Chunky Monkey – An example of womanly RAGE.

I think I’ve spent the past three or four days on one stupid scene that’s really not even that important. Because it involves a bunch of dialogue about convincing the Governor to send soldiers to help defend a town.

And it’s just boorrrinnngggg…..

But action scenes, that’s where it’s at.


Here are two examples. The first is just dialogue. Bleh. The second is dialogue… with ACTION!


“Hey Jan,” Michael said with a smile as he tossed his laptop bag on the coffee table.

“Hey yourself, how was work?” She asked as she closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer.

“It was work. I got a 1% raise today.”

“Oh that’s nice honey.” He could tell she wasn’t really paying attention as she moved the frozen tater tots and chicken nuggets aside. “Hey, where is the Chunky Monkey ice cream?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep last night and I finished it off.” He reached around her with a pen and wrote ice cream in bad cursive on the grocery list notepad that was stuck on the front of the refrigerator door.

“But, it’s my favorite!” She pouted.



[“All Aboard the Murder Train” from How I Met Your Mother blares in the background]

Michael kicked the door open and dove inside, avoiding the fatal front as his arch nemesis blew a chunk out of the door frame. He heard her pump the shotgun as she ducked back behind the wall and into the other room.

“Look, I’m sorry!” He screamed as he simultaneously tried to press himself flat against the wall and peek around the corner at the same time. It wasn’t really working well. He couldn’t see anything but a pile of dirty laundry still in it’s basket.

“It was mine! And you took it from me!” She yelled in return.

He dunked instinctively as a basketball size hole suddenly appeared above his head, showering him with sheet rock dust and bits of insulation as she guessed where he was.

Spinning onto his back, he used his steel toed Wolverine size 15 boots to push himself backwards. As he slid away on the cold linoleum, he drew the massive Ruger Super Redhawk revolver from it’s holster across his chest and thumbed back the hammer. Grimacing at the recoil he was about to feel,  he sighted between his raised knees, and pulled the trigger.

The boom was deafening as the 400 grain .454 Casull DoubleTap bullet slammed through the Sheetrock wall, snapping the 2×4 stud in half, and leaving a fist sized hole as it blasted through the house leaving a trail of destruction and onward to never-never land. Or the neighbors house, whichever. Jim still hadn’t returned the rake he borrowed anyways.

His ears rang as he cocked the pistol again and tried to peer through the gun holes in the wall. He coughed as the dust from the destruction found its way into his lungs.

“Honey? Are you okay?”

BOOM! Cha-Chunk! BOOM!

The first slug hit the floor beside him and punched through and into his man cave downstairs as he scrambled to get behind the kitchen island. A shotgun pump later and the second shot was higher this time, blowing pictures and magnets off the refrigerator door as she wrongly assumed he had taken cover there.

“It was just ice cream! There was barely any left!”

He pushed himself to his knees and rested the butt of the pistol on top of a cutting board covered with half sliced carrots and a tomato while carefully lining up the iron sights. The round door knobs on the cabinet doors dug into his chest as he braced himself.

“You try working customer service and see how HANGRY YOU GET FOR CHUNKY MONKEY!” She screeched in a murderous rage.

Looks like take out tonight. He pulled the trigger back, watching the cylinder rotate until a fresh cartridge was under the firing pin. Slowly he began incrementally adding pressure as he focused on the front sight, until suddenly the trigger broke clean and the hammer dropped.


The muzzle blast flung the plastic salad bowl across the room and bits of romaine lettuce and spinach rained down from the heavens around him.

“I’ll buy you more!”

“I don’t WANT MORE! I want want you ATE! I’m going to rip it out of your intestines with my BARE HANDS!”

He shuddered and carefully sized up the window above the sink, trying to gauge if he could fit through it. Because sleeping on the couch tonight suddenly didn’t feel very safe.


See? Action = Cool.

Dialogue = Only cool in action.

Otherwise it’s lame-o.


(EDIT – Dick Casull, who invented the .454 Casull round died two weeks ago. So I figured I would use that round just for kicks and giggles.)

Teachers and Guns

No one is saying Teachers should be FORCED to carry a gun, that’s foolish. What we are saying is that they should be given the OPTION of carrying. I heard one poor lady on the news today talking about how if she’s sitting cross legged on the mat with a bunch of little kids and a gunman breaks in, she didn’t think she could draw and shoot fast enough.

Okay, fair enough. But what about when you hear gunfire and screams as a shooter is kicking open doors and moving unopposed down the hallway? Do you have time to react then?

When your kids are huddled in the corner, desks piled around them, cowering in fear and absolute terror – would you like the OPTION of being able to point a pistol at the door in case he comes in?

Some would. Some wouldn’t. Either is fine, personal choice. But I’d prefer my kids had the “Would Carry Teacher”.

Teacher Pay sucks for the most part. But most Conceal Carry Instructors either give discounts or FREE classes to Teachers. And I wouldn’t doubt for a second that gun makers won’t jump up and offer Teacher Discounts.

Heck, as an added bonus – Maybe we’ll stop seeing all these ridiculous videos of students body slamming teachers and start seeing some respect come back into the classroom. That’s not a ‘point a snub nose .38 in the kids face for respect’ suggestion, although if he’s threatening violence, by all means. Point away. But an armed society is a polite society.

And look – if you don’t trust your kids teacher being ARMED around your kid, then you probably shouldn’t trust them educating your kid.

Maybe the Teachers Union’s should start pushing for Hazard/Combat Pay in schools that don’t allow conceal carry. If you’re going to risk being nothing but a meat shield, you might as well get paid a little extra for it.

Utah has been doing this for ten years or more with no issues. Israel has been doing it for 40 plus years and terrorist attacks on schools have stopped because it’s not a ‘soft target’ anymore. They also practice school shooting drills.

You know how long it’s been since we had a kid die in a school fire after we implemented Fire Drills? Zero. In sixty years. At some point you gotta cut the crap and look for what works even if it makes you uncomfortable.

Once upon a time people freaked out at the idea of Sky Marshall’s and Pilots carrying guns on planes – Still haven’t seen a bullet puncture a window and half a plane get torn off and send it spiraling down into a van full of nuns headed out to feed the homeless. Killing everyone… worst case scenarios and irrational fears and whatnot. But gee, we don’t see many Hijacking’s anymore. The 80’s was full of them though! It was weekly it seems.

I dunno. Look. No one is saying Teachers should go hunt a school shooter down. We are just saying that our kids, oh yeah.. by the way. Us evil NRA people, we got kids too. And we want them to live too. So they can grow up and vote against your kids.

But yeah, we ALL want kids to live and grow up to be troublesome teenagers and eventual responsible adults. And I want teachers, who are willing, to learn how to handle firearms and carry if they wish and protect them.

Because when that door gets kicked open, and some madman comes stomping in with his trench coat billowing and guns a’ blazing, I’d really appreciate if you would shoot back instead of letting my kids get slaughtered under a desk as they curl into a ball.

And if this latest shooting teaches us anything, it should be that you can not rely on anyone else for help. FOUR DEPUTIES were outside the school when the shooting was happening. They did nothing. In the moment of violence, there is only YOU and them. There is no waiting for backup, or help. Either you take the mantle of possible victim or you refuse to be one who goes quietly into the blood soaked night.

Fact of the matter is, American ain’t safe anymore. Society is getting sicker and more demented with every passing year. Banning guns is a mathematical impossibility. And not just because you can’t have mine, ever. But the underlying root of it all, an evil rotten immoral sick twisted mentality that we’ve allowed to fester amongst our kids and society – it ain’t going away.

So buckle up, buy guns, get training, and don’t be afraid to spank your kids until they behave. Respect for self and others begins at home.


Praise Jesus and Pew Pew!

The hypocrisy of the left always hits it’s highest peak after a school shooting.

Sorry, but you don’t get to defend, flaunt, and celebrate the murderous dissection of 600,000 plus unborn babies a year (in the name of women’s rights) only to suddenly care about the lives of children after the horrendous acts of a few mentally ill mad men by calling for the legal disarmament of millions of peaceful Americans.

Your supposed political high ground is, in reality, a filthy cesspool at the bottom of a deep pit of immorality and depravity that gorges itself on bashing the morals and teachings of the Christian faith, and mocking Conservatives for their family values, and believing in honor, dignity, and personal responsibility.

You are on the wrong side of a spiritual war between the forces of good and evil. You’ve allowed yourselves to become pawns for the great deceiver. And the future has already been written. Satan loses, and unless you come to Jesus, you will lose with him.


Government Shutdown – An Eyewitness Report of Anarchy and Mayhem.

It’s the 3rd day of Government Shutdown.

The animals at Central Park have been released for lack of food and water and health insurance. They quickly turn the suburbs into a jungle where few dare tread.

Office workers, forgotten and chained to their desks, scream in desperation as they begin chewing their own arms off to free themselves.

Tens of thousands of Women “Marching for Rights They Already Have” in pink hats walk down the empty streets while bits of unsigned legislation blow by like tumbleweeds. They fall silent as no one listens or cares. Feminism dies a silent and long overdue death as their homemade signs fall by the wayside.

Politicians stand in line at the Capitol, empty Starbucks mugs trembling in thin, shaking hands as they beg for spare change, while awaiting their meager ration of watery gruel.

Makeshift Farmer Markets spring up in intersections. Lowly administrative aids quickly create massive lines to trade staplers and sticky notes for food. It quickly dissolves into chaos as the few pitiful sprigs of bean sprouts are consumed by the vegans.

Blood sucking Accountants and Lawyers face off against each other for control of the high rises. They begin hunting each other with makeshift weapons. Skinned bodies are soon found dangling from street lamps with empty wallets hanging from their necks and business cards crammed between clenched teeth.

Two bums begin fighting over a half-eaten Big Mac. The fight ends violently when Donald Trump strangles Chuck Schumer to death with his own tie. Bloodied but victorious, Trump holds the burger aloft, screaming in joy, only to be overcome by the screeching bureaucrats who pour out from the nearby sewer drains and smother him with red tape.

The Postal Service begins looting local police departments. They mount weapons, spikes, armor, and the heads of Barbie Doll  on their vehicles and drive down sidewalks. As fuel runs out, they soon turn on each other.

World War Two vets, refusing to allow the sacred ground that holds their memorials to be blocked off with barricades and orange cones of the Obama Administration, set up fighting positions and a steady stream of aimed fire from M1 Garands and Thompson machine guns surrounds them with a no man’s land 500 yards deep.

More Vets, bearded and grizzled, ride their iron steeds of Harley-Davidson through the yellow tape surrounding the Vietnam Memorial and begin covering their faces and arms with camo paint. Hundreds of rolls of barb wire is deployed to funnel the denizens of Washington into kill zones. Dozens of men in Biker Vests slip into the concrete jungle to begin taking ears.

The city turns in upon itself.

Bits of ash from burned regulations rain from the sky. The steady stream of screams grow faint as the mounds of unburied dead grow. Only the mournful wails of the living and the screams of freed zoo predators can be heard at night.

A torn and tattered American Flag waves silently in the breeze above the Capital Building as it burns.

The Lincoln Memorial weeps a single manly tear.

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