Monday, February 24, 2003

OK, it finally happened... I ran outta Cheetos. So enjoy:

Woo Style.

I knew there was trouble the moment I knocked on Greg's door. Behind the door all I could hear was someone murmuring. The tone was low, guttural, like that of a beast. Hesistant. I opened the door... only to find Greg stroking his brand new 9mm pistol. He looked like a man possessed. Feral, ravenous, reeking of gunpowder. He kept chanting, "I am the Angel of Darkness, I am the Angel of Darkness."

The place was a mess. It looked like World War III had broken out and someone forgot to tell his neighbours. The walls were riddled with bullet holes. Chalk outlines littered the floors. The stench of death lingered in the air. Body bags strewn about. Hell, A smoking crater was all that was left of the apartment next door! Greg's only explanation was, "They are all against me. They all must pay!"

Snowman did his job well. Perhaps a bit too well. You see, he had gotten Greg into this little hobby and now Greg's better armed than the local law enforcement. By the way, Snowman's leaving town. Fully aware of the monster he is about to unleash on the public. Clever. Very clever...

A menacing gleam flashed across the newf's eyes, "See how easy it is Tuan? This is the trigger - and this is the thing you point at what you want to diiiieee!"

"Greg... put the gun down.", I pleaded. To which Greg replied: "From my cold dead hands! Bitch!" Then he jumped up on what was left of the coffee table and shouted, "Foo! you bes not be messin wit mah gat! Now dance mothafuckah!" He had me in his sights. I leapt for the shotgun lying on the floor. I knew the madness had to end... Here. Now.

A firefight ensued the likes of which John Woo had never seen. I dove for cover while Greg proceeded to go Chow Yun-Fat on my ass. I was deafened by the hail of gun fire. The last thing I heard before it all went black was - "No women. No kids."


Well ok, maaaybee it didn't go quite exactly like that. Now that I think about it. It was more like this:

Ambiguous Style.

So I was over at Greg's place and right away he proceeded to show me his piece. He was quite proud of his new toy and kept stroking it gently. He assured me the outer shell was made of plastic, not latex. And that it was not prone to go off in my hands. His piece was quite rigid and firm to the touch. Indeed. Greg had erected a fine piece. I was quite amazed by the heft of it for a 9mm unit.

Later. Snowman dropped by and they proceeded to discuss at great length, the size of their respective gun barrels. A war of words soon broke out, but in the end Greg finally admitted that although his was shorter it was about as thick. Get this. They even gave names to their pieces. Greg calls his "Smith & Wesson" and Snowman likes to refer to his piece as "Luger". Odd.

We all stood there, admiring each other's pieces. I took a good look at Snowman's piece and it was made of metal. I thought that rather strange until he assured me most men conceal their metal pieces. I asked why would you need to conceal it. He told me it was a criminal offense to wave your piece around in public. You could put an eye out...

The moral of the story? Never touch another man's piece unless he gives you permission.

By TVT - 6:43 p.m. |

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