Today is my sixty-first birthday and as I write this I find that I have to review my life’s choices. This article is going to be rather different than my typical blog post because I’m writing it from the hospital. I’m pretty healthy overall so there are no worries about that. I’m being treated for a slightly fractured wrist and a concussion, possibly with a minor skull fracture. You see, I just had… well… It can only be described as an incident.
Let me start from the beginning.
Since my service in the Navy I’ve always done whatever I could to stand up in defense of the Constitution. As the years pass it has sort of become my life’s work. I’ve always had a gift for words and I’ve discovered that it’s pretty easy to reach out to people through social media, thus the blog which you are reading now.
Included in my defense of all things Constitutional I have in the past supported, of course, the Second Amendment. I don’t own any guns and have never shot one, or even been around someone shooting them…at least before today, and it’s very likely that I will never shoot one again. My only exposure to them was on television shows, movies and news broadcasts from the Main Stream Media. I had zero experience but it’s part of the Constitution, so I defended it as per my oath. Right?
As you get older you start to look at things from the standpoint of the ever present and infamous Bucket List. So having taken off the week in celebration of my advancing years I decided to mark a few of the higher items off of my list. Right there on top of the things that I wanted to do is to shoot a gun. Seeing that there is a gun range locally which includes rental and instruction, I decided to spend this morning trying it out for the very first time.
So in the car I went. To the range I went.
As I walked in the door I could tell that there were at least several other people shooting. I could hear the gunshots. Their effect on me was… well… profound. It’s kind of like that feeling you get just before your first girlfriend… well… decides that she, in fact, you know. Not the same obviously but somehow disturbingly similar. It’s like the vague recognition that your life is somehow about to change in some profound way.
I was greeted by a friendly woman at the counter and I told her that I was new to the whole firearms thing and wanted to give it a try. She mentioned that the range had a safety officer who was an NRA rated firearms instructor and for a nominal fee made his services available to me. For the sake of his protection I’m going to call him Pete.
He asked me what I wanted to shoot or if I even had anything specific in mind. I told him I’d feel more comfortable starting with something smaller and then working upward a bit but I wanted as much experience with different kinds as I could get. He grabbed an assortment of handguns and rifles along with several boxes of “bullets” which he insisted that I call “ammunition” or “cartridges” or even “rounds.” But I knew in my heart that they were really bullets.
Before we went in to the shooting range he explained the safety rules and showed me each of the guns and the basics of how to operate them. Because some of them were “semi-auto” (otherwise known as full military grade assault weapons) he showed me the “clips” which he insisted were not clips but in fact were called “magazines.” Yeah, they were clips and I was becoming somewhat impatient to, you know, get on with it, just like with the first girlfriend… you know. The pops and bangs of the other shooters in the range were having some effect on me which was as unpredictable as it was difficult to describe. I did my best to keep my manners and hid my deeper feelings which were then threatening to get out of control.
After giving me the lowdown on operations and safety we grabbed all of the guns he was planning to instruct me on the use of and into the range we went.
Pete loaded up a clip with bullets and shoved it into a gun while explaining that it was a .22 and put it on the counter in front of me. I, being as safety conscious as the next guy, and out of foolish male pride in not wanting to embarrass myself by stupidly violating the rules, kept the gun pointed safely down range as I picked it up, lined the sites up on the target and for the first time in my life I pulled the trigger.
Oh God, if only I could take back that moment. Why is it that life doesn’t have an undo button?
The gun went POP! There was a tiny bit of recoil, and then the smell… that smell as I inhaled just the tiniest whiff of gun smoke for the first time. Right away I knew I had to have some more, so again I pulled the trigger. Then again. And again but faster. Then faster. And faster. Then the slide locked open because the clip went empty.
“More!” I shouted at Pete, “I want more!”
Pete loaded up another clip, slid it into the gun, chambered a bullet, flipped on the safety and put the gun on the counter.
I picked the gun up, flipped off the safety, then hard and fast pulled the trigger until the clip was empty.
“More power!” I shouted at Pete, who at this time had a look of concern on his face, “I want something more powerful!”
“This is a 9mm,” he said as he slid the clip into a different gun. He had barely enough time to step out of the way before I grabbed the gun, flipped the safety off and began pulling the trigger.
“Oh yes, YES!” I shouted as the smoke hit my face, empty bullets bouncing everywhere, the gun going “BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!” in an increasingly rapid staccato of discharges until the gun went empty.
“MORE POWER!!!” I shouted at Pete after slamming the gun on the counter and grabbing him by the front of his shirt and shaking him.
“Okay, okay, okay! Take it easy! This one’s a .44 magnum. It’s got a lot more reco…”
I grabbed the gun without giving him a chance to finish, pointed it down the range and pulled the trigger. “BOOM!!!” The gun went off. I felt the recoil clear down to my knees as my vision for the flash of an instant turned into a wall of flame. The sound was so loud that I could feel the fluids in my body compress for an instant. “Oh yeah!” I said smiling and looking at the gun in my hands. “That’s the stuff!”
Before Pete could react I spun around and shot the glass out of the window of the shooting range. I rapidly grabbed the AR-15 and as much ammo as I could, then jumped through the window, ran out the door and out into the street.
“Papa needs a new set of wheels!” I shouted as I took aim with the .44 magnum at the tires of a passing car. The left front tire exploded, the car spun sideways and rolled over blocking the lanes. As traffic came to an abrupt halt I ran up to the four wheel drive Jeep, yanked the door open and threw the driver out on to the road. As I spun the wheel I was burning rubber and going across the median into the opposite lane. I knew where I had to go. I had to tell everybody about what a wonderful feeling shooting a gun was! And I had to do it right now!
I went as fast as that Jeep could carry me toward the local news radio station. Anytime anybody got in my way I would just lean out the window and shoot the tires out. I was spinning out cars left and right as I went screaming at top speed down the road.
When I got to the station I didn’t even bother to park the Jeep. I didn’t even take it out of gear. I just slowed down enough to make a jump for it, opened the door and leapt out, doing a tuck and roll with the .44 magnum in one hand and the AR-15 in the other.
“Wow! Look! It’s Chuck Norris!” I heard a passing pedestrian say as I came to my feet again. But I didn’t pay attention because I was on a mission from God to inform the entire planet what a wonderful feeling I had discovered!
I didn’t bother opening the glass door to the station. With a flurry of rapid gunfire from both barrels I blew the glass out. “Hinges are for sissies!” I said to the rather terrified and beautiful girl at the reception desk as she screamed and dove for cover.
I kicked open the door to the broadcast room and leaped through, grabbing the morning talk show host by the collar, in one swift series of movements. I yanked him out of the chair and threw him out of the room as he whined like a little girl something about how he has a wife and children and please don’t shoot him. I wasn’t really paying attention as I closed and locked the door behind him.
I turned to the guy who was in the control room behind a glass window, pointed my guns at him and calmly told him to make sure I stayed on the air.
“Good afternoon radio fans!” I said as I sat in the chair pulling the microphone up to my mouth. “Today’s broadcast is going to be a little bit different. My name is Brett Ashton and I have something very important to tell the world. My message is ‘GUNS ARE THE GREATEST THING EVER!!!’”
I looked down on the desk and noticed a can of Pepsi, unopened and still cold from the refrigerator. The talk show host must have just gotten it out during the commercial break to keep from going dry while he was talking. Pretty handy really because in all of the excitement in getting here I’d completely forgotten to rob the convenience store on the way. Mental note for next time.
I then began singing the song and shooting the AR-15 or the .44 magnum in time with the song.
I’d be killing all the people,In the church under the steeple,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
All the maiming all the killing,
All my victims' blood is spilling,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
See that jerk behind the wheel?
I could really make him squeal,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
I could take my gun to work,
And be killing all the jerks,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Oh I could make lead fly
As I shoot some more and more
I could maybe even try and block the door
And then I’d kill a couple more!
I could hear my gun go POP,
I could kill myself a cop,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
All the screaming, all the crying,
All the bleeding all the dying,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
I could kill the kids at school,
Wouldn't that be really cool?
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
All the shooting what a feeling,
All the death I could be dealing,
If I only had a gun!
BOOM! BOOM! click, uh oh!
“GO, GO, GO!” I heard the shouting from the SWAT team screaming from the hall as they battered down the door when they entered the room. In the scuffle I was knocked out of the chair, fell on my wrist breaking it, as my head cracked against the corner of the table. Everything went black.
Apparently several minutes went by as they strapped me to a gurney and rolled me out to the waiting ambulance. As I slowly regained consciousness I realized I had been speaking the entire time I was knocked out. “Make my day! Do you feel lucky punk? Make my day! Do you feel lucky punk? Make my day! Do you feel lucky punk? Make my day! Do you feel lucky punk?” I kept saying over and over again.
Surprisingly enough the captain of the SWAT team didn’t seem the least bit angry with me. He looked at me with sympathy and asked if I was feeling better. I felt like the last couple of hours of my life were so dreamlike I could hardly believe they were my own memories. I decided to take the opportunity to ask him what happened. I was so sane, so normal in every way, then… this!
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Oh it’s just something that happens from time to time sir. Usually it’s the quiet ones. Fortunately, property damage aside, nobody was seriously hurt this time.”
“Is there anything that anybody can do about it?” I asked.
“Yeah, usually watching ‘Dirty Harry’ about seven hundred times in a row would do the trick.”
So here I am. Recovering in the hospital on my birthday. Cranked up on pain killers and watching “Dirty Harry” while I write this post. I’m very sorry if all of the grammar isn’t correct. It’s difficult to type with a broken wrist and the pain medication I’m on.
Anyhow, the point is that all guns should be banned. Like right now. There is no time to wait. Because evidently they can make even the most quiet and well balanced ones among us, suddenly and apparently for no reason at all, go completely crazy and shoot the hell out of everything.
2/10/23, Update: I just got off the phone with my lawyer. Understandably I called him because I was somewhat concerned about the legal ramifications to my shooting spree yesterday. He says that no charges are being filed against me because obviously none of it was my fault. It was just temporary insanity brought on by being in close proximity to guns. He said he has a team working on filing suit for damages against the firearms manufacturers though. So that's a good thing...
He used to be such a nice boy. He used to mow my lawn.
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