All you really need to know about Microstamping

A while back some huckster who apparently is too afraid of the FDA to formulate a plausible snake oil or dietary supplement had a brain-drizzle . He seems to have noticed that if you have a mark on something and smack something else with it the mark will be transferred to the smacked object .

With this tidbit firmly in mind he gleefully scurried off to the laboratory and and futzed with modern technology until he came up with a way to " serialize " firing pins so that in turn they would mark the primers of expended ammo. Then off to he patent office at a high lope he and his co-horts went .

Patents for this process firmly clutched to heaving breast they then approached the ruling waterheads of several nanny states presenting this great crime fighting tool . Imagine it , all the local flatfoot has to do at the crime scene is pick up one of the spent casings and almost magically the shooter will be identified by the marks impressed thereon . Never mind the percent of the casings that are actually readabley impressioned , or the possibility of a " salted " scene by tossing a handful of casings picked up at the local range , dump , draw just outside of town, or down by the river where informal shooting transpires .Or the millions of firearms already produced without said marks on the firing pin. We wont even get into those possibility’s here .

Lets just look at the base premise , the firing pin will be marked , and thus mark the casings because the firing pin would be something your average fella couldn’t easily make and thus change .

That's right a 16d scaffolding nail , and it could have been done nearly as easy with nothing more than a drill and a file than with the lathe and grinder that was used in the video . I will also point out that the knowledge needed here is nothing more than what is needed to clean the rifle . You don't have to be a member in good standing of WECSOG to replace a firing pin on any gun .

So , tell me again how this entire scheme is about fighting crime rather than a back door registration scheme if implemented . I can just hear it now “ Ohh we aren’t registering guns , we are tracking the micro-stamping marks in a data base for “ crime prevention “ .

Tip of the Stetson to the Feral Irishman for the vid

Anger Management

 Anger Management

 When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take
 it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on
 someone you don't know, but you know deserves it.

 I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to
 make.

 I found the number and dialed it.

 A man answered, saying
 'Hello.'

 I politely said, 'This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn
 Carter?'

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear 'Get the right f***ing
number!' And the phone was slammed down on me.

 I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude.

When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I
had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

 After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

 When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled 'You're an asshole!' And
 hung up.

 I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, And put it
 in my desk drawer.

 Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day,
 I'd call him up and yell, 'You're an asshole!'

 It always cheered me up.

 When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'asshole'
 calling would have to stop.

 So, I called his number and said, 'Hi, this is John Smith from the
 telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our
 Caller ID Program?'

 He yelled 'NO!' And slammed down the phone.

 I quickly called him back and said, 'That's because you're an asshole!'
 And hung up.

 One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

 Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had
 patiently waited for.

 I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the
 idiot ignored me.

 I noticed a 'For Sale' sign in his back window, so I wrote down his
 number.

 A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his
 number on speed dial)
 I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too.

 I said, 'Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?'

He said, 'Yes, it is.'

 I then asked, 'Can you tell me where I can see it?'

 He said, 'Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax It's a yellow
 ranch style house. And the car's parked right out in front.'

 I asked, 'What's your name?'

 He said, 'My name is Don Hansen.'

 I asked, 'When's a good time to catch you, Don?'

 He said, 'I'm home every evening after five.'

 I said, 'Listen, Don, can I tell you something?'

 He said, 'Yes?'

 I said, 'Don, you're an asshole!'

 Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

 Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.

 Then I came up with an idea...

 I called asshole #1.

 He said, 'Hello'

 I said, 'You're an asshole!' (But I didn't hang up.)

 He asked, 'Are you still there?'

 I said, 'Yeah!'

 He screamed, 'Stop calling me'

 I said, 'Make me.'

 He asked, 'Who are you?'

 I said, 'My name is Don Hansen.'

 He said, 'Yeah? Where do you live?'

 I said, 'Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax, a yellow ranch
 style home and I have a black Beamer parked in front.'

 He said, 'I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start
 saying your prayers.'

 I said, 'Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole,' and hung up.

Then I called Asshole #2.

 He said, 'Hello?'

 I said, 'Hello, asshole,'

 He yelled, 'If I ever find out who you are...'

 I said, 'You'll what?'

 He exclaimed, 'I'll kick your ass'

 I answered, 'Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right
 now.'

 Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I was on
 my way over to 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax, to kill my gay lover.

 Then I called Channel 7 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree
 Blvd in Fairfax ..... I quickly got into my car and headed over to
 Fairfax ..

 I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of
 each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and
 surrounded by a news crew.

 NOW I feel much better.

 Anger management really does work.

Memorial Day Weekend

Our National “day” of Beer & BBQ has rolled around again it seems .

When I was a Lad this weekend was knows as “ Decoration Day “ and was a Sunday that we took to the road to put flowers on the graves of family and folks we knew that had no family able preform this solemn service of respect. From old west Desperadoes to the consumptive Doctor who came out west for his health , Children killed by mishap to Veterans who served our nation . Stops were made at family plots hidden from the hustle and bustle of modern times along with the long abandoned homesteads they came from . Horse Thief to Housewife , if my Grandfather knew a grave would not be attended to he considered it a duty to do what he could in cleanup or repair where ( as often happened the cattle had gotten into the plot ) weeds had blown/grown in or headstones had fallen , and leave a token of remembrance.

Some years Decoration Day lunch was cold chicken , others it might be baloney sandwich but it was about assured to be eaten on the tailgate setting in a rural community cemetery or abandoned family plot while taking a break .

Time has moved on and changed , the little community cemeteries have caretakers who do it for love and a pittance now , and many of the homestead plots have been plowed under . Nowadays we just decorate family graves for the most part although this entails a little over 100 miles of driving one way to do .

Today as I stood in the small National Cemetery at Ft Lyon to lay flower on my dad's grave I looked across the rows of marble markers , each with its small flag as stiff as iron in the 40mph wind and again realized that this peaceful sward , this quiet, sacred ground that is the final refuge of so many warriors is only part of the story and obligation, after all to Memorialize is to Remember . 

You see Ft Lyon until 2001 was the V.A. Hospital that was home to the Vets that made it back , but never really came home. Shell Shock , PTSD , all manner of psychosis and mental infirmity. If they were so broken and shattered that they could not function in “ polite “ society this is where the V.A. placed them . It had the lock wards for the chronically violent and newly admitted . The fenced recreation yards , the armed V.A. Police 24 – 7 . All of this was needed. As the walking wounded would progress , finding a chemical saturation that somewhat quieted the voices , visions , or memories they would make the transition to outpatient status , sometimes only with the lifelong aid of a halfway house to make sure they were fed, bathed, and took their meds .

The local town of Las Animas was pretty much a company town with Ft Lyon providing the majority of the payroll directly or indirectly . Most of the town prayed for and with “ the patents “ , a few preyed on them .

I Remember Dr. John Hester who was also a Colonel in the Colorado National Guard and who quite possibly cared too much , bringing his work home with him and worrying about everyone on the ward , I was lucky to count him friend . I remember “ Tenie” Palamino who worked in the kitchen out there and would drop plans at a moments notice to fill in a shift when things made the schedule go pear shaped . I remember Debbie and Jerry Hegdgeland who owned the local sub-shop and would spot a patent a meal or two till his next check … and how many times they “ forgot “ to ever present the bill . I remember the several good half way houses , and the abuses of the bad ones over the years . But most of all I remember the patents struggling to “ fit inn “ in town with their Thorazine shuffle or Haldol list .

Walking Johnny had lost himself somewhere between Seoul and Saigon , but sun , snow , or rain would be on the street by 0700 crossing the tracks to the meager downtown area , chain smoking as long as his stipend held out, bumming them after , and visiting with missing , possibly dead friends only he could see unless he could corner someone for a few moments of conversation that always began by apologizing for being “ weird “ and ended when they had to leave because his schedule was pretty flexible .

Peggy – Jim was two people , She smoked , he hated it . He loved to dip his french frys in Mayo , she couldn't stand the stuff . Name a topic and they would argue about it seemingly passing the mouth and vocal cords back and forth . I never knew the back story of this fella but never saw him when he didnt have a cheerful smile for anyone who would interrupt his internal ( and external ) dialog .

Dave who came back from the indochina games seemingly fairly normal for months at a time , enjoying life , his bike , and a fine collection of knives . Until he would again find himself lost in the jungle , alone , afraid , and desperately seeking friend of foe . He never hurt anyone and was a gentle sort of man day to day , but it was too close too many times . His own private hell was the fear of what he might do and strived so hard not to .

“ James” Davis left his halfway house on one Thanksgiving day , walked to Corkys Motel where he had libation with a friend most of the day . As the party came to a close he also beat said friend to death because he had drank the last sip of 4 roses whiskey,  by curb-stomping his head into the commode while he was bent over puking , then had repeated relations with the corpse for the next 6 or so hours . His halfway house took the payments for his care but seemed to fail to insure he took his meds .

Damaged , Broken men seemingly without family for the most part sent as far from the visibility of the normal V.A. System as possible to live the best life they had left away from any possibility of publicity or notice NIMBY indeed . Many of the men spent the remainder of their lives in the small town far from anywhere of note , doing the best they could to balance the medication with actually living and feeling rather than existing in a haze . Balancing being “ weird “ with just being present sleepwalking through the days without the pain of noticing the looks given them by the unknowing or uncaring .

In the downsize of the VA in 2001 the Hospital was closed , and the patents moved out to who knows where? Parceled here and there I suppose in small groups to continue as they had here doing the best they could with the hand life had dealt .

Gone from local notice , but not forgotten !

I Remember . I have time for that visit , a cup of coffee , and a smoke you can bum while we talk . Not just today , but anytime you see me you have more than paid for my notice and compassion . You will not be forgotten , and I am proud to count men among you as my friends.

This too is the price paid for our freedom to have the Beer and BBQ weekend every year that kicks off Summer . Its a high price to bear , and how much higher it must be to pay it invisibly .

And a Great Whimper went up from the riflests

So I got back out and drove pins every 100 yards from the rifle line to the berm establishing a range of 780 yards to the foot of the berm. My SWAG wasn't worth a damn I guess since I did not factor that I had changed the angle we will shoot at somewhat .
 When I imparted this information to all and sundry in IRC chat a great whimper was heard ( We Want 1,000 Yards ).
 In the interest of minimizing the pouting on the firing line(s) of Blogarado I did a bit more driving and looking and This is what I came up with to get 1k out of the terrain I have . Click to embiggen and see full image

 Unfortunately due to the lay of the land the 1k stand is pretty much only good for 1k because too much intervening ground is simply not visible from that position . So It looks like we will just add a station out there for the folks who want to try 1k at some point , and still do most rifle from the original line .

Berm

I haven't been real happy with my downrange rifle facilitates out at a any challenging range so i added a much needed official backstop for the crew that likes to play out there .



a couple of shots from the berm looking towards the fireing line. If you embiggin /zoom you can see one of the haul trucks in one for a sense of scale.






View from the fireing line looking at the berm.



And with a bit of zoom


The berm is approximately 300 cubic yards of screened material ( to insure there are no large rocks that could deflect bullets ), or put another way 50 truckloads.

To be done another day .. plant a 2" pipe frame to hang steel targets from and laze the exact range to the fireing line . It should come out 850 to 950 yards if i have my swag right .

Blogshoot

Just saying....

Ever seen a Muslum Kiss a Pig ?

Now You have