Follow up:
Upon arriving home last night I could not shake the fear that a strike of retaliation would be coming soon.
I carefully considered the professional that might be coming for me. I stared at the picture of the beady-eyed assassin, trying to get into his mind. Really the only information is that he is professional, and that he carries good equipment (A beautiful 1911 carried in a magnificent leather holster). He certainly looks the part of a professional. I could tell from the blur in the photo that he must have rising his pistol from condition sul. I wish I could say I was brave, but sadly sirs, I was not. I prayed to my lord to give me the strength to fight, and, be it his will, die. I stared at the magnificent B@$**** that would be coming for be, drenched in sweat and the stink of fear.
Suddenly I realized that the assassin was quite like me. I am a bit of a cubby fella, and from the picture I could see the same was true for my nemesis. Food is my weakness and I prayed the same was true for my assassin. With a glimmer of hope I rose from my panic room, (or what I like to call, my den,) and headed out to the battlefield to meet my foe. As I walked down the hall to where the battle would await, the theme from the A-Team, was playing in my head. Upon entering the garage I went straight away to the can of bird food and removed the lid. The sweet aroma of sunflower seeds, rye seeds, other really small black seeds, peanuts, and corn, filled the warm, heavy, summer air. I retreated from the can to observe my enemy, and prayed he would be foolish enough to deviate from his plan of my demise to enjoy the sweet cornucopia of tasties laid before him.
In the soft florescent glow of the artificial moon that lit the battlefield (in other words I had the florescent lights on in the garage), I waited with my rifle. I must admit that I wondered about the stopping power of the colibri cartridges I had purchased to fight off my foe. I wish they would have had extreme shock ammo in the powerful .22, but sadly they did not. I wondered how the little colbri cartages would function, being that I did not have a chance to go to the range and test them. I knew my the old marlin lever action would cycle them, but wondered about the point of impact as compared to the powerhouse, Remington Golden Bullet packs and the Federal bulk packs. This was no time to doubt my equipment. I had the accurate old timer marlin and the 22/45 that made me victorious over my enemy last night. I felt well armed.
Well Time crawled by, and I grew tried of waiting for my enemy, so I closed the rat proof garage door and closed the can of bird food. As I laid in bed, I realized that I had seriously under estimated my enemy, it made my blood run cold. I realized that he would pick the time and place for battle. Today I will be heading to my local gun shop and will be picking up my new berretta bobcat. I will be prepared to face the threat that this masterful assassin poses me. I guess all I can do now is go about my daily business, constantly being situationally alert. I will not let this little rat win by changing my lifestyle, I will not give in to fear. I refuse to be a sheep, but I will be a cat (wait, that could be interrupted that I am a pus, ah never mind) ok forget the cat, a sheepdog.
.
.
(don't tell PITA)
