I'm Like a Turd (I'm Just Passing Through)

As a rule I like GPMG's (General Purpose Machine Guns).

Although I can do without the experience of having one fired in my general direction, they are a really fun way of cutting a house in half (about a thousand rounds will do it), they're heavy at about 30 pounds in weight, long and awkward to run with and the bandoliers of bullets weigh a ton too.

When I was a daft teen I did a lot of running around and firing of GPMG's. I fired them at stationery targets, I fired them at moving targets, I fired them at tanks and armoured vehicles.

It didn't make me a better person, but it was a lot of fun for a while, until getting knocked to the floor with rifle butts to the back of my head by over-eager corporals became too much like normality.

Today I watched a bunch of soldiers playing cowboys and indians on the headland, popping off blanks at each other from thirty five yards. A good metaphwoar in itself but not the point to this meamble.

Seems to me that most folks can't make decisions (difficult I know when multiple dillemmas are in play) and so they pop off blanks at random targets hoping that something will stick, hide behind lumps of rocks and then make a run for it across a piece of open ground whilst spraying bullets all over the place.

Sometimes this blog is about making decisions, sometimes it's about knob gags, peak oil, scriptwriting etc and sometimes it's actually about finding a wife.

Today it's about running out into the garden naked apart from a curly red wig and jumping up and down on a trampoline shouting 'Vive le Guerre'.