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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.
I was climbing a tree but we had a ‘plant’ on our team.
He shot me in the butt at close range. Beat the tar out of him.
Looks like Ralphie has upgraded to a ‘Slidefire’ stock on his Red Ryder!
http://umea2014.blogg.se/images/2007/gun_for_everyone_1169014967_6425059.jpg
You should write a book or at least a short story. I was laughing...and remembering...all the way through.
I swear to God this is true:
I was a “brat” also. Dad was stationed at Ft. Benning, GA at the time, and we lived in Columbus. My brother and I made some gun powder from a recipe we found in “Boys Life” or somewhere (8 and 10 years old kids could read then), and bent one end of a heavy pipe, which we mounted with bricks. We then tested our powder for a week or two until we got it right and loaded the pipe with a lot of the powder and some old, rusty ball bearings, nails, and other junk. We lit the fuse and blasted an 8 inch hole in the side of our free-standing garage.
Well, as luck would have it, there was a patrol car in almost the immediate area, and to be sure, the police therein received several calls on us. They pulled up in to the driveway, walked up, and asked us it we had heard an explosion. We mentioned that indeed we had. They asked us if we knew anything about it. We said “yes, we made a cannon and shot it”. They asked if they could see it, and we showed it to them. They said “Don’t you boys do that again, we got a lot of calls for the noise”. They took our cannon and left. Dad lit our asses up for the hole in the garage, but never asked how we did it! My, how times have changed.
They live in Oklahoma and I live in NW Florida. The last time they visited, I let him shoot a Daisy springer barrel cocker. It was made in Spain and is light and handy, Accurate too. It has a scope.
I set up a single can on top of an old brick and had him shoot. He had trouble holding the barrel up so I let him rest it on the handle of a lawn mower. Of course that would be a little detrimental to accuracy but we are not talking about minute of angle here.
He hit the can his first shot which made me happy. Actually he just barely did but it was enough, the can went spinning with two holes in it.
His Father cocked the gun for him and loaded it. Thorne was really really enjoying it but in a quiet serious way. He improved and eventually began hitting the cans somewhere near the center.
Now that particular gun was highly accurate but only shot around 650-700 fps. Still that is enough to be dangerous. It will put a hole through both sides of an insecticide can.
When they left he took it home with him but I am afraid he has never fired it again and I know he wants to.
He was mimicking an article where a reporter fired a AR 15 and wrote about what a traumatic experience it was.
I was around five when my dad took me to the beach with a .410 over/under to teach me to shoot. I had nagged him constantly since it was winter and h kpt coming home with wild ducks he had shot. I had a relationship with my dad like Trump has with his daughter. Inseparable! Anyway, he set a tin can on a little mound of sand, loaded a shell and helped me aim. When i said I was ready he told me to pull the trigger and when i did it smacked me ob my little fanny. Sure he had closed the issue, he asked me if I’d “had enough.” I said no because i hadn’t hit the can! A few shots later, I did hit the can and that can full of lead shot stood on the top of my dresser until I went away to college. Every once in a while i’d pick it up and shake it to hear the shot rattle. Needless to say, it wasn’t but a couple of years and i was hunting with Dad. That was over 70 years ago but i remember it like it was yesterday. I still love to hunt and my guns are my prized possessions. I think I am extremely lucky to have had a dad like I did.
Gunpowder is still my favorite “perfume.”
I had a Daisy BB gun that got a lot of use. It doesn’t have quite as much recoil as a Mosin-Nagant.
I have always said a little Hoppe’s #9 behind the ear...
LOL....how about the wrists???
Oh, yeah. Talk to me...
Great parody!
Don’t ya just love guns!!! I’m shocked at what has happened to this country because of the wimps.
I just shot a Daisy this last week. The projectile didn’t bounce off of the pop can. It went through...all the way through.
I still have my first .22. In fact, I have a 5 digit Colt AR15 with no forward assist my dad bought new in 1968 or so. And his CMP 1911 and 03 A3 that he paid $19 each for.
All the way through? Oh, my gosh! Have you found a suitable therapist?
we had plastic firemen (today they’d be known as firefighter helmets). Once you got into a standoff, you’d only get to fire one shot, then had to duck your head and wait for the return shot. The smack of the BB told you of a headshot. The G*E(E)W@$$$ told you of a different hit.
Santa threw in an ACOG. Ralphie must’ve been very good that year!
Here is what we did in the dorm . I assure you this is fun. You get a red rider daisy and 5000 BBs. Then you get a moderately large cardboard box . You put it in the living room . Every one sits on one of the 4 sides. Each side of the box has the same bulls eye target. Each player shots 10 rounds for score. Great for kids!!
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