hahahah
I'm sorry, but I gotta go with JL on this one.
If it's in my space, it gets clocked.
Now, how I define that space changes in each situation.
But I do remember a story of how my buddy's dad, Bob and his old man, in Bob's youth would pick up miners out in the desert where they were heading back out to their claim. On Bob's way out to josh or the mojave, invariably he would pick up this one hitchhiker/miner that originally had a six shooter in his belt. He told the young troublemakers, if you boys ever follow me, I'll shoot you where you stand. The rest of the story has nothing to do with this, but it's interesting nonetheless that even in the early 50s guys were wearing six shooters in their belts out in the desert.
On one such trip, Bob and his dad were roaring drunk by the fire. Bob's dad gets up to take a leak and meanders into the bush. Not a minute later, his Dad is yelling "BOB!!! BOB!!! GET THE GUN, GET THE GUN!!!!!"
Bob stands up not seeing the issue at first, and asks, "What's wrong?"
"GET THE GUN, GIVE ME THE GOD DAMN GUN!!!"
Pops is standing there pissin when he realizes there's a rattler right under his tallywacker, backs away QUICKLY, and at that point is when he starts yelling.
Bob hands over the gun and Pops unloads all six rounds into the snake. Only hitting it once.
Picture a gruff old desert rat of a guy yowling out for the gun, panic strickin, with his tallywacker hanging out, he shoots at the ground hitting basically nothing.
hahahahah
