Menacing Mustelid

I could bite your toe off and lap up your life's blood...so doesn't just one more raisin seem like such a petty thing?

Please, God, Just Let Me Beat the Old Guy!

Oh, I forgot! Don't miss this week's Carnival of Cordite!

Now, where was I? Perhaps discovering that my one-year-old truck had a cracked windshield this morning was an omen. Maybe I should have gone to the range yesterday instead of playing Steel Panthers and watching football. Anyway, I had fun at the Pima 3-Gun Match located in the foothills of Mt. Lemmon in Catalina. Rob from Cactus League showed up with friends of his, glad I'd tipped him off to this match. It's a rare thing; These matches only fall on 5th Sundays not falling on a holiday or a monsoon or a when there are more than two Russians in orbit around the Earth at any one time.

My first stage was classic boneheadedness. It was a pistol stage which transitioned to shotgun...and after I shot all my pistol targets rather rapidly, I stopped and cleared my gun and waited for the range officer to declare the range clear. Well, he just stared at me till I raced over to the shotgun cursing like a Viking and finished the stage. I hope this entertains you all. I was resigned to finishing dead last until the rather elderly gent on my squad (who was only one of the four of us shooting Heavy Metal) finished with no ammo and a few shotgun poppers left standing. I playfully ribbed him about giving me some hope. He said it was only the second time he'd fired the gun and he wasn't expecting it to shoot so high.

The next stage was two stages in one; eight stationary clay pigeon targets arrayed behind a barricade. On one of them, you'd end up shooting your riotgun from your weak side. This was especially horrific for those of us using pump guns. I didn't do badly.

Our third stage was pistol-long range rifle, the one I feared, since I've been too lazy to sight the SOCOM in beyond the close-combat distances we've been using at Cactus Matches. It turns out that my guess of 12 clicks up was good enough to hit some of the big steel, but my standing barricade posture wasn't as good as the prone position everyone else was taking. I ended up skipping a few targets, on top of my already slow time. Jim, my fellow He-Man (that's what Pima calls the class) squadmate Jim brought out his FN FAL, which he says patterns about the size of a garbage can lid at 100 yards. We both had a bad stage score.





On our final stage, I decided not to fight the conventional wisdom of shooting prone. Does anybody else have trouble changing magazines of an M1A while the bolt is closed? I just couldn't get the mag to seat until I stripped the round out of the chamber.

Anyway, I've got to learn to slow down faster. The stage was two distant steel and five headshots from Box A, then same from Box B, then transition to riotgun to shoot eight "dog" poppers and clang one slug off a designated steel target.


I love the steel "dogs," especially when it's time to help tear down the stage.













Here's Jim (right) shooting his son's FAL. He had some major mojo going for him after knocking the big steel target down twice, requiring a stage reset and reshoot each time. I tilted the thing with my own manly .308 bullets, but fortunately didn't have to restart.





Rob (left) finished last in the Open category, because only his rifle was Open equipment. I think he'd score well in the Tactical Scope category if only he'd train himself to use only one optical sight. He seemed to have a good time and I don't think he's going to change his game for this match.







He does, however need to shoot slugs more often. After one or two misses, he finally stabilized on the bench and scored a hit. Did I mention I scored on my first slug? Love them rifle sights!






Our squad included the Top Lady Shooter and also the overall match winner, both Open shooters, natch. Who says you can't maintain your femininity while you're out shooting guns with the guys?

Our squad also mentored a new shooter to the sport. He was pretty down on himself the first stage after making some mental errors. I said, "Dude! Enjoy this! You've got an excuse! I've been doing this for years and look how bad I sucked!" I think that helped break the ice, and he got a bit more fluid in the later stages.

Our squad's hardware (click pic to enlarge) was a banquet for the eyes of hoplophiles young and old, but as the match starting winding down, the afternoon shooters came in, ogling at our gats, and bringing out their own drool material. How about an Ishapore SMLE in .308? Or a 1903 Springfield with an Enfield action (Eddyfield?)?

And in the next shooting bay, the Class III guys showed off some neat hardware and busted beau coup caps:
Full-auto MG-34.













Browning Automatic Rifle. I had to fight major crowds to get these pictures, people!












Water-cooled .30-caliber? Gosh, John Donovan would tsk-tsk me for being so unspecific, but I had to stretch my camera way around a flock of drooling gun nuts to get this much.















Oh...and next weekend? Here's a preview!

Twenty-One Feet

21 Feet Is Way Too Close!!
By: Frank Borelli

It is common knowledge that a suspect, armed with an edged weapon and within twenty-one feet of a police officer presents a deadly threat. Why? Because the "average" man can run that twenty-one feet in about one-point-five seconds; the same one-point-five seconds it will take that police officer to recognize danger, draw and point his weapon, and then pull the trigger. Even if the officer manages to get the shot off, and even if it hits the suspect; even if it instantly disables the suspect, the blade is going to be so close to the officer that the suspect's momentum may continue forward with enough force for the edged weapon to end up injuring the officer anyway.

The information contained in the above paragraph has long been accepted in police and court circles. "If a man has a knife and is within twenty-one feet, he presents a deadly threat and the use of deadly force against him is justified." Here is the question then: How far away does that suspect, armed with an edged weapon, have to be before he's not a deadly threat? A gentleman named Magliato shot a "bad guy" who was armed with a baseball bat and standing thirty-two feet away. The courts convicted Magliato claiming that at a distance of thirty-two feet, the suspect with the baseball bat could not present deadly force against Magliato; perhaps they were wrong.

If it takes a man a mere one-point-five seconds to run across twenty-one feet, how long would it take to go thirty-two feet? The simple answer would be to add half, right? If thirty-two feet is about one-and-one-half times twenty-one, then one-and-one-half times the time of one-point-five seconds should be correct. Wrong. That one-point-five seconds for running twenty-one feet is from a dead stop. To assume that thirty-two feet would take fifty percent longer would be a mistake because you would have to assume that the bad guy started, stopped at twenty-one feet, restarted and then reached thirty-two feet. Reality is quite different. If you accepted that logic, the time would be about two-point-two-five seconds. In reality it would be less than two seconds.

Read the rest.

"Shields Down, Mister Sulu"

But set phasers to "Swish!"

Star Trek's 'Sulu' Comes Out of Closet
Friday, October 28, 2005

LOS ANGELES - George Takei, who as helmsman Sulu steered the Starship Enterprise through three television seasons and six movies, has come out as a homosexual in the current issue of Frontiers, a biweekly Los Angeles magazine covering the gay and lesbian community.

Takei told The Associated Press on Thursday that his new onstage role as psychologist Martin Dysart in "Equus" helped inspire him to publicly discuss his sexuality.

Takei described the character as a "very contained but turbulently frustrated man." The play opened Wednesday at the David Henry Hwang Theater in Los Angeles, the same day that Frontiers magazine featured a story on Takei's coming out.

The current social and political climate also motivated Takei's disclosure, he said.

"The world has changed from when I was a young teen feeling ashamed for being gay," he said. "The issue of gay marriage is now a political issue. That would have been unthinkable when I was young."

The 68-year-old actor said he and his partner, Brad Altman, have been together for 18 years.

The funny thing is, the other night on Too Late with Adam Corrolla, Adam and his guest Andy Dick were playing "Gay, Straight, or Dead," and when Takei's picture popped up, he was ruled "Straight,"based on the show's contact with Takei's publicist. I wonder if that's what drove him out of the closet. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Yeah, I could Write Something....

Airborne, Sir!

Het! Dy thongue is thuck!

Not as embarassing as a flagpole, though....

Pen Pal Mail

I could almost mistake this for Arizona! Jona, an American expat in Namibia, sends this heartwarming pic of a boy, his shotgun, and his grandmother. She's a great shot, too!

Wednesday Inbox Funnies

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A professor was giving a lecture on "Involuntary Muscular Contractions" to first year medical students. Realizing that this was not the most riveting subject the professor decided to lighten the mood slightly. He pointed to a young woman in the front row and said, "Do you know what your ass hole is doing while you're having an orgasm?" She replied, "He's probably drinking beer at the bar with his friends."

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Two rednecks from Oklahoma were sitting around talking one afternoon.

After a while the first fellow says to the second, "If'n I was to sneak over to your trailer Saturday and make love to your wife while you was off huntin', and she got pregnant and had a baby, would that make us kin?"

The second fellow crooked his head sideways for a minute, scratched his head, and squinted his eyes thinking real hard about the question.

Finally, he says, "Well, I don't know about that, but it sure would make us even."

=============================================

Amy, a blond Texas girl from the city, marries a Texas rancher. One morning, on his way out to check on the cows, the rancher says to Amy, "The artificial insemination man is coming over to impregnate one of our cows today. I drove a nail into the two-by-four just above the cow's stall in the barn. You show him where the cow is when he gets here, okay?"

The rancher leaves for the fields. After a while the artificial insemination man arrives and knocks on the front door. Amy takes him down to the barn.
They walk along a long row of cows and when she sees the nail, she tells him, "This is the one . . .right here."
Terribly impressed by what he assumed was just another ditzy blond, the man asks, "How did you know this is the cow to be bred?" "That's simple -- by the nail over its stall," Amy explains.

Then the man asks, "What's the nail for?"

As she walks away, she turns her head back over her shoulder and says to the man, "I guess it's to hang your pants on."

Maybe that Last Butterfinger was One Too Many

I've Been a Bad Boy

Yup...I dug into the Halloween candy tonight.

Heehee.

Normally I walk around like an old man the day of and some of the day after a particularly athletic shoot. Sunday, the only pain was from the blisters I get on my toes. Monday, I was just pooped (had my first daytime nap since I quit drinking). Now TODAY the abused muscles are complaining. So a little chocolate was called for.

No oatmeal for breakfast this morning...I realized that I need to use up all the perishables in there before my trip, so I made a kick-ass Spanish-Irish omelette (gotta use potatoes too). Got my daily dose of Vitamin D by driving the convertible to get emissions tested. October in Tucson is the best time to put the ragtop down and zoom around downtown. Actually it was perfect up in Phoenix too. By the end of the match, I wasn't all sweaty (or when the humidity is really low, crusty). It'll be a shock to my system to end up back East next week in the chilly November drizzle. Oh well, I'm growing my beard out for braving the Arctic winds of the Poconos. Must remember not to pack shorts.

Happiness is a Warm Buddy

Goblins to the Left of Me, Zombies to the Right

Updated! No holiday lends itself to a fun day of shooting like Halloween, my favorite night of the year. For this month's 4th Sunday 3-Gun Practice Match, Jon and I mixed up a warlock's brew of devilish stages to challenge and amuse the goblin-slayers of the Cactus Match League. At publishing time, these are the stages as designed. The Course of Fire Committee greatly improved and adjusted them to club standards; I adjusted the descriptions to the actual stages after the match, what I could remember, anyway.

Vampires, Zombies, and Werewolves...Oh, My!

Pistol
Starting Position: Standing normal ready in Box A with stakes in hand, loaded pistol in holster. On start signal, engage V1 with one stake and enage zombies P1 through P3 and T1 through T4 while standing in V1 so he can't pull out the stake. Engage V2 with one stake and engage P4 through P8 while standing on V2. Stakes must remain in cans for hits to count.

After the zombies are zapped, engage werevolves (T5 and T6) only with ammunition prepostioned on table...these are the silver bullets!

Riotgun
Starting Position: Standing normal ready in Box A with stakes in hand, loaded pistol in holster, loaded shotgun grounded on table with safety on. On start signal, engage V1 with stake and standing on V1 engage left array with pistol; ground unloaded pistol on table, grab stake and riotgun and enage V2 with stake, then engage right array with riotgun while standing on V2. After the zombies are zapped, engage werevolves (T5 and T6) with one slug each only with ammunition prepostioned on table. Shooters who elect not to use slugs may ground their unloaded shotgun on the table, and engage the werewolves (T5 and T6) with pistol, only with ammo prepositioned on the table.

Take THAT, Bela Lugosi!













Cowboy Blob shows a clear weapon after dispatching two werewolves smack in the A zones with two silver slugs! Though I was a bit slower than Jon and Chuck who shared a semi-auto Benelli, I shaved 2 seconds off my score by being accurate. The match used "Thursday Night scoring:" scoring total time minus a bonus one second each for "A" zone and steel hits and adding 5 seconds for misses, no-shoots, and procedural penalties. I placed second on this stage even ahead of two auto-gunners, but my slow Escape from the Lab later would put me in last place.




They're Coming!

Pistol
Starting Postition: Seated with unloaded pistol grounded at Table A, on start signal engage T1 through T5 and P1 through P3 through Barrel B. From Box C, engage T6 through T9. (The Course of Fire Committee moved T1 and T2 to be engaged through barrel.)

Rifle
Starting Position: Seated with unloaded pistol and unloaded rifle grounded at Table A, on start signal engage T1 through T5 and P1 through P3 through Barrel B. From Box C, engage T6 through T9 and PP1 through PP7. Paper requires two hits to score.

Rob "Zombie," a British expat, uses local Arizona technology to fight off the charging hordes of goblins. His Carbon-15 with two optical sighting systems would put him in the Open Class in real 3-Gun competition, even though his Glock pistol and Remington riotgun would fall in the Tactical Class.






Jon, shooting an M-1 Garand, a single-stack .45, and a 12 gauge riotgun limited to 8+1 shots, would qualify for Heavy Metal class. Jon tries on his Jack o' Lantern face after spraying down the last distant steel rifle targets.

He and his brother Chuckie (only a distant relation to the Jon Gruden doll) shot faster than I did with my SOCOM-16.


They've Got the Children!
Small no-shoot targets are white economy paper plates.

Pistol
Starting Position: Standing at Table A, normal ready. On start signal engage T1 through T8.

Rifle
Starting Postition: Standing at Table A, normal ready. On start signal engage T1 through T4 with pistol. Ground unloaded pistol on table. Engage T5 through T8 with rifle.





The Course of Fire Committee upped the number of "children" being carried off for demonic sacrifice; I put two of them out of their misery and missed a few of the cultists.










Not considered while we designed the stage, it turned out to be very Garand friendly. There were no cultists left alive to charge at the very recognizable sound of an M-1 going empty.











Escape from the Lab

Pistol
Starting Position: Standing straddling Cone A with fingers interlaced on top of head facing uprange (must hold onto brains!), loaded pistol grounded on Table B with safety on. On start signal, wreck the mad scientist's machine (Texas Star) and engage his two robotic minions, P1 and P2 (beware of the body on the slab). Carrying talisman/crucifix in hand, move to Box C and engage plate rack. Advance to Box D and engage zombies T1 through T3. All shots outside the lab must be made with talisman/crucifix in hand; it may be shifted out for reloading.

Riotgun
Starting Position: Standing straddling Cone A with fingers interlaced on top of head facing uprange, loaded riotgun and loaded pistol grounded on Table B with safeties on. On start signal, with riotgun, wreck the mad scientist's machine (Texas Star) and engage his two robotic minions, P1 and P2 (remove no-shoot for riotgun). Ground unloaded shotgun on table. Carrying talisman/crucifix in hand, move to Box C and engage plate rack with pistol. Advance to Box D and engage zombies T1 through T3. All shots outside the lab must be made with talisman/crucifix in hand; it may be shifted out for reloading.

Oops! Don't leave without the crucifix! They'll eat you alive without it! The range officer will eat you alive and DQ you if you violate the 180 rule as I almost did.











It's not easy to clear the plate rack with strong hand only (a stage requirement)! But hitting the no-shoot twice in the head while leaving the zombie alive makes their brain munching task so much easier! :)

My camera ran out of memory before I could film Jon, a real life laboratory "Igor."

Final update: Scores are up! Jon beat everybody in riotgun and scored 4th out of 9 riflemen (the top 3 used little girlie ARs). A bunch of Master class shooters and one Grand Master blazed through the course, but didn't have as much fun as we did!

There Can Be Only One

Carnival of Cordite #35

Is up at Resistance is Futile! I didn't put in anything this time, but next week I will publish my Halloween Three-Gun Match stages, including, hopefully details of my splendid performance.

Check it Out

Camp Katrina, a blog by our green-suited friends in the storm-ravaged Gulf States, is up and telling inspiring stories you'll want to read.

Big Dem Gun Cred

Oops, I misspelled Crud.

Yeah, Right

H/t to Gregorio

Something to Spice up the Morning Oatmeal

In an effort to start eating more healthy (and maybe lower my cholesterol), I've been doing up some Quaker Oats oatmeal in the morning. I tried adding some raisins and sugar and cinnamon, but it's still pretty tasteless. Going past the Jelly Belly dispenser at the commissary today, I thought, "That'd be pretty good sprinkled on top of oatmeal!" Well, I spent a small fortune on oatmeal sprinklings...I'll let you know how it tastes. The bowl on the right is cinnamon and left is a mix of Dr. Pepper and A&W Root Beer.

October 19 Spotted Lynx

Jen Martinez (left) is a MILL (Milblogger I Like to Link). Check out some of the new pics she posted! Love the T-Shirt. Jen, try some conditioner! :) Seriously, she needs to add an assault rifle to the pic to move this above a 9.8999.

Jeff does his weekly Check on the Bias thing. If you're a gun blog fan, I probably didn't need to tell you that.

Air Force Pundit brings this quote from Ralph Peters:

If the day comes when the last U.S. troops leave a peaceful, democratic, prosperous Iraq, the headlines will read: "FAILURE IN IRAQ: THREE SUNNIS STILL UNHAPPY.

Read the Rest.

Blackfive visits Walter Reed.

Stickwick Stapers has cool astronomy geek stuff.

Head posts pics from a pretty cool-looking shoot.

Happiness is Iraq in your rearview mirror. Looks like Hurl's out of the Sandbox too! Gotta look for a whole new batch of deployed Milbloggers.

Stop by American Drumslinger and wish him a Happy Blog Day! Mature adults only.

Hat tip to El Capitan (the Air Force guy) for finding this cool Zoomie resource, Senior Airman Joe the Fat (left). It's a great way of life!

Froggy on "Seal Discos" and Blue Falcons.

James Rummel ponders "Who's got the hottest Army chicks?"

Surefire learns that chewing tobacco is not compatible with Aaaarrrrrrmy Training, sir!

Phil sez Saddam Hussein must be innocent. Who knew?

Jeff Goldstein recounts the story of the discovery of an Frozen Airman.

Vultures Row has Sneaky Russian Tricks: Plasma Stealth Aircraft and Fishing Trawlers running from the Weejins.

Buying a 1911? Check out Xavier's Guide! He's also a smart purveyor of wheelguns.

Rama-damned Funny

From my lawyer friend with a warped sense of humor:

On Monday I had to take depositions in a case where both the plaintiff and the defendant are Muslims. It was nice, because even though I ran way long interrogating the defendant, his attorney couldn't make me break for lunch.

Redneck Tuesday!

Not being a joiner, I don't participate in the blog theme "White Trash Wednesdays," so I'll jump their gun with this news item from Cherokee County AL:

A 20-year-old Centre man was injured Sunday when he fell out of a truck driven by his brother in an attempt to spit his tobacco juice. Brandon Thompson apparently opened the door of the truck he was riding in with his brother to spit just as the truck turned off of Hwy. 9 and onto County Road 65. When the truck turned, Thompson was spilled out onto the pavement. He was not seriously injured but was transported to Cherokee Baptist Medical Center for treatment.

Also, new to the Blogroll: Ignert Redneck!

Remember folks, don't forget the necessities!

Hoarked from assorted PWGers, except for the blogroll link--from Desert Cat.











Last, but not least, something to reinforce my cowboy cred: My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.

Sorry Guys, Still Not a Player

Just like last year, I'll support National Ammo Day (November 19) in spirit, but not in deed. Besides, who wants to go to Walmart and find out Kevin Baker got there ahead of me and scarfed up all the Winchester WhiteBox .45 ACP? Besides, I'm just not a joiner.

Last month I renewed my Sportsmans Guide membership and stocked up .45 and .308 in anticipation of next year's shooting schedule. Of course, this frustrates my little brother, who's fishing for Christmas gift ideas. The WhiteBox is handy if I get the urge to Go Revo, though I'll try to shoot up the Wolf stuff first.







I still have several battlepacks of .308 and 600 rounds of Chinese .308 loose in ammo cans (the Norinco stuff registers on the magnet so I can't use it on steel stages). I just popped the sardine can full of surplus .308 packed in 1981. I'll probably use that up ahead of the battlepack stuff...it just looks old. Give me incentive to take Lil Thumper out to the range and maybe try some distance work. The 4th Sunday is a practice 3-Gun and 5th Sunday is the Pima Tactical Match with some 100 yd. steel, both of which I plan to enter with the Heavy Metal stuff. Whoohoo!



1st Sunday I play for points, so I gotta be fast. The can of .40 S&W reloads is almost kaput, but I still have a half-case of factory stuff, plus a half-case of Wolf in the hall closet. The Wolf .223 on the right ought to last me a couple of matches...then I'll have to open up the other case. I'm so hard to shop for! I've also stocked up on Federal shotshells (lower right) and have a few years worth of slugs (lower left). The Wolf 9-mm (bottom) is pleading for an Uzi range day and who knows when I'll ever shoot up the Garand fodder? It's Korean stuff that I suspect to be corrosive. The plastic boxes (top) have some of my .38 Special and the peanut butter jar (left) has .44 Special, both wondering when I'll finally put the Cowboy Blob outfit on and do some Cowboy Action Shooting. The orange boxes are Greek surplus 9-mm waiting for me to take the Redheaded Stepchildren out for a day of fun.

I'm going to be out of town on Ammo Day anyway, but I promise to shoot some up that week. I shall spread the word afar...right after I get all that ammo back into the steel cabinet!

Chomp