And this weekend, the data came in

on time

Converting Berdan cases to Boxer

Interesting way of doing it.

Years back read an article by a guy who had a rifle in an oddball Euro cartridge, had some ammo and a bunch of brass but new stuff was unavailable and all the old cases(brass, happily) were Berdan primed.

He measured and found that a standard large rifle primer was the proper diameter, and as an experiment carefully removed the anvil from some primers, carefully seated them, and found they worked.  As he noted, it was a pain to do, but if you had something you couldn't get boxer-primed brass for, it allowed you to shoot it.

Missed one last week, so I'll try to make sure the data arrives on time

this weekend.

From 2017 eclipse, that's one hell of a picture

of the corona

I was going to do a list of links on "Why the HELL should I trust these people?"

but it would be long and depressing.  So I'm just going with one on Professional Journalists.
ABC News anchor Amy Robach said she and her network had the story about Jeffrey Epstein and the extent of his pedophilia ring years ago — but the network refused to run the story for fear of upsetting some powerful people.

Robach is seen and heard making the comments in a video released by Project Veritas, which shows her talking on a hot mic on an ABC News set in August about how frustrating it was for her to see the Epstein story blow up when she had all the information three years before.
Three years... that would be during the election, wouldn't it?

Considering the "I am proud of my years in the FBI!" start,

must've given him indigestion to write this:

One of the most damning charges contained within Powell’s 37-page court brief is that Page, the DOJ lawyer assigned to the office of then-FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe, may have materially altered Flynn’s interview FD-302, which was drafted by Strzok. FBI agents transfer handwritten interview notes onto a formal testimonial document, FD-302, within five days of conducting an interview, while recollections are still fresh.

It is unheard of for someone not actually on the interview itself to materially alter an FD-302. As an FBI agent, no one in my chain of command ever directed me to alter consequential wording. And as a longtime FBI supervisor, I never ever directed an agent to recollect something different from what they discerned during an interview. Returning a 302 for errors in grammar, punctuation, or syntax is appropriate. This occurs before the document is ultimately uploaded to a particular file, conjoined with the original interview notes which are safely secured inside a 1-A envelope, and secured as part of evidence at trial.

With this in mind, this related text message exchange from Strzok to Page dated Feb. 10, 2017, nauseated me:

"I made your edits and sent them to Joe. I also emailed you an updated 302. I’m not asking you to edit it this weekend, I just wanted to send it to you.

Here's something else he ought to be upset about: when Eric Holder was AG he ordered these clowns to start recording interviews instead of "I'll take notes and write it down later."  Yet years later the bastards STILL aren't recording.  Why?

Only reason I can think of is an actual recording can't be screwed with the way notes can.  Which tells you a lot about the EffingBI continuing to do it.

After some "I was wrong, a few agents(but only a few!) did bad things", he ends with

I am physically nauseous as I type these words. I have long maintained that innocent mistakes were made and that the investigators at the center of this maelstrom were entitled to the benefit of the doubt.

No more.

They have tarnished the badge and forever stained an agency that deserved so much better from them. I am ashamed. The irreparable damage Comey’s team has done to the FBI will take a generation to reverse."

Hah. It would take a generation IF the EffingBI ACTUALLY DID A CLEANOUT OF THE AGENCY. Which I doubt we'll see.

Since, between weather and the eye thing

I don't know when I'll get a chance next, today was a range day.  Mostly trying out some loads.  Only going to note a few of those.  All .45-70, all at 200 yards.

I've mentioned before- I think- that with modern cases you cannot get 70 grains of black into this case and have the bullet seated so the case covers all the lube grooves*, especially with a heavy bullet like this.  I have gone up to 68 grains, and it takes a LOT of compression; 70 would probably cause the case to bulge a bit.  There's a writer named Mike Venturino who's written a lot on .45-70, and has expressed the opinion that with most rifles you can get as good a performance with 65 as you can with more, with a lot less compression.  So this was five rounds over 65.0 of 2f, using a .060" wad under the bullet

 That high/left was called, I thought I might've pulled it a touch, and I was right.  That's a quite nice group, and I'll shoot it again to be sure.

 This one was the same bullet and wad over 24.0 grains of Accurate 5744, which is one Venturino really likes for this cartridge(so do a lot of other people)

Again, I managed to pull one.  That's a very good group(especially for me).  I didn't think to throw in the tripod for the Chrony before I left, so no hard knowledge of velocity, though the Lyman book shows 1101fps.  Also shows this as likely to give the best accuracy with this bullet.

I did try a few with the Lee 405-grain hollowbase over 26.0 A5744, didn't group as tight as last time.  Which is quite possibly me, by that point I was getting to the 'concentration slipping' point.  Ah well, I've got a few more for next time.

By the way: I can't remember if I mentioned this before(and I'm too lazy to check right now), there's a very good piece(in pdf form) on 'Introduction to Black Powder Cartridge Rifle Loading' by a guy named Chuck Raithel available online, and it's got a lot of good information in it.  I'd post a link, but the one I had saved isn't working right, you should be able to search by that title and find it.



*A lot of guys loading specifically for long-range matches will seat the bullet as far out as it will go until it almost touches the rifling, and do not crimp; that lets them get as much powder in as possible for a little more velocity.  It also means some of the lube grooves are exposed, and if you turn the cartridge over the bullet will fall out.  Not shooting a those kind of distances, I want the case to cover the lube grooves, and use enough crimp to keep the bullet in place.  That's with black, with most smokeless propellants you get better performance from a strong crimp as well.

Without going into a bunch of details,

the reason for the low bloggage has been:
Notice problem with eye.
Doc says "You need a specialist."
See him.  "You need the retina specialist."
See him.  "you need this surgery, we'll do it in three weeks."
Two days before: "The doctor had to go out of the country, call tomorrow and we'll reschedule."
Call tomorrow: "She's not at her desk, she'll call you back." 
Followed by a effing WEEK of trying to find something out.
This morning: "We'll do it next week."
So, I have an eye problem(which is both annoying and somewhat terrifying).  Which should be either fixed, or mostly fixed(damn you, old age) by this.  When it gets done, and the following days of "You'll have to do this" are over.  Don't know when I'll be able to shoot anything with real recoil again, may be a couple of weeks, may be longer.

And in the meantime, it screws with my vision, which causes various problems and the occasional need to scream "God-DAMMIT!"

So the intermittent bloggage will continue.

And I think I need to get a bottle of good whiskey.

Typical leftist control freak: "Lie until you're in office, THEN

start raiding people's homes and taking their property."
“They should not tell everything they’re going to do,” Behar jumped in then, suggesting that candidates shouldn’t warn Americans the gun confiscation was coming. “If you are going to take people’s guns away, wait until you get elected and then take them away. Don’t tell them ahead of time.”

Now they're all saying this in the open.  Anyone who questions if they actually mean it is an idiot.

It appears some of the anti-vaccine idiots need to join communists

in getting half a helicopter ride.
The anti-vaxx harassment campaigns have gotten so extreme, that parents who are working to combat the reams of misinformation about vaccination, are hiding their identities in fear. A woman who recently lost her little boy to the flu experienced just such intimidation, and apparently nothing is considered too cruel.

Interviews with mothers who’ve lost children and with those who spy on anti-vaccination groups, reveal a tactic employed by anti-vaxers: When a child dies, members of the group sometimes encourage each other to go on that parent’s Facebook page. The anti-vaxers then post messages telling the parents they’re lying and their child never existed, or that the parent murdered them, or that vaccines killed the child, or some combination of all of those.
[…]
Some anti-vaxers told her she’d murdered Jude and made up a story about the flu to cover up her crime. Others said vaccines had killed her son. Some called her the c-word.
The worst ones — the ones that would sometimes make her cry — were the posts that said she was advocating for flu shots so that other children would die from the shots and their parents would be miserable like she was.

There's more.  Breakables warning in effect*


*unless the breakables are the horrible asshats doing this, then proceed.

Due to circumstances that really pissed me off, I missed

last nights data dump.  Here 'tis

Antifa is shitheads

Antifa assholes show up at his house to play "We know where you live" AFTER the shitheads DOXXED HIS MOTHER...

Make that 'Antifa is made up of diseased shitheads'

Quick note on red dot

Back around Christmas last year got a Sig Romeo 5 red dot on sale.  Put it on a rifle, zeroed it, and it's been on ever since.

It has a feature that turns the dot off when no motion is detected for two minutes.  As of a few minutes ago, still running on the original battery and still comes on when motion detected.

Something I was hoping to deal with this week was postponed,

so some bloggage:
Another Jew-hating antifa asshole.  Front and center, one of their faces.  And if you think the group 'had no idea he thought this way', you're an idiot.


'Justice', Chicago style.

And something else for the occasion

Once upon a time I decided to try my hand

at a short story.  It's in the MHI world, which means if you're not familiar with it some parts won't mean much to you.  But for your Halloween entertainment, here it is:

Jethro Tull WAS right; there are beasties.

Have to tell you, some parts of this sound like I was thinking all logically and rationally; mostly I wasn't, it’s written down without the "OHGODOHGOD" parts getting in the way. Anyhow, this is what happened. I wanted to make a record of it just in case.

Nice deer weather: chilly enough to make that orange jacket comfortable, and there'd been rain a couple of days before so the leaves didn't make it sound like you were walking through potato chips, and the sun showing bright and then dim as some clouds moved over. And since it was the first time I'd been out for years, I was very much enjoying it.

I'd been slowly working my way along: take a few slow steps, stop for a while and watch for motion. Maybe sit a while. I really wanted to be terminally rude to Bambi and stick his ass(and all the rest) in the freezer, but it was also just so nice to be out there.

Right up until the shooting started.

Not one or two shots meaning "I got one!" for someone, oh no, a whole freakin' string of shots. Didn't sound like rifle, more like someone dumping the whole magazine out of a pistol. Well, crap. If some idiot was shooting at rocks or something, I needed to head a different direction; same if someone was at a little range area I didn't know about. So, stop and listen. I'd been about halfway through a clearing, nothing but a couple of saplings and a lot of low brush, so nothing to hide behind if I started hearing bullets buzzing by.

After a couple of minutes I'd about decided that was it when there was another four, much closer. So I'm wondering "What the hell?" and backing up. Only made a couple of steps when I heard something running my general direction. Fast. Which made it seem like a real good time to get the hell out of there, and I started to turn and hoof it at a right angle to the sounds.

Did I mention fast?

I thought it was a guy busting out of the trees and brush on the other side, but... know how you see things but don't really make exact 'what' out of it till later? It was a guy, if the guy was bare-chested and mostly bare-ass naked below, scraps of pants and a belt still on. And hairy. And FREAKING FANGS in the FREAKING WOLF MUZZLE growing out of his face...

No, I had not been drinking. And all this didn't really coalesce into coherent thought for a bit, especially as the thing saw me and headed my way.

I was carrying a AR-15 chambered in 7.62x39. The ranges I was likely to get a shot around here it was plenty powerful, and it was dead accurate, and I'd been practicing a lot. So while my mind was screaming "FUCK is THAT?!?" reflexes were raising it, and thumbing the safety to 'off', and since it was too close for the scope- at this point the thing was maybe twenty yards and closing fast- I looked over it at the middle of its chest and pulled the trigger twice. And watched both shots hit within a few inches of each other center chest. Two 130-grain Hornady softpoints.

"You shot too fast"? or something? Argue all you want, reflexes and fear were in charge right then and a guy with FANGS charging out of the woods kind of gave them their clue.

And he(not much doubt of that) staggered, then glared at me, opened the mouth all the way and charged.

A little part of my mind was thinking "Good thing you peed a while back" while I was jumping back and to the side as he swung at me. He hit the rifle barrel and the gun went flying and I fell on my ass in the damp leaves, as he shot past.

And slid to a stop about twenty feet away and looked at me, blood in his eyes, and came back.

I had two things on me that might be useful, a .22 pistol in case I had to finish off a wounded deer, in a holster covered up by my jacket, and two knives: a nice hunting knife with a four-inch blade and a good-size bowie with a ten-inch, wide and sharp. I'd just brought it on the general principle of "I've got this great knife a friend made, and it's going along." I don't know if the thinking part of the brain decided that two thirty-caliber rifle bullets not stopping him, a .22 wouldn't cut it, or if it was just 'grab the first thing you can', but the strap unsnapped and the knife came out just as he reached me and swung his left claw...

Part of me was still noticing details for later, assuming there was one. Like his hands were now claws(or had I not noticed before?), and he was hairier than a few seconds ago. Crap. Multiplied.

I flattened out much as I could, and amazingly it was enough, just, for the claws to miss. Then the right claw was coming and I couldn't flatten anymore and I swung the knife. And caught his right han- er, claw at the wrist and cut it off.

Amazing what a sharp edge and hysterical terror for your life does for your speed and strength, isn't it?

It jumped back, screaming like a dog in pain, then came in again and stomped with his foot. Which turned out to also have sharp claws. I twisted to the right, but not far enough or fast enough, and felt it tear through jacket and skin, which slammed me back down. And then the left claw was coming down and all I could do was stick the knife up.

And that claw came down on the point and drove itself down the blade, all the way to the guard. The impact slammed my arm back, hard enough my elbow left a dent in the ground(I noticed later), it jumped back again, snarling fit to freeze any blood still at body temperature. Looked at its paw, then grabbed the haft with his teeth, yanked the knife out and dropped it. It looked at me for just a fraction of a second before it started in to finish me, and there was nothing human left in that face. But suddenly there were some holes in its chest. I hadn't heard whoever was chasing this thing(and how nasty was it if THIS thing was running from it?) but he'd caught up and shot it. Those two holes stopped it cold, and another two hit it and it staggered back, then leaped into the trees behind it with more shots following. A good twenty feet it jumped, with four bullets in it...

I looked around and saw a man. The biggest, toughest-looking anything I've ever seen in my life, in a damned suit. I mean black pants, jacket and tie, and a white shirt, all the worse for wear, with a pistol in hand. He stopped by me for a moment and looked down. Which gave me time to see that he'd been fighting the thing; he had slashes on his chest and left arm, and a nasty one across his right cheek. Black eyes and absolutely no expression. Deep voice said "You'd better stop that bleeding. I'll be back when I'm done." As he went past I saw more slashes across his back and one leg. Then he stopped, either holstered or stuck the gun in his belt, reached into the jacket and pulled out a bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a swallow.

Part of me was aware that I had a nasty injury on the side, and it hurt like hell, but two things kept my attention on him, besides the fact that I was scared to look at the holes: first, the stuff in the bottle was glowing. Not 'light shining through' but actually GLOWING a dull gold visible in the sunlight. And right after he put the lid back on he stiffened like a movie scene of a guy getting hold of a high-voltage line and started shaking so fast he was almost vibrating for a few seconds. And then it stopped and he took a deep breath, just as a tree limb came flying out of the trees. Apparently the thing hadn't run far.

The guy dodged, but apparently the side effects of whateverthehellthatwas threw him off a bit, as the limb hit his arm and he dropped the bottle, which hit something. There was the sound of glass breaking. The guy glared down at it for a moment, then then drew the pistol and took a step. Stopped, looked at me and said "Don't drink that", and was gone. He was just as fast as that thing, and I mean GONE in just seconds. I heard two shots, then the sounds of chase faded.

I collapsed back and just lay there breathing hard for a minute, wondering what the hell all that was and was I about to die?

I hurt like hell on my left side, and when I started to unzip my jacket I saw that somewhere in all this I'd been clawed on the right wrist and hand, and a fairly steady stream of blood was coming out. Crap, I had a first-aid kit but it was for cuts and such, not something like this! Big kit was back in the truck, probably two miles away, and not exactly helpful right now. Did have gloves, so pulled off the right one, folded it and held it tight over the worst bleed. Then I remembered the twenty feet of 550 cord in another pocket; I pushed that hand against my leg to keep pressure on, fumbled the line out, pulled the knot(loose, thank God) with my teeth and wrapped it around the wrist. Used most of it, and it hurt, but it held the glove in place. Then I lay back another minute and breathed hard.

I finally realized I HAD to do something about my side, which meant I HAD to look at it; opened my jacket and looked. I had two parallel slices from just under the ribs running back and down a bit. Bleeding, but at least there wasn't anything hanging out. And there was not a damn thing I could do about it, except hope that guy came back and could either drag me out or call for transport.

I've been hurt before, but never anything like this, or on this level, where I was actually thinking I'd likely die. I'm divorced, so no wife waiting. The kids were grown and on their own, so no worry there. But I really, REALLY wanted to know if that thing was a werewolf. If there were more. Who the hell was that monstrous guy it was running from? And if there really are werewolves, what else is out there that's not just imagination or legend? Dammit. And I really didn’t want to bleed out in a clearing in the woods.

While I lay there, I started wondering just what the guy had in that bottle, and why he'd stop for a sip in the middle of a chase. Finally decided I might as well crawl over and take a look.

That crawl was painful. Horribly. The worst of the bleeding from the hand seemed to have stopped but that cut still throbbed, and my side... that was bad. It was about fifteen feet, and I think I sobbed every time I moved a little further. When I got there, I found my rifle and the remnants of the bottle and the contents. And yes, the stuff actually was glowing, easier to see in the shadow. There were drops splashed across the stock and receiver, and about a thimble-worth in the bottom of the bottle. It smelled... odd. Can't really say more than that. Kind of attractive. Which made me wonder again what it was for. Maybe some kind of weird energy drink? Some kind of healing potion(hell, if I'd just been sliced up by a werewolf, why not potions?)?

You'll notice that I've never said I was all that smart. Also, with my side sliced open and my blood all over and a long way from help, the "What've I got to lose?" viewpoint definitely gets a hold on you. Smelled the stuff again, which made my nose tingle, then broke off a grass stem and stuck it in the liquid. I lifted it with a drop hanging, then tapped that on the inside of the glass so there was only that film and barely-there drop on the stem, thought a quiet "I hope this isn't a big damn mistake" prayer, and wiped it on my tongue. Which tingled. Then I swallowed.

What's the worst pain you've ever felt? Before having my side sliced open I'd have said when my appendix went bad, or that really bad burn on one hand. Take either of those, or maybe both, and multiply it. By three, maybe four. Every muscle in my body locked up like the worlds' worse cramp and it felt like that burn was all over, inside and out. I've been told that a doctor asking you "How bad is it, scale of 1 to 10?" doesn't really work because a ten is 'it hurts so bad your mind can't take it and you pass out'. I WISHED I'd pass out, but I was conscious for every bleeding horrible moment.

It didn't last long. It couldn't have, or I'd have died. Suddenly the pain pretty much stopped, and this time I know I was sobbing. It was... incredible, I couldn't have imagined pain like that. I lay there panting and sobbing some more, wondering if I'd just torn my side open worse. No idea how long, if I had to guess somewhere between five and ten minutes. At that point I wasn't hurting anymore, not even my side or hand. Which I figured was because I was either numb or my nerves were dead. Or fuzzy from blood loss. It did feel, well, like something moving, both places, which gave me a mental image of some parasite from the thing eating me. I raised my hand up and looked at it, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. I touched the area with my left fingers, and I could feel that; it was sensitive, but not nearly as painful as it should be. So then I raised up on my elbows enough to look at my side and... it wasn't bleeding. Dried and still-damp blood all over me, but no fresh. And moving didn't hurt as bad.

I'd had a canteen hung over one shoulder, and it was still there, and I managed to open it and drink. A lot, once I started almost couldn't stop, I must've drained half of that two quarts. Put the cap back on and lay there a minute more. I actually felt better. I looked at my right hand for a moment, and unwound the cord. No gush or trickle, so Ipulled the bloody pad off. Not only no blood, but a halfway healed cut. And no sign of bugs or antennae sticking out or anything.

I was actually taking this pretty calmly, I think the hysteria and "This can't be!" had been burned out of me. Or the drug, or potion or whatever had numbed me, and I was about to pass out, or I was just too damn tired to enjoy any emotion other than "This is nice."

Tried to sit up all the way, and that hurt, not horribly but 'stop that' level. I looked at my side again, and... no bleeding, the cuts were nowhere near healed but, were mostly closed. I laid back down, and thought about that. And thought about the whole situation now that I didn't think I was about to bleed out and croak. Including were there any more of those things in the woods, and did I want to be there when the big guy came back? IF he came back, what if that thing killed him? And maybe came back?

At that I tried to get up, but couldn't quite, and fell back panting a bit. And looked at that broken bottle.

Yeah, I did it again.

This time I made sure I was laid down and wouldn't fall on the glass or rifle, and used no more on the grass stem. And stuck the rifle sling between my teeth before swallowing because I was wondering if I'd broken any teeth in all that clenching. And I cannot tell you how fucking terrified I was, because this time I KNEW what it would feel like. It was just as bad. Though this time I knew it shouldn't kill me, and it would end. And I bit partway through the braided paracord sling.

I lay there a bit after the pain stopped, getting my breathing down to a- reasonably- normal level, and drained the rest of the water after. I found some blood around my eyes when I wiped my face, it was fresh so it must've come out during the effects. Had the stray thought that I hoped I could get home without being stopped by the cops, because there was no freaking way I could explain this and not wind up in a cell or bughouse.

I'd thought to check the time on my watch before taking this dose, from swallow through pain to able to do something other than shed tears was a little over ten minutes. After giving it another few I checked my side, and... like something out of a monster movie, it was halfway healed in appearance, and it felt... I said it felt like things were moving? I realized what it was, I was feeling the vessels and muscle and skin healing, moving back together. It was awe-inspiring, and terrifying, and I started breathing so fast I almost hyperventilated. Once calmed down from that I noticed I felt a LOT better, though things looked a little blurry. I was able to sit up all the way, and first thing I did was drink the rest of my water, then pour the rest of the glowing liquid into my canteen and seal it. Then I checked my rifle. It was intact, but the upper and lower receivers didn't fit right, they wobbled; that thing had swatted the barrel so hard it'd bent them, or cracked something. Crap. Dropped the magazine and tried pulling the charging handle, and it worked, which let me eject the cartridge from the chamber, and I stuck it and the mag in a pocket; I damn sure wasn't going to try firing it.

After that I could get up and move, so I looked around and finally found my knife, mostly because of the blood on the grass from the things paw. The blood on it was dry, so I just stuck it in the sheath and promised it a good cleaning when we got home.

Looked around again, and checked the time; it was only a little after 1pm. It'd only been about two hours since this all started, I think. I can only say the longest hours of my life.

I couldn't walk real well yet, but I could ambulate, so I started back toward the truck. After a while the walking got easier, and I hurt less, but my vision got more blurry. Not real surprising, until I took my glasses off to rub my eyes, and when they came off everything was pretty clear. That stopped me in my tracks. I'm nearsighted, and everything more than a foot away should've been blurry, but it wasn't; looked like I could see clearly for a good twenty feet or more. At that I sagged against a tree, and said out loud "What the BLOODY HELL is going on?" Must've spent a few minutes leaning there, shivering, then realized I'd probably better get the hell out. And I did.

It took about three hours to get back to the truck. Once about a half mile from the site I'd stopped trying to be quiet and beat feet as fast as could. I could walk better by then, so made good time. By the time I got there, I'd left my glasses in a pocket because I could see better than I had in at least two decades, my side didn't hurt- though I still felt the tinglies and movement- and I was exhausted but not in real pain. Anywhere, even in the joints that should've been sore as hell after all this walking and fighting. I managed to get home without any trouble, put all the bloody clothes in a bag until I could figure out where to get rid of them, and shower the stuff off my body, and clean the blood off the knife(the rags from that went into the bag, too). The cuts were still there, but still healing at amazing speed, and I didn't need my glasses for any of it.

That's what happened that day. If the big guy came back, he either found no way to track me or didn't care to. The injuries healed up so well they were like twenty-year-old scars.

If someone's reading this I know you're wondering, so yes, I did take one more dose; they were still obviously scars, and I know(knew?) too many people who'd wonder where they came from, and "Had a slight accident" wouldn't go over well; neither would "Well, there was a werewolf". I put in a mouthguard, and was laying on the bed, and used a leather stitching needle to pick up a tiny amount, and it was still bloody horrible, but the scars are almost gone now. If you look close enough there're lines, but anyone looking that closely at my body better have other things in mind. My eyes improved to the point I didn't need glasses at all; I bought a pair with zero-correction lens so I wouldn't have to explain no glasses. And my joints, which had been getting worse for years, are a lot better.

I think I'm a little faster now too.

I got as much of that potion as I could out of the canteen, and sealed it in a glass bottle; there's not much. I don't know how, even with his size, the big guy could take a whole swallow and not explode or something. Or why it didn't kill me, for that matter. Not quite enough to fry my insides, or lucky chance of genetics? No idea. I can't give it to anyone else, because it might- probably- well kill them. And no, I have no intention of taking more. The bottle is tightly capped, sealed in a vacuum bag, and hidden away. Short of another 'insides trying to come outside' injury, anyway.

The rifle was indeed damaged; one of the ears the pivot pin goes through had been bent a touch. I managed to straighten it, and it worked. And the super-duper lightweight handguard had been warped a bit, but still worked. All else was ok, far as I could tell. I could‘ve bought a new lower and handguard, but that would‘ve meant a record of the lower purchase, which I really didn‘t want around(may be dumb), and after all that I wanted to keep these. With time for reflection I realized those two cartridge cases could be linked to my rifle. So I changed the firing pin, and polished the chamber, extractor and bolt face a bit. Just in case someone showed up with a warrant or something wanting to compare markings. You might say I was spooked.

Apparently the legends are true, it takes a bite to infect you. I spent the night of the next full moon a long way from anywhere, half terrified until the moon rose and nothing happened. Other than the large celebratory drink and the best nights sleep I'd had in a while.

Silver bullets aren’t something you can buy, I bought a bag of sterling silver beads that would just fit into the hollowpoints of my pistol ammo(.45 made that easy) and gluing them in. And made up some silver buckshot for the home-defense scattergun. Because I KNOW there are things out there.

Just hope I don't have to shoot a mugger, because trying to explain the beads just might get me in a giggle ward.

About what I'd have expected

from a bunch of protesters who trashed the land they claimed they were trying to protect.

"The US sucks, so I cannot speak out against the Armenian Genocide."

The kind of reasoning we've come to expect from this asshat.

You'll notice that, while she bitches and moans about the horrors of the US, she never has a word about the massive Arab slave trade in black Africans.  Or what happened during the muslim invasion of India.  That's different, I guess.