Fan Fiction

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.

PS:

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.

Thoughts?

 

COMMENT

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

Thoughts?

COMMENT

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.

Thoughts?

COMMENT

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.

COMMENT

Oregon is on fire (figuratively and literally).  Instructor Zero is me:

Here’s a quick Sheepdog fan fiction I whipped up for you fellas:

The small wiener dog gasps for air as I pull his heat-exhausted limp body through the window frame of the 2008 Chevy Malibu.  The crowd in the Walmart parking lot that gathered around me cheers, yelling “Hip Hip Horayyyyy” as I put my FABARM STF-12 on safe and take a knee.  I pour cool water into my hand and bring it to the long K-9s mouth; his tongue lapping it up… life coursing back into him.  “Not today my friend… not today” I whisper as I gently pet his small head.  I hear a scuffle… people yelling… 1 woman…2 women… a whole bunch of citizens coming to my defense.  The aggressor / vehicle owner pushes their way through the crowd to confront me.  “WE WuZ JUST IN THERE FOR A MINUTE.  YOU OWE $200 FOR THAT WINDOW.” an emaciated looking woman with rotten teeth yells at me, getting all up in my face.  Still down one one knee next to her dog, I remain calm.  “Miss, it’s 108 degrees out.”  I say as I look down at the dog who is now wagging his tail and see that his ID tag reads Weenie.  “Weenie wouldn’t have lasted another 2 minutes, my work here is done.” I say.  “BuT MUH WINDOW?!” she replies earnestly.  I pet Weenie’s long body one last time, say a quick goodbye and good luck to him before getting back into my Tacoma in an adjacent parking spot.  Weenie’s owner screaming obscenities at me, and the crowd cheering in my honor; I gingerly reverse the massive SR5… navigating expertly, even with the limited visibly due to the 24″ diameter punisher head decal and full length thin blue line on the rear window.

Thoughts?  You practicing some glass breaking soon?  Gotta train like you fight.

COMMENT

I wrote another one:

People on my instagram page seemed to like it.  Make sure you’re following me there if you have the app.

COMMENT