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Accidental Discharge Stories????
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<blockquote data-quote="Super Dave" data-source="post: 1115716" data-attributes="member: 8429"><p>Years ago, when I was off in Pheonix, going to Harley-Davidson service school, I had a roommate that had a SWEET 9mm Browning. He had a licence to pack it in the state of New York, but not the city of New York. He used to collect lots of cash. Pretty cool as it was the very early 1990s. I had a Hungarian, or something, .380 double action (you know the kind) that I carried open. Gotta love Arizona.</p><p></p><p>Anyway... I was off at work one evening, and he was at our apartment with a guy in his class, showing off his fancy Browning. The guy was not familiar with guns, so Tom, did I mention his name is Tom Durkin? I'd better not. Don't want to name any names here. Anyway, Tom is showing him how to take out the magazine, make sure the chamber is clear, then points the gun in a safe direction and drops the hammer...<strong>BOOMMMM!!!!</strong> shooting our lovely Davenport sofa. </p><p></p><p>I got home about the usual time, midnight-ish. Had that little .380 on my hip. While I was going to school, I cleaned banks at night. It was really spooky. I was sure sooner or later that some thug was gonna try to jump me to have access to the bank. Never happened. Anyway, he is still up, sitting on the couch. He tells me how ashamed he is, tells me the whole story, and that he nearly crapped in his pants. </p><p></p><p>I couldn't believe it, but at the same time, I couldn't help but laugh uncontrolably. Maybe it was his thick, New York accent. Maybe it was the way he layered every sentence with colorful profanity. Mostly I think it was that at that very moment, I had just come up with his new nickname... Tom "Davenport" Durkin. Later on I got to shoot the couch, but unlike Davenport, it was intentional. We were wild then. Ah, good times...</p><p></p><p></p><p>.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Super Dave, post: 1115716, member: 8429"] Years ago, when I was off in Pheonix, going to Harley-Davidson service school, I had a roommate that had a SWEET 9mm Browning. He had a licence to pack it in the state of New York, but not the city of New York. He used to collect lots of cash. Pretty cool as it was the very early 1990s. I had a Hungarian, or something, .380 double action (you know the kind) that I carried open. Gotta love Arizona. Anyway... I was off at work one evening, and he was at our apartment with a guy in his class, showing off his fancy Browning. The guy was not familiar with guns, so Tom, did I mention his name is Tom Durkin? I'd better not. Don't want to name any names here. Anyway, Tom is showing him how to take out the magazine, make sure the chamber is clear, then points the gun in a safe direction and drops the hammer...[B]BOOMMMM!!!![/B] shooting our lovely Davenport sofa. I got home about the usual time, midnight-ish. Had that little .380 on my hip. While I was going to school, I cleaned banks at night. It was really spooky. I was sure sooner or later that some thug was gonna try to jump me to have access to the bank. Never happened. Anyway, he is still up, sitting on the couch. He tells me how ashamed he is, tells me the whole story, and that he nearly crapped in his pants. I couldn't believe it, but at the same time, I couldn't help but laugh uncontrolably. Maybe it was his thick, New York accent. Maybe it was the way he layered every sentence with colorful profanity. Mostly I think it was that at that very moment, I had just come up with his new nickname... Tom "Davenport" Durkin. Later on I got to shoot the couch, but unlike Davenport, it was intentional. We were wild then. Ah, good times... . [/QUOTE]
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