Crossed Off!

So, I think guns are awesome. I haven’t always felt this way, but over the past few years I have become a rabid anti-gun law type, feeling as though Canada wastes a lot of time and money ‘protecting’ us from guns. The only people who follow gun laws are people who don’t do stupid shit with their guns. ANYWAYS. Before I fall into a desperate rant about pretty much nothing, yet keeping on the topic of guns, you may have noticed I had ‘Fire a Gun’ on my life list, under #155 to be precise.

Allow me to throw into this mix: Phil, this dude I know who really, really, really loves guns. So much so that he has a membership at a local gun range. I showed up at Phil’s house a few days ago, ready for another day of watching Food Network with his parents, but instead he said “let’s go”. When asked where we might be going (in case he was planning on murdering me, I’d like to find out in advance) he replied “The Shooting Edge” . Definitely going to murder me. I mentally prepared myself for death, accepted the inevitable, and climbed in his car.

Much to my surprise, Phil was not planning on murdering me. In fact, he wanted to teach me how to properly use firearms, presumably so we could have epic glock showdowns in his house. I signed in as a guest and waited patiently with a copy of “Pheasants Forever” until a shooting bay was empty for our use. I let Phil do the talking, as I had no idea what was going on whatsoever. Phil chose a 9mm Beretta for my first experience.

After the 10 minute introduction to firearm safety and what to expect, we threw on our eyes and ears and entered the shooting bays. Holy fuck on a stick is it loud. I don’t like loud noises so I was a bit apprehensive at first, standing near the back insisting Phil go first (somewhat hoping he’d shoot me and put me out of my noise-induced misery). Our super awesome Range Officer then loaded a single bullet into the mag and made sure I was holding properly and then gave me a countdown to three and told me to fire (at the target, not willy nilly). I was still nervous at this point so I’m not going to go on a long string of “what a rush” and “I knew I was addicted”. In fact, I didn’t really like the Beretta. Too much kick and I had no idea how to aim it. Thankfully, Phil is never okay with just one gun, and insisted we try a glock.

Now, I say this in all honesty: I am going to take a glock down to the courthouse, marry it proper and make sweet, sweet love to it (I’ll allow that horrific image to sink in for a little. Also: hi mom.)

I really got into firing the glock. I love slamming in the mag, pulling back the thinger magigger, and letting loose a hailstorm of deadly lead pieces imagining all of the zombies I could be hypothetically mowing down with my murderous prowess. This is all made better by the fact The Shooting Edge has movie posters from The Crazies freely available in the bays. Needless to say I am now the proud owner of a hella dead photographic zombie.

With a sigh, I finished off the last clip, looking at Phil with my patented “I am so sad this over, do something now” eyes. Luckily, Phil either responds well to this look or is simply gun crazy, because he turned to our Range Officer and said “anyway we could fire a shotgun today?”. Our Range Officer, seeming to be just as excited as I was at the request, packed up our glock and went to get us a badass deer exploding piece of metal machinery. The shotgun tutorial was a bit longer, but worth it, because he taught us the proper technique not to get thrashed by the kickback. Phil went first (I went second, just for your own reference). I don’t care about Phil going, so I’ll talk about me and I really only have one thing to say:

Shit. I’m divorcing the glock. Shotgun wedding, for reals.

155. Fire a gun