Me and some homies hit up the Jackson Arms Indoor Shooting Range in South San Francisco on Saturday.
I got my hot little hands on a .44 Magnum so to realize my Clint Eastwood fantasy, but found out moments later that they were out of ammo. Buzzkill. So we tried the .357 only to realize that the cassette was so caked with gun powder residue that the bullets wouldn't slide in flush. So both revolvers were no-goes.
No matter, we got some slugs and a 12 gauge pump action Smith & Wesson shotgun and you can tell from these pictures that the action was pretty hot.
Nothing kicks like a slug and the noise it produces on the first shot was enough to make everyone else in the pistol range crane their necks over to see what the bleep was going on. We all left with bruises on our shoulders.
That's stock target #12 below, our preferred target of the day, letting you test your skills taking down a unabomber type who's taken a PYT hostage.
I lit him up, with a couple of game-enders right between the eyes.
A slug is basically a wad of lead the size of a C battery. At shotgun velocity it's simply devastating, particularly to paper targets.
Obviously, I'm proud of my work.
Odd as it sounds to say, our day at the shooting range was a day of unity and brotherhood. Sure it was an incongruous mix of riff-raff down there: the off-duty 'stars' (read: cop) with his fully automatic assault rifle; the aged Black Panther; the white power militia leader and his unsolicited advice; the Asian gang banger and his girlfriend lighting up targets with her custom snubnose 9mm in 5-inch heels and clubbing pants; but they all belonged. It was the most diverse crowd I've seen in one place since college.
