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Paul Leverman

Where do these people come from? And why do they think that I, or anyone else for that matter, care what they have to say? Do they think that the garbage that spews forth from their pie-hole will advance mankind into the next stage of evolution? (Speaking of evolution, on the evolutionary scale, I usually put them about two steps above a toaster.) The only benefit that I have ever received from these individuals is the immense feeling of relief when they leave.

A case in point:

I am at our local gun club range, a good day, one or two stragglers come through, but for all intents and purposes, I am by myself. My pace is very un-rushed, the temperature is perfect. The barrel cools by the time I finish my notes on the previous shot. All in all, a really nice day.

The rifle of choice today: Baikal MP-221, cal. 45-70 Government. Open iron sights. Barrel length: 23 3/4". Range: 100 metres.

Target choice today is a piece of cardboard that is 30" wide and 78" high (for two reasons: I have old eyes, and this is the first rifle I've owned and shot with iron sights). I have no expectations of anything good coming from the days shooting, but I am here and who knows?

I am well into the day, there are something in the neighbourhood of twenty holes in the target, scattered all over and around the bull, but every shot has been recorded and the groups (or lack) have been noted in my book. It looks like a shotgun was taken to it, but I know and am familiar with every one of them.

When this individual arrives, he drives up in his pick-up, parks right behind me, and because he thinks that the mighty sound of his Cummins V-8 Penile Prowess Meter will somehow impress me, revs the shit out of it. Not knowing for sure, but having some insight into the nature of how macho this character thinks he is, I make the basic assumption, and wait. I pull off target (no point in wasting a target), and wait until I hear the door open, count to three and fire. Yep, my guess was right. No ear muffs. Ooops, sorry.

I break the action, pretend I am doing something other than paying any attention to the Lord of the Limp, just hoping he goes away. This is not to be. He sees this as an opening. Whatcha shooten? Hmmm. Howz it shoot? I tell him I don't know, I'll have to look. So I get up, walk over and look through the spotting scope and say something like Pretty good, so far. He assumes that this means he can actually come over and look through my scope, but of course because he is so knowledgeable in the ways of heaven and earth, instead of just looking through it, he has to grab hold of the ocular end so it doesn't try to run away. Apparently, he is not so clever, because at 45X, as we all know, the slightest movement of the scope throws it out of alignment with the target. His comment? What wer ya shootin at? I really had to try not to laugh out loud. I just said the big target on the left. Idiot.

After looking through the scope at a dirt bank, he figures I know way less than he does, he asks me if I've ever had it "slam fire". Say what???? I know, my bad, but I can't help myself. I say what's that mean? You know, when both barrels go off at the same time, he says. Ummm, no, I says, I only put one finger at a time in the hole. He doesn't get it, so I leave it. They (the rifle, I assume) do it all the time he says, they are really bad for it. They are really cheap Turkish guns, he says. Oh. Now he looks at my notes, which are in plain view, so public knowledge and access according to law. I should have closed the book. He starts in on how the loads I'm using are way too high pressure, gonna blow up my gun, blah blah blah. How he's using the same loads in his 458 MemberMagnum and getting 2600. 2600 what I ask him? Feet, he says. That's a long shot I say, that's like a mile I say. Yeah, the magnums are good for that. ??????????? I really should stop at this time, but I can't. And I know my therapist will give me a lecture about my behaviour, but I can't help myself. With that load he says you'll be getting about 1600 feet out of that 18" barrel. Oh, no wonder I can't get it to group, I says. Yeah, he says, those Balkans (???) are really bad for that. You'll be lucky to get 6" out of it. That's ok, I say, I think I can hit a target at that range. He doesn't get it, so I leave it. Good luck he says, and the sun comes out and shines a ray of knowledge on me as he turns to leave, and I look skyward and say thank you. But apparently, he's not done spouting (sorry, sharing) his wealth of wisdom upon us poor underlings. He spies the 10-22 in the rack and turns back. I did not know, or was not aware, that apparently when a squirrel sees a different pinecone, he thinks it's the same one he just had and starts in on it. This explains the behaviour of this mental midget, as the whole episode starts over again, almost word for word, the only difference being the substitution of calibres, speed, etc. Finally, with a roar of raw penile prominence, he's off down the road to enlighten his followers in the church of Those Who Listen Will Learn.

I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders with the knowledge that has been granted to me from a saviour of the people.