Picked up a crate of 7.62x39 Pic inside

5440fight said:
Hey, be nice, we were all there once.

I remember my first crate like it was yesterday. There we were, in the room together, there was no need for words. I gazed at the words written in squigley with wonder, it could say anything, I didn't care. It was mysterious and indeciferable, that was enough for me. I flung myself at the latch, it lifted with no resistance, only to reveal a chastity belt of metal beneath the alluring green wooden crate. I wasted no time, and put my large mamalian brain to work on deciding how to proceed. The ring in the corner looked intriguing, and I pulled at it tentatively. It didn't budge. I pulled harder, breaking a sweat, and it gave ever so slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse at the contents within. I cursed under my breath, and really put some effort into it, and the ring broke off in my hand, flinging me across the room. Here, I snapped, unleashing a torrent of verbal filth the likes of which would make sailors blush, at the crate. The crate seemed unaffected, and it's gleaming armour seemed to mock me. Running to the garage, I returned with a pair of pliers, and spent the next 5 minutes sweating and wrestling with the rectagular beast, adjusting my grip constantly, and wiping the blood that seemed to come from one of us on the top of the wooden crate. Finally it was done, and we both lay there exhausted, bloody, sweaty and spent. A strange odor, like a smell capsule from 1974 emmited from it's depths, as I flung the metal cover aside and gazed within. Little green boxes, like stacks of money gazed back. On the top was a piece of paper. What could it be? A note from the past? A cry for help from some gulag slave, state secrets, a map to hidden military treasures? My trembling fingers un-folded it. Some squigley, and the number 532. A criptic code from the past. I have saved all the notes I have found since then, in the hopes that put together, it will one day make sense...
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sounds like someone should be writing for #### magazines..lol:evil:
 
5440fight said:
Hey, be nice, we were all there once.

I remember my first crate like it was yesterday. There we were, in the room together, there was no need for words. I gazed at the words written in squigley with wonder, it could say anything, I didn't care. It was mysterious and indeciferable, that was enough for me. I flung myself at the latch, it lifted with no resistance, only to reveal a chastity belt of metal beneath the alluring green wooden crate. I wasted no time, and put my large mamalian brain to work on deciding how to proceed. The ring in the corner looked intriguing, and I pulled at it tentatively. It didn't budge. I pulled harder, breaking a sweat, and it gave ever so slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse at the contents within. I cursed under my breath, and really put some effort into it, and the ring broke off in my hand, flinging me across the room. Here, I snapped, unleashing a torrent of verbal filth the likes of which would make sailors blush, at the crate. The crate seemed unaffected, and it's gleaming armour seemed to mock me. Running to the garage, I returned with a pair of pliers, and spent the next 5 minutes sweating and wrestling with the rectagular beast, adjusting my grip constantly, and wiping the blood that seemed to come from one of us on the top of the wooden crate. Finally it was done, and we both lay there exhausted, bloody, sweaty and spent. A strange odor, like a smell capsule from 1974 emmited from it's depths, as I flung the metal cover aside and gazed within. Little green boxes, like stacks of money gazed back. On the top was a piece of paper. What could it be? A note from the past? A cry for help from some gulag slave, state secrets, a map to hidden military treasures? My trembling fingers un-folded it. Some squigley, and the number 532. A criptic code from the past. I have saved all the notes I have found since then, in the hopes that put together, it will one day make sense...
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WOW, That sounds just like my first encounter with the green crate. Except I used a bike lock to pull the ring.
 
5440fight said:
Hey, be nice, we were all there once.

I remember my first crate like it was yesterday. There we were, in the room together, there was no need for words. I gazed at the words written in squigley with wonder, it could say anything, I didn't care. It was mysterious and indeciferable, that was enough for me. I flung myself at the latch, it lifted with no resistance, only to reveal a chastity belt of metal beneath the alluring green wooden crate. I wasted no time, and put my large mamalian brain to work on deciding how to proceed. The ring in the corner looked intriguing, and I pulled at it tentatively. It didn't budge. I pulled harder, breaking a sweat, and it gave ever so slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse at the contents within. I cursed under my breath, and really put some effort into it, and the ring broke off in my hand, flinging me across the room. Here, I snapped, unleashing a torrent of verbal filth the likes of which would make sailors blush, at the crate. The crate seemed unaffected, and it's gleaming armour seemed to mock me. Running to the garage, I returned with a pair of pliers, and spent the next 5 minutes sweating and wrestling with the rectagular beast, adjusting my grip constantly, and wiping the blood that seemed to come from one of us on the top of the wooden crate. Finally it was done, and we both lay there exhausted, bloody, sweaty and spent. A strange odor, like a smell capsule from 1974 emmited from it's depths, as I flung the metal cover aside and gazed within. Little green boxes, like stacks of money gazed back. On the top was a piece of paper. What could it be? A note from the past? A cry for help from some gulag slave, state secrets, a map to hidden military treasures? My trembling fingers un-folded it. Some squigley, and the number 532. A criptic code from the past. I have saved all the notes I have found since then, in the hopes that put together, it will one day make sense...
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The wife says Thank you :) Now where did I leave me fags ?
 
crashcollins said:
Really? You got a XCR mag to work in a SKS! That sounds real tricky. Care to tell us how you did that?
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A lot of machining and the willingness to sacrifice an SKS and you can get it done.

I wouldn't bother personally, but if you're interested there's a thread on it somewhere on this forum. A search should turn it up.
 
5440fight said:
Hey, be nice, we were all there once.

I remember my first crate like it was yesterday. There we were, in the room together, there was no need for words. I gazed at the words written in squigley with wonder, it could say anything, I didn't care. It was mysterious and indeciferable, that was enough for me. I flung myself at the latch, it lifted with no resistance, only to reveal a chastity belt of metal beneath the alluring green wooden crate. I wasted no time, and put my large mamalian brain to work on deciding how to proceed. The ring in the corner looked intriguing, and I pulled at it tentatively. It didn't budge. I pulled harder, breaking a sweat, and it gave ever so slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse at the contents within. I cursed under my breath, and really put some effort into it, and the ring broke off in my hand, flinging me across the room. Here, I snapped, unleashing a torrent of verbal filth the likes of which would make sailors blush, at the crate. The crate seemed unaffected, and it's gleaming armour seemed to mock me. Running to the garage, I returned with a pair of pliers, and spent the next 5 minutes sweating and wrestling with the rectagular beast, adjusting my grip constantly, and wiping the blood that seemed to come from one of us on the top of the wooden crate. Finally it was done, and we both lay there exhausted, bloody, sweaty and spent. A strange odor, like a smell capsule from 1974 emmited from it's depths, as I flung the metal cover aside and gazed within. Little green boxes, like stacks of money gazed back. On the top was a piece of paper. What could it be? A note from the past? A cry for help from some gulag slave, state secrets, a map to hidden military treasures? My trembling fingers un-folded it. Some squigley, and the number 532. A criptic code from the past. I have saved all the notes I have found since then, in the hopes that put together, it will one day make sense...
Click to expand...

That sounds SO familiar, right down to the pliers and bloody knuckles. My cryptic note was written on the back of a map, I'm hoping to collect enough to rebuild the map. I figure that it's probably the Soviet invasion plan, circa 1974.
 
5440fight said:
Hey, be nice, we were all there once.

I remember my first crate like it was yesterday. There we were, in the room together, there was no need for words. I gazed at the words written in squigley with wonder, it could say anything, I didn't care. It was mysterious and indeciferable, that was enough for me. I flung myself at the latch, it lifted with no resistance, only to reveal a chastity belt of metal beneath the alluring green wooden crate. I wasted no time, and put my large mamalian brain to work on deciding how to proceed. The ring in the corner looked intriguing, and I pulled at it tentatively. It didn't budge. I pulled harder, breaking a sweat, and it gave ever so slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse at the contents within. I cursed under my breath, and really put some effort into it, and the ring broke off in my hand, flinging me across the room. Here, I snapped, unleashing a torrent of verbal filth the likes of which would make sailors blush, at the crate. The crate seemed unaffected, and it's gleaming armour seemed to mock me. Running to the garage, I returned with a pair of pliers, and spent the next 5 minutes sweating and wrestling with the rectagular beast, adjusting my grip constantly, and wiping the blood that seemed to come from one of us on the top of the wooden crate. Finally it was done, and we both lay there exhausted, bloody, sweaty and spent. A strange odor, like a smell capsule from 1974 emmited from it's depths, as I flung the metal cover aside and gazed within. Little green boxes, like stacks of money gazed back. On the top was a piece of paper. What could it be? A note from the past? A cry for help from some gulag slave, state secrets, a map to hidden military treasures? My trembling fingers un-folded it. Some squigley, and the number 532. A criptic code from the past. I have saved all the notes I have found since then, in the hopes that put together, it will one day make sense...
Click to expand...

Haha, this sounds alot like my first crate of 7.62. It was a b*#%^ to open but afterwords it's like "ahh, sooo many boollits, sooo beautiful"
 
My first crate gave it up easily with a pair of vice grips and me standing on it. Still have the crate in my garage. Just got a spam can today, that was more work.
 
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