Reminds me of the first time I ever fired a full auto. Please bear in mind, this all transpired during a period of relatively youthful stupidity. (early twenties, but I've matured slowly...)
So please...judge gently...
After countless hours of tinkering with a dremel tool, hacksaw blade, forceps, and a blow torch my SKS drop in auto sear was finally finished and ready for field testing. Grinning ear to ear I held the trigger back and listened to the satisfying "click" of the sear tripping every time the chamber locked. (wasn't working off of slam fire principles)
digging under the car seats, in the ash trays, between the couch cushions, laundry room, etc. I finally scraped up enough change to buy a few boxes of ammo and load up a couple of my thirty round mags.
Off to the country, my buddy and me drove....and drove....and drove...and drove.....
off a far flung woodland trail we drove....and drove some more....
Over fallen trees, up hills, through mud we continued to drive until we were sure there wouldn't be a pack of ATF and FBI agents nearby to swing forth from the trees and arrest us.
It was twilight by this time, and I parked the truck. Started gathering every tin can I could find out of the bed and lined ten or so of them up on a hill at easy rock chucking distance.
Taking one more peak around for secret service or CIA agents I took my weapon of mass destruction out from behind the seat and inserted the mag with an expression on my face much like "Rambo" had before he went to town with an M-60 I WAS A BAAAAAD MO-FO!!!! and I knew it. My dog cowered in the bed of the truck. My buddy hid behind the largest tree he could find and plugged his ears with trembling fingers.
It was time. grinning with malicious glee I chambered my first round, lifted the gun to my shoulder and took careful aim. BOOGA!!! BOOGA!! BOOGA!!! BOOGA!!! BOOM!!! The muzzle climbed like crazy, dirt, roots, and bark flew in every direction. my whole body felt like it was ringing, the dog was just about crying.
With satisfaction I gazed upon the targets which I had wrought such heavy destruction only to notice that every single can I had set up was still standing. Still unmolested. pointing and laughing at me. Every Coca Cola label, every Moosehead lable unscathed, except for the tears of mirth I would have sworn were streaming forth from thier mocking eyes.
a tough, rugged man such as me was not to be trifled with. Certainly not by a line of tin cans.
Rapidly I inserted another mag, and decided to aim from my hip for more control. If it worked in Red Dawn it would work for me, right? Screaming out "HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW *&^#@*!!!!er??!!" I let loose with another torrential shower of hot lead. Thirty more screaming hot lead projectiles with each of thier names written on them.
Once again I watched the dust settle, waited for my eyeballs to quit jiggling only to find that each can continued to stand, point, and laugh at me. This time a couple of squirrels in a nearby tree joined in the mockery, as well as a coyote that poked his head up over the hill. At least my dog felt sorry for me. She went, laid in the firing lane, and played dead for a few seconds. Then jumped back in the truck for a snooze.
Sighing with frustration I did what any true tough guy soldier of fortune type would do in this situation. I made sure the rifle was empty, leaned it against a tree and drew my .40 caliber Glock from my hip. At this point the cans were even harder to hit because they were doubled over laughing themselves to a point of delirium and shaking all over the place. Or maybe my eyeballs were still bouncing....
In any case I whipped my Glock from it's holster and lined up right on the first can. Pow! Down it went, nearly ripped in half. Pow! pow! pow! pow! I worked my way straight down the line Like Sgt. York. One shot per can. One kill per shot. YARRRR!!! Vengeance was mine. All of a sudden the laughing woodland forest creatures disappeared. (or had I imagined them?) My dog suddenly looked on with interest, and my buddy even quit digging his foxhole.
The mission was a success. Two and a half hours driving to eleminate ten tin cans. Well worth it.
Of course, no mission is truly successful until you've made your escape. So, pulling the auto sear from my gun in about thirty seconds I threw it under my floor mat where it would blend with all the other loose nuts, bolts, and screws down there, threw my gun behind the seat and snuck out of there in true stealth fashion.
Thankfully, my Big block V-8 with worn out glass packs didn't start a forest fire as I tore back down that trail at 90 MPH and 4500 RPM.
Further making a discreet exit when we hit pavement I jacked my truck all the way up to 110 MPH. If anything, they'd never catch me through the cloud of blue smoke I was leaving behind. Can never be too careful when it comes to them gummint agencies ya' know. Could be they heard the sound of my full auto out in the woods and were trying to focus on me with some kinda satellite laser beam at that very moment....
after getting home and recovering a bit I destroyed my auto sear and threw it away, never to be tinkered with again. It just wasn't worth the nerves, tension, or urine soaked underwear. Not to mention the humiliation and name calling.
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