By Tim Going
Like most Mandalorian children (hey if Rachel Dolezal can identify as black, then I can identify as Mando, cin vhetin ner vod), I began accompanying my father to the battlefield at the age of eight. And by battlefield, I mean the deer woods. At the time, I remember there being nothing in the world as cool as dad’s Remington 700 in .30/06. It was the epitome of a deer rifle, after all, on the third day God created the Remington bolt-action rifle, so that Man could fight the dinosaurs. (And the homosexuals). But, like many middle-lower class families, times got tough and the rifle was sold to help make ends meet . . .
