Pecheeew, Pecheeew, Pecheeew!
Lizett and I went to the shooting range, it was pretty awesome. I know, guns are evil--I am of course opposed to firearms in the home or on the streets, but I figure if there's any appropriate place for their use it's a shooting range. I mean, I'm also opposed to tearing an SUV through a crowded shopping mall, but am more or less okay with driving back and forth to work. Don't think about it, just accept it.
It was a little freaky. I don't know if it's just because we're in Texas or if all shooting ranges are like this, but they basically gave us no instruction. Here's your gun, off you go! I had assumed there would be some kind of mandatory safety course, but nope. He didn't even actually show us how to load or handle it, he just verbally described its function, advised us not to point the barrel at anyone, and sent us to lane 2.
We started out with a .22 revolver, and honestly it felt a lot like shooting a BB gun. Having never touched let alone shot a gun before I was expecting to be blown through the back wall, but the kick was negligible. Unfamiliar with the hierarchy of ammunition calibers, I didn't realize I was using the little bitch of the pistol family, so when we traded up to a 9mm glock the first shot very nearly resulted in all loss of bowel control/my arms. It was fun though once I got the hang of it, and I wasn't a terrible shot. I was marginally better than the wheelchair bound 7 year old in the lane next to us anyway. Very marginally.
The highlight was clearly when Lizett took some piping hot brass to the cleavage. Let this be a lesson ladies, if you're going to the shooting range, don't wear a boob shirt. She took a shot, let's say nailed the bullseye for the sake of the story, and the shell casing flew up, back, and right back down to the money spot. There's not a lot you can do in the department of quick reaction time while holding a loaded glock, so pretty much she just bounced and wiggled and did a little dance I like to call Flaming Boobies trying to get that bad boy out of there. It was probably the funniest thing that could have happened at a shooting range outside of Lizett strapping on some bandoliers and shooting wildly into the air yelling Ariba, ariba, andale andale, ariba! At least it seemed that way at the time...it turns out that the piping hot brass was actually searing hot brass, and now she's got a nice little red spot hanging out right between the ladies, as if enough people weren't staring at her cleavage already. But it was still kind of funny.
It was a little freaky. I don't know if it's just because we're in Texas or if all shooting ranges are like this, but they basically gave us no instruction. Here's your gun, off you go! I had assumed there would be some kind of mandatory safety course, but nope. He didn't even actually show us how to load or handle it, he just verbally described its function, advised us not to point the barrel at anyone, and sent us to lane 2.
We started out with a .22 revolver, and honestly it felt a lot like shooting a BB gun. Having never touched let alone shot a gun before I was expecting to be blown through the back wall, but the kick was negligible. Unfamiliar with the hierarchy of ammunition calibers, I didn't realize I was using the little bitch of the pistol family, so when we traded up to a 9mm glock the first shot very nearly resulted in all loss of bowel control/my arms. It was fun though once I got the hang of it, and I wasn't a terrible shot. I was marginally better than the wheelchair bound 7 year old in the lane next to us anyway. Very marginally.
The highlight was clearly when Lizett took some piping hot brass to the cleavage. Let this be a lesson ladies, if you're going to the shooting range, don't wear a boob shirt. She took a shot, let's say nailed the bullseye for the sake of the story, and the shell casing flew up, back, and right back down to the money spot. There's not a lot you can do in the department of quick reaction time while holding a loaded glock, so pretty much she just bounced and wiggled and did a little dance I like to call Flaming Boobies trying to get that bad boy out of there. It was probably the funniest thing that could have happened at a shooting range outside of Lizett strapping on some bandoliers and shooting wildly into the air yelling Ariba, ariba, andale andale, ariba! At least it seemed that way at the time...it turns out that the piping hot brass was actually searing hot brass, and now she's got a nice little red spot hanging out right between the ladies, as if enough people weren't staring at her cleavage already. But it was still kind of funny.
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11:28 PM, May 05, 2008
9:02 AM, May 06, 2008
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