Getter Done Gals


Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Respectfully submitted, Alan Korwin, Author Gun Laws of America
Here it is, folks, and it is bad news. The framework for legislation is always laid, and the Democrats have the votes to pass anything they want to impose upon us. They really do not believe you need anything more than a brick to defend your home and family. Look at the list and see how many you own. Remember, it is registration, then confiscation. It has happened in the UK, in Australia, in Europe, in China, and what they have found is that for some reason the criminals do not turn in their weapons, but will know that you did.

Remember, the first step in establishing a dictatorship is to disarm the citizens.
Gun-ban list proposed. Slipping below the radar (or under the short-term memory cap), the Democrats have already leaked a gun-ban list, even under the Bush administration when they knew full well it had no chance of passage (HR 1022, 110th Congress). It serves as a framework for the new list the Brady’s plan to introduce shortly. I have an outline of the Brady’s current plans and targets of opportunity. It’s horrific. They’re going after the courts, regulatory agencies, firearms dealers and statutes in an all out effort to restrict we the people. They’ve made little mention of criminals. Now more than ever, attention to the entire Bill of Rights is critical. Gun bans will impact our freedoms under search and seizure, due process, confiscated property, states’ rights, free speech, right to assemble and more, in addition to the Second Amendment. The Democrats current gun-ban-list proposal (final list will be worse):
Rifles (or copies or duplicates):
M1 Carbine,
Sturm Ruger Mini-14,
Bushmaster XM15,
Armalite M15,
Thompson 1927,
Thompson M1;
NHM 90,
NHM 91,
SA 85,
SA 93,
Olympic Arms PCR;
Calico Liberty ,
Dragunov SVD Sniper Rifle or Dragunov SVU, Fabrique National FN/FAL, FN/LAR, or FNC, Hi-Point20Carbine, HK-91, HK-93, HK-94, HK-PSG-1, Thompson 1927 Commando, Kel-Tec Sub Rifle; Saiga, SAR-8, SAR-4800, SKS with detachable magazine, SLG 95, SLR 95 or 96, Steyr AU, Tavor, Uzi, Galil and Uzi Sporter, Galil Sporter, or Galil Sniper Rifle ( Galatz ).
Pistols (or copies or duplicates):
Calico M-110,
MAC-11, or MPA3,
Olympic Arms OA,
TEC-22 Scorpion, or AB-10,
Shotguns (or copies or duplicates):
Armscor 30 BG,
SPAS 12 or LAW 12,
Striker 12,
Streetsweeper. Catch-all category (for anything missed or new designs):
A semiautomatic rifle that accepts a detachable magazine and has:
(i) a folding or telescoping stock,
(ii) a threaded barrel,
(iii) a pistol grip (which includes ANYTHING that can serve as a grip, see below),
(iv) a forward grip; or a barrel shroud.
Any semiautomatic rifle with a fixed magazine that can accept more than
10 rounds (except tubular magazine .22 rim fire rifles).
A semiautomatic pistol that has the ability to accept a detachable magazine, and has:
(i) a second pistol grip,
(ii) a threaded barrel,
(iii) a barrel shroud or
(iv) can accept a detachable magazine outside of the pistol grip, and
(v) a semiautomatic pistol with a fixed magazine that can accept more than 10 rounds.
A semiautomatic shotgun with:
(i) a folding or telescoping stock,
(ii) a pistol grip (see definition below),
(iii) the ability to accept a detachable magazine or a fixed magazine capacity of more than 5 rounds, and
(iv) a shotgun with a revolving cylinder.
Frames or receivers for the above are included, along with conversion kits.
Attorney General gets carte blanche to ban guns at will: Under the proposal, the U.S. Attorney General can add any “semiautomatic rifle or shotgun originally designed for military or law enforcement use, or a firearm based on the design of such a firearm, that is not particularly suitable for sporting purposes, as determined by the Attorney General.”
Note that Obama’s pick for this office, Eric Holder, wrote a brief in the Heller case supporting the position that you have no right to have a working firearm in your own home. In making this determination, the bill says, “there shall be a rebuttable presumption that a firearm procured for use by the United States military or any law enforcement agency is not particularly suitable for sporting purposes, and shall not be determined to be particularly suitable for sporting purposes solely because the firearm is suitable for use in a sporting event.” In plain English this means that ANY firearm ever obtained by federal officers or the military is not suitable for the public.
The last part is particularly clever, stating that a firearm doesn’t have a sporting purpose just because it can be used for sporting purpose — is that devious or what? And of course, “sporting purpose” is a rights infringement with no constitutional or historical support whatsoever, invented by domestic enemies of the right to keep and bear arms to further their cause of disarming the innocent.
Respectfully submitted, Alan Korwin, Author Gun Laws of America Forward or send to every gun owner you know…

Friday, June 22, 2012


By Julie Carter Summers mark a myriad of events in people's lives, ranging from Disneyland vacations to weekend boating and fishing at the lake. Family reunions fit in there somewhere and any of the sane ones that attend leave wondering, "What was I thinking?" Family reunions are where a whole bunch of kinfolk, many of whom never liked each other much, get together for a day or two and try to act like they are happy to be in the family. Then they spend most of that time avoiding the ones they didn't like in the first place. Every family has its own "special people," and usually they can be described with the phrase -- "Somebody needs to get the net after that entire bunch." Family reunions can be fodder for a sitcom script and I use an actual reunion for an example. The family clan runs the gamut of all kinds of crazy. The cousin that is a politician mistook the rest of the kinfolk for voters. He told stories and jokes nonstop as part of his campaign contribution plot. His motto -- "Any story worth telling is worth adding a little something to." The family dictator, also known as the one who organized the event in a resort town one state over from where they all lived, instructed a cousin that he was in charge of the Sunday morning breakfast. Her list was for him to get 80 eggs, 5 pounds of sausage and 5 pounds of bacon. When two family members didn’t show at the event, she cut the number to four dozen eggs with the same sausage and bacon. No one was quite sure who it was that didn’t make it, but they knew they must be egg-eating dudes. The fact that the organizer was a schoolteacher made this math somewhat concerning but then someone recalled she was allowed to teach only special-ed students. Uncle Mike was a big winner at the horse races and told the clan he would treat them all to a drink at the casino. "You know, when you hit it big at the races, a feller can do a lot of things," he said. "How much did you win, Mike?" "Twenty-three dollars," he answered. The old uncle, who is 84, has a young steady girlfriend of Latin descent, and he spent the weekend giving tango lessons on a spontaneous basis. A whispered warning passed from cousin to cousin advising them to not ask the old guy about his love life unless you were prepared to hear more than you wanted about sex at 84. A Friday night trip to the casino buffet was highlighted by one cowboy landing passed out on a stack of clean glasses in the pantry while a security guard babysat him until his wife was located. Although classified pretty much as hillbillies through and through, there were a few that made every attempt at being civilized, even just for the weekend. One woman proudly spent $62 on a pedicure, foot massage, had little daisies painted on her toes and her skin twinkled from the sparkles in the lotion that was applied. Another lost 11 cents playing the penny slots and whined about it for two days. The cousin who also peddled trinkets worked throughout the event using the family connections to lighten his inventory. Another group hit the high-dollar t-shirt stores and tourist bauble vendors for some name recognition braggin’- rights knick knacks. By the end of the weekend, the kinfolk were sufficiently reacquainted. It was quietly suggested that the next reunion might be held somewhere exotic enough that it would force a financial sorting of the attendees. There is a hard and fast rule for any event. You can invite your friends, but your relatives just show up.

Sunday, June 17, 2012


By Julie Carter The era has arrived where only an aging few cowboys haven’t figured out how to hunt and peck around on a computer keyboard. They fought the trend valiantly but in spite of those efforts, their rural isolated world became boxed up on the internet. Feed programs, breeding programs, market watch and cattle sales are just a few on a long list of things in the cow business that have gone computerized. It is a fact that there are just some things a computer can’t do, will never do, and a cowboy who knows nothing about a computer will quickly tell you exactly what those things are. However, technology has persevered even in the pasture. Implanted computer chips with the animal’s complete data imbedded in them are in use and making themselves handy in controlled situations. As a need to track cattle origins from the pasture to the meat counter tops a priority list, “data based cowboying” is on the rise. In all this, what happens to the everyday run-of-the mill, denim-garbed leather-shod, felt hat-wearing, colt-riding cowboy? A few years ago Dan Roberts, a Texas cowboy, singer and song writer wrote and released an album and song called Cowhand.Com. The title cut takes a humorous look at the adventures of a cowboy who hires onto an outfit that is basically run by computers, not seasoned cowboys. The misadventures of this technologically challenged cowboy who longs for the old days tell a story that was perhaps more prophetic than Roberts ever dreamed it would be. His intention was a witty take on the concept but the result was an outline of the real dilemma of crossing a cowboy with a computer. The lyrics point out that no machine ever shod a horse, pulled a calf or broke a bronc to ride. The laptop in his saddle bags got dusty riding drag and all that talk about menus, a mouse and booting up had the cowboy telling his boss to stick that Pentium right in his AOL and pointing out that the megabyte-ram-thing sounded inbred. Book learnin’, as they would call it, isn’t foreign to cowboys, it just comes from books and takes place after dark when the work is done. My cowboy dad was a fiend for learning and was an easy mark for the encyclopedia salesman that somehow found us at the head of Muddy Creek where not many strangers trod. We had not one, but several sets of encyclopedias just in case we four children needed to look something up. He also bought every update published for years after and several sets of assorted “how to” encyclopedias. He learned taxidermy, beer making, electronics, mechanics, veterinary skills and many other useful things from his “how to” books. I often wonder what he would have done with the wealth of knowledge offered in today’s world with the touch of keyboard. Computerizing the cowboy way will only go so far. Technology has extended to providing data for the genetic, nutritional and medicinal history of a cow as well as her history of residence for her lifetime. The good news for the cowboy is it still takes man to bring the cows to the corral. The statistical information can be downloaded from computer to computer, from hard drive to cd or even sent to the printer. But the paper trail through the office will never completely replace the cow trail through the pasture. And that cow? She is going to download her own nutritional history into the same green pile she always did.

Sunday, June 3, 2012


By Julie Carter When C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe became a movie, it brought a wonderful old story to a new generation. It even rekindled the imaginations of the generations that had read the story in its printed version. I know my dad would have found it hard to believe, but there was a time I rode winged horses high over tree tops and brandished a sword to fight off the evil invaders of my kingdom while waiting for a prince to come fight by my side. Although my horses never talked, they did plenty of listening. Every morning just after daylight but before the school bus arrives; a boy whistles up the saddle horses and feeds them their token of grain. That simple chore puts a smile on his face and a spring in his step that sets the tone for the day ahead. Smart old saddle horses know when it’s feeding time and who is going to feed them. At the sight of the boy and the sound of his whistle, they came at a high lope, offering up a couple nickers and head tosses, and even the occasional obligatory buck as they ducked through the gate to the feed bunk. There was a time that the act of a morning chore tending to horses was the norm, not the exception. This chore captivated the magnetism that is created when a child and horse are put together in a partnership. Lewis’s third book in The Chronicles of Narnia series, A Horse and His Boy, captivated imaginations of many youngsters because they could take the story into their own life and relate to it. The mythical elements of the story are quickly transposed forward in time and place to a stocking-legged bald-faced sorrel horse with the finely honed ability to beg for grain and look good while doing it. Most ranch kids experience that special relationship with the horses they own while growing up. Long before a horse is simply functional equipment for the business, he is a friend, a confidant, and absolutely the best thing a kid could own. I don’t have the exact equation, but I believe that relationship builds something into the character of the child--a foundation of love and trust that makes some sort of difference in his adult world. No matter where life takes him, those hours, days and years of having that unconditional love from a horse (well okay, unconditional except for oats) seals something in his heart that no one can take away. And my own personal winged horse? He was one of several very regular ranch horses I rode during my formative years. My sword? Read that “branch” -- torn from the nearest tree. And the evil invaders of my kingdom? Those, of course were my younger brothers. They were so very gullible. The secret to my kingdom was to always ride faster horses and learn to duck flying objects. Those evil invaders were also not so very forgiving when they found out they had been duped by the princess on the flying horse. Julie can be reached just inside the border of Narnia at

Saturday, May 19, 2012


By Julie Carter Fishing stories don’t hold a candle to roping tales. The big one always gets away and there is always some windy explanation about how it happened and what the result would be if it hadn’t. This past weekend there was a sizable high class roping, and yes, I know, there will be some that will holler “oxymoron” over that description. I will argue that where team roping is concerned, the scales will most generally tip toward the moron than the high class, but I digress. High dollar prizes and prestigious titles were at stake and the “big boys” of roping were there wearing the names of their corporate sponsors embroidered all over their shirts. A plethora of dinner plate-sized belt buckles (sometimes referred to as gut shot prevention) were flashing proof of the skill level gathered at this event. These ropers had made the sport not a hobby, but their livelihood, their only interest in life and their passion. As the roping progressed, so did the usual discussion about the cattle they were roping. The general consensus was that they were dirty, heavy and exceptionally fast. That summation led to remembrances of other ropings and the comparisons. The pro-boys spoke of how the cattle were at Cheyenne last year, followed by remembrances of Reno, Calgary and even Las Vegas was given a good cussing. Standing quietly among these roping legends was a cowboy that had come up the hard way in ranch country and now masqueraded as a full time team roper. He commented that indeed this was a “plenty tough roping.” However, he believed it was just his third toughest roping. “It was branding time and we’d spent some long days gathering a bunch of wild crossbred cattle, mostly Brahma, that had never seen man or horse,” he explained. “We finally got most of them to the pens and they weren’t real friendly. “We muscled them through the chute to brand them. There was one high-headed heifer that kept pushing her way to the back of the line. We finally got her worked up toward the front but when she got almost to the chute, she started pushing backward as far as she could, then took a run at the head gate and kept on going.” With the head gate shut firmly around her neck, she tore it loose from the squeeze chute and took off like greased lightning across a six section rocky, rough pasture. The cowboys scrambled for their horses, pulled their cinches, and in a single motion put their foot in their stirrup and left in hot pursuit with loops ready. It took a while. A good number of the hands were riding green colts who were not about to get anywhere close to that monster scary thing wearing a head gate on her neck. That was the toughest roping, he said. Intrigued, someone asked about the second toughest roping. “We were working cattle through the chute –shots, branding and fly-ban pour on down their backs. One of the hands poured the chemical on a steer just before the branding iron hit the hide and that long winter hair burst into flames,” he recalled. The chute operator thought the thing to do was let the steer out. When he did, the steer left like a scalded dog, jumped the fence, and raced through a dry grass pasture, lighting the prairie on fire as he went. Cowboys ran for their horses only to find their trusty mounts were decidedly reluctant to get within roping distance of a flaming steer running through flaming grass. That was the second toughest roping. It was a glaring example of the adage “first liar doesn’t stand a chance.” But you have to know those ropers who had never made their living punching cattle had that visual “burned” into their minds. In the quiet hours of the night going down the road, they’d think again about the new measure for “the toughest roping.”