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Like the Last Time

If you have not heard of Sunday At Noon, now you no longer have to live in the dark.

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The Barranti Life Changer

June 25th, 2017

Writing, I have learned, is a funny business. When in the full throes of it and, doing so consistently you don't want to stop. At the same time you have this nagging bit in you secretly fearing that someday you will run out of things to say.

For me at least for me, writing can be a bit of a task master, requiring me to do it constantly in order to feel like I am any good at it. Step away too long and, it can feel as though you have moved out of a country whose language you once spoke fluently.

One must understand that these words are in effect and apology of sorts to Mike Barranti of Barranti Leather, the famed holster maker. As I sit and, write this, it is a beautiful Sunday morning, the last one of this particular June and, we are tent camped at the foot of the Sawtooth Mountains, along the Wood River, just North of Ketchum, Idaho. The Wife, the Kid and I. My pen scrawling it's way across the notebook that sits on a well worn wooden table top. My Ruger conver…

You gotta be consistent

In the modern age we tend to attack conformity, disregard things that are consistent because we live under the false impression that it's not what our brains really want. The science on the matter however says differently.

The good people over at Shooting Illustrated let me pen my thoughts out from time to time and they have done so again this month.

Why-training-and-consistency-matter

And while you are there check out some other articles who can write far better than yours truly.

Due Process Transposed

The first time I ever dealt with law enforcement on a direct level was as a teenager. Unlike the conventional situations of many a wayward youth finding themselves talking with a cop mine came in the form of a grisly rape and, murder of a twelve year old girl.

Just a few days before my sixteenth birthday the body of Che Sims had been found in a creek bed. Her attackers after gang raping her, strangled her to death and, then to keep the forward motion of evil going they mutilated her body before leaving her.

It was one of those murders that gripped the Saint Louis area, one that was not, in 1990, exactly crime free. Her case, Che's, got the full court press from law enforcement, no stone was going to be left un-turned and in the next couple of weeks I'd be one of those stones. 

That came when the cops finally got solid leads and a sketch of one suspect was released to the paper. As the sixteen year old me read through the article my eyes at last fell upon the face outlined in grap…

Book Review: Under Orion

I didn't meet Jeff Quinn.

When the NRAAM (the National Rifle Associations Annual Meeting) in 2014 was in Indianapolis I came walking out of the convention hall looking for a cup of coffee and a place to sit. I found the first and was stuck leaning against the wall as no chair was to be found. Left alone long enough to stand around and do nothing the old bodyguard in me comes out and I start people watching, and to be real honest the NRA convention makes for pretty good people watching.

At some point and time I saw Jeff and Boge Quinn step off an escalator and I pushed off the wall to go and introduce myself and chat for a moment. As I recall, Jeff was carrying a microphone and Boge a camera and they started setting up to record a piece. As soon as I saw this I decided against, as not to interrupt a couple of guys working, the problem was having pushed off the wall and I was now committed in my head that I was going to talk to the now occupied Quinn brothers. So there I was standin…

Two Presidents, Two women and a .45

Tonight in a "town hall" meeting President Obama told a woman who survived a rape and was now pro-gun that she may not have been able to use a gun to thwart the assault on her and that it may not really make her any safer.

The real war on women continues as the men of the Left continue to see women as helpless, weak and their role best left to being a victim, while not offering any answers, encouragement nor decisive statement where he could have said "I'm only sorry you didn't shoot the son of a bitch."

Because that is what he should have said.

Yet there was a time when Presidents were different, even before they became President.

On a hot autumn night back in 1933 Melba King was walking to her home in Des Moines, Iowa after being at nursing school when she felt a gun pressed into her back and a man demanding all of her money and one wonders possibly what else.

But it was never to be known, because out of the dark came a voice from above.

"Leave her alone o…