Okay, this is one of those “gun related” Public Service Announcements the moderators will probably pull but I have to try.
Most of us on this forum are men and – like men everywhere – we’re TOUGH!! We look at our own eventual demise with the same sort of Wagnerian philosophy made popular by ‘Rambo,’ ‘The terminator’ and before them, countless western heros, not the least of whom was John Wayne. We’re ready to meet Death out in the street and if we do go down it’ll be after one heluva fight.
Well let me tell you a little secret guys; except for an infinitesimally small number of us, Death won’t look like Jack Palance with six-guns slung low on his hip. But he isn’t going to come to us dressed in a robe with his face hidden and a lethal-looking scythe in his hand either. He’ll look more like Ronald McDonald when he comes to take you away. Instead of plugging your heart with a lead slug he’ll do it with a bunch of grease and a salt shaker.
And you’ll welcome him.
I’ve been away for a couple of weeks. I don’t post a lot so I doubt I was missed but I missed you. I had a heart attack, five by-passes, a couple of infections and a whole lot of time to reflect. I figured I was a tough as any of you until I woke up, unable to talk, with my wife standing over me wearing a hospital issued plastic smile and tears in each eye. The Doctors told me that recovering from open-heart surgery is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do but they’re wrong; it’s much harder to admit that your inconsiderate actions have hurt someone else, someone you promise a long time ago to protect from this sort of pain.
Well, I’m going to survive for a few more years but here’s where guns come into the story. In order to get to my heart, the surgeon had to run a circular saw up my sternum so he could spread my ribs. The edges of that bone are now being held together with a couple of feet of stainless-steel wire until they knit. Until that knitting is complete, in about three months, I can’t shoot. The recoil would rip the edges apart again and reset my clock for another three months. So if you enjoy your range time (and we all do) watch what you eat.
By the way, I don’t need sympathy – I need my ass kicked.
Most of us on this forum are men and – like men everywhere – we’re TOUGH!! We look at our own eventual demise with the same sort of Wagnerian philosophy made popular by ‘Rambo,’ ‘The terminator’ and before them, countless western heros, not the least of whom was John Wayne. We’re ready to meet Death out in the street and if we do go down it’ll be after one heluva fight.
Well let me tell you a little secret guys; except for an infinitesimally small number of us, Death won’t look like Jack Palance with six-guns slung low on his hip. But he isn’t going to come to us dressed in a robe with his face hidden and a lethal-looking scythe in his hand either. He’ll look more like Ronald McDonald when he comes to take you away. Instead of plugging your heart with a lead slug he’ll do it with a bunch of grease and a salt shaker.
And you’ll welcome him.
I’ve been away for a couple of weeks. I don’t post a lot so I doubt I was missed but I missed you. I had a heart attack, five by-passes, a couple of infections and a whole lot of time to reflect. I figured I was a tough as any of you until I woke up, unable to talk, with my wife standing over me wearing a hospital issued plastic smile and tears in each eye. The Doctors told me that recovering from open-heart surgery is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do but they’re wrong; it’s much harder to admit that your inconsiderate actions have hurt someone else, someone you promise a long time ago to protect from this sort of pain.
Well, I’m going to survive for a few more years but here’s where guns come into the story. In order to get to my heart, the surgeon had to run a circular saw up my sternum so he could spread my ribs. The edges of that bone are now being held together with a couple of feet of stainless-steel wire until they knit. Until that knitting is complete, in about three months, I can’t shoot. The recoil would rip the edges apart again and reset my clock for another three months. So if you enjoy your range time (and we all do) watch what you eat.
By the way, I don’t need sympathy – I need my ass kicked.
