Santa can burn in hell.

I was seven years old. I had spent over a month defending to many of my friends the existence of Santa Claus. I believed my parents. After all, it was my parents who told me not to lie. They taught me that lying was wrong. They taught me that integrity was a critical character trait.

One day, in late December, over at a friends house, my friends presented conclusive proof that Santa Claus was indeed our parents. They showed me the presents labled "from Santa" that they had found hidden in a closet.

I did not speak to my parents that night unless I was spoken to. I couldn't. My faith in the integrity of the very people whom preached honesty to me was shattered. It was the ultimate humiliation and betrayal in my eyes. I now had to face my peers in school, at church, everywhere to whom I had so staunchly defended the existence of this godlike magical figure. And now I knew the truth. I had taken the word of my parents as truth. And why shouldn't I? As a child, Santa Claus is nearly deified by the marketing machine and to some degree or other, our parents. They lied about Santa, and Santa is everywhere in our society, at least for a couple of months a year. Oh no, what else where they lying about? Did this Jesus guy exist? God? They're so similar...

It took years before I trusted my parents again on many issues. They had proven to me that they were capable of dishonesty surrounding what is certainly one of the more important things in a child's life.

Do any of you guys remember the moment when you found out? I mean, am I all alone in the sense of betrayal I felt? Do you lie to your kids? Grandkids? Part of the giant machine of deception that is the Christmas retail marketing machine?

zen and 62grain FMJ

So I spent the day on the range today. Then I spent my evening cleaning weapons. But the day on the range was great. No one else was there. I had the whole range to myself. Some kind soul had placed a steel plate at the 300meter backstop. I must've put 100 rounds into that thing from the AR. I had the 308 with me as well, and fired a few into the plate with that. But the 308 is scoped, and sits on a bipod, and well... hitting anything larger than a can of skoal at 300 meters with the 308 is easy enough to be boring.

But it was a great day. Nice and solitary. Lots of copper and lead downrange. Good stuff.

Apparently, some cows at some point got loose from a neighboring farm or somewhere. Because there was cow poop in huge piles all over the range. I had about 300 rounds with me, and had put about 200 of 'em through paper, and I started to get a little bored. Then I thought, "hey, there're huge piles of cowpoo everywhere, what happens when you shoot one?"

I'll tell you what happens. It flies EVERYWHERE. Like, 50 feet in the air. I had to lay my pistol down on the bench after the first shot because I was laughing so hard. (yes, I'm easily amused). So I spent the last 100 rounds of 9mm locating and causing cowpoo explosions all over the range. I did avoid shooting ones that were close to target backstops and other target structures, though. I know I'd be ticked if I went to put up a target and had to hang it in cow poop. It really was amazing how high cow-poo flies when you shoot it.

Is this the origin of the phrase "shooting the sh**?" I mean, it really is a fun, pointless excersize. Really fun. Makes me want to go find a farm.