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No love for rifles

My exact same thought!

Just got a TNW Aero Survival Rifle in 9mm and plan to shoot it tomorrow.
I just figured that most of them aren't super expensive, and you wouldn't waste money on rifle ammo if you don't like it. And, all of them that I've ever shot were just plain fun.
 
Handguns. Revolvers and semi autos.



Current MPX owner lol. I like it more than anything else "rifleish" but it still isn't as much fun as my g19 and steel plates.
Maybe I need to shoot some steel plates then. Pistols are enjoyable, and probably more practical considering I carry one most of the time. But there's something about shooting quarter size groups with a .22 at 25 yds or a .308 at 100 yds that gives me great satisfaction. I think if I ever got to shoot 1000 yds and hit, I might just make a mess in my pants lol.
 
Maybe I need to shoot some steel plates then. Pistols are enjoyable, and probably more practical considering I carry one most of the time. But there's something about shooting quarter size groups with a .22 at 25 yds or a .308 at 100 yds that gives me great satisfaction. I think if I ever got to shoot 1000 yds and hit, I might just make a mess in my pants lol.
YES on all accounts, just bring a change of clothes!
 
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To look upon and to hold a rifle and appreciate the engineering genius that went into the design of every part, to appreciate the craftsmanship of the artisans who fit together the steel and wood is to appreciate the very mind of God who created man. The story of creation, written in wood and steel. The beauty of the grain of the wood. Cut from a tree that got just enough moisture to grow dense and strong. That suffered just enough to give the wood sublime character without compromising strength. The steel, skillfully blended and forged, with just the right amount of carbon and nickel, more art than science. To slide back the bolt, like two panes of buttered glass passing across each other, or a silk scarf flowing across the smooth skin of the woman you love. The precise fit as the bolt closes over the cartridge. How it flows to the shoulder, the sights positioned precisely before the eye as it settles comfortably into the pocket. The trigger breaking like a glass rod with pressure that hardly had the weight of thought. The satisfying thunk in the distance, as the bullet finds its mark. What ecstasy!
You sir, have my most profound sorrow.
 
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