In order to participate in the GunBroker Member forums, you must be logged in with your GunBroker.com account. Click the sign-in button at the top right of the forums page to get connected.
Also missing from your list is a nice plinker....A Ruger MKII or other quality .22 SA Handgun. Tons of fun and cheap to shoot. I enjoy hunting small game with mine also...
Curse you Cloud!
You had to insult me on my one glaring, unalterable inadequacy!
Now you've forced me to defend the honor of my noble Jennings 22 with attached mini-bayonet! Have at thee scoundrel (The sound of swords clashing).
The monkey propels himself forward off of his powerful monkey trunk; the Jennings held high, in full gangsta' pose. Clouder responds by inhaling furiously. The colossal wind speed rips the potent Jennings from Monkey's dirty, hairy fingers and sends it into the massive void known as "Clouder's mouth". Clouder continues his mighty breath as the size of his head begins to expand like large balloon. Monkey strains to hold on as the wind attempts to rip his flapping monkey cheeks from his tiny monkey head. Suddenly Monkey hatches a plan and pulls something large and round from his back pocket. Monkey casts a final look back and releases the helpless tumbling target into Clouder's gargantuan pie hole. Instantly Clouder's mouth slams shut and he floats gently into the air turning ever more grimaced by the moment. As the breeze slowly floats Clouder along, his hue changes from red, to purple, to green. Clouder, covered in sweat, unlocks his puckered quivering lips and begins to vomit excrement uncontrollably. Clouder then knew exactly what he had swallowed; a "Bullzeye" full of crap. Monkey looked heartbroken over loosing his Jennings and contemplated digging through the heap to find it. "But as much as I like it, it's just not worth all the s**t." thought Monkey. Clouder floated away, sick to his stomach, plotting his revenge on the now defenseless little monkey.
Don't worry about the bullet with your name on it, worry about the fragmentation grenade addressed 'To Occupant'.
Slowly the gas leaked past the already suspect sphincter, source of several embarrassing moments of late. (Not so much the leak as it was the problem of keepin' the pup out of the dribbles.) Anyway, the Clouder dropped from the sky and skidded to a stop in a skin-scraping slide on a stretch of Loop 610 just south of Spring Valley. (That's called alliteration for you guys in L.A.) He stood up and picked several bits of loose skin off his right elbow, then stooped over to inspect the bright red rash that peered back angrily through a tear in the knees of his Dockers. "Damn monkey," he muttered and he stuck his thumb out to the south-bound traffic.
An hour later, the lowrider dropped him off near the little simian's place, sans money, wrist-watch and his Air Jordans. "Double damn that little twit," he said as he looked up and down the street for a cop. He hadn't seen a donut shop on the way in so suspected a dearth of law enforcement and wasn't disappointed. Skipping hot-foot fashion down the sun-baked sidewalk, he yelped out loud as his tender feet were slowly broiled. The pain evaporated as he saw the sign over the door of a run-down apartment house.
ROOMS - MONTHLY, WEEKLY, DAILY, HOURLY - WE CATER
It hung from the tail of a carved monkey, the lettering as worn and scruffy as the building. "Found ya, ya sappy simian." Clouder climbed the crumbling steps and entered the hallway; it smelled like a zoo. Using his super-sensitive sniffer to guide him, he climbed two flights of stairs; the elevator was being rented for twenty minutes, or so said the young punk standing there.
"Left," he muttered to the silence at the top of the stairs and sniffed his way down three doors until his eyes started to water. "Gotta be in there," he gasped, breathing through his mouth. He tried the door handle and it turned easily. Taking the J-22 out of his pocket he grimaced at the brown patina. (Bob(FSL) would be proud.) He jacked a round, cussed and jacked another, and another and finally got one to load. Then he carefully pulled the bayonet out of his belt and firmly attached it. "Ya want it back, ya get it back." Clouder crept silently across the filthy floor, picking his way carefully though stuff he had a hard time identifying. Some of it wafted faint wisps of greenish vapor. "Monkey food? Damn, that's disgusting." He gritted his teeth against the smell and moved on.
Muttering noises came from behind a door and Clouder cocked his head to put his ear against it. An even sputtering sound put his mind at ease. Sleeping, no doubt. He eased open the door and saw the despicable half-rodent curled up on some rags in the middle of the bed, his mangy tail wrapped around his misshapen head. Slowly, he moved close enough to reach the tip of the wretch's long appendage.
He grabbed it, threw a half hitch about the bedpost and then, quicker than you can think it, he inserted the loaded J-22, bayonet first, into the closest hole he could see. The monkey let out a terrified shriek and bounded straight in the air for the safety of the overhead fan. He never made it. Halfway up, his tail * him back to the bed where the impact caused the malfunctioning POS in his rectum to discharge. The muffled pop of the puny pistol rammed him ceiling-ward again, then back to the bed, and again toward the ceiling. Suddenly the stuff hit the fan. It was horrid. And then came the screams, screams of
what! The earsplitting sounds were of
no it couldn't be! Pleasure? Surely you jest. ("Ahem," said Sheryl, "it hasn't been that long.") The last round went off and the disgusting half-rat slumped onto the bed, leaking worse than Clouder did on a really bad day, a wide smile pasted on his low-browed simple face.
"Thank's," the monkey sighed, "I needed that. Been bound up for over a week."
The splintering crash of a door being smashed off its hinges snapped Clouder's head around. He was nearly run over by a slobbering puppy. Straight into the mess the little miscreant dove, rolling over and over.
"* out `a there, ya damn pup," Clouder yelled. "Ain't no amount of smell or camouflage is gonna do ya any good. Everybody will still recognize ya. Now go on, *. Dammit, where's my copy of NewsWeek, I'll knock that out of ya yet." Clouder chased the muck-coated mutt out the door and down the stairwell, past the elevator. The acne pocked punk looked at him, "Whatever smacks yo *, bro, but if'n ya need primacy, you kin have `is in `bout fave min'tes." He nodded at the elevator door. Clouder grabbed him and broke his nose on the door. "Oops, sorry, watch yer head," he said to the unconscious punk.
Out into the street Clouder ran but the pup was long gone. The hot sidewalk reminded him of his missing Airs and he lookd down at his feet.
"Yuk. Look at that. All over my pants cuffs, too. Crap. Taxi! Taxi!" He screamed at a passing cab. "Get me outta here."
Comments
What....can't a fella make an un-biased opinion??
Some people just shouldn't be allowed to breed
You had to insult me on my one glaring, unalterable inadequacy!
Now you've forced me to defend the honor of my noble Jennings 22 with attached mini-bayonet! Have at thee scoundrel (The sound of swords clashing).
The monkey propels himself forward off of his powerful monkey trunk; the Jennings held high, in full gangsta' pose. Clouder responds by inhaling furiously. The colossal wind speed rips the potent Jennings from Monkey's dirty, hairy fingers and sends it into the massive void known as "Clouder's mouth". Clouder continues his mighty breath as the size of his head begins to expand like large balloon. Monkey strains to hold on as the wind attempts to rip his flapping monkey cheeks from his tiny monkey head. Suddenly Monkey hatches a plan and pulls something large and round from his back pocket. Monkey casts a final look back and releases the helpless tumbling target into Clouder's gargantuan pie hole. Instantly Clouder's mouth slams shut and he floats gently into the air turning ever more grimaced by the moment. As the breeze slowly floats Clouder along, his hue changes from red, to purple, to green. Clouder, covered in sweat, unlocks his puckered quivering lips and begins to vomit excrement uncontrollably. Clouder then knew exactly what he had swallowed; a "Bullzeye" full of crap. Monkey looked heartbroken over loosing his Jennings and contemplated digging through the heap to find it. "But as much as I like it, it's just not worth all the s**t." thought Monkey. Clouder floated away, sick to his stomach, plotting his revenge on the now defenseless little monkey.
Don't worry about the bullet with your name on it, worry about the fragmentation grenade addressed 'To Occupant'.
An hour later, the lowrider dropped him off near the little simian's place, sans money, wrist-watch and his Air Jordans. "Double damn that little twit," he said as he looked up and down the street for a cop. He hadn't seen a donut shop on the way in so suspected a dearth of law enforcement and wasn't disappointed. Skipping hot-foot fashion down the sun-baked sidewalk, he yelped out loud as his tender feet were slowly broiled. The pain evaporated as he saw the sign over the door of a run-down apartment house.
ROOMS - MONTHLY, WEEKLY, DAILY, HOURLY - WE CATER
It hung from the tail of a carved monkey, the lettering as worn and scruffy as the building. "Found ya, ya sappy simian." Clouder climbed the crumbling steps and entered the hallway; it smelled like a zoo. Using his super-sensitive sniffer to guide him, he climbed two flights of stairs; the elevator was being rented for twenty minutes, or so said the young punk standing there.
"Left," he muttered to the silence at the top of the stairs and sniffed his way down three doors until his eyes started to water. "Gotta be in there," he gasped, breathing through his mouth. He tried the door handle and it turned easily. Taking the J-22 out of his pocket he grimaced at the brown patina. (Bob(FSL) would be proud.) He jacked a round, cussed and jacked another, and another and finally got one to load. Then he carefully pulled the bayonet out of his belt and firmly attached it. "Ya want it back, ya get it back." Clouder crept silently across the filthy floor, picking his way carefully though stuff he had a hard time identifying. Some of it wafted faint wisps of greenish vapor. "Monkey food? Damn, that's disgusting." He gritted his teeth against the smell and moved on.
Muttering noises came from behind a door and Clouder cocked his head to put his ear against it. An even sputtering sound put his mind at ease. Sleeping, no doubt. He eased open the door and saw the despicable half-rodent curled up on some rags in the middle of the bed, his mangy tail wrapped around his misshapen head. Slowly, he moved close enough to reach the tip of the wretch's long appendage.
He grabbed it, threw a half hitch about the bedpost and then, quicker than you can think it, he inserted the loaded J-22, bayonet first, into the closest hole he could see. The monkey let out a terrified shriek and bounded straight in the air for the safety of the overhead fan. He never made it. Halfway up, his tail * him back to the bed where the impact caused the malfunctioning POS in his rectum to discharge. The muffled pop of the puny pistol rammed him ceiling-ward again, then back to the bed, and again toward the ceiling. Suddenly the stuff hit the fan. It was horrid. And then came the screams, screams of
what! The earsplitting sounds were of
no it couldn't be! Pleasure? Surely you jest. ("Ahem," said Sheryl, "it hasn't been that long.") The last round went off and the disgusting half-rat slumped onto the bed, leaking worse than Clouder did on a really bad day, a wide smile pasted on his low-browed simple face.
"Thank's," the monkey sighed, "I needed that. Been bound up for over a week."
The splintering crash of a door being smashed off its hinges snapped Clouder's head around. He was nearly run over by a slobbering puppy. Straight into the mess the little miscreant dove, rolling over and over.
"* out `a there, ya damn pup," Clouder yelled. "Ain't no amount of smell or camouflage is gonna do ya any good. Everybody will still recognize ya. Now go on, *. Dammit, where's my copy of NewsWeek, I'll knock that out of ya yet." Clouder chased the muck-coated mutt out the door and down the stairwell, past the elevator. The acne pocked punk looked at him, "Whatever smacks yo *, bro, but if'n ya need primacy, you kin have `is in `bout fave min'tes." He nodded at the elevator door. Clouder grabbed him and broke his nose on the door. "Oops, sorry, watch yer head," he said to the unconscious punk.
Out into the street Clouder ran but the pup was long gone. The hot sidewalk reminded him of his missing Airs and he lookd down at his feet.
"Yuk. Look at that. All over my pants cuffs, too. Crap. Taxi! Taxi!" He screamed at a passing cab. "Get me outta here."
Clouder..