This is off topic but I couldn't resist. When I turned 21, I wanted to exercise my right to buy a handgun. Most kids can't wait until they turn 21 so they can get in a strip joint or whatever, but I wanted to buy a handgun. I actually owned at least one handgun since age 9 and had been in the military firing full autos, but the idea that I was old enough to buy my own handgun was something I had looked forward to. So since I was working for minimum wage at the time, I went down and purchased a nickel Raven. I was actually happy to be buying a Raven because I had heard about "Saturday Night Specials" and had seen stuff like that on TV and now I could try it out first hand. Unlike many who buy something like this, I took it seriously. I shot it at paper, cleaned it etc. Now after having had several hundred handguns pass through my fingers, I can still honestly say that there was nothing wrong with that Raven. I never had a reliablility problem with it, as I remember it worked every time. Nor did I have an accuracy problem with it. I own a couple .25s now, one of which is a Colt and the ones I own now don't exhibit any greater accuracy than the Raven. And I have shot them both off of sandbags. Belive it or not, I won $10 off a guy one day (I felt sorry for him because $10 was such a huge sum of money) by shooting five shotgun shells off a split rail fence with five shots from a Raven. As I remember we were maybe 5-7 yards away. The Ravens I have seen seem to be pretty well made although the design is simple. Of course the .25 ACP isn't anything to write home about. One night about 0230, after last call, I was driving home. I lived in a rural area, and a possum came slowly walking across the street. I had my Raven loaded with some new ammo Winchester had come out with. It had a BB in the nose of the bullet which was supposed to be driven back through the bullet upon impact to cause the bullet to expand at the low velocity of the .25 ACP cartridge. I had read an article in one of the gunzines that made this round out to be the next thing to a nuclear blast. So I rolled down the window and placed two shots right behind the front shoulder of that possum. The possum continued walking across the street at the exact same pace; it never flinched, it never ran, it never acknowleged that it was hit. I got out and walked up to where it had crossed and there was a blood trail but these super duper rounds touted by the gun press as being the answer to making a .25 into a .45 had fallen flat on their face. This was one of the first steps in my education about the BS printed in gun magazines.