Posts tagged “guns

Video games really are dangerous

People say that video games are dangerous, that they are too violent and that they corrupt our youth, who then imitate the behaviour they display in games. Now, to a degree, this is true; as a youngster, I spent a lot of time playing PacMan and think it no coincidence that my hobbies seemed to involve running around a great deal and swallowing large amounts of pills and magic fruit. However, this is not the only damage that playing video games can inflict on our fragile psyches, and certainly not the most serious, as I have recently discovered.

After a recent, 73 hour session on GTA (San Andreas, in case you’re wondering) I wandered out, in need of vodka and marijuana and completely forgot that, here in the UK, we drive on the left.  I looked the wrong way when crossing the road, and was clobbered by a number 476 bus. Fortunately, I had a cheat code activated and was able to light up the entire bus with an infeasibly large mini-gun.

I have only been able to avoid the subsequent, and comprehensive, police enquiry by laying low and then switching myself off and then on again. Nevertheless, I have returned, high-score intact and an erection for each and every one of you. Be warned, as always, all comments and likes will only inflame my passion for jerking off to your gravatar pics.

Thank you for tuning back in.


there is this horrendous scream and everybody turns around to look. there is a man with a gun, a revolver, and he is pointing it at this woman and yelling at her that he is going to kill her. she is on her knees and sobbing so wildly that i cannot make out what she is saying, only that she is using the word ‘please’ a lot. the crowd freeze, one or two people shriek and dive for cover, but mostly, we stand there, motionless, gawping at the scene unfolding before us. the woman crumples to the ground in a heap, and those of us that have not got our eyes glued on the gunman notice the pool of urine seep from under her and spread out over the cold, stone, grey floor.

suddenly, a man steps out from the crowd and stands between her and the pistol. the gunman freaks and screams at this guy, calls him stupid, tells him he’s a motherfucker, tell’s him he’s about to die. the man just nods and stands his ground. the next thing that you know is a woman steps out and joins him, shielding the girl on the floor. then the guy stood next to me joins them. then i do and then three other people do and before you know it, there are thirty or forty of us surrounding her. the gunman does his nut and tries to point his weapon at all of us at once. issuing us all spoken death warrants.

then the police show up, and for a moment i see a look of pure insanity flash across his eyes, before he seems to compose himself, drops the gun to the floor and holds his hands up above his head.

i’m telling you, that’s the last time i go into a burger king.

Little brass raindrops

“I’m hit mate.” Cuddles says, and I look round. He’s grinning, there’s a hole in his thigh that you could fit your thumb in. I gesture to the signaller, but he’s already on it. Chalky saw the muzzle flash and we send a blizzard of 7.62 millimetre rounds through the open window. Glass, wood and masonry fly. The tinkling sound the empty shell casings make as they bounce around our feet is actually quite  pretty, like little brass raindrops. Passers by cower in doorways screaming. Cuddles tourniquets himself and joins in, still grinning at me. “I got fucking hit mate.” he laughs. Three men die and Cuddles gets a medal and a week off.

Shooting butterflies

There were these big blue butterflies in the jungle, as big as your head. My mate Cuddles would try to shoot them, but you can’t shoot butterflies, its the air pressure the round creates, it just sends them into a spin. Cuddles used to wonder if you could take one out with a grenade but that seemed like overkill to me, to grenade a butterfly.

The corporal was pissed with me because I hadn’t taken a dump that morning and said if I stopped now then I would just have to catch up with them. I hated shitting in the jungle, the smell would attract all kinds of creepy crawlies, scorpions and big hairy spiders and the like. I felt vulnerable squatting with my pants down, afraid of getting my butt or nuts bitten. I jogged to catch up with them and realised I was lost when the trail faded out. It is not smart to get lost in the jungle, and I was relived to hear the gunfire, I assumed it was Cuddles having another pop at a butterfly, I didn’t realise that they were under attack.

You can stand very close to someone in the jungle and not be seen, and I was only a few feet from him. I could make out the shouts of the boys off to my left, in between the bursts of his automatic. He couldn’t see them and was firing wildly, spraying rounds in their general direction. If he had turned his head to the left he would have seen me.

I fired three rounds into his arm and chest. Those ArmaLites were puny, we used them because they could handle  the high humidity, his body barely rocked. He stopped firing and looked down at his boots, puzzled by the blood dripping onto them and then he collapsed.

His name was Paulo. He was 17. In one of  his pockets was a picture of his sweetheart, she was absolutely gorgeous. Cuddles wanted the picture to jack off to. I told him he was sick but it didn’t stop him.