In some dank garage in Sebastopol, I have a mint .600 nitro express up in the rafters. One trip to the rifle range, that's all it took. One round. One dislocated shoulder. Black and blue halfway down to my elbow. Chest and ribs hurt. The weapon was fired in August of 1977.
If you need it to impact a 100 pound generator and tumble it 100 feet I'll let you borrow it. I bought it it off a destitute gambler returning from Reno. I fired one of his hand loads. Cudda took down a B-52.
Anti-generator people can get irate, strike that - violent. I don't use a generator anymore. '88 was the last time when I ran away from huracan Gilberto.
I'm glad I ain't got no thermistors, twisted sisters, or crazy aunts locked up in the attic. When the weather cools, ten seconds with a instrument screwdriver is all it takes for me. If it gets too hot or too cold, don't stand in the driveway.