A fine 24 hours last weekend:

Friday night

The CEO (and date), the Chief Educator (and date), and Mr. Pancho Libre (and date) convened in NW Portland and ate muchas tasty Spanish food and drank tasty Spanish wine. Raw beef (carpaccio), raw fish (ceviche), and (cooked) squid stuffed with sausage; it doesn’t get much better than that. Except maybe for the sea scallops wrapped in Serrano ham — that was pretty good too. Gracias to the CFO’s brother (and date) for the babysitting.

Saturday morning

I got up at the crack of dawn (roughly 9:00 AM) and went over to the Chief Educator’s house. Three other let’s-go shoot-some-shit-and-see-what-happens firearm enthusiasts were already present. We piled all the gear into the Chief Sniper’s truck and off we went towards the mountains. There was a quick pit stop on the way; certain members of our party were whining about their lack of coffee and grub. I didn’t mind: to paraphrase Ben Franklin, The McGriddle is Proof that God Loves us and Wants us to be Happy. It’s as good an argument for God as any other I’ve heard.

We went up Hwy 26 toward the coast but then at the top turned off at a super secret logging road only I and the CTO know the location of. At this point the Chief Sniper started to worry me a little bit. He is a pretty sane driver on the pavement, but off road he was something else entirely. As we are bouncing along like a competitor in Mickey Thompson’s Off-Road Challenge, we crest a hill only to find that a tree has fallen partly across the road. It is 50 feet ahead of us; we are going 50 mph. No time to stop. Could this be curtains for the CEO? Almost. The Chief Sniper proceeded to skillfully maneuver his truck under the highest section of the tree and avoided even scratching the paint. Or killing himself and/or one or more of his passengers. Well played, Chief Sniper.

We arrived at the end of the logging road and set up shop: it was time to draw some targets and then get to work. It probably comes as no surprise to you, Gentle Reader, to hear that many, many evildoers (or at least artistic representations thereof) were dispatched that morning with hundreds and hundreds of hollowpoints. Zombies, monsters, the Devil himself and many of his lesser demons and imps (like Paris Hilton, and her little dog too) were all thoroughly ventilated. On to the pictures:

Some of the tools of our trade, whatever that trade may be.

The CTO setting up some targets on the berm. “OK, who drew the picture of a snooty looking guy wearing a beret and a striped shirt?”

The Chief Educator ranging the Chief Sniper on a particularly difficult shot. This may have been shortly before the Chief introduced Potatohead Skeletor to his new best friend. Meet Mr. Hollowpoint, spudly!

And the Chief Sniper returning the favor for the CTO:

Soon it was time to prepare Osama bin Melon and his lieutenants for their destiny: explosion due to extreme lead poisoning. The Chief Sniper prepping the victims:

Leave it to the Chief Educator to miss a watermelon with a shotgun. Twice. He redeemed himself on shot #3: One of Osama’s henchmen was turned into a 30 foot wide mushroom cloud of melon guts and Midori flavored mist when the Chief finally successfully applied lead to melon.

Kids, if you are going to shoot a shotgun always make sure you have it firmly shouldered before you pull the trigger, instead of just resting it loosely on your upper arm. If you don’t, and instead handle the shotgun like a ginormous idiot, you get something like this. The CEO’s bicep:

The Chief Sniper, worn out from a long morning of shooting his enemies.

Our shooting spot was a thorough disaster when we left, and anyone coming upon it later must have wondered just what in the hell had happened out there. Of course before we left we picked up everything we could that wasn’t biodegradable, but that only scratched the surface. Four watermelons, some eggs, a few tomatoes and God knows how many potatoes met their end that day on site, most in very explosive fashion. The Chief Sniper also thought it would be a good idea to shoot some expired canned foods and sauces. It was. So factor in the fact that enchilada sauce had been sprayed over the whole shebang, adding significantly to the olfactory (and gooeyness) factor. All in all, a glorious scene. Photographs couldn’t do it justice. Unless you have a camera that incorporates Smell-O-Vision — then you might have been able to get close.

Saturday afternoon.

After our trip to the mountains me, the Chief Educator and CTO caught a late lunch back in town. The place we chose to eat just so happened to also serve beer! Imagine that! It’s our lucky day! We managed to drink several pints of IPA on the patio of said establishment, and in the course of accomplishing that we also downed cheeseburgers and tots. And lo and behold it happened to be Happy Hour, so it wasn’t even too expensive.

Saturday evening.

After my burger I figured I’d better get home, since the CFO had been alone with The Heir and The Spare for the better part of the day. As it turns out she and them were fine, and had had a real nice time visiting a friend of the CFO out in Sherwood. The Jr. VP was in a good mood and we played and played and played. And then after putting Jr. to bed I caught the second half of one of the most enjoyable Mariner games of the year so far, with the M’s winning, and Mariner-geek cult hero “Red” finally getting the formal recognition he so richly deserves. A fine 24 hours indeed.