Kind of a long read, but worth it IMHO.
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]I AM THE BULLET...[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif] BY LOUIS AWERBUCK[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]
Reprinted With Permission of
S.W.A.T. Magazine, Copyright 2005.
S.W.A.T. DECEMBER 2004 - Page 98
SWAT Magazine, Weapons training, Combat training, Tactical Training[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]
I am the bullet—and I have no conscience.
You will treat me with respect because
once I leave, you have no control over
my actions. Once I’m gone I will do as
I please, governed only by the laws of
physics.
And the next time you see me I will
have done my work, bringing on your
life a potential gamut of emotions ranging
from pleasure, satisfaction and exhilaration
to anger, pain, grief and regret.
Use me wisely and with discretion, for
I can snuff out the flame of a king’s life as
easily as I can bring delight to a ten-
year-old’s face by recording for posterity a
first bulls eye on a humble paper target.
It took the fire of a crucible to conceive
me, but now I’m no longer molten metal—
and therein lies the deceptiveness of
my power. When I was cast in the mould
of hot lead you knew I was dangerous,
but now you underestimate me as I lie
in the womb of the cartridge case, a solidi-
fied metal teardrop the size of your
fingernail. Beware, for the day I’m born
I will go from womb to tomb in the fraction
of a second. For me there will be no
childhood, no puberty, no adulthood—
just a nano-second of flight before I find
my terminal resting place.
You must be mother, father, teacher,
and priest, because you will guide me on
my short life’s path. I am but an emotionless,
inanimate object with no heartbeat
and no conscience. Once the hot gases of
propulsion give birth to my destination,
they will also signal my death knell, for
I will have no childhood, no puberty, no
adulthood. Instant birth to instant rest,
with but a momentary tick of the clock
of time to bring pleasure or pain.
The responsibility for my actions rests
squarely on your shoulders. You conceived
me, you entombed me in a cartridge case
with my brother primer and sister gun-
powder, slaves to your bidding.
If you didn’t cast, size, lube and load
me yourself, you bought me just like you
bought Mister Gump’s box of chocolates.
But unlike the box of chocolates, with me
what you see is what you get. I am the
corked bottle encasing a quiescent genie.
Once the genie is free, you know exactly
what potential can be unleashed—but you
had better choose your three wishes wisely.
The acquisition of firearms and am-
munitions is sequential, one way or the
other. Rarely does one initially have a
vast supply of ammo of a specific caliber
and subsequently acquire a firearm to use
or expend this supply. While people often
buy a secondary or tertiary weapon for this
reason, usually one purchases the gun,
cleaning equipment, accessories, and a
storage unit—be it a case, bag or gun
safe—before any thought is given to what
ammunition is going to be obtained and
used in the weapon.
And after spending a king’s ransom on
all this equipment, you head for the local
gun emporium and spend a pittance on
a case of the cheapest garbage military
surplus ammo you can find.
Then when you miss, you blame it on
me. When you accidentally discharge a
firearm because you neglected to extract
me from the chamber, you blame it on
me. When I plow my way through bone
and muscle, and fail to incapacitate a
madman, you blame it on me. But when
you achieve the result you wanted, then
it’s because of your masterful ability,
and I’m forgotten—used, expended, and
spent.
Such is my lot—Man’s ingratitude
and lack of respect for the humble bullet.
Because you paid for the ammunition, I
become your possession; but you don’t
own me—I own your soul. I will make
you or break you in my short lifespan.
The slightest marksmanship error on
your part and I will embarrass you in
front of your peers. The slightest lapse in
concentration while manipulating a firearm
and I will take an innocent life. I will
ricochet off a windshield, a belt buckle,
or a baseball cap bill when you’ve been
told I should have penetrated the material—
and I will just as easily over-penetrate
an apartment wall and forever snuff
out the future of a defenseless child.
Doctor Mann spent a lifetime trying
to find out why I didn’t always perform
as external ballistics would demand I
do—and he went to his grave with my
secret intact. But you insist on imbibing
alcohol and firing bullets into the air in a
puerile Yuletide celebration, understanding
nothing of the physics of my flight
path—or my power to change your life
forever.
You will spend endless hours discussing
the merits and demerits of my size and
velocity, but when all is said and done, it
really doesn’t mean anything.
The truth of the matter is that once I
depart from your gun muzzle you no
longer have control over me—and I, too,
no longer have control over my own destiny.
The next time you see a humble un-
fired bullet remember that without me
your gun is as useless as fingers on a
rooster. And once loaded, I can be as
dangerous as a drunk in rush hour traf-
fic. Once my power is unleashed, there
can be only two results—delight and satisfaction, or disaster and horror. And this
will reach fruition in the blink of an eye,
for I have no childhood, no puberty, no
adulthood.
Treat me with respect, for I am the bullet—
and I have no conscience. [/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif][Louis Awerbuck is Director of the internationally acclaimed Yavapai Firearms Academy.
Course information and schedules are available at their website at Yavapai Firearms Academy]
[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]I AM THE BULLET...[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif] BY LOUIS AWERBUCK[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]
Reprinted With Permission of
S.W.A.T. Magazine, Copyright 2005.
S.W.A.T. DECEMBER 2004 - Page 98
SWAT Magazine, Weapons training, Combat training, Tactical Training[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]
I am the bullet—and I have no conscience.
You will treat me with respect because
once I leave, you have no control over
my actions. Once I’m gone I will do as
I please, governed only by the laws of
physics.
And the next time you see me I will
have done my work, bringing on your
life a potential gamut of emotions ranging
from pleasure, satisfaction and exhilaration
to anger, pain, grief and regret.
Use me wisely and with discretion, for
I can snuff out the flame of a king’s life as
easily as I can bring delight to a ten-
year-old’s face by recording for posterity a
first bulls eye on a humble paper target.
It took the fire of a crucible to conceive
me, but now I’m no longer molten metal—
and therein lies the deceptiveness of
my power. When I was cast in the mould
of hot lead you knew I was dangerous,
but now you underestimate me as I lie
in the womb of the cartridge case, a solidi-
fied metal teardrop the size of your
fingernail. Beware, for the day I’m born
I will go from womb to tomb in the fraction
of a second. For me there will be no
childhood, no puberty, no adulthood—
just a nano-second of flight before I find
my terminal resting place.
You must be mother, father, teacher,
and priest, because you will guide me on
my short life’s path. I am but an emotionless,
inanimate object with no heartbeat
and no conscience. Once the hot gases of
propulsion give birth to my destination,
they will also signal my death knell, for
I will have no childhood, no puberty, no
adulthood. Instant birth to instant rest,
with but a momentary tick of the clock
of time to bring pleasure or pain.
The responsibility for my actions rests
squarely on your shoulders. You conceived
me, you entombed me in a cartridge case
with my brother primer and sister gun-
powder, slaves to your bidding.
If you didn’t cast, size, lube and load
me yourself, you bought me just like you
bought Mister Gump’s box of chocolates.
But unlike the box of chocolates, with me
what you see is what you get. I am the
corked bottle encasing a quiescent genie.
Once the genie is free, you know exactly
what potential can be unleashed—but you
had better choose your three wishes wisely.
The acquisition of firearms and am-
munitions is sequential, one way or the
other. Rarely does one initially have a
vast supply of ammo of a specific caliber
and subsequently acquire a firearm to use
or expend this supply. While people often
buy a secondary or tertiary weapon for this
reason, usually one purchases the gun,
cleaning equipment, accessories, and a
storage unit—be it a case, bag or gun
safe—before any thought is given to what
ammunition is going to be obtained and
used in the weapon.
And after spending a king’s ransom on
all this equipment, you head for the local
gun emporium and spend a pittance on
a case of the cheapest garbage military
surplus ammo you can find.
Then when you miss, you blame it on
me. When you accidentally discharge a
firearm because you neglected to extract
me from the chamber, you blame it on
me. When I plow my way through bone
and muscle, and fail to incapacitate a
madman, you blame it on me. But when
you achieve the result you wanted, then
it’s because of your masterful ability,
and I’m forgotten—used, expended, and
spent.
Such is my lot—Man’s ingratitude
and lack of respect for the humble bullet.
Because you paid for the ammunition, I
become your possession; but you don’t
own me—I own your soul. I will make
you or break you in my short lifespan.
The slightest marksmanship error on
your part and I will embarrass you in
front of your peers. The slightest lapse in
concentration while manipulating a firearm
and I will take an innocent life. I will
ricochet off a windshield, a belt buckle,
or a baseball cap bill when you’ve been
told I should have penetrated the material—
and I will just as easily over-penetrate
an apartment wall and forever snuff
out the future of a defenseless child.
Doctor Mann spent a lifetime trying
to find out why I didn’t always perform
as external ballistics would demand I
do—and he went to his grave with my
secret intact. But you insist on imbibing
alcohol and firing bullets into the air in a
puerile Yuletide celebration, understanding
nothing of the physics of my flight
path—or my power to change your life
forever.
You will spend endless hours discussing
the merits and demerits of my size and
velocity, but when all is said and done, it
really doesn’t mean anything.
The truth of the matter is that once I
depart from your gun muzzle you no
longer have control over me—and I, too,
no longer have control over my own destiny.
The next time you see a humble un-
fired bullet remember that without me
your gun is as useless as fingers on a
rooster. And once loaded, I can be as
dangerous as a drunk in rush hour traf-
fic. Once my power is unleashed, there
can be only two results—delight and satisfaction, or disaster and horror. And this
will reach fruition in the blink of an eye,
for I have no childhood, no puberty, no
adulthood.
Treat me with respect, for I am the bullet—
and I have no conscience. [/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif][Louis Awerbuck is Director of the internationally acclaimed Yavapai Firearms Academy.
Course information and schedules are available at their website at Yavapai Firearms Academy]
[/FONT]
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