Went to the bowling pin shoot this morning and just about froze to death. But Turk (mah hero!) had brought a huuuge bag of chemical handwarmers, and saved the the day. (Update: I was shooting my 9mm Star BM: it has fair sights and I have plenty of mags for it. I removed the magazine safety in the car on the way to the match, so the mags will now drop free [No, Mom, I wasn't driving, I was a passenger]).
Caleb didn't even try. He used some little cow-college sporting event as an excuse but you know it was the cold.
In one round, fought right down to the wire (i.e., we both ran out of ammo with a couple of pins hanging, twice, and had to run back to the ready table for more. By the second trip, we were both laughing almost too hard to shoot. I totally rock!
"One out of two isn't bad," Tam reminds: the first time we were head to head today, I fell to ignominious defeat, knocking two pins down (but not off the table) in 28-some shots while she swept her table with eight shots. Pure luck, says I. Or maybe superior skill. Umm, yeah, that second thing. But I try hard.
6 comments:
Y'know, gas is cheap enough that I might squeeze a blogmeet trip out of my harried wallet sometime in the future.
I saw the heating things he brought. Excellent idea. Sorry I had to work. . can't wait to hear all about it later today.
You had fun, made the pins uncomfortable, and increased your carbon footprint by burning powder.
Make some Photon torpedo modifications and you can clear the table with one round.
Meanwhile, here in England, not one single solitary person, not even the Queen herself, can lawfully shoot a pistol even once, at anything- not even a bowling pin, or a paper target- unless he or she is using a government issued weapon and commanded to fire by a superior.
Yeah, but you can eat just as much Spotted Dick and Toad In The Hole as you like. It's a trade-off and one of us bought a plane ticket. Round-trip, I hope!
;)
Roast Red Deer haunch, carrots, sprouts, and pot8os fresh from the field, and new pressed cider for me.
After a day's not galloping over moor and forest in pursuit of the previously described magnificent Hind, and a broken neck.
Because that galloping would be illegal, and a violation of the will of the House of Commons. Especially if one were to do it over and over again. Day after day.
Before going to France to do some more of it.
Every little country pub also has like forty local malt beverages, and beef whose name the cook knew.
Yes, it's a round trip ticket. But for now...
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