Well, I just looked at the clock, it's a new year. It doesn't feel much different than any other Midnight. Except a little bit of fireworks off someplace not too far. The main fireworks out here are off at the boat ramps on the lake but there are always a few people setting them off away from the water, I hope nobody burns their house down, or, more importantly, my house.
We thought about driving to see them shoot off fireworks, then we thought of the stop signs and stuff that get run over on regular nights around here and stayed home. The dogs don't like fireworks anyway. I did stop at the fireworks stand and bought five boxes of green sparklers. These should be cool cut up into my black powder shotgun shells for the Cowboy Action matches. White smoke, red flames and now green sparks. Maybe I ought to wear a Santa Suit and shout Ho Ho Ho every shot.
Yesterday was William's birthday, he's six now. During the afternoon will be the small party, since it's a day off for most people. We got the boy a nerf gun for now and two hundred rounds of .22 ammo in a fancy target shooter's ammo box for later in the spring when we start his training. Not that I'll let him run out of ammo after that two hundred is gone.
Sure seem to be a bunch of alleged humans mad because Israel is finally getting tired of Hamas flinging rockets willy nilly into their country. The Pals are lucky I'm not running Israel. Seems the Pals are allowing Hamas to fling those rockets from their crowded neighborhoods. I'd announce that this is unacceptable behavior and that each rocket launched gets a napalm canister on the launch site. I suspect it wouldn't take long for the behavior to stop. That should take out the screeching that the Izzies are being disproportionate, too. One rocket, one napalm canister. It's not the Izzies fault that Hamas can't aim.
Oh, and who is this idiot journalist (but I repeat myself) claiming that the Palis are just "taking potshots"? Somebody tell him that words have meaning. A potshot is a shot taken by someone needing a critter to eat. Back in the day that was the job of the boys and young men. And they'd better bring something home for each charge of powder and each ball. Folks doing that kind of hunting didn't have powder and ball, and then cartridges later, to waste.
Speaking of potshooting, a lot of folks in places like the hills of Tennessee and Kentucky, the hills of upstate New York and Vermont, places like that, held on to their muzzle loaders long after cartridge guns came along. Oh, many, perhaps most, had those newfangled ca'tridge guns but we can cast our own balls and find our own flints, even make our own powder, though that's still pretty dangerous. Not quite as dangerous as flinging missiles into the blue in hopes of killing anyone at all. Potshots. When did it become a requirement to not know the meaning of words to be a writer?
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