Ohio Joe. I shot with my .54, Lorraine has been on the shelf while I did some fix rework to my son's .50 for the last couple of months. I apologized to Lorraine as I feed her her favorite meal; asked her to forgive the lack of attention she truly deserved; kissed her; primed her and touch her trigger spot. At that point the show started. She was truly magnificent. Poor ole Cap't Mike, he ain't goin be unable to quench his thirst less'n he has him a spare mug. I found him on the river bank, passed out, whilst sitt'n against an oak, with his mug on his head. A pacooler site it wer. Guess he din't want it in the riverbank mud. His mug were wedged 'atween his ugly, hairy, mugg, an a burl on that oak. So a aparnition hits me rite tween m'eyes, and I muffles my chuklin as not to wak the Cap't up. Noin he goina be out fer a whils, I steps bak 'bout 25 paces, I carful aimed, jist a bit under 'at der burl. 'at 'llowed me to put 5 shots into 'at der mug and drain the drink outa it. Ol' Cap'n Fink n'er twitched a wisker. A bit drunker 'en usall. Might jis be, he falled an' hit his haid on 't 'er tree; an maybe 1 o' da crew, done see'd the axseedent, an set Cap'ns' mug on top his head t' keep it clean. I sho wood lyks t' be thar to see the WAKININ'. But I gots moe brans 'n 'at. It sho been fun dough. I'ma going to look fer 'nother aventure. Don't be tellin dis story. I will denies fer e'r. Maybe, we get Cap't a new, good mug fer Christmas, maybe a set o' 'em. He seems to git sumpin like dis happen evry somer. An' his mugs seem t' get holy on 'im. I gots to git outa hair rit qwik. Byeee.
