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        Saturday, April 15, 2006

    Ready Or Not... it comes.

    The rain is sluicing down outside with a vengeance. Did I just say outside? Well, duh. That's where they keep it, if you are civilized.

    It's comin for ya, Midwest. Big old storm, getting sucked into the Jet Stream, and the bear went over the mountain...

    We have rain, and snow, and sleet, and probably frogs. And tomorrow is my 'big day', and all I want to do is suck on a liquor bottle in a corner of the room, and keep an eye out for Mister Scythe Guy.

    So, I was putting this away after my trip yesterday:

    Man that is a mean looking motherfucker. Mine has a Millet adjustable rear sight on it, though. Must be rare, cuz I couldn't find a picture of it on Google. Shoots like a dream, and will flat out punch big, ragged holes in just about anything. I blew a reactive steel target off it's chains with it one time, at 50 yards. I had just been bouncing the target around, firing when it swang back down, and all of a sudden, that 10 inch circle of steel boilerplate, on 2" link chain, just flew off the bar and tiddly-winked off into the grass somewhere. Oops. Glad I was alone. And yes, I snuck off.

    I'd like to...wait, have I told you this story? Oh well, worth another tell, methinks. The wife and I, pre Nat and Johnny, were toodling down to California's northern mountain country to see her parents. I had rented a Neon, as our car was a piece of shit (story of my life), and it was just turned dark-thirty, and this big semi passed us, on I5, about thirty miles past Weed, we headed south from Oregon.

    I had the car set on cruise control, and I was obeying all laws, except for the ones concerning drinking and driving, and carrying forbidden and unlicensed weaponry.

    After the semi passed, actually maybe a few minutes later, the car started getting sluggish, and began to settle like an air mattress with a hole in it. I had a flat tire. Left front. The 'killer tire', the one that can send you into cartwheels of flaming death if it blows, or careening into oncoming traffic.
    But I rode it down, and made it to the breakdown lane safely.

    I yanked out my five cell Mag Lite from under the seat, and went to check, and sure as shit, flat as Mother Theresa, and twice as dead. I had the wife hold the light on me, while I got the little pretend tire out of the trunk and replaced the dead one.

    We only had to go about a half a mile to an off-ramp, and then a shake up the hill to a freeway-side Texaco, where the attendant pulled the tire off the wheel for me. Even before he started, I noted the odd hole in the sidewall. Odd, because I hadn't hit anything that I knew of, and it looked for all the world like, well, for all the world like a small caliber bullet hole.

    His machine groaned and popped off the tire. I had pointed out the hole, and what it resembled, to him, and he was more than usually careful. I pulled out my pocket AAA Mini Mag Lite, and shown it into the well of the tire. Sure enough, there was a small stack of broken up lead chunks, about the equivalent to a 40 grain bullet.

    I believe we both breathed out a heartfelt "Sonofabitch!" at the same time.

    There's a lot more to the story, but God just now turned on the sun, and it is flooding the house, and the puddles of rain outside (duh) gleam like pools of mercury, and everything drips with the promise of Spring.

    Like He is reminding me, "See? I got your back, my son."

    Pretty awesome.


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