OF TRAP SHOOTING Page 1
TIME TO LAUGH
We all know trapshooting is a fun and often a
funny sport, so it's time to poke at it.
WHEN NICE PEOPLE ASK STUPID
WITH A SANDBAGGER
A FIRESIDE CHAT
DISGUST OF TRAP SHOOTING
Remember when you were at a shoot and
"someone" said hello, struck up a conversation and you sort of wished it would
all end... soon? Okay, you're lucky... but what if you ran into this dude?
Once upon a time... an old trap shooter steps off
the firing line, leans his fine shotgun on the rack, sits and opens a beer. It's a
great day! A voice crashes the air...
Hi, my name is Billy Billy. I know it's
confusing to remember but my mom named me twice 'cause I'm double-trouble she say's.
I don't pay no heed to her though, ya'know? (beat of silence) What's
wrong with ya neck, mister? Glory be... what's wrong with ya neck ?
Well, ya keep turnin' ya neck so ya stupid head
points in the opposite direction of where I is --
Look kid, what do you want? Can't you see I'm
Busy my rump on a New York barbecue spit in a Summer
hurricane. Ya just wanna drink ya beer in front of me... don't ya? No need to
be rude, mister. Just ain't no call for it.
All right already, have a beer. Satisfied now?
Glory be, thanks mister. I'm Billy Billy --
I know. I know. I'm Jack Jack.
What can I do for you?
Really? Jack Jack? Double trouble too
huh? Well, I seen ya trapshootin' and I think you're --
Ahh, cut it out. I'm not a professional.
Sure is, man, like I mean with all them medals ya
wearin' and all and --
I've been doing this, son, for a long time... but
Excuse me, but I notice that belt you a wearin' has
notches in it. So it's true?
What? What? What's true?
You're... you're a sandbagger.
Look kid, I don't need any of this --
Rumors never lie 'less they talkin' 'bout ladies.
That's what my mom say's.
Woman strolls by, smiles, nods approvingly.
You're picking a fight aren't you? I know your
type. Just going around trying to piss people off to make your game better.
Well I'm too up for you, boy. Go play your mind-games elsewhere.
The trap shooter snatches Billy's beer away with a
Hey, that's my beer!
Calling me a sandbagger. Just who do you think
you are? Billy Bonehead the III? Scram! Beat it! Get out of here!
Go pester that guy over there.
Billy leaves, sulks strongly, shoes scuff the
cement, reflects sad eyes over his shoulder.
Hey kid... hey?
Billy returns, all smiles. Trap shooter hands
Billy a beer, but doesn't let go.
Look boy, I'll break your trigger finger if you
spread that rumor around. I have a reputation.
Trapshooter lets go of beer. It spills on
Billy's shirt from the recoil.
Good golly, mister. Did you cut wind?
All right. That does it. I tried to be
nice to you but I can see that's not going to work.
Billy tosses beer to concrete spraying the guns on
the rack with brew.
C'mon, ya wanna fight me? Huh?
C'mon you old sandbagger!
The old man rises, takes a swing at Billy, knocks
Go pester somebody else, boy.
Billy's mother storms onto the scene.
Pushes the old trapshooter back down into his chair. He obeys for her shotgun is
pointed you know where.
Now, you pickin' on me Billy? Are you?
Tell the truth you ol' sandbagger!
Now wait a minute here --
It's true ma. I didn't provoke him.
He's a mean old bas --
Shut your mouth. Ain't no way to treat ya
Jack rises, screams. Mrs. Billy throttles his
Manager! Field Captain! Help!
Shut up! Shut up! This is the last trap
shoot for you, dad. You walk around these traps acting like a professional... too
good for everyone.
Manager and Field Captain arrive, hot out of breath.
What's all the comotion going on here?
That old man is my daddy!
Jack rises, keeps his distance from Mrs. Billy.
Now hold on, everybody, please, please.
I'm an old man. My heart just isn't up to this. I'm confused.
It never fails! Didn't you look at the
Mrs. Billy slaps the program into Jack's face.
Jack's eyes expand as he reads the paper.
Everybody nods. Billy and his mother hug Jack.
Then Mrs. Billy grabs Jack by the ears and lead him away. Everyone cheers as
Jack sings the Ow-ow song.
Ow! Ow! Ow!
What is the lesson here? Read the program.
Seems old Jack won the handicap event and played the options as every good and
decent trapshooter should... but poor old Jack got himself a wife and kid as a trophy.
Now ol' Jack can complain all he wants to management but he played by the
rules and that's that.
So, when the day arrives when a boy comes up to you
asking stupid questions... better go to the cashier and backout of the shoot,
'cause you never know when you will win that "special" sandbagger's handicap
event... the losers always win this one!
Remember the good old days when life was
simple, school was uncomplicated and life was a breeze? Well, kiss them goodbye!
Today with computer literacy and calculators with dictionary-size instruction
manuals, well, life is just complex for the youth of the age. Here's a list of some
real dumb questions they ask.
Is there real gunpowder in that gun like the kind
Marco Polo made? (Who's Marco Polo?)
I heard a guy say to a girl to mount it gun slowly.
Is that obscene or what? (Hmmm?)
I thought trapshooting was crapshooting? (The kid
wasn't wrong was he?)
What's the difference between a post and a station?
(The post is where you hitch the horse in front of the trap station where you stand.
It's optional to play the options? (Nope, you gotta
play or the pros get in a fray..)
What does length of pull mean? (Kid, go ask somebody
Excuse me... your butt is crooked, sir (When you get
to my age...)
Look... I got a high rib too! (Put your shirt back
down, boy. This ain't no carnival.)
Why they call it trapshootin'? (Cause ya can't stop
once ya start doing it.)
Sniffin' used hulls makes headaches go away? (Yep.
It's the nirtoglycerin. Calms the nerves too.)
How come I didn't win? (Stop it, boy, stop it... you
ain't the only one ya'know?)
I missed ten targets today. How'd you do?
(Congradulations! Now let me be sorrowful.)
Man, I flinched three times today. (Well stop
closing ya eyes when ya pull the trigger, dummy.)
I got a great load. Wanna see it? (Take
that to the mens room, boy. Now go away.)
What's the best trap gun to buy? (Adolf
Klunkenheimer Trap Special, $125,000. I got two. )
How can I stop hitting those hard rights? (Say that
Mine's 30-inches. What's yours? (Here, chew on
this bar of soap.)
My comb keeps slapping my cheek. Why?
(Grow-up, boy. Use a hair brush like the rest of us.)
Sandbaggers sure are rich, huh? (Don't look at me in
that tone of voice!)
I scored! I scored! (With who?)
I think I got a hole in my pattern. (Nooooo!
I need a full choke. (C'mere, close your eyes,
exhale... that a boy... How's that feel?)
I don't understand lead. What is it? (Shoot
where the target will be in the future, not now.)
I ain't liftin' my head no more. (That's it... keep
your eyes to the pavement at all times.)
Do ya think I ask dumb questions? (Heck no...
whatever gave you that stupid idea?)
Shooters gossip like women? (It's worse, son...
much, much, worse. It's like that guy over there...)
Ya wrong, mister. Everybody likes me! (Until
you can shoot a darn good score!)
Lot of grumpy shooters today. (It's hard to smile
when ya face is frozen in ice... it's winter!)
That girl said she likes you. (I know it's your
mother, boy. I don't want no family. Leave!)
What's a Calcutta? (A magical place far, far,
away... in never-never-land. I've never been there.)
You wear diapers? (I said, "Git my diaper
bag." Whattaya hard of hearin'?)
BY THEIR TEARS YOU SHALL KNOW THEM!
A young trapshooter with that typical
cock-sure strut approaches, the room falls silent, not a murmur is heard. The
puzzled boy stops, looks around, sees a man smiling at him. Feeling it safe to
speak, the boy whispers, Mr.? Why do they call this sport trap shooting? The
man slinks away as the flashing teeth of a seething crowd shouts with blazing eyes to the
boy, "Shut your trap!" The poor boy received the answer.... never speak
when standing by the scoreboard! For it is hallowed ground to which the living-dead
gather to appease their weary souls in the dark remorse of misery. Another
nice way to say, "The crybabies gather seeking sympathy from those who have no
tears left to give... and would not give a rat's butt about your score."
So, now you know what is really going on when
you see those scavengers gathering by the scoreboard. Those occasional smiles you
see is really the gnashing of teeth, and that glimmer in their eyes are precursors to
robbing you of the sympathy you reserved for yourself. Cry alone my friend. Do
not mingle with evil men.
AN INTERVIEW WITH A SANDBAGGER
There has been much discussion over the
years about sandbaggers dodging the rules of the game to essentially, it is alleged, to
cheat shooters out of their money. We decided there was in fact two-sides to a
EDITOR - Hello
Mr. Clarence Bagasan III. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'd like to ask you a
BAGASAN III -
No fear. Let's do it. Please, have some wine.
EDITOR - So it
is true sandbagging once suspected, like the Mafia, truly do exist?
If I told you I'd have to kill you (laughter).
(laughing too) Old joke, Clarence. So... it is true sandbagging... once suspected
like the Mafia to be fictional, truly do exist?
Yes. It's time we all come out of the wash
basins and clean up our act. So I elected myself to represent the NASSOB's.
National Association of Sandbagging Sons of Bit... well, you get the idea.
We can't live like this anymore hiding from exposure. It's time the truth be
known that we are cheaters... and be bloody-buggery proud of it too!
Cheating? Now just how do your cheat the rules? Many do not understand
BAGASAN - Yes.
Cheating is truly an art. Not everyone can do it so skillfully as we
can... and by the moons of Jupiter we'll get our due respect yet! There is one
fundamental thing all these negative magazine article writers fail to understand.
EDITOR - What's that?
BAGASAN - Sandbaggers have rights too!
We have been maligned, criticized, libeled and slandered for decades. For
what? What wrong did we do to deserve this?
EDITOR - Cheating!
That's our vocation! It's what we do for a living. It's our job! Like a
wife screaming at her husband it's all a sport... it's what women do... it's their sport,
their game. Get it? We cheat, that's our game. Now anyone who deserves to be
cheated out of their money deserved it. That's the first thing we learn in
sandbagging school... we live by it, with pride I may add. I have no shame for
making a good living. I'm not hurting anyone. Do you see bruises on shooters?
Broken necks? No. We just hurt their little feelings. Take a
little money we feel is rightfully ours. It's like a tax. Or think of it as
dues, yeah, dues. You pay a small fee to shoot, right? Well, you pay us our
dues. Heck, it's only money. Why make such a big deal out of it?
EDITOR - What authority do your have to justify
levying fees on shooters for your own profit?
BAGASAN - We
don't play by your blasted rules so we don't recognize any jurisdiction here. We
have our own code of ethics and that is simple... make money from other peoples money.
EDITOR - Now that's a low blow.
BAGASAN - Look
buddy, banks do it everyday. The mortgage you own, well, you're making money off of
other peoples money when you sell that defective old house of yours. So don't give
me your righteous grumblings. Sandbaggers are honorable people. At least we
are straight-up about it, unlike the banks and your kind. Yes, sandbaggers are
cheats and thieves but we are honorable men and women... honor among thieves does exist
contrary to public perception. We are born losers but sandbagging gives us a sense
of self-worth. I sandbagged for this fine home and the fine leather chair you sit
in. Am I proud? No. I am delighted!
EDITOR - Getting back to cheating... tell us
how to do it.
BAGASAN - We
have many secrets, I'll share a few. Some I must not tell as it is against our
sacred honor and oath to reveal them.
EDITOR - Like paying off people to rig scores?
BAGASAN - No
comment. I can tell you this, my dear friend. First, please, may we
toast to our fine sport of trapshooting (glasses cling). We never shoot alone and
for good reason. If I miss my buddy will see a "chip" break off the
target. This one works like magic. I like turning down pulls and blaming the
puller. This gets the kid upset, nervous and messes up everyone else on the squad
too. Just little mind-games we play. I'll tell you one thing that may frighten
you. We have a sandbagger on every squad! That's right. Even your best
friend could be a high-ranking member of NASSOB and you would never suspect it. But
you'll notice one thing. That shooter usually beats you and the others score.
That's all I can say about it at this time. Oh, one more thing... our kids and
relatives are charting your scores and we make sure they sort of not do a good job on you
if you know what I mean. Just a little clerical error here and there. And you
thought you missed (laughter). We are now going hi-tech. With our tiny radios
we can speak to our target setters and give you some wild targets and our "Reward the
Puller" program is handing over to us some very nice pulls... and giving you what you
deserve for shooting at the slow or fast pull. Hey, trapshooting is one big happy
EDITOR - I see. One big happy family of
BAGASAN - Now,
now. We mustn't be so cruel. Let me assure you it is nothing personal.
I'd take your option money... and I hate Editors!
EDITOR - Very comforting philosophy you have on
Thank you. We Bagasan's have been well-trained in the art. Let me tell
you what we did just last year at the Reno Golden West Grand. You know that top gun
from Italy that shows up every time the perfect 50's cash pot grows? We had to do
something 'cause there was too much money to risk to share equally. Personally I was
against the tactic, but I had to cast my vote with the homeboys.
EDITOR - What on Earth did you do to him?
BAGASAN - Not
I, mind you... we placed a baby roach in his ear. Those little critters when they
rub their legs together sounds like a space shuttle launch. Ol' Mr. Italy had to
leave the shoot and we took the money. All's fair in love and trapshooting we say.
EDITOR - What else do sandbaggers do, to get that
We've been known to sweeten the food at the shoot with laxative. You would be
surprised to know just how low scores can go when you have to go. Know what I mean?
EDITOR - Sandbaggers are evil?
BAGASAN - The
perception of us is all wrong. You have it backwards. Evil spelled in reverse
is L-I-V-E. We live to the fullest. Now what is really evil is all those
crybabies out there who complain about us sandbagger's taking their money... that's evil.
They are tying to take away our livelihood. We would die if we couldn't
obtain money to buy homes, cars, put food on our tables, clothe our children, play craps,
shoot trap. You don't hear us sandbaggers writing the editors complaining
about those evil selfish whining trapshooters out to give us a bad name do you?
EDITOR - That's true. But...
BAGASAN - Now
let me finish, good sir. The shooting sports industry at large simply do not
recognize the achievements of sandbagging. We don't get trophy's for ripping off
people's option money, fixing a shoot or slashing tires and... ah, back up a minute here.
I just want to say we are very talented. Now I ask you good sir, when do we
get our due recognition we rightfully deserve? You know... it hurts our feelings
every time we read and hear our name maligned in the magazines, "Sandbaggers did
this. Sandbaggers did that." Hey, wake up...we have feelings too! For
this sport to survive we must learn to live together. Like a marriage, it's a give and
take relationship. You give, we take.... and everybody's happy! It's
those poor-sports out there ruining it for everyone. What's the problem here anyway?
Everybody likes to go shopping and spend money. That's the joys of life... to
spend money. Trapshooters are simply spending money when we take their money.
We're merchants! I even have a Honest Business Bureau plaque on my wall.
Cost me $400 a year for that thing. It's proof of my integrity.
EDITOR - Integrity? Rewarding theft, lies,
deceit? Why should sandbaggers be so honored?
Because we admit we cheat. It's a fact. We just use excuses to loop-around the
rule book. Loop-holes are perfectly legal... and that's a fact.
EDITOR - And you should be honored?
Recognized for your skills of deception and fraud?
That's a start and why not? It's an art form. Sandbagging is hard work and
often embarrassing and we risk expulsion from the shooting organizations if we get caught.
We shoot under tremendous pressure to miss targets we know we can hit. You
try it sometime and see if you can do it.
EDITOR - I am seeing the light. What more
could a sandbagger do to win a shoot?
Ahhh, we are extremely creative souls. Like those emergency phone calls you often
hear over the intercoms? Well, that's us. It's a fine way to make a shooter
late for his squad, keep him out of the shootoff or just make the bugger worry like heck.
Anything to win is our motto! Now, with humility, I'm the one who
organized the Doggy Game.
EDITOR - Doggy Game? I don't follow.
BAGASAN - The
caliber of shooters is rising due to the increase in shooting clinics and books about
trapshooting. It threatened to take a huge chunk of our purses. So I
organized the Doggy Game. It's really simple. We have specially trained dogs
that howl all night long and we just bring them along in our motorhomes and let them sing
till the sun rises. I love animals, they are so obedient and faithful!
If you deny a man of sleep... you'll certainly get his wallet.
EDITOR - You? Sandbaggers are responsible for
BAGASAN - (big
satisfied grin) Great, huh? From now on... nobody sleeps!
EDITOR - How do you sandbaggers sleep then?
BAGASAN - Now
c'mon, now. We don't stay in those rigs. We use hotels. Those parking
lots at the trapshoots have gone to the dogs! Management needs to do something about
the dog problem. Until then...
EDITOR - You're the ones who instigated the entire
thing. It's not management's problem.
Ain't our problem. We don't hear them howling beasts all night long, now do we?
EDITOR - You realize what you are saying is going
into the magazines and Web sites worldwide?
BAGASAN - It
doesn't scare us. I can deny every word. Who can prove what these days?
Sandbagging is a covert operation. You can see yet still can't detect
us. We are very good at what we do. We know how to deal with management,
use loopholes in the rule books. When was the last time you saw a sandbagger
sanctioned for wrongdoing? It' don't happen. And if it does we get off easy.
So print what you want. We have no fear of discovery or exposure... in fact
we glory in it!
EDITOR - What's that? That bronze pin you
What? This here? Oh, it's my Exalted One pin. It's really nothing.
You have to have cheated people out of their money at least fifty-thousand times to
EDITOR - Fifty-thousand trapshooters?
BAGASAN - No
big deal. Look, this here is my gold one.
EDITOR - A hundred and twenty-five thousand?
BAGASAN - I'll
be getting my platinum pin next year. Don't ask, the figure is much higher.
Now cheating is easy. In fact, it was my great, great, great, grandfather in London
that first invented the intimidation of the puller/scorekeeper. Sometimes a clenched
fist works, and other times we have to flatten a few tires (twisting horseshoes in the old
days and breaking wagon spokes). It's a thrill I still have since I was a kid.
I don't think I could live without getting my hands dirty once a month or so. It's
in my blood to see other people lose money. The Bagasan clan goes way back even
further to the Roman days. But that's a different story. I'm related to
Barrabas. Did you know that?
EDITOR - Okay, you're a cheater. Any remorse?
Remorse? Where's my dictionary... ah, here, hmmm. Heck no! Like I
said, I'm proud of myself. Look at this absolutely fabulous home I have.
Earned it all from trapshooting. Oh, how I love that sport! Another trick we
like is pre-squadding. We plant ourselves among the sheep and intentionally screw-up
the squad rhythm. (laughing) It's so much fun! Sure we shoot low scores
on the smaller shoots. And we pay our dues of ridicule we get from other shooters
snickering at us as if we are some space aliens or something. Then we turn on our
skills on the big shoots and take their money (laughing hard). It's a hard life but
a good life.
EDITOR - How do you escape capture from the ruling
Sometimes we get caught and we get suspended. Just a hand slap. Then we're
back like the Terminator! We take full advantage of the gullible. Don't get me
wrong, I love gullible people!
EDITOR - Can you tell us what it feels like to be a
BAGASAN - It's a difficult life to live.
Here, I wrote this poem;
THE SANDBAGGER'S PLIGHT
A Poem by;
Clarence Bagasan III
The day is bright though my load is never light;
The sandbags on me belt sway gently as people
I am alone, abandoned and desolate in my
Scorned and despised by greedy money-losing
I had friends upon a time till they ran out of
Tis the only reason they failed to last.
It's been a good life, yes good thank's to you, my
I rest on my guilded pillow of gold as I comfort
Yea I yearn for the day sandbagging pays;
One friend, just one measly friend I cannot rob I
Though a true sandbagger can never be afraid I
resolve this day.
My life ruined, just me and my trap shotgun, I
fear I'm done;
But surely I say stealing money was gloriously
EDITOR - It's a beautiful poem. (wipes eyes) No
BAGASAN - I'm afraid not.
EDITOR - Tell me more about specific cheating
BAGASAN - For
example, we case a joint first with our eyes and ears and watch management's facial
expressions when the event begins. On the first squad or so we have our homeboy
shooting illegal loads just to see if management is on the ball or not. If they are
brain dead we bring out our hot loads. If we get a bad reaction and our homeboy is
punished we switch back to our 3-dram copper-plated shot (sometimes nickel plate) and go
to work. We also watch the scores very closely and we know which shooters are
tying up for a shootoff. We do our homework! No one can say a sandbagger is
lazy, nobody! Our homeboy's will tie up the scores too and we'll make sure our
fellow competitors receive lousy targets. We'll machine-gun the squad and make them
miss targets, among other things. But first we make certain we plant negative
thoughts in their ears prior to the shootoff. "Oh, Billy Boy just ran
600-straight in handicap this month and he's going to shootoff with these fools."
That plants valuable seeds of destruction into the minds of the weak sheep... then
we clip 'em.
EDITOR - Why bother to tie up the scores if you guys
shoot so well?
BAGASAN - We
can't fool the pros. They take the big money and we can't game them boy and girls.
They don't like us anyway so we don't shoot with 'em. They are a very greedy
bunch as they do not want to share any money with us sandbaggers. It's been a long feud
ever since my great, great, uncle was caught putting some low-velocity shells in a pros
box of shells. They didn't like that one bit.
EDITOR - So, don't ever pick up a box of shells that
is left behind?
BAGASAN - Best
not to. It could ruin our plan and cost us money. We had to shove a
solid steel slug in a shell and plant it in a diaper bag to beat this one guy we couldn't
outshoot... and we were losing money bad. We blew up the barrel on his gun and we
then won the shoot. It wasn't easy but we pulled it off.
EDITOR - That's criminal! You could have
killed that man!
BAGASAN - Not
really. We know how to custom design shells to burst barells without injuring
the shooter. You can buy these shells from me for $100 each. But,
accidents can happen. However, one must first be caught. Which is why you will
notice your eyes are a bit watery. I'm afraid you can't leave this home alive.
Don't worry, it's painless.
EDITOR - Aaaghghghgh!!!!
BAGASAN - You
didn't sip enough wine. Take a big swig now... there you go. Another.
See? Not a peep from you now. You know? Us sandbaggers are really not
bad, it's just that people don't understand us.
Mr. Clarence Bagasan III is not related to
anyone you know and any similarities is purely coincidental.
FIRESIDE CHAT WITH...
SIR BARTHARLEMEW DUSTBALLER
(THE KNIGHTED ONE)
For those who do not not who this man is, I am proud
to introduce the world's most excellent professional trapshooter. He never
misses targets! I interviewed him at his castle in London's filthy rich Holland Park
neighborhood. Let's find out the secrets how not to miss targets...
EDITOR - My golly, Sir Bartharlemew, the fireplace
fire is so hot it's smoking your shirt!
SIR BARTHARLEMEW - Way I like it, nice 'n toasty.
Call me, Sir. I'm clad in informal attire.
EDITOR - I am impressed with your trap
shooting achievements. You have always been my hero.
SIR - Abso-bloody-lutely I'm all of a twitter, yeah,
chuffed. I may blubber.
EDITOR - Could you speak American English if you
SIR - Cheers, thanks a lot. I'll try.
It's bumpy in here.
EDITOR - You think it's cold? Your shirts on
SIR - So it is, so it is. Bugger-all.
Maybe you translate, yeah?
EDITOR - Okay, I'll (parenthathise) the meaning of
your words. You were Knighted by the Queen of England for never missing a trap
target in ten-years.
SIR - Private affair. Backhanded
(bribed) the bit of fluff (attractive lady). Trap shooters are considered balderdash
(nonsense) to the beak (magistrate).
EDITOR - Tell us the secrets to great trap shooting.
So many shooters need your advice.
SIR - Most shooters are balls-up (confused) barking
mad (crazy) berks (stupid).
EDITOR - That's insulting!
SIR - It's the daunting truth they shoot browned-off
(bored) clapped-out (worn out) clodhoppers (clumsy) cloth-ears (poor hearing) crackers
(crazy) fools. And I ain't daft (stupid). Want a fag? (cigarette).
EDITOR - No, the house is full of smoke from your
shirt. So, how do we become pros?
SIR - Dog's bollucks! (something good) it's all
about dosh (money) do the dirty (play mean trick) on the other players.
EDITOR - You mean you rig the entire thing?
Cheated to be Knighted? Lied to the Queen? You're a mucky pup? (soiled
SIR - Easy-peasy (simple) except for the filth
(police) and grass (informers) other than that it's money for jam (easy job).
At that moment Sir Bartharlemew erupted into
flames. I barely escaped. The hospital said he'll survive. It appears
he's shot so many hot shells over his lifetime he can't stand the cold anymore. I
wonder if we'll ever meet him again to learn the secrets of never missing targets? I
believe he was fibbing us. Bartharlemew Dusballer is still my hero! Even
though he's hard to understand with his British dialect.
Mr. Bartharlemew Dustballer is not related
to anyone you know and any similarities is purely coincidental.
SHEER DISGUST OF TRAP SHOOTING
Critics are valuable resources to give us a
balanced perspective on the world and there are no better Master Critics than, Mr. Tobias
and and his wife Penelope Crabber. The Crabbers, from the country of Vulgaria, have
won every conceivable gossip awards and I am honored to bring this interview to you, even
though they charged $10,000 for the privilege.
EDITOR - Good day Mr. and Mrs. Crabber.
BOTH - What's so good about it? Did you bring
EDITOR - Yes, here. You can count it.
MR. CRABBER - You bet I will.
Mr. Tobias Crabber counts the money six times yet
still appears suspicious and counts again.
EDITOR - So, you have critiqued the sport of trap
shooting. What did you find?
MR. CRABBER - I hate the sport and so does my wife.
We hate all sports anyway. It's our job.
MRS. CRABBER - Honey, don't be so critical.
Shut-up! Let me do the talking. Now, trap shooting is a disgusting
sport. People walking around with shotguns cradled in their arms like
cherished babies smiling.
MR. CRABBER - Yeah, what gives them the right to be
happy in this miserable world?
MRS. CRABBER - Shut your trap, Tobias!
I'm warning you! Nobody wants to hear your negative attitude now bug
off. Yes, trap shooting should be outlawed for it is evil. I saw a man
and a woman hug and kiss each other as they held their shotguns. What message are we
sending to our youth?
MR. CRABBER - Shotgun weddings, that's what!
Mrs. Crabber twists Tobias ear 360 degrees in
reverse. He didn't yelp. It must have hurt!
MRS. CRABBER - A bunch of fun-loving people looking
for more fun. It's so disgusting to see people addicted in such a way as this.
People have driven 1,000 miles just to attend one of those big trapshoots.
Wasting precious fuel resources for what? To have a bit of fun?
They are destroying our environment putting fumes in the air like they do. A good
trapshooter should stay home and save the Earth.
MR. CRABBER - It's sex they want. I just know
Mrs. Crabbers' high-heel penetrated Tobias's shoe
and he didn't flinch. It made me cringe to see it.
MRS CRABBER - People think we are disgruntled
crabs, but we are not, really. We see the truth underlying the exterior view.
It's the motives we see in trapshooter's that is teaching our generation of youth the
horrors of money. Yes, trapshooters are making money, teaching our youth to gamble
and carouse for women. Why, some of these big shoots are in Las Vegas and Reno,
Nevada... sin cities!
MR. CRABBER - With lots of sex going on too!
Mrs. Crabber does something to Tobias I cannot tell
you. It must have hurt. Terribly so! I head something POP!
EDITOR - You have anything good to say about trap
MRS. CRABBER - Yes. It's good for nothing!
I suppose if you call being happy, socializing with people who like you is fun then
I believe you will go to Hades when you pass on. The Devil knows how to have fun.
MR. CRABBER - I love it when you say that, baby!
Mrs. Crabber removes a large waffle pan from her
purse and batters Tobias silly. He seems to enjoy it! He's a sick puppy!
EDITOR - I see you love each other very much.
MRS. CRABBER - Yes. We do.
She pelts him on the side of the head with a hard
slap. Tobias smiles as he stumbles about the room.
EDITOR - So, you wouln't recommend trap shooting for
MRS. CRABBER - I think ping-pong would be a better
sport. Trap shooting is an addiction. We see people at those shoots drinking,
eating, acting stupid trying to be happy, but we know they are all victims of those gun
club managers who market thier addictive sport to make money. It's such a dishonest
business... to addict people with the scourge of 'fun' then make them pay do do it again.
MR. CRABBER - It's evil.
Mrs. Crabber rises from her chair and kicks Tobias
in places no man could stand. He takes it all in stride.
EDITOR - Why do you beat on your husband so much?
MRS. CRABBER - You don't see him complaining do you?
MR. CRABBER - You should see her when she's in a
MRS. CRABBER - I'm not as bad a people say I am.
I happen to believe in dicipline to maintain the morals of mankind. And this
Mrs. Crabber beat us all up pretty bad today.
She doesn't like trapshooters and she plans to assign her female covert
converts to the next trapshoot. So, all you guys had better watch out. If it
wears high-heels it could be one of them hoping to get you alone to teach you a
lesson. Now you know why many trapshooters never see the trapshoot again once
they get married.
MRS. CRABBER - We are everywhere! And we want
MR. CRABBER - Yeah, and believe you me, you won't
even see it coming. They all act so nice, lovey-dovey 'n all and then all hell
breaks loose when you say that trap shooting word.
Mrs. Crabber's ears twitched like a cat seeking prey
and pounced on 'Tobias with a mighty crash. It was a pitiful sight to see I could
not bear to observe. The interview ended as I ran out the door.
EDITOR - I am not going to the next trapshoot as I
truly believe there are undercover females who are conspiring to destroy our wonderful
sport by removing members one-by-one with matrimonial vows under pain of punishment for
disobedience. For better or worse, so they say. And if you think that's
bad, Mrs. Crabbers' four daughters are scouring the planet's trapshoots looking for
husbands. It could be you next!
So, what is the truth here? It seems Mrs.
Crabber has simply told it the way it is. You will have fun, eat too well, smile
allot and likely meet that, Mrs. Wonderful, and get beat up pretty bad by a pit-bull in
high-heels. And I used to believe all my friends when they loudly bragged, "I
do what I want. My wife doesn't tell me what to do." Little did I know they had
to 'ask permission' to attend the trapshoot. Could it be true trap shooting has a
dark side? That among the smiles are lies? If so, ping-pong could be a viable
alternative sport after all. Then again, playing a game with women with paddles in
their hand could be dangerous too!