Deer Glenn,
Well I finshed the first yarn, Ima thinkin its going to be as painfull to read as a mofth full of root canils chewin on bird shot, but youens askeded for it. I am sorrie for all mispeled words. I tryed to use a diksunairy, but cudnint finda lot of words init. I think it was a pre civil war modell and just didnint have all the new modurn words we use now. Awlso some of the letters rara a missin bekause I used it as a target a time or to. I will right soon bout my first lernin bout castin bullits for that genuwine Britsh Endfield. Not sure bout includin picktures of some of myin burns
I got when I was a strartin. They coud be usefull from a safety way of thinking cause yous shoudint cast while neked. Whatin do you think? I also got a new sekret inventsun. I almost have it finish. It is myin on ideer, connecking a castin mold to a handylubsizer. Ittle size them suckers as they fall outa the mold, all in one flik of yourin rist. Justa waitin on 19 more springs and 6 skrews Id ordered from Brownnells. Wenst theyra instaled, "pow ya", shesa redy for a migty casting sessun.
If yous see John befor I do, let him knowin that spring Id borreded from is competisun rifle didint work on myin inventsun, thats if he sayes sumpton bout it. Otherwise (whew big wurd) don't say nuthin. I'll put it back when I sees him agin. He may not be a knowin I borroaded (another one) it.
Yourin best shootin partnir,
P.B. Kaster
"Adventures with P.B. Kaster"
I must tell ya something bout myself, so you knows I am not just a BSer and knows my stuff. Being a bonifired CBA member, I noed that they woudint let me in if I'd didint nowed what I'm talkin bout. Hell, the other day at a shootin match, ole CBA Pres John and fowlin shot ritter, Glenn says to me, "Ole P.B., you shud start rittin some artickles for the fowlin shot." I says, I anit got no rittin in me, hell I didint go past the 8th grade. They sais, "yued know alot bout shuttin, so share some with the other CBA members". I says, I just didint think it was a good idea. That when Glenn says he will just put it in the blog or blob to start, or some cumputin noncents. I says I don't have a cumputer, but Glenn says to mail it to him and he'll do the puttin. Well, what the hell, can't be any worsed than losin a turkey shoot with your'n special rifle. So theys says to just start in the beginnin when I was a youngin. So here it is.
When I was about 8, mine grandpapa started me to a shootin with crooked barrel ole .22 rifle. I knows that old rifle's barrul was croked, because it cudnint hit a sqrill no matter how much I tried. Hell, once I was shootin ata dear down in the bean patch and shot one of my pappa's cows, boy was she mad. That durned cow chased me every time she seedme, that's how mad I knewd she was mad ata me. But I sweart that dear was in front of me and that cow was a backin of me. I think the onliest reason my grandpapa giva me that there rifle to get a startin with was cause he couldint sell nor trade it.
Anyway, when I was bout 12, I gots'me a real WWI surplus Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 caliber and all. I traded that croked barrel .22 & some beef from another cow I shot that got kilt, but I'l have to tell that one later. But I will tell you that my pappa was mad this time, same reason I knowt, he chased me for a month every time he seed me. He'd told my momma not to feed me supper and that I'd coud just go and chew on that kilt cow. I thot'boutit, but just didint coudint get past her eyes, justa starin at me. She was a purty cow. I did get a box surplus shells with the swap, so I didint have to bothur or get close to him for that month. I think he wasunt so mad when I brung in two dead crows with that box of shells. I figured theyed went a long ways to make up for that kilt cow. But now I think momma was mad, causin she said those crows werent fit for even a sandwitch and gave me'd that "not on this Sunday" kinda look. Now I was mad atmyself, I was out of shells!
But back to the rilfe and how'd I swap'd for it. You seed, my papa sent me to Mergatrioded's Mercantill and tolt me to take some of that kilt cow meat and seed if I couldint swap if for a list of surpleyes he gaved me. It was usulls such as turpentin, cofe, sugar, chewin tobaca, flower, and other use less stuff. No ammo, no powder, no primers, no nuttin, just stufff. You seed, Mr. Merg, was a onest trader. He nevered tried to cheat any one in a swap, you seed, his bruther was the Babtist precher and I think he kept'd a eye on Mr. Merg. Well, we was a dun tradin, he said that I had a dollar and 43 cents left over. Since I thout I had dun such bang uped job at a swapin, I deserved the left overs. Heck I got every thing on the list my pappa give'd me, so I urn't it.
Now was'n my turnt to start swapin. Now, you'ed need to knowed that Mr. Merg was a sharp swapper to. My pappa always sayed, "Mr. Merg never got rich by fallin of the turnup truck". I didnint know exzackly what that ment cause he drove a 39 ford pikup and he didnint limp or own a turnup truck, by I did noed it me he was a good swapper. Well I spied that genuwine Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 calibur in all in the longarm rack. It was even purdier than that cow I kilt, purdier than Penellopie Marie, Mr. Merg's 14 year olt dauter, and shed was dam purdy. But bein onlinest 12, I wusn't sure why she was so purdy, but I knew why that Britsh Endfield was purdy, so I desided to swap for it. But, there was a swappin problum. You see that genuwine Britsh Endfield was $2.00 hole dollars and I ontly had $1.40. On top of that deal, the shells were another hole .50 cents. Now by my sifering, that was about $2.50 or close enuf for govrment work. After bout an hour more of sifering, I figured I wus bout $1.20 cents short or close enuf for govrment work. Bout 3 hours later, somethun in the supplies was startin to smell like my uncle Ralph. He had sumkinda religon that said he coudint take baths exceptin on the 5th Sunday of the munth. Momma said it was cuss pappa's brother was just weird. I am still not sure, but it was so bad, he coudint hunt. They'd said that the critters knew him by name.
Anyways time was runnin out and I had to make a move, checkers lingo for, "get off the pot". Then I sided to draw my ace in the hole, Mr. Merg had a thing for momma's strawberrie jam. So that's when I made my move. I says, " Mr, Merg", with a grown uped voice like my pappa ust when he newed momma's was mad bout suppin. I says, "Mr. Merg, I would like to trade & swap for that there genuwine Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 calibur in all and a box of real .303 calibur shells." He says, "P.B., what do you have to trade". I says "I have that $1.40 youed gived me back" and then I choaked up for a moment like the preacher, when someone says, "Damit" outlowd, when there kid wont quit bein onery in church. Mr. Merg say's "P.B., I need more pig in the poke". Right then and there I nued I just had to have that genuwine Britsh Endfield, .303 calibur in all, with shells. So I just threw down the promiss of some of momma's strawberrie jam, 4 pints to be sure. Mr. Merg says, "Deal sun" but asked me when he would be a gittin the jam. Without hesitatin, I said next week. The swap was dun and so was I. I didint have nothin to swap momma for the strawberrie jam. But that thout soon left my head as I headed home with that genuwine Britsh Endfield and all throwed over my sholder.
Yourin trueley,
P.B. Kaster
Well I finshed the first yarn, Ima thinkin its going to be as painfull to read as a mofth full of root canils chewin on bird shot, but youens askeded for it. I am sorrie for all mispeled words. I tryed to use a diksunairy, but cudnint finda lot of words init. I think it was a pre civil war modell and just didnint have all the new modurn words we use now. Awlso some of the letters rara a missin bekause I used it as a target a time or to. I will right soon bout my first lernin bout castin bullits for that genuwine Britsh Endfield. Not sure bout includin picktures of some of myin burns
I got when I was a strartin. They coud be usefull from a safety way of thinking cause yous shoudint cast while neked. Whatin do you think? I also got a new sekret inventsun. I almost have it finish. It is myin on ideer, connecking a castin mold to a handylubsizer. Ittle size them suckers as they fall outa the mold, all in one flik of yourin rist. Justa waitin on 19 more springs and 6 skrews Id ordered from Brownnells. Wenst theyra instaled, "pow ya", shesa redy for a migty casting sessun.
If yous see John befor I do, let him knowin that spring Id borreded from is competisun rifle didint work on myin inventsun, thats if he sayes sumpton bout it. Otherwise (whew big wurd) don't say nuthin. I'll put it back when I sees him agin. He may not be a knowin I borroaded (another one) it.
Yourin best shootin partnir,
P.B. Kaster
"Adventures with P.B. Kaster"
I must tell ya something bout myself, so you knows I am not just a BSer and knows my stuff. Being a bonifired CBA member, I noed that they woudint let me in if I'd didint nowed what I'm talkin bout. Hell, the other day at a shootin match, ole CBA Pres John and fowlin shot ritter, Glenn says to me, "Ole P.B., you shud start rittin some artickles for the fowlin shot." I says, I anit got no rittin in me, hell I didint go past the 8th grade. They sais, "yued know alot bout shuttin, so share some with the other CBA members". I says, I just didint think it was a good idea. That when Glenn says he will just put it in the blog or blob to start, or some cumputin noncents. I says I don't have a cumputer, but Glenn says to mail it to him and he'll do the puttin. Well, what the hell, can't be any worsed than losin a turkey shoot with your'n special rifle. So theys says to just start in the beginnin when I was a youngin. So here it is.
When I was about 8, mine grandpapa started me to a shootin with crooked barrel ole .22 rifle. I knows that old rifle's barrul was croked, because it cudnint hit a sqrill no matter how much I tried. Hell, once I was shootin ata dear down in the bean patch and shot one of my pappa's cows, boy was she mad. That durned cow chased me every time she seedme, that's how mad I knewd she was mad ata me. But I sweart that dear was in front of me and that cow was a backin of me. I think the onliest reason my grandpapa giva me that there rifle to get a startin with was cause he couldint sell nor trade it.
Anyway, when I was bout 12, I gots'me a real WWI surplus Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 caliber and all. I traded that croked barrel .22 & some beef from another cow I shot that got kilt, but I'l have to tell that one later. But I will tell you that my pappa was mad this time, same reason I knowt, he chased me for a month every time he seed me. He'd told my momma not to feed me supper and that I'd coud just go and chew on that kilt cow. I thot'boutit, but just didint coudint get past her eyes, justa starin at me. She was a purty cow. I did get a box surplus shells with the swap, so I didint have to bothur or get close to him for that month. I think he wasunt so mad when I brung in two dead crows with that box of shells. I figured theyed went a long ways to make up for that kilt cow. But now I think momma was mad, causin she said those crows werent fit for even a sandwitch and gave me'd that "not on this Sunday" kinda look. Now I was mad atmyself, I was out of shells!
But back to the rilfe and how'd I swap'd for it. You seed, my papa sent me to Mergatrioded's Mercantill and tolt me to take some of that kilt cow meat and seed if I couldint swap if for a list of surpleyes he gaved me. It was usulls such as turpentin, cofe, sugar, chewin tobaca, flower, and other use less stuff. No ammo, no powder, no primers, no nuttin, just stufff. You seed, Mr. Merg, was a onest trader. He nevered tried to cheat any one in a swap, you seed, his bruther was the Babtist precher and I think he kept'd a eye on Mr. Merg. Well, we was a dun tradin, he said that I had a dollar and 43 cents left over. Since I thout I had dun such bang uped job at a swapin, I deserved the left overs. Heck I got every thing on the list my pappa give'd me, so I urn't it.
Now was'n my turnt to start swapin. Now, you'ed need to knowed that Mr. Merg was a sharp swapper to. My pappa always sayed, "Mr. Merg never got rich by fallin of the turnup truck". I didnint know exzackly what that ment cause he drove a 39 ford pikup and he didnint limp or own a turnup truck, by I did noed it me he was a good swapper. Well I spied that genuwine Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 calibur in all in the longarm rack. It was even purdier than that cow I kilt, purdier than Penellopie Marie, Mr. Merg's 14 year olt dauter, and shed was dam purdy. But bein onlinest 12, I wusn't sure why she was so purdy, but I knew why that Britsh Endfield was purdy, so I desided to swap for it. But, there was a swappin problum. You see that genuwine Britsh Endfield was $2.00 hole dollars and I ontly had $1.40. On top of that deal, the shells were another hole .50 cents. Now by my sifering, that was about $2.50 or close enuf for govrment work. After bout an hour more of sifering, I figured I wus bout $1.20 cents short or close enuf for govrment work. Bout 3 hours later, somethun in the supplies was startin to smell like my uncle Ralph. He had sumkinda religon that said he coudint take baths exceptin on the 5th Sunday of the munth. Momma said it was cuss pappa's brother was just weird. I am still not sure, but it was so bad, he coudint hunt. They'd said that the critters knew him by name.
Anyways time was runnin out and I had to make a move, checkers lingo for, "get off the pot". Then I sided to draw my ace in the hole, Mr. Merg had a thing for momma's strawberrie jam. So that's when I made my move. I says, " Mr, Merg", with a grown uped voice like my pappa ust when he newed momma's was mad bout suppin. I says, "Mr. Merg, I would like to trade & swap for that there genuwine Britsh Endfield rifle, .303 calibur in all and a box of real .303 calibur shells." He says, "P.B., what do you have to trade". I says "I have that $1.40 youed gived me back" and then I choaked up for a moment like the preacher, when someone says, "Damit" outlowd, when there kid wont quit bein onery in church. Mr. Merg say's "P.B., I need more pig in the poke". Right then and there I nued I just had to have that genuwine Britsh Endfield, .303 calibur in all, with shells. So I just threw down the promiss of some of momma's strawberrie jam, 4 pints to be sure. Mr. Merg says, "Deal sun" but asked me when he would be a gittin the jam. Without hesitatin, I said next week. The swap was dun and so was I. I didint have nothin to swap momma for the strawberrie jam. But that thout soon left my head as I headed home with that genuwine Britsh Endfield and all throwed over my sholder.
Yourin trueley,
P.B. Kaster