And I have long stopped shooting anyone else's handloads in my guns. Had a neighbor growing up that liked guns, had many and loaded his own ammunition, much of it with bullets he cast himself. I had just bought my first good rifle, a new Remington 700 in .30-06. I showed it to Otis and his eyes lit up. He went down into his den/gun room and came out with a band-aid can stuffed with .30-06 handloads he had put together. "Shoot these, BUFF! They'll blow the fuzz off the dandilions for a hundred yards!"
I took them from him and said that I would give them a try. A cursory examination showed that the couple dozen rounds had ten different headstamps between them. I could see 4 different bullets were used, although of the same weights, 180 grains. I weighed the powder charges after pulling the bullets and the weights varied by at least six grains from highest to lowest. At least the primers all looked alike!
I poured the powder from the rounds, weighed it, divided it up by the number of cartridges and re-assembled the cartridges with much greater uniformity than Otis had used.
Also, Otis drank. A lot. He was frequently hammered when he loaded ammo.
I took my new .30-06 up to the range and fired a box of Winchester factory loads They were uniform and I shot four smallish groups at 100 yards.
It was then time for Otis's bull blaster loads. I put on my full-coverage Bell Star motorcycle helmet, chambered an Otis, spent a bit of time hunkering down at the bench, working up the courage, and finally, turned my eyes away and fired one round. WHAMMMM!!!!!! The rifle kicked harder than anything I had ever shot, including a .375 H&H. Muzzle rise like I was bird hunting! Sand and dust poured from the overhead rafters holding the roofs over our firing benches, jarred loose by the concussion.
Then it took two of us with a good-sized hard plastic mallet to beat the action open. The bolt's spring-loaded ejector plunger couldn't budge the fired case from it's face.
I said, "Enough! Otis wants to kill us!" My shooting buddy also had a .30-06 Ruger with him, and he thought maybe my new rifle was too tight. I gave him my motorcycle helmet, he settled down at the bench, soberly chambered another Otis, and I had him don my helmet while I stood around behind a thick steel beam. WHAAAMMMMMM!!!!
We had to take his Ruger with the fired Otis casing welded into the chamber to a good gunsmith to pry the bolt back open, pound out the Otis case and replace his damaged extractor. Gunsmith thought the headspace had been opened up a bit, too.
That was about 1976. I haven't shot an Otis cartridge since, and I am pretty sure I never will.
And nobody else's, either.
