Full Level 3 and packing .45

New knife and stuff.

2004-05-26T14:51:00.000-07:00

God, excuse the extremely long wait in between posts. Ive been too busy writing, digging, shooting, and writing.

Highlight: They have found WMD's in Iraq. Good.

In other news, I Have a new knife

It’s a great knife: It’s the small, non-tonto M16, and it’s a beaut. Its razor sharp and tough as nails; every thing I need for a good working/tactical knife. Maybe even for a concealed fighting knife...But if I want a combat knife, ill stick to my SOG Agent! But anyway, story pending. Take your pick, folks...

More Zombie-action Splatter punk
More Cassidy Malone Pulp Fiction
Sci-fi Cyberpunk.

Until later, sighing out.

This is getting better.

2004-04-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

5 Marines and some assorted personnel killed...

That’s a shame: I hate to see our Soldiers die.

But they estimate over 30 insurgents killed! For 5 marines and some rag head conscripts? That’s very good! If we keep this up, we will discourage some of these insurgents, and maybe make them think twice.

"We must go to Iraq and help our brother Muslims fight against the filthy Infidel Americans and their filthy supporters!"
"I agree that the pox ridden whore-son Americans should die, but do you remember when Mohammed went to Iraq and was killed?
"That only hardens my faith in Allah and my hate for America!"
"But brother, 80 other Soldiers of God died with Mohammed..."
"The Americans are power hungry pigs! They will come to our country, and we will kill them then..."

2004-04-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

Sorry, every one, for not posting for so long. Ill have a new post soon on my new airsoft rifle, and more Pulp Fiction as well.

Fire!

2004-04-07T13:56:00.000-07:00

Insane greek arsonist?

Check the link. Must have been a nice house...

Oh yeah...

2004-04-06T11:55:00.000-07:00

Here are some REAL gun bunnies...Under gallery section.

Story Time

2004-03-30T21:19:00.000-08:00

Cassidy ran the cleaning patch through the barell of his nickel plated Colt 1911, threw the patch into the trash can, snapped the slide forwards, turned the saftey on and put in a fresh magazine. It was 1800 hours. (6:00 PM), smack dab in the middle of Happy Hour. Cassidy put the big, shiny pistol into its shoulder holster and walked into the bathroom. He was wearing a black suit, with higly shined black dress shoes, black pants and a black shirt, with a black tie. All of it matched perfectly, except for the robins egg blue sports coat he wore, under which he had the pretty, sandy brown leather holster. Cassidy adjusted his tie, ran a comb through his hair and walked out, the gentle Nevada wind blowing his coat out. Cassidy climbed into the Pinto and started the engine. As usual, it turned over once and then started, its large engine roaring to life like a Russian lawn mower on sterrorids.
Then it was off to the bar.
Cassidy often wished the ATF had an issued uniform; In his experince, chicks REALLY dug uniforms, but that was aside the point. Cassidy's stated objective for that night was to get shit faced, grab a girl and go home. Little did he know, as usual, his plans would go to hell.
Cassidy walked in to the bar and night club, Club Bunny, an upscale club on the Vegas outskirts, were he had a full membership. The music suited him; It tended to be Classic Rock re-done with a Techno overtone, and the waitresses, along with some of the female patrons, wore pink (Cassidy's favorite collor, which he would never admit) Play Boy bunny suits. Every time he went there, Cassidy was reminded of a certan disastirous firefight at a certam Vegas Casino a wile back. It was too bad; The gunbunny he had ‘sparred’ with had been arested, tried for the 13 killings and excacuted three days ago. It was too bad; The 3 minunites he had spent with her before the police had arrested her had been fine; They would have gotten along…
But none the less Cassidy walked in, sat down at a table and ordered an apple martini from an attractive bleached blond in a bunny suit, whos pink fishnets were well worn and whos name tag declared to be “Lisa”.
Cassidy was a good looking man, a little over 6’1’’ in dress shoes, very clean shaven, incredibly hygenic and well dressed, almost no fat in his body, and a perfect, square white smile that nocked him dead. Plus, he was loaded.
Twenty minunites later, he had six other girls at the table. He figured one for a lesbian, riding him for drinks (Not that he minded; He had more money than he knew what to do with, and the little dike was excruitaningly pretty) and figured another one for an ex-cop or soldier, who even though she was a little below standard appeance, she had that sparkle in her eye betraying deep intelegence. There was another one who Cassidy figured to be under 21; Probably 17 or 18. Too young for Cassidy, but he bought her a few drinks anyway.
Another twenty minunites later, Cassidy's night went to hell.
A fight broke out, and before Cassidy realized it was anything more than a drunk mishearing something and taking it as an insult, some hauled out a sawed off shotgun from under his coat and shot the drunk point blank.
Everything paused for a few seconds, and then every one parted form the drunk and his shooter like the outgoing tide. The barkeep went for something under the counter, and the man with the shotgun turned to him.
Cassidy reacted on instinct, pulling his pistol and firing three quick shots, dropping the man to the ground.
Cassidy rushed the man, kicked the shotgun away and called for an ambulance on his cell.
90 seconds later, he was in the back of the bus, riding to the hospital.
The next part Cassidy hated. He was swarmed by Police officers. He showed them his ID, surendered his fire arm (“Which I had damn well better get back with out any scratches, or some property clerk is going to have to put another mortage on his house) and was extensivley questions.
In general, your career was over if you shot some one and you were a cop. But Cassidy wasn’t a cop. He was a Federal Agent, whos boss, even though he praticularly disliked him, kept him out of trouble to the best of his ability. So Cassidy got off scot free.
And, as usual, Cassidy waited around to see what damage he had done. Waiting in the empty, white waiting room, Cassidy slowly and cautiously pulled out a Romance Novel from his jacket pocket and began to read. The urge struck him, and Cassidy walked to the bathroom to release some of the apple martinis he had had that night.
Theres a look. A look that you can instantly tell you when some one wants you. Cassidy thought as he stopped in his tracks and looked at a drop dead georgius nurse walking down the hall way.
And ill be damned to hell if that isnt the look. Cassidy smiled and moved to go past her, his breath softly accented of apple and gin. The nurse reached out for him, and pushed him aginst the wall, grabbing his crotch. Cassidy looked at her for a second, and then kissed her.
The nurse kissed back hard.
“Not here.” She said softly, her lip a quarter inch from his ear, her voice as smoothe as kentucky buorbon. Cassidy smiled.
Ten minunites later, the door to the janatiors closet opned, and Cassidy stumbled out, wiping lipstick off of his ear, neck and mouth with one hand and shrugging on his robins egg blue jacket with the other. Cassidy straitned his tie, tucked the hankerchief back into his pocket and notice his shirt was buttoned out of order. He stopped and fixed it, and noticed something.
Cassidy slid the scanty pink bra off of his shoulder, held it up, inspected it for a moment and walked back to the janitors closet. He nosed the door open with his foot, and tossed the bra in. He paused, taking a good look and winked.
“That’s it? Wham, bam, thank you mam?” her voice said from the closet. Cassidy nodded.
“Yeah, that’s about the just of it…” he said, walking away.
“Oh, Cassidy…” she moaned.
Okay, so the night didn’t turn out all that bad, Cassidy thought, smiling.

The News

2004-03-29T13:04:00.000-08:00

Bringing all the obscure news you need!

God, this, makes me love my mom..

God in heaven When are people going to learn about gun safety?

Let the mud slinging begin... I cant believe that that scum bag Kerry is attacking Bush with the bible. I bet Kerry has never even touched the bible with out gloves on...It would burn him.

I take it back. They’re not all that incompetent.

I wonder if one of these would work...

The News

2004-03-27T23:25:00.000-08:00

Excuse me for not posting for a while, as I have been laid up and not feeling well, as well as being very busy. Im sure you all know how it goes.

And, I’m starting a new format, with a more frequent news program, containing several articles. Here they are for tonight:

Sure...full dismantling of your nuclear weapons programs...

The U.N is at it again. I cant see how that’s a good idea, but since when was the U.N full of good ideas?

Not a good way to loose weight.

And, finally, I need one of these. An armament around the caliber of 20mm would be good, especially with good D.U bullets and better armor.

Gunbunny's new pet project...

2004-03-18T13:51:00.000-08:00

This below is my new pet project; Its a story im trying to make into a Southern Gothic Vampire mix.

Heres the first bit;

Adam Blink, or as his friends had called him, back when he had had friends, ‘Blink’, stepped out of the house into the old packed dirt road of the small Georgian town. The town had one of those old French names that Blink found hard to pronounce, despite the semester of French he had taken last year, when he had been a freshman in high school.
It was summer, and in Georgia, that meant heat and humidity. Blink smacked a mosquito off the back of neck.
Bugs, too. He thought. So Blink walked down the side of the venerable red hard packed dirt road. Blink had his old Army rucksack with compact air rifle, a few rounds of ammo and a canteen, along with some other junk he felt would be necessary for the outing into the bayou.
Sam met him a few blocks down the road.
“You ready?” he asked blink. Sam was Blink’s only friend in the small town since had moved down form Oregon a week ago. Sam had played match maker and got Blink a girlfriend that he actually got along with and introduced him to the two dozen or so kids in town, all of which went to the old fashioned school house.
“Im a ready, Sam.” Blink declared, thinking on how remarkable it was that his voice had already caught a southern accent, even though he had been there less than two weeks.
So they walked off into the woods outside of town, entering the bayou, or swamp. Both Sam and Blink were glad for the boots they wore; the water was unpleasant, to say the least. So the two trekked through the swamp, glad for the cover form the hot Georgian sun.
The jungle got deeper and darker as they moved on to what Sam had described as ‘An ‘ol abandoned plantation.’ stuck out in the woods. Supposedly an old lady lived there, the sole resident of the once thriving Southern villa; every one in town discouraged this as just fantasy, but nonetheless discouraged it. Naturally, since parental authority had forbid an insertion onto the Plantations property, all of the kids in town lusted to visit it. But Sam was unique; His father ran the airport, and Sam had actually seen the old Victorian house on a fly over. None of the other kids even knew the area it was in, but Blink had faith in Sam’s unfailing sense of direction, and the old military Russian compass he held in front of him.
And just as suddenly as they had been immersed into the deep swampy jungle, they staggered into a clearing, their feet on solid ground again.
The place was a wreck; Weeds overgrew everything, poking up out of the broken red soil to swarm over fence posts. The drive to the house was on the other side of the clearing, past the old house, which deserved more commentary then the yard.
The house must have been centuries old; Its paint was chipped to pieces, most of its windows cracked, and the shutters were all loose, grass already as tall as the front porch, over which an oning drooped depressingly. The second story was studded with two 5 or six foot tall turrets, with cone shaped sub roofs. The place lived up to the mystery and reputation it incurred. What stood off to the left shocked the two youths.
“Is that what I think it is, blink?” Blink gravely nodded his head.
“Moselium.” Blink spat out. An old, blackened stone structure, with several tombstones grouped around it, the old rod iron gate barring entrance down into the mosiliums underground complex stood open, creaking idly in the wind that stirred the grass and the old rocking chair on the porch. As the wind stirred, the bleached piece of fabric on the pole in the front yard jumped to life, the old stars and bars of the confederate flag waving proudly in the wind, old, tattered to pieces and moth eaten, bleached nearly white but undefeated.
“This place gives me the creeps something major…” Blink declared.
“A ‘yep. That it does. Lets get a on closer.” The more adventurous Sam said, walking through the grass, crouched down. Blink followed him, to an old broken out window peering into the foundation. Sam rubbed the glass with the sleeve of his dad’s old army jacket, trying to rub away what looked like a hundred years of accumulated filth.
“I can’t see nothing.” Sam said, Blink crouched over him eagerly.
Something behind them stirred. What ever it was, it was humming Dixie.
The two boys started and jumped back, knocking into the houses foundation. Before them stood an old woman, wearing a faded white sun dress, her gray hair done up apparently with great effort, her razor sharp features as pale as her dress. Her most disturbing feature was the giant green snake she held in her hands.
“Ahhh! Ah, mam, uh…” Blink stammered, Sam looking as though he was going to pee himself.
“Oh, don’t ya’all worry, huns. Im not here to get ‘ya. Why, glory be if this isn’t the biggest grass snake I have ever seen! And sneaking up on you like that? I recon he was trying to bite one of you, and I couldn’t have that, now, could I?” she said, lifting the snake to slightly above head level and looking the snake in the eyes. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped its neck with an audible ‘snap’ and threw it into the grass.
The two boys looked on in abject horror.

Another one bites the dust.

2004-03-17T15:43:00.000-08:00

They caught that bad shot out of Ohio.

Read the CNN link above for more info.

Its too bad all of the other insane snipers are not that poor of a shot...24 shootings and only one kill? Thank god.

Sick people and airsoft:

2004-03-11T13:09:00.000-08:00

We need to come down on this chick with the full extent of the law.

Acts like this are disgusting. How could she be a spy for the Iraqi's? Its a damn shame Mosad didn’t get her; She would have been much, much, much more sorry. All we can do is jail her or stick a needle in her arm...Mosad doesn’t have near that much morals.

An update to the Green gas situation: Took it back yesterday and got a new bottle. Picture this.

I pull up and climb out of the truck, my leather jacket, and combat boots and Gun Bunny shirt on, with black jeans. The sun is just setting behind the out of the way store, casting an orange glow everywhere. I stride in, my hands apart, my leather shooting gloves on, can of green gas in my left hand. The patrons all stare. I reach into my jacket and cross draw my Colt M1911 A1, and the crowd gasps.
"Can I help you?" the timid clerk asks. I nod my head and eject the magazine; it fell to the glass counter and clacked down.
"Load it." I said. The man begins to sweat.
"I SAID LOAD IT!" I declared loudly. With trembling hands he loaded the bottle into the magazines spout, and suddenly; EXPLOSIVE FREEZING SILICONE EMPREGNATED GAS CLOUD OF DEATH! The man shouted, "Shit! That aint right!" I nodded in satisfaction.
"You done sold me a defective bottle of green gas." The man gulped.
"Here, sir! Take a new bottle! Sorry for the bottle." I nodded.
"Thank you, son." I said, as I loaded the magazine into my pistol, spun it around a few times and put it back into my jacket.

Of course thats a bit of an exagaration, but thats
basicly what happened... *Adjusts cowboy hat*

This is too good.

2004-03-08T17:32:00.000-08:00

This is too damn good.

But anyway, went to the local Paint Ball store yesterday to pick up some more Green Gas for my airsoft pistols and some 6mm ammo. Heard two service personal form the US navy there, talking.
"Yeah, theyre scrapping out the M14's and replacing them with M4's, like they should." I mentaly smacked myself in the forehead.
"Yeah. Rememer intro when we fired the .50 and the 60?"
"Yeah. My ship has a couple of '.50s, but no .60 callibers."
I hope to god that isnt the standard way of the US Navy...How the fucking hell are these people in the US Navy if they confuse the M60, a 7.62 calliber machine gun with a FUCKING .60 CALLIBER MG? I bought my ammo, gas and went home.

But no, my shitty sunday didnt stop there. I inserted the Green Gas nozzel into the guns recepticle in the magazine and WOOOOOOOSHH! Green gas exlploded all over my hands, and now i have very severe freezer burns on my hands! So i figured, like a dumbass, that it would be O.K if i put on my leather shooting half finger gloves; I was wrong. EXPLOSIVE FREEZING SILICONE EMPREGNATED GAS CLOUD OF DEATH! And now my hands are more messed up. Gah! So ill take it back, get a new bottle. And if they wont take back my receipt-less bottle of leaky gas? Ill simply have the clerk try to load my magazine with gas, and wile hes distracted by the EXPLOSIVE FREEZING SILICONE EMPREGNATED GAS CLOUD OF DEATH, ill snatch a new bottle and go home. Pah.

Guns, guns, guns....

2004-03-04T13:19:00.000-08:00

As posted earlier, I am quite happy the assault weapon ban died.

Now i can get something like this... , when i have the money, anyway...

Oh well. One more useless bit of legislation down the tube. Now, mabey I can afford some new magazines for my Ruger 10/22. Those bastards at the gunshows have been charging up to $80, which is a rip off. Lowest ive seen so far was around $34, and of course im talking about the 25 round banana clips, not the HUGE 50 round clips, which cost hundreds of dollars.

And now, maybe, I can afford to scrap some of my old, beat-to-hell pre-ban guns and get new, bright shiny ones, direct from overseas.

Yes, that’s right. Even though im a complete patriot, i still prefer my guns from overseas. All us Americans make good these days are ammo, steel and food...The Mexicans stole our soda manufacturing, the Japs got our cars/electronics, and the Germans/Austrians/Polish/Belgian usurped our position as the best firearms manufacturer.

I should also add we make the best tanks, war machines, body armor and tactical gear.

All for now. Ill post later with some news.

AWB Dies!

2004-03-02T12:41:00.000-08:00

YES! DEADED! Those slimy libral motherfuckers almost let the assault weapon ban not die. Lousy sons of bitches. I hope they rot in hell. Im happy! In the future, i can get my hot little hands on a P90, a Styer AUG, a G36, and too may other guns to talk about. Happy!

Another good one form Kim Dutoit

2004-02-26T12:55:00.000-08:00

Kim Dutoit has a good article. I like it...Blow Job form Kirstie Alley, "who decided to stay the night after all". Nice.

Those french are insane!

2004-02-24T21:40:00.000-08:00

Mmm! Atomic!

Yeah, that’s true...its from CNN!

I don’t believe those idiot French. I mean how dumb do you have to be to toss all of your nukes into the channel and fill the god damned missile silos with wine and cheese? Jesus! What a lousy way to protest nuclear involvement! This story courtesy of Einz.

Heh. This should be good...

2004-02-24T15:07:00.000-08:00

THINGS YOU DONT WANT TO HEAR FORM YOUR NEHIBORS HOUSE

Gunshots
Loud screams
Gun shots, followed by loud screams.
Loud screams, followed by gunshots.
"Damn it, Aaron! You spilled bong water all over the bed"
"YES MISTRESS!" *SMACK* "ONE, MISTRESS!"
" Oh god...what have i done? I cant remember whos blood this is!"
"Honey! Bring me my gun..." *Sound of man running away* "The one with the scope on it..." *Shortly later* "Honey! Bring me my shovel...The one without the blood on it."
"Damn it! Blogspot isnt working! How can i update Gunbunny story blog?"
"D'oh!"
"Now, this next part has to be done very carefully, I feel I need not remind you about what’s at stake...Now, I will...oops!"
Any of the following words or phrases: pot, potluck, grass, grassluck, Bangkok, kinky, methlab, 'cooking meth', Crack, whore, crackwhore, nitroglycerin, 'bank robbery', smuggling, (especially combined with the word 'gun'), 'The Revolution' (Especially when combined with the phrase 'gun smuggling') 'Illegal distillery', 'illegal gun distillery', 'Non-school sanctioned chemistry project', and last but not least, 'pocket pool'

VX gas, guide to.

2004-02-19T12:48:00.000-08:00

VX

VX gas, created by a deranged English mad scientist in the mid 50’s is a perfect, if somewhat in accurate and clumsy weapon.
People exposed to VX, with out its antidote injected have a 100% fatality rate; Instant death only requires 10 mg of absorption; That’s as little as a single drop, or a single breath.
VX is sticky, clear, odorless (Trust me and don’t sniff it) and very difficult to make, as said above with unbelievable lethality. Full NBC protection is needed to protect against said gas.
A few pointers: Only three countries are known to have VX: Russia, The United States Of America (Which still keeps a formidable stock pile; It served better than nuclear weapons to maintain the balance of terror in the Cold War) and, of course Iraq, which used it in its war against Iran in the late ‘80’s., and is suspected to have used it against its native minority population.
How ever, I should point out VX is extremely difficult to make; It involves numerous chemicals and such, combined at high temps, and is incredibly dangerous to make, which leads me to the conclusion that Iraq, in fact, got its stock piles of VX, WHICH THE UN CONFIRMED IT HAD, I might add, from Russia. This, plus the German anti-aircraft weaponry, serial-numberless G36’s, and the old French explosives give me a pretty good idea those Euro-Trash scumbags have been supporting the Iraqi resistance. This, in my view, is an explosiveable offense (No, its not a real word, it’s a word I made up. It means having cause to explode) wouldn’t it be ironic to drop a quarter ton of Russian made-Iraqi held VX on Moscow, and perhaps St. Petersburg? That would send a very clear message…too clear of a message, actually, and with too high a cost in human lives. That’s all in fun, but something has to be done: WMD’s in Iraq must be found. Iraq is a large country, mostly uninhabited, and with the delay the Left Wing of the People of America caused, it would have been easy enough to ship all, or some, at least, out of Iraq.

El crapo mundo...

2004-02-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

GOD DAMN IT!

There goes that idea...Damn Reds.

BOOM

2004-02-18T18:12:00.000-08:00

Another reason why it sucks to live in Northern Iran...

Yeah. 220+ killed. That sucks terribly. My guess is that it was ~~an Israeli black op's in a botched assassination attempt~~ an earth quake that started it.

In other news, I had a long, fun weekend with

Einze

. Click

Here

for a ~~partial~~ full discreption of my airsoft filled weekend there.

Ha.

2004-02-12T12:05:00.000-08:00

Take that, 9mm

Glocks

2004-02-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

Look at this...

One down, a half dozen more to go. *Looks around for his newly purchased box of match grade 7.62x51mm ammo)*

Well, the howling mainiac is down, i hope.

In response to a post on

Mad Ogre

, i am going to give an impression of what i think of

Glocks

.

I have only fired two models, the

Model 17

, and the

Model 23

, both of which i disliked.

First impression is that they were light as hell. Thats a bad thing in handguns...You want them heavy. Heavy=Less Recoil. Well, at leas thats my oppinion. Im used to firing .45 cal M1911's and heavy (.357 Mag+) single action revolvers, both of which are very accurate and have severe recoil.

First thing that happned after i loaded the mag at the local range was when i fired, i had positoned my thumb badly, and the slide kicked back and took a chunk off. It bled like hell, and hurt like a son-of-a-gun. I cursed Glock, and swore at them and in general attracted a lot of attention. I bandaged it up, and went to take the magazine out. And, like a idiot, i spaced out, not thinking, and hit the dissassembiling lever in the front of the gun instead of the magazine release. Dont know why i did that, but i had to spend the next dozen or so min. looking around on the floor for a part that fell out. The range frowned on me accadentialy dissassembeling their autopsitols and loosing parts...

And i fired for crap with it. Since its recoil is so light, compared to .45, i put the entire 17 round mag down range in about 15 seconds. I never do that with a .45...Ever. All the rounds ended up at the top of the target, except for the first round that had taken part of my finger off...Which was dead center.

I said 'Screw you, Glock' and spent the rest of the day with a borrowed Kimber, Ruger Mk. II, and Bereta 92.

Next, the Glock 23. I never liked .40 S&W. Its like 9mm, but slower. Or something. Not enough power, not enough lack of recoil...just a so-so round, just like 'Wonder 9'. And, i never liked compact pistols. For me, theres no point. Im a big guy, nearly 6'2'' in Combat boots. I could tuck a Thompson Contender in a shoulder holster and carry it that way if i wanted, and small guns just dont fit my meaty hands, much less when im wearing shooting gloves.

So how the hell did my Uncle convince me to open a beer keg 'the easy way?' (Yeah, yeah yeah, i know Booze+Guns=Trip to the E.R room with a ziplock baggy full of toes and ice)

I dont know. So i fired at the beer keg from about 10 meters. Bang, bang. No holes. Thats what a 4'' barell in the hands of a shooter who isnt used to the gun gets you. So i moved to about 5 meters, and put the rest of the clip into the beer keg with a satasfying foamy result. Fun. Not realy, actualy, because a shell casing managed to get into my T-shirt, and that Mother F*%er was hot! I got it out, and its still some were on my shelf. Screw glocks.

Short version: Firing glocks=Torn off finger, loss of accuarcy, hot shell casing in shirt, and keg of beer with holes in it.

I hate it when that happnes...(A Cassidy Malone short story)

2004-02-10T15:08:00.000-08:00

Cassidy adjusted his tie and its old battered highly polished brass tie clip and buffed the dust off his shoes. He stepped out of the pinto, whose decrepit looks contrasted massively with the charcoal gray majesty of Cassidy’s well-tailored and incredibly expensive Italian suit.
Little did any one know that Cassidy had nearly a quarter million dollars in weaponry concealed under the wool…
Cassidy walked across the street, his hands in his pockets, fiddling ididly with his Zippo. (He had just got his Zippo sent back form the factory…it was broken, and leaking fluid, but Zippo had fixed it, free of charge.) Cassidy stepped onto the curb across the street, and walked into the 7-11.
You have got to be kidding me… Cassidy thought. It never failed: He would go to a gun show, or a ATF conference, or to the god damned grocery store for a gallon of milk, and he would always some how end up in a gun fight. This time, he was off to a major gun show, were he was going to sell off some of the guns he felt he had too many of…hence why the pinto was crammed full of rifle cases.
The two burglars turned to look at him, one toting a sawed off double-barreled and the other one a large revolver…and that’s when the music started.
Cassidy reached into his coat and took out his large custom done nickel-plated Colt M1911A1 .45 pistol, and dived into a nearby isle. The burglar with the double barrel let both barells fly, and the shelf above Cassidy’s head (Containing Dog food and Ramen noodles) disintegrated into chunks of paper and freeze-dried noodles, as the double ought buck hit it. Cassidy crouched low and ran to the back of the store, and the punk with the revolvers let loose.
Cassidy ducked low as he turned the safety off his pistol and cocked it, the $2 Teflon coated ultra match jacketed hollow point tracer bullet chambering easily. The distinctive crack of a .357 magnum rang out and the liquor bottles in front of Cassidy blew outwards, splattering the refrigerated cabinet on the other side with cheap wine and bourbon. Cassidy stopped, and the liquor bottles behind him shattered in a similar fasion.
“Hey! Come out here, man? What are you? A pig? We don’t kill no cops…come out and give us that fancy gun of yours and we promise we won’t kill you…” Cassidy frowned and rubbed his ears…he had forgot how loud .357 magnum was close in without earplugs!
For a response, Cassidy elbowed out a few bottles of tequila off their cheap black rubber wire shelf and fired a half dozen shots at were the voice had come form.
“Ah! This pigs got some fight left in him! Ill skin you alive, copper!” Cassidy smirked.
“IM NOT A POLICEMAN, IM A GOD DMANED ATF OFFICER!” Cassidy yelled as he leapt to his feet and took a couple of pot shots at the man, forcing the duo to duck low. In that time, Cassidy halfway wondered were the clerk was…
Mr. Double barrel let loose with another barrel, and buck shot hammered the wall. Cassidy fired a few shots down before the punk with the revolver popped up and took a shot and forced him down.
Such were gun fights…they went on until some one got a clever idea, ran out of ammo or popped his head up at the wrong time…
Then, Cassidy was struck by a clever idea. Mounted above on the ceiling was a huge, perhaps 8’ long flamboyant plastic swordfish. Cassidy popped his head up to see Mr. Double barrel load another red shotgun round into his sawed off. Perfect. Cassidy emptied the rest of his clip at the metal O hook that held the ropes that in turn held the swordfish suspended, and the roar of the +P .45 ACP ammo roared through the room. The huge plastic swordfish fell, almost in slow motion.
The tail hit the head of the punk with a revolver like a metric ton of bricks, and he fell to the ground, bleeding from the ears, pined to the ground.
The shaggy man with a poorly shaven goatee and shotgun looked in awe. By the time he got his wits back, he felt the icy cold of a gun barrel against the base of his skull.
“Unless your Jet Lee and know some serious kung-fu tricks, you had better drop the shottie.” The man obediently dropped the shotgun.
“Hands on the counter.” The man obeyed, and Cassidy hand cuffed him and shoved him aside.
The man pinned under the giant faux swordfish was fruitlessly clambering for his revolver. Cassidy kicked it away and smiled at the man.
“I knew something…fishy was going on when I came in here.” Cassidy chuckled and took out his cell phone and called the police.
All I wanted was a Pepsi…Cassidy thought to himself waiting for 911 to pick up.

PDTGS

2004-02-10T13:04:00.000-08:00

Ive looked at this for a long time, and have wondered about it...So, after hours of back breaking research, and repeated slaps across the face, ive come up with a comparative chart thing...

Eating habits:
A. Vegetarian
B. Two meals a day, light.
C. Are not 'granola' heads... I.e., no Tofu, or soymilk

Hobbies:
A. Are frequently avid readers
B. Draw, usually animals or 'mythical' creatures, or those who don’t draw, have an active interest in others drawings.
C. Write poems/short stories, although they can almost never 'hack' it out to do a longer story/Novel
D. Watch little or no TV, and have active online profiles
E. Favor 'message boards' or 'live journals' over instant messenger progs or chat rooms
F. Spend large ammounts of time on the telephone

Politics:
A. Are frequently not politically active
B. If A does not apply, they are bleeding heart liberals
C. If A does not apply, they loose political discussions frequently, as they are not able to properly defend their political beliefs because they are, in fact, not fully formed...(Be careful arguing politics with a girl...if you win, your screwed because she will take moral high ground, and look at you as a bully, and if you loose, you’ll be a pussy who cant defend his political ideals from a girl)

If a female you know shows more than 4 of these attributes, she may be suffering form a social disorder called PDTGS (Politically disassociated teenage girl syndrome) and may be qualified for a long, long lecture from me, free of cost.

Up date on Gerber paraframe

2004-02-08T19:33:00.000-08:00

I have had a little more time with this knife, and now I know just how excellent it truly is. It came rather dull, but my sharpening kit fixed that, so that after a quarter hours work at sharpening it, I can slice a piece of paper in half vertically with no effort...and, through my work with it today it has held the edge very well...More or less far more than I expected from this $19.95 knife. One thing I relay like is its dull gray coating...its proven very scratch-resistant, except for when I nicked it with my super-coarse wetstone, and scratched it a little...
Its action (by this I mean how it opens) Is great, smooth as butter and absoloutley silent, leading me to call it my 'covert' knife. It also is a great looker...I couldn’t have asked for more out of a knife, and I would recommend any reader after a superb knife to purchase one.

New Knife...

2004-02-05T21:27:00.000-08:00

I recently aquired a

Gerber Paraframe

knife. Its real sweet...it opens easily, comes razor sharp with good serations and, in general is completley flawless. On a cut test, it severed 1/2 inch climbing rope with a few swings, and with no effort after i honed the blade a little on my wet stone. It is nice, too, with a good finish. Mabey ill get some pics of it in action.

More bad St. Valintines day gifts...

2004-02-03T12:32:00.001-08:00

This gift is just plain insulting.

Thats all for now...mabey another reduclious pair coming soon!

Bad St. Valintines day gifts...

2004-02-02T20:44:00.000-08:00

This one sends conflicting ideas

But this one doesnt...

Thats all of that for now...More later, perhaps.

The politics thingy...

2004-02-02T19:31:00.000-08:00

Heads are going to roll, this time ladys and gentlemen.

The Commander In Chief, George W. Bush, is now hosting an

Inter WhiteHouse head hunt!

Yay. Im going to sit back and watch the heads roll.

But lets get to the actual political side; Bush again is showing political savvy...No WMD's? No problem! This should debunk the LibralScumBag myth that "Shrub knew damn well that there were no WMD's in Iraq before he went in." That’s exactly what I would do.

But heres the thing; There were, and most likely are still WMD's in Iraq. There are Hold on while I find my atlas 169,235 square miles in Iraq...How much have we searched? And the thing that relay gets me pissed off...

It was Six months from the time that we decided we were going to go in to Iraq and the time we went in...How many hundred thousand tons of chemical weaponry could you move out in that much time? You know, like into Syria, or Iran, or elsewhere... And what about those big rigs that were spotted going into Syria? An entire convoy of them! What, figure six tons cargo capacity apiece, and over 40 trucks in that small aria alone...That’s at least 240 tons. Now, look at it this way as well; The U.N were aware that Iraq had small amounts of chemical weapons; They had official records, too. But guess what? Theyre not there anymore What does that tell you? It tells me that they were moved. Not destroyed; Iraq doesn’t have the facilities, and any country that does would damn well have told us...

Synopsis: Its all the hippie, communist, left wing scumbags fault.

2004-02-01T00:34:00.000-08:00

Cassidy picked up the card and looked at it: It was a jack. That, plus the two showing…That made 12. Cassidy crunched numbers for a second.
“Hit me.” The dealer slid the card across the green table top. Cassidy looked at it and smiled. He winked at the tall, slim blond next to him. She smiled, and Cassidy took another sex on the beach from a waiter going by and gave it to her, leaving a 20 dollar bill on the tray. The waitress, dressed like a playboy bunny, wandered off.
Cassidy was on his semi infrequent Retro Night at the MGM Grand…He was wearing a seersucker suit, a broad brimmed white cowboy hat, and a bolo tie with the State of Nevada as the buckle. He had his jacket off, exposing his shoulder holster and badge…No one cared.
So far Cassidy had lost around $100,000 at the poker tables and slot machines, but was up nearly three times that at the black jack.
The dealer smiled nastily. He flipped his cards over: A total of 20. Cassidy's face was blank. He flipped over his card; It was a 9. Cassidy had 21. Cassidy pushed the tokens to the side; He had just won another $200,000 dollars.
In the casino security room above the main floor, the security men watched him; He was up $40,000.
Cassidy grabbed a drink off of a playboy bunny’s tray as she passed by, smiling charmingly. She could hardly be 21, Cassidy thought as he laid down a 50 dollar bill. The girls had to wear sometimes humiliating uniforms in order to get good tips and pay to get through college.
But, this was Nevada, and a percentage of the did like it, as chovenistuiqe as it sounded. Cassidy was interrupted by the dealer.
“You want a hit or what?” Cassidy looked at the card face up; An ace.
“Hit me.” Cassidy said absently mindedly. The dealer laid down a 10. Every one gasped. The dealer smiled.
“Well, sorry, every one looses sooner or later.” Cassidy idly flipped the card he had left face down over. It was jack. The dealer choked back a gag.
“Mr. Malone scores 21 again…” Cassidy smiled and pushed the tokens to the side. And that’s when the gun fight started.
A short girl in the play boy bunny suit with a good tan, short pink hair and fine, Victorian neck line accentuated by a dog collar tripped a security guard and pulled a pistol out of the small of her back. She shot him, twice. Cassidy got a very brief look at the pistol before it was turned towards him; A 4’’ barreled Korth. How the hell did a young girl get her paws on a $6000 pistol? She turned and started firing at Cassidy. Cassidy leaped over the table, taking his nickel plated M1911 A1 out of its brown leather Houge gun leather shoulder holster and took a pot shot at her. She dodged behind a pillar.
Upstairs, the security forces scrambled. They pulled on Kevlar vests and picked up shotguns. That’s why no one ever robs a casino; Casinos are primarily located in Nevada; People in Nevada do not like having their money stolen. The roar of pistol fire filled the casino, along with the screams of people rushing towards the exits.
A security guard leaped forwards, taking out a full sized Glock autopistol. The girl in the playboy bunny suit shot him four times in the chest and he went down. She grabbed the Glock and fired the Korth at Cassidy. Cassidy ducked behind the table.
With a splintering of wood, something thudded through the table, hitting Cassidy in the chest. Cassidy reached down into his shirt; The bullet had gone through a 4’ wide solid oak table…Cassidy dug the bullet out of his vest and looked at it. It was painted red and hardly deformed. Solid steel armor pericing rounds.
God damned Gun Bunnys and their armor pericing bullets! Cassidy thought standing up and running across the casino shooting off a half dozen rounds. The playboy bunny girl dodged behind a one armed bandit, and Cassidy put four bullets into it. They fragmented on the heavy steel back.
Of all the days to load JHP's... Cassidy thought, flicking on the laser on his pistol. The gunbunny moved, and Cassidy fired. She cut her movement off short, shot a nearing security guard and snatched the SPAS 12 out of his hands, leaning around the slot machine and firing rounds off at Cassidy. Cassidy dropped to his knees behind a roulette table; The shotgun took huge chunks off the top of the table. Cassidy reloaded. 24 bullets left
Cassidy fired off a few shots and stuck his head up in time to see the red hared girl ram a combat knife into the neck of a rent-a-cop with an M-16. Cassidy lay flat just as she thumbed it to full auto and strafed the table. Then Cassidy heard a sound he loved, and associated with victory.
A 220 decibel blast rocked the casino and Cassidy shut his eyes and put his head on the floor. SWAT’s here… Cassidy thought. Something rolled over the top of Cassidy's table.
It was small, and round and green and smelled like cordite. Grenade! Cassidy snatched the pineapple grenade and threw it. It exploded, and C notes flew up into the air. Cassidy stuck his head up and saw a SWAT member come around the corner, the quiet little red head jump out and punch him in the face, put him in a neck lock and use him as a human shield to soak up the dozen bullets fired from the MP5 of his immediate team mate. She pushed the heavy SWAT trooper into his partner, kicked the MP5 out of his hand, grabbed it before it hit the floor and smashed its butt into his goggles. The SWAT trooper fell. Another came around the corner, and she fired a short burst into his face. She shot the feet out from the next trooper and tripped the trooper after that, shooting him in the chest a dozen times.
By this time Cassidy was behind her.
“FREEZE! DROP THE MP5!” he yelled as she moved. She turned and swung low.
“Click.” Cassidy said. The gun didn’t fire.
“I counted shots.” Cassidy said smiling.
The young girl looked haggard as hell; Chunks of the ears she was wearing were missing, shot away, her fishnets were ripped, the bow tie over her collar was askew, and her knee high buckle-up boots were scuffed
“What the hell was that for?” Cassidy asked her. She shrugged and dropped the gun.
“Got bored.” Cassidy looked taken aback. Scoiciapthaic gun bunny? Cassidy smiled cockily, relaxing the death hold on his 1911.
“What’s your name?” The girl smiled.
“Virginia Smalls.” Cassidy looked at his watch.
“Well, Ms. Smalls, its going to be about two minunites before the LVPD wonders were its SWAT team went. Mind if I buy you a drink?” She blushed and shook her head.
Cassidy walked to the near by bar, and looked over at the bar tender cowering under the counter, grasping a massive revolver.
“Ill take a whiskey sour, and the lady will take…” Virginia smiled.
“Ill take a Bloody Mary.”

New Color Scheme

2004-01-30T22:06:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Einz's help, guns now has a decent color scheme.

-Einz

Know ill know if your hitting on my site

2004-01-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

Uh-oh squared

2004-01-27T16:14:00.002-08:00

This is disturbing

Very much so, not because of the information it contains but because it expresses to me that the Federal Government is beginning to think of gun ownership as a disease.

For all of you too damn lazy to visit the link I so graciously provided, it contains links to various PDF documents on a CDCP study into gun control...That’s right, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention is looking into Gun Control. Isn’t that the ATF's business? Oh well, we all know that in an inter-governmental battle between the ATF and the CDC the ATF would kick the CDC's ass, but the CDC would cause the most civilian casualties with the ATF causing the most impressive collateral damage. Imagine that; *BOOM* a Virus bomb bursts over an ATF building, courtesy of the CDC, and the ATF scramble to get on NBC gear and then mow down the CDC entry teams with assault rifle fire and AP bullets form their handguns wile opening up on the CDC building across the street with a Browning M-2 loaded full of DU (Depleted Uranium) bullets. But enough of my wet dream, lets get back to the real issue at hand...

You can tell the CDC has sour grapes on this one...they basically beg for more money for a bigger study on it and say that because of the lack of funding they cant reach a clear conclusion, even though the statistics included there basically point out that gun control is seriously flawed...

TTFN, Ta ta for now.

Post Script: A 10 gun salute to Kim DuToit for pointing out this little honey to me.

2004-01-26T20:23:00.000-08:00

Okay, first off the post below is about airsoft, not me actualy shooting people. When im talking about me 'bleeding' im talking about following airsoft rules; When you take a 'hit' from a 6mm BB, you 'bleed' and have to 'patch it up' with bandages. (and when you take a hit from an 8mm BB you 'bleed' more-joke) Its just a game, so dont freak out any one. Oh, and its purley theoretical; i would be playing with close freinds, who were 'role playing' as Soviets. Oh, and no one would be stupid enough to attack MY house. XD

By the way; Einzelganger is a close freind of mine.

Damn.

I went over to Einzelganger's house last weekend, and we did a little airsoft shooting. My 1911A1 has been not working for a wile; Issues with the magazine, the gas that powers it leaks out, but I have had a Walther P99 springier, which is awesome. Its accurate, small enough to conceal and packs an 'ouch' My freind Einz has, or rather has 'temporarily borrowed with out permission' a SIG P230 springer, a holdout pistol, a copy of the Walther PPK, the same gun James Bond used originally, wile the P99 is the same pistol James uses now...Groovy

However, the P230 Einz has is a piece of crap! Its slide was all crapfull and it wasn’t accurate, but it is DEAD SEXY, only matched in Sexiness by the Walther P99 and the Bereta 92 and its stepdaughter, the Bereta Cheetah.

I managed, through my gun bunny armourer skill, to fix up his P230 by lubing it up and working in the silicone spray. For now, I am stuck with a non functional 1911 and a battered but still effective Walther P99.

If the Commies were to launch an airsoft attack of my house, i might not be able to defend it. It would work like this;

The Reds approach down my road, armed with springer AK-47's and Markovs, without body armor and rag tag camouflage. They would approach my property and i would immediately call Einzelganger and tell him to get his ass and his expensive Ruger Mk 1 down to my place to lay the 400 feet per second hurt on the Reds. Its a good 45 minunites from his place, more if he spead, but I might be able to hold them off for that long. I would grab my Walther which would go in my ankle holster, a couple spare mags for it and a bottle of ammo, strap on my body armor and fake Kevlar helmet and exit through the back door. They would approach the house and as they did, I would hide under my back deck. They would clear the house, and possibly take possession of my non workfull 1911A1. At that point 1/2 would go out the back and 1/2 out the front; Lets assume there are six of them, moderately skilled and well armed, as said above. I would wait for the first one to go down the stairs, and then I would trip him up and watch him fall down the stairs. At that point its all guts and glory. Id pop out from under the stairs, P99 cocked and locked. Id open up on the Reds, having the advantage of supprize and a more handy weapon. If they did get shots off, I would rely on my body armor to take the bullets. (My armor is effectively NIJ Level III, which will take several 7.62x39mm rounds) Assuming I waste one, plus the one I knocked unconscious, there would be one left. I would grab up the unconscious ones AK by its green sling and run like hell for the trees, and since I’m light on my feet and moving like hell with the single remaining enemy firing single shots, I would get there. Let me make this clear; There is no cover on my deck. I would aim the AK-47 carefully and kill the Red I knocked unconscious and attempt to take down the last red. At that point he would lay down covering fire as his alerted commie friends flanked me to the left, coming up the back. Here is were my camouflage comes in. I take a parting shot, my single magazine now holding 20 rounds, the single red left from 1st squads mag with 27, every one else’s full. I lay low in the bush, belly crawling to my entrenchment in the middle of the forest in my back yard, and I would wait there. Then things would get hairy. The 4 would advance through the forest in standard 2x2 pattern, two stopping, two moving ahead, until they found my clearing which is about 20 yards, medium range for an airsoft battle. I have a crape zytel universal bipod laying in the fox hole there, and I would attach it to my borrowed AK. The two would come up, me in perfect camo in a invisible bunker, with a weapon with no muzzle flash; perfect sniper situation. I would take a pot shot and let us assume I take down the remaining member of RS1, Red Squad one. They return fire, rounds bouncing everywhere, but lets assume they nick my leg with a ricochet; I’m not moving. I return fire and get another one; They lay low, and I cant get a bead. They continue blind firing, I fire back but hit crap, my adrenaline now flowing freely flowing and my leg bleeding out bad. That’s when they find me when I go to move to bandage and apply a tornaquie. They charge, I take one down and they stick me like a pig when I move to re-cock. I manage to nail one in the arm with my Walther, and he goes down and crawls off to die and I manage to stick the other with my K-bar, and he crawls off too. Now I’m bleeding badly! I cant tourniquet my chest, and I use the rest of my bandages but I’m still bleeding out. Then here comes the calvlary! A car pulls up and I launch a magnesium flare. Einzelganger charges through the bush in full tac gear and body armor, emptying an entire 17 round magazine from his Ruger Mk 1 into one Red and smashing the other with a meaty fist.

But it is too late! Einzelganger reaches my bled-out corpse! He carries me off to the house.

Then all the airsoft players take their gear off and we all drink Mountain dew and play on my XBOX. So that’s why I must fix my 1911... Heres how it would play out if I had my 1911. I would walk out into the street in my combat gear, walther in my ankle holster, 1911 in my shoulder holster.
"This heres a western and I’m the sheriff." They would go to bring up their AK's and I would cross draw my 1911, 5 of their bullets missing, one hitting my body armor. Then I shoot them all in the face with 340 feet persecond airsoft pellets from my 1911 and we all go back in side and drink mountan Dew and play Xbox and Einzelganger complains that he didnt get to play.

2004-01-24T00:07:00.000-08:00

Splatterpunk; Below i have a few jucy tidbits of the story i am working on.

How do you kill what is already dead? Its quite simple; Shoot it in the head.

John Ross was a normal man, who worked a slightly above normal job, lived a normal life, and acted completely normal.

Then the comet passes.

Suddenly, the medium sized town of Davitown, Ohio, is over run. Not with tourists for its famous beer feast, but with the walking dead. John rises to the occasion, and with baseball bat in hand, wreaks his might upon the dead. Will he succeed, and escape town, and help the eccentric Cassidy Malone on his quest to find the elusive Dr. Reidholt, or is he to become another member of the ever increasing hoard of walking dead?

THE DEAD WALK!
Sightings of human and animal corpses wandering around metropolitan Davidton! The cause of these frequently mutilated dead body’s spontaneously re-animating is unknown, but all who see them should be advised that the walking corpses have an unholy taste for human flesh and are to be considered extremely dangerous!

Two Months Earlier…

John Ross relaxed and leaned back into his leather easy chair, nonchalantly watching TV.
“And in News today, a large and unidentified comet passed within a hairs breath of the Earth. The bright green comet missed earth’s atmosphere by only a matter of miles, and was so bright it temporarily turned night into day…”

Across the street at the morgue, the sheepish, small and jittery mortician sat at his glassed off desk, rattling his signature off on paperwork. Something rattled in the cold room. The mortician put it down to lack of sleep. Suddenly, there was more clattering. And more. The mortician leaped out of his seat. Ht pushed open the door. Nearly half of the body lockers were being rattled against.
This had better be one sick joke! The mortician thought. He opened up the door and slid out the tray on one of the cabinets. He unzipped the heavy black bag and screamed as it grabbed his face.

The yellowish fluid filled the bottle up the rest of the way. Cassidy tossed the useless, empty bottle of lamp fluid aside. Flamables were all over the counter; a few cans of gasoline, several empty bottles of kerosine, four bottles of lighter fluid, and two bottles of Hoppes #9 with nitro and an empty bag of kitty litter with a half empty case of styrofome cups. Cassidy Malone smiled demonicly as he looked at the 8 completley full shampaine bottles. But the champaigne had been drained out, and the thin glass bottles were now filled with improvised napalm; The kitty litter and melted styrofoam cups had jelled it up. Cassidy finished them up by duct-taping a rag to the spout of each one of them.
The abandoned grocery store had been quite a find; The last one had already been raided. This one was locked tightly, with impact resistand windows. A few .45 calliber bullets form the nickel plated colt .45 Cassidy always caryed had fixed the entry problem; In the back of the store a door lay shot open.
Cassidy moved to the front of the store, his duffel bag full of good food and 7 of the molotv cocktails. As a special agent in the ATF, Cassidy knew all the tricks for impovised weapons; He had seen them all in his 5 year career. The zombies, or whatever the hell they were lingered in fornt of the store, pounding on the glass. Cassidy took stock; He had a SOG special agent knife, his .45 with one 12 round magazine left and 5 bullets left in the gun, a pair of handcuffs, a boot knife, a pocket knife, plenty of food and water, and eight napalm-cocktails, plus the 12 guage Remington 870 he had found, which only had 4 slugs left in the chamber. Cassidy was a quick study; It had taken him only a few shots to realise the walking corpses were imune to any gunshots except those to the head. That wasnt a problem.

2004-01-22T18:39:00.000-08:00

My Vampire kick is now over. Blagh. Ive gone over all the GOOD material like the excellent movie Nosferatu, the movie Dracula, the book Dracula, some crap by Ann Rice (She wrote books like Interview with a Vampire and other crap) Mad ogre, through his great generosity, linked to my site via expressing his feelings against Ann Rice.

Let me re-iterate what ive learned so far about vampires:

They compulsively count things (Hence why Dracula was called 'The Count'...sorry for the bad joke)
They are immune to most physical damage but vulnerable to holy items and silver
They dread garlic and can not cross running water
They will not enter ones house with out first being given permission
They drink peoples blood. Duh. (and once their blood is completely drained the drained person rises as a vampire.)
The vampires are not nessicarly vulnerable to sunlight, nor do they always sleep in a coffin at day; They just need to sleep on their native soil (Hence why Dracula brought over 50 boxes of Transilvanian soil)

I just have enough research to complete my novel and dispel any silliness about vampires.

Visit my Live Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/ThegunsofNevada

2004-01-20T13:21:00.000-08:00

This cant be good...

Dean, that dirty Commie scumbag actually threatened Bush. He is one sick puppy! I mean, seriously...During the rather silly Iowa Caucus he had a very...upsetting speech. He said things like "And im going to win back America for Normal Americans!!" That’s just silly. Most of America is Right wing...so left wing liberal commie scumbags are hardly normal. And anyone who would support a Sociopath like Dean is not normal in the head. At all.

Good news; He, apparently to my sources, didn’t do that well. Boy, if I lived in Iowa and I had a few pounds of C-4, America would have a lot less problems. (Joke...)

Earlier, i had i link to Fox News, provided by Frank Flemming from IMAO, showing a video of Dean breserking. If your realy intrested, root around Google or CNN or FOX news.

But back to the part were he threatened bush: Direct quote here... “And then im going to DC to take back the Whitehouse!” He said this very adamantly as he looked and pointed at the camera. He just threatened to kill the president and his staff. Arrest the treasonous scumbag NOW!

2004-01-17T17:35:00.000-08:00

AH! Allas! The moment you have all been waiting for! The next part of my vampire novel!

Cassidy and His fearless vampire hunters!

Prologue:

His dress blue Marine Corps dress uniform gleamed beautifully in the dim warehouse light. There wasn’t a single hair or stain visible on the seeming acres of robin egg and navy blue fabric, or on the twin blood red stripes on the sides of his pants. His brass glittered amazingly, shining like gold. His cap rode perfectly, his clothes fit like a second skin, and he held the M-14 rifle like a true soldier. He knew they were coming. He knew he could not kill all of them, but he knew he could go down fighting and take as many as he could. He calmly walked to the window and knocked it out with the butt of his rifle, his movements subtle but with a refined strength and violence. The first one came into view, charging full speed towards him, wearing his brown Soviet uniform, waving the blood red soviet flag, with its golden sickle and hammer embroidered richly. He dimly thought of the colors as he lined up his sights; Scarlet and gold; the colors of the Marine Corps. He didn’t like that idea at all. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Take up the Slack, and squeeze. The M-14 cracked and the soviet fell. Another appeared. The rifle cracked, and another soviet fell. It happened 18 more times. Without pulling the trigger again, the Marine laid the rifle lovingly against the wall, and strode to the desk. He buckled his dress saber onto his white belt and picked up his old Colt 1911 pistol, and loaded it. He cocked the pistol and walked down the stairs to the open door. The soviets were a hundred yards away now, charging through the trees. One had picked up the Soviet flag. Make every shot count. The soviets approached into pistol range, and they began firing. AK bullets rebounded off the walls around him. A rifle bullet nicked his ear, and it began to bleed. The marine didn’t flinch. He just stood there with his 1911 held loosely. A man kneeled to aim, and the pistol came up. Make every shot count. Hit to kill, and hit only once. Shots to the face, to the heart…to the lungs. The pistol cracked seven times. Seven Soviets fell, their blood stained the already black soil. The soviets were around him now. They didn’t fire. One unfolded his bayonet. They screamed at him in Russian. The Marines saber cam out and up in one fluid and well practiced motion, and a Russian fell. No the marines icy demeanor fractured. He screamed, his face contorted into a mask of hate. Two Soviets fell, and the Marine was stabbed. Another 10 Soviets fell, and the marine bleed from two gunshots and several stabwounds. The sword was bloodied. It began to dull. All of the soviets around him dead, the Marine charged. The soviets charged. Blades clashed, more Communist blood soaked the ground. The marine looked at it thirstily. Behind him, a familiar hand came up, with a familiar pistol. The marine smiled. Another in dress blues! The pistol fired. No soviet fell. The marine looked down. Blood welled from beneath his hand. The pistol fired again. And again. The marine fell to his knees. Another shot was fired. The marines vision whited out; Then it went black.

Cassidy Malone jerked up from his bed. He was covered in a cold, damp sweat. The sweet smell of desert sage welled through his always open window. That dream again! Cassidy shook his head and got up from bed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep again that night, the same way he hadn’t been able to sleep every now and then for the last half decade. He walked downstairs and put a copy of the movie Full Metal Jacket into his DVD player. He recited every single line by heart; He had watched that movie every now and then for the last half decade.

Chapter I: were did it all go wrong?

The sun began to go down, and a restless wind began to blow sand. The lights of Las Vegas came on, form the MGM grand, to New York, New York, to the huge spotlight in the top of the Luxor. The multicolor lights of the Rio shined on the streets in a rainbow glare. From the small, non discript office in Down Town, several miles away from the flashy showmanship of The Strip, Cassidy Malone, Special Agent in the Beau of Alcohol, Tobacco and firearms gathered his things form his 9th floor office, cleared his desk of papers, and left the dark room that was his office. He waved to a couple of the other Special Agents, and went down to the parking garage, to his car in its special spot marked “Special Agents Only”. It was an old car, in fact, his ’79 pink spraypainted Ford Pinto was downright venerable. (Its 24th birthday was coming up) When he was in the parking lot, Cassidy adjusted the shoulder holster he always wore, and took out his old style, very expensive, nickel plated Colt .45 caliber 1911 pistol. He slid out its magazine and checked the bullets. He took the mag and put it in under the seat, and took out a different magazine. The bullets glittered silver even in the darkness of the parking garage. Cassidy snapped the magazine in and put it in its holster and started the car, leaning back against the comfortable leather interior. He turned the key and the Pinto roared to life, and he cruised through the town, to the very outskirts on the extreme east of the town. Not long after that, he stopped at a public restroom, and pulled a large, very heavy duffel bag form his trunk. He moved into the public restroom and opened the bag. It was jammed with guns of all shapes and sizes. From various handguns too several large rifles. There was also an assault vest (a tactical vest with many pockets for magazines and gadgets), a pair of tan, gray and black camouflage BDU’s, a pair of combat boots, a ceramic insert for the body armor Cassidy always wore, and a ballistic helmet with a pair of goggles strapped on. Cassidy carefully took of his genuine Armani suit, and very carefully folded it. It was his only suit, and he wore it only for special occasions, and times when he needed to wear a suit to work. That had been one of those days. Cassidy put on the fatigues and the vest and the boot, along with the helmet. He activated the radio on assault vest, and spoke into it.
“This is Malone. I have reached way point 1. Any activity form the targets house?”
“That’s a negative, Red team leader. The house is…well, dead. No pun intended.” The voice from the other end said. “Don’t worry, Cassidy. It isn’t dark yet, and I have Blue Team at the back, and Red team up front, and I have high ground on the target. What’s your E.T.A?” the voice asked again.
“Less than one minunite. Repeat, one minute.” Cassidy said, saying the last part in German, his teams way of confirming a phrase.
Cassidy adjusted his outfit and stepped on the gas. The sun was going down. He had learned painfully that attacking a Fangs house during the day, when they were not active, in slumber, could be a fatal mistake. They always had Rots, their undead minions, who were like the vampires they served, with the exception that they were weaker, and dumber. The vampires always had at least a dozen of the persons they had drained of blood serving them in their house, and they tended to be well armed. The windows were also always boarded off, so that no deadly sunlight could enter their dead homes. Cassidy had lost his first entry team in that manner, gunned down, or their juggler ripped out, or killed in that manner. He had barley gotten out with his head rested properly on his shoulders. Only through sheer luck that one of the sections of the floor had rotted away, and he fell through. The Fangs minions had smelt him, but never found him. When the vampire awoke and found him, Cassidy had fought him hand to hand until he managed to fire a solid sterling bullet through the vampires face.
Sine then, Cassidy had learned to play the vampires game. Time after time, he waited them out. Time after time, they would walk out into the night, right into the hands of Cassidy's specially trained vampire hunting squads, to be tore apart by silver bullets, or to have a wooden steak shoved through their heart. Cassidy snapped out of his thoughts as he approached the targets house. For some one as knowledgeable as him, the vampires houses were obvious. All the old ones, that is to say all of the experienced vampires went for houses that could be easily defended. They were situated high on hills, or in the middle of the desert with hundred yard views in all directions. The vampires hole heartily embraced technology, and their houses were never without video cameras, masterfully installed boobytraps, and extremely effective perimeter defenses. The houses always had blocked off windows, or no windows at all. The current target house was a squat structure, on the top of a hill. Across from it, Cassidy could see another small mesa, in which the squads specialist sniper had parked his own car, a beat up Mercury Bobcat, which was in general used as the squads transport because of its large size. Cassidy parked on the side of the house, and stepped out.
“I'm here. Are we good to go?” Cassidy asked.
“Yeah, were good to go.” Said the blue team leader, and the red team leader replied similarly.
“Okay. Lets wait.” Into his radio. Cassidy said, stepping out of his pinto, and heading towards the front porch. Cassidy crouched down and waited.
Soon it began to grown very dark out indeed. Slowly, the moon came out form behind the clouds, and it began to rain. First in droplets, then in a down pour. Cassidy gazed up at the sky with an accessory look and smiled, taking a poncho out of his pack. As he was doing so, his radio crackled to life, along with the radios of all the other squad members.
“This is blue team. Our subject must have decided to sleep out tonight. He’s coming to the back gate, and damn quick too. He has at least a half dozen goons and one hostage, female.” Cassidy looked to his squad, and touched his radio.
“Mark, This is Cassidy. Do you have a shot at the target coming up the back?”
“Negative. He is behind cover of the house. I have good, clean shots at his rots, though.” He said. “Start raising hell when I give the word.” Cassidy ordered. He then looked at his squad. “Lets go. Around back! Double time.” He said quietly, and, turning the safety off on his pistol, ran around to the side of the house. There were six undead in total, arrayed in a half circle around what was apparently their leader.
“What is this?” The vampire asked. He had a pistol to a young lady’s head.
“I smell you humans….at my house…Do you expect to kill me, you weak scum?”
Cassidy touched his radio. “Yes, I do. Take them down, Mark!” Suddenly, several things happened at once. Cassidy had always hoped to avoid a front to front gunfight, with no cover, at ranges of barley 5 yards. Suddenly, the boom of Mark Gunners high powered rifle rang across the open desert, and one of the goons fell, his entire head gone. Cassidy shouldered his rifle and fired a single shot, hitting the lead vampires hand, knocking the pistol he was threatening the girl with. The vampire gave the girl a mighty push, sending her flying a dozen yards into a small stand of sage brush. The rest of the squad poured automatic fire at the rots and the head vampire, who moved too quickly even for Cassidy to track and fire apron. Before he could do anything he had moved into the blue team, ripping blue teams leaders head clean off, and breaking its other squad member’s leg with a brutal downward kick. As he paused for a brief tenth of a second Cassidy took his shot, spraying silver bullets at him, the burst going slightly high, and several bullets ripping into his shoulder. The return fire form the Vampires minions was brutal, their submachinegun and rifle fire cutting down one man before Gunner, hundreds of yards away had a chance to remove their heads with precision rifle fire. As Cassidy was firing, the creature of the night bounded across ground until he had reached the young lady, who was laying unconscious on the ground. The vampire had her in a neck lock, supporting her wait effortlessly with one arm. Cassidy raised his rifle, and centered it on the fell creatures head exposed head.
“Take him down, Gunner.” Cassidy said into his radio.
“No can fricking do! My weapons jammed! Shell burst in the chamber! Its not gona work!” Cassidy walked forwards, and the vampire smoothly moved his wrist onto the girls mouth.
“Let the girl go, you fanged scumbag.” Cassidy said, closing the distance quickly.
“Or what, Vampire hunter…You shoot me? You so much as twitch and I bite her…and she becomes one of us.” The ATF agent smiled smiled.
“How stupid do you think I am, Fang? I know she has to have some of YOUR blood before you can do tha…” As he was saying it, the ghoul raised his wrist from over the girls mouth, revealing a bloody stain.
“Too late, Vampire hunter. Put your little toy down and we can settle this…” Cassidy took another step forwards.
“There’s no way I can miss. You’ll be dead before you can open your mouth, Fang.” The vampire took a step back, and Vampire hunter took another two forwards. The vampire put one hand out, and before Cassidy could do anything, made an upwards twisting motion, and the barrel of his rifle bent upwards. The vampire laughed.
“You could have walked out of here alive, Vampire hunter…But now ill have TWO fresh meals instead of one…” The vampire bent his head down to the girls neck, and opened his mouth, revealing hideous fangs. Cassidy saw white enamel rent almost equally white pale flesh, and dove forwards. He collided with the foul thing, knocking the girl aside, and knocking the vampire to the ground. The vampire grabbed Cassidy by the shoulders and bit savagely into Cassidy's neck. As the vampire did so, Cassidy removed his pistol from its holster and fired into the vampires torso, once, twice, three times and then four. The vampire weakened for a second, and Cassidy was away form him. Rolling, Cassidy then emptied the rest of his pistol into the vampire, who twitched and moved forwards. Cassidy stood up hastily as the vampire crawled for him, and snatched a steak from his belt, and delivered a savage kick that rolled the vampire onto its back. Cassidy jumped down, putting the hole force of his fall and body weight onto the steak. It perched bone with a sick crunch and a shower of blood. As the blood spout subsided, Cassidy rolled over onto his back, panting form his fight. He reached up to the top of his shirt neck, were the vampire had sunk his teeth, and then reached under his shirt. He pulled hard, removing the heavy boiled leather neck guard, a chunk of fang still lodged into it. Cassidy stood up and looked at the vampires corpse, already rotting into putrid goo, soon to turn to ash. Cassidy limped over to the young woman and checked her pulse. He knew he was too late…the huge gash in her neck were she had been bitten had already began to heal, due to the arcane blood infused in her. The transformation had been quick in the girl…

Cassidy scooped her up in his arms, and walked to the side of the house. Everyone was dead. Everyone except for one of his squad members, him, and Gunner, the sniper.
“We had better cleanup, Michael.” Cassidy said, setting down the girl. “We have a new vampire on our hands.”

2004-01-16T10:41:00.000-08:00

I intend to post the first chapter of Cassidy and his Fearless vampire hunters as soon as I get home, so I can cut and paste it onto my site. Be patient, please. Now im off!

2004-01-16T10:38:00.000-08:00

All right. I’m proud of Ohio...now being a CCW state, blagh blagh blagh, regurgitating stuff posted a 1000 1000 times...Along with the terrible fact that they are trying to get a list passed with all of their names on it...I think its a bad idea...with only one plus side; Easy enough for Law Enforcement to find out wither or not a subject they are investigating is packing heat...legally, at least, but other than that small boon, its a really, really shitty idea. Blagh.

2004-01-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

Ted Nugent done fucked himself up! A total of 40 stitches...From a chain saw. Thats. Gota. Hurt. Like a lot. Should have had those fancy Kevlar garters. And after he started his own ice cream! (Gun nut Ice Cream...Tastes like vanillia coconut.) Get well soon.

2004-01-13T15:36:00.000-08:00

A new series;

I think I will post a new on site mini series; My father and I. Each one will have two topics; Like Plumbing and Swearing, or Shooting and Apologizing to the Neibors. I will soon post the first chapter of Cassidy and his Fearless Vampire Hunters, but until now, heres an amusing natative.

Plumbing and Swearing:

This comes to mind because our God Damn toilet is working; I learned how to Plumb and swear from my father, both at the same time! See, now every now and then, a toilet fixture or sink would break in the house, and my dad, with a weary sigh, would take up the tool box. He was under the impression that huge numbers of tools were needed, nay, required, for the most simple "Operation"; I share this delusion.

1 rubber mallet
1 huge screwdriver set
A big, rusty monkey wrench; You know, the type real plumbers use. To kill people. Damn thing must have been made of solid iron. It weighed at least 10 lb.
Bondo (TM) brand car cement
Electrical tape. Lots of electrical tape.
Band aids. Lots of band aids.
And, of course Coffee, as my father would frequently spend 2-14 hours working on it.

And then the "Operation" Would start. My dad, being a big guy, and needing room, would have me stand behind him and hand him tools, with his head stuck under the sink. ("OWWW! God damn it! Hand me a couple band aids, some neosporen and gauze!" for instance) Then the true fun part would start! "SPWOOOOSH" I would hold against my laughter as a huge jet of water would spray out of under the sink.
"God damn it, boy! Why didn’t you turn off the water flow?!?"
"I did! I turned it all the way to the left!"
"CLOCKWISE! ALWAYS CLOCKWISE! *sputter * *Drown *" And by this time, there would be an inch deep puddle on the floor.
"God damn Pig F&^%ing C*&t licking pipe! Why wont the damn thing turn ? @*7#! %*@! (*#&, etc. etc.…" And then he would get it turned, and the water shut off. And, then the real fun would start.
"AIEEEEEEEEE! WHAT THE FLYING F&*K IS THIS PIG SODAMIZING CHUNK OF SMUT???" and something black, hairy, and slimy would fly out of under the sink as my father threw out the hairy clog of death. Operation complete. Then, he would emerge, grease smudged, with remnants of the hairy clog of death on his face and hands, shirt soaked...
"Dad, why didn’t you just use a pipe snake?" I would ask.
"Because, son...that would involve me buying one." I would ask why, and he would explain that he was just a drywaller, and that he only made $40 an hour. I would have given a finger to get pay like that!
"But that’s a lot of money!?" I would declare. He would smile, and make a joke about me eating too much. Real reason: My dads just a cheap guy. Im the opposite; If I could, id have all the best; Best computer, best suits (Armaini; I like how they hang) The best wine, the best guns, (Id pack a Korth or nickel plated custom 1911 A1with a custom Houge leather shoulder holster, backed up by a Strider knife and so on.)But I’m dirt poor. Oh well. So, that’s how I learned to swear so proficiently and profusely, and how I learned how to call a professorial when something aside form a firearm breaks.

2004-01-12T16:58:00.000-08:00

Har de har har. Over the last few weeks, a friend of mine and I have been arguing over this fact; Are Vampires Evil or not? My opinion is that the blood sucking suckers are. Heroes the culmination of our E-mail argument. And yes, she is a Liberal Hippie. In a few instances, I have interjected with notes in (Parenthesizes)

Her Argument;

I have unarguable proof that Vamps are not evil, just misunderstood.

Here it is..........Vamps drink our blood, true, vamps always kill those they feed off of, not true. And we kill cows and other animals to sustain ourselves as well, how is that any different? In fact Vamps are better as they do not always kill. We Do. Vamps treat us like we treat animals. Yes they hunt, but so do some humans. If you are an omnivore or a carnivore, then you have no right to call a vamp evil, as you kill beings to feed yourselves as well.
As for the way they are portrayed in movies and books, we have no clue whether any of the myth about vamps is true, and it is our own myths who have portrayed them as evil, not there's. How do we know they are always trying to destroy the world? huh? All this info that I have given proves that they are only as evil as us humans. And yes, the talking factor, ( I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about here) I happen to know someone who can talk to animals, Monica (Monica is a friend of a friend). And My mom goes to a group that tries to commune with animals, I my self have talked to a ghost, (Liar! Ghosts are non-existent, just like rich Mexicans [Joke] and liberals that make sense) we can talk to animals, mentally, if we tried, how is that any different then oral talking?

I rest my case on the facts above. Thank you for listening.

MY ARGUMENT:

Bull shit!

Okay; First things first, if were gona argue this, vampires mythical abilities don’t come in to play, because they vary so much. Because I don’t want to say; Well, argument over; Vampires are effected by crosses and holly water, Negatively, I might add...so they are evil, and have you respond "But I read a book were..."

The following disproves your theory; Cows don’t think. Now, we raise cows for three purposes; Their skin, their milk and their tasty tasty flesh. Now, see, thetas humane. We don’t torture cows. We simply kill and eat them. We put an end to a terrible, dumb existence for cows. The best thing that happened to them was getting killed... Now, look at it this way; Vampires feed at their level on the food chain. They hunt and drain blood from other humans. Think about that; Sangunation. They draw the blood from us, to live. They don’t live off the plasma, they live off the life force.

Now, if vampires raised humans, killed them, and drank their blood, it would be okay... Humane. The equivalent action of ours, to be as bad as vampires, would be chopping off a cows leg, and cooking it to eat...And eating it in front of them. Much like vampires do to humans, at least figuratively, anyway.

Killing is not nessicarily evil, but mutilation is. Its fare to say that the average person who was fed off by a vampire would have...issues...for the rest of his/her life...just like the average cow would if it had a body part chopped off and eaten.

And we know they’re always trying to destroy the world because they’re evil, as proven above.

I think I argued it pretty easily, huh? So much for un-arguable…

2004-01-09T11:17:00.000-08:00

Book(s) Of the Month(s):

So far, this month, i have started reading Dracula, by Bram Stroker. Ive been reading it for two days, and im already 100 pages into it; For a casual reader like me, thats a lot of reading. I love this book; Its got a little bit of everything; Horror in plethora, romance, Action!, adventure, and psudo-science thrills. A good read, and a must for all those who think they know about vampires...Fear the night!

Oh, right. Also read the Guns Of the South, by Harry Turtledove...Its a good read too.

2004-01-09T10:57:00.000-08:00

Snipers;

I hate snipers. There. I said it! I hate them. They get the glory, they get the damn books written about them, they get all the fun, and the expensive custom rifles, “too good” for a standard infantry man. Snipers are white trash, mostly. They’re good old boys form the south, who spent their formative years growing up killing small animals. They started popping rats with their .22’s, or taking down crows with a .45, then, they started hunting with their pa and taking down deer. Let me make this clear; I don’t mind hunting. Im all for hunting. It’s a damn American tradition. I love venison. Love it, be it Jerky, sausage, or steaks. But I don’t hunt. Why? Its not challenging enough. I don’t get any satisfaction form sitting in a blind for 6 hours and shooting then dropping a deer. Not very hard. Now, bear hunting…That might be O.K…But im not sure of its legality. But still, shooting a bear with an ‘06 a hundred and fifty yards away isn’t very hard. Now, if the bear had a SKS carbine, or the deer were packing UZI’s, that might be harder.

Back to my little rant on snipers; They’re fucking crazy, too. They’re hunters who got tired of killing deer and went for humans. There is no honor in being a sniper. There is no honor in killing some one from 600 yards away. There is no honor in killing if your enemy doesn’t see the whites of your eyes and knew he just got killed by a U.S Marine, and see the fucking name tape over your BDU pocket labeled “SMITH” or what ever.

Call me old fashioned, tell me my style is out of date (You’d probably be right, too) and tell me that hunting is a lot harder than I made it out to be, what ever. But it’s true; Killing something shouldn’t be as easy as Breathe, Relax, Aim, take up the Slack and Squeeze.

2004-01-08T16:50:00.000-08:00

Im happy with Bush...as many of you know, he has now come up with, as far as I am concerned, a brilliant solution to our nations Free-riding-Non-Tax Paying-Resident illegal aliens. Why not give them a 3-year work license to any illegal, and at the end of that 3-year period, put them up for citizenship? Not a bad idea at all. I like it, and respect Bush for having enough political savvy to realize, that during the upcoming election, that the huge, huge, huge amounts of votes put forth by those slimy, dirty, illegal immigrants, who, despite not being a citizen, vote anyway...One huge, gaping, monstrosity of a flaw; What the hell is he going to do about the hundreds of thousands of Mexican Immigrant Scum Bags that are going to pour through our borders, and then be granted a work visa and citizenship? Nothing. That’s why I say seal off the damn borders. Doubling the border guard, as many Right Wingers have suggested, is not enough; They need to be backed up by a tightening of the border (Something similar to the Berlin wall would be nice) and by large amounts of specially trained and equipped regiments of the National Guard. Then, this message should be posted; Toque pared = Bala en la cabeza (Touch wall=bullet in the head)

2004-01-04T21:41:00.001-08:00

nationstates. net

A very good pol. sim. Its a lot of fun, and the short story there is very nice. Ive been looking for the book, but i havent found one.

Now to the important part; Some jokes

At NeverLand Ranch, how do you tell when its time to got to 'bed'? Easy. When the big hands on the little hand.

What do Michael Jackson, Wallmart and the Chatolic Church all have in common? They all have little boys pants 1/2 off. Duh.

2004-01-02T23:08:00.000-08:00

Cassidy and His fearless vampire hunters!

Prologue:

His dress blue Marine Corps dress uniform gleamed beautifully in the dim warehouse light. There wasn’t a single hair or stain visible on the seeming acres of robin egg and navy blue fabric, or on the twin blood red stripes on the sides of his pants. His brass glittered amazingly, shining like gold. His cap rode perfectly, his clothes fit like a second skin, and he held the M-14 rifle like a true soldier. He knew they were coming. He knew he could not kill all of them, but he knew he could go down fighting and take as many as he could. He calmly walked to the window and knocked it out with the butt of his rifle, his movements subtle but with a refined strength and violence. The first one came into view, charging full speed towards him, wearing his brown Soviet uniform, waving the blood red soviet flag, with its golden sickle and hammer embroidered richly. He dimly thought of the colors as he lined up his sights; Scarlet and gold; the colors of the Marine Corps. He didn’t like that idea at all. Breathe. Relax. Aim. Take up the Slack, and squeeze. The M-14 cracked and the soviet fell. Another appeared. The rifle cracked, and another soviet fell. It happened 18 more times. Without pulling the trigger again, the Marine laid the rifle lovingly against the wall, and strode to the desk. He buckled his dress saber onto his white belt and picked up his old Colt 1911 pistol, and loaded it. He cocked the pistol and walked down the stairs to the open door. The soviets were a hundred yards away now, charging through the trees. One had picked up the Soviet flag. Make every shot count. The soviets approached into pistol range, and they began firing. AK bullets rebounded off the walls around him. A rifle bullet nicked his ear, and it began to bleed. The marine didn’t flinch. He just stood there with his 1911 held loosely. A man kneeled to aim, and the pistol came up. Make every shot count. Hit to kill, and hit only once. Shots to the face, to the heart…to the lungs. The pistol cracked seven times. Seven Soviets fell, their blood stained the already black soil. The soviets were around him now. They didn’t fire. One unfolded his bayonet. They screamed at him in Russian. The Marines saber cam out and up in one fluid and well practiced motion, and a Russian fell. No the marines icy demeanor fractured. He screamed, his face contorted into a mask of hate. Two Soviets fell, and the Marine was stabbed. Another 10 Soviets fell, and the marine bleed from two gunshots and several stabwounds. The sword was bloodied. It began to dull. All of the soviets around him dead, the Marine charged. The soviets charged. Blades clashed, more Communist blood soaked the ground. The marine looked at it thirstily. Behind him, a familiar hand came up, with a familiar pistol. The marine smiled. Another in dress blues! The pistol fired. No soviet fell. The marine looked down. Blood welled from beneath his hand. The pistol fired again. And again. The marine fell to his knees. Another shot was fired. The marines vision whited out; Then it went black.

Cassidy Malone jerked up from his bed. He was covered in a cold, damp sweat. The sweet smell of desert sage welled through his always open window. That dream again! Cassidy shook his head and got up from bed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep again that night, the same way he hadn’t been able to sleep every now and then for the last half decade. He walked downstairs and put a copy of the movie Full Metal Jacket into his DVD player.

2004-01-02T20:51:00.000-08:00

Everything is now up and running...for those viewing this, it is a much, much better site than my last site.

Back now.

1999-07-04T14:42:00.000-07:00

First Issue:

Look at This!

"Agents found nearly a half-million rounds of ammunition, more than 60 pipe bombs, machine guns, silencers and remote-controlled bombs disguised as briefcases. Pamphlets on how to make chemical weapons and racist literature were also discovered."

What the hell did this guy have planned? It looks like he was ready to start his own apyoclypse! 60 pipe bombs? That sounds like enough ordanence to level a building...The Sodium Cyanide was pretty damning too, along with the racist litrature.

Second Issue:

Please excuse me for not updating for so long: I have been far too busy to excersize my right to write ~~shit~~ stuff on the 'net, but now that life is slowing down a little, i should update a little more often with my strong oppinions and other foul swill.

Third issue:

Iraqi prisoner abuse.

Now this is just insane! What has been done to Iraqi prisoners is not abuse. The death camps in Bosnia were abuse. (And still are) Hitlers Death Camps were abuse. Veit Cong hell-pits in 'Nam were abuse. Iraqi torture chambers were abuse! Dragging americans through the streets of Mogadishu was abuse!

No, parading prisoners naked in the rain with a bag on their head is NOT abusive! And neither is giveing them mediocre room and board, with satalite TV. Yeah, you heard me. Some Iraqi prisoners are getting satalite TV. God damn, i dont have satalite TV!

Oh, mabey they were talking about the prisoners that were beaten! (You know, the ones who were subdued during an escape attempt. Yeah, CNN didnt mention that) Or what about the ones that were urinated on? (You know, the ones there arent any photos of)

Fourth Issue:

I wish i saw more stuff like This more often!

“You can't childproof your gun. Instead, gun-proof your children.”

Supprisingly, this article was written by a woman. By a Feminist woman. From California. Well, that just makes my day!

Please, E-mail her and tell her your thanks, and tell her to keep up the good work!

Her E-mail is mac@ifeminists.net