I went out to the country.

We drank.
There were guns.

So the natural next step was: drinking and shooting.

It felt very Hunter S. Thompson-esque.

But then I remembered that he made a goddamn mess by going and shooting himself in the head, and then all those giant bats we were seeing suddenly didn't seem so funny anymore.

Not that we were going to do all that much damage with pellet guns anyway.

Maybe just a drive-by of someone’s antique can collection…