A little story is in order, I guess. Got the dogs all tended to early, and I've got a little time on my hands.
True story. Every word. Near as I can recall, it was about 6 years ago.
I'm at PHA with a couple of my beaters and 72 Metalform magazines stoked up with 200-grain home cast SWCs. Another early bird was in a bay with a Springfield GI Mil-Spec. I hear intermittent bang-bang-bang punctuated by a string of words that I must not repeat here lest Art's grammaw wash my mouth out with soap.
Curious...I step over to the next bay to see if I can help the guy out. His blood pressure is up. Way up. He can't get this thing to run, no matter what ammo or what magazine or what ancient chant he practices...and he's ready to throw it in the dumpster. Then he offers to sell it to me for a hundred bucks. He keeps his magazines, though. They're new and not part of the deal.
I pay him, and he stomps off to shoot a nice 6-inch Python. He hears his pistol bangin' away without stoppages. Curious, he steps around the wall to make sure it's his pistol. Yep. Runs like a Singer sewin' machine says I. Purty good shooter. Best C-note I ever spent.
He's all Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Demands to know what I did to get it to run...probably suspicious that I was some kinda reincarnated Mayan shaman. Tweaked the extractor a little and started shootin' says I.
With cast semi-wadcutters? He inquired.
Yep. Wanna try it?
He wanted to try again. Brought his magazines over, and it was the same ol' same. Bang-bang-jam-cuss-bang-bang-jam-cuss-bang.
He can't understand it. These are the best magazines money can buy. Said so right there on the internet.
I sold it back to him for a hundred bucks. My deviousness will only go so far.
Next Sunday rolls around, and he's back. Same pistol. Same magazines. Same story. Bang-bang-jam-cuss-bang-jam-cuss-bang.
Many expletives deleted. Grammaw never sleeps.
Bygodthesemagazinesarethebestthatmoneycanbuyandbygodthey'regonnawork!
*sigh*