Paranoia
Erickson's was a combined Small Range and Gunstore. I was always a night person anyway. According to my father, I've been a night person since earliest infancy.
So when Erick decided to keep the Gunstore open till 3:00 AM several nights a week, I was all in favor of it.
I come strutting into the Gunstore. I wish that you would have known me back then. I was a sight.
I always wore a Black Stetson and Black Cowboy Boots--Spit-Shined till they literally looked Like Opaque Black Glass. I always wore my Mirrored Shades too. I mastered the art of looking all around them, to see where I was going. Then I found a pair at a Spy Boutique, calculated to mirror in low light, but still be light enough to see too.
Of course I didn't wear them driving--but I always put them on before I left my Van.
I used to play the clown--not a silly ass Gilligan--More like Coyote, the Trickster.
White folks say that a Clown or Commedian can never be a Leader--at least not a Military Leader. The Indians would be absolutely astonished at that Axiom.
Be all that as it may. I rubbed the World the wrong way just being me. When they leant on me to try to get me to conform, I became even Wilder.....
But sometimes I felt the need to pause momentarily before entering a place, and get my Ass into character.
Sidney was on duty that night. I wasn't sure that I liked Sidney. His hair was as long as mine, but he hadn't heard that the "Wet-Head was Dead". God knows how much Brillianteen that he put on his hair.
He parted all all neat and clean up front--like an extra in a 50's Western. Of course the long greasy locks just lay over his collar like so many greasy flaccid snakes in back.
He chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes--and he talked continually. Speed-Rap--What you get if you take a rather wordy, opinionated Dude and give him lots of White Crosses, Pink Ladies, Yeller Jackets, Codeine, and a few Reds occasionally.....
And I think Sidney held it all together with an occasional toke of Ganga and/or a nice shot of Scotch...
And the things he said,
"After TEOTWAWKI y'all ain't gonna catch ole Sidney playin' the damn fool hero. If someone wants to ride on my coat-tails, its gonna be 'Ass, Grass, or Gas'--no free rides Bay-Bee!!!"
"Sounds Hardcorp" I commented.
"Dern straight Bro. Try one of these Hot Peppers" He offered. I'll warn you, they are hot."
I asked him what they were called. When I don't hear something after 2 or 3 repetitions, I often let it ride.
The Pepper was about as long as a Jalapeno, a shade thinner, and smelled of vinegar. I like some Jalepenos. They aren't too hot for me--but some of them have a very bitter aftertaste, that I so don't groove on.
I put the pepper in my mouth. I chewed it thoroughly. After I'd already swallowed it, the wave of heat hit me like a tidal wave.
My mouth and throat felt as though I was gargling boiling hot pure grain alcohol--Then someone set the Everclear on fire. Waves of heat rolled up my body. I broke into a sweat.
I locked my self down--hardly batted an eye. A few moments later, he got distracted by the Phone--his old lady.
I went into the back. I chugged a 12 0z ice cold Pepsi. I largely washed out my mouth, Gargled, and spit the second Pepsi into the Waste can. Then I bought a third drink, and wandered up front sipping it.
But after a few minutes, I got to asking myself--could that Pepper have possibly have been as hot as I recalled? I started hectoring Stanley for another Pepper. He had a huge two-gallon Jarful, but he kept saying that he still had some friends he wanted to turn on.
He had plenty Peppers, he was just pissed that I'd proven too tough for him to burn up.
"I got two Pistols that I carry all the time, " Sidney boasts.
He shows me a matched set of Nickeled, Stag Handled Smith and Wesson Model 39s-- 8+1 9mms.
"Pretty, but not terribly powerful" I opined.
He gestured to an Alice pack on the floor.
"Carryin' 1000 Rounds 9mm 125 grain +P's in here."
"Surprised that you can lift it," I deadpanned.
"Yup, I can." He demonstrated.
"Know what else I got?" He Asked.
"I shudder to think."
He pulled a 9mm Mac 10 out of the pack.
"Got one of those 10 inch Barrels(issue Mac Barrels are 5 inches), Cut it back to Eight. Its also Mag-Na-Ported. Got four spare Mag-Na-Ported eight inchers, and a couple fives. Got Eight extra Magazines."
He started Showing me his treasure.
"Got these--1500 White Crosses, got Phentermine, got Morphine, Got Codeine."
"I can hump this pack through the brush, for days on end, without rest or sleep. Anyone that I come across, I ain't gonna negotiate. I'm gonna shoot them right between the eyes....Take their Guns, Take their Ammo, Eat their Flesh, if I'm hungry.
"No one gets an even break--No one. Lookin' out for Number one, first, last and always."
Just then, there was a very bright flash to the South. The Gunstore windows were half- inch thick Lexan--but I don't think we were close enough to have blown windows in any case.
The Civil Defense Siren was howling like a lost soul, into the darkness--and the radio that Stanley had going in the background said something about "Missiles Incoming".
And as Stanley and I got to our feet, I hated to do it--but it was Stanley himself who said he was going to kill everyone he met, on sight, as a fixed matter of policy--after TEOTWAWKI.
I put a single 200 Grain .45 Caliber Hollow Point, traveling a bit over 1100 FPS into Stanley's Brain-Pan.
I took Stanley's pistols and Mac. He also had a couple of neat Hideouts on his person.
I quickly cleaned out a half-dozen .357s, all the .357 and 9mm the gunstore had, and a few other things, and left.
I managed to find both my shell, and my bullet--lodged in the knotty pine panelling. I'd picked up a handful of mixed brass, and cast it around dutifully.
This is the first time that I've talked about this to anyone in 40 years--but you are my Grandson. I want you to have these 9mms and .38s, and the .25 Stanley left behind, and I wanted you to know their providence.
When you've mastered these, I'll get you a real Gun or two--like .45's and .30-06.
And be careful son--Its always too easy to dig your own grave with your mouth.....
.....RVM45
Erickson's was a combined Small Range and Gunstore. I was always a night person anyway. According to my father, I've been a night person since earliest infancy.
So when Erick decided to keep the Gunstore open till 3:00 AM several nights a week, I was all in favor of it.
I come strutting into the Gunstore. I wish that you would have known me back then. I was a sight.
I always wore a Black Stetson and Black Cowboy Boots--Spit-Shined till they literally looked Like Opaque Black Glass. I always wore my Mirrored Shades too. I mastered the art of looking all around them, to see where I was going. Then I found a pair at a Spy Boutique, calculated to mirror in low light, but still be light enough to see too.
Of course I didn't wear them driving--but I always put them on before I left my Van.
I used to play the clown--not a silly ass Gilligan--More like Coyote, the Trickster.
White folks say that a Clown or Commedian can never be a Leader--at least not a Military Leader. The Indians would be absolutely astonished at that Axiom.
Be all that as it may. I rubbed the World the wrong way just being me. When they leant on me to try to get me to conform, I became even Wilder.....
But sometimes I felt the need to pause momentarily before entering a place, and get my Ass into character.
Sidney was on duty that night. I wasn't sure that I liked Sidney. His hair was as long as mine, but he hadn't heard that the "Wet-Head was Dead". God knows how much Brillianteen that he put on his hair.
He parted all all neat and clean up front--like an extra in a 50's Western. Of course the long greasy locks just lay over his collar like so many greasy flaccid snakes in back.
He chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes--and he talked continually. Speed-Rap--What you get if you take a rather wordy, opinionated Dude and give him lots of White Crosses, Pink Ladies, Yeller Jackets, Codeine, and a few Reds occasionally.....
And I think Sidney held it all together with an occasional toke of Ganga and/or a nice shot of Scotch...
And the things he said,
"After TEOTWAWKI y'all ain't gonna catch ole Sidney playin' the damn fool hero. If someone wants to ride on my coat-tails, its gonna be 'Ass, Grass, or Gas'--no free rides Bay-Bee!!!"
"Sounds Hardcorp" I commented.
"Dern straight Bro. Try one of these Hot Peppers" He offered. I'll warn you, they are hot."
I asked him what they were called. When I don't hear something after 2 or 3 repetitions, I often let it ride.
The Pepper was about as long as a Jalapeno, a shade thinner, and smelled of vinegar. I like some Jalepenos. They aren't too hot for me--but some of them have a very bitter aftertaste, that I so don't groove on.
I put the pepper in my mouth. I chewed it thoroughly. After I'd already swallowed it, the wave of heat hit me like a tidal wave.
My mouth and throat felt as though I was gargling boiling hot pure grain alcohol--Then someone set the Everclear on fire. Waves of heat rolled up my body. I broke into a sweat.
I locked my self down--hardly batted an eye. A few moments later, he got distracted by the Phone--his old lady.
I went into the back. I chugged a 12 0z ice cold Pepsi. I largely washed out my mouth, Gargled, and spit the second Pepsi into the Waste can. Then I bought a third drink, and wandered up front sipping it.
But after a few minutes, I got to asking myself--could that Pepper have possibly have been as hot as I recalled? I started hectoring Stanley for another Pepper. He had a huge two-gallon Jarful, but he kept saying that he still had some friends he wanted to turn on.
He had plenty Peppers, he was just pissed that I'd proven too tough for him to burn up.
"I got two Pistols that I carry all the time, " Sidney boasts.
He shows me a matched set of Nickeled, Stag Handled Smith and Wesson Model 39s-- 8+1 9mms.
"Pretty, but not terribly powerful" I opined.
He gestured to an Alice pack on the floor.
"Carryin' 1000 Rounds 9mm 125 grain +P's in here."
"Surprised that you can lift it," I deadpanned.
"Yup, I can." He demonstrated.
"Know what else I got?" He Asked.
"I shudder to think."
He pulled a 9mm Mac 10 out of the pack.
"Got one of those 10 inch Barrels(issue Mac Barrels are 5 inches), Cut it back to Eight. Its also Mag-Na-Ported. Got four spare Mag-Na-Ported eight inchers, and a couple fives. Got Eight extra Magazines."
He started Showing me his treasure.
"Got these--1500 White Crosses, got Phentermine, got Morphine, Got Codeine."
"I can hump this pack through the brush, for days on end, without rest or sleep. Anyone that I come across, I ain't gonna negotiate. I'm gonna shoot them right between the eyes....Take their Guns, Take their Ammo, Eat their Flesh, if I'm hungry.
"No one gets an even break--No one. Lookin' out for Number one, first, last and always."
Just then, there was a very bright flash to the South. The Gunstore windows were half- inch thick Lexan--but I don't think we were close enough to have blown windows in any case.
The Civil Defense Siren was howling like a lost soul, into the darkness--and the radio that Stanley had going in the background said something about "Missiles Incoming".
And as Stanley and I got to our feet, I hated to do it--but it was Stanley himself who said he was going to kill everyone he met, on sight, as a fixed matter of policy--after TEOTWAWKI.
I put a single 200 Grain .45 Caliber Hollow Point, traveling a bit over 1100 FPS into Stanley's Brain-Pan.
I took Stanley's pistols and Mac. He also had a couple of neat Hideouts on his person.
I quickly cleaned out a half-dozen .357s, all the .357 and 9mm the gunstore had, and a few other things, and left.
I managed to find both my shell, and my bullet--lodged in the knotty pine panelling. I'd picked up a handful of mixed brass, and cast it around dutifully.
This is the first time that I've talked about this to anyone in 40 years--but you are my Grandson. I want you to have these 9mms and .38s, and the .25 Stanley left behind, and I wanted you to know their providence.
When you've mastered these, I'll get you a real Gun or two--like .45's and .30-06.
And be careful son--Its always too easy to dig your own grave with your mouth.....
.....RVM45
