No Time to Come Up With Another Bad Title.

     Don’t expect any long posts out of me for a while, much less any drawings. See;

     This is what happened when I tried to draw a Boxter. I’m just not up to it. I’ve been trying to type up long elegant paragraphs all about every ill advised and dull topic I can think of, but I never seem to go through with it. I never get far before I either erase all my progress and close my computer angrily, having realized that I don’t actually write that well, or just abandon blogging for funny You Tube videos. So, I’m going to start over, and try not to get over ambitious. For now, I’m going back to my old blogging style, that is, writing about my day. No, not today, it’s too early to see how it’ll turn out, so instead I’m going to talk about Saturday.

Around noon Saturday, (early morning Saturday time) Dad and I went to a shooting range. It had just opened in our area, and he wanted to check it out. I just wanted to shoot a gun and see how it compared to the old B.B. gun my sister and I used to play with at our grandparents house. Man it was fun, we’d ‘take turns’ I use the term loosely. Basically she would play with it until she got hungry or bored, and then when she put it down I’d grab it. This system was put into place due to the fact that being my older sister she thought she knew what was best for me and she thought I’d shoot my eye out. I thought she shouldn’t watch ‘A Christmas Story’ because it fooled her into thinking I would be so dumb as to use a metal target. Ralphie was an idiot. Naturally, I didn’t shoot anything metal. I shot cardboard boxes. Not only were they safer, but they were convenient because they stood up on their own. Besides, sometimes, if you hit it just right, the B.B. wouldn’t go all the way through and would stay in the box where it would rattle around satisfactorily. But I digress.
When we got there, the girl behind the counter had us watch an instructional video. It was all obvious and dull. Frankly, it could have been improved by showing what would happen if you didn’t follow the rules, instead of just showing people with guns happily complying to the rules. But we only had to watch it for a few minutes before the girl handed Dad the first gun, a twenty-two (He wanted me to start out small), as well as two pairs of headphones. We put on the headphones and the eye goggle-sunglass thingies Dad brought from home, and headed on back to the actual shooting range.
I started out with the twenty-two. It wasn’t very loud, and was easy to aim, so I hit the target each time, though rarely in the center. I went through most of the box of ammunition and was on my second target, with the only distractions being the occasional hot casing bouncing off my blue jean protected legs, and the tattooed man in the next booth shooting at a zombie target with an army grade gun letting off sparks and an impressive, resounding noise with each bullet that left the chamber. Unfortunately, I wore ballet flats, which were ill advised. The casing off one of my last bullets fell into my left shoe. I was still holding a loaded gun, and it was the only thing keeping my from jumping around screeching, “Hot foot! Hot foot!” instead, I had to put on the safety, place the gun on the counter, with the end facing down the range, before I could remove the casing and check my sore foot for a burn.
After I used all my bullets, Dad exchanged my twenty-two for a much larger gun for him to use. He took about five to ten shots before telling me it was my turn. I had no intention of shooting anything other than a twenty-two. But I had to give it a go. As it transpires, it looked easier when Dad used it. I hadn’t expected it to try to break free of my hand as hard as it had. I kept hold of it, but it jerked my hands upwards and I missed the target by a few inches. The second time, I hit the target, but the third time, I hit the ceiling. That’s when a guy that worked there intervened. Luckily he was a nice guy, and instead of being upset about my hitting the ceiling (That was already riddled with bullet holes) gave me a quick lesson. I think it helped, but I’m not exactly sniper material.


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