blast from the past....big willie style

you sure you wanna point that at me punk?
For years I actually owned a small arsenal, knifes, guns, shotguns and most anything else you could imagine. Some my father threw my way, some I bought or traded shit for. I actually once owned enough knifes to cover my living room wall. I had machetes, daggers, flip knifes, throwing knifes, and boot knifes. I had butterflies, bayonets, Gurkia blades, Bowie knifes and some custom made Gerber’s. For years I never saw a knife I didn’t like. To me a good knife was like a piece of jewelry, they still are as a matter of fact. But the bad thing about keeping knifes and guns always within reach is that you’re always fighting the temptation to use em as god meant em to be used.

You’re always fighting the urge to throw a cap into some muthafucker’s ass or slice some cocksuckers shit three ways from Sunday. It was my father who got me started on weapons. He was a career cop for most of his adult life and if you saw my father sitting on his porch, in his car or dozing on the couch, you knew that he had a piece somewhere within arm’s reach. My brother and I have fond memories of being small children around the age of ten or so. My father would be getting ready for work and since he was a detective he always wore a suit. And as he’s gettin dressed and headed to the front door he’d holler out;

“one of you kids bring my gun off the dresser”

And we’d run into his bedroom and there’d be half a dozen on the dresser and it was like which one?

“Goddammit! Bring me the chrome one, don’t make me late for work or that’s your ass!”

So it goes without saying that with him being a cop and all we kids were exposed to firearms at an early age. He’d come home and take off his holster and drop it on the dining room table and we knew better then to touch it. I’ll need to check with my brother or sister but I think he shot the couch one day just to show us what a gun sounded like and how big a hole they made in shit. My sweet elderly mother even packed back in the day, and if you saw her right now on the street she’s probably still packing.


Like I said back when we were all kids living on the block my father was a Detective for the local police force here in town. He was also a member of the force’s Bomb Squad. So as a result he kept shit around the house cause he was always bringing his work home with him to study plus he also trained various law enforcement groups in bomb disposal techniques. One Christmas I was given this huge radio controlled truck. My father walked up one day and asked me if he could borrow my truck for a while. Next thing I knew he had strapped timers, proximity switches, mercury switches and a shitload of fake dynamite to the muthafucker and turned it into a rolling classroom project.

Daddy had taken my toy truck and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction.
Behind his back the kids on the block called him Willie the Bomber but they had huge respect for him. One year somebody stole the battery out of one of his cars in the driveway and he simply walked out in the yard and stated in his outside voice that he wanted his battery back. We were having dinner that night when we heard the hood drop on a car, he told us to just sit and finish eating. After dinner he went out in the driveway and popped the hood on his car and not only was the battery back in the car but it was all hooked up and shit.

As a kid he was always giving me knifes and shit to play with, and when I moved out on my own he started giving me guns. So it was from him that I got my fascination with weapons. But the bad thing with me having all this shit around the house was that I was always fighting the urge to use em, and I had already learned at a young age not to ever pull a weapon unless you were prepared to use it. But as I got older and more into shit the urge got harder and harder to resist. All during my bouncing years I always kept some sort of edged or striking weapon in one form of another on me and in my early years with the MAN I never traveled without a gun in my bag.

But it came to a head when I was home in bed reading one night. My stupid cat was makin a fuss as cats will and being a rude jerk, so I pulled a revolver from the dresser and pointed it at the dumb furry fucker. I then removed all the bullets from it and spent the next few minutes dry firing at my cat’s head. This got boring so I replaced all the bullets with blanks and thought how much fun it would be to see him crap himself when I pulled the trigger and it made noise, but lucky for the cat we both were both getting sleepy and I decided to put it off till next time.

I happen to tell my father about what I almost did and that’s when he informed me that blanks from a revolver of that size would have taken the cat’s head off. I decided then that I was having too much fun with guns and that’s when I started getting rid of most of my arsenal. Most of my knifes went to a female friend of mine who collected knifes as a hobby, plus I figured that’s something a women can’t have too many of. My guns I traded out for various things over the past few years including a new carb for my ole truck. I still have shit around the house plus I got a lot of my father’s things when he died, but they’re of the “I can’t slip up and kill something by accident variety” and that’s the way I like it.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"