Neanderpundit

The apparently infinitely patient Rosemary Esmay.

Damn.

My wife woulda killed me by now for being that kind of a tard.

Our state is considering the use of centerfire rifles for hunting in deer season. There has been no centerfire season here for many years.

The rifles would be limited to pistol cartridges, though just which ones I don’t know yet. I know currently that 357 mag, 45 colt, and some other, similar cartridges are currently legal in handguns. Wait, here’s the description:

The proposed deer firearm season rule change language reads:
– The rifle cartridge must:
(A) have a bullet of three hundred fifty-seven thousandths of an inch (.357) diameter or larger;
(B) have a minimum case length of one and sixteen hundredths (1.16) inches; and
(C) have a maximum case length of one and six hundred twenty-five thousandths (1.625) inches.

So we’re looking at large bore cartridges that have a fairly short range, not sniper rounds by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s probably a good thing, all things considered. I’ve been hoping for a centerfire cartridge rule, i have.

Anyway, in a sporting goods store at lunchtime today, I overhear this conversation. ” They’re gonna allow centerfire rifle cartridges”. “jees, if you miss where you’re shooting, think where that bullet’s gonna go”.

Fucktards.

YOU ARE THE REASON WE HAVE THESE STUPID LAWS TO BEGIN WITH. THE FACT THAT YOU WOULD EVEN CONSIDER NOT KNOWING WHERE YOUR SHOT WILL GO MEANS YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND RIFLE SAFETY.

Jesus Christ in a Chrysler, folks, if you intend to shoot at something and you don’t know what’s behind it, and you aren’t perfectly prpared to shoot what’s behind it TOO, do NOT PULL THE TRIGGER.

Hunting from a tree stand will always put your round in the ground, if it clears the deer. Hunting from the ground, all you have to do is be sure the damned deer isn’t standing on a rise, but DON’T PULL THE DAMNED TRIGGER IF YOU AREN’T SURE OF YOUR SHOT AND WHAT IS BEHIND IT. Man, I had to leave that store before I strangled both of the asses.

There’s an old saying that when a dog pisses on the ryan, all of chicago grinds to a halt. ANd today, that was most assuredly true. No ice, no snow, just some water and rain. Not even any standing water. Just idiots as far as the eye could see.

And then I got to work. That, at least, went well. Because of the beating my sweet tooth takes when on Atkins, I stopped and picked up a bag of sugar free candy.

And didn’t know it contained maltitol.

Eventually, I ate the whole bag- a candy at a time, over the course of the day. (only 15 pieces)

And stopped at Jewel for some ice for the brotherinlaw- had his teeth pulled today in prep for a new upper plate, god love him, all his remaining upper choppers pried out at once. Anyway, on the way to the cash register, I experienced The Call. I put down the stuff I was carrying and did the buttpinch walk all the way to the crapper, where I found the butcher peeing int he toilet. I had to wait for him to get done, and then wipe his urine off the seat (the urinal, six feet away, was EMPTY) and then nearly didn’t make it.

Then again when I got home.
Then again a half hour ago. Then again..

Crap, I had to stop just then and go again.

They shouldn’t call that stuff maltitol, they should call it WhaPow! because that’s what it does to your bowels. I stood up to survey my accomplishment and saw what appeared to be tractor parts in there, along wiht theubiquitous atkins salad and circus peanuts. (don’t know where they come from, I’ve never EATEN circus peanuts) anyway, until this shit exits my system, I can look forward to seeing everything I eat a half hour or more later. Maybe I should eat a watch, to see just how long it takes. If Christopher Walken can do it… nah, maybe not.