yeah, you have to click one more time on “read more”. Daffy.
When I qualified in ‘84, the Expert score was 220-250. I shot a 230 on pre-qual...on qual day it was cool and windy and I shot a 219 - Sharpshooter! I
was pissed! Requested to my Senior Drill Instructor to have my pre-qual score count. His reply was ‘Stop whining and Mountain climbers until I get
tired watching you!’...lol When I got to my duty station a year and a half later, I re-qual’ed Expert and kept it.
A note on the range record...IIRC, one of the marksmanship instructors said that the range record was held by a WM at 247. He stated that said
WM had never fired a weapon until she had come to the Island, followed the instruction and set the record. I don’t know if this story was Marine
Corps Lore or not but it would give credence the ‘bad habits’ argument.
24 posted on 8/16/2020, 9:12:42 AM by major_gaff (University of Parris Island, Class of ‘84)
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To: AggregateThreat; All
You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rainsford, and it is the hunt.”
And hunting, remember, had been my life. I have heard that in America businessmen often go to pieces when they give up the business that has been their life.”
“Simply this: hunting had ceased to be what you call ‘a sporting proposition.’ It had become too easy. I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore than perfection.”
“No animal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you.”
The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. “I had to invent a new animal to hunt,” he said.
“Not at all,” said the general. “I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect for my purposes—there are jungles with a maze of traits in them, hills, swamps—”
“Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits.”
“I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,” explained the general. “So I said, ‘What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?’ And the answer was, of course, ‘It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason.”’
“But no animal can reason,” objected Rainsford.
“My dear fellow,” said the general, “there is one that can.”
“But you can’t mean—” gasped Rainsford.
“I can’t believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke.”
“Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting.”
“Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder.”
The general laughed with entire good nature. He regarded Rainsford quizzically. “I refuse to believe that so modern and civilized a young man as you seem to be harbors romantic ideas about the value of human life. Surely your experiences in the war—”
“Did not make me condone cold-blooded murder,” finished Rainsford stiffly.
Laughter shook the general. “How extraordinarily droll you are!” he said. “One does not expect nowadays to find a young man of the educated class, even in America, with such a naïve, and, if I may say so, mid-Victorian point of view. It’s like finding a snuffbox in a limousine. Ah, well, doubtless you had Puritan ancestors. So many Americans appear to have had. I’ll wager you’ll forget your notions when you go hunting with me. You’ve a genuine new thrill in store for you, Mr. Rainsford.”
“Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from tramp ships—lassars, blacks, Chinese, whites, mongrels—a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than a score of them.”
“But they are men,” said Rainsford hotly.
“Precisely,” said the general. “That is why I use them. It gives me pleasure. They can reason, after a fashion. So they are dangerous.”
http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/danger.html
Richard 1893-1949 Connell - The Most Dangerous Game
Who is preying on us? Who is preying with us?
My group is tight. My family is tight. My neighborhood is tight. Do THEY have enough ground forces at this time. The world has been a slaughterhouse throughout history. Let’s play...”Dangerous Marxists” and their leaders. What does Marxine say?
You say you want a revolution?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MbqzDm1uCo
Where’s prancing, preening, puss Beto O’Mao?