True story, way back in the day, when I worked security downtown Oaktown, this eejit figgered I had been peeping on his wife or gf, or whatever, I don't know, nor do I give a fuck. I was actually fucking this other chick that lived there, and a few others that lived in the first floor would actually get naked and watch TV in front of their sliding glass doors as a come on.
Anyways, this asshole pissed me off one too many times, and that's when I bought my first handgun, an 1851 confederate navy blackpowder revolver (this particular model was a favorite of Wyatt Earp, which is an absolute coincidence, because I have no respect for that cowardly asshole braggart). After listening to him complain a few times about how I was peeping on his bitch, who lived on the second floor, BTW, and was a fucking cow anyways, he comes up to me drinking wine, spouts some shit, and breaks the glass he's drinking from against the wall. At that point, I spring into the isoceles stance, go into my jacket, pop the strap, and get ready to bust out the steel. I don't know, nor do I care if he actually thought I was trying to watch his bitch naked; but he never said shit to me after that, and that's why guns rock.
No comments:
Post a Comment