[ He pauses for just a second, then laughs. It's an uproarious, hearty sound, straight from his stomach. ]
Naw, sweetheart. This ain't that kinda gun.
[ Abruptly, he picks it up and fires it at one of the targets. The bullet strikes the makeshift head dead center, and the bag of flour bursts open, spilling white powder onto the grass in a steady cascade. ]
no subject
Naw, sweetheart. This ain't that kinda gun.
[ Abruptly, he picks it up and fires it at one of the targets. The bullet strikes the makeshift head dead center, and the bag of flour bursts open, spilling white powder onto the grass in a steady cascade. ]
Still gets the job done, though.