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janna's wet whistles and primal at the gun club

updated fri 11 nov 05


primalmommy on thu 10 nov 05

A two-for-one post:

Janna, Lana Wilson suggested a system that works really well for me. It
takes some set up, but will last you forever. Take a storage box -- I
like the see through kind -- with a snap on lid. Pour about an inch of
plaster in the bottom and let it set. Cut a bit of flat styro -- the
kind your kiln shelves come packed in, or the styro foam board used for
insulation -- to fit on top of the plaster.

Pour water in the box and the plaster will soak it up. Set your half
finished whistles on the styro and snap the lid shut. They stay nice and

And as for mel and phil... When I was doing my thesis research at
rodeos, tractor pulls and timber carnivals, I often found myself tent
camping near logging camps or other male-intensive occupational
clusterings where the only women around were a) old ladies who cooked
for everybody or b) younger women, uh, "of easy virtue, for hire".

I became very adept with my Smith and Wesson .38 special. The loggers
used to call it "my husband", and mention it whenever somebody asked if
I was sleeping all by myself down at the campsite.

The best benefit was that any time I came into a new little town, I
would pitch a tent, and then find the gun club and ask permission to do
a little target shooting. My farmer grandpa started me out on clay
pigeons back when a shotgun would knock me over backward, so I am no

It was a nice deal for a folklorist, because retired
loggers/farmers/ranchers tend to gather on gun club porches on sunny
afternoons and engage in a kind of storytelling we called "First liar
don't stand a chance", weaving coon dogs and fishing trips into
Bunyanesque tales.

Also nice because those old men were terrible gossips, and by evening
everybody in town knew the young college gal camping alone by the river
was packin', and a good shot to boot.

It helped that I had a bumper sticker that said, "Smith and Wesson.. the
ultimate in feminine protection." The truth is, once they figured out I
was a "nice girl", a camp full of loggers were the nicest, most
gentlemanly bunch of bodyguards a girl could want... they wouldn't even
let anyone CUSS in front of me, and no matter how far out in the sticks
I pitched my tent, I often woke up to find firewood piled by the

Lt. Kelly Savino, Ohio Regiment of Armed Liberal Pacifist Tree-huggers,
Rainbow Squadron.

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