I suppose the Mounties wont be able to let that pass, what with all their obese lesbians and rag headed pakies in uniform. They will have to have a gay parade soon to keep up with the cool kids, HAR HAR HAR!
5 years ago, if a cop banged on my door at 3am I’da gotten up and opened the door and invited him in, and put on the coffee while we talked about how I could help. But now?
The other day I was stinking out the range again. I dunno what it is. Some days I can go and shoot like my old self… and other days I go out there and suck and blow and I prolly just shoulda stayed home.
But this kid showed up and he had more guns than I do! He dumps them all out on the table and goes to town. He had one a these… a Wobbly Webley as we like to call them… and he set the lot of us on fire with it. He didn’t miss. It’s chambered in 455 Webley, but you can shoot 45ACP in it if ya have the moon clips - which he did. According to the lad, the original Webley’s slugged out at .454” on the bore. Typically 45 ACP ammo is .451-ish … and the slugs shoulda gone rattling down the bore with room to spare. But the kid hit everything he aimed at.
Fuggin kids these days.
It would have been a duel fit for an emperor… but WL Emery showed up and potted them both with his double rifle. I wonder who would have won this. I think the odds favour the cat…
I don’t believe ol’ Macey. I thought she was done a year ago. Or more. She got old, started falling on the stairs, had days where she couldn’t get up in the morning and slept in… and that’s all okay. She’s retired, and as long as she’s happy and not in pain, I can help with the stairs and other stuff. But she rallied and seemed to recover a bit. Yesterday on our walk her eyes began to roll… and she half keeled over. She ended up leaning against a fence with her legs shaking as she tried to support herself.
I just stopped and got down on my knees and talked her through it. Wherever she went in her mind… it took its toll. When we got home I pinched a little piece of meat from the wife’s cooking and offered it to her…but she turned her nose up at it and staggered off to her crate to lay down. I hardly noticed as Mort inhaled the tidbit.
Our Maker is calling her home, and even I can hear it.
