Thursday, June 5, 2014

The One Time I Held A Gun

I am not a violent person. I'm basically a giant pussy when it comes down to it. I've never been in a fight, and outside of one time, I have never had my hands on a gun, outside of the two I'm carrying around at all times (flexes, audience holds back laughter [imaginary audience, because nobody actually watches me blog]). But there was that one time that I was given a real gun and told to open fire. Here is my story.

So the beginning is going to make me sound way cooler than I actually was. I was friends with these twins in high school and their parents went out of town. If my memory serves correct, they threw a party the night before and ended up having a Culligan jug of coins stolen. So they were a little freaked out about that. They had some of their girl friends along with me and some of my buddies stay over at the house. Yeah, so girls wanted me to "stay over" at the house for "protection." Hot shit, right?

I took full advantage of the situation. While everyone hung out upstairs and socialized, I went down to the basement, turned on the Sega Genesis and played FIFA 94 for hours on end to play out a World Cup Tournament where I was at least one team in every game. So, like I said, the beginning of the story made me sound way cooler than I was.

It got to night time and a couple of the girls were hanging out in the room next to the video game room, so there was occasional conversation between us. They probably wanted me to do boy/girl stuff, but I wasn't falling for that. Besides, I was busy. I had played all day and finally gotten down to the championship between Argentina and Germany. Things were going pretty dang well.

All of a sudden, I heard a popping noise coming from upstairs. I wouldn't have thought anything of it had it not been followed by screaming by all the girls and then some yelling from my buddies. Ugh, I just started the World Cup Final, and now I have to put it on pause. The two girls in the room next to me are screaming for me to do something since they think it might be somebody shooting at the house. So I make my way upstairs to get this figured out so I can get back to important business.

The girls upstairs are frantic, and my buddies took fireplace pokers and went after the people who were outside the house. Then, one of the twins runs down with .44 Magnum (not sure if this was the actual gun, but from a quick Google search, it was something similar. Call me Mr. Gun Nut) and hands it to me to go out there and protect the house by summoning my inner Bronson and blasting everyone in sight. She hands me the gun, and I instinctively handle it like I'm getting a batch of cookies out of the oven. It takes about three seconds of holding it before I gently place it on a table, and tell her, "I don't think we're going to need to use deadly force."

By the time I got outside to...help? I guess. My friends were already heading back as they found out it was just some other guys we went to high school with who set off firecrackers by the front door. Everybody was okay.

This would seem to be a happy ending, right? You couldn't be more wrong. The girls down in the basement jumped into the video game room for safety, kicked the Genesis and froze the game. Everything that I had worked so hard for had been taken away from me. This would have been the perfect opportunity for me to turn my attention to the ladies as they were no doubt turned on by the fact that my friends jumped into danger, and I kept my calm instead of murdering innocent people. Did I take advantage? No, I pouted, because the idiots couldn't successfully jump behind a bed without throwing their foot out like a goddamned rag doll.

This may surprise you, but I didn't do real well with the ladies early on in life.

And that's the story of the one time I held a gun.

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