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Stigalicious
By briantologist | March 28, 2004
I’d officially like to apologize to Stigler, Oklahoma, for my lack of enthusiasm at visiting it yesterday. I’m not gonna say it was nonstop fun, but it might well have been pretty close.
Where to begin? Lunch kicked ass, and included hominy with Velveeta, some surprisingly tasty lemon cake, and the bombest-ass steak fingers I’ve ever had the privilege of consuming. And how best to cap off a lunch that awesome? Why, with busting off some caps, of course! At the Stigler memorial strip pits, which amount to a man-made lake about the size of a football field, the shores of which are strewn with both spent shells and garbage of every variety. It’s perfect, because people take their old crap out there and shoot at it with guns, and then the next bunch of people who come along don’t have to bring as much old crap out there to shoot at, ’cause there’s already old crap to shoot at out there. It’s like a coop.
A bit of scavenging yielded excellent targets: Various brightly colored shotgun shells and soda bottles, and even four totally intact beer bottles � a rare find, I don’t have to tell you. But Darleece’s awesome cousin Miz H., investigating a nearby crick/ditch, topped this garbage by a mile. Hearing laughter after emptying two clips from Uncle D’s Russian Military 9mm into an old TV set (louder than anything I have ever experienced in my life; my ears immediately started ringing in a whole different way than they usually do), I turned around to see Miz H. carrying an entire creepy baby doll, loaded diaper dangling from one of its legs.
Needless to say, we went straight to work, propping up said baby doll with some sticks and the last intact beer bottle, while uncle David worked out the exact scenario we’d be shooting under (“The diaper’s filled with explosives and rusty nails, she’s heading for a schoolyard, and you can’t hit the beer bottle. It’s gotta be a kill shot.”). After Darleece and her dad both let the school kids die, Miz H., who’s working on her Master’s in English Literature, heard her old man say “Straight through that right eye,” and proceeded to plant a .22 shell right in the eye of that murderous baby doll from 30 yards away. Miz H. and Uncle D. are the best shots I have ever seen in my life, I’d like to go on record as saying. Not to puff myself up or anything, as my own shooting was less than stellar to say the least, but I did manage to stop that fucking doll with a spot-on JFK shot right through the throat. (She went back and to the left, so help me god. Back, and to the left … back, and to the left …)
Some slow-moving people bent on fishing in the strip pits ended our shooting spree, but before we left, I noticed, among the various other refrigerator doors and basketball goals, what could only be an intact spinal column and ribcage in the crick/ditch. Darleece boldly investigated, and discovered it was a deer, not a murder victim. One hoof/foreleg was detached and petrified, making it an effective pointing device � “That oughta quiet those story time kids down,” said Mr. T., Darleece’s dad, a seasoned educator who knows from kids, let me tell you.
Tomorrow: Part II.
Topics: Fucking Awesome | 7 Comments »
March 29th, 2004 at 7:26 am
This story, which made me laugh inappropriately at work, is a pretty good illustration of the usual difference in attitudes towards gun control in dense East or West Coast cities versus those of, um, everyone else… I’d be a little unhappy with people shooting garbage in town, but I’m fine with it in the suburbs/rural areas of Maryland… and I definitely don’t have a problem with someone in Wyoming having a rifle to scare bears off their porch…
March 29th, 2004 at 9:00 am
I’m glad to know my unborn children are safe as long as you’re around.
March 29th, 2004 at 9:33 am
Dude, that suicide bombing baby ain’t getting anywhere near your kid’s elementary school. Not while Miz H. and I are around.
March 29th, 2004 at 9:41 am
I was about to nail the baby with the 9 when the fisherman showed up. I’m a little cheesed. Also, I’m a good shot too, you know!
March 29th, 2004 at 10:46 am
We used to go to a nearby quarry (partially flooded at the time) and throw in a bunch of plastic bottles and aluminum cans. They were transformed into enemy landing craft that we had to keep from reaching shore.
March 29th, 2004 at 1:41 pm
That reminds me of the good times spent with my grandfather bustin some shotgun caps at ducks, deer and other assorted wildlife in the backwoods of Arkansas. Needless to say, given my beliefs in guns and killing things (unless they are shitty people) I didn’t hit anything. But I can’t say if that was on purpose or becuase I sucked.
Here’s to shootin guns in the woods. WOOHOOO.
Cheers
June 9th, 2004 at 10:31 am
Oh man, the Stigler strip pits. We used to swim there about 25,30 years ago, and my dad probably brought one of his shotguns to pratice on whatever old Hamm’s cans were hanging out there.
Good to see traditions never change, except probably the swimming part. Shit, I bet no one dares dive down there now.