Daily Archives: July 13, 2010

One Million Hits…Congrats!

Let me be the first to congratulate JD for his one million hits. A significant milestone in any blogger’s career indeed. In about 20 years, perhaps I’ll join that illustrious crowd. 😉

Regards, Mike

Has the NAACP Outlived it’s Usefulness?

Has the NAACP outlived it’s usefulness? If you read what Bob Parks has to say here and Deneen Borelli says here , it would seem so. Kevin Martin says if the NAACP votes for this resolution, it will certainly enforce everyone’s opinion that the NAACP is now just a shill for the progressive left here .

The new Black Panthers believe  white people should be killed. Seems like there’s another group of people, ( Muslim Extremists), who want everyone different than them to be killed.  The new Black Panthers…just another Hate Group. With any luck, they will find their rightful place on the ash heap of history, soon to be forgotten, for sure their presence on the American stage to be hailed as one brief, dark moment in American history.

Mike…aka thatmrgguy

cross posted from thatmrgguy

So I’m writing a novel…

Here is the first chapter… [An exclusive, never before seen. Pay attention Gramps–you said you liked mah writin]

Chapter One: Killing in the woods

A drop of sweat rolled down my nose. I wiped it away, as Craig yelled, “Kill the bastard!” I immediately rolled from behind the tree, came to a kneeling position, and fired six times at the ugly looking man with the gun pointed directly at me.  I dove back behind the tree and reloaded my Taurus .357 magnum revolver. Then Butch started giggling. “You hit him in the nuts.” Butch was looking through his spotting glasses.

I stood up from behind the tree and joined him and Craig as we walked towards my target, roughly fifty feet away.  It was a scorching hot Saturday in August in central Virginia. But the mosquitoes were not taking the day off. I slapped what seemed the umpteenth bloodsucker off my neck, and wiped away smeared blood.

We reached my target, a crudely drawn life-sized silhouette of a man holding a gun on what used to be a large cardboard box. I took off my ear protectors and noticed that the forest was silent except for the incessant hum of the cicadas. Butch was already marking each bullet hole where I had hit my target. He marked each hole with an “X” so we could keep track of which holes were old and which were new when the next guy shoots.  Sure enough, I had hit him squarely in the nuts. Or where they would have been on a real bad guy.

Butch totaled the points that I had earned with my six out of six hits, then got my time from Craig, who had been timing my performance with a stop-watch.  Butch carefully noted the results in his spiral notebook.  We kept track. The vital areas were crudely drawn in by hand with a Sharpie.  One hundred points for a heart or brain shot. Fifty for any other head or central upper torso. Twenty-five for the lower torso and for miscellaneous other spots that we non-anatomically inclined red-necks thought might be good areas to hit a bad guy with a slug. Ten points for flesh wounds. Negative One Hundred Fifty for misses.  I scored two hundred sixty points.  “Not bad for a six-shooter, John.  Here let me show you how it is done with a real gun,” Butch said as he handed me the pen and notebook.

Butch took his shooting way more seriously than I did.  He had a Colt .45 Limited something or other Edition.  Semi-automatic, all the bells and whistles, two toned metal and one of the metals appeared to be gold. I don’t know if it was, but it sure looked that way. All I cared about though was how accurate it was and how smooth it felt when I shot it. I couldn’t afford it in a million years.  Or at least I wasn’t that good at convincing myself that I needed one just like it.  Any way, even without a fancy gun I considered myself to be a great shot.

We all got back to the tree.  Butch checked his gear in preparation for “hiding” behind the tree, waiting for Craig’s signal.  I walked off a little ways to take a piss.  I’m not modest; I just didn’t want to cause any of us to accidentally walk through it later. I was standing off a ways pissing when a deputy sheriff walked into sight behind Butch and Craig. They both had their ear protectors on and did not hear him coming. I had mine dangling on my neck, and turned my head slightly at the sound of the leaves rustling. Craig yelled “Kill the bastard!” again, our signal that he was about to hit the stopwatch. Butch popped out from behind the tree and began firing. Neither of them heard the deputy’s startled “Halt or I’ll shoot!”

Then the deputy shot Butch. Several times. Continue reading