Guns and Whiskey

A few months back Living Social (think Groupon) had a promotion that featured a morning handgun lesson at the Shootist, a local shooting range, followed by a whiskey tasting at the Whiskey Bar. So mush testosterone hit me that my chest hairs grew chest hairs. 

Scott and Ted felt the same way, as did much of Denver, as by the time we bought tickets the nearest date was three months out. This past Saturday though, it was like going to bed on Christmas Eve, as the smell of gunsmoke waited in the morning.

There was 20 minutes of basic instruction, which included a safety handout and the different techniques for holding a handgun. Ted “Deadeye” Krull practicing technique below.

One of the targets you could buy. Note the pervy mustache, which was featured on all the men on the targets. Further proof I should not have a mustache. There were also zombies target for sale, which included zombie butchers and zombie lawyers. A chance to practice the double tap.

Me, with a fiery intensity rarely seen. I am about to fire a .22, which is a gun seemingly so mild mannered that even squirrels would laugh at it.

Ted firing what I think is a 9 mm. We all had fun, but Ted had the best time of all. Between exclamations of “awesome”, deep laughter and a permanent grin I am confident he has begun amassing his arsenal.

Scott firing a 9 mm. Scott has a steady hand and was robbed of victory in the sharp shooting contest. How? He put two shots practically through the same hole and it was scored as only a single shot.

You can see the shell leaving the gun. It is the gold blur arcing up and to the right.

Sharpshooters! If you look closely you will see that I am not very good at shooting. Also, since everyone is thinking it I will say it, “man, Ted is tall”.

The whiskey tasting was fun, but it lacked the novelty of shooting. I am sure this has to do with the fact that three of us have little gun experience, but plenty of prior whiskey drinking experience.

All in all though, letting my inner-redneck come out a bit on a Sunday morning, especially with friends, was the perfect start to the back half of the weekend.