Its a pretty regular Sunday evening here at the Compound, cleaning guns, listening to marching songs on the jukebox, and frying up steak and eggs on the grill.
Blue M4 doesn't care, all he thinks about is "eye relief," "doping the wind," and "MOA." And food. He ate a block of cheese the other day, which I'd left out on the counter to get to room temp. I was looking forward to that cheese.
You're getting dangerously close to the edge, my furry friend.
God bless,
LSP
