YEEE-hawww!!
I'm gonna mount a BOFOR on th' back o' my Pick-em-up Truck!!
Here you go. This is what we are proposing for our neighbourhood speed control.
Gonna have to check out Gene's profile for location. Mocka drive thru liquer store. We have one right here in NW Il. When I made mistake of moving here it seemed like just by going west we appeared to be in the south?
Actually I do like that idea for speeders & celphone users.. Texters? I guess it's just the "redneck" in me. lol
Hey girlfriend...we all got a lil redneck in us...;)
North carolina redneck OK! A blue state that just gets a lil too close to the edge.. (now & then)
What is funny is alot of folks told me before we moved to the Carolina's I would hate it..the people were so different than what I was used to in the midwest.
Honey, it took me about a hot New York minute to become a southern beach bum!!!
I will say Paul had a bit of a time of it...the work ethic was so very different than what he was used to...he was used to hurry hurry hurry, get it done and get it done now. On the island it was, it takes as long as it takes and no one minded...he had to learn to slow down! :)
Both of us want to go back to our island!!!
I have a lot of family that I never met from N carolina.. I ponder if the N. is that much different from S. Carolina wise. Back to your original topic? Pretty scary when ya think about the effects of alcohol on brain. To some everything is a great idea at the moment. No inhibitions? I dated a gun lov'in Limbaugh fan for a short time. With all his insanity he always said "absolutely guns & alcohol do not mix"
I have enjoyed shooting few times in my life. Mostly just air rifles. However once a BF took me to a pistol range. I can safely say that I got "caught up in the moment" He told me to "settle down" Can you imagine if I (or anyone else) got wound up with a beer or 2? Actually we did go out for dinner b-4 & he said absolutely no drinking if we were gonna go shooting.
One cold fall day, the snow still hadn't stuck, my dad had come home from the sawmill he worked at down on the Columbia River/Lake Roosevelt. He got his shotgun and took me along with him as he ambled up the hill behind the house. It was duck season and he was hoping to bring one or two down. On the way we stopped and a gooseberry bush that grew over the old board fence. There were still some gooseberries and we ate a few. Then we climbed up the hill a bit more. We had seen some high flying birds, but there were not feeding in the meadows around us.
He leaned the old exposed hammer double barrel shotgun against the board fence and pulled a sack of Bull Durham from his shirt pocket and pulled a cigarette paper out of its packet and making V of the paper between his fingers, shook some tobacco into it and then deftly rolled it into a tube. He pulled the string ties on the bag closed and licked the gummed edge of the paper and sealed it and the wet the cigarette. Then he stuck it in the corner of his mouth and fished a kitchen match out of the fob pocket on his Levis and using his thumb nail, lit the match and put it to the cigarette. He stuffed the bag into shirt pocket and reached to pick up the shotgun.
BLAM! He screamed and spun around and fell face down on the ground. Then groggily picked himself up and in a staggering run headed back to the house.
I followed as fast as a five year old's legs could back to the house. When I got there Mom had wrapped white tea towels around his head and his hand. She was frantically trying to fill the radiator of our 39 Studebaker pickup. Since antifreeze was still being rationed in 1947, the radiator was drained of an evening. Finally she found the second petcock and got water into the radiator and took him off to the hospital in Colville.
The blast of the shotgun had gone through his hand when the exposed hammer had snagged on an old rusty nail sticking out of a board on the fence. It had also passed up at a steep angle along the left side of his face.
He lost several fingers and the doctors weren't able to get all of the birdshot out from behind his eye. The damage was starting to cause him to go blind, but he was killed the next spring when unhitching a team of horses from a spring tooth harrow.
I grew up around guns on the ranch and learned to shoot. Even went deer hunting when I was old enough but became too repelled by it to ever continue to do so. Today, I have a couple of Civil War pistols that my grandfather had collected, They are non-firing and I keep them for sentimental value only. I have an ambivalent attitude toward guns and disgust for hunters as there is no real reason to hunt other than to kill, and that is what really repels me, the blood lust and wonton killing.
I spent enough opening day of deer season riding fence to keep hunters out of our posted range who blithely cut fences when there were gates available. Also the finding of fawns killed by bird hunters was not unusual.
One neighbour put big signs, COW, HORSE on his animals to try to keep them from being slaughtered by big city hunters.
Another neighbour bought a plaster statue of a horse and put in a meadow near the road and then counted the number of bullet holes he found in it.
