When I was thirteen, my mom sent me to this so-called “Christian” camp where everyone was supposed to “love one another and not judge lest ye be judged.” As a joke, an evil gang of girl campers ripped off my bathing suit and threw me in a cold shower. Then they noticed certain parts of my body were maturing faster than others. Those girls called me horrible names and basically tortured me for the entire summer. Now I’m older and I’m completely over it. I could care less. I’m fine. But every so often, when one of those girls shows up on my Facebook page, jokingly calling me “Chewbacca Nipples,” I laugh and laugh all the way to the pistol range.
Shooting a gun is fun, almost as much as pretending to kill your enemies, but not quite. I never had any interest in guns until I dated a rookie cop. He threw guns around the house like decorative pillows. Since I didn’t want to kill myself while I was fluffing a cushion on the couch, I needed to learn some firearm safety. He’d say “If you have a gun and you hesitate to use it, you could be killed. You need to be prepared mentally to take someone’s life.” If someone breaks into my house to rape me, I’m not gonna shake a can of pennies at him. I’ve considered killing someone just for taking my parking space. Trust me, I’m using the gun.
When I walk inside the shooting range, I’m about as welcome as a cold Egg McMuffin. It’s not like I show up with a Hello Kitty AK47, yes someone has thought of that and it’s super cute, check out this link. But I still get the stink eye from the guys.
Turns out there’s a valid reason why boys don’t like girls on their gun range. Women are naturally better marksmen. We have superior hand eye coordination, so much so, the Russians and Vietnamese heavily utilized women as snipers. I’m grateful for the right to bear arms because shooting a gun is the most macho thing in the world, and women are better at it. For me, shooting the crap out of a few targets is more relaxing than a visit to spa, particularly if you’re going to get your nipples waxed.
That’s why I’m grateful for the right to bear arms.
Shooting a gun is fun, almost as much as pretending to kill your enemies, but not quite. I never had any interest in guns until I dated a rookie cop. He threw guns around the house like decorative pillows. Since I didn’t want to kill myself while I was fluffing a cushion on the couch, I needed to learn some firearm safety. He’d say “If you have a gun and you hesitate to use it, you could be killed. You need to be prepared mentally to take someone’s life.” If someone breaks into my house to rape me, I’m not gonna shake a can of pennies at him. I’ve considered killing someone just for taking my parking space. Trust me, I’m using the gun.
When I walk inside the shooting range, I’m about as welcome as a cold Egg McMuffin. It’s not like I show up with a Hello Kitty AK47, yes someone has thought of that and it’s super cute, check out this link. But I still get the stink eye from the guys.
Turns out there’s a valid reason why boys don’t like girls on their gun range. Women are naturally better marksmen. We have superior hand eye coordination, so much so, the Russians and Vietnamese heavily utilized women as snipers. I’m grateful for the right to bear arms because shooting a gun is the most macho thing in the world, and women are better at it. For me, shooting the crap out of a few targets is more relaxing than a visit to spa, particularly if you’re going to get your nipples waxed.
That’s why I’m grateful for the right to bear arms.