Date: Fri, 03 Sep 2004 18:00:30 -0700
From: fritz@nehalemtel.net
Subject: I love Corey, Chapter Nineteen

	Can you believe it?  We are now up to chapter nineteen and I'm
still writing these stupid warnings and disclaimers.  What a waste of time
and energy.
	Oh well, if I must, I must.  Therefore, if you are under the legal
age to be reading this story, leave now before you break the law.  I would
hate to be responsible for you becoming a criminal.
	If you disapprove of sex between males, also leave.  It is not my
intention to offend you and, if you read this story, you will probably be
offended by reading descriptions about such sex acts.
	Next, this story is a work of fiction and the characters do not
exist outside of my imagination.  Therefore, any resemblance to anyone
living or dead is purely coincidental.
	Since I made this story up, it is my intellectual property.  (Boy
what an oxymoron.  Describing this story as intellectual property) What
that means is that you may only read it for your own enjoyment.  You may
not use it or parts of it to advance your career or social standing.
Although I have no idea how you might do that, you must not.  Neither will
you be allowed to post it on any other web site without my written
permission.
	I need to once again thank Ernie for his help.  The grammar sucks
without his editing skills.
	Last, feel free to write and complain, comment, make suggestions,
or ask questions.  I try to answer all emails however, be sure to put the
story title in the subject line or you will be deleted.  Sorry, I haven't
got time to read all that trash in order to make sure I haven't missed one
I should read.  A couple hundred spams a day do that to you.  Send the
emails to fritz@nehalemtel.net In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the
chapter.  Fritz

         I Love Corey, Chapter Nineteen

         The phone woke me up. It was dark and I had a hard time finding
the phone but eventually managed to answer it. Let's just say that the
drunk sounding male voice, who seemed to feel he had the right and duty to
chastise me over my resignation from the Boy Scouts and his derogatory
comments concerning myself and my personal habits, was less than welcome. I
managed to jot down the phone number from caller ID, along with the time,
and hung up.
         Twenty minutes later the phone rang again. Same thing except it
was a different voice and phone number. That caused me to get up and go
into the living room to switch the answering machine on and turn the ringer
off. It was now two-thirty in the morning. I fell back into bed and,
cuddling up to Corey, went back to sleep. 
         About an hour later I was awakened by a crash in the living
room. When I went to investigate I found a brick had been thrown through
the window and a note was tied to it. I woke Corey up and told him to go to
his room and mess the bed up while I called the cops. While I was waiting
for the police to arrive I started a pot of coffee. In a few minutes Corey
came out of his room completely dressed. I decided that sounded like a good
idea so I went and dressed. I don't know why but I felt better wearing
regular clothes instead of a robe.
         When the police arrived I pointed out the brick with the note
attached, still lying where it had landed, and they started asking
questions. While they were still asking questions another call came and I
let them hear it and copy down the number. This call was different in that
it asked how I liked the "evening's entertainment"? Once again the caller
sounded intoxicated. By this time the police had called in their lab people
and, after checking for fingerprints, they carefully removed the note from
the brick and we read it. It was a basic hate note, if there is such a
thing, put together with glue and words from a newspaper and it accused me
of being a "queer" and trying to turn all my students into "fucking
homos". In the meantime a call came over their radio asking them to check
out another problem and the address given was Vern's home. Figuring he was
up and experiencing the same things we were, I called him while the lab
people continued to look for evidence. 
         We compared stories and they were about the same except he'd
answered four calls as his answering machine didn't work right when the
ringer was turned off. We checked and found I had two calls stored and they
were also from some drunks who were attempting to harass me.
         In this instance the fact that the callers appeared to be
intoxicated and had no idea of what they were doing worked in our
favor. They were either too drunk or too intoxicated to cover their
tracks. It didn't take the police long to track down the culprits and
arrest them. It seems our friend, the Reverend Langston, had been enjoying
a few drinks with several of his parishioners and in their intoxicated
state they had decided to let us know what they thought of us and our stand
on the Boy Scouts. Vern and I, along with several of the school board
members, had been selected as targets and they put their plan into
action. They went to their respective homes and made the calls, keeping
them short so they couldn't be traced, all the while forgetting about
caller ID. Their other problem was that no one should ever drive while he
is drinking. Rev. Langston, who was driving, had the misfortune of running
off the road. When the police were checking out the accident, they found a
couple more bricks in the car with notes tied to them. By dawn the case was
solved. They had managed to break windows at Vern's, Downie's Market,
Mr. Jeffery's house (another member of the school board), and my place. The
call list was more extensive as it included the other five school board
members. All in all it had been a busy night for a bunch of pillars of
their church. 
         Sometimes I just don't understand people. Of course, those of us
who had been targets called each other and talked things over. None of us
wanted to make things worse than they all ready were. By the time we had
all talked it over, we agreed that we wouldn't press charges if the guilty
parties would pay for the damages and give us a public apology. We decided
that the apology should be given in their church and printed in the local
paper and we had the right to approve the wording of it. When we informed
the District Attorney of our decision, he was less than enthusiastic. I
suspect part of it was due to the fact that he'd been called out on Sunday
but he wanted to prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law. He
shouldn't have worried. When presented with our idea, the Rev. Langston
flatly refused. He kept yelling something about free speech. I couldn't
believe it. Since when is breaking windows considered free speech? We were
offering them an easy way out and they refused to take it. I mean, how can
some people be so stupid?

          That sort of fouled up the start of Sunday morning. In fact by
the time it was all sorted out the morning was over and it was time to
consider lunch. I still had to do something about the window.
         I bought a couple of sheets of plywood and covered the broken
window. At least it would keep the weather out until I could make
arrangements to have it repaired. Corey was a big help. It's hard to hold a
complete sheet of plywood up and nail it in place. As it worked out I would
hold the sheet in place and Corey would drive some nails in it to hold
it. It took longer to purchase the plywood than it did to install it. Some
duct tape ala Red Green and the wind no longer blew in. I knew watching
that silly program would prove handy some day. I even had the VCR set up to
tape it. The only problem was that Corey didn't always get all the
jokes. Guess you have to be a little older to appreciate some of the humor.
         We finally finished lunch and headed over to Downie's for some
groceries. We were no more than through the door when Mrs. Downie cornered
us. It was pretty apparent she was upset.
         It was quite a litany I wound up listening to. I learned about the
Rev. Langston and the fact that his church had welshed on a grocery
bill. Not only that, several of the members had attempted to pay with
checks that were returned marked insufficient funds. All in all, the
congregation appeared to be comprised of people who might best be described
as being on the lower economic rungs of society. Of course not all of them
were, but they seemed to attract more than their share. Mrs. Downie went
on, explaining that the church used to be different until Rev. Langston had
taken over. He'd arrived about ten years ago and, since that time, the
congregation had changed. A lot of the members had changed churches and the
ones that replaced them were of a different character. Mrs. Downie was
worried that the present membership was of such a radical nature that there
was the possibility of vandalism or violence.
         I could tell she wasn't telling me all she knew about the church
and its members and wondered if that would make any difference. I'd never
been the target of any hate crimes or violence. Growing up in California,
which is a pretty laid back state, hadn't prepared me to face such a
problem. On thinking about it, I wondered if anything could prepare one to
deal with what Mrs. Downie was suggesting might happen.
         "They're built on hate. I've never seen such a bunch. I don't know
why but they can't seem to accept life as it is and seem to need someone to
blame. Watch yourself Sam, they might try to do something."
         "You're kidding. Things like that don't happen in this country."
         "No, I'm not kidding. I think they're dangerous," she said.
         "Good lord, they are already in trouble. I can't believe they are
so stupid as to think they could get away with doing anything."
         "Sam, you're young yet. You haven't come in contact with people
who have such hatred for any one they consider to represent an idea
different than that which they deem right. Further, it makes no difference
to them that you resigned because you were forced to by the state. The fact
that you expressed the opinion that you thought all would benefit from
contact with each other has made you a target. You didn't help yourself
with them when you pointed out the fact that they only selectively follow
what they profess to believe. In fact, that probably put you as number one
on their list. Remember, they're not reasonable people, they're
bigots. They don't feel they have to justify their position. They just know
they're right, even though they can't defend their position."
         I suddenly wondered what I ought to do about it. I'd already
managed to put myself in the `line of fire' and didn't see any good way
out.
         "Any suggestions on what I ought to do about it?"
         "Be careful, watch your backside. I know that isn't much but
that's the best I've got to offer."
         I finally gathered up those groceries I wanted or needed and we
left. Both of us were quiet on the way home. I was trying to come up with
ideas of what I should do about what Mrs. Downie had talked about. The
trouble was there wasn't a lot to be done. About the only thing I could
think of was an alarm system. I didn't know how much that would help but it
would be better than nothing. I decided that I would call a couple of
friends to see what they thought.
         When we had the groceries packed in, Corey headed for his room to
do some homework and practice his drawing. That gave me some free time to
fill before I had to start dinner.
         I called my friend in the sheriff's department. After a lengthy
discussion with him I had his recommendation of what alarm system might be
best and who to contact to get one installed. Both of us couldn't come up
with any other suggestions that might help. He did ask if I still had my
pistol and suggested that I come to the range and practice some but neither
of us were really convinced that things might come to a point where such a
step was necessary. None-the-less, I decided that perhaps it might be a
good idea to take up shooting again. As I'd gotten more involved with the
Scouts I'd dropped shooting as they both took place on the same evening. I
suddenly wondered if perhaps Corey should learn to shoot. 
         I went into my room and dug through the closet. Sure enough, right
where I'd left it, I found my pistol. I dug out the cleaning supplies and
started cleaning it. It wasn't long before Corey stuck his head in.
         "What's the smell?"
         "It's a powder solvent called Hopes. It's what I use to clean my
pistol."
         "I didn't know you had any guns."
         His face was beaming. I wondered what he was thinking.
	   "Can I look at it?"
         "May, the correct word is may."
         He sort of hung his head. "May I look at it?" 
         I'd pointed that particular mistake out so many times I was sure I
was beginning to sound like a broken record. He was getting better. Now he
only had to be corrected when he was excited. I had hopes that if we both
lived for, say, two hundred years I might eventually get it through his
head strongly enough that he'd quit making that mistake. In fact I was very
proud of the progress he had made in his speaking. 
         I handed him the pistol.
         "Boy its heavy."
         I could see that it was way too big for his hand. "It's a Smith
and Wesson model 29. That's a forty-four magnum." In fact it was a five
screw model that had been my father's. Dad had taught me to shoot it when I
was about sixteen. Before that my hand had been too small to shoot it very
well.
         I decided to see if I had any thing that would be a better fit for
Corey. I'd inherited Dad's collection and while it wasn't that big, he had
managed to acquire some nice pistols. I took the drawer out of the gun safe
and packed it over and sat it on the bed.
         "Would you like to learn to shoot?" 
         "Yes! Yes!" He was really excited. I remembered how I'd felt when
Dad asked me if I would like to learn to shoot. I think I'd been just about
as excited.
         I removed the pistols from their cases and laid them on the bed,
checking each one to make sure it was not loaded. When they were all
displayed, Corey just stood there looking at them. It wasn't a large
collection, only sixteen. Most of them weren't even that valuable. Of
course you know the one Corey fell in love with.
         It was a Colt SAA in Colt forty-five caliber. The only other thing
I should mention about it is that it was a flattop Bisley model. Colt only
made ninety-seven of them. I suppose the condition could be graded as good,
maybe even very good. I didn't know how much Dad had paid for it but he
always said that the fool who sold it to him needed to get his head
examined. I took that to mean he thought he had made a good buy on it. I
did know he had purchased it when he was in high school. The last time I'd
looked, it was worth somewhere around ten thousand dollars. I
debated. Should I let him shoot it or not? Why couldn't he have chosen a
different one? There was a very good DWM Luger in thirty Luger caliber that
I'd always enjoyed shooting and, if you wanted a small caliber, there were
a couple of twenty-twos. There were also a couple of twenty-five caliber
semiautomatics, along with several other large caliber revolvers. Dad had
always liked large caliber revolvers and I tended to agree with him on
that. The Model Twenty-nine was my favorite.
         "Why do you like that one?" I asked.
         "It fits my hand the best and the hammer thing is easier to
reach."
         I thought about it some more.
         "I'll buy you a new one."
         "You don't have to. This one's all right." 
         So much for that idea. Oh well, I'd never really been that much of
a collector of things. I'd always thought that things should be useful. If
they weren't, why would you want them? 
         "Okay, we'll get some ammo and go to the range Wednesday evening
and try them out." We'd also have to get him some ear protectors and a pair
of shooting glasses. One thing about it, I figured the Colt ought to make
several of the regulars at the range sit up and take notice. I'd never
taken it down there as it was just slightly small for my hand and I didn't
shoot it that well. In fact, I doubted if it had been fired in almost
fifteen years. 
         We spent some time cleaning the old Colt and talking about gun
safety. I figured I'd need to go over the safety part again at the range
but I'm a firm believer in the fact that if you go over something several
times, there is a much better chance that it will stick. You have to make
sure and not just repeat the same words. If you do that, your student will
tune you out. If you can phrase it differently or present it in a different
order you have a much better chance of success. 
         By the time Wednesday evening rolled around I found I'd been
busy. Between buying ammo and safety supplies, getting the window repair
started (hiring a contractor) telling Bob Asher that Corey wouldn't be
available for an art lesson on Wednesday, and getting ready for the game on
Thursday I hadn't had time to do much of anything else. 
         The art lesson turned out to be no problem, in fact, Bob wanted to
join us. He said he used to shoot quite a lot but hadn't done much in
recent years as the last school he had taught at wasn't close to any kind
of a range. We agreed to eat dinner at my place and go to the range after
dinner. The normal hours were seven-thirty to ten and by the time we could
get there it would be just about right.
         When we arrived at the range, I spent some time chatting with the
members and introducing Bob and Corey. Some of them I hadn't seen in a
couple of years. Finally the time came for us to start. Corey was taking
his pistol out of its case when I heard Bob's voice.
         "Holy shit, a flattop Bisley!" 
         There were about twenty of us there at the time and most of their
heads snapped around like they were spring loaded when Bob said that. I
didn't need to worry about lessons after that. It seemed like all the
members of the club wanted to help Corey. I think they just wanted to get
their hands on the old Colt. I'd only managed to come up with a hundred and
fifty rounds of ammunition and that included the rounds I'd had on hand.
Between Corey and the club members that was soon gone. One of the members
had some more ammo and they soon shot that up also. After that, the members
of the club kept letting Corey shoot their pistols. He didn't do very well
at first, as he was nervous being the center of attention, but as the
evening went on he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. He wasn't a great
shooter, but as the evening went along, he improved. By the time it was
closing time at the club he'd managed to get to where he was almost
acceptable for a beginner. I don't think he'll ever be a great shot but a
few more lessons should make him reasonably competent. 
         I told the club members I'd ordered some more ammo and we'd see
them next week. I swear you could see them salivate at the thoughts of
shooting the Bisley. The funny part of that is that all of them shot their
own pistols a lot better than they did the Bisley. Guess there's just
something about shooting something considered a legend. The Bisley wasn't
even that popular when it was made. If it had been they would have sold a
lot more of them. They only sold about a thousand of them in all calibers
out of a little over three hundred fifty thousand Single Action Army
pistols. If fact you can still buy a Single Action Army from the Colt
custom shop. You just can't buy the Bisley version in either regular or
flattop. 
         On the way home Corey was bubbling over. He couldn't stop talking
about how much he had enjoyed learning to shoot and wondering if he could
get better. I told him with lots of practice his skills would improve. Then
he came up with a question I found interesting.
         "Why was everyone so interested in my pistol?"
         "Well, it's old and not many people have seen one."
         "Yeah but, well, they all seemed to want to shoot it and look at
it. Almost like it was something special, you know what I mean?"
         "I know, they do think its something special. They probably all
wish they had one."
         "Well, if they want one, why don't they buy one?"
         "In the first place I think there was only something like
ninety-seven of them made. In the second place, I doubt that most of them
could afford to buy one even if it was available."
         "How much would one cost?" 
         "Around ten thousand dollars."
         I heard him gasp. I couldn't see very well because the only light
in the pickup came from the dash lights but I think his mouth fell open. He
seemed to run out of things to say after that.
         When we got home I got out the cleaning kit and suggested we
should clean both pistols. 
         "I don't think I ought to clean it."
         "Why not Corey? It needs to be cleaned."
         "I might hurt it. I didn't know it was worth that much."  " I
don't think you can hurt it. It's not alive. Only things that are alive can
be hurt. As far a damaging it, I doubt that you'd damage it. Besides, it's
only a pistol, perhaps a little more valuable than some, but still, only a
piece of metal. You never think any thing about the car or pickup and they
are worth a lot more than the pistol. How about the house? It's worth more
than ten times the value of the pistol."
         "Yeah, but..."
         "But what? Don't ever make the mistake of thinking that the
dollars something might be sold for is a measure of value. If you don't
have any use for something, no matter how cheaply you can buy it doesn't
make it worth anything to you. By the same token, if you really need
something, you have to pay the price being asked for it. In the case of the
Bisley, I wouldn't give that much for it. Dad bought it when he was in high
school and he decided what it was worth to him at that time. I doubt that
he gave over a few hundred dollars for it then. Since then, it has risen in
value. When he died, I inherited it. I bought a shotgun several years
ago. I bought it because I shot it well. While it isn't worth as much as
the pistol, it isn't that far off. I bought it because it raised my
scores. The cost of almost eight thousand dollars was worth it to me
because of the fact it raised my scores. If you shoot the pistol well, the
value is great. If you don't it isn't worth that much. We'll just wait and
see how well you do with it. Besides, all the guys liked shooting it."
         "Guns are expensive. I didn't realize they cost that much."
         "Guns sell for all prices. You can buy, for example, new shotguns
from a few hundred dollars to over a hundred thousand dollars." 
         His mouth dropped open. Somehow I didn't feel I was explaining
value very well. Oh well, I'd have other times to try to get my point
across.
         "Enough worrying about this. Let's get them cleaned and go to
bed. It's getting late."
         I swear Corey handled the Bisley like it was made of glass. I
finally grabbed it and went about cleaning it in my normal manner. He just
sat there watching me and the expression on his face made me wonder if he
though I was nuts. I finally couldn't stand it.
         "What."
         "Aren't you afraid you'll drop it?"
         "For God's sake, quit worrying about the price. It's just a
pistol." I'd finished cleaning it and tossed it towards him. "Here, put it
in its case." 
         It was Friday night before we had much time to talk. We'd won our
game on Thursday and he'd stayed with his mother.
         "I don't think I ought to shoot that pistol anymore. I might break
it."
         "So what, as long as it wasn't intentional I wouldn't
mind. Besides, I'll bet it's a lot harder to break than you think."
         "But..."
         "Corey, you seem to be all hung up on the value of that pistol. If
it just lies in the gun cabinet and nobody shoots it, it's not really worth
anything to anybody. Sure, I could sell it for a bunch of money but, since
I don't need the money, I choose to keep it because Dad bought it and loved
it. It's, in one sense, worthless as I don't like to shoot it. In another
it's priceless as it was my father's. He shot it and enjoyed it and I'm
sure he'd want you to do the same. What's the use of having something if
you can't enjoy it?"
         "But..."
         That's the way things went. I kept trying to convince him that the
dollar value and the true value of things were frequently different. By the
time we'd had dinner and done the usual things afterwards I think I was
finally getting through to him. I'd had to promise him we would go to look
at pistols and see if he could find one he liked better. Bed time was
finally upon us.
         "Corey, I think it's time for a shower and bed."
         His eyes lit up and he got a sly look on his face.
         "Just bed?"
         "Well, maybe we can find something interesting to do when we get
there."
         His eyes lit up more and he got an evil grin plastered on his face
as we headed for the shower.
         I'd have to say we did find interesting things to do. After our
usual showers, things seemed to rapidly become more fun, not that the
shower wasn't fun. He was in the mood to be aggressive. I'd just barely
gotten into bed when he was all over me, kissing me and licking me. Our
night apart last night had apparently caused him to feel in need loving
tonight.
         It started with some kisses that had a lot of tongue. We seemed to
take turns sucking on each others tongue. I kept trying to suck it out of
his mouth but with no success. His success on me was about the
same. Nonetheless, we both got worked up trying.
         Neither of us could keep our hands still while the kissing was
going on. I had an advantage as I could reach more of his body while
kissing him but he was able to reach all the important parts of mine. It
wasn't long until he was on top of me and I had my hands on his ass with my
fingers lightly running up and down in his crack. Every time my fingers
brushed over his pucker, he humped me and the cheeks of his ass tried to
clinch my fingers. He was straddling me and I decided to try something. His
cock was trapped between us a little above my pubes. By now we were
sweating and when he humped, it slid between us easily. I started really
playing my fingers over his pucker. The more I did so the more he humped
against me. It was getting harder to kiss as we were breathing heavily by
that time. I never let up with my fingers. The fact that I was getting him
so turned on with my fingers turned me on. 
         The kissing stopped. He started grunting in time with his humping.
         "Uhg,,,,, uhg,,,,,, uhg,,,," I could control the speed with how I
used my fingers. I wondered if I could bring him off this way. Only one way
to find out. I started moving my fingers faster and with a little more
pressure. 
         "Uhg,,,,, uhg,,,,, uhg,,, uhg,,, uhg,, uhg,, ugh, uhhhhg," he
arched his back and I felt his body stiffen. I could feel his cock pulsate
against me. I'd done it. I brought him off by running my fingers over his
anus. The only thing was that when he climaxed it pushed me over the
edge. I hadn't realized how turned on I had gotten while working on him. 
         When he was done he just collapsed on me. We were both panting. My
hands just fell on the bed beside us. 
         As soon as I got my breathing under control I kissed him again. It
was just on his cheek as his head was draped on my shoulder and I didn't
have the strength to lift his head to where I could get at his lips. 
         I could feel when he started to get himself back under control. He
was no longer just limp. There was a sense of control again. He got up and
went into the bathroom. I could hear the water running and soon he returned
with a warm washcloth and a towel. It was a great start to the weekend. 
         To be continued.
         Postscript The information on Colt pistols came from the Standard
Catalog of Firearms, Thirteenth Edition. I almost bought a Flattop Bisley
many years ago. The dealer was asking seven hundred dollars but I could
have probably bought it for a little over six. I have a fairly large hand
and it just didn't fit me all that well. FYI it's named after a shooting
range in England. It was Colt's target pistol offering for quite a few
years. I should have bought it. It would have been a good investment. That
isn't the only place I've screwed up when buying firearms. I was offered
two Model 21 Winchesters brand new for $400 each. I think it was in 1959. I
didn't buy them and Winchester stopped production. They started a short
time later offering it through their custom shop. I would have done well
with them also.  In a few months I could have doubled my money.
         I do have a model 29 and it is my favorite. I also enjoy the DWM
Luger. Both are fun to shoot. I don't shoot enough any more to be very good
but it's still fun. I would say that if one chooses to have and use
firearms one should make sure they are kept in a safe manner and handled
with care. 
         I have competed at trap shooting. Once again, not very well, but
it was fun. I finally worked my way up to A class and 24 yards. I shoot a
Perazzi. I also have a couple of model 12 Winchesters and highly customized
Beretta 302. A couple of them have release triggers and the rest are
standard. It's a fun hobby. Also have several others that are not
competition guns.

         I also have several rifles of various makes. I've hunted since I
was about twelve. Never got very interested in fishing.

         Rant
         On another note.  The following could best be described as a rant.
It reflects only my opinion and in no way is intended to represent the
views of the people who operate or support this site.  It's just that on
occasion I feel the need to crawl up on my soapbox and sound off about a
subject.  Feel free to agree or disagree.
         The movie "Bowling for Columbine" is reputed to be a documentary.
It is a shame that Michael Moore, the maker of the film, finds it necessary
to go so far as to outright lie, in his presentation of the tragic
Columbine shooting, about the actions of the NRA. I have no problem with
anyone's position on firearms even though I may disagree with them but find
it a shame that he feels he has to go to such distortions of the truth, in
an alleged documentary, to make his point. Don't take my word for it.  Go
to the trouble to check it out.  A site to start with might be one called
hardylaw.  There are lots of other web sites in which you can read a
detailed description of what the movie says and what was really said by the
speakers before Mr. Moore edited their remarks to make them say what he
wants them to say.  He splices speeches together to make them say things
they didn't.  The only thing is, the color of the speaker's shirt changes
right in the middle of the speech in one example. That is covered up by
panning the crowd when the splice takes place.  That is only one of his
distortions.  Any time we allow someone to use distortion of the truth
about any thing, without challenging it, we place ourselves in the position
of not having anyone willing to speak up for us when we come under attack.
All people need to stand up for the truth.  Had he not presented it as a
documentary, I would have had no problem with said movie.  After all, most
movies are fiction.  They make no effort to make you believe they are
telling the truth, they're only trying to entertain you. The fact that the
movie was awarded a Motion Picture Academy Award for best documentary
doesn't speak very highly of the member's, of the Academy, integrity
either. I feel those actions by Mr. Moore and the Academy are shameful.  It
is my feeling that they have the right to be against firearms but I don't
think that gives them the right to savage the reputation of anyone or any
organization using lies.  The fact that the basis of his criticisms of the
NRA were distortions of the truth says much about his and their personal
integrity.  Based on Bowling for Columbine and the reviews I've read of
Fahrenheit 9/11, I would not believe anything Mr. Moore presented without
making a sincere effort to check the facts.  He represents his own
viewpoint and will distort what other people say to make his point.  We all
need to be on guard to avoid allowing such people to influence us.  They
exist on both sides of the political spectrum.  I repeat, both sides of the
political spectrum.  Please don't allow them to succeed.  Check things out.
Listen to both sides, check to see if they are telling the truth, and then
form your opinion.  Unless you do that we will get the kind of government
we deserve.  Look at Germany in the thirties.  Too many people didn't
bother to check and falsehood was allowed to win.  Millions died because of
that.  Don't let it happen here.  Be a responsible voter.  End of rant.