Firearm folly
I spent a few years in the ATC (air force cadets) as a teenager. It’s fair to say that a few of us didn’t always observe all rules & regulations, especially where firearms were concerned.

All rifles and ammunition were meant to be secured behind at least two locked metal doors; however one of the adult officers’ sons was in the cadets with us and was not averse to stealing his dad’s keys, so occasionally we could run around in the local woods at the weekend with .22 and .303 rifles pretending we were real soldiers. But only the rifles mind, never the ammo.

One day a bunch of us were doing some work clearing the grounds where our HQ (well, ok, hut) was situated. All plant matter & wood were piled up into a big bonfire behind the hut, and at the end of the day we sat around the fire all pleased with ourselves.

At one point the adults went off to buy us some food & drink to reward us for our efforts. The officer’s son sloped off too, then reappeared a minute later with a strange grin. He flung a handful of shiny things into the middle of the fire and promptly ran like fuck, loudly recommending us to do the same.

Everyone just sat still looking at each other in confusion, unsure what he’d just done. Then all of a sudden

BANG!

The wooden fence nearby suddenly wobbled and a big crack appeared in it.

BANG BANG!

It dawned on everyone at pretty much the same instant that the silly cunt had thrown a handful of live .22 bullets into the fire.

We then elected to follow his advice and run like fuck.

When the grown ups returned half an hour or so later they found everyone back by the fire, strangely subdued, sat in strategic positions against the hut wall & surrounding fence (to cover the damaged bits!), all hoping to fuck that this lad had told us the right number of bullets he’d thrown on and that we’d counted the bangs correctly…
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 3 Nov 2005, 13:16, Reply)