About fifty years ago, there was no seal on the ammo boxes. A kid could check out the various cartridges and dream. God, I thought that box of 264 Win Mag was sexier than Marylin Monroe, almost as fine as Ann Margret. Twenty years later I finally managed to find a Win 70 Classic in a local store. It easily matched my fantasies.


People who choose to brew up their own storms bitch loudest about the rain.