I found out this morning that I will be inheriting my grandfather's B.B. gun. Not exactly the financial windfall that would help me against the ever increasing mountain of debt, but pretty cool nonetheless.
I have fond memories of grandpa taking me and my brother out to the porch and having him show us how to use the sighting thingies and then knocking holes in the plastic milk jugs and empty Rainier cans he'd set up on the fence post. For such a non-demonstrative sort of man, he sure got jazzed when one of us would hit a bullseye.
There are not a lot of places in an urban setting to set up a B.B. target range unfortunately. So if you start to hear stories of the Seattle B.B. Sniper... you never read this posting.
Seriously.
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dear billlllyyyyy!! long time listener, first time caller. bill. i love the idea of you with a bb gun. and chaps. and suede jacket with fringe? maybe? with 'ruff rider' written on the back?
kay.
i just wanted to relate to you my bb gun story. picture it: berkeley, my birthday, 2003. we have arranged a shooting gallery in our backyard and have loaded the air rifle. there are cans. there are balloons. there are blown-up photos of tom hanks's face. michael bland was not satisfied with the decidedly un-exxxtreme nature of our targets, so he set up the world's largest pyramid of beer cans against a concrete wall. he shoots several times. the bb's ricochet against the wall and promptly hit him in the balls. he falls to the ground. he weeps.
it was the best birthday ever.
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