Posted on 07/22/2016 6:37:43 PM PDT by xzins
What's it like to fire a Daisy BB gun? It's an experience I'll never forget. Everybody knows BB guns are scary looking and ought to be banned, but I thought I would try to shoot one without any preconceived notions. What I encountered changed me forever.
I took a deep breath and determined to enter a Wal-Mart. A "greeter" met me with, "Howdy, welcome to Wal-Mart." I'm from the north. We don't say "Howdy". I sneer back at the microaggression and strain to hold back tears of rage. Barely controlling myself, I asked where I could find a BB gun. He directed me to "sporting goods," still smiling and gloating over his slyly delivered offense.
I go to the "sporting goods" section, a perfect charnel house where implements of sulfur, death, and destruction are openly and brazenly sold. I notice a BB gun just lying on a shelf. I reach for it as if it was a poisonous snake, wondering if it will go off when I pull it off the shelf. That's right, a shelf. Where anybody could get it.
I go to the counter and the death merchant asks me if I wanted BBs to go with it. He even had the audacity to offer me "Copperhead" brand BBs! How could this inbred hick not know that I see a therapist twice a week to treat my herpephobia?
I buy the gun and the recommended BBs. I'm dizzy going out to the parking lot. A passing stranger, attired in a camouflage assault t-shirt, asks, "Sir, you okay?" "How dare you assume my gender!" I shout back. "Sorry, just checkin'," he said as if my health was any of his business. But the worst was yet to come.
I went to a wooded area to fire the BB gun, a Daisy 509 Buck, probably made by Bushmaster. I bruised my knuckles operating the cocking lever. Taking aim, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the spring loaded plunger going "boing" startled me. I became disoriented watching the BB arc towards its target. The "dink!" sound it made bouncing off a coke can was horribly loud. The recoil was horrendous, like a bazooka or some other recoilless weapon, and it dislocated my shoulder. I vomited and cried. I still have PTSD. Anxiety. Irritability. Nightmares. I may never again be the same.
But enough about me, at least for now. Worst of all, these weapons of mass destruction are available to the general public. It's time we stopped listening to the paid lobbyists of the National BB Gun Association who assure us that BB guns are hardly ever used in the commission of a crime. They scare me, they should scare you, and they ought to be banned.
Christmas Story. I can give a summary of each scene in the movie.
Around a year ago, I bought what was probably my 5th or 6th Crossman 1377 pellet pistol.
I noticed the packaging said “made in the U.S.A.) then in smaller letters, (with some foreign parts).
It has turned out to be a little better than my old ones as it is easier to load ad there is no longer that breech cover and it cocks when you pull back on the bolt. On the older ones you have to cock it in a separate action.
Seems just as powerful and just as accurate. I like it so well that I bought one for my Grandson
And the capacity of the Assault BB gun’s “clip”, it must hold hundreds of BB clip bullets.
“I go to the counter and the death merchant asks me if I wanted BBs to go with it.”
Death merchant?
I have a feeling that this guy is a little light in the loafers.
.
Go Trump, go!
F China. F Daisy.
If it isn’t, it is probably the way the press feels about those dreaded BB guns!
Did your grandson take the required pellet pistol background check?
Daisy BB guns: Made in China.
I am saddened to say that his parents have not taken him out shooting yet. They live in the suburbs but nearly rural ones and have an acre or two lawn.
I don’t see why they can’t let him use it there but they insist on waiting until they are in a rural area.
That would be a Tragic Wading Pool accident.
What a shot! This guy hit the target on his first try ever!
I'm afraid that when I took my BB gun and tried to shoot Coke cans, they stubbornly remained on top of that fence. I had no clue about aiming. My stepfather never missed a can.
BTW, it would be nice if the original piece that this is a satire of could be linked. It was even funnier, because the writer was seriously trying to pass himself off as serious.
My brother shot me in the calf with his BB Gun. Stung like hell, but didn’t break the skin.
Oh, I got a kick out of it. I forwarded it to a girl I homeschool who has one and is a huge hunting fan. She doesn’t always get satire and will probably flip out over this, which is always entertaining, but it eventually provides a lesson comp and lit.
Always prefers Crossman’s myself. You could get some real semi-auto action out of their M1 Carbine.
I always wanted one in the worst way, but it was out of the question. I could have knives, machetes, switchblades and slingshots, but I simply couldn’t afford one, and my parents would never buy me one. They weren’t anti-gun, I think to them, it was something that would result in a little hole in the glass window next door or the kid next door.
When I was a kid in the Philippines, I wanted a ‘bolo’ so badly (I was around 11-12). We had a Filipino guy who did yard work for us, and he made them out of old leaf springs, so he made me one. It had a wooden handle, and he wound some thin red and yellow rope around the handle...:)
No charge. What a guy. I’ll tell ya, I was prouder than a dog with two tails!
But I could have slingshots of my own making and design. I began making slingshots when I was around 7 or 8, but I just couldn’t get the hang of them. I would always pull back, and either the “Y” branch would break, the strips of bicycle tire would break, or the leather thingie where you put the rock would come loose. That was a constant pain in the face...even if the branch didn’t break, and the rubber didn’t break, some piece would always break loose and nearly put your eye out or leave a nearly bleeding welt somewhere on your face, forearm or hand. I think my problem was, every single time I shot something, I pulled it back as far as I could...just excited.
I wanted a wrist rocket so bad, but I didn’t get one till I was a middle aged man!
When I was younger, I lived in Japan, and found that I could buy fireworks off base, and I bought a bunch of smoke bombs that were spherical, maybe an inch in diameter with a great big thick fuse coming out one end. They would spit sparks and blue, green, red, or yellow smoke. I thought I would be clever one day, and from my back yard, I lit them and fired them with my slingshot into a playground that was down the hill and across the street.
They left a nice arc in the air...I was having a great time, until, to my horror, I saw the grass in the playground had caught fire. The sparks one of them spit out had ignited the dry, brown grass quite readily.
I ran upstairs, threw my smoke bombs and slingshot in between my mattress, and cowered just below the open window sill, peeking with only my eyes and forehead visible. I saw the fire trucks drive up, and I knew the Shore Patrol was going to be knocking on my door any second...and my dad the Security Officer on the base!!!!!
My best friend had a BB gun, and he never let me fire it...I think his parents got it for him and made him swear not to let any other kids use it, because they will put a small hole in the windshield of the car next door, or the kid next door!
Well, we had a streetlight that we hated, because...it lit everything up. So, we thought we would shoot it out with the BB gun. It was one of those kind that had some kind of lamp inside a thick glass half-sphere cover, and no matter how many BBs he fired into it that damn light wouldn’t go out, and it was full of little tiny holes. It got to be a ritual. We were looking for monkeys or monitor lizards to shoot at, and every time we passed it, he would fire a few desultory rounds into it. One night, we stopped to take a shot, and when he hit it, the whole glass thing broke loose in one piece and plummeted to the asphalt, smashing and scattering what seemed like dozens of BB’s anywhere.
Well, we weren’t going to let them go to waste, so we wen down there and began gathering up as many as we could find, when we suddenly realized if someone came by and saw us, we were going to have some ‘splainin to do, so we bolted!
LOL, I never even read it, just starting thinking about the lore of BB guns and boyhood!
When I was young my mom told me mayonnaise could kill me on a hot day.. but she never told me how. So.. mid July there I sat just staring at the fridge.. waiting..
“Guy”? How dare you assume that fruitcake’s gender! :-)
to paraphrase a liberal article writer who wrote of his experience with a AR-15 rifle:
It kicked so hard that I had me shoulder dislocated, it’s bang was so loud that I lost hearing in my right ear, and its BB knocked a hole in a barn that was over a mile away.
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