Posted on 08/05/2021 3:47:02 PM PDT by absalom01
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While the pistol was manageable, even comfortable to hold and fire, the rifle was a different beast altogether. Everything about it — its weight, tactical scope and overall lethality — was downright intimidating.
The fact that the first magazine refused to click into place didn't help either, further unnerving me. What if I just broke a $3,500 rifle? A fresh magazine worked just fine, though, and after loading it, I sent the target out to 15 yards.
When ready, I lined up the target in the cross hairs, pulled the stock onto my shoulder, squeezed the trigger and — BA-BOOM!!!!!
It is difficult to describe the impact — physical and personal — of that first shot. It felt like a meteor had struck the earth in front of me. A deep shock wave coursed through my body, the recoil rippling through my arms and right shoulder with astounding power. Being that close to an explosion of such magnitude — controlled and focused as it was — rattled me.
I composed myself and continued to fire round after concussive round, the puffs of acrid gunpowder smoke carried downrange by a powerful ventilation system. My accuracy gradually improved until it became easier to hit the target with the rifle from 25 yards than with the pistol from five.
It was exhilarating, but I never got comfortable firing it. I'm not sure what scared me more — the power of that weapon or the fact that I could have taken one home that day.
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For hands that have less grip rather than trying to rack the slide, grip the slide and push the frame. Is that what you mean? But just enough to see a chambered round.
“Is this an old report? A couple years ago I read some reporter’s girly-man reaction to shooting the very mild .223.”
I think I know which one you are talking about, and this one is different. That earlier one was where the reporter said “Oh, Gwad, it sounded like a bwomb!” after firing an “assault rifle.” There’s also a video of the soyboys from Buzzfeed going to a range and shooting. Same idea. There are several instances of this.
Yes, I remember the time I shot a deadly high-powered cop-killing .223 - there was a tremendous explosion, the air filled with fire and smoke billowed from the muzzle of that mighty weapon of war. My eyes watered, my brow dripped with sweat, and I soiled myself - not deliberately this time. Then the RSO sez, “Don’t worry, Mr. Drill, it was that little girl in the next lane and her first Bobcat .22. You’re gonna be all right.” Well, I want to tell you I never wanted to do again what I didn’t actually do that time, but it was as bad as I imagined it because I did imagine it. No one needs a gun that powerful to hunt polar bear with.
Would have been fun to get his reaction to a Garand. What a weakling. It’s a wonder he didn’t burst into tears.
“male equivalent of karens”
He’ll transition to a karen after his trauma.
I think that weenie’s name was Gert Kuntsler.
I recall that past story. The current story reads almost like that old one. Perhaps he borrowed some words.
bad as the NYTimes”?” ratporter whining about the same things and his poor bruised shoulder
She has learned to chamber that way also.
While, as some of you have noticed, this story is one that the Leftist media recycles from time to time, this Buzzfeed video is the definitive treatment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBtWosxIqJE
I lack the words (that are allowed on FR). Various slurs for effeminate men and homosexuals; vulgar terms for female genitalia, cats, and willows; references to a Biblical city that God burned because of their perversions, and so forth.
He’s too frightened to be anywhere near a gun or a range.
He should think about becoming a woman.
Keep him away from fireworks too.
I watched a range sergeant full-auto fire a full 30rd magazine down range off his crotch. He turned to us and said, “There is no reason to be worried about recoil…I haven’t felt that good since last weekend! “
Concussion blast from an AR on a tight indoor range can be stunning tho.
My daughter who is going to be a 2nd year midshipmen is spending some time at Camp Pendleton this summer. Her favorite drill last week was firing a 50 cal machine gun.
I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning. You know, one time I had twelve magazines fully loaded and shot them all, one after another. When it was over, I marveled at all of the spent cartridges heaped up to the side. The smell, that burnt gunpowder smell . . it smells . like freedom.
Fair enough, that can, indeed, be loud.
He should have stuck to .17 pellets.
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