So you'll never guess who knocked on my door yesterday morning, a short while after I posted yesterday's update? That's right. The motherfucking ATF!
I'm sitting at the desk in my front office and out of the corner of my eye see some feet approach my front door, followed by the inevitable ring of the doorbell. Of course the dogs go fucking ballistic and I curse myself for still having not gotten a NO SOLICITORS sign for my front door. So I do what I always do when someone offering to pressure wash my driveway, or powerwash my roof, or fertilize my front lawn.... I fucking ignore them. Let em listen to the dogs bark for a few minutes, assume no one is home and leave me the fuck alone. And right then as I see their feet turn and start to walk away from the house, I also see The Boss Lady's car pull into the driveway; sorry girlie looks like you'll have to field interference and decline whatever it they're selling. A few minutes go by and she comes into the house with a puzzled look on her face, "The ATF is here, they want to talk to you about one of your guns." Wow, what the fuck. Didn't expect that!
So now I go outside and sure enough two agents dressed in business casual identify themselves as ATF agents and ask if they can speak to me about a gun purchase I made recently at a local gun shop in town. Being the suave motherfucker that I am, I asked to see some identification, and they politely complied. Agent Fast was standing closer to me and had his out first, and Agent Furious -- who had a beard, which I found curious -- followed up a second later. Not that I knew what the fuck I was looking at in regards to their credentials; they could have just as easily printed these fuckers twenty minutes earlier at a local Kinkos, but shit I felt I had to ask. Don't want anybody going all Ruby Ridge up on my ass. So anyway I apologize for not coming to the door earlier, mistaking them for solicitors and ask what's the scoop.
Agent Fast pulls out a few sheets of paper which turn out to be copies of an ATF Form 4473 that I filled out in September of last year, when I bought a FNH SCAR-17. Only when he gets top of page 3 where it lists the firearms purchased, my SCAR was in the first line, but there was a Smith and Wesson revolver in the second. "Did you purchase both of these guns?" I didn't even have to think about it. "Negative," I replied, "I bought the rifle, but certainly not the revolver." "Are you sure." "I am absolutely positive." "That's kind of what we thought, since if on the receipt here," and he flipped two pages over, showing the original handwritten receipt from the gun shop, "it shows you only having purchased the one." Now one might be able to chalk this up to an oops-somebody-just-grabbed-the-wrong-copy-of-the-form, except Agent Fast goes on to explain they have to interview some forty people whose 4473's had similar discrepancies. People whose receipts show they bought x-number of guns, only the corresponding 4773's reflect y-number of guns. Ouch.
We talked for a little bit about the gun shop and who I dealt with for the transaction. Turns out the person that I presumed to be the owner turned out to be a co-owner; now I don't know who his partner is, but evidently the guy under the microscope -- a retired Boston police officer and half owner -- has in one form or another been locked out of the business. Agent Furious asked me if I've ever purchased more than one gun from them at a time, and no I hadn't. Always one gun at a time, either flat out purchase, or an FFL transfer for a gun purchased out of state and shipped in. So if they see any receipts for me with more than one firearm, it's hinky. So anyway, they ask me that should the need arise, if I'd be willing to testify in court about apples and oranges. No problem. He gives me a copy of his business card with a few handwritten notes scribbled on it -- Agent Fast had just moved down from Philadelphia and still had his PA contact info on it -- and thanked me for my time. Again I apologized for not answering the door when they rang earlier because I thought they were selling something, and all three of us had a little chuckle. They returned to their vehicle -- a busted ass white Chevy HHR -- and rode off into the sunset. A little unnerving at first until you realize you're not the one in the hot seat, but all in all, a very professional, very polite interaction with Agents Fast and Furious. In related news: some muthafuckers from Cape Coral are going to federal prison sometime soon!
Oh, also the President finally admitted that the ATF's failed Fast and Furious operation was responsible for the increase in gun violence in Mexico. LOL, just kidding! He blamed it on American's thirst for illegal drugs, silly! And as a big FUCK YOU to Senator FEINSTEIN: A few days ago, a company called Defense Distributed revealed the Liberator, the world's first handgun to be completely manufactured with a 3D printer (save for a small piece of metal to make the weapon compliant with the Undetectable Firearms Act). Now, the Liberator has gone through its first successful test run. Forbes magazine was in Texas to document the test firing, and the whole thing was captured on video.
Old and busted: The Long Arm of The Law. The new hotness: The Long Arm of The IRS.
Pretty sweet recounting of moving the A-12 (precursor to the SR-71) to Area 51 for testing. Chris
That's right fuckers, the RED SAWX currently have the best record in baseball. The biggest reason for this is the resurgence of their once great starting rotation, led by Clay Bucholz and his 1.01 ERA and 6-0 record through his first six starts. However, it seems not everybody is willing to believe that Bucholz could be so bad last year (4.56 ERA with a record of 11-8) and then just turn things around so completely without a little artificial assistance. And by “not everybody” I mean Toronto Blue Jays broadcasters Dirk Hayhurst and Jack Morris, who both accused Bucholz of cheating during his commanding start against the Blue Jays last week. So today, in honor of the amusing Clay Bucholz-Jack Morris controversy, let's take a look at some of the most notable examples of cheating pitchers throughout the modern history of Major League Baseball.
You know, we always called each other good fellas. Like you said to, uh, somebody, "You're gonna like this guy. He's all right. He's a good fella. He's one of us." You understand? We were good fellas. Wiseguys. But Jimmy and I could never be made because we had Irish blood. It didn't even matter that my mother was Sicilian. To become a member of a crew you've got to be one hundred per cent Italian so they can trace all your relatives back to the old country. See, it's the highest honor they can give you. It means you belong to a family and crew. It means that nobody can fuck around with you. It also means you could fuck around with anybody just as long as they aren't also a member. It's like a license to steal. It's a license to do anything. As far as Jimmy was concerned with Tommy being made, it was like we were all being made. We would now have one of our own as a member.