Fan Fiction

See you in a bit, I’m headed to AutoZone!” exclaimed Jared to his fiance Karen. “Didn’t you already get the Punisher decals and that huge chrome Calvin urinating on the Toyota symbol last week?” she replied. “Hell yeah I did, I gotta upgrade to the racing brake pads though… for safety” he barely managed to say without a smirk. “Alright.. well just don’t go overboard.” Karen felt she had to add, as Jared already had one foot out the door.

In the driveway Jared’s newest beast was waiting; A 2020 F-350 XL SUPER DUTY with the V8 Powerstroke. He hopped in and hit the push button start… Nothing happened. He hit it again and heard a click. Not in the least bit phased or frustrated he pushed the button a third time and the truck spurted then gurgled to life. “Must be the new anti-theft system they told me about at the dealers, sweet!” impressed, he said to himself. Jared put the truck into reverse, backing out of the driveway and almost hitting his fiance’s Nissan Leaf. The drive to the AutoZone was uneventful, except for two police cars speeding past him in the opposite direction on the highway. Jared touched his hand to the base of the grip on his IWB Glock 21, knowing that someday… somewhere when the boys in blue ever needed backup he would gladly oblige. He didn’t shoot much, but he watched enough YouTube videos to know he was a deadly asset.

The AutoZone parking lot was surprisingly empty for a Sunday afternoon; a blessing in disguise considering Jared couldn’t park the truck properly to save his life. Backing into a large spot (to make a quick exit if need be), he still managed to hop the curb and press the rear bumper against an already struggling sapling on the outskirts of a flower bed. Oblivious to all of this, Jared put 5.11 A.T.A.C.’s to asphalt and briskly walked towards the entrance. “It ain’t me… it ain’t me… I ain’t no senator’s son…” CCR played quietly over the outdoor intercom speakers as Jared grabbed the door handle “I AIN’T NO FORTUNATE ONEEEEEEE NAHHHHHW. Hey Fellas!” Jared sung out as a portly looking worker covered in motor oil who was messily eating a gas station style hoagie, briefly diverted his eyes upwards from the classified section of the newspaper. “I’m looking for new brake pads for my 2020 F-350 XL SUPER DUTY… what you got?” Jared inquired. The man never looked up again, but a teen girl emerged from the back and asked him to repeat his question. “Oh yea the 3F 50.. Riiiiight I’ve heard those things are rough on brakes” the girl said. “Oh, no it’s brand new I just wanted something steeped in performance. What are my options?” asked Jared. Thinking back to her training last week, of always maximizing the sale and profiling the customer with dead giveaways and playing off those to sell the high margin products, the girl paused… “You look like you work out… I mean like, you look strong. You a cop?” Despite the fact that Jared was not Law Enforcement this absolutely made his entire day. “People ask me that a lot” (Note: no one ever has… not even once) “I’m a sheepdog if you know what that is… basically the same thing.” continued Jared. “I knew it!” the girl said, half flirting with him at this point. “Do you know Stop Tech? We just got these new brake pads in that are absolutely made for protectors like yourself. I’ll go grab them from the back, don’t go anywhere k?” Jared definitely wasn’t going anywhere. The girl emerged holding a box; while walking towards him she read “Engineered for extreme conditions….” Jared cut her off “Wait.. does that say tactical? Are they thin and blue?” The girl knew this sale was in the bag; “You bet! You even kind of look like the guy on the box ha ha” she replied. “Haha I kinda do. I’ll take them.” replied Jared. “Quick response for first responders…” he read out loud off the box while she scanned the barcode. “It is a good idea to splurge on these little things that help me protect better.” he said, which at this point fell on uninterested ears. 📷 @the__nicholas__christian

Hope you guys enjoyed that, thanks for reading… hopefully you got a laugh or two.  The fellas on Instagram absolutely lose their mind over these, so I’m going to try to do them more often.



I looked at this pic, and almost immediately created this Sheepdog fan fiction you can read below:

Kyle pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western PLUS, making a hard left then pounding the gas pedal once; making the nearly bald tires on the Crew Cab Dodge Ram 1500 4×4 chirp loudly. Coming to an abrupt stop under the awning at the entrance, Kyle carelessly flung his door open hitting the shuttle bus next to him. He hopped out, both of his Coyote colored 5.11 combat boots hitting the ground at the same time; slamming the Ram door closed with such force it’s incredible the window didn’t shatter. This got the attention of a weathered looking lady chain smoking on the bench at his 2:00. As Kyle squeezed his girthy midsection between his truck and the bus, he glanced over at the woman and their eyes met. “The BW PLUS amirite? *rubbing his fingers together to represent big money* Not that broke regular BW shit.” he commented, impressing her with his wit. She laughed and started to reply after finishing a massive drag of her cigarette, but was interrupted by a coughing fit followed by the need to snort and spit a viscous red, grey, and green mixture of fluids on the ground as Kyle walked past her towards the hotel entrance. Realizing she was actually younger than he originally thought; “that’s a baaaaaaadd woman”, Kyle said quietly to himself as the two automatic doors sensed his presence and opened wide.

Once inside the maroon and dark wood lobby, he was greeted by a female staff member. “Checking in sir?” she said in a cheerful tone. “YUP” Kyle replied as he approached her, fumbling through his left cargo pocket. He fished around amongst the dip container, keys, flashlight, extra Ruger magazine, custom handkerchief, knucks, lighter, pen, multitool, paracord monkeyfist, cell phone, and folding knife until finally locating his RFID blocking custom EDC wallet containing his ID and credit card. It was one of those complicated wallets with bungee cords and multiple pieces, which ended up being a big production every time it was opened… Kyle loved it though. As he flipped the one retaining bungee cord off of its notch to deploy the cards, the BW girl caught a glimpse of one of his forearm tattoos. “Mow-lawn-lay-bee? Is that how you say it? That’s one of those Conservative gun things?” she asked. “Mow-lawn-law-bay… come and take them. It’s from that movie 300.” he replied, his face lighting up. “ …and yea I’ve been known to put booger hook to bang switch occasionally.” he said modestly while smirking. “We have CNN on all day here… what do you think about Trump’s new comment on silencers?” she asked. Impressed that this girl seemed to be an ally, Kyle was more than happy to talk shop with her. “Honestly, I ain’t too worried about it… Trump man… My president knows things we don’t. I trust the guy.” he said as he took a deep breath and adjusted to a more authoritative body posture. “Look, I have lotsa silencers” he continued… “but I never wore ear plugs for shooting before I had them, and I can hear fine. If they give me what I paid, for what I got.. then yea I’ll give em back. Won’t affect me none. I’ll keep on shooting. I just worry about the neighbors waking up ahhaha” he laughed. “Oh ok, good to hear sir. Anyways, your room is ready… it’s by the pool #762, down the hallway past the ice machine, then on your left. Enjoy your stay.” “Whut? I’m sorry I couldn’t hear what you said Miss, can you repeat that?” Kyle asked. She repeated the room number and directions loudly back to him in the quiet empty lobby. “762, hell yea thank you. Catch you in Valhalla. I’ll go move my truck” he said nodding once politely, then pivoting on his right foot 180 degrees surprisingly quickly before making his way back towards his parked truck.


Thoughts? 😂


You used to shoot to get away from drinking.  Now apparently… 😬😬😬.  I wrote a fan fiction I hope you’ll cringe reading:

“MODELOS FOR THE FELLAS. PACIFICOS FOR THE…” Brian paused briefly, hoping his girlfriend Carly would finish his sentence; she didn’t. Brian continued emphatically “HOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES” as he attempted a shuffleboard style slide of the Pacifico he just opened across the wooden table to her. Barely out of his reach, the beer hit a knot in the wood and toppled over, spilling in Carly’s direction. “Brian!?! It’s 10:30AM what the hell are you even doing?” she yelled, pushing her cereal aside; grabbing the still foaming bottle cupping her hand under it as she walked briskly to the sink. “It’s a big day today, I gotta get loose for the audit.” he reminded her. “Oh right, the audit” she said supportively, but with a layer of disappointment in her voice. Brian nodded, taking another swig of his Modelo before blowing into the breathalyzer he recently picked up at a gas station. 0.06% – almost there he thought. He liked to keep the blood alcohol level at around the 0.07 – 0.075% mark when doing a 2nd Amendment audit. It was just one more thing to troll the police on. A real teachable “gotcha” type moment. Oh to see the looks on their faces when they ask if you’ve been drinking, and you say yes… then they breathalyze you and see you haven’t broken the legal 0.08% limit. Priceless, thought Brian. Today he was taking it a few levels further. Not only would he smell of alcohol, but he would be open carrying an AR-15 pistol with a brace on it and a FN FNX .45 on his hip. In addition to that it was around 50 degrees out, so he decided it would be a perfect time to rock an all black balaclava with sunglasses, and a woodland camouflage jacket he painted the punisher head onto. “Oh man the cops and civilians are going to learn a LOT about freedom today hahah” Brian cackled. Carly remained unimpressed as she continued to clean up the mess left by the spilled beer. “I better get this show on the road, Papa Johns needs me for deliveries at lunch” Brian said as he slipped his bottle charger charging handle bottle opener back into the AR-15 pistol, rising from his seat to collect his fully charged GoPro and other supplies before heading out to the park to perform the audit.

“Everything is coming up Brian” he said under his breath as he pulled his JEEP up to an empty parking spot on the side of the road directly in front of the play structure. Brian figured he would walk a short loop around that area, then over the bridge and around the pond. It shouldn’t take longer than that for the police response he thought. As he sat unnoticed in the JEEP, he pulled the ski mask over his head and slid on his Oakley Gascan sunglasses. He did up his jacket tightly, then clipped the GoPro into its pocket mount, pressing the button and waiting for the red light to show it was recording. For effect, Brian placed the AR-15 pistol in the passenger seat. Exiting the vehicle, he walked around back heading to the passenger side – loudly clearing his throat and spitting on the ground. In his limited peripheral vision, he could see several moms at the play structure area taking notice. Brian opened the passenger side door to grab his AR-15 pistol, and with it in hand slammed the hollow JEEP door loudly then pressed the lock button on the key fob twice so the horn honked. Several moms were frozen in horror at this point, while Brian methodically threw the sling strap over his head, then tightened the pistol closer to his chest while walking slowly in their direction.


If you like the bottle opener in the picture, as I mentioned it’s by Bottle Charger.  I think it goes without saying that the company is veteran owned.  By that I mean these really “niche” ones all are.  The pricing on the site is confusing at first glance, but I’m sure if you want one you’ll figure it out somehow.  Maybe it’s $37.99 plus another $7.90 for shipping?  Who knows.  I have no idea how to actually add one to the cart either.  Something they should probably look into making easier.

On a related note, the fan fiction is actual a prequel to a real life situation that happened; the whole “2nd Amendment Audit” thing.  I swear this fan fiction writes itself, the world contains a lot of cringy characters doing WILDLY cringy things.




A couple people sent me this pic, so I had to do another Sheepdog Fan Fiction.

“They don’t want this smoke!” Charles muttered as he strutted on the deck, vaguely motioning to the outside world while looking over at Irene, his wife of 65 years. “Isn’t that what our grandson DeShawn says?” he asked. Irene entirely missed what he said, but looked up.. shook her head yes.. smiled.. then looked back down at her Reader’s Digest. “I’ll tell you whUT, if the sound of me putting one in the chamber doesn’t scare them away, or the birdshot doesn’t kill em, then the 1911 will finish the job.” he said as he removed the no-frills GI series Rock Island Armory .45 from the Uncle Mike’s nylon holster his left hip. He proceeded to press check it 5 or 6 times, not because he was old and forgetful, but rather since recently getting a desktop computer he noticed that on “website tv” all the young kids were doing that. “Your tea is getting cold” Irene warned, to which he rolled his eyes and gingerly placed the 1911 back in its holster before going to join her on the patio set. As he sat down pain jolted through his right side, specifically his leg “AHagggggggghhhhgHHGHG Irene my leg! Call 911 I think I’m having a.. a stroke!”. Irene frantically put down the Reader’s Digest and rose from her seat to get the phone from inside the house. She looked over at Charles to make sure he was at least good enough to be alone for the few seconds he would be out of her sight. She noticed something… the shotgun holster straps… “Hey Charley…” she said barely able to contain her laughter. “Get that sorted out with your tight holster straps and you’ll be fine… idiot.” she said as she went to sit back down. “Tip of the spear… isn’t that what you and Clarence call each other from back in the day?” she said said chuckling as he fiddled with the leather straps looking relieved but unamused.

👴👴👴 📷blackacestactical via @these_dying_lights @deishell09



Had to do another one after hundreds of you sent me the picture:

“Did you remember to pack food?” Kim yelled from the kitchen to Scott, her husband of 5 years. “Kim. Please, I got this.” he replied in what his wife would describe as a tone. If there’s one thing that got under his skin, it was when Kim played the role of the concerned mother. “I’m a prepper and a Sheepdog for God’s sake…” Scott mumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he bent down to tie the laces on his pristine white Nike Air Monarchs, only spoken loud enough for their french bulldog (Leonidas) and the baby, Finnigan Gaston in close proximity to hear. Finnigan was his wife’s idea… the compromise was Gaston (an obvious homage to Glock) as a middle name. Scott went through his usual mental checklist every time he took Finnigan out for a walk:

✓ Plate carrier with baby holding compartment
✓ Serpa retention holster with the FNS .40 loaded with G2 Research R.I.P Ammo
✓ Progressive lenses with aftermarket anti-wolf coating
✓ Snacks (formula for Finnigan – Gushers, lemon LaCroix, and beef jerky for himself)
✓ Diapers and wipes

Scott did a quick COMMs check, looking at the screen and verifying that his iPhone 6s was indeed connected to the 4G network. “Alright Finnigan, you ready to rock & roll?” Scott said into the baby bassinet as he picked the little guy up, placing him in the plate carrier compartment. “Be still sweet prince… shhhhhh…” Scott whispered to Finnigan and kissed him on the forehead as the boy fussed a bit. Lastly Scott removed the FNS .40 from the Serpa, doing a quick press check before grabbing his house key dangling from the thin-blue-line sheepdog “flock protector” emblazoned lanyard, hanging on the artisan wrought iron hooks near the front door light switch. “Remember, If we’re not back in one hour, call SWAT for assistance Kimberly. I don’t want you out there looking for me with wolves prowling around. Let my fellow men of arms handle it. I love you!” Scott said as he opened the front door, miming throwing a flashbang onto the porch before conducting Finnigan’s EXFIL.



I wrote another one:

Robert did a full 360 degree threat scan and checked all mirrors before assessing it as safe, then clicked on his left turn signal to change lanes. Salt Lake City tended to straddle the thin wolf-grey colored line between order and chaos as most large cities do… a non-permissive wolf-eat-sheep environment thought Robert. They were all mutton and they didn’t even know it. When his transition into the far left lane completed, the traffic light unexpectedly changed from amber to red. He forcibly hit the brakes, slowing the massive Tacoma’s roll; barely stopping before the rear bumper of the Chevrolet Volt in front of him. The little hairs on the back of Robert’s neck began to stand up… he was too close. Too close to the Volt to perform a standard evasive maneuver if need be. The curb to the left was obviously not an issue for the incredibly high factory lift on the Tacoma… the issue was the Ford Raptor behind him left him no room to back up, and knew he didn’t have the turning radius to pop out. Damn. Robert knew this was a rookie mistake. He needed a plan of action, and he needed one quick. This Costco run (or OPERATION KIRKLAND as he preferred to call it) was the primary sustenance target on the list of objectives his wife had given him. Too easy, Robert thought as he chuckled under his breath. If need be he would perform what he liked to call “the shepherd’s hook”; an evasive maneuver where he would slam the beastly 3.5 liter V6 into reverse smashing into the Ford Raptor behind him, pushing it back several feet. He would then shift into drive, crank his steering wheel all the way to the left and use every ounce of that 278 HP to rocket over the curb fishtailing a U-turn to expediently Golf Tango Foxtrot Oscar (GTFO). His heart pounded as he kept checking on the status of the traffic light… situational awareness at peak while continuing to scan his environment. A homeless man who was begging for money on the median further back was advancing to his position rapidly. Instinctively Robert’s hand went for the Springfield XD gripzone area protruding from his IWB Nylon holster, as he kept watch in the left side mirror. “Easyyyyy.. easy….” Robert said aloud, partially as reaffirmation to himself to keep his cool, and partially hoping that it would telekinetically cause the homeless man to slow his roll. Glancing back and forth between the advancing homeless man in the side mirror and the traffic light, Robert’s heart pounded even faster. He tightened his grip on the aptly named zone, readying himself for action. Suddenly a savior.. the glowing left pointing green arrow of hope appeared. The Chevy Volt quickly made its way through the intersection, with Robert rolling at a safe distance behind. He laughed morbidly that he would live to die another day, as he made a sharp right into FOB COSTCO. 📷: @mottleycrew65 @maisonhorne

I put it up on instagram last week, and people really liked it.

I’m going to be looking more into publishing these into a book format.  Seems like people are liking them more than I ever expected.  I have a great time writing them; thank you to those of you who take the time to read!  I know they are a bit longer than my usual posts.