Finally Fantastic Friday!

Alternate title: Do you have ANY idea how hard it was to wait until Friday to share my first new gun in three months?!?!?!

So here it is in all it's C&R glory:

That's a Colt Official Police in .22LR caliber. Six shot, six inch barrel, and one heckuva sweet shooter. The interesting thing is that this gun appears to have been carried, with the telltale wear on the end of the barrel, cylinder tips, and crane housing. Dunno who would be carrying a .22LR six-shooter, but there you go...

No Shit!

I never would have guessed that MArooned would be rated:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
gun (17x)
hell (4x)
shit (2x)
shoot (1x)

Only seventeen instances of the word "gun"? I'm slipping...

Anyhoo, thanks to Cowboy Blob for the idea...

10K...

Was idly checking my stats (ed: Yeah, right.) and noticed that I just got my 10,000th hit:

MAroonedBy Location > Visit DetailVisit 10,000

(State of Kansas - Division of Systems and Communic)

10,000 hits. Now, I know. Other guys get that in a week. It's taken me four months. But I am honored (and humbled) that so many people have come here to watch me fling poo at the walls read my barely articulate scribblings ogle the gun pics see what I have to say.

G-d willin', I'll be here for another 10,000 hits. Or more.

Thank you all for reading.

That is all.

Speaking of Bugs...

Alternate title: How's THAT for a segué from a post about nothing???



Life is good.

...is coming out on DVD.

Yeeeee-HA!

Sometimes, You're the Windshield,

...Sometimes you're the bug.

Today, I'm the bug.

That is all.

Giant Brass Ones...

Bruce may disagree with me here regarding Boston's Mayor "Mumbles" Menino, but I've got to admit the man has giant brass balls. Oh, sure, you could make the claim that he's a drooling idiot with a room temperature IQ who keeps getting elected only because of the "D" after his name. Or you could make a strong case for him being an arrogant piece of shit who knows that whatever monstrous lie slithers out of his cakehole, the supplicant Boston media will eat it up and clamor for more.

But this just takes the cake. The man has absolutely no shame whatsoever. For those outside MA, here's the skinny. An 8 year old boy was shot and killed by his 7 year old cousin in the Roxbury apartment where they lived. The kid's mother panicked and told the cops it was a home invasion, a lie which quickly unraveled. There's still some question as to where the gun came from, but one thing is certain: Multiple state and federal laws were broken before the trigger was pulled. The gun was not stored in accordance with MA law. No one in the apartment held a valid MA LTC. In fact, if the half-brother was the one in possession, he's breakin the federal law that mandates handgun owners be 18 (thanks Mulliga!) years old as well as the state law about LTCs (which cannot be issued for handguns to a person under 21 years of age).

Who does Mumbles blame for this?

Why, that convenient boogeyman, the NRA.

“Despite our efforts to get illegal guns off the streets, we continue to see the tragic consequences of the inaction from Congress to do their part,” Menino wrote. “Just this week in my city, an 8-year-old boy was shot and killed by a 7-year-old boy with an illegal gun. Where does it end?”

Yes, folks, you read that correctly. The mayor of Boston is claiming, with a straight face, that the NRA (Mumbles thinks the NRA is responsible for the "inaction from Congress") is at fault for an illegally obtained and possessed gun which was improperly stored in the house of known gang-bangers being involved in the accidental shooting of a child.

Unreal.

And, to the best of my knowledge, not a single media outlet (not even that evil tool of Halliburton Fox News) has called the mayor on this blatant chunk of verbal excrement.

What possible gun law could have prevented this shooting? We've already got ineligible persons, underage persons, improper storage, and I'll bet the gun wasn't even MA-compliant. Nothing short of a complete and total ban on all firearms could have even had the possibility of preventing this shooting, and even that's pretty iffy...

These people were prohibited from owning guns, folks. They obtained the gun in clear defiance of the law, plain and simple. What more laws could we possibly heap on to stop this?

I've got a radical idea, though. Liquarry's father had served time in jail for killing someone in a drug deal. He served four years. FOUR FUCKING YEARS FOR MURDER. I paid for an at-fault traffic accident for seven years, this guy kills someone and only serves four years. How about if we start KEEPING THE BAD GUYS IN FUCKING PRISON??? He's back in prison now for a string of armed robberies. What kind of example does it set that he kills someone and is back on the streets in four years???

But we blame the gun. The inanimate piece of fucking metal. Yeah, that's what's the problem here.

Fuck this. I'm off to the range.

EcoTards

While on our vacation to Cape Cod, we traveled to Martha's Vineyard for one day. Drove down to Falmouth, took the bus to Wood's Hole, then caught the ferry over to the Vineyard.

Was going to head out to Chappaquiddick to take some pictures for some extra-snarky Kennedy bashing, but fun with the family involving free frisbees took precedence...

Anyhoo, get back to the truck late afternoon, and as we're driving through Falmouth on Route 28 I hear cans rattling in the bed of the truck. Great. Someone mistook the bed of my truck for a garbage can. Fucking lovely.

Get on the highway, and once we're at speed I see a McDonald's bag fly out. And couple other assorted pieces of trash. Completely disgusted that it was more than just a couple of cans, I find a safe spot and pull over.

That's when I noticed the crumpled up "Al Gore Can Kiss My Carbon Footprint" bumpersticker that had formerly resided on my back window. Apparently some Eco-fucktard had taken offense at my whimsical poke at Al Gore and retaliated by removing the offending sticker, then dumping all the trash from his car into the bed of my truck.

So congratulations, Mr. Hippie Coward Dipshit. While making your "point" (and I mean the one on top of your head), you managed to not only contribute to the overall trash strewn about the landscape but also failed to recycle the three Red Bull cans. I did it for you, don't worry.

And by the way... Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ, could you perhaps be a LITTLE less supportive of giant, faceless corporate America? Three Red Bull cans (the BIG ones), six Dunkin' Donuts bags, and two large McDonald's bags, as well as extra large Dunk's cups (both iced- and regular coffee variants). You're a walking billboard for "SuperSize Me".

Lastly, if I ever catch you in the act, you had better pray that your lack of personal hygiene keeps me at bay, because judging from the shit you funnel down your piehole, you ain't outrunnin' me any time soon...

Bike Week Pics...

Since I mentioned going to Bike Week earlier and hinted that there might be pics forthcoming, I figured it would be a good thing to actually, y'know, put up some damn pictures... So, therefore, some random bike pics from my excursion to Weir's Beach.

First off, a bike that should appeal to Bruce and Ahab:

(It'll probably give TC fits, though...) ;)

Here's one of my personal favorites:

"Scooter trash" out there are either drooling or shaking their heads, wondering what could ever possess someone to get on a motorcycle powered by a Chevrolet V8 engine. This is the venerable Boss Hoss motorcycle, and that is in fact a Chevy 350. And it's not the biggest motor they have, either - there's a rip-snortin' big block 454 variant as well...

Lastly, here's an odd duck:

It's a Can-Am Spyder, a three-wheeled motorcycle which is definitely not your father's trike. Dunno how it rides, but it sure gets looks, that's for certain...

That is all.

You Can't Go Home Again...

Alternate Title: Hey, it's hard to come up with snappy, original titles when you feel like all the wind's been taken out of your sails.

Ricky's closing up shop.

Damn.

Just damn.

Ricky gave me my start some 4 years ago. He'd taken on a co-blogger who wound up quitting a short time later, and I jokingly mentioned that I'd be interested in filling in. He enthusiastically took me on, despite my having little writing ability and even less aptitude for holding my tongue.

And now he's packing it in. Can't say I blame him, really - he's got three really good reasons close to home.

But I haven't felt this sad about something online since Time Online/Pathfinder closed its doors. And that's saying a lot.

Ricky, you'll be missed.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

What It's All About, Part I

The smaller footprint in the above picture comes from the larger half of this silly duo:

It's kinda hard to see from the picture, but he has a mohawk. Given to him by yours truly. It is simply the cutest thing ever...

Didja Miss Me?

Okay. Back from vacation. Seven days and six nights of rest and relaxation on the sunny shores of Cape Cod.

I got to observe, first hand, the following:

*My two young children experiencing nature's wonder and mystery up close and personal, exploring sand bars and building sand castles that would be demolished by the incoming tide (Quote of the Week, from my son, "Dad! Did you MOVE the sand castle?")

*My son's first ride on two wheels. Yes, the training wheels are technically still on the bike, but act more as a talisman protecting him from falls than as actual pedaling guides.

*I can eat ice cream, hamburgers, and fried seafood on vacation and not gain a single pound - as long as I start each day with a 15 mile bike ride and end it with a 4 mile power walk.

*Ecotards are both stupid *and* hypocritical (more on this later).

*Missing the lighthouses and cliffs of Martha's Vineyard so that I could spend an entire hour playing frisbee with my family is time well spent.

That's all for now. I've already logged into my e-mail at work and see that next week holds a tortured path of evil and hell. But on the other hand, there will be a new something on Friday...

Random Quick Notes...

*For Fodder: Had the ultimate in scooter trash gunnie today. Took my scooter to the gun shop.

*Happy Father's Day out there to all the dads, dads-to-be, and other miscellaneous mother-fuckers. ;)

*As of about noonish tomorrow I'll be incommunicato for the week. Packing up the Casa del Mucho Dinero and heading south to a secure, undisclosed location. Don't despair, the G. household will be well-cared for, with a twitchy retired cop keeping a nosy eye on the place while we're gone.

*The boy now has a mohawk. Not only did I allow it, I encouraged it. Hell, I cut it for him. I figure, hell, he's only gonna have hair for another 15 or so years, he might as well have whatever haircut he wants before it falls out.

*There will be a new acquisition when I return from my vacation. After a loooong dry spell (for me), the drought will be ending. Watch this space.

Salut!

Friday Gun Pr0n...

Sorry this is so late. Spent the day taking in scooter goodness at Laconia (many pics to follow).

Today's pic is a harbinger. I've shown my Smith & Wesson handguns before; today's pic shows the Colt side of the aisle. There is a new acquisition in the works, possibly two, which will definitively skew my handgun holdings towards the Prancing Pony...

Let's see... Clockwise from top left: Gold Cup National Match, Official Police .38 special, Detective Special .38 special, Official Police .38 special #2, Official Police .38 S&W, Colt Junior, WWI military issue.

More to be added very soon...

Last Day of School

Well, yesterday's post focused on my daughter's special day. Today's about my son.

Today is, as the header suggests, his last day of school. His last day of kindergarten. The last day of half-day-only school. In 2.5 scant months he'll be getting back on the big yellow bus, only for the entire day. He won't be the shy little kindergartener I put on the bus this past August; he'll be a big-shot man-of-the-world first grader.

I'm gonna have to make two lunches everyday instead of just one... And that's the EASIEST change. There will be homework to check nightly. Bedtime will be more rigidly enforced. Weekends will become even more precious and jam-packed with activities, as we'll no longer have the afternoons during the week to get stuff done.

And yes, part of me is worried about entrusting him to public schools. Part of me wishes I could take the time to properly home-school; barring that I'd rather send him to private school. We're in a better place than some/most, in that our school district is pretty well-rated. In fact, it's part of the reason we're facing such incredible growth - they keep filling up the subdivisions with new families that want their kids to go to a good school...


Why didn't anyone tell me how quickly they grow up?

Why didn't anyone tell me that the worrying never stops, it just changes focus?

Why didn't anyone tell me how schizophrenic being a parent is, always torn between wanting to shove your kids out the door and wanting to bar them in forever to keep them safe?

(Rhetorical questions here; I know the answer, and it's because had someone told me, I either wouldn't have believed them any way or I never would have had kids. With the former, what's the diff., and with the latter, I can't imagine life without them...)

Enjoy the summer, pal. You've got one more after this one before I put you to work taking care of the lawn... Muwhahahahahahahaha...

To My Daughter, On Her Fourth Birthday

Happy birthday princess!

Four years ago today you came into this world. Two weeks past your due date, and you haven't been on time since. But it's okay - you were worth waiting for then, and you're worth waiting for now. Friday the 13th - some consider it unlucky; some would have been apprehensive about their child being born on an "unlucky" day. Not me. I knew it was a sign that you'd be special.

And you are; you and your brother are the most special people in my world. You don't know it now, especially the way the two of you fight, but your big brother will be your (second) biggest champion. He picks on you not because he doesn't like you (although that's what he'll tell you if you ask him...) but because it's in his blood, in his genes. I picked on my sister. Papa picked on his sister. Great-grandpapa would have picked on his sister if he'd had one...

But today... It's all about you. Four years old. Your first year of pre-school is behind you, a year of learning, making new friends, and growing passed by. You've grown and learned so much in that time. Sometimes I'm a little taken aback by just how smart you are; matching your brother in counting games, spelling words, and just plain knowing things. It's hard to realize you're just barely four.

Have fun today, sweetie. I'll be home for dinner (pizza from the local shop, your favorite, of course). We'll play a little longer tonight, I'll relax bedtime rules a little, all for your special day. And always remember that Daddy loves you very much.

And G-d have mercy on the SOB who ever hurts you, because I won't.

Three More Days...

...Until I head north to Laconia for Bike Week. The annual pilgrimmage. This year the Harley Pin Stop is in Laconia rather than at NHIS or Meredith HD, which will save time... Looks like some serious bike-polishing is in order...

Quote of the Day™

Is it bad form to quote one's self? Oh well...

From an e-mail I just sent to a buddy:

"Five seconds of sugar-coated happiness isn't worth 500 calories."

(In reference to skipping birthday cake at work functions).

Had my daughter's birthday party on this past Saturday. Yeah, the one day of the weekend when it rained, while the other day of the weekend was stone-cold gorgeous. That's how I roll. My buddy P. came up for the festivities (well, his whole family; his kids are about the same age as mine and are, as they put it, god-cousins) :)

He's been inspired by my weight loss and is doing fucking great himself - down almost 60 pounds since last September. We've been providing each other's moral support through our weight loss experience, and are trying to gently persuade another member of our group of friends to try a diet rather than invasive surgery.

I've lost close to 100 pounds in the past year and a half, and for the most part eaten what I wanted (just a LOT less of it). I've had to make many strategic substitutions and search high and low for low(er) calories options, but they're out there. One of the good side benefits of the current hysteria re: obesity is that restaurants are starting to put their nutritional information on the internet - my general rule when I was actively dieting was that if I couldn't find a restaurant's nutritional information online, I didn't eat there...

One of these days I'm going to sit down and put finger to keyboard and see if I can't squeeze out a diet book from my experience. Call it "Weight Loss for Guys" or something like that...

Helpful Hint of the Day

The operative part of "Right on Red" is the part about after stop. Especially when you're in a Toyota fucking Corolla (GVWR: 1800 lbs.) and you cut off a 3-ton truck. What part of blowing through a red light directly in front of a vehicle three times your size did you think was a good idea?

Do you wander through the woods in bear country with pork chops hanging off your belt? Stick your head in the lion's cage at the zoo? Is this some perverse thrill-seeker thing, or are you just fucking clueless?

Here's a hint: Knock this shit off. Because eventually you will run afoul of the law of averages and take your stupid ass out of the gene pool if you continue to be this fucking stupid.

Fucktard.

Friday Gun Pr0n

Alternative title: Waiting for September...

Something a little different today - a proto-"assault weapon".

This is an M1 carbine manufactured by Underwood, with a rare telescoping stock (as opposed to the paratrooper model folding stock or the standard stock). It's got all the makings of an eeeeevil "assault weapon" - removable magazine with capacities up to 40 rounds; fires an intermediate cartridge; folding stock; bayonet; oh yeah, this baby's got it all. So evil it's banned in NJ...

The "waiting for September" part, for those not in the know, is that Underwood M1 carbines will be going on sale from CMP in late September. I intend to buy at least one. Possibly two.

That is all.

Bumpersticker Thought of the Day™

"Get your head out of your ass and hit the gas".

Thought that one up this morning as I followed the grey Camry through three towns at 10-15 MPH below the speed limit.

Man, the temptation to misuse 5,700 pounds of truck with 345 HP is pretty high...

Decisions...

I've got a decision I need to make.

As I've mentioned, over the past couple of years I've been getting myself in better shape. I've lost a significant amount of weight (> 90 pounds); I've started exercising regularly; I've gotten myself off blood pressure medications. I've been doing it primarily for my kids - both so I'm around longer (there's a family history of heart disease) and also to set a better example for them (better a fit-and-trim daddy who eats healthy food and works out than a fatass who eats junk food and sits on his ass...)

But there was a secondary reason.

I want to join the town police force.

Police work is in my blood. My dad's a retired state cop. My grandfather was a town auxiliary officer for many years. I have too many aunts/uncles/cousins/etc. on various local and state police forces to mention. I didn't go into the "family business" as a young man because, quite frankly, I didn't have the temperament for it.

I think I do, now. And I'm in the best shape of my life.

There's no age limit to joining the town force as a reserve officer. I don't have any reason to think I couldn't handle the physical requirements. I know my record's clean (just renewed my LTC).

So... Officer Jay. Sounds kinda cool. I wonder if they'd let me carry my grandfather's Colt Official Police?

Finally...

Please welcome Marko of The Munchkin Wrangler to the blogroll, a long-overdue addition, given that he's directly inspired at least two posts here...

Go. Read. Soak up the goodness...

Wrong Numbers...

Marko has a post up about wrong numbers. Which, naturally, cranked the number on my personal "wayback" machine up to 11...

The phone number at my parents' house is a unique number. It's close to several businesses as well as the police non-emergency number for the next town over. We took a LOT of wrong numbers. One of the businesses that had a number close to ours was a towing company.

Well, one evening the phone rang.

[Me] "Hello?"

[irate male caller] "Where the hell are you guys? I called you half an hour ago and you send you'd send a truck right away?"

[Me, thinking] Ah, he thinks he has the towing company. I'll give him their #.

[Me] "I think you..."

[irate male caller] "That's your first problem - you're not paid to think, you're paid to send the fucking truck to my fucking house. That's why I called you in the first place."

[Me, thinking] 'Scuse me, asshole? You just bought yourself a world of hurt.

[Me, in my best business voice] "I'm terribly sorry, sir. We've had to cover a multiple car collision the next town over, and it's tied up two of our trucks for quite some time. We should have a truck available in about 20 minutes, but that might be as long as 30-35 minutes depending on how quickly the Jaws-of-Life gets through".

[irate male caller] "Well, that fucking truck had better get here damn soon."

[Me] "I'll tell you what. We'll call back in 20 minutes and let you know what's going on. Can you verify your phone number?"

...

[Me, 25 minutes later] "Is this Mr. Jones? I'm calling with an update on your tow. We've had an unexpected emergency arise involving a bus full of nuns and orphans. The llamas are okay, but we're a little concerned about the orangutan."

[irate male caller] {Long string of obscenities}

...

I never found out if he got his tow or now. I think he realized he had a wrong number...

Flying Enriqués

It was warm and sunny the day we threw Enriqué in the lake.

For the life of me, I can't remember why we threw him in the lake (and yes, the immortal line "seemed like the thing to do at the time" uttered by Gunny Highway comes to mind...). All I remember is going into the cabin with George and John, two guys who make me look small, and each of us grabbing piece of Enriqué.

John grabbed his arms. George and I each grabbed a leg. We carried 125 pounds of squirming Enriqué through the cabin, out onto the porch, and into the back lawn of the cabin on the lake.

The back lawn, of course, which led to the dock on the lake.

Down onto the dock we go. Enriqué doesn't know if he should be frightened, annoyed (we woke him up from a nap) or prepared to swim. As we get him up on the dock, it dawns on him that he is about to go into the water, no question about it. He's jettisoning water soluble items like a sub dumping spare parts to dodge depth charges - a wallet goes flying; his shoes get torn off.

We reach the dock. For extra theatrical effect, we ask if Enriqué has any last words before we offer him to the gods of the lake. Rather than opting for a lengthy soliloquoy that might allow our arms to tire and offer him the chance of escape, he chooses foolish bravado: "You guys aren't really going to throw me in the lake". I think he was trying to use the Jedi mind trick on us.

It didn't work.

We start swinging him back and forth. By this time, everyone has gathered to watch the spectacle. Cameras are positioned. Videotape is loaded into the Sony Handycams. We've got visions of the $10,000 prize on "Americans Injure Themselves on National TV".

"One!"

"You guys can't possibly be serious about this! I didn't DO anything!"

"TWO!"

"C'mon. Cut the shit, you bastards!"

(Damn. There goes the TV spot. Looks like we're gonna have to fling Enriqué again)

"THREE!!!"

"I'm sorry for everything I've ever done in my entire liiiiiiiiife"

[Sploosh]

In retrospect, he took it pretty good-naturedly.

(And looking back, the reason he got thrown in is because he ran and hid when it came time to put the dock in, which was the primary reason my buddy's in-laws allowed us to camp en masse at the cabin. They fed and housed a good dozen of us every Memorial Day and Labor Day to get free labor putting in and taking out the dock... Enriqué felt that the water was too cold to go in, so he disappeared for the hour it took to put the dock in, then feigned sleep when we went looking for him...)

Perspective...

At some point during our camping vacation extravaganza, my little girl got bit by a mosquito. Directly on her right eyelid. Which, as all the parents out there know and are now nodding their heads accordingly, means that it swelled up to about the size of a large grapefruit, leaving my sweet little three year old looking like a cross between Quasimodo and Mike Tyson's latest celebrity girlfriend.

I know it's temporary. I know the swelling will be gone by tomorrow. But I look at my little princess and my heart just breaks.

And then... I think of the parents whose children won't be better tomorrow; whose illnesses require more than a cold compress and some Children's Benadryl. And my heart breaks again. I don't know how they do it. I go completely to pieces when my kids are sick or hurt. I want, with every fiber of my being, to take the pain, the virus, the infection, for them. 10-fold, even.

One of the kids in my daughter's pre-school class has leukemia. He goes for treatments that leave him bald and sickly. His brother was in my son's pre-school class two years ago, and in those two years their mother looks like she's aged 15 years. I don't know how they handle it. I mean, on a very real and visceral level, I know how they handle it - there's really no choice, you do what you need to do to get things done.

It puts the morning grind in an entirely new light, that's for sure. As the expression goes, don't sweat the petty stuff. (And don't pet the sweaty stuff either. Yeee-uck.) ;)

Be excellent to one another, folks...

That is all.

Holy Crap, Batman...

Man, you take one stinkin' day off from work, and wind up playing catch-up the whole next day back...

This workin' for a livin' business stinks. But it does pay the bills...

More later. Honest.

Friday!

Hallelujah holy shit it's Friday! Which of course means it's time for... Friday Gun Pic!

Today's gun is something a little different:

Here's a Ruger Super BlackHawk .44 Magnum single action revolver. This gun is a beast. I've shot the Smith & Wesson .500 Magnum with the 4" barrel, and this Ruger kicks harder. As evidenced by the extra grips, I've been trying to find something, anything, to tame the recoil of this beast. Short of only shooting .44 Special through it, nothing's worked yet...