Inflationary Issues

When you're out in the woods and thirty miles from the nearest gas-station with a flat tire, there are certain considerations that WILL cross your mind. If you're an Enduro rider you have come prepared with self-rescue items, including tools to wrestle-off a tire and equipment to patch a tube - and a "Buddy-Tow" if you're bad, and a Space Blanket in case you are a complete failure and ready to face-off with Darwin. I always carry both.

It's hot and demanding work in a Murphy-Location - a place not of your own choosing. Most likely it's the worst possible location, at the worst possible time, because it's not of your choosing - if it were easy you'd just deal with it easy and maybe even keep riding to your destination, shredding the tire and tube. Fix it later at leisure and in comfort.

But say it is not ideal, far from it: you are perched on a rocky incline facing the sun with no shelter or shade and only a nearby, inquisitive beehive and some snakes to keep you company. It was a magnificent climb up to this point of massive tire-failure, and you had a lot of adrenaline going and pushing you up - but now you are still 300-feet shy of the top, the adrenaline has waned in the 95-degree heat, and your Camelbak has two sips of water left.

Maybe you can get the whole wheel off and carry it up to the distant, shady, treeline and repair the puncture in comfort - yeh right, wearing giant clunky Enduro boots with crappy soles that slide backwards with every step in the soft soil. *Sip* There goes half your remaining water... So you must get on your machine, kick it over, and ride like a madman to the top where you fall into a coma of exhaustion.

Now you have a more or less flat place to begin repairs, and a tree stump - with another hive of bees in it. Who cares? You're not afraid of a bee-sting, you're more desperate than that. You wrestle with wrenches and the chain to remove the wheel, then with tire-irons to move the bead and get to the tube, then fiddle with the tube to find the hole and put a patch on it. Some guys just bring a spare tube. In any event it's good to have a means to re-fill the air in the tire that you patched, and I used to carry a bicycle pump. You should try it some time...

After attempting to assist a friend during the Ridgerunner 500 (many years ago) who had a flat in a similar dirty-dusty and bee-infested location, the outright futility and extreme demand-for-effort that a hand-operated mechanism required, struck me across the face like a hot, greasy skillet.

I wanted to be a little higher-up on the food-chain than the position in which I found myself. I know that attempting to seat the bead of a tire on a rim with only a hand-pump would lead me to aneurysm and massive cardiovascular failure. I opted for Co2 - and carbon-tax be damned. After some fleeting efforts with the little fizzy-water sized cylinders that merely dribbled air into my tire I opted for the biggest goddamned compressed cylinders I could find - 25grams seems to do the trick, but there's no such thing as overkill -- I understand that 45gram cylinders are available.
Some folks find the cost extravagant and have difficulty overcoming that hurdle - but I can guarantee you that OUT THERE, where there's a critical demand and nobody to criticize your budgetary constraints, the purchase results will seem miraculous and every bit worthwhile.

Since this stuff bounces all around, against tools and other hard objects in the pack, I sandwich the tender patches with a cardboard sleeve. I want them to work too.

That's all.

My First Car

Paid $500 for it in 1981 and after Graduation from Uncle Charlie's Summer Camp drove it out to South Dakota for a summer of Archaeological Fieldwork - but not before rebuilding the worn out motor.
On the way however it dropped a pushrod and blew a hole in the engine while crossing the Continental Divide at 4:00 AM on a cold morning, about 30 miles outside Rawlins Wyoming. After the tow I worked with Mel at AAJAX Automotive to re-install a new motor and painted the BIG NEW SIGN on the new glass, in his new location - lucky me he'd only been there a few days. After a week it was done and I kept going - didn't want to be late for class.
Later I drove her down to a class-reunion in Ohio, and then on to see a friend in Chapel Hill, and out to Ocracoke where I saw mosquitoes the size of birds.
With summer closing I drove up to stay with a friend in Arlington where I got day-labor work doing gardening and yard-work with a bunch of recent ex-cons. After further job-hunting I finally landed a skill-set job as a stripper at Harbinger Photographic Services on N-Street in DC. Stripping that is b&w negatives into final composite camera-ready artwork - I worked in a darkroom. The real strippers and DC Pros were just down the street. Sometime I'd run across one or two of 'em in a little sandwich shop when I was out getting lunch for the gang. That's a HARD life and it showed.
Returned to California the following year when the household on Kenmore Street in Arlington disbanded and my sister announced she was getting married. Huh. It's better to drive cross-country than to hitch-hike - I did that in 1978. Met some very interesting people...

Oh yeh, I painted her myself - over time and with many cans of not always matching Krylon.
She came to me all primer gray, and then after a while about four different colors of primer-gray as none quite matched the touch-ups - this was before "Urban Camouflage" was even invented - she looked like a rolling speed-bump. That's a kind of dangerous condition for a long, cross-country trip.
I would occasionally get encouraging advice from other (mainly East Coast) drivers who'd never seen an "Egg" before (California surfer-lingo for the Ghia) much less one like this - like, "GET A FUCKING PAINT JOB YOU FUCKING FREAK!" While they're driving a Ford Mavrick - bwhahahahah -- always glad to brighten another's day! :-)

My First Bike.

Thanks to Kirk at Fun Turns to Tragedy!!! I am roused to reflect on earlier indiscretions.
In my family there was no tradition of motorized recreation nor even a hint of money for such a frivolity, so I didn't start riding until I was almost 30. It was prompted by an article in CityBike magazine that I found at the train station as I made my way home from the 50th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge - which I had attended and walked across, repeating my Dad's original permabulation. I had never seen or heard of the magazine before (though I later went to work for it), and the article featured a tiny version of a sportbike that seemed pretty cool. It was with even more alarming synchronicity and Deja Vu that I spotted one later in the afternoon at Beltramo's, parked in front of the door when I went to fetch a six-pack of beer for the 'fridge. Alarms and excitement went off in my head, and I later negotiated and bought the bike from the owner after he got bored with it and turned his attention to water-skiing. Here I am at the 1989 Laguna Seca Grand Prix, practicing at the mini-track that Yamaha had set up outside the Hairpin. Wayne Rainey won that year to begin his streak that ended with his injury there in 1993 and John Kozinski's only championship.

A few years I later attended the race with a Press Pass and my big lens, shooting pictures for a local newspaper. The access was incredible and I'll never forget Kevin Schwanz (before his devastating injury) popping wheelies with every upshift, racing up the back-straight from Turn 6 to The Corkscrew, passing by me just a few feet away at 160mph - with the front tire waving in the air... It. Was. Absolutely. Electrifying.
Those were the days of the insanely wicked and brutally fast 500cc GP two-strokes, before the "Big Bang" engines with the crankshaft and cylinders closely aligned, or the diesels of today. Later I took a Reg Pridmore CLASS there on my FZ600 (once I'd gotten a real-sized bike and in order to improve my skill level) and and flicked it over and down into the corkscrew myself. Not quite the same as the masters - not by a freakin' long shot, but at least I didn't lose the front and plow it in. :-) Upright and steady that's me, until I push the front end and go asphalt surfing.
If you want to experience a lap check out this one of Reg's videos. From 01:15 to 01:31 is the Turn 6-to-Turn 7 back straight section and entrance to the Corkscrew. Enjoy!

Building a Religion - Quack goes the Maniac

New Age ideas and mass murder go hand in hand - Radovan Karadzic's double life as an alternative medicine guru shouldn't surprise us.

Igor Toronyi-Lalic

We express shock when the lovely bloke next door - “wouldn't hurt a fly” - is taken away in a dawn raid for a savage granny attack. We never understand it when certain people with “kindly” jobs and characters - teachers, animal-lovers, vegetarians - turn out to be murderous maniacs. Radovan Karadzic's double life as the hairy, benign-looking Dr Dabic, an alternative medicine guru, has surprised many. Even though it really should not be so surprising.
New Age ideas and mass-murdering have had a long and fruitful history together. Stalin, Hitler and Pol Pot all believed in aspects of what would come to be called the New Age movement. They all rejected evidence-based medicine and technology and advocated back-to-nature policies.

Himmler looked to horoscopes and the occult, Stalin to dodgy agrarian scientists and Pol Pot to the Prince of Wales. Well, he might have. For “Brother Number One” demanded the implementation of non-mechanised farming, ie, organic food. He instituted a technological programme that had no experts - his comrades were proud that their pharmaceutical companies employed no graduates, just illiterate 12-year-olds.

The reason for this marriage between New Age voodoo and dictatorial tendencies is their philosophical similarity. Both rely on egotism, claiming that change will come from them alone; both feed off secret gnomic knowledge; and both imply a superiority to what has come before - usually the past 150 years of Western science and learning. If you believe in one quack idea, it's likely that you'll buy into others. Those who think the US covered up an alien landing at Roswell often believe the Elders of the Protocols of Zion are true - and books on both often sit side by side in New Age bookshops.

New Age ideas challenge the received wisdom of the elites. And this is why dictators are drawn to them. Because in the political field this is often what they are hoping to achieve: a new world order.

Obama is on record as having that same Hope/Change desire - a New World Order. No wonder he went to plead his case before the Germans, they tried to "unify" Europe a couple times in the past Century and the last time they almost succeeded. It is the end-dream of the Socialist/Fascist, the ultimate transformation closely following the deeply etched lines of their ego, ambition, and audacity. To transform an entire world as a duplication of the Self, the ultimate DNA/RNA spiral impression.

Losing My Spark

I bought the hearing-protectors, Peltor Model Tactical 6S, because (1.) my cheap-o Caldwell (on sale!) ones kept pushing off my head when trying to get a good cheekweld, and (2.) they were On SALE! at Midway, but (3.) first, foremost, and primarily because among the largest cross-section of Gunbloggers I met at the Rendezvous, from different parts of the country assembled together to shoot, it was what they were all wearing. That's an endorsement in my mind.
However I keep forgetting to turn them off and the AAA batteries keep dying. I've got only four left from the big COSTCO 24-pack. I had to implement a reminder procedure, hope it works. However I'm still behind the tacticool eight-ball because all the cool kids now have Sordin Supreme Pros...Damn.

Building A Religion

Best. Scary. Censored. Obamatronic. Religiosity. Video. Ever.

Has this nation gone totally blind? The Youth-Movement Nuremberg-rally chanting of the gathered-together Faithfull at the beginning and at the end is truly the stomach-churning noise that Fascism makes as it hunts in the night for its prey.

Magpul Enhanced Trigger Guard

Micro Gun pr0n from both sides; slowly he built it, step by step, inch by inch, little by little....


I should be out practicing but I am meeting my wife for Lunch while she's on jury-duty. Yesterday we went to The Fish Market.

Clementina Street, Fran Sanchico

Phlegmfatale of the Fabulous Blog Fatale Abstraction has some issues with the treatment of a wannabee landlord couple in the Independant Socialist Nirvana of San Francisco with its draconian rent-control laws. Ok the charges against them makes 'em sound like they were pretty nasty folks, or not. It could depend on how deeply your multicultural perspective is really reaching. Anyhow San Francisco has some pretty totalitarian rent-control laws that almost make Chicago's classical Mafia corruption seem insignificant, but in a much different way of hatin' The Man.
Curious about how anybody could even score a a six-unit, three-story apartment building for under a cool $Million (the median price of a home in Palo Alto) in super-expensive Slam Frandisco, I decided to Google-up a street-view of the location to see wassup wi'dat? It's not my choice of Cities to ever live in, never-ever is more like it 'cuz I DO NOT like Cities - there's too damn many people all around you everywhere all the time. It's like choosing to drive during rush hour on purpose, because you like the crowd and the intimacy. Forget it. But a bunch of poor bastards chose it for some godddam reason, and heaven help 'em.
Here's a view of the rent-controlled neighborhood, it's a two-block long alley by any other name, and comes complete with its own well herb'd and pickled denizens. Here's a solid citizen dog-walker at least on one end, GOOD DOGGIE!!

And a little further down and across the alley is a street-scene more typical of The City christened Baghdad by the Bay by a famous raconteur/gossip-columnist newspaper reporter/professional character assassin - two bums in a doorway!

On the bright side further down the street and across from a parking lot (surely a million dollar view *snerk*), the sun breaks through to warm another sleeping soul.

And further down two-block long street another local rests in the shade after a hard day of trading at the Stock Market - not.

I can't tell what the "good" end of the street is - I guess it depends on your perspective, the time of day, and very probably your sense of smell. In a city that is generally cold even on the hottest day of summer and the 80's throwback style of dressing in ALL BLACK is still a traditional form of clothing-choice, a warm spot to sleep could be advantageous and life-affirming. And a good place to practice you pilates.
So that's the multi-million-dollar neighborhood, in the Fanciest and Best Restaurant City on the West Coast.
You can keep it.

Carry Permit Holder

It's obvious and true, so here's the Googl-fu: Concealed Carry Permit Holders More Lawful Than Most. As Sebastian notes also, Carry permit holders are what the 2nd Amendment is all about. Since 2003 Rustmeister has known first-hand a thing or two about carry permit holders and their benefit to society in general. Say Uncle is also a carry permit holder aficionado because armed citizens have saved more lives than the Brady Bunch of pathetic nitwits. Also it's tru that a carry permit holder has the Googl-Fu of ten-thousand because his heart is pure and un-clouded by the malaise of Bradyholics. And of course Tam has forgotten more about carry permit holders than the Bradystrippers will ever learn to even pole-dance. In general carry permit holders are a benefit to society and a threat to criminal thugs and lowlifes.

The Excellent Bamboo

The poor signal from the little old Radio Shack UHF antenna (see post below) was giving us fits. I decided not to try and re-make the antenna by taking it apart and re-soldering the leads to a longer piece of wire, so I went to Fry's. I had a hunch that in the past twenty years or so there had probably been some advances -- like the whole Digital thing.
As decor in our Hawaiiana theme'd home we have some bamboo cut from a "special" forest next to a building at the Big Private University. One of the tall sections near the window seemed optimal for hoisting the device to a good height with clear reception.
I really liked that the device has it's own co-ax cable instead of a fudgy little push-on adapter. After a few tweaks and turns and hiding the cable in a crack on the backside of the bamboo we had an improved signal.

Yay me.

Tanks A Lot!

Saturday a bunch of guys from my shootin' club went up the hill to visit the Military Vehicle Technology Foundation - what is probably the world's largest private collection of old and not-so-old Armor.


The picture above is of Building One, there are three other buildings about the same size arranged in a U-shape, and a fourth one that's larger up the hill sideways to the setup... And a repair facility in another, separate building. In Building Two is the twelve-ton German half track used in the "The Dirty Dozen."

Are tanks "He" - or "She," like ships? They have a hull and a turret like ships do, but they are very manly... This old Kraut had been sitting at the bottom of a river in Poland for the past 60 years or so - they were fixin' him up and settin' him right. Some guys said they saw his recovery on the History Channel or something, I dunno 'cuz we don't get Cable.


One thing about this stuff - it all runs, but once repaired and brought up to snuff most has just been driven off and parked - it's actually kinda fragile, "brittle" our tour-guide said, and parts for most are simply impossible to find. Like anything for the WWI U.S. made Renault-copy. Simply Impossible. One Tank that "He" (the owner) uses for crushing cars on the 4th of July ("Here's some money, go down to the Used Car lot in Redwood City and buy a Red one, a White one, and a Blue one...) is of more recent vintage and more easily repaired.


Interstingly enough, in the riveted-together armor plate bullet strikes can be seen - it's not battle damage but proof-firing -- had the bullet penetrated, that plate would have been discarded and replaced with one which passed the test-firing.

Some parts have to be made or copied by them in the machine-shop/garage - like the hatch risers on the Panzer MkV, heat-treated vertical bearing-surfaces with multiple spring doo-dads and hydraulics inside, very complicated and specialized German engineering, like a BMW.

Our GM/Ford hatches swung open on a simple pinned hinge.
That was an interesting and obvious difference between the Sherman and the Panzer; for every one part that the Sherman had, the Panzer had at least six or eight or twelve. The Panzer motor fit into a special engine housing with only 3/4" clearance on each side, and was meant to be repaired at a Spezial Tanken Repairatur Fazility by a team of Spezial TankenMechaniker - brought back from the Front by railcar.

Our Sherman tank had room enough around the engine to walk, and could be (had to be) repaired in the field by the crew. The Panzer bogies and wheels were supported by eleven torsion rods, if one broke you had to remove a whole set of either Left-side or Right-side (non-interchangeable) bogies and wheels to get at it. The Sherman had a pretty simple set of interchangeable trucks and carriers (what I call 'em anyhow) with a center spring, each of which could be flipped either way as necessary.

The T-34 was even more crudely built than our stuff - but for every finely made Panzer the Russians slapped together 10 or more T-34's. It was the AK47 of tanks but most of all it's gun worked and could hit German armor hard.

Here's a Nebelwerfer for Chris B.

And a Ferret for Cowboy Blob.

That thing's a huge, mobile, scissor-bridge. The local township has been made aware of this one and has included it in the Disaster/Emergency Plans in the event of an earthquake and the bridge at the bottom of the hill goes out...


Some of this stuff was bought in the post Cold-War period when it's value (in the Ost-Blok) was in freefall, only useful as scrap metal - so the owner got one for $500, and it cost $10,000 to ship it back. Prices have since risen, both for the scrap and especially for the shipping. The Ost-Blok stuff was fairly easy to come by and bring over - it just costs money, also Lend-Lease stuff - but he has an American Super-Firefly(?) Sherman (it has three, stacked engines) over in England that he can't bring-in because it's still US property and belongs to the Army or something.


The Guy has inherited wealth and knows what to do with it! He worked for a while as an Engineer at HP because that's his university degree and training, but building models as a kid is what started this off. He built functioning, scale models using a machine-shop his parents gave him. One of the first radio controlled tanks he built, about two-feet long, has a working flame-thrower. He must have been a fun kid to play with. "Hey Mom, guess what we did today!!" He also has a miniature narrow-gauge railroad he built himself, the engines and cars and rails and everything - you can sit on it and go around a couple acres. In the house he built is a chapel and filling the back wall is a giant pipe-organ that he likes to play. Students from The Big West Coast Private University down the hill come up to play and practice on it.

It was a pretty neat outing and please let me know if any of my facts are wrong.

UPDATE: Welcome SayUncle'Lanche! Feel free to leave a comment. :-)

Sinking in the Hipsand

Posted as a comment over at Fetching Jen, I blog myself.

I believe the whole "ugly American" thing is a misplaced and dis-placed part of the cognitive dissonance that Teh Elites constantly hear -- some kind of hyper adolescent self-conscious background drumbeat.

The real *ugly,* both in History and in Foreign Policy have been the errors of embarrassment that killed. The times when we tried so hard to be "cool" with the Euro-School that we did lapse and let-go, letting Vietnam and South Asia slide into PolPot's communist murder and chaos. Jimmy Carter's whole reign of utter embarrassing uselessness.

Obama's all about being hip with the Foreign Exchange Students, the bitchin'-hot French chick who smokes non-filters, the tall lanky German soccer-dude, the sultry gal from Barcelona -- but hip is just an empty posture from which snarky and pseudo-intellectual epithets are hurled, it's quicksand. It's nothing but vapor.

Bread, Breda, I can Haz Breda

The Fabulous Fingernails of Breda, Breda Librarian to The STARS, Breda in the Octopus' Garden, Breda to the TOP! If you ain't Breda, you ain't got a gun. Breda of the Blue Jeans, rockin' the white stripes with red lipgloss. Breda with bratwurst and baked beans - and a broken alarm clock.
Breda better than Obama, Obama is a Breda wannabee in drag.

Little Things All Around Me

Zip-ties to hold together the cheap plastic broken bracket-flange-thingummy (drilled through in two places) for the flexible shower-head nozzle.
It's a temporary fix, I'm sure the rest will crack-through within days. Why this is crapplastic and isn't even made of pot-metal is anybody's guess.


A couple of Loadbooks from Midway for two popular and one obscure caliber, perfect for light reading in the hot evening.


A replacement collet for grabbing and pulling a failed .223 bullet from it's brass embrace for whatever reason - seated too deeply or dismantling a load (.308 for comparison is on the right).


And a Wilson case-holder for all that Lake City .223 brass...Lord I tire from trimming cases, it's enough to make me lust after a Giraud case-trimming machine.

Het id Heat

92-degrees and better today-tonight - five fans in various parts of the Unit are moving air with various degrees of effectiveness. Stay hydrated.

UPDATE: A splash of 2-year old Cruzan Estate Light from St. Croix with Simply Limeade is refreshing.

UPDATE-UPDATE: It's just unseasonably hot - and the thick air from all the fires around that are burning up and down the state doesn't help. Visibility is better today at 9-miles.

Over the 4th Weekend

Our government digital TV discount coupon arrived in the form of a credit-card like thing, and on Friday we decided to go ahead and see what the fuss was all about.

I unplugged the back of the TV and started messing around.

I used an S-video cable to go from the converter box to the TV to try and wring the best picture out of it instead of using the analog (yellow) cable - but I still had to plug in the Left and Right audio - I thought S-Video carried the audio signal too? I must have thought wrong.

It was pretty simple - except it seems that the signal is best with the old Radio Shack UHF antenna still connected inline and perched on one of my old NHT speakers by the window. The Unit antenna that we had fixed a while back didn't help all that much, but was still necessary to get a few of the new-to-us channels.


The picture was much clearer and much more stable - gone are the wispy bits of background speckling of before -- but if the signal sucks it goes into robotic pixilations and jaggy freezes, thus the position of the antenna by the window.
The biggest drawback is watching everything on Video-1 with a weird remote. Clearly a built-in tuner and a new TV are much more optimal. With the discount-coupon and tax, it cost about $14 to convert over to Digital.
In the evening we went outside and walked up on the Shoreline boulevard overpass to see the 4th of July fireworks from distant Shoreline Amphitheater. Boom! Bang! Sparkel!
When we came back inside the Macy's Fireworks Super Extravaganza (whatever) from New York was about to begin - so we watched. The TV's image clarity was quite a few steps better, and they really pulled out all the stops to set-off fireworks to every single note of music - some of the songs were quite spectacular and the shot a ton of ordnance into the air. BOOM! Happy 4th!

One of the new digital stations is just weather - and the forecast is for highs in the 80's getting higher into the 100's over the next few days. The wind has died and the air has gotten thick with smoke again with another fire across the bay. You can not see the hills only a few miles away.

UPDATE: Apparently the current digital broadcast signal is being carried on UHF (and my goofy antenna works GREAT) and it's the threatened switch-over coming up in February to the VHF band that's gonna sink the rest of the VHF-viewing world.

Hog Pilots and Coffee Mugs

Over the 4th of July weekend I bought and read Robert Kaplan's "Hog Pilots, Blue Water Grunts" and learned a lot about our changing Military and the things we do around the world. For those of you with a lot of military familiarity it's probably nothing new, but my exposure to our Armed Services is rather thin and distant, so this book was eye-opening and increased the depth of my appreciation.
The section on the mysterious undersea world of Submariners was especially interesting and revelatory.
Kaplan embeds with a marine platoon in the the African sahel who are on a training mission with troops from Niger, goes up to Alaska to meet with Air Force and Army National Guard troops training there, and then down to Thailand, Okinawa, and Singapore to board a Navy destroyer for a month at sea, and then onto a fast attack nuclear submarine re-crossing the Pacific. And more. It's all pretty astonishing.
As a kid I remember reading a book about the dramatic exploits of Subs and their crew during WWII, and about a year ago we went on board the USS Pampanito docked up at Pier 45, during one of our infrequent visits to The City. It's a floating museum now, smelling like musty old G.I. web gear, grease and hot oil - and you can easily understand the intimacy, fear, and claustrophobia of it's era - but the ships of today are vastly different, and peopled by very different men.
And there's my (today's) coffee cup. In the distance you can see my very sturdy old glasses from 5th or 6th Grade.
My parents had found them while cleaning up clutter and were going to donate them to poor children in Nicaragua, "Who have nothing." I dissuaded them from that. They are hazy-scratched beyond belief making life's view a fuzzy milkshake, and ugly. They are thick, ill-fitting and bent, and ruinous of self-image. I had hated them deeply and even though they let me see clearly they had hurt and shamed me. Why inflict that horror on some poor-damn-poor-kid? Even the indigent have pride and self-respect especially kids with their youthful innocence - there is no need to shatter their world and drag them down, to break them on the wheel. So I took them and keep them to remind me.

Hope you-all had a happy 4th of July.

Can I Haz Light?

First of all,
HAPPY 4th OF JULY!


Some Assembly Required:
As a newbie I believe that these things go together, at least I think so.

I'm not sure if the Z3 is suitable. It's hell-of BRIGHT with 105 lumens of eye-poking goodness that makes me see little blue circles and spots and bothers the noisy raccoons that are chattering and humping across the lake.
Go away raccoons!
I could bump that up to 200 lumens for a blistering temporary blindness effect - but does it need a "shock isolating bezel" or a pigtail pressure-switch...or?
Besides some kind of mount. The VLTOR mount looks cool - they all look cool, dammit. Daniel Defense, Viking Tactics, LaRue (jeezus that'$ a fortune) - and there's a million of them.
Or is it just better as a hand-held unit with the Rodgers Technique that I read about on the Interwebz. What the hell is that anyhow?
Ok, make fun of me.
HAPPY 4th OF JULY!

One Word Memetic

Taken from the lovely and talented Caltech Girl.

Cant repeat the ONE word.

This is hard because I really don't ever dwell on "favorite" anything so I'm just making crap up.

1. Where is your cell phone? Holster
2. Your significant other? Spouse
3. Your hair? Hair?
4. Your mother? Busybody
5. Your father? Socialist
6. Your favorite time of day? Lunchtime!
7. Your dream last night? Tsunami!
8. Your favorite drink? Mai-tai!
9. Your dream goal? Expert
10. The room you're in? Bunker
11. Your ex? Not
12. Your fear? Serfdom
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Freestate
14. What you are not? Engineer
15. Your Favorite meal? Steak
16. One of your wish list items? Ammo
17. The last thing you did? Clicked
18. Where you grew up? Overseas
19. What are you wearing? Socks
20. Your TV is? Free
21. Your pets? Peeves
22. Your computer? Creaky
23. Your life? Midlife
24. Your mood? Placid
25. Missing someone? Youth
26. Your car? Truck!
27. Something you're not wearing? Hat
28. Favorite store? Gunshop
29. Your summer? Smokey
30. Your favorite color? Blue
31. When is the last time you laughed? Tonight
32. When is the last time you cried? Tomorrow
33. Your health? Headcold
34. Your children? None
35. Your future? AARP
36. Your beliefs? Liberty
37. Young or old? Antique
38. Your image? Relaxed
39. Your appearance? Thoughtful
40. Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? Silly