Fixed

Several people wrote to me — close to a dozen, in fact — all offering help in replacing the broken extractor from my battered but much-loved Inland M1 Carbine, and to all those people, please accept my sincerest thanks.

However, Longtime Reader Hank T. not only offered to replace the busted part, but to show me in person how simple a job it is — ha! — provided that one has the proper little G.I. tool which acts as a third hand.  As he lives less than an hour from my apartment, that meant not having to send parts to different parts of the Lower 48.  So yesterday I went over to his place, handed over said broken carbine, and within a half-hour the whole thing had been stripped, cleaned lubed and oh yes had received a new extractor.  It works!

I’m bending the truth a little here in describing the above as a half-hour job, because while the operation itself only  took about half an hour, I spent close to three hours in his workshop because he has all sorts of wonderful bangsticks in his possession.  And you know what that means, right?  I had to hold, and caress, and work the actions of said guns one by one because I’m a gun molester lover and the easiest way to make me purr is to hand me a beautiful gun with an exhortation to “just try that trigger”.

Drooling, lots of drooling, followed.  But clearly my orgasmic cries had disturbed Hank’s darling wife, who came to the workshop to see what all the fuss was about, and that added an hour onto the whole thing because a) she’s a darling and b) she has traveled to many of the places I have, so much experience-swapping took place.

I love to spend time with my Readers on a one-to-one basis, because while you’ve heard many of my stories and adventures on this back porch, I haven’t heard your stories and adventures, and I drink that stuff like I would a fine single malt.

And when I get a renewed gun out of it, as I did here, it’s all the finer.  I am the world’s worst gunsmith because I’m not mechanically-minded (rather the opposite), and I have no patience with inanimate objects — not your best qualities for a gunsmith, I think we can all agree — so I far prefer to hand my problem over to someone who knows what he’s doing and (as in this case) has the proper tools for the job.

So many thanks, Hank, and yes I absolutely want to spend some time at the range with you.  Let me know when you’re free.

Texas Ain’t Vancouver

Amid rising fears of furriners buying up Murkin land comes this little glimmer of sunshine:

Governor Greg Abbott (R-TX) vowed to back legislation prohibiting Chinese, Russian, Iranian, and North Korean citizens and entities from purchasing land in Texas.

The bill, submitted two months ago by Republican state Sen. Lois Kolkhorst, states that citizens, corporations, and government agencies of the four nations “may not purchase or otherwise acquire title to real property” in the state. Abbott confirmed on Sunday that he would endorse the legislation, which has not yet been voted upon by lawmakers.

The bill should pass — and if not, I’ll be looking at the list of who voted against it.

Historical Voice Stilled Forever

I see with extreme regret that historian Paul Johnson has died.  Shit.

There is a very good case that Johnson’s History Of The American People should be required source material for high school U.S. History classes.

And his History Of The Jews and History Of Christianity (along with Jacques Barzun’s From Dawn To Decadence) should be part of World History classes in both high school and university curricula.

Oh, for heaven’s sake:  if you read all of Paul Johnson’s history books and absorb just a third of the material, you’ll still be one of the most educated people on the planet.

He will most definitely be missed.

Dept. Of Righteous Shootings

Reader Mike L. sends me this happy tale, wondering if it’s Dept.-worthy.  If it isn’t… well, it most certainly is.  Herewith the story:

Goblin forces his way into a Louisiana home, threatens a woman and her kids, whereby she shoots him in a manner in which his body has assumed room temperature by the time the cops arrive.

Background:  said goblin (a.k.a. career criminal) was out on parole, original crime being armed robbery.  After being released, he appropriated someone else’s car and made his way over to his would-be victim’s house.

More details are unclear, but the district attorney is looking into the matter, no doubt before giving her an “attaboy” for ridding the parish of a violent asshole.

Interesting People

I’ve never read any of the late Fay Weldon‘s novels, but I have to say that she was an interesting person.  In a time when 22-year-old “influencers” trade on their bodies and faces to create wealth out of nothing, there’s something appealing about a woman who grew up — and later flourished — during a time when such a life would have been absolutely impossible.  And by being outrageous despite all that, she became a true feminist — the kind of feminist I applaud rather than despise (i.e. the modern feministicals).  And let’s face it, how can you not love someone with these two snippets on her resume:

[Her] first script was rejected as too explicit — no one, explained a man at the BBC, wanted to watch a drama about prostitutes, ‘no matter how well written’.

Her career flying, at a party in 1961 she fell into bed with that man who introduced himself next morning.  For the next decade they were rarely out of bed — sex was the whole basis of their relationship.  ‘I thought the only way to know a man properly was to know what he was like in bed,’ she said, ‘and my appetite for knowledge was formidable.’

Formidable, indeed.  I’m going to get one of her novels and read it.

Our next interesting person also did things his own way.

He started off life as a bricklayer, and then set out to conquer the world.

In his 86 years, David Gold conquered the worlds of retail, property, publishing and air travel and was estimated to be worth a staggering £500m.

What kind of publishing, you ask?   Sex magazines — hitherto unavailable in Britain.  What kind of property?  Four stores called “Ann Summers”, which sold sex toys.  The he made his daughter Jacqueline (who needs her own post, but she isn’t dead yet) the CEO of Ann Summers, and she promptly turned the business into the sex toy equivalent of Tupperware, amassing her own personal fortune of just over half a billion dollars along the way.

And then David became chairman of first Birmingham City and then West Ham F.C. in London, and died recently with a mistress of twenty-four years’ standing, who happened to be nearly twenty years his junior.

Just as formidable, and not at all bad for a one-time brickie with no university degree.

I love life stories that read like this.