Gun control from the old homestead

I’m sort of from the Seattle-Metro area, and I have family that still lives up there. So when I saw this article from the Seattle Post Intelligencer I was rather disappointed. Mind you, I’m not particularly surprised by the mayor’s actions, but still disappointed.

For those of you that don’t feel like wading through the article, the gist of it is that the mayor of Seattle is calling for more gun legislation. One of his hot-buttons apparently is the “gun-show loophole”, which is something that doesn’t actually exist.

Gun-grabbers claim that the gun-show loophole allows convicted felons and other naughty mans to go to as “assault weapons bazaar” and purchase firearms without an NICS background check or paperwork filled out by a dealer. The problem with this theory is that any gun dealer that actually has a Federal Firearms License is required by federal law to perform a background check on anyone purchasing firearms. Over the years, I’ve bought about a dozen guns at gun shows, and I’ve had an NICS check run on me every single time.

The only people that aren’t required to run a background check on a buyer are private sellers, i.e. if I sell my Ruger rifle to my best friend from high school I don’t have to run a background check on him. This might seem like a loophole, however most gun shows prohibit private sellers from selling firearms. I know that the local show that I usually attend doesn’t allow unlicensed entities to sell firearms; their reason is based both of federal law and for liability reasons.

The “gun show loophole” doesn’t need to be closed. Calls to close the loophole are most assuredly a less than clever beard for the gun grabber’s desire to eliminate gun shows in their entirety. Why these folks are so afraid of licensed business conducting a legal trade is something that I will probably never understand.

The Wide World of Sports

I am a self-proclaimed sports nut, and one of the sports that I dearly enjoy is college football. For one reason or another, I have developed over the past couple of years a fondness for the Boise State Broncos. I don’t know if it’s the blue Astroturf that they play on, or the fact that they don’t get any love from the national media (probably because they play in Western Athletic Conference); but I just can’t get around the fact that I flat like them.

Well, the part about them not getting any love from the national media is about to change, after last night’s wild victory over Oklahoma in the Fiesta Bowl.

The highlights of the story are available on Sports Illustrated, ESPN, and pretty much every major media outlet that covers sports; but the gist of the story is that Boise State went 13-0 on the season, and beat the number 7 ranked team in the county last night.

The Broncos had a lot of critics, people who said that because the WAC is a weak conference that they couldn’t hang-and-bang with a big, bad team like Oklahoma. I guess they were wrong. If Boise State goes undefeated next year and doesn’t get a shot at the BCS title, that’ll be one more mark in the “Why the BCS System Sucks” column.

Fat kids

This article from the Communist News Network is the sort of thing that makes me very angry.

Allow me to elaborate. When I see a fat kid in public, I get mad. I generally am upset by obese adults as well (more on that later); but a fat kid really upsets me. Fat kids make me angry because in a child, the parents have control over what the child eats, how much tv the child watches, how much time they spend on videogames, etc. If your kid is a fattie, it’s probably your fault.

I am well aware that there are certain conditions which leave someone with a predisposition to fatness. That’s fine. If your kid has one of those, ignore this. If your kid is fat because you use pizza as a reward for good grades and never unplug the fucking Nintendo and make him play outside, than it’s your fault.

The Mrs. and I were at a local mall the other day, and I walked by an establishment in said mall that caused me to lose my damn vision due to the rage coursing through my system. This mall had a “kid’s gym”, complete with pint-sized fitness equipment. While I applaud the sentiment of not having fat kids, your kid should not need a gym to avoid being fat. I’m torn, because Fat Kids = Bad Thing, but at the same time you shouldn’t need to sign you precious Timmy up for weightlifting classes to make sure he’s healthy.

There’s this place, it’s called “Outdoors.” I know that there are bears and cars and pedophiles “outdoors”, but your child can play there and not die. If you’re that worried, why don’t you put down your Scotch and go play with your child outdoors. Come on.

Practical Rimfire shooting

I’ve gotten curious lately as to what number of people out there carry the king of sub-calibers in their defensive pistol. Specifically, the timeless .22 Long Rifle. As of right now, my personal armaments consist of a pocket knife and a Walther P22 loaded with CCI-Stingers.

I’ve received the perfunctory ribbing from the local gunstore commandos, as well as some good natured and friendly advice from some people whose opinions I genuinely respect. The question I’ve been asked the most frequently is “Why the .22, why not something bigger”, usually coupled with the statement that the Walther is about the same size as a few different models of .380 out there.

The answer to the question is simple and complicated at the same time. I’m sure that all of us know that the first rule of gunfighting is “have a gun”, which I am fulfilling by packing the P22 around. A quote that correlates to that is “A .22 in the eye beats a .45 in the forearm.” When you think about a gun that is carried literally whenever I have my pants on, the P22 has a lot going for it, which comes down to a combination of size, weight, accuracy, and “shootability”.

Size is a big issue for me, especially in regards to concealed carry. I’m a little guy, I’m only 5’6 tall and weight maybe a buck fifty-five. I cannot physically conceal a fullsize pistol without 23 layers of clothing. There are a lot of “compact” pistols on the market that create problems for me to conceal as well. The P22 is perfect, because it’s so slim, in an IWB holster it simply disappears, even under a relatively tight shirt. The second size issue is that although I’m small, I have huge hands. This makes most tiny mouseguns challenging to shoot accurately. I’m sure that with enough practice it wouldn’t be a problem; however the P22 fits nicely into my hand. It fits well and points quite naturally, which makes the accurate shot placement required by carrying a .22 that much easier.

Weight goes hand in hand with size. The P22 (and most “carry” .22’s) are very light. I’m much more likely to pack a pistol around where the weight doesn’t grow tiresome after 20 minutes. I had to carry a heavy handgun for a good four years, and now I don’t.

As far as accuracy goes, the P22 is great. It has excellent sights and a throughly easy to manage trigger. According to my scale, the double action pull breaks at about 11 pounds, and the single action at 4 pounds. The P22 holds inside of 2 inches at 50 feet if I do my part, and in rapid fire practical shooting easily keeps an entire magazine inside a fist sized area.

The final pro for me about carrying a .22 is shootability. It’s a combination of all the previous factors, combined with one more. That last factor is familiarity. When I was in college, I shot NRA Collegiate Pistol, and I still shoot Bullseye matches to this very day. I know .22s, and I’ve shot a ton of .22s. Massad Ayoob had a great article on the benefits of shooting under competitive stress, including bullseye competitions. I’ve fired a lot of .22s under the timer, and it just feels right for me.

Of course, everything above is completely personal. Just because a .22 works for me doesn’t mean that you should carry one. I certainly don’t think that our military should turn in their M16s for Ruger 10/22s, or that my local Sheriff’s office should trade their Glocks for Sig Mosquitos. I don’t even think that you should trade your CQB Tactical Destroyer for a .22.

What I do think is that you should carry the gun that fits your needs the best. If that’s a .22 or a .500 S&W Magnum, you should carry what works for you.

I’m a bad shooter

Mostly because I’ve been shooting since I was eight, and I’ve just now purchased my first Ruger 10/22. I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up by turning my Ruger 10/22 from an innocent looking plinking rifle into a terrifying “assualt weapon”, guarenteed to make Gun Fearing Wussies soil themselves. Of course, everyone else will know that it’s just a dressed up Ruger .22lr, but who cares?

Speaking of .22’s, I’ve decided that I hate the .17 HMR. Not because it’s a bad round or anything, but because I love the .22 WMR. I was in Gander Mountain, and I found maybe two or three rifles chambered for .22 WMR; however there were at least a dozen rifles chambered for .17 HMR. Oh well, I guess as long as people are shooting, I should be happy. I’ll just have to be content with my Marlin 25M and my EAA Bounty Hunter for now.

For everyone who has and who will put on the uniform

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
And to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about a strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind
A sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, so dark and dreary,
I knew I had found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.

I heard stories about them, I had to see more
So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping silent alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home.

His face so gentle, his room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean shaven, his weathered face tan,
I soon understood this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night
Owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight.

Soon `round the world, the children would play,
And grownups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
Because of soldiers like this one lying here.

I couldn´t help wonder how many lay alone
On a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
“Santa don´t cry, this life is my choice;
I fight for freedom, I don´t ask for more,
my life is my God, my country, my Corps.”

With that he rolled over and drifted off into sleep,
I couldn´t control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still,
I noticed he shivered from the cold night´s chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
And I covered this Soldier from his toes to his head.
And I put on his T-shirt of gray and black,
With an eagle and and Marine patch embroidered on back.

And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
And for a shining moment, I was USMC deep inside.
I didn´t want to leave him on that cold dark night,
This guardian of honor so willing to fight.

Then the jarhead rolled over, whispered with a voice so clean and pure,
“Carry on Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all is secure.”
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night!

Merry Christmas everyone.

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