Yeah, one account talks about the lower lasting 6 rounds. But then plastic gets better every day. Wonder if a block of Kevlar could be used in these "printers".
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Hey Diane...ban THIS *****!
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Yeah, one account talks about the lower lasting 6 rounds. But then plastic gets better every day. Wonder if a block of Kevlar could be used in these "printers".
how about one made of metal?
http://www.popsci.com/node/68714/?cmpid=enews010313&spPodID=020&spMailingID=5030510&spUserID=MjcyMzI3NjU3MjUS1&spJobID=303123055&spReportId=MzAzMTIzMDU1S0
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and heres a video
http://www.popsci.com/node/68714/?cmpid=enews010313&spPodID=020&spMailingID=5030510&spUserID=MjcyMzI3NjU3MjUS1&spJobID=303123055&spReportId=MzAzMTIzMDU1S0
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and heres a video
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What material are they using? Glocks are just glass filled nylon 6.6. Granted they are injection molded. Delrin (Acetol) wouldn't be a bad route. Eh, what do I know...
Actually, I'm not sure Glock uses GF now that I think about it...
Actually, I'm not sure Glock uses GF now that I think about it...
We are way out of my league now. I like the "printer" idea for it's availability both in cost and resistance to regulation. The CNC and 3D metal printing are far too complex and costly for grass roots. When/if the proper material for a durable. "printable" lower is available then no gun ban will be able to stop the private production of them. As it is, the law does not prohibit the private manufacture of a gun for personal use so if I had a printer I could allow someone else to make thier own and the country could be saturated in un-numbered, privately owned AR's
That's what I envision to absolutely overcome ANY ban attempt. OK, a part of an overall plan to overcome a ban any way. Still have to deal with regulated ownership, but then I could own a short barrel, a stripped upper and a complete M4 as klong as I never put the short barrel together I have broken no law. So, owning the pieces of an AR shouldn't be illegal even under an "assault weapons" ban.
That's what I envision to absolutely overcome ANY ban attempt. OK, a part of an overall plan to overcome a ban any way. Still have to deal with regulated ownership, but then I could own a short barrel, a stripped upper and a complete M4 as klong as I never put the short barrel together I have broken no law. So, owning the pieces of an AR shouldn't be illegal even under an "assault weapons" ban.
Molding out of carbon fiber is rather simple, and takes very low tech stuff to pull it off. The most complicated piece of equipment is a vacuum pump, and they are cheap and readily available on ebay. Or you can make your own out of an old refriderator. Adding Kevlar cloth increases the wear and puncture reistance. The the boat and aircraft industry has moved away from steel and aluminum to carbon. Its easy and you can do it in your garage. I create molds of complex parts all day long. Lowers would be a walk in the park if you had one to make a mold from.
Research infusion molding, epoxy and carbon fiber. Or bring a six pack of fine German beer over to my place and I will show you how to do it.
I use old chop sticks as stir sticks, old butter containers to mix it in, lots of wax paper, nylon batting from the hobby store, plastic sheeting, carbon, and epoxy. Epoxy is plentiful, I get mine at West Marine in Buford.
A carbon lower would be cool.
They do have better plastics to use for printing, the cost of the "ink" gets pricey and you really need a better printer. The bots don't have climate control which allows the layers to not bond as well. A steel insert or clip would be something to look at to hold the rear together.
PSHAW, measuring and drafting are SOOOOO last century.... Hook a MakerBot up with one of THESE:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PX0rSZDUtiw
In this one Jay Leno talks about practical applications closer to our own hearts...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZrJsrTT4EA
http://www.nextengine.com/products
So at $3K, you can model most of the stuff currently out there. Add in the Makerbot at what $1500? and for under $5K you have the capability to engineer/print just about anything...
Then you start looking into the future of making stuff, here's my favorite story on THAT one:
From Cory Doctrow:
Introduction to Printcrime:
Printcrime came out of a discussion I had with a friend whoâd been to hear a spokesman for the British recording industry talk about the future of âintellectual property.â The record exec opined the recording industryâs great and hysterical spasm would form the template for a never-ending series of spasms as 3D printers, fabricators and rapid prototypers laid waste to every industry that relied on trademarks or patents.
My friend thought that, as kinky as this was, it did show a fair amount of foresight, coming as it did from the notoriously technosqueamish record industry.
I was less impressed.
Itâs almost certainly true that control over the production of trademarked and patented objects will diminish over the coming years of object-on-demand printing, but to focus on 3D printersâ impact on trademarks is a stupendously weird idea.
Itâs as if the railroad were looming on the horizon, and the most visionary thing the futurists of the day can think of to say about it is that these iron horses will have a disastrous effect on the hardworking manufacturers of oat-bags for horses. Itâs true, as far as it goes, but itâs so tunnel-visioned as to be practically blind.
When Nature magazine asked me if Iâd write a short-short story for their back-page, I told them Iâd do it, then went home, sat down on the bed and banged this one out. They bought it the next morning, and we were in business.
â
Printcrime
(Originally published in Nature Magazine, January 2006)
The coppers smashed my fatherâs printer when I was eight. I remember the hot, cling-film-in-a-microwave smell of it, and Daâs look of ferocious concentration as he filled it with fresh goop, and the warm, fresh-baked feel of the objects that came out of it.
The coppers came through the door with truncheons swinging, one of them reciting the terms of the warrant through a bullhorn. One of Daâs customers had shopped him. The ipolice paid in high-grade pharmaceuticalsâperformance enhancers, memory supplements, metabolic boosters. The kind of thing that cost a fortune over the counter; the kind of thing you could print at home, if you didnât mind the risk of having your kitchen filled with a sudden crush of big, beefy bodies, hard truncheons whistling through the air, smashing anyone and anything that got in the way.
They destroyed grandmaâs trunk, the one sheâd brought from the old country. They smashed our little refrigerator and the purifier unit over the window. My tweetybird escaped death by hiding in a corner of his cage as a big, booted foot crushed most of it into a sad tangle of printer-wire.
Da. What they did to him. When he was done, he looked like heâd been brawling with an entire rugby side. They brought him out the door and let the newsies get a good look at him as they tossed him in the car, while a spokesman told the world that my Daâs organized-crime bootlegging operation had been responsible for at least twenty million in contraband, and that my Da, the desperate villain, had resisted arrest.
I saw it all from my phone, in the remains of the sitting room, watching it on the screen and wondering how, just how anyone could look at our little flat and our terrible, manky estate and mistake it for the home of an organized crime kingpin. They took the printer away, of course, and displayed it like a trophy for the newsies. Its little shrine in the kitchenette seemed horribly empty. When I roused myself and picked up the flat and rescued my peeping poor tweetybird, I put a blender there. It was made out of printed parts, so it would only last a month before Iâd need to print new bearings and other moving parts. Back then, I could take apart and reassemble anything that could be printed.
By the time I turned eighteen, they were ready to let Da out of prison. Iâd visited him three timesâon my tenth birthday, on his fiftieth, and when Ma died. It had been two years since Iâd last seen him and he was in bad shape. A prison fight had left him with a limp, and he looked over his shoulder so often it was like he had a tic. I was embarrassed when the minicab dropped us off in front of the estate, and tried to keep my distance from this ruined, limping skeleton as we went inside and up the stairs.
âLanie,â he said, as he sat me down. âYouâre a smart girl, I know that. Trig. You wouldnât know where your old Da could get a printer and some goop?â
I squeezed my hands into fists so tight my fingernails cut into my palms. I closed my eyes. âYouâve been in prison for ten years, Da. Ten. Years. Youâre going to risk another ten years to print out more blenders and pharma, more laptops and designer hats?â
He grinned. âIâm not stupid, Lanie. Iâve learned my lesson. Thereâs no hat or laptop thatâs worth going to jail for. Iâm not going to print none of that rubbish, never again.â He had a cup of tea, and he drank it now like it was whisky, a sip and then a long, satisfied exhalation. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
âCome here, Lanie, let me whisper in your ear. Let me tell you the thing that I decided while I spent ten years in lockup. Come here and listen to your stupid Da.â
I felt a guilty pang about ticking him off. He was off his rocker, that much was clear. God knew what he went through in prison. âWhat, Da?â I said, leaning in close.
âLanie, Iâm going to print more printers. Lots more printers. One for everyone. Thatâs worth going to jail for. Thatâs worth anything.â
