"Look what I bought at the flea market."
I glared at him:
"You know I hate guns."
Michael looks like a sulky child:
"Its only a pellet gun and I thought it would be fun to shoot tins."
Then the Third World War broke out.
A few days later Michael was outside shooting tins:
"Come on give it a try its fun."
I glare at him and sigh:
"I know how to shoot, I spent half of my childhood on a farm."
Because he is gives me the "Yeah right" look, I pick up the pellet gun and I shoot every can that is mounted on the fence down.
Michael is stunned:
"Wow you are a crack shot I have never seen anybody shoot like that."
"I told you I know how to shoot but I still hate guns."
A pellet somehow lodged itself in the barrel. The pellet gun stood outside in the weather obsolete and forlorn for years. At some stage Michael bought a tool that he thought would dislodge the pellet it did not work.
Recently we bought cheap bicycles.
Michael very proud of the bargain, kept saying:
"I honestly don't know why people spend so much money on their bicycles."
Till a few weeks later
Michael came back from cycling very sad, the pole beneath his seat buckled.
We went to the bicycle shop and bought two replacement poles.
Pole number two only lasted one day.
Michael decided that he needed to find a way to reinforce pole number three.
He looked around for something strong and that was when he saw the poor forlorn and neglected pellet gun.
He sawed off the gun barrel and put it inside of pole number three and then poured resin in to secure it.
So now Michael cycles sitting on a barrel of a gun.
Change the words to "sitting on a barrel of a gun"