|
A Big Clunk Mixed in with Little Tiny Tinkles
By Robert Doyen July 29, 1998
 Yup, it's a Glock 10; black; put a hole through just about anything with that fucker. My friend, Bill gave me the clip. It holds about fifteen rounds, and I'm pretty sure that's illegal... not that I care either way.
Man, I love my gun. When I'm alone I can polish that thing for hours. Then, when I finally get done, it looks so slick and clean I feel like I'm holdin' a little killer whale in my hands. I think I've got about the shiniest gun I've ever seen.
Got it cuz of all the fuckin' criminals out there. God, I'd love just one chance to empty a clip into some bastard's brain. That'd be great man. He'd be standin' there in the dark with a flashlight and a big, shiny trash bag in one hand, and maybe a handful of silverware in the other one, or something like that. I'd sneak up on him and turn on the light. Then I'd wait for him to turn and look at me cuz I wanna watch that fucker's eyes roll back when I put a bullet between'em. I can see the whole thing in my head. Even hear the silverware and the flashlight hittin' the floor... it's like a big clunk mixed in with little, tiny tinkles. The best part is that I don't even go to jail cuz it's self-defense. I always keep it loaded, just in case. Don't wanna miss my chance.
It's always the first thing I show off to visitors. Maybe that's weird, but that's just me. Hell, I even passed it around to the parents at my son's tenth birthday party. It was hilarious. Half the pussies held it like little faggots with their thumb and a finger and made scrunched up little faces, like it was a dead roach or something. Later I let the kids hold it for a couple of seconds each. They loved that shit. Their eyes got all big and swollen like deer eyes, and they pointed at stuff in the house and at the dog and stuff, but when they started aiming at each other I told'em to stop.
Some of the parents got all nervous and took off with their kids, all huffin' and puffin' and bitchin' underneath their breath while they dragged their twitchin' little brats behind'em. Pussies. I mean, for Christ's sake, I had the safety on.
I gave my son his first beer that day too... at least I think it was his first. Not that I care either way, but I didn't ask so I could be sure and feel special.
He made this face like he was drinkin' piss (which ain't too far from the truth), and when he was done I could tell he had a pretty good buzz, and I had to smile, cuz if you're buzzin' after one, you gotta be a cherry. Man, it's a fine feelin' to have a beer with your son.
That birthday got me to missin' my Pop like crazy. I bet he'd love to see my gun. He was way into that shit too, bein' as how he was in the military. And boy was he grouchy. I remember the last day I saw him, right before they shipped him off to Nam. He just got done spankin' me for something or other that I had done wrong, and I was all cryin' and blubberin' about it. Well, he yanked me over to him by the arm, and he told me, "Look here boy, you better toughen up and suck those tears right back where they come from,. and then he spanked me one more time to get his point across. I quit cryin' after what he told me, even though that last whack hurt like Hell.
As a matter of fact, I didn't even cry when I found out that the fuckin' Gooks got to him. I just took it like a man, and went out to ride my bike around the block by myself. The thing about that bike was that it only had one trainin' wheel on it so I always had to lean to the right when I rode it. So I rode around the block leanin' over all cockeyed, and doin' everything I could to get Pop outta my head. I figured he'd be mighty proud if I could keep myself from droppin' any tears over the whole thing. And I still suck it up to this day, so as to keep Pop from wantin' to spank me up in Heaven... not that I have anything to cry about.
My friend Bill's got an Uzi. I saw him tear the shit out of a deer one time with it. Wasn't much more than a big lump of meat to look at after that.
He let me use it next. Got a deer all lined up in my sights, but something spooked it, and it jumped right when I pulled the trigger, so I just sprayed some bullets at it. Cut the fucker's back leg right off. It kinda tried to crawl away, but me and Bill just walked on over to it, and I cut its throat with a Bowie knife. Made some good fuckin' jerky out of that stud. I love jerky. Couldn't do much with Bill's kill but leave it for the coons though, but he was just showin' off anyway.
The neighbor's little fuckin' troll of a kid nearly took my head off with the Glock one time. See, I was cleanin' it one day and when I got all the parts back together I popped the clip back in and put it down on the arm of my cheapy-ass lazy boy, and went to grab a Miller out of the fridge. Forgot that the neighbor's toad-boy son was over, and when I came out into the livin' room, there he was holdin' it up to his chest with both hands, and pointing at the kitchen wall. I could see him start to shake a little when it started sinkin' in that I caught him, and he got all zombie eyed and white all over.
Well, I was pissed and I started yellin' my ass off at that little pud. Then I went over to grab my fuckin' pistol out of his hand, but I musta scared him with all my yellin' about and gobblin' like a rooster, and the next thing I knew that kid tried to part my hair right down the middle with one of those fuckin' slugs. Well, I started yellin', and duckin', and throwing my fuckin' hands in the air, while a bunch of plaster pellets from my ceiling came fallin' down all in my eyes and my mouth. I guess all that commotion musta freaked out the kid even more. He screamed and started cryin'. Then he dropped the gun and it went off again! Blew the leg right off the damn dining room table. So it kinda dipped down at the corner and then fell over onto the ground, and my soup I was eatin', and all the silverware and dishes, all splattered and cracked all over the God-damn floor. Well, after all that I was just pissed off at that little fart so I grabbed him over to me and spanked his fuckin' bottom about ten times. By this time my wife finally came in, and she was cryin' and bitchin' at me all at the same time in one big breath. That got me goin' even worse, and I just let my tongue loose on that kid.
"Look at that! You spilled the God-damned table you toady little bastard!" I hollered with plaster pellets spittin' out of my mouth. Then I just started callin' him everything I could think of, and I told him that he'd better go clean up that mess unless he wanted his Pop to hear about it. Boy, that kid got to work like you wouldn't believe. Even mopped up the soup.
I went out and got a new table the next day, but I still haven't fixed the hole in my ceiling. I kinda like having it there though, cuz it gives me somethin' to talk about when company comes over.
My wife don't say much about my gun, and when she does it's just to gripe. So when she starts sayin' shit I give her one of those sour-eyed looks like "shut up bitch", and she does, cuz she knows I'll give her the back of my fuckin' hand. And I tell you what, I gave her more than that when I found my gun in the God-damned trash. She don't say as much as she used to. That's good. Gives me some damn peace of mind.
She sure did surprise the Hell out of me one day though. I come walkin' in the door from work, and what do I see, but my wife sittin' cross-legged in the middle of the livin' room with the end of that pistol shoved way up inside her mouth like a big fuckin' cock. Well, the first thing I said was, "What the Hell are you doin'?" and she turned a little bit to look at me. Her forehead was all crinkled up, and her cheeks were all covered in big, black streaks of that damned eye make-up that she likes to pour on.
We just looked at each other for a while, but then I started gettin' kinda pissed so I said, "Well dammit, if you're gonna do it, then just do it for Christ's sake." She got the longest face after I told her that, like she couldn't believe what I was sayin'. Her eyes got bigger and even sadder lookin' than they were before. But she kept on lookin' at me without sayin' a word, and she wouldn't blink or breathe or nothin'.
Then after a couple more seconds, she squeezed her eyes shut really tight, and her body got all tightened up, and she squeezed down on that trigger. Nothin' happened though and she opened up her eyes and just kept on squeezing like crazy and lookin' all wild and stuff.
I watched her do that for a little longer and then I walked really fast over to her and yanked my gun outta her mouth so hard that the sight on the end chipped one of her fuckin' teeth. When I did that she yelled out real loud and put her hands really tight over her mouth. Then she started lookin' up at me again with this face like a sad ol' coon dog, so I just looked right back.
"You stupid bitch," I yelled at her, "you had the fuckin' safety on the whole time!" Of course I knew that all along. I just wanted to see if she had enough balls to pull the trigger.
Her face didn't change right off when I said that, but after a while she stopped starin' at me and turned her head, and that's when the tears started pourin', and she bent over onto the ground and laid there all curled up like a baby just bawlin' away. Man, it was so irritatin'. I just kept thinkin' how I wished the safety hadn't been on. I figure it'd probably bother the kids a lot more than me if she went and corked herself anyway. Besides, lately I been eyeballin' this lady that keeps bringin' her car in down at the shop.
My wife just would not stop her fuckin' crying. But at least after a while it wasn't so loud anymore, and when the kids came home from their buddy's house, they barely took enough time to notice before they went runnin' off to their room and slammed the door. She musta went on like that all night... at least I guess it was all night. I don't really know how long she carried on, cuz I went to sleep.
I keep my gun in the top right hand drawer of the dresser next to our bed. Man, sometimes, when it gets all crazy around the house, and the kids are all whinin' and complainin' and askin' me to wipe somethin' off their face or tuck in their shirt or what not, and my wife's quackin' her head off about every damn thing in the world, I just start eyeballin' that drawer. I start thinkin' like, "Hmmm...", but I never go get it. Nah, they'll send you to the can for that shit. I'm still waitin' for that burglar with the Hefty bag to come sneakin' in through the window. Oh yea man, I can't wait.
Back to Stories Index
|
