May 11, 2003
Guns and Pizzaentry,
What red-blooded Schlock Mercenary reader could possibly resist reading an entry with a subject line like that? Certainly not you...
I'll get to the food and firearms in a minute. First, a humorous anecdote from Thursday:
My wife invited our German brother-in-law over to claim a couch. He brought a couple of his college buddies, and they trooped down into the basement, where there are two rooms -- my office, and the room-full-o'-crap that contained the couch. As they were lifting the crap from the couch one of them saw a backpack of mine that had a sticky-note on it that said "Howard."
"Howard?" He asked. "Howard TAYLER?"When I got home Sandra regaled me with this story, and told me about how this guy was practically worshipping at the shrine (pity he didn't realize that there was an entire week drawn and stacked face-down in the corner!) I gotta tell you, I'm sorry I missed it. After all, what are the odds that a fan is going to end up in my home, by invitation, without knowing who I am. It'll never happen again, I tell you."Yes, Tayler," said Sandra.
"Howard Tayler... the Schlock Mercenary Howard Tayler?"
"Yes. He's my husband." Sandra then gestured over past the stairs. "That's his drawing table."
Fortunately, I did NOT miss the church elders' "Guns and Pizza" party this year. Two or three years ago I suggested the event and the name as a male-bonding thing some of the guys at church might enjoy. Unfortunately, they always scheduled it when I was travelling, or sick, or both. But THIS year I was NEITHER travelling NOR sick, and Saturday morning we all piled into two SUVs and a pickup and headed over to the west side of the lake.
It was, if you'll excuse the obvious pun, a blast. I brought my Ruger .22 target pistol (semi-automatic, 10-round clip) and surprised myself by shooting better with it than I think I ever have before. By the end of the day I wasn't just knocking down the metal plates we set up. I was aiming for their edges and giving them a little spin.
We also did some trap-shooting, and again I surprised myself by shattering the first clay pigeon I shot at. I also managed to nail a few that other guys had missed. Granted, I missed a whole bunch myself, and lots of my hits were 'wings,' but still... it's been three years since I used that shotgun, and almost ten since I was shooting skeet regularly.
My ride, who also happens to be the guy I team-teach Sunday School with, brought a veritable arsenal. I knocked down a few bowling pins with his laser-scoped assault rifle, and got downright deadly with his Desert Eagle once I figured out where to put the sight. I also pushed 7 rounds through another guy's .38 Bersa, the latter six of which hit their targets (the owner of the pistol had yet to hit anything with it... I felt pretty smug).
After about three hours of fairly steady BLAM we packed it in, picked up our spent shells, and hit the Pizza Factory. I introduced the group to barbecue chicken pizza, and was roundly applauded for my good taste.
You know those big foam deer targets? I want a big foam attorney-drone target. That's pretty much all that was missing.