First off, a correction to the Ongoing Saga of my Father's Gun: for some fucking reason, whenever I talk (or type) about it, I call it a S&W Model 36. It's not, it's a Model 64. How the hell that 64 keeps turning into a 36 in my head, I'll never know. It's not until I look at the goddamn Post-It note stuck to my desk that I remember it's a 64-2. Not that it really matters, since both guns are values around the same ballpark, although the 64 tends to run about $100 less -- about $400-$500 depending upon condition -- versus $500-$600 for the Model 36. Keep in mind they only gave my father $213 for it, but hey, caveat emptor. Just wanted to clear that up. Anyway.
Good news, bad news. This past Friday evening I got a call back from the gun dealer out in Fort Mohave; I recognized the 928 area code and immediately answered. it wasn't Ray this time, the guy I had been dealing with, but a guy who introduced himself as Neal. Neal had some very good news: the New Owner brought my dad's gun in and is ready to sell it to me. "AWESOME. How much?" "Twelve hundred and fifty dollars." I paused and waited for Neal to break out into a snicker, but the seconds awkwardly ticked by. Two, three, ... ten. "You're kidding, right?" I prompted. Another few awkward seconds ticked off the clock. "Uh, no, $1,250. This is the gun you wanted, right? We've been trying to get it for two months."
Now at this point, I can almost see the huge virtual cock poised just over my virgin bunghole, waiting to give me the sternest buttfucking I've had since shelling out over a grand for a dog trainer back when Bianca and Ike were at each others' throats. I mean what the fuck do I say to this guy? Sure I want this gun back, but I don't want to get fucking gangraped doing it. What I expected was: bought the gun for $213, sold the gun for $500, put a couple hundred bucks in the New owner's pocket for his unconvince and eh, $700, maybe $750. But to get buttfucked for two and a half times what the gun is worth? "Well to be honest Neal, that's a lot more -- that's a whole hell of a lot more than I had expected." "Oh," says Neal, "he's put some work into it." Now this immediately makes me cringe because I can just see this fucking gun all Bubba'd up with a tactical laser and flashlight and seat warmers. I ask what he means. "Well, he's replaced the grips. He's had it cleaned and polished. And it's set up for moonclips. I have seen guns like these go for this much before, it's worth the money."
My initial reaction was there's no fucking way this gun is worth $1,250 unless you welded it to a Colt Python. I run some quick numbers in my head: new grips, maybe $50; cleaning and polishing, maybe $75; moonclips, maybe $25-$50 depending upon how many he bought. So maybe we've got the gun's value up to $600-$650 of actual worth. So double that, just because, fuck me? I want to say yes. I want to say, sure no fucking problem box it up. But the other part of me goes, seriously? Listen, I'm a firm believer in something is only worth what someone else is willing to pay for it; sometimes that're more than you'd expect, sometimes it's less. But... dude. I ended the conversation by explaining that I had to check with my brothers before proceeding -- a lie -- and hung up the phone quite dumbstruck. And then proceeded to get quite shitfaced.
But the whole moonclip thing got me curious since I was unfamiliar with how they are implemented and was curious how they worked with a stock cylinder. The answer is, they don't: the stock cylinder has to be machined out to accept moon clips, and that means a permanent modification to the gun. It's really fucking handy once it's done -- a couple hundred dollars if it's done right -- and could partially account for some of the riduclously stupid price. But I dunno about the warm and fuzzy feeling I get from having my dad's gun fucked with.
Having learned this, I called the dealer back -- asked for Ray but of course got that dipshit Neal again -- and asked what if they could send me photos of the gun since it had beem modified for moonclips. "Oh it hasn't been modified," Neal assured me, "just cleaned and polished." In my head I'm thinking, awesome, so is that a fucking thousand dollar clean and polish job then? I explained that from what I know about moonclips, the cylinder needs to be machined out to allow for proper factory headspacing. Neal informed me, "while he would like to discuss the finer points of gunsmithing with me, he has some customers in the store and perhaps we could discuss this at a later time." Uh-huh. I asked if it would be possible for them to send me photos of the gun: first I want to see what they did to the cylinder and secondly I want to confirm the serial number versus the sales slip from when my father sold the gun. Yep, they'll send some pics.
I'm still not entirely sure this whole episode is going to come to fruition. I don't mind paying extra money for sentimental reasons, but there's a point where they just push too far. There's sentimental attachment, and then there's just stupidly retarded sentimental attachment with the associated buttfucking, and this asking price was firmly in the latter category. So I dunno. Anybody? Ideas? Thoughts? Suggestions? Do I throw myself on the sword here, or what? Stay tuned, I guess.
Are we armed because we're free, or are we free because we're armed?
Ernie, I read with great interest your saga of trying to regain your father's S&W Model 36. I had a falling out with my Father 5 years ago and we haven't spoken since. My Father has in his possession a Vintage Remington Model 8 in .35 Remington caliber that was originally my Grandfather's. Like you and your father's .38, this is the one item that I would like to have, if not only to remember my Grandfather and Father by, but to pass along to one of my sons as a family heirloom. The rifle was designed by John Browning and the design sold to Remington. (John Browning, the same guy that designed the Model 1911? Sorry, had to point that out to a Glock aficionado.) I am pulling for you to reacquire that Smith, family heritage should not be taken lightly in any form. Best of luck to you, Sir. Al
Complementing the violent yet artistic nature of MMA is a crew of sexy ring girls, all scratching and clawing for a chance in the spotlight. Possessing perhaps the most skilled judges of talent in the world, the UFC has always had only the most beautiful specimens gracing their arenas, innocently prancing around, looking good as usual. But amid the surplus of historically breathtaking women is a pair of stars, two beauties who continue to hog cameras and cause chaos. Arianny Celeste and Brittney Palmer began to dominate the competition the moment they stepped into the ring, and haven't looked back since. Now it's time for them to battle for the No. 1 spot in a sexy pic fight that is sure to make history. Ali vs. Liston has nothing on this stunning matchup.
Philip H. Diehl was a German-American engineer and inventor who held several U.S. patents, including electric incandescent lamps, electric motors for sewing machines and other uses, and ceiling fans. Diehl was a contemporary of Thomas Edison and his inventions caused Edison to reduce the price of his incandescent bulb. The electric fan was invented in 1882 by Schuyler Skaats Wheeler. A few years later, Philip Diehl mounted a fan blade on a sewing machine motor and attached it to the ceiling, inventing the ceiling fan, which he patented in 1887. Later, he added a light fixture to the ceiling fan. In 1904, his Diehl and Co. added a split-ball joint, allowing it to be redirected; three years later, this developed into the first oscillating fan. Philip Diehl died 7 April 1913 in Elizabeth, New Jersey.
Ernie, considering the overall weapon and the displayed magazines I would have to say the weapons in question are the East German MPi-KMS. If they had a vertical wood foregrip I would have to call them the Romanian AIMS. Dusty, P.C.,Fla--- Ps. Either way,its still one dead fucking terrorist!
Home organizing tip: Turn all the clothes hanging in your closet so that the hangers face back-to-front. For the next six months, if you wear an item of clothing, return it to the closet with the hanger facing the correct way. If you try it on but decide not to wear it, make sure you put it back with the hanger turned backward -- no cheating. Be prepared for a shock; you are going to find you own lots of clothes you have no use for. You should seriously consider getting rid of anything you don't wear regularly.
Old and busted -- well, not really old or busted -- Natalie Gulbis caught stretching. And by proxy, this photo which apparently came from the same round of golf. But anyway, the new hotness -- and I do mean hotness -- Natalie Gulbis in a body paint bikini. You damn right.
I've worked in the dairy industry for many, many years. I've been on neumerous dairy farms, know a lot more about milk and dairy cows than I care to admit. Even with all my dairy knowledge, I absolutely love an ice cold glass of moo juice and a handful of Oreo cookies. The is, until today. That picture of the two "cows" on the bed "giving" milk may just turn me off from the stuff forever. Except for the fact that milk produced by humans - even beasts like the two pictured - is low in fat and high in protein content. Thanks Ernie - I'll never again be able to lift a cold glass of milk again with out that picture coming to mind. signed... a European American somewhere in Georgia
Scarlett Johansson is an American actress, model and singer. Johansson grew up in a household with "little money", and with a mother who was a "film buff". She began acting during childhood, after her mother started taking her to auditions. She made her film debut at nine years old, as John Ritter's daughter in the 1994 fantasy comedy North. Following minor roles in the 1995 film Just Cause, as the daughter of Sean Connery and Kate Capshaw, and If Lucy Fell in 1996, she played the role of Amanda in Manny & Lo (1996). Johansson is considered a "peerless sex symbol" by Channel 4, and she regularly appears at the top of lists of the sexiest women in the world. Johansson appeared on the cover of the March 2006 issue of Vanity Fair in the nude alongside actress Keira Knightley and fashion designer Tom Ford. During the filming of Match Point, director Woody Allen described Johansson as "sexually overwhelming", saying that he found it "very hard to be extra witty around a sexually overwhelming, beautiful young woman who is wittier than you are." In 2010, GQ named Johansson its Babe of the Year. In 2011, Men's Health named her one of the "100 Hottest Women of All-Time", ranking her at No. 12.
slightly skewed movie descriptions - political party games: nothing like a nice game of smear pong
so who is more annoying: the belligerent drunk guy, or the shrill cunt yelling "stop, you're at disneyland?"