Archived posting to the Leica Users Group, 1997/03/08

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Subject: Re: ought we to be told
From: ireland@blazenet.net (Robert Brummett)
Date: Sat, 8 Mar 1997 13:55:12 -0500

>>Gosh Ben,
>>An ex-stockbroker holed up in the mountains of Colorado with 11
>>Kalishnikovs -- Do you know something the rest of  should know? No doubt the
>>" artist"  was just a cover story.  8^)
>>
>In defense I have to explain that I inherited ALL 11 of them from an uncle
>who we thought would one day take over a KMart or something. None of them
>have ever been fired. It's really a very valuable collection in that I have
>an example (up to 3) of every one imported to the US. The most unusual is
>the Egyptian Maadi. All laminated wood, and as close to the Soviet AK as has
>ever been built. I also have one from Finland. Very pretty.
>
>I suggest, however, that one calls ahead before showing up at my house late
>at night. Between the doberman's and the arsenal it could get ugly.
>
>,/8^)

[The swinging door creaks open and the tall stranger comes into the bar,
shielding the camera hanging around his neck as he does. He goes to the
bar.]

BARFLY:         Well, lookee here what the cat done drug in! Whatcha call
that piece of crap hanging off your neck, stranger?

STRANGER:       Why, friend, that's an M3 Leica with a 50mm f/2 Summicron.

BARFLY:         Sheeee-it! You call that a camera. Lookee here at my Contax
and drool, pilgrim!

[The Stranger ignores the taunt and sips his orange juice.]

BARFLY:         What might be your name, stranger?

STRANGER:       I used to be known as Ben.

BARFLY:         Uhhhh, not "The artist formerly known as Ben"?

STRANGER:       That's me.

BARFLY:         Well, uh, you wouldn't be related to that "Kalashnikov
Holmes" hombre, would you?

STRANGER:       I'm the man.

BARFLY:         Listen, Mr. Ben, I don't know what got into me just now!
Musta been the booze! I'm right sorry about that crack about that fine
camera you're wearin.' This here Contax piece-a-poop cain't hold a candle
to it! No sir! I'll just toss it here in the spitoon, see? Can I maybe buy
you a drink, sir? Please?

[The tall stranger finishes his orange juice and leaves the bar without
answering the trembling barfly standing there in his damp overalls.]