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Hand gun for me, shotgun for the wife.
Late one night a few years back a drunk was pounding on the front door and yelling for Emma. There is nobody even in our neighborhood named Emma. I tried to reason with him through the door, as the wife called the law. He would not leave so I told him to listen up and racked the bolt forward on the wife's 1100. He left. Local deputy picked him up on foot walking to town.
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