-of-war for my soul...

Though I did sense a lot of hypocrisy in the so-called "counterculture" of those times-- and found many of their leading lights to be offensively sanctimonious on a routine basis-- at least they weren't such a bunch of no-fun death-breaths as some of these others' worldviews I was absorbing at the very same time.

At least the counterculture people seemed to actually have fun once in a while.

But... there was something missing. Like... they just seemed a little bit lame.

It's pretty bad when a kid who is only 10 or 12 years old can listen to your rap and spot enormous holes in it, plus there was just something... I dunno. :dunno:

***************​

But then, while sitting up in the front seat with the speaker blasting Steppenwolf so loud that I couldn't even hear the groanings of the two idiots in the back seat, I was inspired. It was at that very place, and at that very instant, that I knew that one of my chiefest goals in life was to be one of those rotten biker guys! What could possibly be better? :laugh2:

***************​

So, not only was mom short-circuited when it came to her goal of using me as a cock-block, but the hippie-dippy sisters were both horrified to suddenly find me reading "Hell's Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs" and telling them that I liked Sonny Barger a whole lot better than Timothy Leary. When they asked why, I told 'em it was because all Leary did was talk a lot of shit that wouldn't work in any world other than the one in his acid-addled imagination, but Sonny took care of business the real world, in a way that was remarkably clear, clean, pure, honest, and simple.

Plus, I liked the idea of all the nutty, slutty chicks. :thumb:

The flower-sisters were aghast. Just one night at a drive-in theater, and about 18 months of their shit went down the tubes. Their only consolation was that at least I didn't appear to wish to be part of The Establishment.

But still! :shock:

****************​

And so it is, Dear Who, that just the other night I was actually thinking about that very strange meeting of three roads, where so many truly influential and lasting life decisions were made by myself, as a child. So curious to find myself reading about it tonight! :thumb:

No epiphanies in Heid's-- though I sure wish I had one of their coneys in my hands right this second.

Don't bother telling me about Hoffman Franks, I already know-- everybody does and always did.

But for some reason, unless they're cooked at Heid's, Hoffman Franks are nowhere nearly so tasty. Or so I have found the case to be.

Personally, I think that it was the presence of the unbelievably-polluted Onondaga Lake that gave those weenies that incredibly robust flavor. Like, maybe there was something in the water? :laugh2:

It's very interesting to me, that you chose to publish that photo... so strange to me, that some weird little speck on a map would be the very site of some of the biggest decisions I ever made in my entire life.

Whoa, Memory Lane! Thanks, E! :applause:

--R :hmm:

That is a really great story but how do you feel about ketchup on hot dogs?:D
 

scott1970

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I believe the stag grips I put on my 1911 are too thick for my liking, and I hate that. I'm going to put the checkered wood grips back on it and take it for a spin today to compare. If I have to go the wood route, I'll probably buy some checkered diamond American holly grips. Maybe.

Mayonnaise is the one condiment with the least middle ground. Most folks either really like it or hate it with a passion compared to mustard and ketchup. Siracha is for effeminates with little to no testosterone and probably big ol' he-titties.
 

electric head

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Did someone mention ketchup???

images.jpg


hmmm steak and ketchup...
 

Teledan

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Really!!! Let's go back to helping someone else spend their money on furniture!

One of you fuckers needs a new BCG and/or buffer, you know you do. Discuss.
Yeah, I do actually :)

Here's a question, any of you guys have a short barreled AR10 in .308? Like around 12.5"? How do you like it? And most importantly, any pics you want to share?
 

Bownse

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I, myself, always catch, or my wife does, manic episodes coming on. We're always prepared for it and in touch with doctors, and I am literally NEVER violent, manic or not. There is no problem with a med-compliant bipolar person owning firearms more than there is someone with PTSD who experiences flashbacks. I have PTSD and flashbacks as well as bipolar, and I can tell you that neither of them affect me enough to make me a danger to myself or others. If it did, I would not bother owning a handgun and possessing a carry license. As it stands, there is no reason for me to avoid gun ownership.

These school shooters are completely out of their minds in some fashion, and I think the media has a lot of responsibility for that. These nut jobs want to go out "suicide by cop," and get 15 minutes of fame. Had those people been treated early and properly, they would have been much less likely to commit those atrocities. I don't like bipolar is the cause. I think lack of treatment is. Look at the suicide rate for veterans coming home.

Are there some mentally ill people who shouldn't own firearms, probably, but there are also "normal" people who have no business handling firearms. I've met more of the latter.
Each person is different. My step sister shot at cops when they came to her house on a wellness check. She was in another break and thought they were (mobsters or something).
 

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