THAT, my dear readers, is how we wound up here:
At first glance you'd think that sign would just be a cute "hey, it's almost Halloween, aren't we funny" sort of sign. You'd be WRONG. DEAD wrong. (See what I did there? It's funny cuz zombies are reanimated corpses.)
I picked out a sweet little .22 revolver. It wasn't the top choice of the others, I think because it wasn't as glamorous as some of the more serious weaponry with a big kick. I, however, am in looooove. I present my weapon of choice:
I also selected my target, a zombie lass by the name of Becky. My reason for selecting her above the other zombies were, as I explained to my friends, because "even dead she's prettier than me. I hate the bitch!" Don't believe me? Check her out:
It's important to remember that with zombies, you gotta aim for the head. So you know what I did? I killed zombie Becky. I killed her real good!
Now let's be clear. Yes, I did grow up on a farm in middle Tennessee. Yes, my Dad, my Pa, my brother, uncles and male cousins all had guns. But the ONLY time prior to this week's adventures in gunland I'd actually used a gun was for 7th grade hunter safety class. (And yes, that was a required portion of my 7th grade health class. Who could even make that up?) So the fact that I was able to make Becky's zombie face look like the world's worst case of pizza face makes me unbelievably proud, people. PROUD!
I think I may have found myself a new hobby. Also, it's very possible my Southern accent will come back VERY strong while at the range, if for no other reason to make people around me check my back pocket for a snuff circle. *p'tooey!*
