Caller #1: “Hi DrLaura. I’ve got something I need to get off
my chest.”
DrLaura: “All right – let’s hear it.”
Caller #1: “Well, it’s just that I’ve got this one friend
that is relentlessly condescending. He always lords it over me about how his
dad was the only tax attorney in California north of San Francisco when he was
growing up. He won’t stop hounding me about how the Boy Scouts made him the man
he is today. And he drives me crazy gloating over his small white compact car with
an ‘e’ on the trunk that he bought from Enterprise Rent-A-Car – he calls it
‘The Enterprise’ while looking down his nose at me!”
DrLaura: “Pardon me, but you are a pussy! Do me a favor: next
time you see him, pretend like you are a barbarian and ask him ‘What’s in your
wallet?’ Producer, get rid of this guy and please tell me you’ve got something
better on line 2!”
Caller #2: “Hi DrLaura – first time, long time.”
DrLaura: “Glad to hear it. What have you got?”
Caller #2: “Well, I had an experience today that’s left me
shaken. You see, at my gym, we have these unisex shower rooms, and after
patiently waiting my turn for what felt like for forever, one of the shower
room doors finally opened and a single smiling man came out, followed by three
women!”
DrLaura: “Well, did you ask them if they were Mormons?
Jesus, if I have to listen to any more idiots today I am going to fire you,
producer! You’d better have something better for me on line 3, or this is your
last show!”
Caller #3: “Hi DrLaura! I wanted to talk about a recent experience
I had with some friends.”
DrLaura: “I’m looking for some good news – bring it,
beyotch!”
Caller #3: “As a token of their gratitude, our ladyfriends
arranged a surprise outing for me and my buddies at the shooting range, to ‘give
us a chance to swing our dicks around.’ I’d never gone before, and when we
walked in I was impressed with the selection of guns at our disposal: small
caliber pistols, huge ‘Dirty Harry’ revolvers, and military rifles with
silencers, if you needed to practice with those.
The man behind the counter gave us some paperwork to fill
out where we initialed that they weren’t responsible for anything. And then he
asked if everyone had shot before. I said ‘I haven’t,’ and he nodded and then
didn’t say anything else about it.
Since we were all fans of police programs and Palestinian
gunmen, we picked out a Glock 9 mm and an AR-15 rifle, and as we entered the
inner sanctum of the range our cashier called out, ‘Make sure you have the ear
protection on – it gets loud fast!’ It had sounded like ladyfingers going off from
out in the lobby, but it was clear that once we got inside he was totally
right.
The range was partitioned into doorway-sized lanes, each
with a small shelf mounted about waist-high in the opening. At the first lane,
our eyes were drawn to a pair of tight pink jeans worn by a woman firing
deafening rounds at short intervals. And this is when the democratic nature of
the activity first began to dawn on me: In the next lane, there was a small
Filipino woman blasting away, and a little further down a grandfather was
showing his ten-year-old grandchildren how to exercise their Second Amendment
rights.
A man even further down had chosen the big, big .44 Magnum,
and it felt like the most powerful fireworks (the percussive ones with a small
flash and huge boom) I’d ever seen, only as if they were ten feet away. Almost as amazing to me was the fact that when
it was fired it looked like a flamethrower.”
DrLaura: “Did he have ass-less chaps on?”
Caller #3: “I was too mesmerized by the gun to notice!
Anyway, one of the guys in our group had spent part of his upbringing in Montana
and he was experienced with guns and hunting. In fact, he had filled in the
details about other aspects of the ‘frontier culture’, like the justice meted
out by his brother (a former offensive lineman for the New York Giants) who, after
being scolded by his father, snuck off and secretly shat in his father’s cowboy
boot. My friend projected a more refined persona and suggested this kind of
rough living was in his past, but when we retrieved the targets, despite his ‘I’ll
just have a glass of Perrier’ attitude, I was convinced that he’d shot a winking
smiley face emoticon into the zombie Osama bin Laden printed on the paper.”
DrLaura: “What virility! And I love a man of mystery – like
Fabio!”
Caller #3: “Yes, yes, and it was soon my turn, and I
received lots of instructions on how to load the magazine and hold the gun.
Just before I pulled the trigger I noted that this was a seminal moment in my
experiences – something I would remember forever. I took a deep breath and
squeezed. Despite the small kick of the Glock, I instantly felt a rush of
endorphins and adrenaline, as if I had been on a 24-hour Fox News bender: it
was exhilarating and fundamentally Right (and satisfying, despite the fact that
I couldn’t tell if any of my bullets actually touched the paper target).
Another of my shooting buddies, a Dane and a splendid
raconteur, regaled me with stories about about other times he’d gone shooting
in Denmark when he was much younger. One time, he and a friend had been
practicing their drinking and had gotten thoroughly soused, only to decide to 'blast the shit' out of the friend’s grandfather’s barn. I was laughing, but even
despite his impressive tolerance, I was glad we were all sober at the range.”
DrLaura: “Does he have one of those sexy ‘O’s with a line
through it’ in his name?”
Caller #3: “I’ve never thought about that! Anyway, during a
break in the action I texted a friend to follow up on a conversation we’d had
earlier and casually boasted that I was out shooting. He works in Arkansas with
a Large Retailer, and during our previous exchange we’d been talking on the phone
while he was engaged with The Client and hadn’t been at liberty to talk, so our
follow up was to decide on a ‘safe word/phrase’ to use when in front of the
customer (we settled on ‘white power’). In response to my latest exploits he
asked if we were out celebrating the Paul Ryan VP announcement.
At some point it was proposed that we have an accuracy
competition and my limitations soon became clear. ‘Did you shoot one of the
targets in the adjacent lane?’ one of them teased. This got my dander up and I
shouted back, ‘I may not have good aim but I shoot a lot of bullets!’ to peals
of laughter. ‘Hey - check this out!’ one
of my friends beckoned to me. He pointed to the ceiling just above the shelf in
our lane, and, sure enough, there were many, many bullet holes from shots that
had gone almost straight up, and I felt better about my aim.
On the other hand, I realized two things at that point: (a)
if anyone at the range lost their mind while we were there, we were all dead,
and (b) the broad cross-section of society enjoying the facility suggested that
I should be far less aggressive while driving.”
DrLaura: “What a ‘sensitive’ man! The girls set you up with
a good dick-swinging, and all you can do is whinge about it? Next time someone
insults your shooting, shout ‘white power’ at the top of your lungs!”
Caller #3: “Great advice – thanks! OK – so after 2 hours and
a hundred-plus bullets later, we headed back to the safety of the ranch for
some refreshments and post-shooting discussion. Again, my Danish friend rose to
the occasion. He told me about the obligatory military service that he’d
performed: He’d been on a ship where, after performing the relevant
calculations, they’d determined that during months at sea, the average
consumption for each the sailors was eleven beers… A DAY! At one point, they’d
had some America’s finest Navy Seals aboard to visit the unofficial bar. It
soon became clear that our boys had been training in other areas, as the Danes
dispatched of them in no time.”
DrLaura: “Hmmm… Are his biceps bigger than Fabio’s?”
Caller #3: “I’m not sure – is Fabio that guy on the
Harlequin covers? But let me tell you, DrLaura, it was truly a men’s event. For
example, on my way back to the kitchen to get another beer, I noticed that one
of my shooting buddies, a dignified Norwegian (who, I later learned, possessed
the remarkable skill of passing out while sitting up and, even more
impressively, awakening at regular intervals just long enough to propose a
toast), was in the bathroom peeing with the door open.
His actions reminded me that I needed to go to the bathroom
too, so I descended to the lower level in search of a vacancy, but as I was on
my way down the stairs my phone began to ring. It was from a business associate
that I’d not met in person but had always been impressed with on the phone,
both because of the things he said and his Barry White-like baritone delivery.
Perhaps against my better judgment, I chose to answer the phone rather than let
the call go to voicemail. ‘Hey man,’ he said, ‘I’ve got great news – we’re
moving closer to a deal.’
Through the phone, I could hear loud music and women’s
voices in the background, and I thought I was hearing the sounds of air being
sucked through straws. As the women giggled I visualized their breasts covered
in cocaine, as if in a movie from the late eighties before cops break in and
someone like Scarface makes his introduction to his ‘leetle fren’”.
DrLaura: “Does your associate have an ‘I love cops’ bumper
sticker on his car?”
Caller #3: “I don’t know – I’ve never even seen him in
person, let alone his car! My associate said, ‘There’s someone I really need
you to talk to – hold on,’ and the music grew louder, so I decided to go ahead
and relieve myself. Mid-stream, a woman’s voice came on the phone: ‘Hey, I
think we can do some business together,’ she asserted in a businesslike fashion,
and she told me the details as I buttoned my fly. ‘Sounds great,’ I replied, gathering my wits, and then meekly asked ‘Can you give my associate
your information?’ and she tersely said ‘Sure’ and was gone, and my wild
imaginings of RPG launchers and cocaine disappeared into the mist.
There’s more, DrLaura, but I think you know where I’m going
with this: What did she mean by ‘Sure’? Did I let the shooting and beer cloud
my judgment? Am I doomed?”
DrLaura: “Hell, I have no idea, but I can’t remember the
last time I had so much fun – what a wonderfully told story! Now that’s what I’m
talkin’ ‘bout, producer!”
(Curtain)
