Crazy guns.

To add to my repertoire of weird shit, a piling resume that includes experience driving forklifts, shoveling horse shit, resuscitating babies and getting tips in an empty wine jug for my legs, today I took a class for my C.P.L. certification. For you fools that are uneducated in the ways of firearm liberties, C.P.L. stands for Concealed Pistol License.

While many may ask, Pez, why would you want to suffer through six hours of this? or even, Pez, who the hell would trust you with a deadly weapon? or simply, Pez, you are a retard.

While I am not necessarily a huge gun fanatic and to be honest guns scare me, I did this with another wonderful experience in mind, partly as bonding time with my father. Much like how I had rationalized missing the awards ceremony at my biggest highschool regatta to attend a stranger's prom because they would probably have good cake. They didn't even end up having cake, they had a stupid ass cupcake tree with inedible flowers. LIES!

However, the gun class did not have such lame sauce prospects as the mistake prom. I did get to see some crazy hair flashbacks, once again experience legal smoking within a building, shoot a pistol (for the second time, badass i know) AND I got two pieces of pizza. So all in all, six hours were not necessarily wasted.

This class has inspired me to rehearse intimidation tactics in possibly dangerous confrontations:

"Can I help you, boobsweat?"

"STOP RIGHT THERE ASSCLOWN."

"I went to crazy school. Not little bitch school. Bitch."

All in all, cake, as enticing as this delectable dessert may seem, is not an excuse for a crappy party. The end.