Armchair Commandos

To Infinite Stupidity and Beyond...

If there is one thing that has absolutely wrecked shooting, it is the scourge of the Armchair Commando. You know, the ones who know everything but are able to do nothing. I just can't stand it anymore. I'm sick sick sick of them. They're ruining something I've loved to do since I was a little kid. I've tried changing my environment, but they're nearly inescapable. Every time I go somewhere just to look at a new gun or buy a pound of powder, I have to endure some ignorant blowhard's line of BS. The shooting range by my old house was absolutely infested with them. They're one of the prime reasons why the shooting sports are in decline: the assholes are driving everyone off. People are just burnt out on this personality type. I don't think Liberals hate guns half as much as they hate these idiots - who have become the self-appointed ambassadors of the shooting sports.

This is an open letter to all the jerk-offs who have driven good people away from shooting by just being themselves.

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Dear Armchair Commando,

If you could break away from building that shrine to John Moses Browning, I would like to ask you a few questions.

1. Why in the hell do you care what gun/caliber I shoot? If it's not for you - fine, but why must you ALWAYS bitch about it? What possible stake do you have in my choices? Am I your personal bodyguard? Did it ever occur to you that my needs and priorities might differ from yours? I doubt it, but that doesn't stop you from droning on ad nauseum, spewing forth your worthless "knowledge" about how my gun/caliber is inaccurate, ineffective, or regurgitating whatever straw man argument you read in Guns and Ammo last month. GIVE IT A REST!!! I'd be scared shitless to a have Rob Leatham come after me with a .25 Auto, but I'm not sure I'd bother running if I saw you with a GE minigun. (I've seen you shoot. You're pathetic - even off a benchrest.)

2. Do you own any other clothing color other than camouflage? What gives? Is "The Enemy" in town for the weekend? Are you in the witness protection program? The GI Joe look was out by 1983. Get with the program. If you think you're reducing your visibility, think again. You could be wearing a Ghillie suit and I could still spot your fat ass 500 yards away. By the way, the KaBar hanging off the web gear makes you look even dumber.

3. What is up with your fascination about killing people? It's "kill...kill...kill," morning, noon, and night. Get help!!! It is NOT healthy. Can't you just enjoy shooting as a contest of skill once in a while?

4. What is with your obsession over trade rag "ballistics?" It's always the same tired crap: "....Stopping Power....Knockdown Power....Firepower...Terminal Ballistics....blah blah blah...." How many goddamn times can you read the same article and have the same conversation? Hey, stupid!!! It's all BULLSHIT!!!! It's all about ability. I don't care what the marketing people say; one can't buy talent. Quit trading the cow for magic bullets, accept reality and get over it.

5. Let's talk literacy. You're not doing the shooting sports any intellectual favors any time you write an article or make a post with the world's most atrocious spelling and grammar. (God forbid I should err here...) Get a dictionary - then OPEN it. Learn the difference between "their" and "they're" for crying out loud. You're just one more reason the media regards all gun owners as twits.

6. Why do you treat everyone of a non-white race or different nationality like total shit whenever they come to the range? Good God, man!! They don't want to steal your job or your barbecue; they just want to live the American dream. After living, oppressed, in some backward, f'ed up banana republic, newcomers want to be secure in their persons and homes. That equals gun ownership!! Immigrants and minorities aren't our enemies - they're our allies. Get over your prejudices. Welcome them!

Finally, I would just like to make one suggestion: If you can't seem to find a way to participate in the shooting sports in a positive, constructive and inclusive manner, why not just get hell out and leave the rest of us alone? I know that we need to show solidarity right now, but frankly, I'm willing to give the gun-rights trip a go without you. Let me know if you're interested & I'll pass the hat and we'll do a little gun-buyback program of our own.

Disgruntledly Yours,

Eric

France

(This is a rant that I wrote on a business trip 2 years ago. After about 4 days of rotten food, cramped cars, and filthy surroundings, I had had enough. I do like the French as people, but their country needs some serious work.)
Actual French cuisine is simply awful, by the way.
Going to France? Pack a lunch.
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France blows.

I couldn't wait to get here. Now, I can't wait to leave. This place is the pits. It's filthy, cramped, and totally disorganized. We should have just said to hell with it and let Hitler have this shithole - it wasn't worth the effort and it sure as hell wasn't worth my Uncle getting shot in the face over. (My condolences Uncle Ed.)

The Disenchanting Kingdom starts in Paris' Charles De Gaulle airport - which beats out Guadalajara, Philly and Chicago Midway for the world's most run-down, POS airport. A difficult feat indeed. I haven't flown into Nicaragua, Liberia or the Congo yet, so I may need to hold off before sending the trophy to Jacques Chirac.

The rest of the country, including most of Paris, consists of broken down shacks, trash-filled roadways, and graffiti covering every piece of infrastructure. It's just plain damned ugly. France has all the charm of a truck stop men's room. Want to see Paris? Save yourself the trouble and expense and just drive through East St. Louis. You'll never know the difference. For all their bitching about inadequacies of American culture, you'd think the French would have the presence of mind to pick up their garbage. But then again, these are the people that support one of the world's highest tax rates and bitch about unemployment. They may be cultured, but they sure aren't smart.

Speaking of culture, I really expected come here and be immersed in great culture. Well, nothing could be further from the truth. It's like I never left home. The French love McDonalds, Kellogg's Corn Flakes, and bad American movies. I had a better access to good French movies, music and culture at home. Damned if I can find any of it here.

Despite the fact that there is plenty of space available, the French have a penchant for sizing their country for midgets - whoa I'm sorry - I meant "little frog people." Pick anything. Cars, airplane seats, doorways, hotel rooms... Apparently, the median frog is about five feet tall and weighs about 120 lbs. I'm stocky, but not fat and I can barely fit into an elevator here. Everybody thinks I'm nuts because I keep taking the stairs. It's just that I've never experienced true claustrophobia until today.

Thinking about going to France to spend your hard-earned vacation dollars? Don't. Thank God my company is paying for this, or I'd want my money back.

The Marshall Plan was wasted here. We should have torched this dump 50 years ago and walked. At least the trash would have been taken care of.

Solicitors

(Some days you've just had enough. And, no, I didn't make any of this up.)
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On my way to the gym this afternoon, a bright young man showed up on my front walk. The Orkin man.

Would you be interested in our pest control services?

No, thank you.

Take care of it yourself?

Yes.What kind of bugs are you seeing?

Not many, besides the 18” long tarantulas that inhabit my crawl space.

Wow! What do you use to kill those?

I don’t use anything. I arranged a deal with government where they hover black helicopters over my house in the dead of night and flood my property with Radon and PCB’s.

And that kills the tarantulas?No, but it mutated them into very attractive, but slightly aggresive Labrador Retrievers. Heel Zuzu! Heel!

[I no sooner get back from the gym, and the candy girl shows up on my doorstep. I’m sweaty, stinky, and all I want is a shower.]

Would you like to buy some candy?

No, thank you.

You don’t eat candy?

I do.

Why not buy some candy from me?

Because I’ve had Willy Wonka imprisoned in my basement for the last six years and I ought to be selling you candy. I even have candy that will teach you how to read the “No Soliciting” sign at the entrance of the gated community that you have no business being in.

[Eventually I’m able to go upstairs and commune with the shower. No sooner do I get dried off and dressed when the phone rings. Clearly this is a conspiracy.]

Hello sir, this is (a female operator) from the Gas Company. You recently called our customer service office and we’d like you to evaluate your experience.

(Sigh…) O.K.

How do you rate our customer service during your phone call?

She was very nice.

What do you mean by “nice.”

She was nice.

Can you specifically describe the qualities that constitute “nice.”

She was courteous, knowledgeable, and prompt.

Thank you.

How do you rate the quality of the product provided by your electrical utility?

Huh?

How do you rate the quality of the product provided by your electrical utility?

You’re kidding, right?

No. Can you tell me how you like their product?

It’s electricity. It’s a commodity.

But, how do you like it, sir?

Why I just love it. In fact, I feel their electrons are much improved over those provided by my last electrical utility. We measured them with special testing apparatus and found that they are actually more electronegative than regular electrons.

Huh?Just write, “spunky electrons.”

O.K. Now, how do you rate the quality of the product provided by your gas company?

You’re shitting me.

No sir, I wouldn’t shit you.

Who are the brain dead morons that come up with these questions?

These questions are based on questions our customers ask most often.

Well, I absolutely LOVE the gas molecules that your company provides. They are far superior to the gas molecules provided by my last public utility. I’m especially impressed by how your company has been able to attach extra hydrocarbons to every molecule. I have actually decided to forsake all other combustible gas molecules in favor of yours.

That’s very flattering sir.

You’re quite welcome.

Has a gas company representative ever come to your home?

Yes.

How would you rate the quality of your representative?

He was nice.

Can you specifically describe the qualities that constitute “nice.” My supervisor wants to know what nice means.

Have your supervisor call me.

Sir?

Have your supervisor call me. I’ll be happy to explain what “nice” is, after which we’ll have a little chat about what the meaning of “is” is.

[Giggle] Alright sir. Now, if you could talk to directly to our President, what would be the one thing you tell him on how to improve our service.

I think he should go to ANWR, tap a hole, and run a gas pipeline directly from there to my house. And I want my gas to be free because I had such a splendid idea.

That’s wonderful! Usually everyone just tells me they want lower prices, but I have to ask them how. What’s ANWR, by the way?

Alaska National Wildlife Refuge. Happy to be of service.

Now, how do you think the gas company could better market our products and services?

This is a joke right?

No sir. No joke.

Some marketing schmuck making two hundred grand a year needs my input on how to do his job?

That's right.

O.K. Television ads. Lots of ‘em.

We should advertise on television?

Yes, but there are some other requirements. First, you’ll need dancing molecules.

Dancing…..molecules….sir?

Yes, and lots of them. See if Paul Allen will loan you the Blazer girls and glue balloons to them. But, just make sure you don’t get the dancing molecules around any dancing electrons. That makes for some dangerous business.

Yes sir.

And…one more thing. The advertisements must not contain any substantive information.

Sub-san-tive?

No. Sub-stan-tive. S-u-b-s-t-a-n-t-i-v-e

Er, alright sir, so no sub-san-tive information. I’m not sure what that means, sir.

Have your marketing exec give me a call. It’s a well-respected principle in the advertising industry. I’ll be happy to explain it to him.

O.K. Sir. Thank you so much. You’ve been so very helpful.

Any time, dear.

(W)ussies Who Won't Handprop

AKA: Pussies Who Won't Handprop








[Reader’s note: This rant was written while we were in the process of selling my father’s airplane, a Ryan PT-22 (a WWII vintage trainer ) - a process which turned out to be a total pain in the ass - as I had to waste one or two days of my time on every tire-kicker with a jumpseat pass who flew out to see it. Blessedly, the Ryan is now sold and has gone to an outstanding buyer who will be doing a show-winning-quality restoration.
For “safety” reasons, the Ryan originally came with a Model-T type of crank starter where you stuck a handle through a hole in the side of the engine cowl and turned the engine over with the crank. It was total bullshit and all it did was make the plane heavier. Any “safety” enhancement was illusory for various reasons. The first thing people did after the war was rip the crank starters out of the planes and lose 30+ lbs of dead weight. To start the aircraft, you just grab the prop and give it a gentle pull and, the gods of fuel-air mixture willing, the plane will start itself. Just like safe gun-handling, there are simple rules one follows for safe hand-propping. This system worked just swimmingly for over 60 years, until a bunch of brain-dead morons decided that they needed the crank-starters again.]

“I want to buy your Ryan.”

“Okay..”

“Do you have the crank starter for it?”

“No.”

“Where is it?”

“Probably rotting away in somebody’s old hangar somewhere. We have part of the engine assembly, but I haven’t seen the handle in a couple decades. The gear drive is long gone. You realize that nobody uses the cran.......”

“I WANT THE CRANK STARTER!”

“I don’t have one to give you. If you’d let me, I can show you how easy it is to handpro...”

“I NEED THE CRANK STARTER!”

(Sigh.....) “I don’t have one to give you.”

“I’m not going to hand prop.”

“But it’s not hard if you just let me show you. We tie down the tail of the aircraft and we also have a snubber to prevent the throttle from being bumped open. It’s just not that hard or very dangerous.”

“I’m just not strong enough to hand-prop.”

“You don’t need to be, there’s a technique if you’ll just let me show yo...”

“You think I’m a pussy because I want to use the crank starter.”

“I never said that.”

“But you think it. You think I’m a pussy don’t you?”

“Okay, you’re a pussy.”

“I can’t believe it! You want me to buy your airplane, and you’re calling me names?!”

“Okay, you’re not a pussy.”

“But you still THINK I’m a pussy.”

“Fine, you’re still a pussy.”

“I can’t believe you think I’m going to buy your airplane after you called me that!”

“I don’t recall ever saying I wanted you to buy the airplane.”

“You don’t want to sell your airplane?”

“I do.”

“You just don’t want to sell your airplane to ME. Is that it?!!”

“I never said that.”

“Do you really think I’m a pussy?”

“I know women who hand-prop their Ryans, so on that basis, I wouldn’t call you a pussy.”

“So now, I’m not good enough to be a pussy?!”

(sigh....)

“Well, I still need that crank starter. Where is it?”

“I told you, probably still in the same corner of the same hangar where somebody chucked it fifty years ago.”

“But which hangar?”

“You want a list of all old hangars between here and San Diego?”

“No. I want to know WHICH hangar it's in and preferably which corner.”

“You realize that by now it’s probably rusted into nothing.”

“I want the crank starter!”

“I just don’t have one to give you.”

“Fine! I’m going home.”

(And good riddance, you big pussy.)