After our story on the Rise of the Prepper, we have been inundated with emails from readers telling us how hard it’s becoming for them to obtain certain types of ammo. We also had a reader send us a press release this morning from Ruger.
Effective Immediately Ruger has stopped accepting Firearms Orders. The Company says that they have had to temporarily suspend the acceptance of new orders after receiving requests for more than one million units.
Here is the Official Statement form Ruger:
SOUTHPORT, CT –Sturm, Ruger & Company, Inc. (NYSE-RGR), announced today that for the first quarter 2012, the Company has received orders for more than one million units. Therefore, the Company has temporarily suspended the acceptance of new orders.
Chief Executive Officer Michael O. Fifer made the following comments:
The Company’s Retailer Programs that were offered from January 1, 2012 through February 29, 2012 were very successful and generated significant orders from retailers to independent wholesale distributors for Ruger firearms.
Year-to-date, the independent wholesale distributors placed orders with the Company for more than one million Ruger firearms.
Despite the Company’s continuing successful efforts to increase production rates, the incoming order rate exceeds our capacity to rapidly fulfill these orders. Consequently, the Company has temporarily suspended the acceptance of new orders.
The Company expects to resume the normal acceptance of orders by the end of May 2012.
http://offgridsurvival.com/rugerstopsacceptinggunorders/
In my nine years now of doing stand-up, I've learned how to safely couch my thoughts in cunt talk. (Again, I apologize for the potty language, but there simply is no other way to accurately describe the pure filth that pours from the mouths of lawyers, those who cause decay in their environments merely by existing, who can pull an illegality out of a hat and call it lawful. "Ta da! Behold the fruits of my cunt talk! I've made legal that which is manifestly unlawful!"
So a comedian's version of cunt talk is to portray his thoughts as a vision, the kind you get when you roll your eyes back in your head and flop around on the floor. It's something that happens to you, like an epileptic seizure. See? It's not your fault. It's a medical condition.
So in my psychic vision --which, obviously, cannot be my fault since it happened to me-- I see... the people forming their duly constituted mutual defense associations and escorting, under force of arms, completely useless local, state, and federal "law" enforcement agents off the premises if they hitch up their pants and waddle onto the property to declare whatever idiocy.
To some degree, I am quite protective of my law enforcement audience, as I would be toward a Down Syndrome child of mine, coaching him on how to swing at a pitch in a Little League game, kneeling down beside him and showing him how to hold the bat. "Okay, here it comes, Jimmy. When the ball comes, swing!"
And he just looks at it, a perfect strike.
"Alright, Jimmy. That was a strike. That's bad. If another one comes that you think you can hit, swing. Okay?"
And he just looks at it. Strike number two.
"You got to swing, Jimmy. If you just stand there and look at it, that'll be strike three and you're out. That means you can't play anymore."
So I've been coaching my law enforcement audience for years now about how to put their badges and their guns to good use and how to earn their paychecks before their employer gets wiped and their pensions go bye-bye, up into hyperspace, never to be seen again.
Let's think it through, okay, Jimmy? There is a built-in, one-hundred-million-man, armed-to-the-teeth, lawful constabulary called the unorganized militia. Their job is to enforce the law that their forebears pronounced, fundamental law, and to prevent any assertions of jurisdiction that do not comport with that law. When the pitch comes, swing, okay? You have one more chance to place matters into your inbox and to kick in doors and start arresting people under the aegis of your own task forces. If you just stand there and not swing, you will be out. And if you then refuse to leave the plate, that one-hundred-million-man constabulary will escort you off the field. And really, Jimmy, do you think that you and your fellow models of uselessness stand any chance against them? Come now.
