steveh_131
Grandmaster
Yesterday I was out and about, minding my own business. I decided to stop and get some gas and a cappuccino at the local gas station.
I stepped out of my car with my Hi-Point .45 on my hip in plain sight. I don't cover my guns. Only queers cover their guns.
As I was filling the tank, the sheep at the pump across from me started pumping gas. He didn't even look my way. He was too scared. I could see his hands shivering.
I turned around and saw two teenagers in the next car talking. I saw one of them mouth "Hi-Point" to the other. That's right, son. Hi-Point.
But the real trouble was the guy at the next pump. This cat was topping off his minivan with 3 or 4 kids and his wife in it. He tried to give me the thousand yard stare, and I returned it. I could tell he was thinking about starting something. He probably thought he could get away with my 88 Nissan Sentra. He's not the first to make that wish. But I didn't spend 4 months in the JROTC to let some punk-ass soccer dad boost my wheels. I stretched out, put on my aviators and rested my hand on the grip of my weapon. I saw his eyes move down to it then back up to mine. I just nodded and smirked. His pump clicked off, and he got in and drove away. That's right. I own this block. You just live here.
So I finished pumping and walked in to get my cappuccino. Everyone in the store was clearly terrified, that's why they pretended not to even notice me. I went to the coffee area and poured myself a cappuccino. When it was partway full I stepped away to add some creamer and wait for the foam to settle. Just as I was about to finish filling it, this punk gets in front of me and starts to pour some hot chocolate.
Hot chocolate? What sort of slack-jawed creep drinks hot chocolate?
"I wasn't finished here, kid" I said in a firm tone.
"I'm sorry...were you in line?" he said.
I couldn't believe this kid was mouthing off to me. Does he even know who I am? He was a pretty big guy, bigger than me. Probably 5'7" maybe even 5'8" and at least 150 pounds.
"Kid, you know how sometimes you come across a guy that you shouldn't have f***** with? That's me" I said. "I used to stack punks like you 5 feet high, use 'em for sandbags."
At this point he glances down and sees my piece. He looks back up at me. I pulled my shirt out of the way. If I had to draw down on this crack-head weirdo, I wanted to be ready for it. He could sense my honed training and skills.
"Do you like the taste of steel?" I asked.
"No, but your mom does." he shot back.
"That's about as funny as a screen door on a battleship!" I retorted.
He looked confused and walked away, overwhelmed by my tactical abilities and wit.
Hot chocolate. Unbelievable.
I stepped out of my car with my Hi-Point .45 on my hip in plain sight. I don't cover my guns. Only queers cover their guns.
As I was filling the tank, the sheep at the pump across from me started pumping gas. He didn't even look my way. He was too scared. I could see his hands shivering.
I turned around and saw two teenagers in the next car talking. I saw one of them mouth "Hi-Point" to the other. That's right, son. Hi-Point.
But the real trouble was the guy at the next pump. This cat was topping off his minivan with 3 or 4 kids and his wife in it. He tried to give me the thousand yard stare, and I returned it. I could tell he was thinking about starting something. He probably thought he could get away with my 88 Nissan Sentra. He's not the first to make that wish. But I didn't spend 4 months in the JROTC to let some punk-ass soccer dad boost my wheels. I stretched out, put on my aviators and rested my hand on the grip of my weapon. I saw his eyes move down to it then back up to mine. I just nodded and smirked. His pump clicked off, and he got in and drove away. That's right. I own this block. You just live here.
So I finished pumping and walked in to get my cappuccino. Everyone in the store was clearly terrified, that's why they pretended not to even notice me. I went to the coffee area and poured myself a cappuccino. When it was partway full I stepped away to add some creamer and wait for the foam to settle. Just as I was about to finish filling it, this punk gets in front of me and starts to pour some hot chocolate.
Hot chocolate? What sort of slack-jawed creep drinks hot chocolate?
"I wasn't finished here, kid" I said in a firm tone.
"I'm sorry...were you in line?" he said.
I couldn't believe this kid was mouthing off to me. Does he even know who I am? He was a pretty big guy, bigger than me. Probably 5'7" maybe even 5'8" and at least 150 pounds.
"Kid, you know how sometimes you come across a guy that you shouldn't have f***** with? That's me" I said. "I used to stack punks like you 5 feet high, use 'em for sandbags."
At this point he glances down and sees my piece. He looks back up at me. I pulled my shirt out of the way. If I had to draw down on this crack-head weirdo, I wanted to be ready for it. He could sense my honed training and skills.
"Do you like the taste of steel?" I asked.
"No, but your mom does." he shot back.
"That's about as funny as a screen door on a battleship!" I retorted.
He looked confused and walked away, overwhelmed by my tactical abilities and wit.
Hot chocolate. Unbelievable.
