It's a whiskey tasting kinda of night ...

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Well to each their own, but every once in awhile one must pay tribute to a fallen comrade. I had a friend, probably best male type friend ever. If he didn't already have an absolutely wonderful wife, Vanessa, I would have married his *** in a New York Second. We were both instructor pilots as well as competitive shooters, him handgun, me rifle. Because we had the same training and skills we followed each other all around over our military careers, post to post, all around the country. He was a shooting buddy, him being a pistol shooter always tried to out shoot me during our annual pistol qualifications, which because we were aviation crew members was the S&W .38 M&P. Because our personal handguns were similar to the issue one's we could use our own revolvers to qualify with annually. He shot a Colt Python, I shot a S&W Model 19. We used issue .38 ball ammo and faced off each year when we were in the same command to see who was best between us. The course of fire was essentially the National Match Course with a possible of 250. Both of us shot into the high 240's and were Army Expert classifications. The year before he passed away he shot a 245 and came up to me beaming saying, "Finally beat you out!" I showed him my score card and targets. I had fired 247 only dropping 3 points and had out X ringed him. We were neighbors from time to time and we would get together at one house or another, tell war stories and do shots of Scotch, which wasn't necessarily my favorite, but he brought the bottle across the street. His favorite was Old Smugglers which was not exactly a premium scotch, but actually quite good in it's own right. He passed away in an airplane that caught fire in flight. Not exactly the best way to go. He was on short final to a small lake, and might have made it if a big old Oak tree hadn't caught the wing and ripped it off, leaving all onboard along for the ride.
So I have this bottle of Old Smugglers that I bring out twice a year, once on his birthday, the other on the day he died. I put it one the patio table and we share a shot or two of his favorite. As you can see, the bottle is getting down there and with any luck will last me until I join him wherever. Miss you JRS and someday we will be back together in that big range in the sky.
 

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Well to each their own, but every once in awhile one must pay tribute to a fallen comrade. I had a friend, probably best male type friend ever. If he didn't already have an absolutely wonderful wife, Vanessa, I would have married his *** in a New York Second. We were both instructor pilots as well as competitive shooters, him handgun, me rifle. Because we had the same training and skills we followed each other all around over our military careers, post to post, all around the country. He was a shooting buddy, him being a pistol shooter always tried to out shoot me during our annual pistol qualifications, which because we were aviation crew members was the S&W .38 M&P. Because our personal handguns were similar to the issue one's we could use our own revolvers to qualify with annually. He shot a Colt Python, I shot a S&W Model 19. We used issue .38 ball ammo and faced off each year when we were in the same command to see who was best between us. The course of fire was essentially the National Match Course with a possible of 250. Both of us shot into the high 240's and were Army Expert classifications. The year before he passed away he shot a 245 and came up to me beaming saying, "Finally beat you out!" I showed him my score card and targets. I had fired 247 only dropping 3 points and had out X ringed him. We were neighbors from time to time and we would get together at one house or another, tell war stories and do shots of Scotch, which wasn't necessarily my favorite, but he brought the bottle across the street. His favorite was Old Smugglers which was not exactly a premium scotch, but actually quite good in it's own right. He passed away in an airplane that caught fire in flight. Not exactly the best way to go. He was on short final to a small lake, and might have made it if a big old Oak tree hadn't caught the wing and ripped it off, leaving all onboard along for the ride.
So I have this bottle of Old Smugglers that I bring out twice a year, once on his birthday, the other on the day he died. I put it one the patio table and we share a shot or two of his favorite. As you can see, the bottle is getting down there and with any luck will last me until I join him wherever. Miss you JRS and someday we will be back together in that big range in the sky.
I'm glad there's other folks that think like I.
Some may say quirky, I say admirable.
Cheers @Teri Anne
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