Sorry I haven't posted in a while but I've been spending every waking moment of my spare time the last few weeks stuffing mags in anticipation of carrying in our National Parks. I live just a hop, skip and a jump from a couple and I didn't want Feb. 22nd to come around and find me unprepared, and yes, I have alot of spare mags.
So I decided to take Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off so I could enjoy complying with the new law.
Went something like this...
Monday morning I woke up in a drunken stupor, which is par for the course so a quick trip to Starbucks was in order. Got a mocha with a shot of Hazelnut and some coffee cake for the extra sugar rush I was after. After pissing in the potted plant in the corner next to some guy who smelled just like I had crapped my pants, I whipped open my black trench coat, unholstered my Carbon-15(with the 120 round drum) and started waving it over my head like the American Flag while trying to slur my way the Pledge of Allegiance. I couldn’t remember most of the words so I just replaced them with some impressive cussing, some trademark worthy racial epithets and a few armpit fart noises for emphasis at the good parts.
I started dancing a jig and touching my naughty place while espousing my true love for the mermaid in the logo when a small turd launched out of my pant leg and hit the top of the menu behind the counter. It stuck for a sec and kinda slid down all herky-jerky like before losing grip on the bottom molding and fell slow motion style onto a tray of scones.
Someone in a green apron asked me to leave. Being the “turn the other cheek” kinda guy that I am, I turned for the door while yelling something about writing the corporate HQ and thanking them for such a great product.
On the way to the National Forest Park, I shot 2, 3, 75 road signs just to limber up and get in the mood. I used the Taurus Judge with the itty-bitty .410 because I deplore vandalism as I define it. I mean, my taxes paid for those signs; I can shoot ‘em if I want.
Lady luck smiled on me that day, evidenced by the fact that within 100 feet of crossing the border into the park, a Bald Eagle just sat on a fence post, scanning for vermin. I slammed on the brakes, causing an accident and broke out the 30.06 since we was talking big game now.
Bald Eagle absolutely exploded. My developing chubber was reward enough, but when I saw that round pass through and take out a migrating California Condor, ricochet of an ancient petroglyph and then lodge in the temple of a Park Ranger as he was explaining the virtue of Smokey the Bear to a bunch of Girl Scouts?
Well, that was Heaven for me.
The camping spot I had used last year was occupied by a bunch of nuns so I shot them all. Nuns are usually quite conservative but they readily hike up their habits and show a little skin when they try to run.
Since the cooler was full of cheap beer, I didn’t pack any food, but poaching was as easy as firing at anything that moved. First thing to fall was a bull elk with trophy antlers. I nibbled around the edges a bit but I didn’t want to fill up on one critter when I already had 17 other species piled up around the campfire I had built out of dead nuns.
It’s nice to get away from the concrete jungle once in a while and enjoy the simple pleasures in life but now that it’s legal to punch holes in the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, I might have to travel out east and destroy some historical landmarks. Learning about history is a hobby of mine, but destroying it one FMJ boat-tail at a time will always be my passion.
Make no mistake, this is how they view us. Keep that in mind.