Let me set the scene for you. It's Tuesday night in Florida and that means it's Ladies Night down at the DewDropInn. Anybody that's anybody shows up on Tuesday night. They're shooting pool and darts and sometimes each other but rarely do they shoot themselves. John has brought his best girl Sylvia to the Inn tonight and he's having a good time. Sure, Johnny has had a few to drink but it's ok. Sylvia will drive home. He doesn't want the night to end. He's already planning on calling in sick tomorrow and he probably will be sick the way he's drinking.
Back at the house...
"Woooo, Sylbia...you looking good tonight and ...(something you couldn't understand nor could I repeat here) ....like I like...(unintelligible)...one more beer...(blah, blah)...off dat dress". He ends the serenade with another, "WOOWOO" and blacks out for a second but comes back to and makes his best move. She pushes him down and walks to the spare bedroom.
"That's...last straw", says Johnny, "Shes nussin widout me!" He reaches in the nightstand next to him and pulls out the .22 revolver "his cousin gave him" and puts it to his head. He'll show her! He hears the gun go "bang" so loud it gives him a headache but all it did was knock over the lamp. "What the...?" Sights must be off. He debates: in the mouth, in the temple, hold it gangsta style...Bang!! "Dangitt!", says Johnny.
Out of bullets, Johnny stumbles to the spare room with his arm bleeding and says something about shooting Sylvia while looking at his arm, wondering how that happened. "I don't have to live this way", he says with a headache, his arm bleeding and his stomach getting queasy. "Soon as I make myself a sandwi...OWW!" as he bumped into the doorframe of the kitchen. Sylvia looks up from her pillow. "Next commercial, I'll call 911".
3 comments:
Well, at least he didn't go Lorena Bobbitt on hisself like some dude did a couple of years back to prove a point (not sure what point) to his woman...
As Jay Leno pointed out in last night's monologue, this was really poor planning on the Floridian man's part, inasmuch as a man whose girlfriend has denied him, uh, 'companionship' for the evening, is really going to need to have his arm in working order.
True enough.
Maybe he's ambidextrous?
...proving once again that firing a handgun 'gangsta style' in no way enhances accuracy...
For a more thorough analysis on the art of pistolcraft, please read any of the works on the subject by the recognized guru of the modern handgun technique, the late Lt. Col. John "Jeff" Cooper.
While Col. Cooper was in no way related to Vincent "Alice Cooper" Furnier, it could be fairly said that engaging the former in a fire-fight would have most certainly resulted in his being "No More Mr. Nice Guy".
And, totally unrelated, Danica "Winnie Cooper" McKellar, of "The Wonder Years" fame, has authored two books on mathematics.
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