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What are these things?


deadlyninja

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Does anyone know what they are? And what purpose they serve? I'm more curious than concerned, but I am seeing them more and more often.

 

- DeadlyNinja

21730854-b80e-4152-aefd-3df71c225002.jpg [/quote

 

 

Kids today are such seesies. When we were kids, we used real BB guns to shoot at each other. The rules said, "no aiming above the chest." Looking back, it's amazing that we all have two eyes. :)

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Kids today are such seesies. When we were kids, we used real BB guns to shoot at each other. The rules said, "no aiming above the chest." Looking back, it's amazing that we all have two eyes. :)

Tell me about it, when I was quite young one of my older uncles would hold me down while the other would put the muzzle of their Red Ryder b-b gun against one of my fingernails and shoot. I finally figure out ways to punish them in return.

Edited by SD Rowdies
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Kids today are such seesies. When we were kids, we used real BB guns to shoot at each other. The rules said, "no aiming above the chest." Looking back, it's amazing that we all have two eyes. :rolleyes:

Tell me about it, when I was quite young one of my older uncles would hold me down while the other would put the muzzle of their Red Ryder b-b gun against one of my fingernails and shoot. I finally figure out ways to punish them in return.

 

Ouch! I didn't realize cowboys were so tough! :D

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Tell me about it, when I was quite young one of my older uncles would hold me down while the other would put the muzzle of their Red Ryder b-b gun against one of my fingernails and shoot. I finally figure out ways to punish them in return.
Hmmmm . . . and how did you punish them, Harmon pray tell?

Thanks for asking.

 

First of all please appreciate that I was quite young when those events took place, during the late thirties, and so I had limited resources with which to mount a effective retaliation. Way back then a kid could get his hands on a stick of dynamite now and then because people left it laying around when digging water wells. Trouble was nobody was digging a water well at the time and so I improvised as best I could. Besides, my dynamite years are another story altogether.

 

For one thing I conducted a long campaign of randomly placing rather interesting Texas critters and goat-head stickers under their bed covers. Also I occasionally placed like critters inside their jalopy and stuffed pungent things way up the tailpipe of their dilapidated old roadster.

 

Screwing up their jalopy was especially rewarding to me because it was a very long way to walk from my grandmother’s place out in the sticks all the way into Abilene, Texas and back. I loved seeing them fade off into the distance with just the dust of their boots left hanging above the roadbed. When they were safely in the distance I always waved my special goodbye to them.

 

My coupe de Gras was throwing their Red Ryder B-B rifle into the outhouse pit. The outhouse hadn’t been moved in a very long time and so was all juicy and boiling with flies and maggots, you know, like they can get if untended during the blazing-hot west-Texas summers. The Red Ryder rifle sank like a stone. Whew, you get the idea.

 

Imagine the interrogation I endured with regard to the missing Red Ryder rifle.

 

“Harmon, you little arsehole, did you take our B-B gun?”

 

“Shoot no, not me, that dang thang scares me to death after you sombitches shot me with it.”

 

That was my first perfect caper because there was evidence but the evidence wasn't accessible in a normal sense. What saved me was the reasonable belief that no kid my age would permanantly dispose of a prized Red Ryder rifle and so it would surely turn up in my hands at a later date but didn't.

 

Think of it, to this day that old Red Ryder B-B rifle is still buried right where the old outhouse stood and one of my uncles is still alive and living in Abilene, Texas. I think I’ll write him a letter tomorrow and tell him exactly what I did with his danged Red Ryder rifle. Maybe he’ll go over and exhume it from the fossilized outhouse poop of yesteryear. I hope he shoots himself with it.

 

Sounds like another case for Dirty Jobs doesn’t it?

Edited by SD Rowdies
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Tell me about it, when I was quite young one of my older uncles would hold me down while the other would put the muzzle of their Red Ryder b-b gun against one of my fingernails and shoot. I finally figure out ways to punish them in return.
Hmmmm . . . and how did you punish them, Harmon pray tell?

Thanks for asking.

 

First of all please appreciate that I was quite young when those events took place, during the late thirties, and so I had limited resources with which to mount a effective retaliation. Way back then a kid could get his hands on a stick of dynamite now and then because people left it laying around when digging water wells. Trouble was nobody was digging a water well at the time and so I improvised as best I could. Besides, my dynamite years are another story altogether.

 

For one thing I conducted a long campaign of randomly placing rather interesting Texas critters and goat-head stickers under their bed covers. Also I occasionally placed like critters inside their jalopy and stuffed pungent things way up the tailpipe of their dilapidated old roadster.

 

Screwing up their jalopy was especially rewarding to me because it was a very long way to walk from my grandmother's place out in the sticks all the way into Abilene, Texas and back. I loved seeing them fade off into the distance with just the dust of their boots left hanging above the roadbed. When they were safely in the distance I always waved my special goodbye to them.

 

My coupe de Gras was throwing their Red Ryder B-B rifle into the outhouse pit. The outhouse hadn't been moved in a very long time and so was all juicy and boiling with flies and maggots, you know, like they can get if untended during the blazing-hot west-Texas summers. The Red Ryder rifle sank like a stone. Whew, you get the idea.

 

Imagine the interrogation I endured with regard to the missing Red Ryder rifle.

 

"Harmon, you little arsehole, did you take our B-B gun?"

 

"Shoot no, not me, that dang thang scares me to death after you sombitches shot me with it."

 

That was my first perfect caper because there was evidence but the evidence wasn't accessible in a normal sense. What saved me was the reasonable belief that no kid my age would permanantly dispose of a prized Red Ryder rifle and so it would surely turn up in my hands at a later date but didn't.

 

Think of it, to this day that old Red Ryder B-B rifle is still buried right where the old outhouse stood and one of my uncles is still alive and living in Abilene, Texas. I think I'll write him a letter tomorrow and tell him exactly what I did with his danged Red Ryder rifle. Maybe he'll go over and exhume it from the fossilized outhouse poop of yesteryear. I hope he shoots himself with it.

 

Sounds like another case for Dirty Jobs doesn't it?

 

 

:rolleyes::D Remind me never to get on your bad side! ;):D

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