Opening cans can be a hassle without the right tool. Having a can opener that is easy to use and reliable at home or on the go.
In this blog post, we’ll explore different types of can openers that will make your life easier.
From manual openers to electric versions, there are plenty of options for everyone.
Read on to learn about the different types of can openers and which one is right for you.

1. Bunker Can Opener

The Bunker can openers are different types of can openers and reliable can openers on the market.
They have a simple, easy design, making them an ideal choice for those who don’t want to bother with more complex models.
These can openers come in two parts: one blade and one handle. To use them, you attach the blade to the top of the can and then grip the handle firmly as you rotate it around the lid.
The blade will puncture the can and then peel away the metal lid.
The handle has a large knob on it, which helps you control the speed at which you turn the opener.
The bunker can openers come in manual and electric models, making them extremely versatile.
Electric models are slightly more expensive than their manual counterparts but are usually much faster and easier to use.
No matter which type of Bunker can opener you choose, it’s sure to make your life easier when it comes time to open cans.
They are durable and will provide years of service, so they are definitely worth the investment.

2. Butterfly Can Opener

The butterfly can opener is an incredibly useful kitchen tool that is perfect for any home cook.
This type of can opener is one of the different types of can openers, with a small, hand-held device with two blades that look like a butterfly's wings.
To use a butterfly can opener, place the top of the can between the two blades and twist the handle in a circular motion to cut open the lid.
The blade will then be able to grab onto the rim of the lid and lift it off.
One of the best things about the butterfly can opener is its size and portability. Because it's so small, it fits easily into a kitchen drawer or utensil caddy.
Additionally, the butterfly can opener does not require much effort to operate, making it great for people with weakened hands or those with arthritis.
The butterfly can opener is also very safe to use, as it doesn't leave sharp edges on the can. This prevents you from getting cuts while you're handling your cans.
Overall, the butterfly can opener is a great tool in your kitchen. It's lightweight, compact, and easy to use, and it provides a safe way to open cans without leaving sharp edges behind.

3. Camp Can Opener

Camp can openers are great for campers and other outdoor enthusiasts who need a reliable tool to open cans.
These openers are lightweight, compact, and easy to store, making them ideal for camping trips.
Camp can openers usually have a folding design that allows them to fit inside a backpack or glove box.
They also come with a carabiner, which can easily be attached to the outside of a bag or belt loop.
The blades on these openers are usually made of stainless steel and are designed to resist corrosion and rust.
Some even feature a magnet to help you store them conveniently on the side of a refrigerator or other metal surface.
These types of can openers are easy to use and require no electricity, making them perfect for outdoor adventures where power isn’t available.

4. Church Key Can Opener

The church key can opener is a traditional, hand-held device used to open cans.
This type of can opener has been around since and is still popular today.
The design of a church key opener consists of two pointed metal prongs attached to a metal handle, which allows you to puncture the top of a can and pull off the lid.
The church key opener is among different types of can openers, with no special skills required.
All you need to do is puncture the metal lid of the can with the sharp prongs and then pull off the lid using the attached handle.
This type of opener also makes it easy to open jars and bottles with narrow openings.
The church key can opener is an affordable and reliable option for those who don’t want to invest in an electric can opener or have limited space in their kitchen.
They are relatively small and lightweight, making them easy to store when not in use.
However, because of the design, these types of openers require a bit of strength and may be difficult to use if you have arthritis or weak hands.

5. Claw-Type Opener

The claw-type can opener is one of the most versatile and widely used can openers in existence.
This style of can opener is so popular because it is easy to use, lightweight, and affordable.
It consists of a small handle and a pointed claw that hooks onto the lid of the can and rotates around it.
The claw will easily puncture the lid of the can, allowing you to easily and safely remove it.
The claw-type opener is ideal for opening both cans and jars. It is also great for people with limited hand strength or dexterity, requiring minimal effort.
This type of opener is also great for those short on space, as it can easily be stored in a drawer or cupboard when not in use.
One of the main drawbacks of the claw-type opener is that it tends to produce sharp edges when the can is opened.
To prevent this, you should always use a cloth or other soft material to hold the can while opening it, as this will protect your hands from any potential injuries.
Overall, the claw-type opener is special among different types of can openers, a choice for anyone looking for a simple, inexpensive, and efficient way to open cans or jars.

6. Countertop Can Opener

Countertop can openers are some of the most common types of can openers and can be found in almost any kitchen.
These are usually electric can openers that are designed to sit on a countertop. Countertop can openers are easy to use and typically come with a detachable cord for convenience.
Many models offer additional features such as built-in bottle openers and knife sharpeners; some even have a magnetic holder for storing the can opener when not in use.
The countertop can openers are often lightweight, making them great for people who need to take their can opener with them on trips.
They are different types of can openers used for clean-cutting cans, making them ideal for those who want to enjoy smooth edges on their canned goods.

7. Key Can Opener

The Key Can Opener is one of the different types of can openers used for opening cans.
It's very simple and straightforward to use – insert the blade into the can and turn it clockwise until it is open. It's made of durable steel and has a comfortable plastic handle.
However, It's one of the most efficient types of can openers since you don't need to worry about adjusting the blade to fit the size of the can.
The key can opener also comes with a magnet, making retrieving small objects inside the can easy.
Unlike other can openers, the key can opener does not leave sharp edges behind, which makes it safe for children to use.
It's also great for those who are short on space, as it takes up much less room than a traditional can opener.
The only drawback of the key can opener is that it won't work on cans with a larger diameter, such as paint cans or large jars.
However, it's still one of the different types of can openers tool to have around in case you ever need to open a small can.

8. Lever-Type Can Opener

The lever-type can opener is a very useful tool for opening cans. It uses a simple lever mechanism to open cans quickly and easily.
It has an ergonomic design that makes it comfortable to use and easy to grip.
The handle allows for more leverage, which means it is great for opening cans with difficult lids.
It is also small and lightweight, making it convenient for storage and transport. The lever-type can opener is perfect for opening smaller cans with difficult lids.
This can opener is great for those needing to open multiple cans quickly.
It is also great for people with limited arm strength because its design requires minimal force.
The lever-type can opener is a great tool for those needing to open multiple cans quickly.
It is also great for those with limited arm strength, as its ergonomic design requires minimal effort to use.
These are different types of can openers, perfect for anyone looking for an easy and efficient way to open cans.

9. Manual Can Openers

Manual can openers are different types of can openers, and they are often the least expensive option.
These can openers are easy to use and require no additional power source, making them ideal for anyone who wants a quick and efficient way to open cans.
Manual can openers come in two basic varieties: wheel-style and lever-style.
Wheel-style can openers use a sharp wheel or blade to cut around the circumference of the can’s lid. This type of can opener is easy to use and relatively inexpensive.
On the other hand, Lever-style openers use a sharp cutting tool operated by a lever.
These openers tend to be more expensive but offer more precise control over the cutting process.
Manual can openers are durable and typically handle heavier-duty tasks than electric or battery-operated can openers.
Additionally, these openers require very little maintenance and will last for years if properly cared for.
However, manual can openers can be tiring to use for larger cans, as they require some physical effort.

10. Magnetic Can Opener

A magnetic can opener is one of the different types of can openers simple and easy way to open cans.
It works by attaching itself magnetically to the side of a can lid and lifting it off easily.
These openers are ideal for those with limited hand strength or arthritis, as they require minimal effort to operate.
They also allow users to keep their hands away from sharp edges, making them safer to use.
Magnetic openers come in various sizes and styles, so you can find one that works for your needs.
When using this type of opener, make sure to read the manufacturer's instructions carefully to ensure proper use.

11. One-Touch Can Opener

One-touch can openers are a convenient and efficient way to open cans quickly and easily.
These different types of can openers are useful for people with limited hand strength or those who suffer from arthritis or other conditions that make it difficult to use a traditional manual can openers.
The one-touch can opener is a device that automatically opens cans of all sizes, shapes, and materials with the push of a single button.
It works by using powerful magnets to grip the can lid and then using a lever system to remove the lid without leaving sharp edges.
It also has an internal blade guard to keep hands and fingers safe while operating it.
The one-touch can opener is great for people who find it difficult to use a manual can opener, and it's also an ideal choice for busy households who need to get their food opened quickly and efficiently.

12. Electric Can Openers

Electric can openers are a great option for those looking for an easy and convenient way to open cans.
These different types of can openers use electric power to operate, meaning that you don’t need to exert any physical effort to open a can.
Electric can openers are very versatile and can be used on almost any size of the can.
Using an electric can opener is quite easy; all you need to do is to place the device on the top of the can, press the button, and it will start to cut through the lid.
Most electric can openers have an automatic stop feature that prevents the blade from cutting too deep into the can.
Additionally, these devices usually come with a magnetized top that can hold onto the lid as it’s being cut off, making it much easier to retrieve and discard the lid without making a mess.
When choosing an electric can opener, it’s important to ensure that it’s the right size for the type of cans you’ll be opening.
It should also have a strong motor, making opening stubborn lids easier and keeping the device operating for a long time.
Additionally, it’s important to check that the device is made from sturdy materials so it doesn’t break or rust over time.
Electric can openers are an excellent choice for those who want an easy and convenient way to open cans. With their powerful motors, these devices can easily handle even the toughest lids.

13. Pneumatic Can Openers

Pneumatic can openers are different types of can openers great for commercial kitchens and food service establishments where speed and efficiency are a must.
These devices use compressed air to open cans quickly and with minimal effort.
They also have the advantage of being safer than manual or electric can openers since they don't require sharp blades.
Unlike other types of can openers, pneumatic models use a hose to attach to an external compressed air source.
You'll need a reliable compressed air source to use these openers.
The upside is that these can openers are much faster and more efficient than their manual or electric counterparts, allowing you to open several cans simultaneously with minimal effort.
Pneumatic can openers are also much quieter than other types, making them ideal for areas where noise is a concern.
They’re also highly efficient, meaning they don’t require as much energy to operate as manual or electric can openers.
The downside of pneumatic can openers is that they’re not as portable as manual or electric models since you’ll need to carry around the external source of compressed air.
Additionally, these devices can be more expensive than manual or electric models.
However, if you’re looking for speed and efficiency in a commercial kitchen, pneumatic can openers are definitely worth the investment.

14. Battery-operated Can Openers

Battery-operated can openers are perfect for people who want to avoid the mess of manual openers and need a reliable, easy-to-use opener for their daily use.
These openers are generally lightweight, handheld devices that can be used with just one hand and require no manual effort.
These openers are different types of can openers in various shapes and sizes, so you can find one that fits your needs perfectly.
They typically require either battery, and they are usually quite affordable.
The benefit of these openers is that they work quickly and easily, which makes them great for busy households.
In addition, they are generally quiet, meaning you won’t have to worry about disturbing anyone while using them.
The downside to battery-operated openers is that you will need to replace the batteries frequently.
Additionally, some models may not work as well on larger cans.
Overall, battery-operated can openers are a great option for those looking for an efficient way to open cans without relying on manual methods.
With their easy-to-use design and convenience, these openers easily and safely open cans.

15. Solar Powered Can Openers

For those looking to reduce their energy consumption and their carbon footprint, solar-powered can openers are different types of can openers good for you.
These devices utilize the sun’s energy to open cans and provide a clean and green alternative to manual and electric can openers.
Solar-powered can openers generally comprise the solar panel and the opener itself.
The solar panel captures energy from the sun, which is then converted into power and sent to the opener.
Once the energy has been stored, it can then be used to power the can opener whenever needed.
The opener itself is designed to be simple and efficient. It consists of a wheel or blade rotated around the can's rim to cut through the metal lid and make opening easier.
Some models even feature automatic locking mechanisms to ensure that the can does not move while it is being opened.
These devices are great for anyone looking for an eco-friendly solution to their can opening needs.
They also make a great gift for those caring about the environment, as they can save time and energy.
However, solar-powered can openers should only be used when the sun is out and are unsuitable for long-term storage due to the reliance on natural light.

16. Ring Pull Can Opener

Ring pull can openers are one of the different types of can openers, the most convenient tools you can have in your kitchen.
This type of can opener is designed to puncture through metal lids, allowing you to easily open cans without putting much effort into it.
It’s the perfect tool for those who don’t want to deal with the hassle of manual can openers or electric ones requiring power and technical know-how.
The ring pull can opener has two parts: the lid-piercing head and the handle.
The head is composed of sharp, stainless steel prongs that are used to puncture the lid of the can and create a hole.
The handle is typically made from plastic and allows you to firmly grip and twist the lid, which breaks the seal and allows you to open the can easily.
When using a ring-pull can opener, it’s important to ensure that you’re gripping the handle tightly and twisting in a counterclockwise motion.
If you’re not careful, you could damage the edges of the can or cut yourself on the prongs.
This type of can opener is particularly useful if you’re dealing with canned goods with a hard-to-pierce lid, such as tuna cans or other items with strong metal lids.
It’s also great for people with limited strength or mobility, requiring very little effort and force to use.
Overall, the ring pull can opener is an excellent choice for anyone looking for a simple, easy-to-use can opener that won’t take up too much space in the kitchen.

17. Side Can Opener

Side can openers are different types of can openers that do not require using your hands.
This type of can opener features two handles that are placed along the sides of the can.
To use this type of opener, place the handles around the circumference of the can and then squeeze the handles together.
This forces the blades on either side of the handle to cut through the top of the can.
Side can openers are easy to use and provide quick access to the can without using any additional tools.
The handles also help to keep your hands away from the sharp edges of the can lid.
Additionally, this type of can opener is often very lightweight and easy to store, making it a great option for those with limited kitchen space.
However, one downside to the side can openers is that they may not be as strong as other types of openers.
If you are dealing with particularly stubborn cans, using an electric or manual can opener might be better.
Additionally, side can openers may not work on all types of cans and lids, so it's important to ensure they will be compatible with your particular cans before purchasing.

18. Single Wheel Can Opener

Single Wheel Can Openers are ideal for those who prefer a manual, no-fuss approach.
These openers feature a single wheel that is attached to a handle. To use the opener, you insert the blade into the top of the can and then turn the wheel typically.
These different types of can openers are designed to be easy to use and require minimal effort and no special tools. They are typically made of stainless steel and are very durable.
This type of can opener is also very cost-effective, as they are generally inexpensive to purchase.
If you are looking for an efficient and easy-to-use can opener, then the Single Wheel Can Opener is the perfect choice for you!

19. Smooth Edge Can Opener

A Smooth Edge Can Opener is an efficient and easy way to open cans without sharp edges.
This type of can opener is a different type of can opener designed with a wheel that cuts along the top of the can and leaves behind a smooth, flat edge.
It eliminates the need for a manual can opener and requires no additional steps. This is ideal for anyone looking for a quick, hassle-free can-opening solution.

20. Tin Can Key Can Opener

The Tin Can Key Can Opener is a simple and inexpensive tool designed to open tin cans.
It is composed of a metal blade attached to a handle that is turned to cut through the metal lid of a can.
These different can openers are very popular in households and restaurants, as they are easy to use and take up minimal space.
The Tin Can Key Can Opener is often found at local stores, grocery stores, and even online.
It is ideal for those who do not want to invest in a more expensive electric or battery-powered can opener.
With this type of can opener, you can quickly and easily open canned goods without mess or fuss.
The metal blade is durable and sharp, allowing for effortless cutting through the metal lid of cans.
To use a Tin Can Key Can Opener, place the blade on top of the lid and turn the handle until the blade has cut through the metal.
Be sure to place the blade directly in the lid's center so it will cut evenly.
When finished, carefully remove the lid and discard it in the trash. A Tin Can Key Can Opener can last many years with proper care and maintenance.
The Tin Can Key Can Opener is an affordable and easy-to-use kitchen tool that makes opening canned goods quick and simple.
It is an excellent choice for those looking for an inexpensive option to open cans easily.

21. Topless Can Opener

A topless can opener is one of the oldest types of can opener and was probably the first type ever made.
It is a simple device consisting of two serrated wheels, with one wheel fixed and the other wheel turning.
It’s relatively easy to use: Place the can on a stable surface and grip the can opener so the wheel with the serrated edge is closest to you.
Put the wheel with the serrated edge around the lip of the can and turn it in a circular motion.
The wheel will cut into the metal and pierce through it as you turn, leaving a round opening in the top.
This can opener requires more effort than other types, and it can be difficult for someone with weak hands or wrists to use.
But this type is worth considering if you’re looking for a cost-effective, reliable way to open cans.

22. Twist Key Can Opener

The twist key can opener is one of the different types of can opener used in the kitchen.
It is the simplest and most convenient way to open cans of any size.
This type of can opener requires only a simple twist of a metal key.
The twist key is inserted into the top of the can, then twisted in a circular motion until the top is detached.
This type of can opener is especially useful for canned goods that are difficult to open, such as those with tightly-sealed lids.
Additionally, it can be used to open cans that have rusted shut or corroded lids.
The twist key can opener is also very easy to store, as it only takes up a small amount of space.
The twist key can opener is available in both manual and electric models.
Manual models require some physical strength and effort to twist the key, but electric models use a motorized system to rotate the key even easier.
Electric models are more expensive than manual models, but they are often worth the investment if you regularly open a lot of cans.
No matter which type you choose, the twist key can opener is a great kitchen tool for opening cans quickly and easily.
It's reliable, efficient, and inexpensive—a must-have for any home cook!

23. Multi-use Can Openers

Multi-use can openers are incredibly versatile and can be used for more than just opening cans.
They can be used to open glass jars, crack walnuts, loosen lids, and even pop tops off of bottles.
Many multi-use can openers are different types with multiple attachments that allow you to customize your device for different tasks.

24. Knife Can Opener

The knife can opener is a simple device that uses a sharp blade to cut through the metal lid of a can.
These different can openers are very popular because they are easy to use and affordable.
It is important to note that this type of can opener is not designed to open cans with a plastic lid.
This Can Opener is one of the most different types of can openers available on the market. It is designed to make opening cans as easy as possible.
The opener consists of a handle with a sharp blade on the end that is used to cut through the lid of the can.
It works best with thinner cans, such as soup cans, vegetable cans, etc.
This type of opener requires a bit more effort than the other types since you need to press the blade down into the can lid to cut through it.
However, it is great for those who don’t have access to an electric or manual can opener. It is also very easy to store since it takes up minimal space.
Knife Can Openers are also incredibly affordable, making them a great option for those on a budget.
They come in various shapes, sizes, and styles, so you can find one that fits your needs perfectly.
Plus, because they are so simple to use, they are great for beginners and experienced can openers alike.
Conclusion
Can openers have been around for more than a century, and with good reason - they make opening cans of food easy and convenient.
But there are different types of can openers, each designed for different tasks.
This blog post has explored the different types of can openers and their various uses, from the traditional manual can opener to the electric can opener.
We have also looked at the best can opener for your particular needs.
So, this is the place to start if you're looking to buy a new can opener or want to learn more about them.

Hey guys, I’m about to try and paint a room with an airless gun my dad lent me. I’m doing the walls, ceiling and baseboards one color.
I have read you should back roll after spraying, which I plan on doing.
My question is, should I spray the room, wait for it to dry, spray another coat and back roll that?
Should I spray, back roll, spray again? Back roll again?
Should the roller be dipped in paint before back rolling?
For reference I am using Benjamin More Regal Select,
It is acrylic.
The color is Hunter Green and the sheen is Flat.
Also, what type of roller is recommended comended for this process to get a nice flat look?
Thanks guys!!

Hey guys, so I have two Graco 1095 Ultimate MX II airless sprayers in my shop. One is the contractor model, and the other is the base highboy. Apparently, the contractor model hasn't worked for some time (around end of covid), and my guys have just been using the backup exclusively. Now the base has started having issues as well.
For the base, my guy was saying it's an E=02 code, which is overpressure reading from the transducer. I had it brought to Sherwin-Williams, and they basically quoted me 4k in parts to throw at it and see what sticks (pretty much everything but the motor and motherboard was quoted). So I paid for their labor and had the gun brought back to check out myself.
I replaced the transducer, and am T/S both guns at the same time. And here is where I'm at; neither gun is showing an E=02 code. The base didn't come with a screen, so I'm using the contractor screen between both. Both units will take in power and appear just fine, but as soon as I try to turn the pressure up, they will immediately show "Invalid Encoder Input E=09", and the board will flash 9 times. I thought maybe the encoder screen could be bad, since that's the only common part. The boards still flash the same code without the screen plugged in, and the base model never had a screen to begin with, so I know it doesn't need the screen to operate. The code will stay present until I turn the knob down and turn the power switch off. I can leave them plugged in and immediately turn back on before the capacitors power down, and it'll still clear the code, unless I leave the pressure knob turned up. I've tested the motors; voltage, resistance, grounding, resolver, thermal gauge, jumper test, etc. motors checked out fine. Tested voltage from the outlet to switch, to motor- 116V.
Now here is where they differ; with the base model T/S, during the step where you turn the power off, rotate the motor 1/4 turn, and then power on and increase pressure, every third or fourth time the motor would power up and click over. It would quickly click about 1/16 of a turn, stop, and then I would get E=05 code. But again, followed all steps and it checks out. Power off and back on without the pre-turn step, back to code E=09. The contractor model will show "Invalid Encoder Input E=09" no matter what I do.
And this is the tricky part; I look up "invalid encoder input" for Graco and nothing shows up. I have also gone through the repair, parts, and ops manuals- E=09 isn't a valid code for this specific Graco model, I only know the code description because typing it in brought up troubleshooting for a Texture Spray Mark IV.
Sorry for the novel, especially if this isn't the right place. But I want to give you as much description as possible now rather than say "I've tried that" to half of the steps. And I appreciate any Help!

Hey guys, so I have two Graco 1095 Ultimate MX II airless sprayers in my shop. One is the contractor model, and the other is the base highboy. Apparently, the contractor model hasn't worked for some time (around end of covid), and my guys have just been using the backup exclusively. Now the base has started having issues as well.
For the base, my guy was saying it's an E=02 code, which is overpressure reading from the transducer. I had it brought to Sherwin-Williams, and they basically quoted me 4k in parts to throw at it and see what sticks (pretty much everything but the motor and motherboard was quoted). So I paid for their labor and had the gun brought back to check out myself.
I replaced the transducer, and am T/S both guns at the same time. And here is where I'm at; neither gun is showing an E=02 code. The base didn't come with a screen, so I'm using the contractor screen between both. Both units will take in power and appear just fine, but as soon as I try to turn the pressure up, they will immediately show "Invalid Encoder Input E=09", and the board will flash 9 times. I thought maybe the encoder screen could be bad, since that's the only common part. The boards still flash the same code without the screen plugged in, and the base model never had a screen to begin with, so I know it doesn't need the screen to operate. The code will stay present until I turn the knob down and turn the power switch off. I can leave them plugged in and immediately turn back on before the capacitors power down, and it'll still clear the code, unless I leave the pressure knob turned up. I've tested the motors; voltage, resistance, grounding, resolver, thermal gauge, jumper test, etc. motors checked out fine. Tested voltage from the outlet to switch, to motor- 116V.
Now here is where they differ; with the base model T/S, during the step where you turn the power off, rotate the motor 1/4 turn, and then power on and increase pressure, every third or fourth time the motor would power up and click over. It would quickly click about 1/16 of a turn, stop, and then I would get E=05 code. But again, followed all steps and it checks out. Power off and back on without the pre-turn step, back to code E=09. The contractor model will show "Invalid Encoder Input E=09" no matter what I do.
And this is the tricky part; I look up "invalid encoder input" for Graco and nothing shows up. I have also gone through the repair, parts, and ops manuals- E=09 isn't a valid code for this specific Graco model, I only know the code description because typing it in brought up troubleshooting for a Texture Spray Mark IV.
Sorry for the novel, especially if this isn't the right place. But I want to give you as much description as possible now rather than say "I've tried that" to half of the steps. And I appreciate any Help!

If you’d like a photo of something specific you wanna buy please let me know - prices taken from bgg not inflated eBay prices
6 siege smooth operator pledge - we can discuss this, it’s in the middle of being fully painted including the terrain, I can provide some examples - update terrain done, working on operators
Arkham horror stuff hard to value. Say $500 and negotiate from there, going off recent sales this would be around $700 normally

• core set
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• dunwich, carcosa, and forgotten age complete expansions
• pictured return to sets
• edge of the earth campaign and investigator expansion -all five core parallel investigator packs sold at gamezenter -out of the void pack
• no orginal boxes except for return to (without cardboard inserts)
• sleeved cards and scenarios
• all necessary tokens
• custom made and painted card organizer the hotel scenario machinations through time scenario casino standalone scenarios

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Hostage negotiator with all kidnappers $80
Planet apocalypse w/ power pack $170
Euthia all in Ks $450 about what I paid - heavy shipping
Trade wants:
Yedo deluxe Magical friends Nations dynasty expansion Carthasis Sniper elite bundle Leviathan wilds
Will look at a list

Two months ago I finally bought the car of my dreams: a 1983 Buick Grand National GNX. The paint is in near-mint condition but I wanted matte black, so I knew I needed to wrap it in matte black vinyl to complete the aesthetic I'm going for.
I got some quotes from a few local wrap shops, but most were too expensive, and I already spent most of my spare cash on the down payment. One new place, Max Wraps, did offer a really good deal, but they had no online reviews yet, so I called them up last week.
"Max Wraps," a male voice had answered the phone.
"Yes hi, I have a Buick Grand National and want to get a matte black wrap. You quoted me $500 online, is that correct?"
"Ah, Joseph!" the voice said. "Yes, we are running a special to build up our review history. I'm Jake. When can you bring her in?"
"Heck, I can bring it over right now!" I'd replied.
"Awesome," Jake had said. "We'll see you soon then!"
I hung up the phone, feeling like I'd struck gold—matte black gold. I hopped in Jessica (that's the car's name!) and she rumbled to life. I sped over to Max Wraps, which was way on the other side of town in a mostlty vacant industrial park. The sun was setting and it began to rain as I pulled into the eerily empty parking lot.
After driving around the rows of vacant units for awhile, I felt lost. This industrial park was comprised of five main areas labelled A through E, and Max Wraps was supposed to be C 300, but the sign on C 300 said Creighton Nanotech.
So I called Max Wraps again. Jake picked up and said, "I see you outside. Sorry, we haven't even got a sign yet. The previous tenants' sign is still up. Let me open up the garage bay for you!"
"Alright, sweet," I said. Then a large, semi-truck-sized garage door began to squeak and grind open. I drove inside and turned off the car.
Inside the garage was just a few industrial work lights and some rolls of vinyl wrap material up against the wall.
A tall, young, clean cut man in a black shirt and khakis stepped forward to shake my hand as I stepped out of the car.
"Hey Joseph, I'm Jake," he said.
"Yo, what's up man?" I said.
"We just need your credit card and I can get to work. It takes a few days, and we'll call you when it's done."
I tapped my Wells Fargo credit card on his handheld terminal to transfer the $500, then ordered an Uber home.
"How long you been wrappin' cars?" I asked.
"I used to work at a wrap place in NYC for a few years, but just moved out here to Portland a few weeks ago to start my own thing," he said with a bit of New York accent.
"Nice, nice," I said. "Well, I'm glad to be one of your first customers. I'm gonna go outside and wait for the uber," knowing I had quite a distance to walk to the entrance of the industrial plaza.
"Thanks Joseph," Jake said as I walked out.
Just before the garage door closed behind me, I could have sworn that I heard another, much older voice say something like, "Follow him home," right behind me, as if someone had been standing right there and said it directly into my ear.
However, when I whirled around, nobody was there.
A few days later, I got a voicemail from Jake saying the wrap was finished, so I took another uber over there around 10 AM on a rainy Saturday. This time I no problem finding Max Wraps' location, though I noticed the Creighton Nanotechnology sign was still up.
The garage door was already open when I arrived, and there was Jake, standing next to my freshly wrapped, matte black Buick Grand National.
"Holy shit, that looks freakin' amazing," I said.
"Yeah, it looks real clean," said Jake. "Well, here's the keys," he said, tossing me the keys. "Enjoy!" Then a phone rang in a back room, and he said, "Oh, I gotta get this, feel free to leave," and rushed through a doorway in the back of the garage, which closed behind him.
It struck me as very abrupt and rude, but as he was a New Yorker who seemed to be operating the business entirely on his own, I did not want to judge. I did look briefly around the garage, but aside from the work lights, there was nothing else whatsoever in the space. Not a single tool box, desk, work bench, cutting table, air or water hose could be seen.
"Weird garage," I said to myself as I hopped into the car.
Just as I started up the engine, again I heard the same, old, male voice as before.
"Follow him home," it said, right in my ear.
"What the fuck!" I yelled. I turned around and looked all around inside and outside the car, but there was no one there. "What the actual fuck!" The stereo was turned off, too, and my phone's volume had been all the way down.
I got out and looked everywhere: around the car, under the car, in the garage, and outside the garage. No one was there, and the parking lot was completely empty. There was not a loudspeaker or even a vent that could have emitted sound from what I could see.
I had been having some trouble sleeping the past few nights before that, and had recently gone on a new antidepressant, so at the time, I figured it was just the meds fucking with me.
I got back in the car, which was still running, and drove out. Just as I was turning out of the parking area specific to that row of units in area C, I paused and looked back to unit 300. The garage door was still open, and Jake was standing exactly in the middle of it, staring out into space with a completely blank expression.
I honked and waved to him, but he did not react in any way; he did not turn to face me and return the wave. He did not even blink.
I figured he must be staring at something across the way from him, so I looked, but nothing was there. Then I looked back, and he was gone, with the garage door beginning to close.
"What a weirdo," I said to myself as I flipped on the stereo to 1080 The Fan sports talk, and drove off.
I noticed on the way home that it seemed unusually quiet in the car. My GNX has a custom exhaust for extra cool sound, and in general, it's just an 80s car without great sound insulation. You normally hear road noise, rattles, squeaks, engine and exhaust sounds, and typical wind noise (especially on the highway).
However after the wrap, as soon as my windows were rolled up, my car seemed now to be as quiet as a Maybach or Rolls Royce inside. I'd never had a car wrapped before, so I wasn't sure if this was a normal outcome, but it seemed impossible that a thin vinyl car wrap could have any accoustic benefit.
"What the hell did they do to you, Jessica?" I asked aloud, switching off the radio.
Just then, I passed by a house with a fenced in rottweiler, who appeared to be barking at the car as I drove past, but all I could see was his mouth opening and closing—there was no sound whatsoever.
"Jesus," I said aloud. "This is really weird."
I stopped there and rolled down my window slightly. Now, the sound of the dog barking was complely audible. So I called Max Wraps.
The phone rang and rang, but Jake didn't pick up. So I turned around and drove back there. I got out of my car and tried to go in their front door, but it was locked. I banged on the door awhile, but no one came to the door. Then I banged on the garage door. No response.
"Well." I muttered to myself. "I have a quiet car now. Why complain, Joe? Just consider it a good thing."
Just as I turned back to my car, I noticed something extremely odd. Despite driving in the rain, my car was bone dry. Not a drop of water could be seen. As the rain would hit any part of the car, it would simply bead up and roll off.
"Hydrophobic coating, nice!" I said. Normally to get a hydrophobic wax or ceramic coating applied is another thousand bucks at least, so I felt like they'd really gone above and beyond. They'd even treated the windows.
Before getting back in, I pulled out my pocket knife to test the coating. I poked the wrap on the lower corner of the door, where no one would notice a slight scratch, and tried to scratch it.
At first, nothing happened, but then I noticed I'd left what looked like a gray scratch. But when I rubbed my finger over the gray scratch, it wiped completely away. Then I looked at the tip of my knife, and it was missing about 1mm of material from the tip, exposing a sliver of shiny steel (the blade is black anodized).
"Whoah, what the actual fuck is this shit?" I said to myself, rubbing again the area where the knife scratch had been. As I rubbed my finger nail across the surface, I applied a bit of pressure, and sure enough it ground away part of the finger nail, leaving a streak. After wiping that streak off, I got back in the car.
"$500 for super coating, Jessica," I said. "This is wild."
After I closed the door, silence descended around me, and I heard it again—the voice. "Follow him home," it said directly in my left ear, which was close to the window glass.
"Yo!" I yelled out, getting back out of the car and walking backwards away from it. At the top of my lungs I yelled, "WHO THE FUCK IS DOING THAT?! WHO??" turning as I yelled at the empty buildings and trees. I drew my Sig Sauer M18 9mm pistol and fired three shots into the air. "DO NOT FUCKING FOLLOW ME HOME," I yelled. "I WILL FUCKING END YOU!"
Breathless and wet now, the car door still open with the car running, the sound of "YOU" seemed to echo through the vast complex. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung on the air.
At that point, I half expected a candid camera crew trying to make a viral video to emerge from some bushes, or something, and apologize for the misunderstanding while offering me cash. However, no one stepped forth. All I could hear was rain.
I bent down and picked up my brass shell casings, as I did not want to leave behind any evidence of the 37 city ordinances and state laws I had just violated. After putting the shell casings in my pocket, with my gun still in my right hand and my eyes looking about the area, I walked back over to the vehicle and looked inside.
There was no water on the seat or the interior of the door. None on the steering wheel. None on the floor. Rain was certainly falling in, as the wind had picked up slightly, but I could watch the droplets hit the upholstery and then just disappear.
I slowly bent down and took a knee on the wet pavement so I could get a closer look. Setting the gun down on the seat, I took a water bottle out of the back seat, opened it, and poured a little out onto the seat. The water literally just disappeared as if it was being completely absorbed by the seat, yet the seat did not appear to get wet, and touching it, it felt completely dry.
"OK, what in the ever living FUCK, Jessica!" I said.
At this point I genuinely began to feel afraid, like someone was watching me. The hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stood straight up, and goosebumps formed. I felt suddenly like someone was standing directly behind me, so I grabbed the M18, jumped to my feet, and turned around with the firearm at my hip pointed outwards. Again, no one was there.
"Hell nope," I said, literally jumping into the drivers' seat and slamming the door shut. I slowly backed out and turned around, then drove slowly out of the parking lot, looking around as I did so for any sign of who might have been responsible for the voice, still assuming it must have been a prank using some kind of directed sound beam device, like the ones we'd used at checkpoints in Iraq. That was the only logical explanation I could think of.
However, I saw no trace of humanity. I drove around the entire complex three times and did not see a single car or person, and none of the units had a sign. You could see in through their windows nothing but empty rooms with gray carpets and the lights off. However, there were also no "for lease" signs.
"What even is this place, Jessica?" I said to the car to break the impenatrable silence. Then I rolled down the window and drove home through the rain, checking my rear view mirror the entire way back. However, I did not see any occupied cars behind me until after I merged onto highway 26. Not a single one.
After I got home, I went inside and laid down. I felt unusually tired and was developing a migraine. The vision in both my eyes began to shimmer and flicker. I grabbed a cold pack from the freezer, then laid down on the couch, placing it over my eyes.
I drifted off into a dream in which I was back at the garage. I was inside it, and the door was closed. Jake was standing there, his face up against the metal garage door, so close it looked like his nose must be pressed flat against it. The halogen work lights were the only source of light, casting sharp shadows across the floor as I slowly walked up to Jake.
"Yo, Jake, you OK brotha?" I said as I got near him. No response. As I neared him, I put my hand on his left shoulder and said, "Bro, Jake, you OK, man?"
He felt wet to the touch but appeared dry. I retracted my hand and looked at it. From the area where I had touched him, the skin was completely gone, revealing bleeding red flesh. The wetness I'd felt had been my own blood. I looked back at his shoulder and there was my skin, attached to his black shirt. But there was no pain.
"Jake, something is wrong with me. Your shirt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get anything on your shoulder." No response. "You're freaking me out, Jake," I said. "I need a first aid kit bro. Is there one around here?" No response.
I pulled my shirt sleeve over my left hand to protect the skin, and grabbed his left shoulder, then pulled back to turn him around to face me. As I did so, his face peeled off the garage door. It had been partially merged into the door, as if the door had closed with him standing there, such that it had scraped away his entire face. What stared at me now was like if you took a razor sharp katana sword and cleanly lopped off the front of someone's face just past the eyeballs, like what you see in a video game if you lean too close into someone else's character's face: just flesh and weird muscles, pop eyes, fucked up teeth, and what's left of a toung, blood pumping out of it all.
I jumped back in abject terror, and his stiff, dead body fell like a 2x4 from vertical to horizontal, pancaking onto the garage floor with a nasty, wet slap. I stumbled backwards and into one of the work lamps, which fell backwards. I reached instinctively to catch it with my right hand, but only managed to grab the hot metal grating in front of the lamp, burning my skinless fingers and casting the shadow of fingers large across the ceiling.
Then I bolted awake, sitting upright on the couch so quickly that the cold pack flew across the room. How long had I been asleep? It was dark outside. I took a deep breath and my own body odor. I hadn't taken a shower since the previous night, so I figured I'd take one and head to bed.
I undressed and tossed my clothes in the hamper, then headed into the bathroom. I turned on the hot water and put my hand under the water to feel if it was hot or cold, but to my surprise, I felt nothing but the vague sensation of water going across my hand. I pulled it back, and looked at it, half expecting not to see skin, but instead, I just saw my normal hand, perfectly dry.
"Ugh, some of that hydrophobic coating must have gotten on me," I said to myself. "Fucking Jake. I should have known better! No reviews. What were you even thinking, Joe?!" I berated myself. "Well, it will probably wash off eventually," I said, turned the shower handle to a medium warm setting, stepped into the shower.
As the water began to hit my body, although I could feel its impact, I could not feel its temperature. Further, it just beaded up and ran down my skin without me getting even slightly wet. I tried applying soap, and although the slimy soap film did stay briefly, it would slide down and then off as the water hit it.
As I stepped out of the shower, I realized I didn't even need a towel, because I wasn't wet. Not even my hair felt wet. I must have washed away something though, since I no longer smelled bad. In fact now, I had no smell at all, not even the smell of the scented soap.
When I went to brush my teeth, I couldn't taste the toothpaste. I stuck out my tongue, and it was completely dry. There was still saliva in my mouth, but it was all in a weird pool under my tongue. And yet my mouth did not feel stick and dry like you would expect.
At this point, I had no idea what was happening to me. My hands were shaking, and I couldn't stop sweating, although the sweat beaded up and rolled off just like the water. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to reassure myself that I was still me, but something was fundamentally wrong. I decided to go to the hospital, but as I turned to leave, I felt a strange urge to look at the car one more time.
Jessica was sitting in the garage, perfectly matte black and ominous. The more I stared at her, the more I felt a pull, an almost magnetic force drawing me closer. Despite my fear, I opened the door and got inside. As soon as I sat down, the engine roared to life without me even turning the key.
"Follow him home," the voice whispered again, this time sounding like it came from inside the car itself.
"No," I muttered. "No more."
I tried to get out, but the door wouldn’t budge. Panic surged through me as the car began to move on its own, reversing out of the garage and then accelerating down the street. I fought to control the steering wheel, but it felt as if it was welded in place.
The car sped through the streets of Portland, the city lights blurring past. I felt like a prisoner, helpless in the grip of some malevolent force. The voice continued to whisper, growing louder and more insistent. "Follow him home. Follow him home."
Suddenly, the car turned sharply and headed out of the city towards the old industrial park where Max Wraps was located. I screamed for help, but the windows were still soundproof. The car stopped abruptly in front of the garage, the door opening by itself as if welcoming me.
I got out, my legs trembling, and the rain poured down, but I remained dry. The garage door creaked open, revealing a dim light inside. I stepped forward, drawn by some unseen force, and as I entered, the door slowly grinded shut behind me, but I was unable to back out.
In the middle of the garage was a figure I recognized instantly: Jake. But he wasn’t the Jake I remembered. His eyes were hollow, his face a mask: the one from my dreams, but decayed and emaciated. His voice was a grotesque parody of the friendly tone he had used when we first met.
"I shouldn't have wrapped your car," he croaked, his voice echoing unnaturally. "I unleashed it."
"What do you mean?" I yelled. "What is this? What happened to me?"
He laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "The wrap, it's not just vinyl. It's a nanobot lattice. We didn't just change the look of your car. We were testing an artificially intelligent, self-healing nanoskin."
I felt a chill run down my spine. "Nanoskin? How can a skin be intelligent?"
He shook his head slowly. "It is an entity, a cancer that can only exist within the bounds of its new skin. But Creighton made a mistake," he croaked with a raspy, leathery husk of a voice. "The self-healing process requires proteins and enzymes. It feeds on the living tissues of those with whom it comes into contact."
I finally managed to back away, but the walls felt like they were closing in on me. "How do I starve it to death? How do I get rid of it?"
Jake's hollow eyes seemed to pierce through me. "You can't. Once the process begins, it must run its course. You are its vessel now, its means to spread. It needs to keep you alive to operate its wheel and pedals, but you can no longer digest food."
A cold wave of realization rushed through me, as the only sensation I could even feel now was an internal punch to the gut. I was no longer a man; I was something else’s plaything. My mind raced, trying to find a way out, a way to escape this nightmare.
"It must feed you, so that you can create new enzymes for it," Jake said, his voice faltering and becoming increasingly hard to comprehend. "Otherwise, it will consume you entirely, and find a new driver."
With those words, Jake collapsed to the floor and broke apart into a thousand fragments of dusty, withered flesh and bone. The only sound was now my own ragged breathing and the nearby hum of the car's engine, still running, still waiting.
I stumbled back to the car, driven by a mix of desperation and a twisted sense of obligation. As I sat behind the wheel, the engine purred, and the voice, now unmistakably my own, whispered, "Follow him home." That was when I realized: it had been my voice all along.
I understood now. The car was no longer just a car. It was a harbinger of death, a vessel of fear. And I was its driver, doomed to an eternity of silence, unable to hear the screams of the victims we would plow through for sustainance.
As I drove into the night, the streets of Portland turned into an endless labyrinth of shadows, silently dancing cars, and my own whispers. There was no escape, only the road ahead, leading to places unknown, to people who would never know what hit them until it was too late.
"Follow him home," I whispered as I saw a man getting into his car, my voice blending with the entity's, as we became one. With my last shred of consciousness and free choice, I pulled out my phone and am writing this to you, so that perhaps I might save a stranger. If you see a matte black Buick Grand National, get inside your house or car as quickly as possible, and stay there, in case it might be Jessica.

Hello!
I have decades of trade references at bartertown (d_brierton) and eBay (brierus2014).
<>
Horus Heresy
Lot 1 - NoS MK6 Marines + Lots of Weapons!

• NOS 10x MKVI Marines
  
• NOS ‘Special Weapons Upgrade Set’ (10 Rotor Cannons, 10 Plasmas, 10 Meltaguns, 10 Flamers, 10 of each Volkite, etc.)
  
• NIB FW ‘Legion Combi-Weapon Set’ (5 Plasma, 5 Melta, 5 Flamer)
  
• NIB FW ‘Mediant Pattern Multi-Meltas Set’ (5 total)
  

https://i.imgur.com/iaQ4xYB.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/mZFtO3C.jpeg
Lot 2 - RT Landspeeders

• 2x RT Era Metal Landspeeder Tornadoes (partially stripped, all parts present but the driver pistol arm/shoulder pad, multi-melta + heavy flamer) - note, 3 are pictured but only 2 are available

https://i.imgur.com/7DUoysl.jpeg
Lot 3 - Converted Outriders

• 8x Outrider Conversions (MkVI Marines + 40k plastic bikers). All have twin linked plasma guns. Lightly stripped, could use another round (a little paint showing + zenital prime (black/gray/light gray). 1 with Power Sword, 1 with Power Fist, 1 minor conversions to be an Apothecary.

https://i.imgur.com/NiN4Qqe.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/6gyyU6G.jpeg
Warhammer 40k
Aeldari (Craftworld Eldar)
Lot 4 - Well Painted Mechanized RT & FW Eldar Army

• 4x Grav Tanks - 2 with extended FW wave serpent hulls, 2 with Falcon Type 2 Hulls (extended rear tails) + current wave serpent shield generators. 2 sets of artillery cannons from support weapon batteries (shadow weavers + d cannons) to proxy as a night spinner + fire prism or warp hunter. Also have a few weapons from the modern kits to throw in for the transports (in the last picture). Much is magnetized, but a little bit of magnetization + paint required to finish up. Turrets are all FW Falcon Type 2.
  
• 20x Rogue Trader era Guardians including captains, heavy weapons, musicians, war bots, melee guardians, and ranged guardians. All are metal on clear bases.
  
• Please don’t message me expecting retail prices on current kits for this army. These are collector pieces painted well.
  
• Will consider splits.
  
• Buy/trade for the whole lot, get the pictured army case with foam (free).
  

https://imgur.com/a/rt-fw-eldar-0OnfkdA
https://i.imgur.com/vUAWsmg.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/MNiNBj2.jpeg
Epic (not Legions Imperialis)
Lot 5 - Space Marines

• NoS: 4 Plastic Land Raiders, 4 Whirlwinds, & 8 Rhinos
  
• 18 Ruin Wall sections
  
• 30 1x5 Bases
  
• 2x single Devastators
  

https://i.imgur.com/MGMgIRE.jpeg
https://imgur.com/qtmHEZX
Legions Imperialis
Lot 6 - 2x Legion Kratos, NoS

• Ideally I’d like to trade the Kratos Sprue for a ‘Legiones Astartes Support’ sprue with 2x Leviathans, 2x Dredeo, 2x Tarantulas, and 2x Rapiers

https://i.imgur.com/hYsBVXT.jpeg
Battlefleet Gothic
Lot 7 - Imperial Cruisers

• 2x Imperial Navy Cruisers, NoS

(No pictures/timestamps at the moment, will get some later when I dig them out of storage)
Aeronautica Imperialis (version 2 - the most recent version)

• Boxed Sets: 3x Skies of Fire (sealed) (Tau + Imperial Guard/Navy) - $175 shipped each
  
• Orks: 3x NoS Dakkajets, 2x NoS Fighta Bommerz, 1x Decal Sheets
  
• Eldar aka Aeldari - 5x NoS Nightwings, 1x NoS Phoenix
  
• Tau - 2x Decal Sheets
  

Orks: https://i.imgur.com/wgI9iAg.jpeg
Eldar: https://i.imgur.com/BRq5PYr.jpeg
Skies of Fire: https://imgur.com/a/aeronautica-iqlkXBb
Pokemon TCG
Bunch of mid to high end graded WOTC era stuff (mostly Japanese) ranging from $50 - $3k, ask if serious
WANTS (no particular order):

• Paypal, cash, crypto, sealed gold from mint, etc.
  
• AI - Eldar - Authentic FW Vampire Raider (most recent version)
  
• AI - Non-GW Hex Mats (cloth only)
  
• LI / AT - 1x Reaver Titan with Fist & Missiles
  
• LI - Legiones Astartes Support (Leviathans, Dredeo, Tarantula, Rapiers)
  
• 40k/KT - Kasrkin (Old Metals)
  
• BFG - Chaos Grand Cruisers and Battleships
  
• 40k - Eldar - Howling Banshee Bits - Spear & Triskele
  
• 40k - Dark Eldar - this metal Archon: https://i.redd.it/04nzv8xdzjw11.jpg
  
• Books - Jes Goodwin Eldar or Aeldari Sketchbooks
  
• FW - Crashed Thunderhawk Terrain Tile
  
• I will consider any trade, so shoot your shot. Especially for NoS items that I can easily sell
  

Key Words: Aeronautica Imperialis Legions Drukhari Asuryani Aeldari Battlefleet Gothic Horus Heresy 40k
Thanks for looking, happy bartering!
-Dan

So this year, brains be braining and they have decided, zero waxing!... I was scheduled to do ever floor in the building... "we can not get the wax"... that's a you issue, not a me issue...
Next task, why am I in the drop ceilings replacing filters and smashing my head on the fire suppression lines? again this is not my job, I am not maintenance, you do not pay me those monies...
last but not least...
You bought 500 foot of garden hose and a power washer and told me directly to go nuts cleaning the bathrooms... I peeled every ounce of paint off one of them and you went internally melt down and then brilliant of brilliance decided that I get to spray the bath room with a paint sprayer... but we have no paint and you can not order it from the supply house and you will not go look in our warehouse for it...
you wonder why you are vetting calls from a competing school district trying to get my work history? guess what!

If anyone is big into the prop owning stage of fandom, anyone of you out there happen to have a Pulse Pistol that was passed off as a direct replica from a screen used prop? Chances are, it's either from a mold taken from a prototype copy and not a close up screen used version. Recently going over the episodes again (the series is streaming 24/7 on youtube), I happened upon Infinite Possibilities part 2 and noticed something I had known before, but forgot until that moment. The Pulse Pistol used in the show, is wider than the prop replica you see for sale on ebay that's from a "screen used" prop from production.
Many "Cycles" ago when Farscape first aired, I was obsessed with the Pulse Pistol. I crafted one out of a solid 2x6 wooden board. https://scorpwanna.com/farscape/othepulsepistol/drenpistol.html I took screen caps of the Pulse Pistol for reference, and went over every detail I could. I had always wanted to have my own 1:1 screen matched replica version. Didn't get one until many years later off of ebay and it was labeled as a kit (meaning you fixed it up yourself, painting it etc...) and "taken from the mold of a screen used version".
I got the pistol out tonight when watching the stream with 150 other people and "boy oh boy", it's not even close to screen width accurate. This makes me sad. I suppose some will say, well they had 2 versions, a smaller one and a larger one. If you look at Exodus From Genesis, you see the width there, and you see the width in a bugs life.
Here's what I think actually. Take it with a grain of dirty salt. The ones that are sold as "screen accurate" is most likely taken from an early prototype stunt version, call it a "dummy gun". Just for looks in other words. While the real deal that was going to be closer on camera was the big guy. Anyway, yeah, several different versions from production, perhaps even a mold taken of one from a mold taken from one of a mold, over and over again.
Still going to be on the search for a more accurate and reasonably priced replica. *batteries not included*

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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname: Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed ‘carnage’ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out… only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuck…" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck… what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I… I don't…" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was empty…
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin with…"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us there…"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
“Drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!” Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. “I repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!”
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldn’t see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
I’m sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shard…
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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“Good morning, sleepyhead; it’s time for breakfast.”
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didn’t have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldn’t do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me and…
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind. I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldn’t scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy. I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't… good boys don't… I…
##Good boy##
I was a good boy… I was a good boy…
I was… I was… a good… boy…
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Good, you’re still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.

So way back in college, my art teacher put a specific art box on the list of things to buy, from an art store. I went to the art store, and paid way too much for the specific brushes and all that. But the box looked very familiar so I didn't buy it. I went to Sears, bought literally the same box in their fish and tackle section for a quarter of the price.
So are "resin" pressure pots just way overpriced "artists" versions of what looks identical in the spray paint pressure pots? I'm seeing a 10L for $70 and a "resin" one for $260 of the same size.
There any valid reason you can't use the paint pressure pots? Or is it just the marketing jumping the price?
VEVOR 2.5 Gallon Paint Pressure Pot with Stainless Steel Tank, Nozzle Spray Gun, and Paint Hose https://a.co/d/4bpJuxf

Perhaps this has been discussed/debated countless times on here already. If so I apologize in advanced.
What is the best professional sprayer you all recommend for getting the best results for a range of surfaces including kitchen cabinets, walls, front doors and decks? The material used is mainly water based primer, stain, lacquer and Benjamin Moore/sherwin Williams paint.
Airless sprayers seem to be the most economical, hvlp’s are great for fine finishes but are expensive and are limited and air-assisted sprayers are super expensive.
I used to spray in a proper shop with massive air tank and ventilation system. Now that I’ve started my own biz, I’m doing a lot more on site and in a set up I have at my home.

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cxw7ws/troublemakers_and_reveal_a_royal_flush/
......
Monarch D'vinn Aleostross sat at the head of his banquet table, staring down at the golden tableware in his clawed hands. His manicured talons easily scratch the soft metal as he considers putting them to the slab of rare meat on his plate. But he found his normally voracious appetite lacking, setting the tableware down on either side of his plate, he glanced to one of his servants and softly gestured at the plate.
"Are you hungry?"
The grey-haired man D'vinn called Kar'yol gently removed his glasses, polishing them on his black suit before shaking his head.
"I had a large breakfast, Monarch, and my appetite is incomparable to yours."
D'vinn nodded and sighed, gently patting the head of the small servant girl he called Na'va, who quietly played with a small trinket her aging mother had made her. The monarch looked over his servants, dressed in their best, who refused to leave his side, even with orders to join that scarred demon's ranks. He'd grown disillusioned with the grandeur of being a monarch, after the death of his advisor he'd found himself questioning the beliefs that he'd held since he'd hatched. What made them, the Geknosians, superior to Humans? Aside from the differences in appearance, Humans and Geknosians were both deathworlders, Geknosians had maybe three or four IQ points than humans on average. Humans were however much physically stronger than Geknosians on average thanks to their unique musculoskeletal structure, but, D'vinn knew there was a far more tangible difference between their respective species.
He looked over at a mural of Conquest, her eyes boring back into his as he questioned her divine judgment.
Geknosians... Geknosians were cruel, ruthless, and merciless in comparison to the Humans. He thought back to when he'd been employed in the grand Geknosian armed forces, specifically the time He and a few others had pretended to surrender to a group of human soldiers. He remembered the look on the young man's face as his war gauntlet clutched his still-beating heart, the fear, the surprise... But most importantly, the sadness that clouded his eyes as D'vinn's war gauntlet tightened around the delicate muscle until it stopped. He looked down at his right hand, feeling the sticky red blood that had flooded his war gauntlet all those years ago. Slowly, Monarch D'vinn hung his head in shame, the realization that he was on the wrong side of history was not a pleasant one. Worse, was being smart enough to know that he was not worthy of forgiveness, wasn't even worthy of a coward's death as he considered the sharp golden cutlery before him.
He glanced up at his servants, all humans whom, whether by some unconscious guilt or obligation, he'd bought from their original owners. He'd given them clothing befitting of their culture, something many guests had mocked him for. Never chained, or beat them, gave them all they could eat, and now, as they sat here with him, he could only ask.
"Why... Why do you refuse to leave? You've seen what they do to house slaves..."
D'vinn's head chef, a woman with dark skin and even darker eyes responded in her soft lilt.
"This is ah home, Mon D'vinn... Why should we leave?"
I was with you when you
D'vinn looked back into her soft eyes and wizened face, voice catching in his throat as he hung his head yet again. Though he knew it was the truth, saying it aloud hurt.
"I don't want you to die here... you all deserve to be free... I... I am your enemy, do... do you not understand that?"
A soft chuckle spread throughout the servants, Na'va looking up at him with a small smile and holding out her trinket with a soft cooing noise. Kar'yol watched as D'vinn gently took the small cloth doll, a soft smile coming to the old man's face as he perched his glasses on his nose.
"We would have to be idiots... but you gave us access to education, and while I can't speak for all of us, I would like to say: You are a deeply flawed man D'vinn... though it may be too late to right the many wrongs you have created... You have been good to me, you have earned, my loyalty. Do you forget I was with you when you arrived on this planet?"
Monarch D'vinn looked up at Kar'yol, who bore a soft, gentle smile and a knowing look.
"I have borne witness to your many shortcomings... yes. But just a few hours ago, someone with royal credentials gave the order for an unconditional retreat to all but those under a specific General's command. And, besides all that..."
Kar'yol slid into a chair at the corner of the table and pulled the plate of cold steak towards him, slicing off a hunk of the meat and sticking it in his mouth before continuing.
"I'm not sure I could give up such fine dining, Dee'va's cooking is just immaculate is it not?"
D'vinn couldn't help but let out an uneasy chuckle, before offering a smile to the Dark-skinned human chef.
"Indeed, she is a very fine cook... you are right Kar'yol..."
D'vinn looked at the small cloth doll in his hand, gently using a claw to push aside the small purple man's fine vest, seeing his own name stitched into the chest. He gently handed it back to Na'va who took it silently, wide eyes looking up at him encouragingly. D'vinn sniffled softly and folded his hands on the table as the sounds of gunfire began to echo from outside.
"Thank you... thank you all for remaining by my side... I do not deserve it."
Straightening his back, he adopted the most regal posture he could, reaching up, he took off his gold and purple crown before setting it on the table. He looked to Dee'va and softly asked.
"Would you make us something... something we can share as equals? This is a question, not an order."
Dee'va smiled back softly and achily rose from her chair, wizened face crinkling with a smile as she gave him a bow he did not deserve.
"Of course Mon D'vinn, I started a pot of goulash this morning, should be ready righ-bout-now."
Monarch D'vinn stood and returned the bow.
"Thank you Dee'va, and please, just call me D'vinn now, I am not worthy of the title of monarch... I never was..."
...
Drake climbed into Barney's saddle, the purple dinosaur shaking his head happily as he supported Drake's weight. He looked out through his eyeslits at the assembled fighters, there was hardly any organization, but they were all quiet as they looked up at Drake. Looking out over them, he felt the need to say something, the words flowing freely.
"We've all come a long way, fighting the entire time. Tonight, we put an end to the fighting, to the bloodshed. If we are to die tonight, we die free, but that is not our fate. Within you all is the heart of a warrior, the tenacity of an entire people. I know you hurt, I know you're tired, I know what you have lost. I grieved with you when our brothers and sisters were struck down. I wept with you when fathers buried their daughters and mothers buried their sons. But tonight, we turn that grief into a weapon..."
Drake drew his sword, the blade ringing as he turned in the saddle to point the tip toward the monarch's castle.
"... And we aim it at the heart of our enemy! We are the wounded beast that has finally broken its chains, and now it is time we bare our teeth! It is time that we show our enemy why you should fear a wounded beast! We will remind them why they kept us chained, starved, and beaten! Because now that we are free!"
Drake raised his sword to the sky, turning Barney to face the fallen front gate as he shouted.
"They will know the fear! The pain! The suffering! They have so wantonly afflicted upon us! Tonight, WE FIGHT! Tonight, WE. ARE. FREE!!"
Drake pumped his sword in the air as Barney let out a bellow, rifles and fists were raised to the sky with a shout. The air vibrated with the volume of thousands of voices as they joined the cry. The sound of massive engines whirring to life accompanied their remaining five flying machines, "helicopters" Alastaire had called them, rose into the sky. Drake looked up as Caz tossed him a wave, Destrier at her side as he racked the charging handle of a massive MG mounted to the airframe. A "Ma-Deuce model 4" as Roxxie had called it when she'd mounted it. Looking like little more than a metal brick with a tube on one end, Drake could see the massive cartridges with thumb-sized bullets dangling in a belt that hung off one side of the gun and fed from a large canister bolted to Destrier's armored back. Dropping his sword down toward the road, he nudged Barney forward with a click of his tongue, the massive raptor stomping forward at a manageable pace as the Gas-masked fighters followed him on foot. Two miles, they would have to march, but with the Volunteers bringing up the rear, and the Warmongers taking point, not much would be able to stop them. The loud, thunderous footsteps of the agri-bots echoed in the corridor of buildings as they guarded the sides of the column. The ones with two available hands carried large, modified artillery pieces the Warmongers had brought down with them.
Drake glanced down at Remin, who hiked alongside him, Bayonet already affixed to his trench gun.
"How's the lungs? Heard from the Samaritans that the blade barely missed your heart."
Remin nodded from beneath his fabric-wrapped helmet.
"Workin' like a charm, those Samaritans know how to patch an old man up. Even fixed the arthritis in my legs."
Drake chuckled softly, an oddly light feeling to his body as he sheathed his sword.
"I wondered why you wanted to walk instead of getting a lift. Good to have you back, How much you wanna bet that Cassius manages to wreak more havoc than we can."
"Where is that invisible young'un by chance?"
Drake smiled and gazed ahead.
"He went ahead with a group of Top Hats to sabotage any of Go'mon's remaining heavy weapons. Turns out his skin renders him invisible to more than just the visual range, according to Martha, he's only slightly visible to thermal imagery and even then only shows up as a shimmer."
Remin looked up at Drake incredulously, then down at the road in thought.
"that explains why the security droids would bump into him, they use infrared and Lidar to move around, so to them, he's just another empty space."
Drake nodded, a wide grin of anticipation on his face as the fighters began to sing a song.
"Away down south in the land of traitors, Rattlesnakes, and alligators. right away! Come away! Right away!"
The chorus of voices swelled as more and more joined in.
"Where cotton's king and men are chattels, Union boys will win the battles. Come away! Right away! Come away!"
Drake felt he should join, belting out the only verse he knew of the ancient marching hymn.
"We'll all go down to Dixie! Away! Away! Each Dixie boy must understand that he must mind his Uncle Sam! Away! Away! We'll all go down to Dixie!"
"AWAY! AWAY! We'll all go down to Dixie!"
Drake let out a laugh that could best be described as a roar, his blood simmering, facial muscles hurting from his wide grin.
"I'm coming Go'mon... and this time I'm ready..."
He whispered under his breath.
...
Go'mon shouted orders with manic fervor as his remaining men scrambled to follow them. A Warhammer from the armory hung loosely from a clawed hand. Massive gas spewers were mounted atop the wall, hoses hanging down to dispense the heavier-than-air Novichok. Go'mon's face twitched angrily as he stomped around the inner courtyard, leaving small craters where his heavy cybernetic body pressed his boots into the soft soil with each step. The soft clamor of battle preparations did little to ease his mind as he stormed back into the castle, wandering up to his sister's room he softly laughed under his breath, snickering and grinning far too wide as he burst into the room. He paused, looking over the monochrome pink of his beloved sister's room. She lay in the hospital bed lined with purple, scaled skin, eyes bright in her Deathless slumber as she stared at a viewscreen mounted to the ceiling above her. He slowly lowered himself into the metal chair at her bedside, curling the tip of his metal tail into his lap and ejecting the expired neurotoxin vial from the applicator, he popped the glass vial into his maw, chewing and swallowing the gelled toxin to fuel his bio-reactor. Retrieving a small pink box wrapped up with a bow from his sister's desk. He reverently untied the ribbon and opened the box with a soft grin, almost hearing his sister's conspiratorial laughter. The vial glowed as he unboxed it, the purple liquid shimmering like a nebula as he held it up to the light. His heart thrummed excitedly as he admired the thick-walled vial.
Void serpent venom, the only known toxin to blot out the pages of Fate, leading to a slow, painful withering of the soul into nothingness. Go'mon carefully snapped the cap off the vial, slotting it into the injector at his tail tip. Letting the small access port close, he stood up and leaned over his sister's body, gently pressing his lips to hers before straightening back up.
His tail flashed, injecting a small dose of the venom directly into her neck. The spark in her eyes slowly faded over the next few minutes, until her corpse was well and truly empty. Go'mon hummed softly as he left the room, tail flicking back and forth with each step as he giggled and cackled maniacally. If he couldn't have his sister, then no one could. He stepped out into the courtyard, breathing deep of the fresh, flower-scented air.
Something touched his chest plate and he felt a cold draw on his power. Go'mon swung his clawed hand wildly, catching only air as he looked down at the black, human handprint on his armor. Go'mon growled, bionic eyes clicking as they switched between spectrums. Stopping on thermals, he panned his gaze around.
Shimmers flitted about the courtyard, completely unnoticed by his men. Growling, Go'mon drew a human-made revolver from the holster on his thigh. He aimed a shimmer that was hovering near one of the AA plasma beam cannons.
CRACK!
The gun recoiled back, pointing to the sky as a splat of dark red painted the side of the AA cannon. The shimmer revealed itself to be a man as their illusion magic failed, Go'mon switched back to the visible spectrum stomping toward the man in a bright pink suit as he held the hole in his neck closed. The man in the pink suit turned around, even as Gauss rifles were leveled at them from all directions. Go'mon loomed over the short man, whose pink suit lapels were fuzzy with synthetic pink feathers.
"You know, if you're going to shoot a vampire, it's best to do it during the day when the damage is permanent."
The man pulled his hand away from his neck, the wound having disappeared like magic. Go'mon growled.
"You're a long way from home Top Hat... Do you really think petty sabotage will save your pathetic comrades?"
Misty sighed and doffed his tophat and mask, sharp teeth almost glowing in the floodlights that had been set up around the flowery courtyard.
"It's Misty, Darling~ Not tophat. As for the sabotage? Why would I waste my immortality on useless endeavors?"
The spy lit up a funky-smelling cigarette that he'd pulled from thin air in a flash of blood-red, blackened flames. Go'mon pushed the barrel of his revolver against the spy's head, pulling the trigger back, He knew Vampir had gone extinct decades ago after their newest lord initiated a culling.
Teeth scraped against the back of his neck in a sultry, dangerous kiss as the Tophat disappeared from his line of sight. A soft giggle from behind him made his bloodless body go cold. It couldn't be... but it was... it was him... Mystrios Nacht, the tenth vampire lord.
"I was just going to paralyze you~ but it seems that you're less of a Geknosian than I thought... HmHmHMM~ You believed the rumors didn't you? That the culling went wrong and we all died?~ HmHm~ You really are an idiot aren't you Go'mon?~ Well, it seems I distracted you long enough, Ta-Ta!~"
The vampire's voice was as sultry as it was husky, denoting an all-consuming, cold hunger that made even the addled Go'mon shudder involuntarily. Feeling the cold breath of the vampire lord fade on his neck, he whipped around, scanning the courtyard with thermals. There wasn't a shimmer in sight.
"Inspect the equipment for tampering, NOW!"
Go'mon screamed upon hearing the faint sound of human voices in song rapidly growing louder, circulating his power like mad as he desperately burned away the oily black handprint on his chest. He had to win this fight, or at the very least strike a meaningful blow or his reputation would be sullied forever.
......
Part 111: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1dbqunq/troublemakers_a_field_of_poppys/

A lot of people think that just because you go to a fitting, you're stuck buying current model year clubs and that's that. Because of inflation and the pricing of golf equipment, I have published guides to get the most bang for your buck and keep your equipment working for YOU to play.
All equipment can be retrofitted if you know what you're doing, and if you have used clubs from Ebay, here's what you'll need to get started with the absolute basics:

Equipment	Purpose	Est. Price	Link
Golf Mechanix GM1025 Ruler	Ruler for USGA Definition and comes with a marking point for shafts	$100	https://www.golfworks.com/golf-mechanix-3-in-1-bench-mount-rulep/gm1025/
Dynacraft Bench Ruler Plate	Alternative to Ruler, use with 48" ruler	$28	https://www.hirekogolf.com/dynacraft-bench-ruler-soleplate.html
48" Ruler	Alternative to Ruler, optional use with sole plate	$8	https://www.menards.com/main/tools/hand-tools/measuring-layout-tools/tape-measures-rulers/johnson-level-reg-48-aluminum-straight-edge/j48/p-1444436553269-c-1549901401002.htm
Propane Torch Kit	For Removing Steel Shafts	$20	https://www.menards.com/main/tools/torches-soldering-tools/mag-torch-reg-self-light-propane-torch-kit/mt525/p-1571380065594-c-8533.htm
Hacksaw	For Trimming Shafts	$5	https://www.menards.com/main/tools/hand-tools/hand-saws-saw-blades/tool-shop-reg-12-plastic-dipped-steel-handle-adjustable-hacksaw-frame/2443911/
Heat Gun	For Removing Graphite Shafts	$25	https://www.menards.com/main/paint/painting-tools/wagner-reg-furno-heat-gun/0503059/p-1470660690196-c-8076.htm
Graphite Shaft Puller	Used for pulling graphite to prevent breaking since they shouldn't be twisted. Skip if not pulling graphite.	$110	https://www.golfworks.com/value-shaft-extractop/gw1112/
Driver Adapter Pull Kit	Insert into a driver adapter to pull it easier. Skip if not pulling graphite.	$7	https://www.golfworks.com/oem-adaptor-saver-kit/p/gw0130/
Mineral Spirits	For grip installation to deactivate adhesive temporarily	$10	https://www.menards.com/main/paint/solvents-cleaners-removers/thinners-solvents/sunnyside-low-voc-odorless-mineral-spirits-1-qt/30332/p-1642874293243976-c-19345.htm
Grip Tape Strips	For installing grips	$0.39 Each	https://www.golfworks.com/the-golfworks-industry-standard-grip-tape/p/dftg/
Epoxy	To prevent the clubhead from flying off	$18	https://www.golfworks.com/tour-set-epoxy-200ml-cartridge/p/vb1027/
Adapter Epoxy	For clubs that use aluminum adapters	$7	https://www.golfworks.com/the-golfworks-adaptor-adhesive/p/vb1030/
Mixing Sticks	Self explanatory	$4	https://www.golfworks.com/epoxy-applicator-and-mixing-sticks/p/vb1010/
Shaft Rubber Clamp	In case you're using a vise	$4	https://www.golfworks.com/rubber-shaft-clamp/p/gw0141/
Hook Blade	Makes grip removal easier	$4	https://www.menards.com/main/tools/hand-tools/utility-knives/masterforce-reg-retractable-utility-knife/mf90815/p-2728080946202865-c-1484756386273.htm
Sand paper	For tip prepping and ferrule finishing. This one has flexible backing so it'll last longer	$5	https://www.menards.com/main/paint/sandpaper-abrasives/sandpapegator-reg-zip-reg-speed-sheets-trade-3-2-3-x-9-hook-loop-sandpaper-5-pack/7470/p-1642874264663841-c-8191.htm
Acetone	For ferrule finishing	$7	https://www.menards.com/main/paint/solvents-cleaners-removers/thinners-solvents/klean-strip-reg-acetone/qac18/p-1444424267939-c-19345.htm
Paper Towel and Disposable Gloves	Because you're going to make a mess	~	You should already have this
Pipe Debur Tool	To removal metal shards after trimming	$9	https://www.menards.com/main/plumbing/plumbing-tools/deburring-tools-pipe-brushes/lenox-reg-reamer-deburring-tool/lxht82904/p-1522305257487-c-8607.htm
Lead Tape	It's the Carpenter equivalent to wood caulk	$8	https://www.golfworks.com/lead-foil-tape/p/lt100/
Digital Caliper	For Measuring things	$17	https://www.menards.com/main/tools/hand-tools/measuring-layout-tools/calipers/tool-shop-trade-6-stainless-steel-digital-calipemen-000748mc/p-1444447045445-c-1549901401010.htm

How to Translate a Fitting to Used Clubs

1. Ensure the clubhead design is similar. My rule of thumb is the offset and lofts and Head Type should be similar: Ex: Srixon ZX7 -> Srixon Z745 , Taylormade P7MC, etc.
2. Get your specs from your fitting on a build sheet. This will usually tell you how long each club will roughly be. This length is the assembled length with grip installed, so when you trim shafts, you will need to trim 1/8" to 1/4" short
3. Buy the shaft used in the fitting through GolfWorks, Ebay, etc. If you got fit using "exotic" "made for" shafts, you will need to find a similar profile shaft at the same weight. This is why you should avoid exotic/made-for profiles as much as possible. Make sure the tip dimensions match.
4. Buy the same grips. Duh
5. Convert the lie spec to true measurements, IE if 1 degree flat, convert to lie of 61.5 at 37" assembled length

How to Disassemble Used Clubs

1. Cut the ferrule off with a utility knife
2. Heat the hosel uniformly with the torch or heat gun. If you have no desire to keep the graphite shafts, you can use a twisting motion HOWEVER be prepared for breakage and having to clean graphite shards out of the hosel. Do not overheat graphite shafts if you wish to preserve them, it will melt the resin and ruin them!
3. Twist head free of the shaft, or use the graphite puller to pull it straight out.

How to Assemble New Clubs

1. Weigh your clubheads and log them after they've been cleaned
2. Debur and clean out hosel
3. Dry assemble shaft into hosel and mark insertion depth on shaft
4. Dry assemble shaft into hosel and set ruler to 1/8" to 1/4" (Depending on grip cap thickness) short of final assembled length, and mark for trimming.
5. Prep tip of shaft by sanding the area under the marked depth. For graphite, sand gently and uniformly until shaft graphics coating is removed.
6. Install ferrule either with or without mixed epoxy. I usually just put it on, and push the head down until it can't go anymore.
7. Mix epoxy according to requirements and apply to both shaft tip and inside hosel bore. I recommend you not epoxy the last 1/8" of the shaft tip to prevent as much epoxy from going up the tip section.
8. Install shaft tip weights if desired (I usually don't because lead tape is easier to remove)
9. While assembling shaft with epoxy, twist to force air out of bore up through shaft.
10. Orient shaft graphics with respect to hosel and let club stand and cure according to time requirement.
11. After curing, sand ferrule shoulder to blend in to hosel.
12. Use sparse acetone perpendicular to sanding direction to smooth out sanding lines
13. Trim shaft to length using hacksaw, then debur with pipe deburring tool or sand paper.
14. Using a grip that's been cut in half, check to see if final assembled length has been reached. If not, continue trimming as necessary. This is also where you do your "heft test" to confirm the club weight feels the best. If the club feels too light, stop trimming and add 1g strips of lead tape until the MOI of the club reaches your desired value. If the club is too heavy, remove lead tape in 1g increments, or trim shaft in 1/16" increments and repeat as necessary. Ideally, you will want the heft of your irons to approximately be the same.
15. Once happy with the heft test, proceed to grip install.
16. Measure 1" from shaft end and make sure it matches grip inside diameter, ex: 0.6". Build up with tape as necessary to meet this value.
17. Install double sided grip tape, activate with mineral spirits, and put mineral spirits into your grip and then slide them on.

Congrats! You've assembled your first golf club!

A Note on Swingweight

You will have noticed in this guide I did not refer to swingweight. That's because if you have 2 different clubs with the same swingweight, it's very possible that they feel different. The term for the feeling that is measured is MOI, which measures the torque input of the golf club. If you use the exact same shaft and grip from your fitting, your swingweight will be very close if it's specified. If not, don't worry about it, and base your final club lengths and assemblies and weights around the heft test. This is MOI that you feel, and if you get it pretty close on an iron set, you will find if you measure the swingweights they will progress as the clubs get shorter, EX: D1 - D4. A word of caution: While using heavier grips can reduce the swingweight value, they will NOT reduce the MOI value and instead will increase it. Keep this in mind should you desire to switch grip weights.

Post-Assembly Work

Go hit the clubs and adjust the lies and lofts as necessary. If you bend the loft strong, you will add offset and the face will close more. If you weaken them, you will remove offset and the face will flay open more. Adjust lie so that the wear pattern of the sole approximates to parallel-flat grooves to prevent odd turf behavior.

Roll…roll…roll…
KER-SMASH!
“Good one, Rock. One more and you’ve got yourself a turkey.” Parker Markle, owner of the bowling establishment, noted.
“Thanks, Parker”, I said, thankfully accepting another longneck, “You still going on with your renovations here?”
“Damn straight!”, he replied, “I’ve got me investors, I’ve got me plans, and I’ve even got me real building permits this time…”
Two weeks later, we’re standing out in front of Parker’s still smoldering bowling alley and Parker is on the verge of tears.
“God damn shame”, I said, trying to commiserate my friend.
“Fucking squatters. Can’t even start on the renovations without these bastards…We chuck’em out of your place and the fuckers burn the place down. Hear from the local constabulary yet?”
“Yeah”, he snuffs, “Fucker’s ain’t got a hard dollar among them; nor two cents in their heads. Sure, I can sue, but to what purpose? Look at the place. I had my investors…I had plans…I’m well and truly fucked, Rock.”
“How much you out? “I asked, “How much you need to rebuild and remodel?”
“Oh, fuck me”, Parker trembled, “At least $55-60 thou. Where the fuck am I supposed to come up with that sort of scratch?”
Ker-ching!
I chucked my empty into the bin.
SPANG!
Parker immediately, without asking, dips into the ever-present cooler and hands me an icy-cold one.
In return, I hand Parker my business Rhodium American Express card.
“What’s this?”, he asks.
“It’s my entry into the world of keggeling and conspicuous consumer consumption” I chuckled.
“What the fuck?”, Parker asked, brow furrowed like the early spring marijuana fields hereabouts.
“Use it to order your needful things”, I said, “I’ve got way more than 60 thou free on the card. I mean, let’s not go nuts…”
“You mean?” He asked, quizzically.
“Yep.”, I replied, “Your wishes have been answered…sort of.
Parker looks at me with wide, wondering eyes.
“I’m your god-damned partner.” I smiled as I lit a huge Oscuro cigar; channeling Marion Ravenwood.
“Oh, fuck”, Parker suddenly breaks into a mile-wide smile. “We’re going to be the first bowling alley to have a walk-in humidor, aren’t we?”
“Fuckin-A, Bubba.”, I chuckle, “Plus a Class-A liquor license. Enough of this Class-B slinging beer for bucks bullshit, we’re going to have us a real tavern here on the green…”
“Let me get my plans”, Parker laughs, “I never thought of going the Class-A direction.”
“We’re going to serve more than pre-nuked wings and slate-board pizza.” I said, “We’re going to have 75 lanes, a full-service tavern, walk-in humidor, 80s arcade, and real fucking food. I remember you going on and on about it before the fire. Well, I haven’t forgotten what you’re dreaming about, so fuck it, let’s just do it.”
“It might go a bit past 60 large”, Parker said, slightly uncertainly.
“Let’s just keep it under 100k and for the love of grog, don’t say anything to Esme…”, I pleaded with Parker.
“I’ll do my best”, Parker said, as a manly handshake ensued.
“This could be the start of a beautiful friendship” I nattered.
Between my American Express card and Parker’s insurance pay out, we’ve got more than enough to start selecting contractors and hire us a security team. We’ve had the plans drawn up, had all the blueprints drafted, reviewed and OK’ed by the various governmental departments.
We are ready to tear down what remains of the old place, groom the land, and begin our re-build.
But first, there’s this little problem neither of us had foreseen.
What the fuck are we going to do with over 1,500 scorched pins and 800 or so blistered bowling balls?
We’ve already ordered all new pinsetters, pins and balls; so, what to do with all the leftovers…?
What to do?
What to do?
Of course! We hold a pre-opening carnival and sell tickets to a bowling ball mortar game.
No shit! Carve out a big-ass target out in some field, and fire bowling ball mortars. The closest ticket to where the ball lands wins.
We can worry about the details later.
First, I need to gin-up a set of bowling ball mortars. We’re going to introduce the southwest to Bowling Ball Bingo!
Hell. We’ll make it a huge pre-opening event: bowling ball punt guns, food trucks, local music, games of skill, food trailers, local brewery participation, drinking and merry making.
Still going to need some bowling ball cannons.
But first, we’ll need a place to hold the festivities.
No worries.
Y’see. I know this guy…
Now, in town, there’s been a lot of building. In fact, it looks overly developed.
However, go outside of town a couple of miles, and it’s heavily rural, fallow, and all agrarian.
Then there happens to be an old Junior League baseball diamond that’s been closed for years and in an advanced stage of neglect and derelictitis. However, it’s right off the main exit highway and nestled up closely to the San Juan River. Loads and loads of area to expand and have a nice little festivity.
I know the owner, the venerable ol’ bean Gilberto Cabrera.
So, I load up with beer and cigars and drive over to see Gilberto.
He’s outside his one-up, two-down, three across shotgun shack, sipping warm Modeles and cursing every aspect of life he’s currently been assigned.
I roll up and Gilberto instinctively reaches for his trusty double-barreled Ruger, gauge of 12.
“Whoa!”, I shout. “Just me, Gil. Kindly ol’ Doctor Rock.”
“What the fuck do you want?”, he growls.
“Hey!”, I yell, “Use low tones, or you can’t have any of the goodies I brought back from Canada.”
He props the shotgun over in a corner and being the avaricious old bastard he normally is, he bids me over to the porch to have a rag-chew and he a rifle of my truck’s built-in humidor.
I wander up and present him some pure maple syrup, fresh from Walmart, a half dozen cigars and a cold 12 pack of straight from the land of sky-blue waters, Hamm’s (“The beer refreshing”).
We sit and catch up with each other. He’s an old widower and never had time for kids, so he’s grateful to have someone at least approximately his age to rabbit on with. He’s either 70 or 125, or somewhere in between.
It’s hard to tell with some of these old, wrinkly types.
Anyways, I broach the subject of ‘borrowing’ his land in and adjacent to the old ballpark.
“What fer?” He asks.
“Well,” I reply between sips of some recently obtained Kentucky Firewater, “Parker Markle and I are partners in a new rebuild of his bowling alley, which the squatters burned to a crisp once we got the local fuzz to chuck’em out.”
“Aye?”, he scowls, “Bastards. What does that have to do with me?”
“We decided to hold an impromptu festival, a couple of days, for grand re-opening, where we’d get some folk in to cater the event, with music, maybe some carnival-type rides, local food trucks and trailers, petting zoo for the kids, maybe a pick-up softball game or two and (saving the best for last) Bowling Ball Bingo.”
“What the hell’s that last one?” He wondered.
“Well, we’ve got nearly 1,000 old and slightly scorched bowling balls from the fire. Parker’s got new stock coming in with the insurance money. So, what better way to dispose of old bowling balls by building a couple of cannons, firing the balls skyward and have them fall on some prepared ground? The ground with have a checkerboard of letters and numbers, and instead of popping up little balls at the local Catholic Church, we use bowling ball cannons to choose?”
“Gil looks at me and scoffs, “Y’know, it’s not been really too quiet around here since you moved in. I know you’re a Master Blaster, but what do you really do?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I snicker, “I just snuff oil and gas well fires.”
“Hrumph”, he snorts, “No wonder it’s like the Fourth of July hereabouts every weekend.”
“A man’s gotta stay in practice”, I chuckle back.
We both have a snort and I produce new cigars. We spend the next few hours drafting up an agreement where we can use his land to hold the festival.
But the land and facilities are in a sad state of repair.
So, I promise to fix it up if he loans it to us for pre-opening weekend.
OK, but the facilities need paint, weed removal, blading for parking, Porta Johns, marking of parking areas, etc.
I tell Gil that’s fine. We’ll do all the work necessary to get his 40-acre donation ready for the big weekend. I also agreed to cede the finished area over to the Junior League baseball concern when we’re finished. As well as give the Jr. League 5% of the take, as the area is impoverished and any little help would be smiled upon greatly.
Gil also wants a nice, little honorarium to the tune of 5% of the gate.
“Sorry, Gil”, I replied, “But that’s a NCD (No Can Do). But I’ll let you sit in the security shack and keep an eye on the gate and warn about any potential trouble”.
He seemed less than amused.
“The gate will be right next to the beer garden and I could arrange it so that you could receive free beer in exchange for your time and sharp eye.” I noted.
The ink on the agreement wasn’t yet dry when Gil stated calling for his free beer.
“In a couple weeks, Gil”, I said, handing him a 12-pack of Blatz. “This’ll hold you until then.
He was deliriously happy. Free beer. Free cigars. A minuscule dose of power over his neighbors.
“Today is going to be a long day”, I noted to myself as I pulled out of Gil’s driveway.
First order of business was getting my old D-6 Caterpillar Dozer up and running. However, it needs some work.
I’ve got an idea, but the more it fleshed out, the more I felt like Hawkeye Pierce trying to get a new pair of boots from the Army.
I think I can nuke several birds with one stone: A trip to see Clay Smith about pipe for four bowling ball cannons.
I’ve known Clay for years and he’s one of the reasons we’ve settled in the area. He runs a fabricating/machine shop and that means I don’t need to buy an outbuilding to build my own metal shop.
After the obligatory handshakes, beers and cigars, we get down to brass tacks.
Well, CRA monel steel actually.
Found some 12.000" OD {A} x 8.600" ID {B} x 3.400" Wall {C} DOM Steel CRA casing, actually from the US Navy and once was part of a battleship’s complement; unknown which boat was the donor.
Perfect for 4 cannons.
CRA refers Corrosion Resistant Alloy; special pipe composited by two different materials including inner pipe and outer pipe. Inner CRA layer (0.25~26.0mm) normally such as Stainless steel, Duplex, Nickel alloy, Titanium, Hastelloy, Monel, etc., which are suitable for high corrosion environment.
Outer base material could be seamless or welded, SAWL, SAWH, ERW, HFW, or DSAW carbon steel pipe. The carbon steel substrate provides the required strength and the CRA cladding/lining provides the adequate corrosion resistance to the product being transported. The dissimilar metals that are present through the thickness of the pipe wall bring certain challenges to welding of clad/lined pipes, because welding of such pipes is usually carried out from the outside, using a single-sided welding technique
Clay needs some welding consumables, and will cut and polish the pipe for me if I find him a special CRA cutter-welder.
So, off to see Madden Martin at his welding shop.
“Madden, I need to borrow your CRA welder.” I notify him.
“Sure, what for?”, he asks.
“I’m building bowling ball cannons.” I replied.
“Oh. OK”, retorts Madden, thoroughly nonplussed with the day’s turn of events.
Sure, I can borrow the welder, all I need is to get him some good Wisconsin beer.
After a trip to the house, Madden loads the CRA welder into my truck after he offloads 2 cases of Blatz Light Cream Ale, 2 Cases of Leinenkugel’s, 2 cases of Point (“When you’re out of Point, you’re out of town”) and 2 cases of Spotted Cow from New Glarus.
I drop off the cutting welder to Clay and Javan Elliott, his second in command. We sit and chew the rag for a while, as his minions, of which he has thousands it seems, do the needful.
With the flick of the forklift, they load the 4 cut sections of the bowling ball punt guns in my truck.
Back to see Madden and we discuss his “kids” (apprentices) that are going to be helping me make the bowling ball cannons.
All it cost me was another couple of cases of beer and a box of ridiculously expensive cigars.
There are 6 “kids”:
2 Native American (Navajo): Shizhe'E (Navajo), Atsidi (Navajo),
2 Hispanic (by way of Old Mexico): Hector Manzanares, Richardo Sanchez (really) and,
A pair of local Heinz-57 variety Norteamericanos: Zachary Gibson and Alfie Walsh.
They all spoke passable English, and with my intense Oilfield Spanish, we could still communicate.
First, came the really dirty work. The pipe sections needed to be swaged, that is, drifted to see if they were the proper dimensions.
Any underage had to be filled with weld and then ground to specs. Any overages had to be ground down to specs.
This steel is about a 65-68 Rockwell hardness.
FYI: Rockwell hardness refers to how resistant a metal object is to penetration and permanent deformation from another material. It’s a measuring system of non-destructive metallurgical testing that determines how hard and strong steel truly is.
Truth is, it’s tougher than hammered nails. Way tougher, more like high-speed steel in circular form. However, it’s great for lateral compression and tension resistance, but prone to quench cracking. Quench cracks result from stresses produced during the transition from austenite to martensite, which involves an increase in volume. The martensitic transformation starts at the outermost surfaces of the part being quenched.
In other words, when there’s a phase change in the steel, it must be tempered or annealed slowly. So, a temperature shift greater than 300C must be done slowly or the metal cracks like an old soft-boiled eggshell.
I spent the rest of the day designing the cannons, and once that was done, explaining the blueprint to the gang of 6. They listened intently, asked non-stupid questions and generally came to impress me with the knowledge and work ethic.
The next day, I dropped back over to Madden’s and viewed the finished products.
They built the cannons beautifully. I checked them over and they were in specs every single measurement. They had acid-dipped them to get rid of the mill scale and then, went ahead and laid out the jobs.
It seems trivial, but many, even older hands, will do that in the opposite order. Here’s how errors creep in and begin to multiply.
I swaged each bore with a bowling ball I’d liberated from the old alley and it snugged into each like a Joey snugs into Mamma Roo.
I figured I could use these guys to help renovate the ballpark. I ask Madden if I can poach them for the duration of the build.
Madden readily agrees.
As long as they’re OK with a new boss and I’ll pay their way:

1. Beer.
3. Cigars.
5. $350/day.
6. Plus, I needed to teach them the basics of detonics.

Since this was Friday, I paid up for their day’s work and told them to meet me, bright and early (~0800) at the ballpark.
Six voices, in unison and several languages, agreed they’d be there with bells on.
That, I thought, would be interesting to see…
Saturday morning; I had my boon friend, Cat-skinner and all-around good guy, William “Kit” Carson come to the house and help me maneuver the old Cat 6 onto its trailer.
The beast is an old 1977 D6D model, with 140 original horsepower. The D6 is a versatile machine that can be used for a variety of tasks. It is commonly used in construction, mining, and agricultural applications. It is a great choice for clearing land, grading, and road building. It can also be used for digging and pushing materials, as well as for light demolition work. The machine is capable of pushing large loads and can handle most types of terrain.
I took it in trade for a job I did leveling out an old, abandoned limestone quarry that the owner was standing to lose via fines some ~US$50,000/day. He procrastinated and postponed, but did none of the US Government required remediation to the old rip-rap quarry once he finally wrung every peso out of that old hole.
It cost me a few cases of dynamite, a shitload of ANFO, a water well rig and a number of shotholes; but once we were finished, the place resembled a Kmart parking lot rather than the dark side of the moon.
But he didn’t have the cash to pay me and my crew, so I took his old D6 to hold while he generated some cash flow.
He died intestate some 14 months later. I submitted my bills to his estate and they basically said to keep the Cat, they’d sent the proper documents for title transfer, and we’d all call it a day.
So, I had a tinker item. I’d have Kit drop by when I was out of pocket and he could futz with the old girl and see if he could get her up to specs.
We replaced virtually every part on the tractor at one time or another. We stroked and bored the old powerplant and took her from ~140 BHP to around 500. Added a new turbocharger, since now we were residing at over 6,000’ AMSL. New tracks, pinions, trunnions, idlers, ripping hook, roller carrier, ad infinitum. New hoses, clamps, hydraulic cylinders…virtually jacked-up the radiator cap and inserted a new machine underneath.
She still was a cranky old bitch, and had to be kept warm and dry otherwise she’d sit and spit, sputter and smoke.
Yes, we were kindred spirits.
We teased her up onto the trailer and I backed my truck into the drive to hook-up. Luckily, the ballpark was less than 3 miles distant, as even my heavy-duty dualie truck was near it’s limit when it came to towing as the dozer tipped the Toledos at just over 37k pounds.
We all met over at the park and I immediately laid out an impromptu office on the hood of my truck. I had topo maps, aerial photos of the park, and after covering the maps over in vellum, I dragged out my drafting gear and started to sketch dimensions, and where things were going to go.
Kit had backed the dozer off the trailer and I battened everything down with old oil company map magnets and pulled my rig out of the way. I chose a spot under a copse of old-growth elms and live oak. The elms were afflicted with Dutch Elm Disease and the oaks had nasty cases of Live Oak Decline.
They were going to be removed and burned as per NOAA and BLM and half a dozen other alphabetic soup governmental agencies.
Besides, this is where the bingo board was to go.
Kit spent the best part of the day keeping the Cat running and training all of our international proteges. We took frequent breaks to go and rescue the Cat when Ricardo forget where the brake was and damn near drove into the Lower San Juan River or to ensure my charges were staying well hydrated.
The beer was locked in a cooler for when the drinking light was lit after 1700 hours.
Between them taking turns on learning how to speak “Cat”, Kit and the others often came by with ideas, comments and flat-out ridicule for how I was designing the park. Often, this required the liberation of some of my prime cigars.
Parker dropped by and informed me he had lined up 12 local food trucks for the two days, so we’d need parking, Porta Johns, running water and power for these guys.
“Fine”, I replied, “We now have a food court.”
“And well need parking”, Kit noted.
“How many cars at once? “, I asked.
“Best make it a thou”, He replied.
“Hmm…”, I hmm’ed. “The average car is a bit under 7′, but if you are driving them in, you need to park them far enough apart to allow exit on the driver’s side. So, allow 10′ width per car.
The average length is just under 15′. You can certainly park them close enough to allow 18′ per car, for backing and pulling out purposes.
While each acre of land contains 43,560 square feet, a simple mathematical computation shows if each parking space requires 180 square feet, 1 acre of land would accommodate 242 parking spaces. Of course, this assumes no turning lanes and each parking space is right next to each other. If a field that is 180 feet by 242 feet (approximately 1 acre) is designed with six rows of parking spaces with each parking space being approximately 10 feet by 18 feet and the traffic lanes are 24 feet wide, approximately 150 spaces can be designed. Therefore, there are three pairs of parking rows, each containing 48 spaces. The one-way traffic lanes are 12 feet wide and the two-way traffic lanes are 18 feet wide.”
“OK, I said aloud, “It looks like for a thousand cars at once, we’ll need about 7 acres. No problem. We’ve got nothing but space out here.”
“Problem”, Atsidi cautioned, “7 acres represent a long walk. Come in late and too far to drag the kids.”
“OK, clever dick”, I replied, “You and Shizhe’N are tasked with finding some shuttle buses. 25 or 30 person coaches that can just drive an ellipsoidal track around the parking areas. Let me know when, where and how much.”
“For two days?”, he asked.
“Nahh”, I said, “Let’s get them here a day early for a dry run. 3 days.”
“OK, bossman”, he smiled, “But we’ll need some greenery to grease those wheels…”
I peeled off a series of Benjamins from my wallet and gave them to them along with a register to sign.
“Everything on the up and up.”, I said, “I need receipts for everything. I’m going to keep sharp tabs on how much everything costs. Savvy?”
“Oh, yeah, Rock”, they both smiled, “We savvy goodly.”
“Wise-asses.” I snickered.
After lunch, we all sat around smoking and chatting. There were ideas being bounced all around. Some quite good, some a bit silly and some downright laughable.
To give you a rough idea of the layout, it all centered around the ballpark. It had bleachers, a bullpen, dugouts, rudimentary concession stands. And the ball diamond. The park was originally built for the local Little League, with base paths 70’ and pitching distance 50’. Over the years, it had been revived and now had 90’ base paths and 60.5’ pitching distances.
We decided that a fresh coat of paint would revive the old park and make it look more festive (and real). I reached out to several local businesses, and most bought advertisements on the outfield back fences. They’d supply the either canvas banners or plywood sheets with all the pertinent information about their company. Only cost $50/weekend, and it was tax deductible.
It was tax deductible since Esme pointed out our whole endeavor could be umbrellaed under as per the internal revenue code, a 501(c)3 is a nonprofit organization for religious, charitable, scientific, and educational purposes.
Donations to 501(c)3 are tax-deductible.
That helped grease the skids well and I had the lads out hammering and trying off canvas from the gusty Santa Ana-type winds that swept the area.
I won’t go over each and every event we had set for the park, but between Kit, myself and the guys, we had bladed down to the top Kirtland Shale roughly 8 acres for parking facilities. Kit took a turn and angled the main blade and inserted gutters around each acre of parking to facilitate drainage.
I built a Porta San farm that was close enough to the beer vendors yet far enough from the Food Court to be a convenience to all and a detriment to none. I even got the local Honey Wagon drivers to donate their time for a passel of free entrance and drinks tickets.
We had taken out ads in the local trades and dailies; as well as someone on the Internet built a page for the event.
We had a LOT of interest and actually had to turn away some potential partners as this was only a two-day affair. Evidently, a few groups had tried before, but never more that reviving the Little League and park. We went whole hog and decided it was going to be something with all the flavor of a State Fair, but we decided early on that a petting zoo for the kids was enough. I mean, the state actually still runs a real State Fair.
OK, we had a functional ballpark for Little through Senior League. Even had water piped in for the showers and real toilets, rather than Porta Johns. Along one side of the diamond, closer to the river, was the games and attractions area. A rectangle of ‘ping pong ball in the bowl to win a goldfish, to balloon shooting galleries and guess your weight/age’ type of attractions; along with some very, very sedate rides; carousel, mini-scrambler and a Squirrel Nut Zipper, as I recall.
Along the other side of the diamonds, was the food court. We had now some 18 trucks and trailers committed to the festivities. We were going to have funnel cakes, roast turkey legs, pickle-on-a-stick, some Mexican bakeries with all their delectables and one, oddly enough, all the way from Baja Canada hawking huge, ‘it takes two hands to handle’ cream puffs.
How that last one got wind of our little soiree was going to remain a mystery…
Then there was the entrance with ticket taker-sellers.
Of course, I had put in a specialty tent, with the help of no less than 7 local micro-breweries; a Beer Garden. We decided to just go with a Class B license and avoid all the potential nasties of both glass bottles (we only sold draft beer in Solo cozy-red cups) and high proof liquor.
There were, of course, a battalion of Porta Johns in close proximity to the Beer Garden.
We had a couple of the local oilfield service companies donate a fully functional and kitted out First Aid Station as well as a Security office.
Taking notes from the Chicago 1969 Republican party in Chicago, we put out feelers for large, tough people to enforce security if such was needed.
Thanks to Hector and Rick, we had the local motorcycle club, “The Rig Pigs” volunteer their services as security. These are guys that not only work in the Oil Patch but are also motorcycle aficionados. I know or have gotten to know every one of them, from Roughneck to Toolpusher to Rig Manager.
To be continued…

I am very sorry for how long this is, I was trying to provide as much context as possible.
On Saturday, me and my husband had plans to do yard/ house work.
We go to Home Depot and get home and I start doing the final deweed and planting of our veggies in our garden behind the house and he starts working on cutting wood to replace old wood planks and then painting the front deck.
A few times during my breaks I would walk around the house and say hi and check in. Every time he seemed in a much better mood and was doing a great job.
When I finished my planting, I was feeling proud and was going to go check on my partner and then give myself a little reward (my reward was half of a cig). My partner hates that I smoke.
Anyways, I round the corner around the house and he has the paint sprayer gun in his hands and is struggling to get paint to stop leaking out it seems from looking around at blue paint all over the place. When he sees me, he instantly starts aggressively saying flustered and frustrated “I’ve been calling you” and “I need your help” a few times (I had my headphones on, which he knew). When I feel aggression in confrontation from someone I love, I instantly either shut down or go into “fawn” mode which means I get scared and snap into a what can I do to make you not angry with me mode. My dad was verbally and physically abusive and yelled a lot. He knows all of this.
He started yelling out things that he needed, a bucket of water which I asked how big and he was making annoyed comments as I was trying to clarify. I grab the water, he says he needs rollers to roll the paint for the deck. I went and grabbed those, come back and he needs the metal roller (idk where they are because he typically has a “spot” he puts those things and I’m too nervous to ask so I go looking). I know with every second I’m gone he’s getting madder so I’m trying to be quick and find one wrapped in a plastic bag in a random spot in the basement. I come back out and he’s messing with the paint sprayer again, I stand there for a minute and I can see how he’s getting more frustrated and angry so I say hey it’s okay we can just roll it and he says I’ve put too much work into this to quit and I stood there for maybe another minute and decided I could go take a minute to have that cigarette.
I walk around to the back of the house and finished my cig, gone 5 mins. I walk back around to him and he’s rolling the paint on the deck. I walk up and he instantly snaps at me about how much he needed me and how I just left him (he has a big thing with “leaving”) and how I disappointed him. I was shocked he was so angry and said “oh? I was wrapping up on the other side” not saying cig cause I knew it would make him more mad, continues to yell and I say I’m sorry, what do you need or what can I help with, something like that. He says nothing now so I turn around and go into the house. He comes in a while later and sits down and starts talking about do I understand how he feels and how badly I hurt him and how badly he needed me and I left. I stood my ground and said kept saying something like it wasn’t okay how he talked to me and I felt like he was in a bad mood and got the opportunity to take it out on me. We separated for the rest of the night and then I came to bed without us speaking.
I woke up early and just chilled around the house. When he woke up, he asked me if I had thought about it and I stood my ground still. We had basically the same argument as the night before but with this one him repeating I don’t care about him. We separate. I go into the garage to smoke weed and he comes out and the neighbor starts walking over to talk to us at the same time. He’s at the door so I turn towards him (not wanting the neighbors to see the bong I’m hitting lol) set it down and walk towards him to go inside. He is shaking he’s so mad and says “go talk to them” like a demand and I said no so he walked out of the door frame and slammed the door behind him and walked towards them. I open it and go inside and decide I need to leave. I start gathering my stuff and he walks back in and I walk back into the garage. He walks in seconds later as I’m gathering my last few things as quickly as possible and he starts saying oh you’re that afraid of confrontation huh (knowing I get scared at aggression) and I said no I’m not going to let you talk to me like shit and tell me what to do and he started saying things like no I didn’t and what are you talking about and I said don’t try to manipulate me as I’m walking away. He starts to say something else but I’m halfway to my car, I get in and I see him walking towards my car. I get out quick. (When he’s angry or wants to talk, he will not give space. He will follow me around the house or to anywhere I go even if I ask for it so I knew I needed to leave)
I spent the day in a random parking lot in my car for 5 hours. I go home about 9:30pm hoping he would leave me be by then. He instantly comes down, much calmer but wants to talk now and I insist we wait until the morning but he refuses. I go upstairs and we basically have the same fight again but this time he is crying and telling me his heart is breaking and I’m jabbing the knife in over and over again and that his words and actions weren’t hurtful, they just “triggered” me (it was tough for me to feel empathic towards him at this point). I stand my ground and tell him I feel like this is being over complicated and that I’m not the bad guy.
He is 100% convinced I’m the villain, so am I the asshole?