Yes, I know I misspelled his name - it's a play on words. Wordplay. Not gunplay. But the first thing we did in Houston this past weekend was visit a great outdoor shooting range where I managed to walk into a low hanging roof while attempting to hang my target. I tried to be cool about it - my cap had blocked the view and I was looking at the ground, avoiding puddles as all good macho shooters do. (It was Dirty Harry, not wet-shoe Dirty Harry.) Got a nice chunk of bald whupped pretty good.
Whack!
You know, there really should be some cartoon sound effects in life. If you want to play along, here's what to do: take a 12 inch wooden ruler and hang about 8 inches off a table; then, while holding down the end on the table, pull the free end down and let that go. Waaaaaaack-k-k-k-k-k-k.
Even with earplugs stuck so deep into my ear canals that I could hear 1963, there was no muting the monster weapons being fired beside us. 50 caliber must cost a buck a shot. (And the guy wasn't that good!)
Our shots were making nice groups, all things considered, but way off center. Screwdriver to the rescue! Sights adjusted, I could pretty much put em all into the center ring though I seem to have less than a steady hand. Luckily my brain knows when to squeeze them off despite the, uh, bobbing.
Here in Texas where they take guns with a healthy attitude, you can shoot someone breaking into your property. But when you can shoot so well, you think, "well, where would be the least bloody wall splatter? Kneecap or shoulder?" Or, "could the bastard sue?" This ain't close-yer-eyes-point-and-pull-the trigger... this is 'what body part?' thinking.
I pity the poor sucka who plans an assault. All I have to do is get into the cabinet with the gym bag tucked in the back and unzip it, get the gun out of the case, load it, then find the varmint (there should be breath mints called varmints in Texas. My idea. I want a cut if you get rich. But that might encourage robbers. Oh heck, I'll take the money. I can shoot.)
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