Posting about ND, I feel it’s time to relay the story about the day I was shot at point blank range because of an “accident.” This story is completely and totally true, and I hope someone comes across it one day and takes it as the serious lesson I’ve taken it for.

18 years ago I was in high school - it was a summer, I think I was just about to enter my sophomore year (can’t recall precisely - it’s not terribly important). At this point, the only experience I’ve ever had with firearms was seeing what they did to birds and/or squirrels in my backyard. My Grandfather had a quite-powerful pellet gun, my Dad has a .22 pistol and a pair of shotguns. Most of my experience was with my older brothers trying to plink bunny rabbits who would hang out in the woods with the pellet gun. We were bored, all right?

I was working at a grocery store - just basic “clean up in aisle 5″ type stuff. Had plenty of buddies there, and we would get together all of the time and hang out at someone’s house. No troublemakers, my friends have always been of the “good crowd” variety.

My buddy Jason and I decided to hang out at Paul’s house for a day. Now, Paul was a senior at a different high school than I went to. I knew him pretty well, real funny guy, very friendly and happy-go-lucky.

We were listening to some music in Paul’s room, just hanging out and talking about whatever amongst the three of us. I was standing up in the middle of the room. Paul turned around, opened a sliding door to his closet and said, “Hey, I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” says I. I figured it was nothing earth-shattering. Paul was a musician, and I assumed he got a new guitar or some such thing. So he reached into the closet, grasped something with his hand, and turned around quickly with his arm outstretched toward me.

There are moments in life when you have only a second to react to something. You may see it in front of you. You won’t believe what it is you’re seeing, but your body instinctively has to do something.

When Paul turned around, his outstretched arm was pointing a large handgun at my face. My mind took one half-second too long to react, and I flinched slightly to the side just as there was this loud *POP*.

I remember Paul’s expression being one of absolute horror. What had just happened? My mind swirled for a moment, I was completely numb. I reached my hand up to my neck where I felt this peculiar warm sting. Something was wet. I touched it. I looked at my hand …

… red …

… dripping everywhere …

Paul and Jason were screaming, “OH MY GOD!”

I was beginning to black out. Staggering. My neck hurt. I mean hurt like hell. Just off center, and a little low - just above my collarbone. I looked up at the ceiling in his room, he had a white ceiling fan that was spinning slowly. Flecks and droplets of red were everywhere. All over his ceiling. All over the floor. My hand … my face … my shirt. Seeing the fan spin was sickening. There was a definite splatter pattern as it was moving and you could see in the ceiling above it where the fan-blades blocked the red from hitting the ceiling. I was about to throw up.

I thought I was dead. I knew I was.

… but I wasn’t.

There was more screaming going on and after a blink I paid attention to what Paul was saying, but I didn’t quite hear it. With all of this chaos I made out the words, “I didn’t know it was loaded …” Jason rushed me to the bathroom across the hall and started splashing water on my neck. What was that on my neck? It wasn’t a hole. It was sore. It was red and bleeding, and after he threw some water at it I finally understood what Paul was screaming.

“It’s a PAINTBALL - It’s not a real gun! I didn’t know it was loaded!”

Ever have the life scared out of you … ever thought you were dead … from a joke?

To this day when I look in the mirror after a shower, I’m reminded of that time. I have a quarter-sized scar on my neck from being hit with a paintball gun at point-blank range.

That event is so deep in my memory because I truly thought I was shot - it was a real gun, and I was dead. If it had been a blue paintball, maybe it would be different. As it stands I was in shock for quite some time, and eventually became level headed enough that I left Paul’s house, and we never spoke since.

I’m fortunate that it wasn’t a real pistol, and it wasn’t a .22 round that would’ve cut right through a main artery. Regardless, I’ve been on the receiving end with about as real a simulation as you can possibly imagine.

So remember … It’s always loaded. Period.

It’s really not that hard. Always. Loaded. Even when you know it isn’t. It is.

As a result, there is no such thing as an “accidental shooting”. There’s negligence, or there’s safe handling. No gray areas. Period.

JUPITER — A man who told police he couldn’t believe his pistol fired, killing an 18-year-old woman on Feb. 29, actually had an arsenal of guns scattered throughout his apartment.

When police arrived, 26-year-old Thomas Sutton held a Glock 27 in his hand as Brittany Armstrong lay in his living room, dying from a gunshot wound to her head. Just feet away Sutton had a Glock 23 with a tactical light resting on his sofa and a Glock 22 on the kitchen counter - both loaded, according to court records released Monday.

I don’t care as much about the arsenal. Yeah, this guy seems to have some issues (sawed-off shotgun, impersonating an officer), but that doesn’t mean he’s a cold-blooded killer. He’s just stupid:

“I thought it was unloaded. Apparently I was wrong,” he told police before hanging his head and sobbing. “I hope she is OK.”

IT IS ALWAYS LOADED. I don’t even like to say, “Treat every firearm as if it is loaded.” That leaves too much up to interpretation.

I propose a re-write of that rule. Instead of “Treat every firearm as if it is loaded,” how about …

“IT’S FUCKING LOADED.”

Cup of coffee in hand, starting your day at work, IT’S FUCKING LOADED.

25 years of experience, cleaning the damned thing in your garage? IT’S FUCKING LOADED.

Brand new gun straight out of the box? IT’S FUCKING LOADED.

I don’t even like calling it a rule. It’s a fact. Not a rule, not a guideline, not a suggestion. A fact.

Sure, it’s hard for some people to wrap their heads around, but I think of it this way, even when I know, and I’ve triple-checked the chamber to be sure it’s empty, it’s STILL FUCKING LOADED.

GRR!

This is just too goofy to pass up … couple just gets married. Not “just” as in last week. “Just” as in, “still in a tuxedo and said ‘I Do’ about a half hour ago.” All went downhill from there …

Police said a couple brawled with one another, then members of another wedding party, just hours after they repeated their vows and were headed to a room at the Holiday Inn in Ross Township.

Heh. Stick with me, this gets really good …

The fight between dentist David W. Wielechowksi, 32, of Shaler, and his bride, Christa Vattimo, 25, began as the couple were about to enter their room at the hotel on McKnight Road on Saturday night, according to police.

The dentist “used a karate-style kick with his leg to kick Christa, knocking her to the floor,” the criminal complaint said.

Honey … I’m putting my foot down.

Two guests of another wedding heard the bride’s screams and rushed over to help her. But when they restrained Wielechowksi, his bride began attacking her rescuers, police said.

The fight traveled from a hallway to an elevator then into the hotel lobby where, police said, the couple threw metal planters containing live plants into an elevator at the men who tried to break up the fight.

I wish I was a guest at this hotel. Planters flying into elevators … kicks, punches, a bride - in a wedding dress no less - beating the hell out of complete strangers, I mean come on …

Police arrived to find the dentist lying on the floor of the lobby and his bride “yelling loudly” and “apparently highly intoxicated,” according to the complaint.

Gee, ya think?

Both refused comment when they left the Allegheny County Jail on Sunday after spending the night in separate holding cells.

The bride, still wearing her wedding gown, was picked up by her father. The dentist left on his own, one eye swollen shut, wearing tuxedo pants, a bloody T-shirt and one shoe.

Okay then!

Via Say Uncle (that’s where I ended up seeing it) was the idea to take those postage-paid envelopes, and use them to send bricks to those who send you junk mail.

I LOVE that idea.

And it got me thinking … if I can send bricks … can I send … metal? And would I get somehow arrested for this?

When I hit the range with the Mosin, I have a lot of spent 7.62×54r steel casings that aren’t worthy of reloading (I buy cheap stuff, as I don’t reload). Ditto with the Kahr P40, which ejects casings that are in the shape of a “D”. Can I take those nice, weighty steel casings, package them all up in a box, tape the Brady Campaign’s “Postage Paid” donation envelope to it, and send it off?

I can honestly think of no better way to make myself smile than to imagine someone paying for a 10-pound box of spent scary casings at the Brady office and promptly filthing themselves.

When you send a package at the post office, they ask you the following question, “Does it contain anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous?”

Well … the casings don’t. Already used ‘em to shoot cans! No liquid. Can’t eat ‘em. Not fragile. And the hazard is all gone.

So … do-able, or asking for trouble?

Another thought … I have a lot of digging to do in my backyard, and I’m going to have a lot of fill because of it. Fill costs money to get rid of. One box at a time might take a little while … but … sure would be cheaper (ie: free), to get rid of than having it hauled away …

Hmmmmm …

I see references to the whole H&K fanboy thing. And there’s that whole co-dependency bit with “they need me, I love them, they hate me”. Look, the H&K P2000 chambered in .40 S&W costs something like … what … $675? $700? I paid hundreds less and I carry around one of these:

That’s the Kahr P40. It goes bang every time. It’s light, you can break it down, clean it, and have it back together in about 5 minutes. It looks good. It feels good (I have very big hands, and it fits quite nicely). It’s accurate, sturdy, very easy to carry due to it’s excellent dimensions, and … well … can’t say enough good things about it after having put something like 800 rounds through it.

One thing I’ve noticed about my developing tastes in firearms is that I love simplicity. Pull trigger. Go bang. One of the most annoying tasks I’ve come across thus far is actually cleaning a Browning .22. I need three hands to get the farking spring back in, for crying out loud. Add a little bit of oil to the mix and if you’re not careful shit flies out of your hand and across the room. The very first time I cleaned it I came out of the basement looking as if though I’d just attempted to herd a dozen oiled ferrets. The Kahr? Tools? We don’t need no stinking tools.

Yeah, there’s a difference in the magazine capacity. There’s also a difference in size - the Kahr is a very thin firearm. Short and light for packing a .40S&W punch. And no, I can’t stick lights, lasers, positronic brain interfaces or blinking neon signs on the Kahr like you can as a member of the (or so I hear) H&K Bad-Ass Ninja Assault Squad.

So … is the H&K “fanboy” thing just because of it’s worth as a man-gadget? For all the things you CAN stick to it … does anybody other than those with a high level of disposable income or a fixation on bringing something to the range that has all sorts of little doodads attached to it such as laser sights and search lights?

So … why?

I just fricking love this guy.

Talk about quotes that would make any liberal’s head explode.

On Tuesday, Primary Day, Barack Obama went across the street to Pat’s for a cheesesteak.

Same day, Hillary Clinton had a chicken cheesesteak with Italian greens in the Philadelphia suburbs.

To Geno’s owner Joey Vento, such decisions showed such a lack of courage that neither Democrat deserves to be president.

“If they don’t have the guts to come here and talk about the immigration problem … they’re not capable of running our country,” he said.

Imagine that. Hillbama taking on an issue without like-minded fools to run to for cover.

Don’t know who Joey Vento is yet? He’s this guy:

Vento has been something of a national figure since a sign in his restaurant’s window started making headlines two years ago.

Still there, it reads:

“This is America. When ordering please speak English.”

A brash, passionate South Philly guy who’s the kind of American that used to be much more common forty or fifty years ago. A beef-eating man’s man, not some sassy metrosexual collectivist.

Vento on Obama:

If Obama had stopped at Geno’s and just politely listened to Vento’s views about illegal immigration, the senator’s poll numbers might have shot up 8 points, Vento said.

Obama needn’t agree. He could just say, ” ‘I think I’ll take this under advisement,’ ” Vento said.

“I’m for everything that he’s against,” Vento said.

Obama’s reluctant to wear flag pins, Geno’s is full of flags. They differ on abortion. Obama wants to bring the troops home, Vento wants them to finish the mission.

Heh.

His thoughts on the merits of the Chicken Cheesesteak is mightily entertaining …

Clinton’s gastronomic choice also raised his hackles. “There’s no such thing as chicken steak,” he said. “… I refuse to sell it. This is beef country. Beef is the backbone of the United States. … The cattle drives! Rawhide! Clint Eastwood driving the cattle.”

RAWHIDE! That’s just plain awesome. If “awesome” were a food, that would be a big fucking plate of awesome with awesome sauce on it.

“I have no problem with legal immigration,” he added. “… You shouldn’t be rewarded for not obeying the law.”

Next time I get to Philly, I’m going to Geno’s and I’ll proudly be doing the Philly Stoop right outside that place.

Presented without commentary …

… though wait a second … was that commentary?

Nevermind:

Congratulations, Robb … she’s a beauty!