The other day I get a phone call from my Son. He proceeds to inform me he has to tell me what happened that day. I can only imagine what happened. My imagination ran wild. Gauging my response on my college experience, and the phone calls home to the parents. But I would have never dreamed up what he was about to tell me.
He says that he thought something was wrong in his room. He looked in his closet and saw some debris on the floor. He moved a pile of clothes and was surprised when a bullet slug fell to the ground. What the heck! He explains his surprise at the same time that I’m thinking, “what the hell!” He starts to move more stuff around, and finds the origins of the ballistics. A hole in the closet wall and through a speaker box.
He does the right thing and calls the police. The police investigate and find that the neighbor didn’t know the guns his Grandfather gave were loaded. One discharged accidentally. Okay, nobody was hurt. I just wonder what you’re thing when you’ve just blew a hole in an apartment wall and you don’t make sure you didn’t hit anybody on the other side of the building. Higher education doesn’t mean higher intelligence. My Son didn’t care about the speaker box or the hole in the wall. The important thing was that it didn’t hit his new batch of beer. He says maybe he’ll call it Dodged the Bullet Sour. He could of figured I would take that idea and run with it.