Found on Packing.org...
I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you about my exciting day
First of all, Glocks are the most proven tactical handguns in the world, I trust my life to them every day. I carry 2 Glock 37s, in a double shoulder-holster, a Glock 38 in a SOB holster, and a Glock 39 on my left ankle. I load all of my Glocks with premium Fang-face .45 GAP anti-terrorist ammunition made by Extreme-Shock. And because having the right tool for the right job is important, I also carry a 16in. collapsible BlackHawk BTS Baton, a FoxLabs Magnum 1lb Gun-Handle OC-spray, a Surefire E2D, two pairs of Smith&Wesson hand-cuffs, a Taser M18L, and a full-size Smith&Wesson SWAT folding knife. You see, a highly-trained tactically-minded operator such as myself must always be properly equipped to look after the sheeple, and defend them with my tactical prowess. Shoot first and ask questions later, that's my motto!
The dog-tags that I bought on the internet from my tactical gear supplier, say Special Forces , so that anyone who sees them will know how highly trained I am. I like how they clink against my CCW badge and inner trauma-plate (which I have tactically taped in place for double protection from sniper bullets), under my shirt and level IIIb body-armor.
All CCWers should follow my example of tactical preparedness.
Every day I try to reach out into the community, so that the entire city can bask in the safety and security my CCW badge provides. Ever since I received my permit last week, I have been a criminals worst nightmare in my city.
My watchful eyes are always scanning my neighborhood, which I refer to as my N-Zee, even when I am home in my trailer. With tactical precision I peek out of random windows of my modular, tactically relocate-able home, parting the mini-blinds imperceptibly& The motion-sensitive lights and fake cameras all over the exterior will disorient and overwhelm anyone who tries to sneak into my sector of the N-Zee. My neighbors in the trailer-park feel a lot safer knowing that there is a person with a CCW badge nearby who can respond to dangerous situations with lightning speed.
I spend a lot of time at the local Burger King, because that is where most of the criminals and questionable individuals in this area go to eat. My presence helps keep order, and makes the Sheeple feel safer because I am there to protect them.
From halfway across the room I spotted him as I was taking the first bite out of my Triple-Whopper, the most creepiest person that I had ever seen! He was trying to appear so innocent in that lavender pullover, holding his specially trained attack-Pekingese in the crook of his arm; the dog was wearing a baby-blue dog-sweater. I knew that I had to save these sheeple who were oblivious to the danger!
I slipped ninja-like from my chair, spilling my drink as a diversion, and took a tactical crouching-position behind the trash. With precise timing I held up my CCW badge, drew my Glock 37 and squealed at the top of my lungs: FREEZE! . He shrunk backwards in fear, knowing that I had spotted the bulge underneath his pullover, a tell-tale sign that he was carrying a concealed weapon WITHOUT A BADGE!!! In desperation he looked around wildly, seeking an escape as I tactically weaved towards him, maintaining my cover behind the clear-plastic display which holds the kiddie toys.
Finally, using the advanced techniques learned watching the 62 minute video: ASP TACTICAL BATON TRAINING , which is one of many that I get specially through my tactical police gear supplier on the internet, I snapped my 16in. collapsible BlackHawk BTS Baton extended on the third attempt, just in time to deliver a mildly-irritating blow to the light fixture behind the perp. That is what I meant to do, now he is just where I want him! Dis-oriented, he crouches down and pleads: Dont hurt Foo-Foo! , while the panicking attack-Pekingese barks shrill-ly. I force the suspect face-first to the floor and hand-cuff him with my shiny Smith&Wesson handcuffs. All of a sudden there is pain in my right ankle; I swing around, the pain bringing tears to my eyes& The red-sweater-doper-dog has buried its ¼ fangs into my Achilles tendon, paralyzing me! Only my training saves me as I sweep the safety off of my FoxLabs Magnum 1lb Gun-Handle OC-spray and hold down the trigger, instantly fogging the entire area with small droplets of liquid fire. It has the desired effect, blasting the deceptively small attack-dog off of my leg and dis-infecting my bite-wound with such intensely painful liquid that any normal person could not have withstood it. The situation was then under control, and the Burger King fully evacuated (along with my bladder, bowels and stomach)& I proceeded to search the suspect for evidence, but I cannot see anything through the fog of OC-spray, so I leave that chore for the responding PD. When finally my backup arrives, the local boys-in-blue picked me up off of the floor and guide me to the ambulance for a quick field-dressing on my ankle, everyone was laughing and admiring how deftly I handled the situation.
Later on, during my daily perimeter surveillance mission of the N-Zee, on my mo-ped, I noticed a drug deal going down at the bus-stop. Most regular folks, or sheeple (as CCWers, Police, and Security Specialists tend to call civilians without CCW badges), would never have noticed the subtle exchange which my trained senses were drawn to like a magnet.
From 153yd away I could practically smell the drugs in the packets which they were carrying from door-to-door& It made me realize how hungry I was. I grabbed a Slim-Jim from my Blackhawk Tactical-vest pocket with one hand as I swung my machine around and gunned it with the other& It was time for the big take-down!
As I screeched to a halt, inches from them, I held up my CCW badge and challenged them: Drop the contraband! I have a Concealed-Weapons-Permit! . They were stunned, obviously having thought that their Girl-Scout uniforms would disguise them from ordinary civilians&
Out of nowhere a purse came flying and nearly took my head off! Luckily I was quick enough to drop down into the tactical-fetal-defensive position and let my mo-ped fall on top of me for protection. Leave my girls alone! the bitch screamed.
She had to have been an experienced criminal to have snuck up on me without my noticing! The drug-dealing girls must have been her prostitutes. As such, I had to deal with the old pimp-hag first, before I could have taken the small fish into custody.
The hours of in-depth discussion with my next-door neighbor, who was a karate-instructor, have honed my nin-jitsu fighting skills to near-perfection. My senses are razor-sharp, and the muscles in my warrior-like 98-lb frame tightened, ready to spring into action on a moments notice.
I deftly roll sideways and leap up onto my feet, ignoring the intense pain of the curb striking my skull due to rolling the wrong direction on purpose, to keep the girl-scout drug-dealers and their pimp guessing my next move. I Tasered the pimp with my M18L after skillfully engaging and pointing the tactical laser it is equipped with. I heard the sound of sirens in the distance, signaling to me that backup was on its way. The sound gives me strength as I chased down the young drug dealers and cuffed them, and finally secured the contraband that they were trying to escape with. I decided to keep one box, disguised as Tag-a-longs, as evidence for me to digest.
With the situation under control I trusted the cavalry to assess the situation when they arrived, I could not stick around for the applause and compliments for a job well-done: my pager was beeping, and that could only mean one thing!
I picked up my mo-ped, though scratched and dented from the last confrontation; I raced off to the local 7-11 where my room-mate worked. He was paging for my immediate assistance!
Upon entering the 7-11, my room-mate frantically directed me to the back of the store, where a commotion was taking place. Everyone was so relieved when I arrived, filling the stop-n-rob with the powerful aura of my confidence and prowess. Quickly, after skillfully unclogging the Slurpee machine for the thirsty throng, and dispensing myself some refreshment, I abandoned my under-cover persona as the on-call handy-man and dashed for the door to return to my duties at the N-Zee.
Along my way I had to stop at Blockbuster, to drop off the copy of Judge Dredd which I rent regularly every month. As I was waiting to turn left, daydreaming about whether to get a Steven Seagal or Chuck Norris action movie this time, suddenly a Krispy Kreme truck swerved wildly in my direction, and skidded to a stop within inches of my mo-ped! The man in the cab of the truck was waving his arms wildly, threateningly it seemed& And then I noticed! He was wearing a TURBAN!!! This vehicular assassin must be an Islamo-facist Terrorist, possibly armed with a truck-bomb!
I had to stop him. A look of shock spread over the goat-F*&%ers face as I drew both of my Glock 37s and took up a tactical cover position behind my mo-ped. I have you surrounded! as I pulled my CCW Badge out of my shirt Step down out of your attack-vehicle with your hands up, or I will shoot! I have a CCW permit! His turbaned head ducked out of sight behind the dashboard, and I began firing& Shooting the tires, the windshield, and aiming for the gas-tank hoping to explode the Krispy-Kreme truck in a ball of fire. He must have armor-plated his gas tank?!
When I ran out of ammo in my Glock 37s, the Muslim-terrorist peeked out again. I am no terrrest, do no shoot! A likely story indeed, but I could not be fooled so easily. Dropping my empty Glock 37s, I drew my Glock 38 from its SOB holster (I call it my New-York reload) and advanced towards the cab of the suicide-truck-bomb disguised as a Krispy-Kreme truck, ordering the cowering rag-head: lay flat on the ground!!!
Just then, a dozen squad cars roared up, surrounding us with the sirens screaming. The Terrorist was now crying, and waving at the cops, apparently trying to lure them closer Help Me! he yelled.
I had to prevent the terrorist from detonating his bomb!
Lunging forward, with my Glock 38 in hand, I dove to tackle the Islamic-militant. He darted out of my grasp, causing me to trip over the handle-bars of my own mo-ped. As I fell, I heard a single gun-shot and felt white-hot pain in my left foot. The terrorist must have tried to kill me! Thankfully, the officers safely took the terrorist into custody by the time I struggled back up to my feet. A paramedic examined my foot and prepared me for transport to the hospital while a detective got my story, and finally told me: Well get you some help, son . The paramedic told me that I would live, but they needed to check me out at the hospital.
I have a lot of respect for police officers, but I found out during the investigation that they cant count& No matter how many times I told the detectives that I fired 22 shots (10+1 in each Glock 37), they always wrote down 23 . They said that they would inform me of the charges as soon as I was released from the hospital. I cant wait! I hope that Islamo-Terrorist gets the book thrown at him!
What are your thoughts?
I'll let you know what happens later, since I just got released from the hospital. I'd like to see what the experienced CCWers here have to say about what I've gone through, and what to expect?
I'd rather be judged by 6 than carried by 12!
Come & Get 'em!
Oh my god, what a parody!!! My eyes are leaking.
