Mice Will Play Crazyness
- Thread starter Redlg155
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XM855
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TCU
Member
Stope Rat brings up another funny story of me in high school with your superball story. Me and my buddy made one of those "the works bombs" where you mix the works with aluminum foil and put in in a bottle. So we were in the garage a made one of those things and without thinking and threw it and and it landed right by the door. It started to expand while we were watching it and we realized that we were stuck in the garage with that thing. So we had to run and jump over this sucker without it blowing up, it was pretty hilarious and we barely made it, but we did make it. Ive got a lot of stupid highschool stories.
MikeNice
Member
I found out my hi-cap 10/22 mags suck. I did it by shooting at skunks from a window in the living room. The things wouldn't feed more than one shot without jamming up. So, I pulled out the Heritage RR and put a .22WMR round through each of them.
My wife came in with the baby as I was putting the guns in the closet. She, just gave me the, "you'll hear about it later" glare. By the time she got the baby down I had all the brass in my pockets. She asked me what was going on. I just looked innocent and said, "cleaning up."
She let it go. She knew she would never get it out of me. The jingle in my pockets when I walked away must have been a give away.
Is it bad I shoot a revolver more accurately than a rifle?
My wife came in with the baby as I was putting the guns in the closet. She, just gave me the, "you'll hear about it later" glare. By the time she got the baby down I had all the brass in my pockets. She asked me what was going on. I just looked innocent and said, "cleaning up."
She let it go. She knew she would never get it out of me. The jingle in my pockets when I walked away must have been a give away.
Is it bad I shoot a revolver more accurately than a rifle?
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Redlg155
Member
'll share another story involving my mother several years ago. She has since passed away, but I still laugh when I reminisce.
My mother, being of Asian heritage, more specifically, Thai is not afraid of things that would scare the typical mother. Being the first generation out of Thailand, she has experienced things that would make the normal person cringe in fear. Therefore it was no surprise when she decided to take on the swamp rat problem in our screened in back patio. For those of you who don't know, a Florida swamp rat can grow to over 12 inches in length and weigh a pound or so. Just think of a white lab rat in camouflage and on steroids.
Late one evening we set up our ambush point in the back of the house. My mother chose a broom stick and I chose a pellet rifle as backup. No African elephant hunter had as much excitement as I did that day as I peered through the curtains, our makeshift “blind”. After a short wait we were finally rewarded by a giant swamp rat coming out of the gloom, climbing along the ceiling rafter. This beast was a He-man among rats, a particular specimen to be envied. Surely he had a letterman jacket stashed among his belongings. My mother and I silently approached the beast, my mother in front to gain his attention, me in the back, ready to take the shot. My mother silently nods her head and I take the shot. The world stands still for a moment, time has stopped and I learn two valuable lessons that day. Number 1- sight in your rifle before shooting dangerous game, and 2- Swamp rats are not timid creatures.
It’s strange how you have a moment of clarity before all hell breaks looks. In high definition super zoom vision I see the pellet impact on the beast, hitting his right rear toenail, 3rd toe –rear leg. Whether it was a reaction from his wounded toe causing him to jump, or an extremely agitated state causing him to attack, I’ll never know. What I do know is that I was jolted out of my tunnel vision with my mother screaming and running around with a rat on her back like a little animal backpack! I will say that she remained a brave soul, screaming “shoot it!...shoot it!”. I feel helpless because I knew shooting my mother would be a worse fate. It is far better to not add insult to injury. Ever watched swamp people where the guy keeps hollering “Shoot-em Elizabeth!! Shoot Em!”? There ya go. That’s how I felt.
I do the right thing and scream like a girl, my piercing scream causing the rat to abandon his attack. I retrospect, I’m not sure if the creature was afraid, or that he thought he heard the 8 second buzzer. Ty Murray never had a bull ride as fine as the one that rat had that evening!
Asian people can be a funny lot sometimes. You would think her anger would be towards the rat who attacked her. As fate would have it, I became victim #2 of the broomstick.
My mother, being of Asian heritage, more specifically, Thai is not afraid of things that would scare the typical mother. Being the first generation out of Thailand, she has experienced things that would make the normal person cringe in fear. Therefore it was no surprise when she decided to take on the swamp rat problem in our screened in back patio. For those of you who don't know, a Florida swamp rat can grow to over 12 inches in length and weigh a pound or so. Just think of a white lab rat in camouflage and on steroids.
Late one evening we set up our ambush point in the back of the house. My mother chose a broom stick and I chose a pellet rifle as backup. No African elephant hunter had as much excitement as I did that day as I peered through the curtains, our makeshift “blind”. After a short wait we were finally rewarded by a giant swamp rat coming out of the gloom, climbing along the ceiling rafter. This beast was a He-man among rats, a particular specimen to be envied. Surely he had a letterman jacket stashed among his belongings. My mother and I silently approached the beast, my mother in front to gain his attention, me in the back, ready to take the shot. My mother silently nods her head and I take the shot. The world stands still for a moment, time has stopped and I learn two valuable lessons that day. Number 1- sight in your rifle before shooting dangerous game, and 2- Swamp rats are not timid creatures.
It’s strange how you have a moment of clarity before all hell breaks looks. In high definition super zoom vision I see the pellet impact on the beast, hitting his right rear toenail, 3rd toe –rear leg. Whether it was a reaction from his wounded toe causing him to jump, or an extremely agitated state causing him to attack, I’ll never know. What I do know is that I was jolted out of my tunnel vision with my mother screaming and running around with a rat on her back like a little animal backpack! I will say that she remained a brave soul, screaming “shoot it!...shoot it!”. I feel helpless because I knew shooting my mother would be a worse fate. It is far better to not add insult to injury. Ever watched swamp people where the guy keeps hollering “Shoot-em Elizabeth!! Shoot Em!”? There ya go. That’s how I felt.
I do the right thing and scream like a girl, my piercing scream causing the rat to abandon his attack. I retrospect, I’m not sure if the creature was afraid, or that he thought he heard the 8 second buzzer. Ty Murray never had a bull ride as fine as the one that rat had that evening!
Asian people can be a funny lot sometimes. You would think her anger would be towards the rat who attacked her. As fate would have it, I became victim #2 of the broomstick.
NoobCannon
Member
Well, I'll drag out a story of my youth....
I was about 10 or so, just gotten home from school, and all I wanted to do was watch cartoons. My brother was 13 at the time, and he was getting into that macho-man-of-the-house phase, and he wanted me to go empty the dishwasher. Like any other little kid enraptured by cartoons, I didn't listen. Like any other hormone-addled teen that didn't get his way, he got mad. So He started beating me up until I went and did the dishes.
I wasn't about to let this go unsettled though. I knew my dad kept a BB gun in the downstairs closet, and old Daisy pump-action.
I snuck down there to go get it, and I must've put 10-15 pumps on it, with one little, itty-bitty steel BB as my ammo. I decided to make that shot count when I found my brother talking to one of his friends on the phone in the Den.
From the stairway in the foyer to the den must've been about 20 feet, and I lined my shot up carefully. Tears in my eyes and welts on my upper body, I lined up...
...right dead-center on his backside.
The BB gun popped, he jumped and screamed.
You ever hear the song "BB Gun" by Roger Alan Wade? If not, check it out, and you'll see what I mean.
My mother was furious when I got home. My dad, however, could not stop laughing. I got him right dead center of his soft-target. the BB travelled through his shorts and underwear, and ended up where I'd rather not think about.
Since then, My brother's learned I'm not one to let him get away with punking me around.
I was about 10 or so, just gotten home from school, and all I wanted to do was watch cartoons. My brother was 13 at the time, and he was getting into that macho-man-of-the-house phase, and he wanted me to go empty the dishwasher. Like any other little kid enraptured by cartoons, I didn't listen. Like any other hormone-addled teen that didn't get his way, he got mad. So He started beating me up until I went and did the dishes.
I wasn't about to let this go unsettled though. I knew my dad kept a BB gun in the downstairs closet, and old Daisy pump-action.
I snuck down there to go get it, and I must've put 10-15 pumps on it, with one little, itty-bitty steel BB as my ammo. I decided to make that shot count when I found my brother talking to one of his friends on the phone in the Den.
From the stairway in the foyer to the den must've been about 20 feet, and I lined my shot up carefully. Tears in my eyes and welts on my upper body, I lined up...
...right dead-center on his backside.
The BB gun popped, he jumped and screamed.
You ever hear the song "BB Gun" by Roger Alan Wade? If not, check it out, and you'll see what I mean.
My mother was furious when I got home. My dad, however, could not stop laughing. I got him right dead center of his soft-target. the BB travelled through his shorts and underwear, and ended up where I'd rather not think about.
Since then, My brother's learned I'm not one to let him get away with punking me around.
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