My rather burly neighbor is an avid hunter and fanatic fan of Target stores. Unfortunately, he also isn’t the brightest crayon in the knife drawer.
The other day, I found him armed with his shotgun, pinning several Target coupons on the clothesline. For some reason, he thought the 10%, 20%, and 50% markings on the coupons refer to the size of the hole that a good marksman can blasted in these valuable pieces of paper. I guess challenged is as challenged does.
One day, I accompanied him to Target (he’s not that kind of person you can easily say “no” to). As soon as we arrived in the parking lot, he slammed his truck in park, and jumped out of the cab like a man on a life-or-death mission. He then stuck out his arm, clenched his massive fist, and pointed his hairy thumb upwards. He sighted the store’s entrance along his human digital gun sight. With an impressive sprint for a man for his bulk, my special neighbor shoot himself towards the entry way. His repeated screams of “Target practice!” helped motivate surprised adults and scared children to leap out of his focused jaunt.
Apparently, he hadn’t had enough target practice. He missed the clearly marked entrance and ricocheted off an adjacent brick wall. Dazed, he staggered back 20 feet and shook his shaggy head. Then, up came his hefty arm with that thumb pointing skyward. Another yell and he launched himself at the doors, scoring a perfect bull's-eye.
I’m sure this would have been an awe-inspiring entry into Target … had the automatic doors opened with the speed necessary for the onrush of such a loyal lunatic. Of course, maybe he meant to strike the immovable center of the Target logo with his outstretch fist, stopping the momentum of his speeding body by crumpling his arm and falling to the ground. Having the doors then slide open was pure poetry. “Welcome to Target!”
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