Oh sure, it started out innocent enough. My buddy from Tennessee (a transplant from CA two years ago) that claims he's my friend keeps sending me e-mails and photos of the ARs he has built. 223s, 300 whispers, 243s, 308s, 6.5 Grendel, suppressed (legally) and a bunch of other tempting and delicious stuff we children of the Kaliforniastan motherland can't be trusted with. Yes, I lust for his man room and his black toys. The desire and impulse completely overshadowed my common sense (not) and I purchased an off-list lower. Hence, my decision to build a CA legal black rifle (an AR with training wheels) and join the party (although from the geek side of the room) had begun. It's kind of like sitting at the kid's table for Thanksgiving. You still get to eat turkey only maybe not the piece you wanted. Also, portion control and every other control is in effect (like CA gun laws). After all, we're just law abiding kids. OK, so I've built my CA legal lower and now I am waiting for the delivery of my RRA upper. Oh my God, I feel like I'm 7 again. :WTF_1: Back then, to get a plastic action frogman toy (that was powered by baking soda) you used to have to send in a box top from a Kellogs cereal box and 50-cents to some address in Battle Creek, Michigan. Then, the wait was on. Long, excruciating days and nights. Each day wondering when the frogman would arrive. Each new bedtime dream would inspire combat scenes in the downstairs sink as the frogman swam through submarine nets and depth charges (depth charge smoke made possible by me dripping my Dad's after shave lotion into the sink of water). Then, finally, after a lifetime of waiting, the frogman arrived. Although smaller than pictured on TV. It was more like a beetle man. I rushed to fill him with baking soda and watch him streak through the depths of the downstairs bathroom sink. What I witnessed was a bubble or two like the beetle man had gas from eating too much cereal. I'm hoping the RRA upper provides me with the performance and accuracy that my mind is conjuring up. I drift off to sleep imagining clover leaf groups at 200-yards using cheapo Wolf ammo. I also made the big mistake of reading more and more AR related articles. Now, I haven't even received my 223 RRA upper and I'm already lusting for a 6.5 Grendel upper. All the symptoms are there, BRD (Black Rifle Disease) has taken over. I don't deserve this, I've lived a good life. Damn, I already have another form of BRD (Bolt Rifle Disease) and IAD (Improved Accuracy Disease), how much more of this can I handle?I figure if I sell the kids for medical experiments and off the dog for a decent price per pound at Korea town, that new 6.5 Grendel upper is as good as mine. After all, I can put off that dental work I needed and I don't need to waste money on yearly physical exams and stupid tests (that only lead to anxiety anyway). It's just a matter of trimming back my expenses here and there. So in essence, it's not really a disease, it's a need.....yeah, that's it.....a need. I NEED IT. I used to WANT IT but now I NEED IT. There must be some kind of California social program that can help. After all....it's not my fault. I'm sick and I need help.
Is there a cure for BRD?
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