2aguy
Diamond Member
- Jul 19, 2014
- 111,968
- 52,237
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This is a story of how a normal person uses a concealed carry gun.......
Anti gun loons have a phobia about people....they think that normal
, law abiding people are in fact violent sociopaths with barely contained violent impulses.....and this is why you cannot convince them about the truth, the facts and the reality of normal gun owners.....
This couple represents the normal gun world.......
Realtor Happy To Be Carrying: Read His Story – Concealed Nation
As we climbed the steps to the front door, my wife recited the lockbox combination that we would need to use to access the house. Moments later we were stepping through the front door, into the home’s entryway, when we heard a loud thud from upstairs. Nervously I called out, “hello? Is someone here?”. In response, a soft voice uttered, “oh, shit…yes…hello.” No one came to the top of the stairs to greet us as my wife and I exchanged confused looks.
With my hand resting on my Glock beneath my shirt, I walked to the back of the house to find the rear door wide-open. Whoever was upstairs had entered through the back alleyway and was likely not supposed to be in the home. Suddenly, we heard footsteps coming down the stairs as a grungy Hispanic man with tattoos all over his neck and hands came lumbering into the family room.
Anti gun loons have a phobia about people....they think that normal
, law abiding people are in fact violent sociopaths with barely contained violent impulses.....and this is why you cannot convince them about the truth, the facts and the reality of normal gun owners.....
This couple represents the normal gun world.......
Realtor Happy To Be Carrying: Read His Story – Concealed Nation
As we climbed the steps to the front door, my wife recited the lockbox combination that we would need to use to access the house. Moments later we were stepping through the front door, into the home’s entryway, when we heard a loud thud from upstairs. Nervously I called out, “hello? Is someone here?”. In response, a soft voice uttered, “oh, shit…yes…hello.” No one came to the top of the stairs to greet us as my wife and I exchanged confused looks.
With my hand resting on my Glock beneath my shirt, I walked to the back of the house to find the rear door wide-open. Whoever was upstairs had entered through the back alleyway and was likely not supposed to be in the home. Suddenly, we heard footsteps coming down the stairs as a grungy Hispanic man with tattoos all over his neck and hands came lumbering into the family room.
