It goes without saying that if you’re gonna own or deal in guns, you best be careful when operating one, even in the most quaint of circumstances.
Need proof? Look no further than this video of a man accidentally laying waste to his beanbags.
Uploaded to The Truth About Guns by an anonymous user from Nevada, the footage shows a man loading a Glock 43.
Sticking the piece in his waistband, he then walks around the shop to carry out other tasks. For some reason, he doesn’t leave the gun on the table.
He walks over to a shelf, bending down to pick something up along the way, before firing a shot right at his clappers.
Shocked, the man springs up and calls for help, saying, ‘F**k! Damn it! Call 911 right now!’
A woman rushes to his aide asking, ‘Where were you shot? Talk to me.’
‘I don’t know!’ he replies.
It was later reported the bullet did indeed penetrate the man’s groin, according to The Truth About Guns. He is said to be recovering in a stable condition in hospital. Wherever he is, it’s a safe bet he’s in a spot of bother.
Come to think of it, this reminds me a story from my youth – distinctively similar to the incident suffered above.
I was, I’d like to say, about 11? It was a random Saturday afternoon round at my uncle Pete’s. We were in the garden. He was drinking a cup of tea reading the News of the World as I searched around his shed for something to amuse myself with.
To my complete surprise I came across a Glock 43. ‘Is this a gun?’ I asked.
‘Gun? Oh that. Yeah. Pretty nice innit?’
At this point I should’ve asked uncle Pete why and how he owned a gun but instead I just said, ‘Yeah!’
‘Giz it here,’ he said. ‘Lemme tell you something.’ Without hesitation, I skipped over to him and handed over the Glock. Uncle Pete stood up from his chair and explained how whenever’s he’s bored, he’ll load the gun, tuck it under his belt and walk around the corner to the shops to buy something. ‘You know you’re packing heat, but they don’t. It’s a massive buzz. Wanna try it?’
I agreed, somewhat apprehensively, as he demonstrated how to load the Glock. After a few minutes I gave it a go and nailed it first time. I then placed it carefully within my waistband.
‘Right,’ Uncle Pete said. ‘Here’s 20p. Go and get me and you an ice-pop. Cola, preferably.’
I headed for the gate, nervous but already feeling more like a man than I had moments earlier. ‘Oh wait,’ Uncle Pete said. ‘You dropped your gay card.’
Without thinking I spun around and crouched over to the ground to pick up the non-existent ID, setting off the gun and shooting myself right in the tickles. ‘F***ing Nora!’ I yelled.
‘Gotcha!’ my Uncle Pete said, beside himself laughing. I lay there, writhing, as he sat down, unfurled his paper and said, ‘trust no bastard, mate.’
Now, of course, that is a complete fabrication. But the point is, it could have happened. I’d advise you steering clear of guns altogether. If you absolutely have to, do not put them down your pants.
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