Everything is relative, right?
So, when I was kid -- like 12 -- I had a fondness for toys that sent projectiles through the air at high speed. Now, nothing like a BB-Gun, but pretty much everything short of that -- sling-shots, bows and arrows, catapults, a thousand home-made devices made using coat-hangers and rubber bands, and ONE, extremely cool and radical TENSION RIFLE that fired about 16 heavy-gauge lemon-yellow rubber bands REALLY HARD with DEADLY PRECISION.
As you can imagine, I had a lot of fun with this toy. I broke a lot of shit, I tortured a stray dog or two, and I even pelted a few unsuspecting derrieres with Yellow Rubber Pain.
I was a menace...
Until one day, when the first person I ever had sex with (a much older woman) turned that fucking rifle on my naked ass one day after sex -- and she had this look of "You fucking little fuck, who do you think you are..."
She nailed me three times on the ass and thigh -- She SHOT Me, Rochard. She shot me good, and I was never the same after that.
You happy now --
??
j-