"Can we have a real discussion about gun control?"

Can we have a real conversation about gun control?  Maybe, maybe not.  I am hopeful that we can sit down and have this necessary conversation, but I have my concerns about the word "real".  It is impossible to sit down and have a real conversation if we won't stay on topic or stick to facts.  The facts are all that matters when it comes to a conversation.  There are a lot of studies out there by people who mean well.  Some of them are incomplete and do not take all variables into account.  Others are an apples to oranges comparison and comparisons like that are an injustice to the very situation we face today.  It isn't fair to compare us to other countries.

This is an American problem. Undeniably, it is happening more here than other countries. Other countries are dealing with their own problems and that is another topic. There are potentially dozens of reasons for these massacres happening here.  It's a complex issue.  This has to be a work in progress and we have to be willing to set political affiliation aside and stick to the facts.  This is a highly emotional subject.  Nobody I know ever wants to hear of another one of these massacres but truthfully, we all know there is another one in our near future.  "Is this what life is like in America now?"  Yes.  Yes it is and its time for us to understand that.

It's time for us to understand that the world is a rough place.  It's time to realize that America can be a rough place.  Never in a million years did I ever believe there could be a 9/11.  Not once did I ever think there could be a Timothy McVeigh and a giant ass truck bomb.  I had no idea that there were people out there like this recent asshole that shot up the Florida classroom, like the asshole who shot up the gay night club, the the asshole who shot up the concert venue in Las Vegas.  Never.  It never crossed my mind that there are people out there among us that were that ill, that broken, so capable of doing such a thing.  This is our reality and we need to own it.

"So just throw in the gloves, eh?"  No.  That's not what I am saying.  It's time to accept this in order to address this.  There is no sure fire method to identify who is likely to go on the next rampage, and we have to accept that too.  And maybe that is part of the problem.  Acceptance, being able to accept the fact that we will have another massacre on our hands is critical.  Preparing for this event is even more critical, and in doing so, we need to pay attention to all of the data that has been collected regarding each of these events.

I don't buy into this as being a gun problem.  Above I mentioned 'apples to oranges' comparisons.  Here, every once in a while, some maniac goes on a shooting spree.  It's absolutely the worse thing I can think of at this time.  Other countries have their own problems.  For instance, Syria.  I recently heard a story about a particular town in Syria that the Taliban or ISIS had total control over.  As they were being run out of town after imprisoning, torturing and killing the majority of the towns people, they set land mines everywhere.  They booby trapped homes.  They booby trapped churches, mosques and other gathering places.  They set land mines in the fields, in the walk ways, in the roads and sidewalks and every week they are losing 36 people on average.  Other countries in the region are experiencing the same things.

This is their horror.  This is what they have to deal with every day.  I am not comparing them to us.  I don't have the chance to choose one life or the other.  Neither do they.  This is their reality and they live it every day.  It's horrible and I can't imagine what their lives are like.

If these folks were to have an advantage over us is, it might be in the fact that they have identified  their adversary.  What we have in common with them is, our adversaries look just like us.  They reside next door or across the street.  We talk to them.  We work with them.  How do we deal with that?

So much of what is being said these days regarding these massacres is emotionally based.  How couldn't it be?  What I think we need to start paying attention to is what we can agree on.  None of us wants another one of these things to happen.  None of us.  If we focused on that, perhaps we could make some ground with this discussion.  I saw a recent poll that said 67% of legal gun owners are willing to make some concessions in the name of safety.  I think its important to remember that these concessions have not been clearly defined as well as it is unknown what or if these concessions would have any impact.

I was having a discussion with a friend of mine who is pro 2nd Amendment said, "I would give away all my guns if it would stop these massacres."  I disagreed only on the fact that me and my guns are not the problem here.  Me giving up my guns and my 2nd Amendment protections will not stop these shooting sprees.  The won't... and more than anything, I think my friend said this as a feel good statement.  It just doesn't make sense to me.  Taking away, my guns or your guns will not stop this.  The problem is far more complex than that and we need to quit looking at the quick fix for such a delicate matter.

We're better than that.  We're smarter than that.  If we could set all emotions aside, put the facts on the table, stick to the topic, we might be able to make some ground here.  The problem with facts is, they don't always work in your favor.  It's hard, almost impossible to accept the facts.  It's also hard to know that we will face another one of these massacres on day.

I have heard a lot of reasonable requests from concerned people regarding the safety of our children.  "Metal Detectors" "Armed Guards" are two of the most reasonable that I have heard.  If our children are our future and our most precious commodity, we are we not protecting them as such?  Our airports, sporting arenas, banks and other places are filled with metal detectors and armed security.  Do you mean to tell me that we care more about that shit than we do our kids?  No excuses...  Lets address this.  Don't tell me there's no money for it.  Were spending money all over the place!  We can find the money for this.  I think most of us civilians would gladly donate to the cause. We can do this!

With that out of the way, I'd like to tell anyone reading this a little about me and where I am coming from.  I am going to keep the next couple of paragraphs all about me.... a brief autobiography, if you will.  My name is Brice Dudley.  I was born into a house of guns.  In fact, my first birthday present was a Winchester Model 12 12 gauge.  My dad was a gunsmith and a competitive shooter.  At any given time, there was a project or two on the bench and my reality was, there are guns everywhere.  I was taught to respect firearms.  I was taught at an early age that guns are not a mystery and if I ever wanted to handle a gun or know anything about a gun, all I had to do was ask a question.  I was taught that guns are not toys.  I was taught that we don't point anything that is not a finger at anyone, at any time.

I grew up learning how to properly handle guns.  I learned how guns operated and I learned what guns where capable of by going shooting.  I learned that once you pull the trigger, you can never get that bullet back.  Whatever happens after you pull the trigger for, you are responsible.  I learned that you never point a gun at anything you don't intend on destroying.

As I began to hunt, I learned the value of life.  My family hunted for food.  The first time I shot a quail, I was lost somewhere between feeling sorry and being proud.  Sorry for the taking of a life, but proud to know that I could be capable of providing a food source for my family.  My dad looked at me and asked, "Are you okay?"  I remember nodding yes but being a little too choked up to talk about it.  Dad said, "Hunting is a hell of a thing, and its not for everybody.  There are a few things for you to know about this particular circumstance.  You followed every safety rule in the book.  You knew what you were shooting at and what was beyond it.  We are going to take this quail home and we are going to cook it up for dinner and the next few days.  There is value in being able to do this and this is a skill that will forever be with you.  I'm proud of you.  Not because you killed a quail. I am proud of you for properly handling the gun, having paid attention to everything I ever told you about guns, and mostly for giving hunting a try."

I just kind of stood there holding my 410 in one hand and the quail in the other.  My dad said, "We are going to honor this bird in a couple of ways.  First of all, we are going to eat this bird and any others we happen to get today.  Secondly, we are only going to take what we can eat.  We will also do what we can to protect the habitat this bird lives in.  We are out walking around in these draws in order to not destroy the habitat.  We will always follow these rules.  These are the rules my dad learned from his dad, I learned from him and now you learned from me.  If you want, one day you will have the opportunity to teach this to your kids."

Later in life, I had the opportunity to introduce my boys into the sport.  Neither was too interested in the killing aspect of hunting, but neither ended up having a problem cycling ammunition through any of the guns I owned while out shooting targets.   Recently, my step mother gave me a few of my dad's old shotguns.  As I looked at them and handled each one of them, they took me back to that day.  I learned more about life that day than I have any other time in my life.  I learned about honor, respect and being responsible.  I wasn't taught that stuff in a classroom.  It happened with my dad, out in the Arizona desert around Chloride.  Nobody but us, the jack rabbits, the rattle snakes and the quail.

From that 1 day, my love for the sports of hunting and shooting became part of who I am.  Since then, my love for the sports have grown into a field of work that I had no clue would ever exist.  I am a part time shooting coach/shooting instructor, and being able to introduce people like the little kid I once was to the sport is so rewarding.  If I had one love besides my family and friends, I would be somewhere between being in the outdoors and teaching someone who has never handled a gun, how to shoot responsibly.

I urge everyone in this country to give the shooting sports an opportunity.  Hire a professional and train with them often.  Learn first hand about guns, gun safety and the responsibility that goes along with that.  It's money well spent and an education that will last you a life time.

Thanks for reading folks.  I really do appreciate it.

The "Ling Ling" Incident:

Technology all but killed one of my favorite past times.  Crank calls were a big part of my childhood and I even made crank calls as an adult.  Everyone was a potential victim, including my mom who I kept getting with the same stupid "kidnapped kid' scenario that I made up.  Now, caller ID and everything else we have on our phones pretty much identifies who is on the other end putting a stop to my reign of terror.

So I told you that in order to tell you this.  I had a stalker for a little while.  Things got pretty weird and I had to change all of my contact information and everything.  The stalker was persistent enough that I somehow figured they took control of my damned phone, so I traded my phone in and got a new number.

I transferred over all of my contact information and apps and then went about calling my friends in order to give them my new contact information.  As I rolled through my contact list, I finally came upon my good friend who owns a parking lot striping and parking lost sweeping business.  So, I gave him a call.

He didn't pick up the call.  That wasn't a mystery.  Tim is a busy guy and has about 100 things going at once.  But for some reason, as soon as my call went to voice mail, I knew I could probably get away with a crank call.  After all, he'd never seen or heard of this phone number.

Ring.... Ring.... Ring... click... "We are unavailable to take your call at this time.  Please leave your name and a message and we will call you back", the message said.  I chime in.  "Herro, this is Ling Ling from Ocean City Chinese Bistro.  I need parking rot painted.  I need handicapped parking and stlipes.  Don't call me back.  I am too busy.  Come by Friday or Saturday and give me estimate."  And then I hung up.  I figured the sound of my voice and my stupid ass, stereotypical white dude trying to act like a Chinese person would give it away.

A couple of days goes by.  I forgot all about the crank call.  I was just sitting there and my phone rang.  It was my buddy Tim.  I picked up the phone and tried to say hello, but before I could get a word out, he said "You're an asshole!"  I laughed but didn't know what he was talking about.  He said, "Yeah, I get this call from a Chinese guy named Ling Ling and he wanted me to come to the Ocean City Bistro and give him an estimate to paint their fucking parking lot.  I show up with one of my daughters to help me measure the place and this Chinese guy comes out and starts yelling at me.  I got him calmed down enough to listen to what I was telling him.  I told him, Ling Ling called and wanted an estimate from me to paint stripes in the parking lot.  I am here to give the estimate.  The guy looked me dead in the eye and said, "Ling Ling?  Who in the fuck is Ling Ling?  There is no god damned Ling Ling here."  Now I started laughing....

Tim continued, "Go ahead.  Laugh it up.  I'm standing there scrolling through my voice mail and I play him the message!  Now the guy is really pissed and told me to get the fuck off of his property."  Now I am laughing out of control.  Tim says, "I listened to the voicemail one more time in the truck trying to figure out who in the fuck this could have been and then Jessica said, "That's Brice".  So, was this you?"  I admitted it as soon as I could catch my breath.  Never in a million years did I think he would buy that piece of shit fake accent.

I think Tim and I are still friends.  He's still not allowed at Ocean City Bistro and I bet you $100 bucks he never, ever takes another call from Ling Ling seriously.

Grammar

So, I had the day off but had to come to town to drop something off at work.  I proceeded to do so and decided that I wanted a fresh cup of coffee for the ride home.  I left work and headed directly towards my usual morning coffee stop.  As I went through a school zone, I noticed I had someone tailgating me.  I didn't think too much of it and just went about my business.

As I pulled into my coffee stop, the young kid who was tailgating me decided it was wise to approach me about the situation.

Kid:  How come you were going so slow back there?

Me:  Because it was a 20 mile per hour school zone.

Kid:  That don't matter.

Me.  Doesn't... That doesn't matter.

Kid:  Huh?

Me:  You said, "That don't matter." That makes no sense.  You should have said, "That doesn't matter?"

Kid:  What fucking difference does that make?

Me:  It makes a big difference if you want to be taken seriously.

Kid:  Yeah, well, why don't you speed up?

Me:  Because that is a school zone.  The speed limit is posted at 20 mph so I will go 20 miles per hour.

Kid:  Are you fucking serious right now?

Me:  I'm pretty serious all of the time.  Do you want me to take you seriously?

Kid:  You'd better take me seriously!  I'll kick your old ass!

Me:  I would take you seriously if you used proper grammar, pulled your fucking pants up, wore a belt to keep them up and had the nuts to look me in the eye while I am talking to you.  You can't do any of that shit including kick my ass.  If I want any more shit out of you, I'll squeeze your head and finish the abortion the doctor gave up on the day you were born.

Maybe the kid was anti-abortion or he perceived this as a "Come to Jesus" meeting.  I don't know, but something convinced him that things were not going to go the way he thought they were.  At this point, he decided to disengage.

We both walked into the store.  The young man ended up in line in front of me.  As he stepped up to the clerk, the clerk asked, "How are you today?".  The kid answered, "I am late for school."

 It was at that very moment that I realized I had just stumbled upon my life's calling.  "Brice Dudley-Life Coach"  Open for business, any time.

The Intercom:

When I graduated high school, I was unsure of where I was going and what I was going to do.  Kind of like now, but I knew that I needed a better job.  So like any good minion, I went off in search of a better job that would allow me to make more money and pay more taxes.

I found one such job working in a warehouse.  I liked everything about the job.  Even the hiring process was a hoot.  I walked in, asked for an application and was instead waltzed into one of the bosses offices for an interview.

The man behind the desk was dressed business casual and said, "We're looking for an FNG who can do anything."  Then he asked, "Are you in?"  I looked at the man.  "I don't know what an FNG is sir, but I am trainable, reliable and ready to go to work as soon as I get hired."  He said, "You don't know what an FNG is?"  I shook my head and said "No."

He stood up, held his hand out and said, "Then you'll be perfect for the job.  We start off at $6.00 an hour, the hours are from 8-5 with a paid lunch hour, weekends off and holiday pay.  Can I count on you?"  I stood up, shook his hand and said, "I'm your guy."  I had no clue what I was getting into.

He asked, "Can you start Monday?"  I replied, "I'll start now if you need me to."  "Nope" he said, "Monday is great.  Get here about 30 minutes early for paperwork and I'll show you what you are going to be doing."  I thanked him and rushed back to mom's house to give her the good news.

Mom was pretty excited.  $6.00 an hour was pretty good cabbage back in those days.  She asked "What are you going to be doing there?"  I said, "I'm not sure but I got hired into the FNG department."

Monday rolls around and I show up for work 30 minutes early like I was asked too.  I filled out some paperwork and the boss came and grabbed me and showed me around and introduced me as the "FNG".  Here I was thinking FNG was a department but as it turned out, it was a position.  I took me about another 10 minutes of walking around and being introduced to people that FNG stood for "Fucking New Guy".

Anyhow, the boss turns me over to this other guy.  He shakes my hand and asked me if I knew the alphabet.  Then he takes me to this storage facility that was nothing but shelves and miscellaneous boxes.  "Your first job is to take all of this stuff off of the shelves, clean the shelves and then alphabetize these boxes according to the business name or last name on the shipping label."  I said, "I'm on it" and got to work.

It took me an hour to get everything out of the room.  As I was cleaning the shelves, I noticed what appeared to be an intercom.  It was a little box with a toggle switch and a speaker.  I decided that I would leave space to get to the intercom, just in case anyone needed to get to it.

There I was, alphabetizing all of these boxes and trying to make sense of it all.  Every time I looked at the intercom device, I wondered how often the intercom was used.  Just about then, my boss walked in to check on me.  I asked him "Is there an intercom system here?"  "No" he said and then asked "Why?".  I said, "I don't know.  In case someone is looking for someone or something like that."  He shook his head and said, "No, we don't have anything like that.  Everyone seems to know where everyone else is.  If we need you or you need us, someone will come get you."  I felt that was a reasonable response and just went back to work.

The next day I was working in the shipping and receiving department.  I had a load of boxes on a cart that had to be taken to where I was working the previous day.  I dragged the cart down there and began to work the new packages into the system and pulling other boxes that needed to be re-shipped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that intercom device.  I walked over to it, pressed the toggle switch and the music that was playing throughout the warehouse stopped.  I panicked, said "shit" which was promptly broadcast throughout the building.  Yep, it was indeed an intercom.

I heard some laughter.  I heard some folks asking what the "S-bomb" was all about, and I somehow knew that I would be developing a relationship with my new found friend, the intercom.  The relationship started off slowly, just like most relationships do.  If I was in that part of the warehouse undetected, I would flip the switch and say something like "Good Morning too all of the folks in shipping and receiving."

This morphed into be disguising my voice and saying random things like, "Ethel Harris, blue line please... Ethel Harris, blue line."  Now, I got to thinking I was pretty funny.  #1.  I didn't know an Ethel Harris, but was pretty sure there wasn't a blue line or an Ethel Harris in the building.  #2.  Nobody knew where this stuff was coming from.

Pretty soon, I was saying something 2-3 times a day.  Random shit like, "Price check on register 4" or "Bob to the paint department please... Bob, paint department."  I couldn't believe that I was the only person that knew about this, so I kept it up.

It got to the point that I would spend my lunch hour near the intercom if I had no other business in that area of the warehouse.  I would broadcast things like radio station tag lines.  "92.3 KOMP" and "Clean up on isle 2.  Randy, bring a mop and a bucket."  The funny thing here was, there was a guy named Randy and he went off in a panic.  He walked up to the main office and asked if they were looking for him.

The secretary said, "No, were not looking for you."  Randy said, "Someone came on the intercom and said that there was a clean up on isle 2 or something, asked for me specifically and said to bring a mop."  The secretary said, "We don't have an intercom, we don't have an isle 2 and we don't have any kind of a clean up situation that would require you personally or a mop.  Go back to work."

It was then and only then that I knew I was in love with the intercom.  I couldn't spend enough time around her.  As I mentioned, I was spending my lunch hour with her when I could.  I even altered how I came into the building because of her.  I'd stop in and say something like "Red shirt, line 1' and then giggle my ass off when I heard people say, 'What in the fuck is a red shirt and where are the phones in this joint."

This shit went on for about a year and each time I did something, I thought it was funnier than the previous time.  Still, nobody was on to me and my work relationship with the intercom.  Everybody was talking about the intercom system, but nobody really knew it existed.  At some point, I had gone too far and shortly after some random broadcast, the bosses swept through the building as asked us all to attend an employee meeting during lunch.

Nobody had a clue as to what the meeting was about, but rumors where swirling around.  "They are going to fire us all and shut down" was one rumor.  "We've been bought out by another company and things are going to change' was another popular rumor.

Come lunch time, we all gathered in the front part of the warehouse, just outside of the offices.  The big boss, the guy who hired me thanked everyone for dropping what they were doing and taking the time to come listen to what needed to be said.  "Okay" he stated.  "Apparently there is an intercom device in this building that I didn't know anything about.  Someone keeps using the intercom device to page people to the front office, announce radio station call lines and make random bullshit statements.  I want everyone to know, I will find out who this person is.  I will also find out where the microphone is and I will have it dismantled."

He looked around the room at each of us with a stern look upon his face.  "If anyone wants to fess up now, go ahead.  If you would be more comfortable talking about this in private, please come see me in my office.  Nobody is going to be fired over this but I am sick and tired of wayward employees showing up to the office for a clean up on isle 2 or a price check on register 4.  Initially, I thought you people were all going nuts.  We can't hear this intercom in the offices and I thought you people were out of your minds.  Then I thought it was kind of funny and I'll admit that I do like a good joke.  But, enough is enough with the god damned intercom.  Someone please step forward.  Thank you for your time, and now get back to what you were doing."

I look around the room as people are disbursing and try to mimic the same expressions they had on their faces.  The boss seemed pretty serious.  If I didn't go confess, I would at least have to break up with the intercom.  I wasn't sure if I could do it.  So as I walked back to the department I was working in, another kid said, "Who is doing this?"  I said that I didn't know but was going to talk to the boss about it.

I turned around and walked up to the front of the building.  The boss was outside of the office, smoking a cigarette just outside the front door.  I walked up and said, "Hey, do you have a minute?"  He said, "For you FNG, I have all the time in the world.  What's up?"  He seemed calm, cool and collected... or maybe he was plotting something.. I didn't know.  I said, "I think I know something about the intercom situation."

He shook his head in disbelief.  "You're shitting me?' he said.  "No, I'm not sir.  I know something about the situation" I stated very matter of fact.  "I gave that talk and within 5 minutes we are going to put an end to this bullshit" he asked.  "Yes sir, I think we are.  Would you follow me to the back of the warehouse" I asked.  He slapped me between the shoulder blades and said, "Lead the way, young man" and off we went.

No talking at this point.  Just walking.  And everyone we encountered, looked at me like I was a dead man walking.  I pointed to a hallway on my left and we went around the corner.  I opened the door to the storage room and pointed to the intercom device.  "There it is" I said.  "How did you find it" he asked, then asked "When did you find it?"

"I found it on my first day here within an hour of being here.  The first task I took on was to straighten out this room and there it sat.  I asked one of the other bosses about an intercom and he said we didn't have one.  Curiosity got the better of me so I pressed the button one day.  The music quit, I said shit and it broadcast throughout the building."  He looked at me and then looked at the intercom.  He looked at me again and then at the intercom.

"This little thing goes throughout the building" he asks.  I said, "Yeah, I guess so."  He then asked, "Was it fun" as he cracked a big smile.  "Yeah, pretty much.  I apologize."  He shook my hand and thanked me for my honesty and helping him get to the bottom of the problem as fast as I did.  Then he said, "Can you do it again?"  I was kind of shocked.  The meeting seemed to be a pretty big deal and now he is asking me to do it again.  He nodded and pushed me towards the thing and said, ''Ask Bob Hartwell to do something... go ahead... do it!''  I pressed the button and in my big fake radio announcer voice said, "Bob Hartwell to automotive please, Bob Hartwell to automotive."

The boss cracked up.  "How do you come up with this shit?  It's hilarious!  Automotive???"  He busted up laughing for at least 2 minutes.  It was "knee slapping" laughter.  He thought this shit was the funniest stuff he had ever heard of.  Tears were rolling down his cheek.

He gained his composure and said, "Come with me.  We gotta go find Bob.  Do you think he is looking for the automotive department?" and he started laughing again.  He has his hand on my shoulder and just kept laughing.  We looked for Bob but couldn't find him, so we march into the office.  This dude was still laughing.

The boss points me to his office and we walk through the door.  I figured I was still going to get fired.  "You are a funny fucking guy!  Can we keep this shit a secret, just between you and me.  I want to do it too."  I smiled and said, "Yes sir.  Whatever you want to do.  I am good with any of it."  He said, "Tell nobody.  This needs to remain top secret.  Help me come up with a reason for me to be back there so I can do it."  I said, "You're the boss, sir.  You do whatever you want to do."  He thanked me, then threw me out of his office. 

"Get back to work.  Just you and me, right?  Nobody else knows." I nodded my head and opened the door to walk out.  Just as I tried to thank him for his time and being so lenient he said, "Do me a favor.  Go to the intercom and page Bob Hartwell again.  Tell him to come to the office.  This is going to be great." The boss followed me out of the office and took a seat in the reception area in order to hear the call.  About 2 minutes later, I said  "Bob Hartwell, to the office please... Bob, to the office."

I don't know if Bob ever made it to the office.  I do know that the boss used the intercom a couple of times himself and seemed to get a kick out of it.  For me, the fun of this prank was over.  It was kind of like your girlfriend in Jackson Hole.  You never really lose your girlfriend in Jackson Hole, you just lose your turn.  I'm sure the boss loved her as much as I did.

Laws & Wars:

I'd like to take a minute and thank our benevolent government for looking after us so well.  Out of all of the other bullshit happening in the world, I heard a comment on the "War on Drugs".  Everyone knows the war on drugs is for our protection right?  I mean, is that right?  I mean, it's what they want us to believe, right?

I found this interesting.  I thought the "War on Drugs" started during the Reagan era.  It actually began a few administrations before Reagan.  In fact, nearly every administration put their dukes up against one thing or another.  Prohibition... that worked so fucking good that liquor has been legal again for the last 80 years or so.

Before that though, you used to be able to get your opium from the old Sears and Roebucks catalog.  Congress decided to levy taxes on opium and morphine around 1890.  In 1909, one of our elected saints rallied the troops and they signed the Opium Exclusion Act.  It banned anyone from possessing, using or importing the stuff, but you could still use it if it were prescribed by a doctor.  (Are ya feeling better about things yet?)

In 1914, there was another act to further regulate and tax opiates.  The called it the Harrison Act and it decided all of these rules would now cover cocaine too.  And honestly, thank God they did! Imagine what would have happened if they wouldn't have stepped in, threw a tantrum and told us how the cow ate the cabbage!  Hell, we'd all be dead... or not, because most of us didn't use drugs then or now.

I mentioned prohibition.  In 1919, once again, our protectors stepped in to rid the plains of all evil and decided that alcohol, its manufacturing, its transportation, its sale and possession were all very much bad and we were too stupid to "just say no".  Maybe they were tired of the old west, good times, people trying to live a little.  I don't know, but that went on until the 30's and liquor has been a "gateway" drug ever since.  But, our protectors tax the shit out of it (in order to make some good money) these days and highly monitor the production, transportation and consumption (in order to make some more good money).  It's all good because Uncle Sam says so.  Helluva guy, ol' Unc!

Right after alcohol became "good" again, they got rid of weed.  Anything that looked like it, smelled like it or even sounded like it got shit canned in 1937 when the Marihuana Act (yeah, I spelled it right, according to them).  It didn't really criminalize the use or possession but there were some big ass fines if you got caught with it.  You see, you could have it, but they are going to fine you.  It was another great way for them to make some cash.  (Feeling better yet?  Yeah, me neither but hold on.)

Your boy Dick Nixon officially declared a war on drugs in 1971 or so when he said that drug abuse was "public enemy number 1".  (Seems like he left the government out of that assumption.)  Yeah, there was a Gallop poll in the late 60's that said 48% of Americans thought drugs were bad, uh-kay.
Dick came up with the DEA shortly afterwards and they were going to tackle drug importation!  Hip Hip Hooray!!!  Yeah, they had about 1500 agents and about a $75 million dollar budget which was some serious dough in those days.  Now there are over 5000 agents with a budget well over $2 billion dollars and they are flat handling business.... or not.

Well, I mean not.  The war still exists, our government has even given bad guys guns to shoot at the "good guys" on this side of the battle, people getting killed all over hell and back and heroin overdoses are at an all time high.  Yeah, they make some big ass busts keeping millions of dollars of that shit off the road but that is part of the plan for the cartels, see.  They send a certain percentage over just to get busted, because when the DEA pops a boner over there, they aren't watching whats happening over here.  It's kind of like that dumb little ball and the 3 cup trick that amuses kids so much or like the smoke and mirror bullshit they throw out for our consumption.  It's pretty cool.  (And by that I mean totally ineffective.)

Anyhow, around this time there was something else cooking.  Some guy who worked for Nixon said in a 1994 interview that the Nixon administration had 2 enemies.  "The anti-war left and black folks."  The guys name was Ehrlichman and he suggested in this interview that the "War on Drugs" had ulterior motives.  (I know.  I couldn't believe it either until I re-read my smoke and mirror comment above.)  But the thought was, if they heavily criminalized weed and herion, they could disrupt the hippies and the Black community.

1973 through 1977, things lightened up a little bit.  I think it was 11 states relaxed on some of the drug laws.  Jimmy Carter got elected on this premise and the Senate Judiciary Committee decided to decriminalize up to an ounce of weed.  Jimmy Carter?  Yup, his peanut growing ass was good with folks having a bit of weed.  Jimmy knew all you could ruin while you're high on weed was pizza and a few handfuls of peanuts and he had the market cornered on half of that shit.

Then your other boy Reagan stepped in, and with his wife, they gave CPR to nearly everything that Nixon worked so hard on to fuck up and "Just say no" became a thing.  Reagan, the DEA and who knows who else started incarcerating non-violent offenders by the hundreds.  (I'll have to research this, but isn't that about the time private for profit prisons started to become a thing?  Gotta make that money, dawg!)

This is also when "crack" became a thing.  That shit fucked up more families than Planned Parenthood.  Everybody was going to jail then.  Street violence shot up, literally, as this was the time that drive by shootings became an every day thing.  Man, people (especially black folks) were getting busted for "suspicion" of drug use and sale... no proof or anything, just a sneaky suspicion.  Doesn't that give you a Chris Matthews tickle down your leg?  Ah, me neither.

Anyhow, recently they have taken a different stance.  Probably because the government got implicated with the Fast and Furious thing.  Who knows.  The fight goes on though, and thank goodness.  I just can't imagine where we'd be if we didn't have the government telling us that drugs were bad.  Well, mom and dad told me that when I was a little kid, and they might have been right on that.  I suppose I tested that theory.  Unlike President Clinton, I did inhale and that might explain why I can't find my fucking car keys when they are in my hand...

I don't inhale anymore.  Not because the government says so.  Nope.  I've decided that I can't afford to get any dumber, so no more bong hits for Bubba.  That's a decision I made for me.  I don't care if you smoke up.  I don't think its wise but who am I to talk about wisdom with all of the other dumb shit I've done in my life.

Look.  I don't light buildings on fire.  Some folks do, but its not for me.  I don't drive my car into crowds of people, but some folks do.  I don't punch midgets... often... but I'm probably not the only person who does that.  I don't steal things.  I don't rob houses.  I don't mug little old ladies.  I don't do car jackings... well, I did that once.  It was prom.  My date actually did it and it cost me $30 extra bucks to have the tuxedo dry cleaned, but that's different.

So, I said all of that nonsense in order to get to this.  I also don't shoot guns into crowds of people.  Only .000009% of our population does that.  Why the number is that high I'll never guess, but if we are going to be real and have a discussion about this, we need to agree that it is one of the worst, most horrible, unthinkable acts that one could ever commit and that it doesn't happen very often.  That doesn't make it any better.  It's never okay when someone innocent loses their life at the hands of a maniac.

That brings me to this.  How do we legislate morality?  How do we teach someone the value of a human life?  How do we teach someone the worth of their own life?  We can tell people not to hurt or kill anyone until we can't talk, but it is not going to stop.  "So you mean we have to live with this?"  Yes, that's what I mean.  Life is ugly sometimes.  We have to understand that there are people out there who just don't give a shit and be thankful that it is not more prevalent.

On a lighter note, I'm still available for kids parties, weddings and religious revivals if anyone is interested.  Call my agent.

Love,
Bricey

Being a shooting coach:

It seems like a natural progression to have become involved in the shooting sports industry.  I was born and raised around guns.  My dad was a gunsmith as well as a competitive shooter which means that my gun safety education started early.  At any given time, my dad would have some kind of a project on the bench.  This afforded me many learning opportunities that have stuck with me for a lifetime.

Many years later, I was recruited by some friends to join their outstanding team of professionals in the luxury entertainment shooting industry!  Talk about a dream job!  Supposedly it was my personality that caused them to zero in on me.  Here I was thinking it was my model like good looks that landed me the position.  Apparently they already chose a face for the company.  (Can't be prettier than me, but whatever.  It's their company.)

So, I told you that to get to this.   One might think that a guy from my hunting and shooting background would go out and marry an outdoors woman.  The type of gal that would drop everything in order to take an evening off to either go to the range for some trigger time or an afternoon hunt.

Nope.  Not me.  I go and marry a hippy.  I kind of knew what I was getting into and I was honest with her from the get go.  If I'm not mistaken, on our first or second date I told her that "September and October are mine.  I might be hard to keep around the house come hunting season."  I kind of thought that she would be on board since we were eating a steak at the time.

Months later, we move in together.  I bring my T.V in first.  Some miscellaneous furniture followed and then I started to bring in the guns.  I had 4 at the time and I could tell by the look on her face that I was going to have some "splaining" to do.  I mean, you'd have thought that I dragged in a burlap sack of dead cats and silicon sex toys.

"What is that?", she asked.  "It's a shotgun, baby."  "What do you need that for?" she asked.  "It's for hunting birds and rabbits, honey."  She just looked at the floor like I just stole something from her.  I looked at her as I walked out to bring in another gun.

"What is that?" she asked again.  "It's a rifle, baby."  "What do you need that for?" she asked.  "It's for hunting antelope, deer, elk, moose or almost any big game animal, honey."  Again, she looked at the floor.  As I walked back out to grab the hand guns, she took a seat on the couch and asked, "Are there more?"  "Oh yeah!" I answered and thought, "What a silly question that was."

I take a good look at her as I hit the door to bring in the last 2 guns.  I think she started to recite ancient Buddhist text or some John Lennon or Grateful Dead lyrics.  I come waltzing through the door with 2 pistol cases and an ammunition box.  Before she could ask I said, "It's 2 hang guns and an ammunition case, Baby.  I use them for just shooting for the hell of it or for protection if needed, Honey".

"What kind of shit are you getting into that you need guns for protection?" she asked.  And, knowing me as good as she did at the time, I felt that was a completely reasonable question.  She was plenty aware of my general attitude and she watched me scare the ever loving shit out of a guy for taping a "no parking'' sign on my brand new truck.

I replied, "I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it."  That wasn't good enough.  I could see that she was very uneasy, so I began what I felt was a meaningful dialog regarding the subject.  "Are you anti-gun?" I asked.  She said, "Well, kind of."  I said, "Remember us discussing the fact that I hunt in September and October, Baby?"  She nodded.  "How do you think I hunt, Honey?  I can't just smite a limit of pheasant or a deer or an elk.  I have to go shoot them, Honey."

"Yeah, but hand guns aren't for hunting" she said.  "Well, that's not entirely true, Honey.  One of these 2 hang guns is often used for hunting."  I went on to mention a mutual friend that we shared that hunted with his .44 magnum.  She was still in disbelief.  So I asked her, "Why are you afraid of guns?"  Then she told me, "My dad was cleaning his gun once and blew up the TV."

That made sense to me.  You're sitting around watching Hee Haw or some shit and the TV gets blow up, its liable to scare the shit out of you!  So, I started to tell her a litany of things that went wrong at the time the TV blew up, like trying to clean a loaded gun.  Nothing I said put her at ease, but she managed to hang around for a couple of decades despite the mighty arsenal I had in the safe and the pistol I carried nearly everywhere I went.

Years later, we were looking for something to do.  We didn't have time to go camping.  She isn't interested in fishing and I wasn't into hiking unless we were going to be going fishing.  Out of the blue she says, "I think I would like to learn how to shoot."  We tried that before.  After a brief safety tutorial, I handed her a .22 and you would have thought I handed her a basket of asps.  She was just too uncomfortable and I could not put her at ease.  This time looked a bit different.

"Okay" I said.  "We can go shooting.  What do you want to shoot?"  "I want to shoot one of those rifle things and that 9mm thing" she said.  I grabbed the guns, the ammo, hearing protection and the keys and down the road we went.  The whole ride in, we discussed gun safety and safe gun handling.  This time, she seemed genuinely interested.  And I thought to myself, "She'll be fine with that .22 but as soon as she shoots the 9mm, she'll head for the truck and that will be all she wrote."

So, we got to where we were headed.  It was an old gravel pit in the middle of nowhere.  We rehashed all of the safety stuff we had gone over earlier and began to set up some targets.  I asked her if she was scared.  "No, not so much" she replied.  We got back to the truck and I got the rifle and the pistol out.  I opened the rifle case and let her hold the rifle.  Again, we went through all of the safety aspects.  Finger off trigger until ready to shoot.  Barrel pointed in a safe direction.  How to obtain sight alignment and she was right with the program.  I loaded the magazine and had her load it into the magazine well, while naming each of the components.

"Magazine" she says as she holds it in her left hand.  "It goes in the magazine well which is located right here on the bottom of the action."  I nod in approval.  "This is how you charge the rifle" and she worked the action.  "This gun is now in condition 1 and that means the rifle is charged and ready to go."  She got in her stance with a bit of coaching, shouldered the rifle, obtained her target, slid her finger in the trigger guard and let one fly.  She hit the target.

"Was that right?" she asked.  "Yeah, Honey.  That was the objective.  I appreciate you keeping your finger out of the trigger guard and the muzzle safely down range as we discussed during the safety briefing.  Now, do it again."  Pew...hit.  "Again."  Pew...hit.  She manged to go 9 for 10 at a target as big as the bottom of a coke can at 25 yards.  She had a grin from ear to ear.  "Is that good?" she asked excitedly.  "Yeah Baby.  That what its all about."

I thought it was a fluke or just dumb luck.  I loaded her up another magazine and asked her to load the rifle.  Again, she said what step she was doing, explained why and when the rifle was in condition 1 she said, "Ready to fire."  She shouldered the rifle, obtained her target and then managed to dump 8 of 10 into the target that was already riddled with holes.

She smiles and says, "I want to do it again" as she hands me the empty magazine.  I gladly loaded another magazine.  She loaded the gun, charged the gun, obtained her target and sent another 9 of 10 into the target.  She had a smile on her face that I couldn't knock off.  I didn't realize it yet, but I was creating a monster.

"I'm done shooting this thing.  I want to shoot the pretty one" she says.  We go through another safety briefing much like the previous one, except this one was regarding a pistol rather than a long gun.  We worked on a proper stance for a couple of minutes and then she just kind of nodded.  I said, "What was that?' and she said, "Load it, dude!"

As well as she had been shooting, I figured I'd better do it and do it now.  I explain to her that the magazine was bigger and that meant that the gun held more rounds.  She said "Okay" and started jumping up and down and clapping.  I'd never seen her act like this.

I tell her, "Loading this pistol is almost the exact same thing as loading the rifle.  Magazine goes into the magazine well, pull the slide back and let it fly forward and chamber a round and then you are ready to get to work.  Are you ready?"  She squares up to her target, takes the gun, racks a round into the chamber and gets to work, just like I thought she would.  She went 12 for 16 on her first magazine.  She hands me the gun, hops around, claps and says "Again, again, again!"

This shit goes on for about and hour and half.  No matter how far away from the target she is, she is drilling it at least 75% of the time.  And by this point she is letting me know if she is shooting high or low.  Now she is pushing me out of the way and loading her own magazine while hopping around and singing some song she just made up about shooting.  It was like I was shooting with a big toddler!  "Is this right?  Is this good?"  Bang, bang, bang.... giggle, giggle, giggle.

She didn't need me.  In fact, I felt left out at this point.  "Honey, do you mind if I shoot?" I asked.  "In a second.  Can you grab me more bullets, please?" she says.  I thought I would be the boss out here and I was wrong.  "Dirty Harriet" is blowing shit away and barking orders like a gunnery sergeant.  "More ammo, Dudley!  I ain't got all day!  Load that magazine and do it now!"

I told her, "Honey, my finger hurts from loading all of the magazines.  Can I please shoot for a minute."  Gunny Dudley replies, "Well holy shit!  Little Bricey's finger hurts!  Let's just stop the war while Bricey goes in search of some TLC!  What in the hell do you think this is!!!  Ammo!  Now!  Go, go, go!"

Now, I didn't serve in the military and I know damned well she didn't either.  She may have missed her calling.  "The action is clear, the range is cold!  Move those targets!"  This went on until we ran out of ammo and then I got my ass chewed for that!  "No ammunition?  What in the hell is going on here?!?!  How are we to defend ourselves without ammunition?"  I was at a loss for words.

She managed to calm herself only to the point of jumping around and clapping again.  "Were doing this again, right?"

Never in a million years did I think that she would enjoy this that much.  As it turns out, every new shooter I have had the pleasure of working with feels about the same way!  (Minus barking orders and chewing my ass about ammo shortages.)

Hope you guys enjoyed the story.  Little Schwarzkopf ordered me to get on with some KP and doing something about acquiring more ammunition.  I'd better get my ass on that, now that she knows how to shoot!

Fighting a boxer

Many years ago, I had the horrible misfortune of being in a bit of a scrape with a boxer.  I'm not talking about the kind of guy who joins a boxing aerobics class and thinks he is learning to box, nor am I talking about the type of guy who pays an athletic trainer to make him think he is training like a boxer.

No.  What I am talking about is much different specimen.  I'm talking about the type of guy who wants to learn how to box.  This guy goes to a boxing gym, filled with other boxers and does this of his own free will.  This guy spends hours on end trying to master his craft.  He spars with other boxers.  He works on his footwork, his stamina and his agility.  He works on slipping punches and works on throwing effective counter punches.  He also works on defense, something you would never learn about in an aerobics class.

Now, I'm not a tough guy.  I have not been in too many fights.  In fact, I am not a big fan of me being in fights.  As it turns out, that shit hurts.  I guess I am old enough to realize that now.  When you encounter a regular guy who wants to fight, most lack the essential skills to stick around long.  Most don't know how to throw a proper punch.  Testament to that thought is, I've managed to keep my teeth in my mouth, in their original position.  More importantly, these people typically don't look like they know what they are doing.  They just start swinging for the fences and one of a few things will happen.  They will gas out after flailing around for 20 seconds, they will get lucky and connect once or twice, or they will get throttled with a straight punch right up the middle.  None of that silly shit is going to happen when you fight a boxer.  Nope.  Not a bit of it.

I can't remember what exactly started the fight.  I think my boxer friend tactfully removed that from my memory while moving both of my eyebrows around on my forehead.  Knowing me in my younger years, I'd suggest that I was running my gums about something, he objected then I said one last thing that got under his skin.

What I do remember is this.  He squared up with me, real quick... as if Micheal Buffer was just done announcing our names to everybody in the arena and the referee was going to give us fight instructions.  There was no Michael Buffer, no arena and frankly no referee.  His chin went down, his hands came up and just by the way he did that alerted me to the fact that I was going to have my hands full.

I admit, he caught me off guard.  He didn't look like he knew what he was doing.  Man, was I wrong about that and I'd learn that lesson in about 9 seconds.  He bobbed 2-3 times as if I were already throwing punches and then it happened.  Left, right, left.  It was a left jab, straight right and a left hook even before I could get my hands up!  Right eyebrow, busted!  Left eyebrow, busted!  Left hook to the chin and out went the lights.....

So, when a professional ass whipping is administered in this fashion, nothing hurts.  You don't feel a thing but you do oddly remember the look on the guys face and each punch right before it ricochets off of your face.  Uhm, he looked serious, by the way.  Kind of like he knew what he was doing.

I could only tell that the beat down was over because my head was no longer bouncing around on my shoulders, and as the lights began to come back on, I found myself in a compromised position.  I was on my hands and knees, a fair amount of blood coming mostly from my right eyebrow and I had the spins.  I could hear people talking and I could feel someone trying to stand me up.  The fog began to clear a bit more.  It dawned on me that I had been issued an official, professional ass whoop and someone had come to my rescue.

I remember thinking, "who is this person, gracious enough to put an end to the savage beating I just took?"  I wiped some more blood from my eye and at the same time hoped the guy who beat me up got run over by the space shuttle or some shit.  Who was standing in front of me?  The guy who just beat my ass...  "You're gonna be all right," he said, "but you're going to want to get that eyebrow looked at."  He turned me around, somehow pointed me in the direction of my truck and said, "Have a nice night, okay?"

I stepped off the curb and stuffed my finger tip into the hole in my eyebrow.  I thought, "not only did this guy beat me senseless, he also knows when a fellow needs about 8 stitches."  I took his advice and headed towards the hospital.  The first thing they asked was, "what happened?"  The next thing they asked was, "Have you been drinking?"  I hadn't but I wish I had a cold one right about then.  I told them I got beat up but "my opponent was good natured and well mannered enough to pick me up, dust me off, give me some medical advice and pointed me in the right direction to get it."

8 stitches in one eyebrow, 3 stitches in the other and two ice bags later, I was sent home to nurse my wounds.  I sat there and kept going over the course of events.  "How could this have gone so wrong?'' It took playing the loop over in my mind about 10 times, but I figured it out.  My mouth sent an invitation to a party that I had no business throwing.

Since then, I have caught myself randomly asking people if they are professional boxers before I go and say something stupid.  I think I owe that to myself.  Call me a hard learner, but I now know what the professor looks like at the school of hard knocks.