jaysouth
Member
About five years ago, on the friday after Thanksgiving, we were at my Sister's farm in AR. To get there, you go down a bunch of miles of bad road. There are no neighbors for miles. We were tacking targets to a mostly fallen down barn and blazing away. After an hour or so we got bored with paper targets. We tried to come up with some kind of moving target, but nothing came to mind. Finally, we decided that if the targets wouldn't move, it might be more fun if we were shooting from on the move.
We got organized. We put out safety stakes on each side of the barn. A safety was posted in the back seat. Only one shooter could shoot at a time and it was the safety's job to keep the shooters elbows out of the car by maintaining pressure on their collar with his hands. I was driving on the first run. We circled the barn and passed the first safety stake, I gave the command "commense firing". The first shooter was my mother, just past 80 at the time, shooting her Glock 19. Well, Mother is so small that the safety thought her elbows were out of the card, but in fact her wrists were propped on the window sill. She fired one round and the brass went down the back of my collar. I slamed on the brakes, screamed "cease fire" put the car in park and jumped out. For the next 30 or so seconds I treated all the assembled friends and relatives to the spectacle of seeing the old fat guy dance like a rapper. I may not live long enought to live that one down.
And I know that a major auto rental agency has a big flag besides my name in the database. When I turned the Lincoln Towncar in at the airport in Memphis, it was covered with mud and cow manure. Rolling around on the floor were 20 or 30 empty beer cans and about a hundred spend 9mm rounds. Who said you can't mix alcohol, gunpowder and gasoline!
A nephew living in the Chicago area brought his new bride to this, her first family gathering. Really nice girl considering that she is a french native. Since that time, the closest she will get to Arkansas is Cicero, IL. LOL
We got organized. We put out safety stakes on each side of the barn. A safety was posted in the back seat. Only one shooter could shoot at a time and it was the safety's job to keep the shooters elbows out of the car by maintaining pressure on their collar with his hands. I was driving on the first run. We circled the barn and passed the first safety stake, I gave the command "commense firing". The first shooter was my mother, just past 80 at the time, shooting her Glock 19. Well, Mother is so small that the safety thought her elbows were out of the card, but in fact her wrists were propped on the window sill. She fired one round and the brass went down the back of my collar. I slamed on the brakes, screamed "cease fire" put the car in park and jumped out. For the next 30 or so seconds I treated all the assembled friends and relatives to the spectacle of seeing the old fat guy dance like a rapper. I may not live long enought to live that one down.
And I know that a major auto rental agency has a big flag besides my name in the database. When I turned the Lincoln Towncar in at the airport in Memphis, it was covered with mud and cow manure. Rolling around on the floor were 20 or 30 empty beer cans and about a hundred spend 9mm rounds. Who said you can't mix alcohol, gunpowder and gasoline!
A nephew living in the Chicago area brought his new bride to this, her first family gathering. Really nice girl considering that she is a french native. Since that time, the closest she will get to Arkansas is Cicero, IL. LOL
tossed the glasses and did the Curley Joe dance.
