Forensics Doc

I'm trying to disassemble my Rockchucker Supreme for cleaning and lubrication. The older versions had a toggle block pin that went through the lower holes in the linkage arms and were secured with a c-pin thingy. With the new one, the toggle block pin through the lower holes in the linkage arm are secured on either side by nylock nuts. I can get one off at a time but when I try to get the other one off, the one I just got off tightens. I've tried holding the threads of the side I got off with a wrench with a piece of cardboard over the jaws so I don't screw up the threads but can't hold it tight enough to allow me to remove the nylock nut on the other side. Since this is a continuous pin, can I just take off one nut and drive the toggle block pin to the other side using a hammer? If so, do I drive it right to left or does it make any difference?

I remember the good old days when it was Playboy that was received through the mail in a plain brown wrapper, not gun magazines.

Not a rant, no discussions expected, no us vs. them, no bashing. Just an observation. As of two months ago the Kroger where I shop (or used to) no longer carries any gun magazines. They previously carried probably 20 different magazines. Now, not a one.

Rather than turn this into a rant, (which it might anyway but not by me), I’m just going to post a series of emails between me and TSA regarding whether it is permissible to carry bullets (not loaded ammo) in the carry-on. The question I asked was “Is it permissible to carry bullets (not loaded ammo) in my carry-on?” Sounds simple enough, right? Apparently not. The question came as a follow-up to an incident I had with TSA in Savannah, Georgia (I posted it on this forum on 1/3/17 entitled “Run-In With TSA”). I was told by TSA at the airport that the .204 Ruger cases I had in my carry-on had to be checked. I knew full well that they didn’t, but what could I do? If you’re interested you can read about it there. Anyway, next month I will be again traveling through the Savannah airport and may well be carrying some Sierra 32-grain .204 Ruger bullets in my carry-on. For some reason they seem hard to find here so I buy them whenever and wherever I can. Round one: My initial inquiry to TSA on 1/31/18 was: “Can you tell me if bullets (not ammunition) are permissible in carry-on baggage? I know the regulations on shell casings but can find no information on bullets.” TSA’s response: “Thank you for contacting the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) Contact Center. Empty shell casings are permitted in your carry-on or checked bag as long as the projectile is no longer intact and the primer has been removed or has been discharged. If ammunition still has the projectile attached and the powder has been drilled out, they are considered replicas and are not permitted in carry-on bags.” Round two: My response: “I did not ask about shell casings. As I mentioned in my email, I know the regulations on those. I am asking a second time for clarification on whether bullets (not ammunition) can be carried aboard. Despite common nomenclature, bullets are not the same as ammunition. A loaded round of ammunition is comprised of four components: the bullet (projectile), powder, primer (detonates the powder), and the case. Two of these components, the powder and primer, are classified as hazardous material and may not be carried aboard. The other two, the bullet (projectile) and case are simply inert pieces of metal and pose no threat. So I will ask again: Can bullets (projectiles) be carried aboard?” TSA’s response: “In response to your question, no, loaded ammunition is not allowed in carry-on baggage. Ammunition may only be transported in checked baggage and TSA requires ammunition to be in original packaging or in specific packaging designed to carry ammunition (wood or metal box) when transported. If ammunition is in a magazine, the open end of the magazine needs to be taped or in a magazine pouch, inside an approved box designed to transport ammunition in checked baggage.” Round three: My inquiry of later on 3/8/18 was: “For the third time I am asking whether bullets (projectiles), not loaded ammunition can be carried aboard. My inquiry of 2/18/18 made it quite clear that I need clarification on bullets (projectiles), one of the four components of a loaded round of ammunition, not on ammunition itself. Bullets are metallic projectiles only and are not explosive. Given that empty cases can be carried aboard, I assume that bullets, which are similarly non-explosive and pose no threat, can be also. I don’t know how to make my inquiry any clearer than this.” TSA’s response: “Replica weapons may be mistaken for real weapons in the x-ray machine or by a fellow passenger and have the ability to cause the same level of concern. In addition, screening checkpoints may be impacted or closed if a replica firearm appears as a real weapon when viewed through the x-ray machine.” “Replica firearms and ammunition are permitted in checked baggage. While not required, we recommend that you place realistic firearms in a hard-sided, locked case. If a Transportation Security Officer discovers a replica firearm during checked baggage screening an believes it is real, the item will be treated as such until law enforcement advises otherwise.” Am I missing something here? Was my simple question not clear? Or, as was said on Cool Hand Luke, “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.”

Wuss(y): A person regarded as weak, ineffectual, or overly fearful. Origin: a combination of the words “wimp” and (well, you know).—Thefreedictionary.com. A couple months ago I was in my local Kroger store, and after picking up a few things I headed over to the magazine rack to check out the gun magazines. Just as I rounded the aisle with the magazine rack I saw a woman going from one end of the rack to the other, moving magazines from one end of the rack to the other, all the while muttering under her breath. Although the words were mostly inaudible, I heard snippets that mentioned something about someone’s mother, someone’s son, something about female dogs, and something about certain body parts. Upon seeing me she immediately stopped the muttering and blushed. I asked, “Is something wrong?” to which she answered, “Some (pausing slightly while searching for a word that would be acceptable to a customer) jerk keeps putting the gun magazines behind the cooking, sewing, and women’s magazines and keeps putting the cooking, sewing, and women’s magazines in front of the gun magazines. I just don’t understand it!” Now, I frequently have to remove a single Car and Driver or Motor Trend magazine from the front of a row of gun magazines, but that’s just because someone didn’t take the time to replace it from where it came from originally. According to the woman, these were entire rows of women’s magazines that were placed over the gun magazines. Very strange. I thought no more about it until I was in the same Kroger a couple weeks ago and once again headed to the magazine rack. As I neared the rack I saw an older guy calmly and deliberately removing entire rows of gun magazine from one end of the rack and taking them to the other end. He then carefully tucked them behind a row of Good Housekeeping magazines. He then took probably six cooking magazines from the left side of the rack, walked about 15 feet to the other end of the rack, and carefully put them over the Guns and Ammo magazines. He then took a handful of Shooting Times and then walked back to the left side of the rack and hid them behind some kind of sewing magazines. I walked up to him and asked, “Would you be terribly upset if I asked you what the hell you’re doing?” Wussy Man: “Moving magazines,” he replied. Me: “Well, Sherlock, I can see that. And your reason is…?” Wussy Man: “I’m afraid of guns.” Me: “Those aren’t guns. Those are pictures of guns on the front cover.” Wussy Man: “Same thing.” I briefly considered raising my untucked shirt and showing that there really is a difference between a 1911 and a picture of one, but I figured that upon seeing the difference he would probably lose control of his bladder and hose us both. Me: “Not a big fan of the Second Amendment, huh?” Wussy Man: “I don’t know about the Second Amendment. I just don’t think anyone should have guns.” Me: “Well, you’re a bit late on that one. That issue was decided a couple hundred years ago. So you’re more comfortable with cooking magazines, sewing magazines, and women’s lingerie magazines?” Apparently Wussy Man was comfortable in his choice of magazines or perhaps not recognizing sarcasm when he heard it he said, “Yes.” Me: “Somehow I would have guessed that.” I then walked away and headed to the manager’s office. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Wussy Man was continuing his quest to hide the gun magazines, apparently undeterred by our brief conversation. Upon reaching the manager’s office I told him what was going on, and it just so happened that the magazine lady I had met a couple months earlier was there also. They both headed to the magazine rack while I left to pick up a couple other items before I left the store. As I was leaving, I decided to take another pass by the magazine rack and see what was going on. Sure enough, the manager, magazine lady, and Wussy Man were engaged in a rather spirited conversation, and Wussy Man seemed to be getting the short end of it. As I passed behind him, I dropped a 12-pack of Charmin in his cart and continued down the aisle. Seeing the toilet paper now in his cart, he tuned to me and said, “What’s that for?” I replied, “You’re so full of (for purposes of this forum let’s just call it “fecal matter”) I thought you might need this.” The manager and magazine lady then broke out laughing and I could still hear them laughing when I left the store several minutes later.

I've been reloading for a CZ527 Varmint in .223 for several years now using a Dillon 550B and Dillon dies. The gun is incredibly accurate, but like most of us I want to wring out every bit of accuracy it is capable of. The other day I wanted to recheck the shoulder bump so I took some fired cases and measured them from the base of the case to the shoulder using digital calipers and Sinclair Bump Gauge Inserts. The brass is twice-fired Lake City brass that has always worked well in the gun. Yeah, I know, it's not Lapua but it works well. The brass was not resized prior to measuring. The primers are seated below the base, so that's not an issue. I expected to see the lengths within no more than about 0.002, but I was surprised to see the lengths were all over the map, varying from .002 to as much as 0.011. Given that they were all fired in the same gun and would be expected to expand to fit the chamber, I am stumped as to why they vary so much. I thought maybe the gunk on the neck and shoulder could account for the variations, so I cleaned them slightly with 000 steel wool It had no effect. And with this much variation, I can't see any way to set the sizing die to set shoulder bump back about 0.002. Does anybody out there have any idea what's going on? I don't.

Having worked in a morgue for many years and seeing the most incredible ways people wind up on an autopsy table, I'm convinced that Albert Einstein had it right when he said, "Only two thing are infinite, the universe and human stupidity and I'm not sure about the former."

The older I get the more I realize I don't understand a lot of stuff, much of which I simply accept and go on. I don't understand how a particle as infinitesimally small as an atom can be split to cause an explosion that will level entire cities, but I know it's true. I can't begin to grasp the complexities of putting a man on the moon, not once but several times, and returning them safely to Earth, but I watched it happen. More recently, in 2004 the Rosetta spacecraft was launched and and ten years later, after having traveled something over four billion miles, landed on comet 67P, which was traveling through space at a velocity of 84,000 mph. After doing so, it sent back astoundingly clear photos of the comet's surface. As amazing as all that is, here's what I find even more amazing: That with all the incredible technology we have, we seem unable to prevent our email from being hacked, unable to prevent viruses and worms from infecting our computers, and seem unable to prevent credit card fraud from occurring when buying stuff over the internet. Yes, I know, much, perhaps most, of this results from use of passwords such as "password" or "12345678", using the same password for multiple accounts, and not recognizing phishing when it occurs, but surely if we can hit a comet 317 million miles away after traveling for ten years, we should be able to keep some Romanian hacker with a home computer from being able to access our information. Am I missing something?

Of all the things I hate (and they are many) one of the things that pisses me off most are people who knowingly take perverse pleasure in destroying other people's property. I travel a lot and have spent quite a bit of time in Europe over the past few years. It really ticks me off to see centuries-old buildings tagged or spray painted with graffiti, traffic signs done likewise, and property intentionally damaged. It's the same here in the U.S. Much of my travel occurs during the week, particularly mid-week when our garbage is picked up on Wednesday morning. Given that the trash is picked up between about 7:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m., most folks put their garbage out near the street the previous night. Being the morning person/insomniac that I am, I usually get up around 5:00 or so and put it out then. For the last several times while I was traveling my wife put the garbage out the night before only to find that some jerk had bashed the garbage can with a car sometime during the night and scattered the garbage down the hillside. She could see the tire marks leading to the garbage can. Once may be an accident, but three times made it intentional. The garbage can itself was a Rubbermaid, and just pushing it back into shape was easy. But the thought of it... Anyway, after the third time I figured I'd do something about it. I went to Lowe's and bought a bag of cement and a piece of PVC pipe. In the place where we put the garbage can I dug a hole about three feet deep with a posthole digger, set the PVC pipe in the middle of it, and surrounded the PVC pipe with concrete. Next I went out and bought an identical garbage can and cut a hole in the bottom of it. On Tuesday evening I took a 6-foot I-beam I had lying around, set in in the PVC pipe, and slid the garbage can over the top of it. I then filled the garbage can with concrete blocks and went to bed. Sure enough, about 3:00 a.m. I heard a loud crash next to our driveway. I jumped in my clothes and went out to find a lime green Mitsubishi Eclipse wrapped around the garbage can. The bumper was pushed back into the radiator, which was pushed back to the block and leaking coolant everywhere. The hood was curled up and the left front wheel was cocked about 45 degrees. Prior to impact it must have looked much like one of the cars from the Fast and Furious movie. You know what I mean--tires set out 6 inches from the wheel wells, racing stripe, a tailpipe with a diameter you could put a grapefruit in, and lowered so much that if he had run over a contact lens it would have taken out the oil pan. It didn't look much like that now. Just climbing out was some greasy-looking kid (18 years old, no less, so that makes him an adult, not a juvie. Big difference with the court system), and two other sketchy-looking buddies. I had already called the police who were there within minutes. The driver was obviously drunk as were both of his buddies. The driver said, "Well, damn, this didn't happen the last time!." The officer asked me what the concrete blocks were doing in the garbage can, and I told him that it was just some building materials I was planning to throw away later. He just smiled. When the officer asked for his proof of insurance the driver said he didn't have any. Awwww. Now ain't that a shame! He'll have to pay to fix his own car. The driver was arrested for DUI, no proof of insurance, and a few other things. Unfortunately, there was no proof that he had intentionally run into the garbage can, so he wasn't arrested for that. His two buddies were arrested for public drunk, and the car went away on a hook. It was an awful lot of work but more than worth it. Revenge is best served cold, and when combined with a teachable moment is the best of all outcomes.

I was doing some work in Virginia yesterday and just happened to see this license plate on a truck in a parking lot. My guess is that it was lost on 99.9% of the people who saw it.

The other day I was in Savannah, Georgia business and happened upon some much-needed, hard to find .204 Ruger brass. I bought two packages (50 cases each) of Hornady, stuck them in my roll aboard, and proceeded to the airport yesterday morning. As much as I travel I have a pretty good handle on TSA regulations on what and what cannot be brought aboard so I wasn't worried that the brass wouldn't make it through. Wrong. I put both both the carry-on and the roll aboard on the belt, passed through the metal detector and waited for my bags to come out the other end. Sure enough, my roll aboard was taken off the belt by a TSA agent who then asked me to step over to the screening area for further inspection. Before he opened the roll aboard I told him that what he was going to find where two bags of unprimed rifle brass in original, unopened packages. He took them out and promptly told me that these were prohibited items. I then explained to him that they were not. Knowing the regulations, I told him that this is not ammunition. They were not loaded rounds. They had no primer, no powder, and no bullet. They were simply one component of loaded ammunition and there was nothing prohibiting them from being carried aboard. He then explained that TSA prohibits bolts, firing pins, clips, magazines, and other firearm components from being carried aboard, and that the brass fit this definition. I then told him that rifle brass is not a firearm component and that I was not carrying a firearm. There was no budging him. He then told me I could either dump the brass (yeah, right), or go back to the Delta ticket counter and check my roll aboard with the brass in it. I asked him if it would be permissible if I were to carry aboard two 1-pound boxes of copper pennies and an exploding Samsung Galaxy Note 7, and he said it would be. I then asked for his name and wrote it down. If I had had time I would have asked for a supervisor, but I didn't. He then escorted me out of security, and I went back to the Delta ticket counter, waited in line, and checked my roll aboard with the brass in it. Then I had to go through security again. I've got Pre-check and Global Entry to speed things up but It was still a real PITA. This morning I called TSA (866) 289-9673) and spoke to a marvelous agent. I explained the situation to her and asked her to clarify whether or not I was permitted to carry the brass aboard. She read me the TSA rule stating that unprimed brass without a seated bullet is permitted. No question about it. She was most apologetic, extremely helpful, and very knowledgable (unlike the TSA agent in Savannah). She then asked for the TSA agent's name that I dealt with in Savannah and said she would take it from there. What that means, I don't know. She also sent me a copy of the TSA regulation that states that unprimed brass is permissible. In all fairness, in all the travel I do, (and it's a bunch), this is the first run-in I've ever had with TSA. I realize that this is a situation that likely doesn't occur often, but I seriously doubt that I'm the first person who has tried to carry unloaded brass through security. Hopefully, so remedial training is in order for a certain TSA agent in Savannah.

That one hurts, really hurts. Everyone should be so fortunate as to have a boss/mentor like yours but, unfortunately, few do.

My voice went up three octaves just thinking about the impact the twins took from those jumps.

I've got a pet peeve against inconsiderate people, particularly those who litter. Many years ago I parked my car and was walking to a cafeteria I frequently ate at. As I walked by a SUV I noticed the back door was open and a woman standing beside it was changing the diaper on a baby. As I walked by I watched the woman tie all four corners of the diaper together and casually pitch it into the parking lot beside the SUV. Worse, she did it as nonchalantly as could be as if it were an accepted practice. She made no effort to hide what she did even though there were several other folks in the parking lot. Gathering up the infant, she walked into the cafeteria. I make a point of carrying a box of latex gloves in both cars in case I come upon a wreck and someone needs assistance. Instead of walking into the cafeteria I walked back to my car, put on a pair of latex gloves, and then walked back to the SUV. I unwrapped the diaper and, believe me, I've never seen so much crap come out of one itty bitty baby as this one. This kid had loaded the diaper! I then took the diaper, fllpped it crapside to the windshield, and smeared the contents from one corner to the other on the windshield. By the time I was finished the windshield of the SUV looked like it had been in a mud bogging contest. The last thing I did was take the diaper and place the windshield wipers on top of it. Taking off the gloves and putting them under the windshield wipers also, I then went in the cafeteria also. The woman left before I did and I halfway expected to see the diaper once again in the parking lot but it wasn't. About all I know for sure is she probably had to refill the windshield wiper fluid by the time she got home.

It's surprising that WWP won't respond, particularly since they depend heavily on donations as I understand it. Should they continue to ignore your repeated requests, may I suggest that you consider donating the proceeds of the match to Honor Air? By now you've probably already read my response to your earlier post and in it I give details of my dad's recent Honor Air trip. It's a very worthwhile cause and one that desperately needs donations to continue to serve our greatest generation.

I didn't believe it until I saw it in the Atlanta phonebook years ago but there was a guy listed who was named Straiton Hard. Lo and behold, I just did a Zabasearch on him. He still lives in Decatur, GA.

May I suggest that a match be held with all proceeds going to Honor Air (www.honorair.com)? Honor Air is an organization that depends entirely on donations in order to fund trips for our World War II veterans to go to Washngton, DC to visit the World War II Memorial, the Tomb of the Unknowns, and other sites connected with their service. The only requirements are that they be veterans of WW II and never have seen the WW II Memorial. Of the approximately 16 million who served in WW II, only about 3 million are still alive. Approximately 1,200 die every day and within 5-10 years they will all be gone. Time is growing short for this generation. The reason I suggest this is because I have just seen the effect it had on my dad, who took an Honor Air trip last Tuesday, May 10. At age 89 he had served in WW II and had never seen the Memorial but had always wanted to. Fortunately, despite his 89 years, he's in great health, takes extended walks daily, and reads voraciously. Still, he had never heard of Honor Air until I put him on the website. He signed up for a trip from Atlanta and found out a couple weeks ago he had been picked. Prior to the trip he was visited by a Guardian who came by the house to learn a little about dad, his service, and his overall health. He spent two hours just talking with dad about common interests as well as briefing him on what the trip would be like, what to expect, and to remind him to take any needed medications, etc. Each veteran is assigned his own Guardian who stays with the veteran at all times, helps him on and off the bus and plane, gets him to the transportation at the appointed time, and attends to his every need whatever it may be. So there were 99 veterans and 99 Guardians in addition to three medical personnel and various other personnel on the trip. No one receives a penny in compensation and the Guardians take time off from work at their own expense. On the day of the trip I took dad to a community center north of Atlanta where we were to meet the bus taking them to the Atlanta airport. We arrived at 5:30 a.m., had a short meeting, said the Pledge of Allegiance, and began to board the three buses. The vets were usually wearing caps showing the name of the ship they served on, what branch of the military they served in, where they were stationed, or something memorable about their service. One was wearing a cap showing him to be a survivor of Pearl Harbor and another was a B-17 bomber pilot. Some were quite mobile, some were in wheelchairs, some used walkers, and a couple were blind. As they walked to the bus their escort, the Freedom Riders, formed a line and personally shook the hand of each veteran, thanking them for their service, wishing them a good trip, or in some other way making them feel like the special folks they are. It was a heartfelt gesture that wasn't unnoticed by the veterans. After the veterans were aboard the buses, the Freedom Riders unfurled the American flags on the back of their Harleys and led the procession out of the parking lot, with a police escort in both the front and rear of the buses. I followed the buses a short way but before I turned in a different direction to go home I saw the procession pass under two extended ladders forming an arch beneath which an American flag hung, courtesy of the Roswell Fire Department. Later that day dad called and to say he sounded like a chihuahua on meth would be an understatement. In rapid-fire sentences and with his voice up several octaves he explained what an incredible time he was having. Air Tran treated them like royalty, the DC police blocked intersections to let them through, and, best of all, people at the various sites they visited including the WW II Memorial, would come up to them and simply thank them for their service. As wonderful as seeing the WW II Memorial was, being recognized for their service, Dad said, was better still. While they were there they saw the Korean War Memorial, Vietnam Memorial, Iwo Jima monument, and a bit of Arlington National Cemetery. Shortly after seeing the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, they boarded the buses for the trip back to Atlanta from Reagan and arrived back in Roswell about 11:00 p.m. after being up about 20 hours or so. I was there to pick dad up and when they got off the bus there wasn't a dry eye in the house. The veterans were beaming, many with tears in their eyes. Dad talked about it non-stop the next day, and after my wife and I arrived back in Knoxville dad called me several times to tell me things he had forgotten to tell me about the trip while we were there. Although Honor Air started as the work of one man and in 2005 took only a handful of veterans to DC on private planes, today it has grown to have locations in 30 states and to date has taken over 63,000 veterans to the WW II Memorial. All this is to say that I consider Honor Air a worthy recipient of proceeds from a match. Seldom have I been so impressed with an organization as I have this one and having seen the effect it had on my dad I am now in the process of contacting Honor Air to see how I can volunteer to help out the organization. I know that the trip from Knoxville costs approximately $500 for each veteran and presumably the same for each Guardian. What it costs from other locations, I don't know. Air Tran serves as the official airline of Honor Air and, I think, provides them with a number of free tickets. Given that they subsist purely on donations, proceeds from a match would be greatly appreciated. I can think of no better way to honor those who have given so much and asked so little in return.

After screwing up this badly she'll probably be transferred to New Mexico so she can check the passports of folks entering from the US.

As my favorite quote goes, "Against stupidity the very gods themselves labor in vain." --Schiller

One of the matches I shoot has a 2-hole outhouse, one hole on either side with a partition in the middle. One side is for women and the other side for men, but given that we have few women shooters at this match it's not uncommon for both sides to be occupied by men. A couple months ago I had gathered up my gear and was walking down the dirt road beside the outhouse when someone in one side of the outhouse ripped a fart that was so powerful it would have either blown the outhouse to bits or launched it into low earth orbit had there been an ignition source. After a couple seconds of absolute silence I heard a voice from the other side of the outhouse saying, "Man, if that doesn't make Major nothin' will!" I was laughing so hard I couldn't see to load my mags.

MY sympathies, bp78. And, yes, I know a bit more about yours than I can tell also. I hope there's a special place in hell that's reserved for animals like this.

First, a disclaimer: I am not a geneticist by profession; I have no training in Mendelian genetics nor do I work with DNA except to send it off to the FBI for analysis. Still, some of the greatest advances in science were initially developed by those who had no training in that particular field but who, simply by gathering empirical evidence, formulated theories that were later proven correct using the scientific method. The following theory is mine and mine alone and I am confident that in time it will be proven correct. The Human Genome Project is now complete, having taken 13 years to map 20,000-25,000 sets of genes in human DNA as well as the sequences of about 3 billion chemical base pairs that make up human DNA. Still, I am convinced that one gene was missed. I think it is only fitting that this gene is called the Dumb Ass Gene. You see, working in a morgue is interesting work, and just about the time you think you've seen it all you realize you're not even close. Take for example the gangbanger who, wanting to impress his 'ho du jour, chambered a round, dropped the magazine, and then pulled the trigger, not quite remembering that it was his LAST gun that had the magazine disconnect, not this one. Or Bubba who, in an alcohol-fueled afternoon of fun, swings out over the water on a rope and lets go, not quite remembering that the South is in the midst of a severe drought and that the old swimming hole that used to be ten feet deep is now about 18 inches in depth. Or the two guys who made a bet that a bulletproof vest would stop a knife. So one of them put it on and the other one stabbed him in the chest to see if it was so. There's a reason the label doesn't say "Knifeproof." The list goes on and on and on. As a result of seeing incredible acts of stupidity that subsequently resulted in death, I have formulated the Theory of the Dumb Ass Gene. It goes something like this: Having seen these incredibly stupid ways some folks find to kill themselves and seeing them increase in frequency over the years, I'm convinced that the Dumb Ass Gene is a dominant gene, not a recessive one. And because it is a dominant gene, it has found ways to perpetuate itself in the population, thus ensuring its survival. In ways that we don't yet understand, the Dumb Ass Gene somehow knows when the person in whom it resides is about to do something so incredibly stupid that it will result in his (if male) demise. Knowing this and knowing that the Dumb Ass Gene needs to be passed along to the next generation, the Dumb Ass Gene somehow signals to the person that it is time to impregnate his girlfriend/wife/significant other, thus ensuring its survival. Often this occurs long before the person actually dies, ensuring it resides in as many progeny as possible. Occasionally, impregnation occurs shortly before death, but in all cases the Dumb Ass Gene is passed along and never dies with the person. If female, the Dumb Ass Gene ensures that birth has occurred prior to her doing something incredibly dumb that will result in death. More often than not, multiple births occur, thus ensuring a better chance of the Dumb Ass Gene surviving to the next generation. Think about it. Although there are numerous exceptions, don't the dumbest people usually produce dumb kids, and lots of them? And don't candidates for MENSA usually produce few if any kids? To me, the evidence is clear. The Dumb Ass Gene rules.

After re-reading my initial post I and the replies that followed I think I'd better go back a bit and clarify some things. Yes, these two in particular have hit me hard but not in a way many of you would understand. My idea of being "chopped off at the knees" is probably quite a bit different for me than it is for you. For me, being chopped off at the knees just means that I think about it quite a bit, nothing more. I've never lost a minute of sleep over what I saw and I haven't thrown a scalpel at anyone at work as a result of post traumatic stress syndrome. For those of us who deal with death on a daily basis, the very fact that we even think about it days afterward indicates that it has affected us. To a person, everyone who saw the autopsy that day told me the same thing--that they took the images home with them, something we never do. It's hard to understand unless you're in this profession, but in all seriousness I can't remember the autopsies I saw yesterday. What we see as an everyday course of affairs is part and parcel of what we do. Without sounding cavalier about it, it's a job. I never, and I mean never, go home thinking about what I saw that day, wondering if I would have liked the person I saw on the autopsy table if I had known them, if they had kids, or what their life was like. And, no, we don't talk to the person on the autopsy table the way they do on CSI Miami. For most of you, it would be profoundly different. I can pretty much guarantee that there would be long-lasting images that would stifle sleep and probably affect interpersonal relations with loved ones. My wife is one of those. She knows what I do but I never talk about what I saw that day and she's never seen an autopsy. She never will. Between eight months working mass graves in Bosnia, time in Kosovo doing the same thing there, and 5.5 years in a morgue, I've seen many, many autopsies, and of all of them I can only remember a very few. I remember a 2-year old I uncovered in a mass graves in Kosovo. This kid was dressed in a little snowmobile suit and was still clutching a teddy bear. He had been shot in the back of the head. Beween that one and these, I can't remember many more. Again, thanks for all the support. Yes, I still think about Courtney, hoping that she'll be ok and that this worthless piece of crap who assaulted her rots in hell. And, yes, I still remember Meredith's autopsy and hope that this other worthless piece of crap who killed her gets a cellmate who is twice as big as Andre the Giant and who finds him most attractive. But other than thinking about it quite a bit, I'm doing just fine.

Thanks, but I'll be fine shortly. I think the thing that whacked me is having two back to back. I see senseless brutality all the time on the autopsy table but until now it has always been with someone I didn't know. Fortunately, Courtney didn't wind up on the table but Meredith did, and even though I didn't know her it was rough, following so closely on the heels of Courtney. I saw another 14 autopsies today including a couple of kids and was just fine with all of them. Are you a skydiver also, LPatterson? I see you're from BJ Worth country. Probably what I need right now is a good jump from 12, 500. Hmmm. Good idea, come to think of it. Speaking of malfunctions, I've had 8 of them but then I go back to the PC, Strato-Star, ropes and rings Cloud days when parachutes were a bit less reliable than they are now. D-4879, SCS 3039, WSCR 454, BASCR

For me, 2007 ended badly, and 2008 has started even worse. I won't rehash it here because I had a post on part of this in this forum about a month ago, but a friend of mine was stabbed ten times in a Kroger store by a nut case while she was trying to arrest him (she's a sergeant with the Athens-Clarke County (Ga) Police Department). Courtney had a massive loss of blood and was saved only because a nurse in the store tied a tourniquet around her leg. She nearly died and was in a coma for three weeks, ICU for six weeks, and was just moved to the Shepherd Center, where they deal with spinal cord injuries and brain injuries. She will be there for a minimum of another month before being moved to the Shepherd Pathway, which is some sort of further rehab. She will be there at least a month and maybe more. The long and short of it is that she's already been in the hospital for a couple of months now and she's facing at least two more. I went to see her today, and outwardly she's doing pretty well, all things considered. The main problem is that she had two small strokes due to the massive blood loss and her dexterity is not good and her short-term memory is really bad. She's also a runner but is now having to learn how to walk again on a leg she can barely feel. Her long-term prognosis is uncertain. Then, on January 1, 2008 a 24-year old woman, Meredith Emerson, was abducted by a 61-year old drifter and murdered. I was present for the autopsy and although I can't say anything about it, suffice it to say that if the public could have seen what I did we wouldn't be having this issue before the Supreme Court on whether the perpetrator feels pain during execution by lethal injection (sniff). I've been a witness at two executions by lethal injection and I'm convinced that they don't. I hope I'm wrong. As I said in the earlier post, my office door is 30 feet from the morgue, and I see autopsies on a daily basis. I see kids, the young and the old, the rich and the poor. I've worked mass graves in Bosnia and Kosovo and never any problems with any of it. By some means I don't understand, I'm able to divorce myself from the horror of it all and simply do my job. But I have to confess that these two have chopped me off at the knees. Seeing a young, ambitious, wonderful young lady facing such an uncertain future thanks to a worthless piece of dog crap is really tough. Seeing Meredith Emerson's autopsy was even worse. I don't usually think much about what I've seen in the morgue, but this one has really stayed with me. And after getting back from visiting Courtney today I found out that two guys I've skydived with for quite a few years were killed recently in separate skydiving accidents. I guess that working in a morgue should have taught me that life is tenuous at best, but somehow when working around death is your profession you don't think about it very much. The two skydiving buddies I lost weren't the first and they won't be the last, but I'm still having a very hard time dealing with the other two. It seems so strange that someone who works with death is having such a hard time dealing with it when it hits close to home. For me, the take home message here is something I inherently knew all along but had somehow become inured to by simply working around it day after day. Many of the autopsies I see represents a Courtney or a Meredith, someone loved by many but whose life is forever changed or cut short by the vagaries of an unpredictable world. I'll be holding my friends and loved ones closer than ever.