Sunday Funday Whiskey & Gunday IV

Up front: nobody died or was maimed, so don't get your hopes up. But that doesn't mean that awesome things didn't happen. This was the most elaborate SFWGD yet, complete with electronics and pressurized canisters of things to shoot.

You might expect that the shooting and blowing up of things is the most fun part of SFWGD. I posit that the purchasing of the things to blow up is just as fun. Say, for instance, that you see this huge container of cheese puffs. To eat or to shoot? No matter, we say. The motto is always one for eatin', one for shootin'. Unless it's something gross, like a big tub of Miracle Whip, which is just for shooting.


Of course, another fun thing is seeing Senior dressed up like a big person on a motorcycle.

And four of us dressed up like tour groups.



I don't know if you remember this, but Joe has enjoyed (?) a string of injury-ridden SFWGDs, so of course we were all paying close attention when he picked up a gun for the first time.

I even tempted fate and shot doubles skeet with him, which I won handily and in no way cheated.


Even though Senior was the only one present for Joe's 4-wheeler accident last year, which basically means that she probably caused it and has been blackmailing him since so he won't go public, people still let her drive them around.


Look at this bunch of poorly-prepared idiots.



It makes SFWGD I look like a Model T, really.


Joe had a good idea to conduct a science experiment, wherein some baking soda would get shot and dump into a jar of vinegar. Only problem: jar was glass, vinegar just poured out. Next year: elaborate suspension system.


Last year began the tradition of mascots (RIP Lobster Nicole Smith, and please to lift the curse on our souls), which continued this year with an adorable stuffed lamb. Here is Evan posing with Shep-Shep and a spy.



Here is Evan ritually executing Shep-Shep.


Later, Shep-Shep was covered in spray paint and refuse.


Who knew that the bottle of Beam from SFWGD I was still in the house? Vintage, people.


Finally, a video of Matt warming up (read: setting fire to) some brush around a liter canister of propane in preparation for Joe (!) to shoot with a shotgun. Please enjoy the terrified screaming of multiple ladies for the first minute or so. There may be cursing, maybe not.

The fire didn't spread. At least not that we noticed.

Look at the guy who said shooting a canister of pressurized gas was a bad idea.

Also, I forgot that we shot my shirt. Here you can see Evan shooting a can of spray paint behind the shirt.

More Ideas for Sunday Funday ++

After some discussion, Senior persuaded me that instead of Sunday Funday Whiskey and Gun Day III: The Dawn of the Eve of Destruction, we should completely bypass III and move directly on to IV. This way we could dramatically increase the storytelling ability, since nobody could reasonably argue that we were lying, since they obviously wouldn't have been there. In ten years, we'll be able to tell people that Joe blew his hand off in a pyrotechnics accident during III and he is now working with a bionic hand.

It also give a number of new naming choices, including my personal favorite, Sunday Funday Whiskey and Gun Day IV: Horsemen of the Gunpocalypse. I am even looking forward to everyone wearing a commemorative t-shirt, to fully geekify the weekend.


Please weigh in with your ideas about the design and/or slogan before I actually post it for sale.

While watching Death Wish 3 again a couple days ago, for the first time I thought I'd look into how much getting one of Bronson's amazing custom pistol would cost me. Since it's legal now and all.

While the price is prohibitive ($3k for a once-a-year, possibly homicide-inducing toy seems a bit much), if you have the means you might as well pick up the 18" barrel edition, complete with scope:


Also! My friend Jessica gives a shout. And I shout back. Hi!

I'm Going to Start Calling Everyone I Hate "Lord Mayor"

In reviewing my dad's exhaustive genealogical research, I found out that my great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great-great Grandfather was the mayor of London. His title? Lord Mayor. In other words, my family was a big deal in the mid-14th century.

We're pretty much all broke commoners these days.

Maybe we weren't really a big deal to start with. It turns out that the plague arrived in London right before he became mayor, and I'm guessing that it must be pretty easy to be the mayor of a town where everybody's dead or dying.

So maybe "Lord Mayor" was a euphemism for something much less important. Like how people call people "boss" when they really mean "I think I'm better than you."

I also designed another t-shirt, for some reason.

Sunday Funday Whiskey and Gun Day II: Guns, Gods and Glories

Last year's Sunday Funday Whiskey and Gun Day was pretty awesome, but it was a bare-bones event. We had a table, some stuff to shoot, and some guns. That was it. There were no mascots, no explosions, no vehicles flipping over--aside from some well-framed poses, it was basically just people shooting guns at things. We were determined to change all that with the second incarnation, and we did.

First, we had to bring Dana back from Thailand so she could be at this year's festivity. I don't know how many of you are well-versed in extradition treaties, but drug jails are a real hassle. Red tape as far as the eye can see! But it all worked out and we shoved her in the back seat and tried to take pictures:


We warmed up by shooting "skeet," which I think is how they spell it. It may be "sqeit." You know that gun jargon. Cryptic as hell.



After we had killed all the sqeits, it was time for the real purpose of the whole weekend: to put the stuff we bought on a couch and shoot it over and over again. Here's the whole gang before we got started. A rag-tag bunch, ha ha ha!


Oh wait! Joe decided that since it seems that I can't have a phlog without a lobster in it, he would bring one along and make it the mascot of the day. Meet Lobster Nicole Smith:


Then I took a picture of myself looking tough with a "thirty-eight special," which is named after a band. The only thing I hit after taking this picture was the side of the hill. Darned close-range killing machines. No good for target practice. Unless you're targeting something from one foot away, execution-style.


Looking at what you've just shot is alot more fun than you might think.


And yes, that is a tub of Country Crock. I was raised on that shit.

Two hours later, the couch was dirty and shotten!


And I laid down in front of it even though it was totes gross. Continuity comes at a price, people.


Part two of the evening involved drinking fancy beer and sitting around a fire trying to be funny. In short, what America was made for. Greg's pretty good at it.


A smart thing to do at this point in time is to take some four-wheelers out for a spin in the woods. Joe and Dana put on "helmets" (I'm spelling it phonetically) before going out for what they said was a safety precaution. Your insurers thank you, Joe and Dana!


Anyway, Joe has been tempting fate and laughing at God for way too long, so Jesus decided that it was time to give him a wake-up call! By "wake-up call" I mean "ATV rolling over on top of you and your life hanging in the balance," of course. It didn't totally wake him up, though, because he could still walk, kind of.


That's our Joe. Last year: setting face on fire. This year: risking spinal injury. Next year: coma. FOR OUR AMUSEMENT.

Later, Ana got suited up for a spin around the rink:


And then the next day Katie bought a Kitten from the Kountry Store.




BONUS BONUS BONUS WE BLEW UP A TV AND IT'S ON VIDEO


Joe and Matt running away might be the best part of the thing.

PS: My camera died right after I got back.

PPS: Katie got this great one of me practicing perfect gun safety after I executed a can of whipped cream:

PPPS: Katie sent a video of me shooting a jug of soda and then dancing. It's probably the best thing ever.