Which is a load of complete bullshit, but I was eager to enjoy some more shooty goodness.
Dinking around on the computer while Christina took a morning shower, I forgot that the time on my computer's clock was different from local time. It said it was almost 9 AM, so I hustled my keister over to the cafe for breakfast, to discover the place nearly empty, with only three people there.
FarmGirl introduced me and I shook hands with MattG and JPG, in awe of the gentle giant and his charming father. More quiet conversation was had as people slowly trickled in, ordering coffee to fuel themselves up for the day. After all, we were planning to exhaust ourselves out at the range.
I stepped outside for a cigarette where Salamander informed me that he would not be able to join us for today's festivities. The Newt was still sick and he had to be getting home to tend to his child. With a farewell hug, we sent him on his way, then began the migration out towards the range.
YAY!
Breda was immediately handed the biggest handgun I had yet seen, and I stared in awe as this little slip of a woman fire round after round, watching what looked like recoil from hell after each shot. And then the other shooty n00b took a turn: Christina! I would show pictures, but some people like to remain anonymous on the internet, and I shall respect their wishes. :) I do have a picture of the gun in question though.
Super Blackhawk, wut?
A picture that would make the Brady Bunch spontaneously combust!
Yummy!
Mizz Phlegmmy deemed it safe to pose for a picture, so I immortalized her in digital form, displaying all of her charm in one smile.
I felt truly blessed to have met her, I really did. I adored her! I mean, I adored everybody, but she was something else, she really was.
It wasn't too much longer before I was drawn to the rifle range again, eyeballing Jim with his AR once more. That's right, I wanted another turn at that pretty pup, and he was kind enough to oblige me while Breda was nice enough to take pictures with my camera.
I f*cking love that gun. Maybe Santa will bring me one for Christmas? I promise, I've been good!!
Breda rocked the SKS like nobody's business, of course....
My shoulder was aching at this point. After spending all day shooting guns I was unaccustomed to, and then sleeping on it, I was in a fair amount of pain. But oh, it hurt so good. The lovely librarian saw me rubbing at the red spot on my skin, and pulled her shirt down to show some lovely bruises.
Of course, it got Jim's attention, and he immediately took pictures, as did I.
And of course, this picture was taken accompanied by words that Jim repeated often enough during the weekend: "Okay, give me angry, I want to see angry!"
Then I realized the very appropriate shirt that Stingray was wearing and had to take a picture of it.
We adjourned for lunch then, most of us bickering over the limited chairs that were available. AD stole my spot, then sweetly offered his own chair to me, with the Longhorns logo emblazoned across the back of it. I badmouthed the foul team, raising nine kinds of hell with AD for even thinking to offer that seat to the daughter of an Aggie, and then KatyBeth chimed in, agreeing with her father. She was too cute to punish for her impudence, though.
Right as everyone was finished stuffing their faces, a couple of the gentlemen reappeared, announcing that for the snipers on the rifle table, there were new targets set up on the opposite side of the range: 55-gallon barrels were placed at 500 yards and 950 yards, and most people took turns at them. I was not brave enough to try, but I did stand back and cheer folks on as they rotated through the snipers. Memorable quote of the moment came from Stingray, directed towards Breda.
"Almost a thousand yards, and you got it on your second fucking pull!"
There's a reason we call her the World's Most Dangerous Librarian.
Afterwards, I don't know what possessed AEPilotJim, but he decided he wanted to play dress-up with Breda.
That's Jim's M14 she's holding (which is almost as long as she is tall), and that sash she's wearing? Yeah, that's his belt and holster. We couldn't cinch it up tight enough to fit around her waist, so she had to wear it like that. We were all giggling about these pictures, of course.
Breda decided she would mosey back over to the pistol range while it was deserted, and I chose to follow, making a quick stop where everybody was set up with the clays and shotguns to ask Mr. Stingray if he would be so kind as to let me shoot his hand cannon. The day before it was quite intimidating, but I knew I'd be kicking myself for eternity if I didn't shoot it at least once. He said he'd be over shortly, because I was not familiar with wheelguns and did not know how to load it.
Whilst waiting for him to come down to let me play with his toy (boy, that sounds dirty, don't it?), I gazed quite longingly at Alan's full-auto. "Can I shoot it?" I asked.
"Here," he said, and handed me a box of ammo and a magazine to load.
And then he fired a magazine, I fired one, and Breda shot it once more.
SQUEEE!!
Oh, that was fun to shoot.
Back over on the rifle side, they called the range cold and tacked up a bag of Tannerite to one of the target backdrops. Christina and I each took position on a rifle and they cut us loose, telling us to hit the black bag on the wooden board.
KABOOM!
I nailed it that time, and when it exploded, my grin was positively feral, I was so thoroughly pleased.
This is what was left of the board the tannerite was stuck on, once we tore down the range.
And yes, that really is Jim's face. I was SHOCKED, I really was. But he's so damned cuddly!
After we called both ranges cold and the FarmFam announced it was time to pack up and go home, before it got too dark to see, Jim made a brass call.
"Anybody want to help pick up these shells, for those of us that reload ammo?"
I stared at him stupidly. Then snuck away to Alan's truck, where Breda was resting, and chatted with her amiably for a few minutes. I mentioned the brass call.
"Is he fucking serious? After all we've fired? Are you kidding me?"
Yeah, that's what I thought too.
KatyBeth decided she wanted to ride back into town with Mizz Christina, so I piled into AD's truck with him and GayCynic, and promptly passed out in the backseat.
Hey, I was TIRED, man!
Then there was the deer incident (See also: here, here, here, and the best of all, here).
Once everybody made it back into town, Christina and I with custody of little miss KatyBeth, we knocked on Breda's door to inform her and Alan (because those two seemed to be attached at the hip sometimes) of what had happened. Then we high-tailed it over to the FarmHouse, laptop in tow because I just had to be the first to blog about the deer incident, just as LawDog and Phlegmmy arrived. Phlegmmy asked if I had uploaded the pictures, and asked ever-so-politely if she could borrow my laptop to put up a picture. I, being the ever-giving soul that I am, allowed her, resulting in this lovely post over here.
We had pot roast, potato casserole, and delicious vegetables for dinner, with more of the diabetic-coma-inducing cheesecake brownies, and Atomic Beer, of course. The Nerds arrived with a freshly-cleaned AD, sporting the best tacticool attachment for any rifle EVAR.
Many jokes were had about "Super Scrappy Nibbles", and then we all settled down to BS some more, stuff our faces with delicious home cooking, and Christina vanished to give more massages, as she did every night.
Time wore on, people called it a night, and FarmGirl dragged out the fire pit to set up outside the garage. Stingray, Labrat, Jim, and I, all huddled around the flame, trying to avoid a faceful of smoke. Talk was quiet, moods were restful, all was well.
The temperature kept dropping, and I was running out of energy, so I asked Jim if he would walk with me back to the motel. We chatted more as we walked and said goodnight outside of our respective motel rooms.
Christina still wasn't home yet, so I crawled into bed and passed out. I had to get some sleep, for early in the morning, FarmGirl and I had to get on the road to the airport so I could go home.
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