reasonablenut

From the context of this blog, one might surmise that I am a gun enthusiast. If one made that presumption, they would be right.

To date, my interests have been pretty narrow. AR's, pistol shooting, long range bolt, etc.

One thing I never got into was paintball. I don't know why this particular practice never piqued my interest, but it never did. My brother was into this shit well before I bought my first firearm (and even longer before he purchased his first.) He used to tell me what a fucking blast it was and that I was missing out by not participating. He knew cool guys and the mountains are a 20 minute drive away. My bowel condition was no excuse, as one can act like a bear in the woods.

I never took him up on it, nor did I even bother looking into the equipment necessary to this hobby.

All of that has changed as of Saturday night.

Let me explain:

Saturdays are for myself and nobody else. This Saturday, I finally got some .300 WSM loaded as well as another batch of .308. I received a 6' high cabinet for my loading and ammunition supplies last week. It required some assembly. So I did some assembly for 2 hours.

Once I feel at peace (i.e. I'm comfortable with my rate of ammunition production), I will fuck off. This weekend I've been re-watching Season 3 of 24. This is standard practice. Season 4 is out this week and I always like a refresher before watching a new season. Note that this is one of a very few series that I watch, and I don't watch them until they are on DVD. Series I watch include 24, The Shield, The Wire, and OZ and that is it.

So I'm snuggling up with a cold Mexican beer and starting out an episode; happy in my little pod. Then there's a sound like somebody whacking the door.

Needless to say, Glock is cocked, light is out, flashlight in bad-hand, and I proceed to clear the entire building in an entirely freaked-out paranoid fashion. I found nothing. Doors were intact and no strange elements were noted.

After a bit, I forgot about it and went back to watching my shit.

This morning I wake up and head to the john for normal morning business and I realize that a FUCKING PAINTBALL has hit my window. A pink one, at that.

This really pisses me off. My domicile is located off of a prominent street, so this shit is bound to happen. Real bullets have hit this building, but that didn't piss me off as bad as this. I spent several hours before it dawned on me why this pissed me off so much.

It's because this is the kind of stupid shit I would have done when I was a teenager if I would have shown a little more enterprise. I was a dumbshit who stuck to kicking off sprinkler heads and shooting bottle rockets out of car windows. I didn't have the technical proficiency to hit a second story window with paint.

Tomorrow, I'm going to be on a ladder, wiping this shit off and thinking to myself that if I would have shown a bit more initiative, I might have laughed my ass off as hard as this kid did on Saturday night.

Reminiscing aside, I'm getting into painball. In fact, if anyone has recommendations, please forward them to me. Something fashioned after the Browning .50 should be sufficient. Obviously, I will also need a tripod and mil-surp, belt-fed paintballs, so any leads in that direction would be helpful as well.

Those motherfuckers better hope they don't catch return fire.