Saturday, 15 June 2013

Happiness Is A Warm Gun


Yes, Comrades

How can I put this? I shot a gun this hump day. After a spot of research, the car was taken to Shooter's World, Phoenix. The variety of killing machines they had did nout but terrify. We paid our way and next thing, I'm stood with glasses and ear protectors on that effectively rendered me completely deaf with a 9mm Beretta in my hand. Think I was going for the Jill Valentine look. From a 5 yard range, I don't think I performed too badly. The recoil off this little fella was crazy, let alone a magnum, which I'll be shooting next. Some old gent was impressed also.

As the comedown began to set in, I was flapping about in Tempe's indoor wave pool. These waves, if you went back far enough, towered over you and made no bones about laying the smack down on your candy ass. Even more dangerous, though, was to lay down at the front of the pool and just let them hit you. One strike and you're thrown across the pool, given no recovery time, repeat. I had a pop on the slide too.

I then admitted defeat, the other Zias didn't have me DVD. On the way out, a poet was asking for donations. I read his stuff and gave him a dollar. I got his poem 'Departure' in return, with semantic gems like "Like Le Ninjesque, I always liked to tag along." Well, yes, obviously. Thank you, William 'Modesty' Wonderful.

After a stop at McDonalds, we made what may be our final visit to South Mountain. We went to another side of it this time around and took a stroll down the trail. Big mistake. "I could fucking die!" screamed Irie Nancy, as we stared straight into the eyes of a tarantula hawk, which, by the way, has the second most painful sting known to man, second only to the appropriately named bullet ant. Well bugger me Yabby Bassey and Don Bongo, that research for the podcast came in handy after all!

After leaving trails of dust shaped like us in the direction of the car, we arrived at Mama Sheba's. A few smokes later and Ghost Hunters has become a comedy to me. Well no wonder! They're poncing about old theatres, talking to thin air and saying "Elvis, is that you? Do you want to sing here again?" and when the girl said "I have dedicated my entire life to ghost hunting" holy fuck, I popped a tire. It was completely uncontrollable. We left and watched half of Prometheus at home. I loved it, what I could understand.

This obviously isn't mine. Fuck getting a photo of it. But this is what a tarantula hawk looks like
"When I feel my finger on your trigger, I know nobody can do me no harm"

In a bit.

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