Point Break

The buffalo look like ants from up here. At least, those oughta be buffalos. People been dropped in on the bear pasture by mistake before. I don’t take no chances either way, and keep a Bowie in my boot just in case.

It's strange how peaceful it gets. The movies always make it seem like driving a hundred per hour down the freeway with your eyes closed, but I swear, I could fall to god damn sleep up here.

I started doing this shit when I got tired of shooting them poor bastards over the internet. They got this camera strapped to a bolt rifle on a turret, see, and I’ll be damned if they didn’t hook it up to the world wide web. You can sit ass naked at home and blow some deer’s brains out just with your keyboard. I swear to god.

Now. There are some rules to this shit, believe it or not. The first is pistols only. Two at most. The second is no shooting from under a thousand feet. Anything less than that and it ain’t even a sport. These animals been bred to be shot, so they wouldn’t know a bullet coming at their brain from a bird taking a shit. The buffalo, at least. El oso, on the other hand, well, they’re a little harder to break. It’s like them bears in the circus wearing a tutu and riding a god damn tricycle around. You make a clown of anyone long enough, and by god, they’ll snap eventually, I’ll tell you that. Bears ain’t meant to be tamed. They’re just hardwired to kill, and that’s how god made em’.

Allright. Enough of this bullshit. Now, first thing, you got to keep a gun clean, especially at these altitudes. The thin air’ll make the ignition a bit wonky, so you got to keep them clean and oiled. You don’t take that thing completely apart and clean every bit out, well, you end up like my niece and be missing a cheek. She’s a shame, but she still got the other one to pinch. Poor girl.

And…there. There. There. There. Mother fuckin’, fuckin’ THERE. There. God DAMN it.

Hmph. It’s hard to tell if those bastards go down or not. They’re just a growing blob of brown from up here. I tell you what, though. The movies sure as hell making shooting a pistol in free fall look every bit as exciting as it is. Whew. A couple more and…shit. It’s always over sooner than you thought it’d be. But anyway. Time to pull.

UHHFF. Damn. I swear, the little guys gotta have calluses on em’ by now. This ain’t a sport for reproducers, that’s for sure. Truth be told, though, I almost like parachutin’ more than falling. Things are a lot more peaceful. There ain’t nothing on Earth like slowly floating down towards her. Closest thing to being a baby I ever done, except maybe smack. It’s a bad habit, but fuck it. Sometimes you just got to get gone, you know?

Annnnnndddd…ah, fuck.

It’s the bear pasture.