Shooting Guns

I've been away visiting at my mom's house for the last few days. It would have probably been more fun if she had been there, but she wasn't. She was off somewhere chasing something, could've been an animal, a yard sale, or that fella that calls the numbers at her weekly Bingo tournaments; you never know about Mom. That left me and Brother up to our own devices, and that usually means certain things are gonna happen: Eating, eating, sleeping and more eating; we are an exciting bunch. However, this time, Brother decided that we needed to shoot some guns. I didn't know he had any guns, so when he pulled out some ammunition, my eyebrows shot straight up and I took two steps back. "Whatcha got there?" I asked. "22 shells," he said. "You got a 22?" I asked. "Duh, dumbass, here's your sign. Why would I have 22 shells if I didn't have a 22?" "Okay, I deserved that, but don't call me dumbass, fatboy!" We proceeded to take turns firing the 22 until we had shot straight through the pop can and shot out the plastic on the old birdhouse. I'm not a big fan of guns and I don't own any, nor have I shot that many; however, I am a pretty good shot with my BB gun that I keep on the porch for emergencies. Watch out, burglars! Mom returned home late during my visit and noticed the box of clearly marked 22 shells and wondered what we had been doing. "Shooting guns," I said. "You kids....Is that for a 22 rifle?" she asked. Brother just shook his head and walked away giving Mom the "Here's your sign" gesture. Mom just looked at me as I erupted into uncontrollable laughter. I just shook my head and walked away and I'm sure she was wondering what had just transpired and caused such a reaction from her two kids. Like mother, like daughter! Here's your sign, Mom!