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Old 08-19-2011, 04:41 PM   #11
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Originally Posted by fireguy View Post
You can have your fantasies, and I'll have mine.
Pssh . . . . shutup you.

- Make everything count -

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Old 08-19-2011, 05:30 PM   #12
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A Belch is just one gust of wind,
That cometh from thy Heart...
But should it take the downward trend,
It turns into a Fart
Poetry - The Club House
An armed society is a polite society.
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Old 08-19-2011, 05:35 PM   #13
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The rising rates of crime
Will make people support your lie
That taking my guns away
Will make this world a safer place

You'll make me register them
So you know exactly what I have
Locked away in my safe
So no one can get to them

You'll make my neighbors believe
That I am the enemy
That because I am a gun owner
I'm out for the blood of everyone

You'll strip away my freedoms
My right to bare arms in defense
So that when you come busting through my door
I've got nothing with which to protect

My family, my property, all that we are
Will be vulnerable to you in the uniforms
But I pity the day when you need my help
And I have nothing to offer but to say

I stand with my hands clean
It is you who caused this
When you took my guns away

- Carrot


"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." - Hemingway

“The greatest ignorance is to reject something you know nothing about.”
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Old 08-19-2011, 05:41 PM   #14
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Three of Col. Jeff Cooper's favorites compiled in a small pamphlet entitled "Quoth the Raven";

"If" by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

"Invictus" by William Ernest Henley (1849-1902)
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

"How Did You Die?" by Edmund Vance Cooke (1866-1932)
Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight -- and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?


Get her dirty, then clean her so she starts to respect you. When her trust is complete, she will serve you well for a lifetime!

"...if doves shot back, there wouldn't be a need for a bag limit."
- orangello
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Old 08-19-2011, 05:43 PM   #15
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If it is for a speech class and you have to recite it in front of the class, I like Boots by R. Kipling.
It has a nice flow and gives opportunity for good voice inflection and a build up then you can close out nicely.

We're foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin' over Africa —
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin' over Africa —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day —
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you.
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again);
Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

Try—try—try—try—to think o' something different —
Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!

Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.
If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you!
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again) —
There's no discharge in the war!

We—can—stick—out—'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of 'em —
Boot—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

'Taint—so—bad—by—day because o' company,
But night—brings—long—strings—o' forty thousand million
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!

I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,
But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!

But that's just me. Good Luck
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