- Mar 9, 2011
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Looks like I've been granted a reprieve this year, thanks to the Rona virus. The wife and I usually go to a crappy party with some of her community-theater friends on New Year's Eve. There I'd have to play stupid board games with a bunch of liberals whom I had nothing in common, eat crappy snacks because the party host is diabetic, watch reruns of old B&W Twilight Zone episodes, and drink some horrible green concoction made out of mint and some watered-down liquor at midnight.
Not this year.
This year I'm gonna make a big bada-boom. We live out in the country with 100 acres of woods around us. This year is going to go out with a bang, like the rest of my neighbors usually do on New Year's Eve. I've been hearing the sounds of gunfire all day and midnight is when it comes to a full crescendo.
Think I'll let off a couple magazines from the Glock first...
Followed by the Colt...
Then the tricked-out Ruger P-89...
Then some .44 magnum...
Then the Taurus P2C...
And to top it off, a couple mag dumps from the AK. Every fifth round is a tracer. That should be fun.
Not this year.
This year I'm gonna make a big bada-boom. We live out in the country with 100 acres of woods around us. This year is going to go out with a bang, like the rest of my neighbors usually do on New Year's Eve. I've been hearing the sounds of gunfire all day and midnight is when it comes to a full crescendo.
Think I'll let off a couple magazines from the Glock first...
Followed by the Colt...
Then the tricked-out Ruger P-89...
Then some .44 magnum...
Then the Taurus P2C...
And to top it off, a couple mag dumps from the AK. Every fifth round is a tracer. That should be fun.
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