I BOUGHT A GUN!

I BOUGHT A GUN!

You have to understand something. Buying a gun wasn't simply "buying a gun," to me. It wasn't a simple acquisition of another piece of matter that when one pulled a metal mechanism on the thing, it triggers a violent chemical reaction forcing a small piece of metal through the bored center of a long piece of harder metal which has rifling to spin the said smaller piece of metal so that when it leaves the harder metal it will have rotating inertia which will keep it flying more or less in a straighter line, hopefully hitting something one was intending to hit with the small piece of metal at such velocity that should the target not have sufficient density would cause a good deal of damage out of proportion to the density of the small piece of metal, but which it makes up for through sheer inertia.

I didn't buy a gun to start a hobby (though I do enjoy target shooting far more than I should). I didn't buy a gun to "protect my home" (though I live in a rough neighborhood and it probably isn't a bad idea).

I got a gun for reasons much more important that starting a hobby and much more complicated than personal protection.

Ever since I was a kid I thought guns were cool. You can't help it. You have your Chuck Norris and John Woo films and the Magnificent Seven and shitty Stephen Seagal films and etc. Guns, to most men (the ones I hang out with, anyway) are just plain cool and/or neat.

My main motivation for buying a gun was that it was the last right I was granted as a person in this country I had yet to exercise. I registered to vote, bought porn (for a friends 18th birthday), I smoke and though I haven't signed up for the armed forces, I have picked up a flier.

So now I'm a smoking, gun-toting, porn-buying, car-driving legal American and I'm having a good time.

So what'd I do with my new gun?

I took my dad out shooting for father's day.

Now, I'm 25 and my dad is 66. He's old. I finally realized that when I took him to the range. To me, my dad's always been this invincible tough guy full of pragmatic wisdom who hates technology and anything new. It was a huge shock to realize my dad is no longer the guy who can spank my ass if I get out of hand.

I'm kinda rambling, but it's been that kind of way for the past few days.

Back to the shooting!

I have discovered that I'm a good shot. I took my brother along with us (who's 16 and everybody says he's awesome and the only reason I don't beat them to death is because I know I'm his brother so it's different between us--but GOD do I wish I could switch places with people sometimes) and I taught him about shooting. Made sure he knew what all the parts were before he shot, that sort of thing. "This is the action, where everything important that happens happens. This is the slide. This is the stock. This is the barrel--DON'T LOOK INTO IT ARE YOU STUPID--This is the butt. These are the sights."

Dad, who used to be a marine, couldn't hit a damn thing. This is what made me realize he is mortal and not Zeus who turned into a goose and seduced my mom and then decided to stick around for a couple decades. Then I found him a chair and using the little table they have there to steady himself started hitting the 50 yard targets.

Brother stood up and started to squeeze off shots. He's alright. About 1 in three shots hit from the 50 to 100 yard targets.

Now, to give you a little understanding of what we were shooting--the gun is a standard Winchester tube-fed .22 semiautomatic. We were shooting steel targets on the small-arms range. The gun has the same amount of recoil as an airsoft gun. With earplugs (mandatory at any range) you have difficulty hearing the report of the gun.

Not to brag (well, maybe a little) I hit the 200 yard target about 12-14 times out of 15 shots. That target was about as big as a small goat.

So, should the Zombie Apocalypse ever occur, I think I'm gunna be good. I'll buy a modified MP5 with .22 ammo and a dozen clips, load them all up, find a four story house and have a ball. If I can hit a target, roughly the size of a guy's chest 13ish times in a row from 200 yards, I can certainly put a few holes in undead heads from the 150 mark.

There was really no point in this post other than I had fun with my new gun, and that I'm happy with my competence with it. I am sad that I realized my dad is an old fart, but he seems to be having a good time so more power to him.

And as a side note: I'm happy that I'm still better at everything than my brother. Petty, I know, but whatever. He's taller than me now, I have to hold onto something.

-McK