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Rurumon's high school crossbow malarkey (507 hits)

Category: None

Rating: 1.71 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Labels:

Submitted by <rurumon> (View user info) at 2004-09-01 11:42:22 EDT


I have a problem with compulsive buying. If I have the sudden urge to purchase something, consider it mine so long as I have the money in my account. It is because of this uncontrollable lust that I have several guns, a $500 remote control truck (used twice), a Facconable sport coat, and a very expensive PDA... among other things. Luckily, when I was in high school and college my bank account hovered slightly above nothing so I rarely got into trouble.

However, one day in 11th grade I decided it would be a wonderful idea to purchase a crossbow.

I have no idea what sparked such a sudden interest in the wonderful world of wussy archery, but the desire was there...along with enough money in my account. So I purchased said artillery piece and promptly took it back to my house to assemble it while maintaining enough subterfuge to fool my parents. Now let me just say, outside of moving a piano, stringing a crossbow is quite possibly the most difficult physical endeavor your average man encounters.

Once the bow was assembled I figured the only logical thing to do would be to show my friends. So I packed it up in a cardboard box to visit my friend Tim, Aaron, and Mike at Tim's apartment. I was so excited that I showed my new toy to my friends in the elevator on the way to his room, which was in retrospect...not a good idea.

Now, if you have any idea how hard it was for a collection of 17 year olds to not fire that weapon, you would know exactly how much self control I don't have. Anyway, while Aaron was occupied, Tim and I snuck into the hall of his apartment. At this time, Tim told me it would be really neat if I loosed a volley down the hallway into the far wall.

The idea that people traverse said hallway never occurred to me, neither did the fact that the opposite wall was part of someone else's apartment. But all forms of logic had fled me, and instead left me with the insatiable desire to fire this wretched piece of weaponry. With bolt ready, I hoisted the quivering machine to take bearing on that bastard of a plaster wall 50 feet away. I pulled the trigger and nothing happened.

At this point, a deity chose to intervene.

Some divine power chose give me one last chance from being a total asshat.

"Oh hey the safety is on, I guess I better turn that off..."

The bolt tore down the hallway and embedded itself in the far wall. Cool, we thought. We returned to Tim's apartment triumphant in our manly show of ancient weaponry.

"You did what?!" were the words that Aaron spoke to us. And suddenly, like the dark clouds of approaching Frances, it dawned on me that what I just did was a tremendous error.

"Well go get the fucking bolt you idiot! You cant leave it there!" Aaron continued.

Fine, no problem. Go get the bolt, no one will be the wiser.

Wrong.

Upon entering the hallway we were beset by a thick squad of very confused and angry people. Amidst the African dialect, we managed to pick out a lot of "What the hell is going on, what the hell is this giant arrow doing sticking out of my living room?"

Being the quick thinker that I am, I followed; "Oh yeah...uh...we heard a noise too, what the hell is that thing in the wall down there?"

Tim and I made our way to the far wall where I proceeded to attempt to remove said arrow, only to be held back by the African couple. "Oh...uh...sorry, I was just going to take it and check it out..."

"No! We must leave it here for the cops, they are on the way..." They pronounced.

Shit.

Tim and I quickly made our way back to the apartment to devise our escape plan. Needless to say, Mike and Aaron were not pleased. The crossbow was disassembled and buried in his closet in about 14 seconds, which is good considering the cops showed up at our door 15 seconds later.

Now, I am a horrible liar. The worst perhaps. So I cannot possibly fathom why I didn't end up arrested that night. Then I thought, "Hey! The cops don't have any evidence! They can't do anything!" So the cops left, but we were still scared shitless, we needed to remove that horrible machine from this apartment. Especially since I realized the elevator had a video monitor in it, and right now the cops were probably watching my retarded self visibly show my friends that crossbow.

We escaped unscathed, and I have no idea why. A missile was fired inside an apartment building into another person's room, yet the cops obviously let us idiots off. Maybe it's a little bit of the something I like to call "conservation of arrests." Were you get off for incredibly stupid shit, but then later you get hammered by something you should have got off on. More on that later.


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User Reviews


Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:20:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

I made a gastrophetes type rubber band launcher. It held 10 rubber bands, and was triggered by a series of paper clamps. I also installed a laser pointer for targeting purposes. It was accurate within +/- 2 feet within my office. It drove my coworkers insane. It eventually disappeared from my cubicle one weekend. I suspect that the cleaning lady took it because she was tired of picking up rubber bands everywhere...or maybe her kid took it because he knew that it was cool as hell.

Submitted by runninginplace (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:15:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

No Comment

Submitted by VerbOrgy (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:15:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Nah man, I have built a few trebuchets. It isn't the counterweight that determines the trajectory of the missile, but the angle at which the sling is released. That is the tricky part. The first one i ever built was about 3 feet high and had an arm about 4 feet long. It could launch a rock about 75 yards with 35 pounds of counterweight and about 150 yards with 60 pounds. There is some math in the construction to get everything to operate correctly, but it is not difficult. It took a day of planning, and about 5 hours to construct. We even used metal for the axle. It was sweet. I strongly urge anyone who has an urge to build a trebuchet to do it because it is awesome.

Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:09:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Sorry, and a winch / ratchet firing assembly to apply the proper tension to the line.

Also, on further research, it is not a Mangonel. That would fire rocks, much like a catapult. I meant a gastrophetes type engine (Large crossbow). See the Age of Empires "Scorpion" for a rough idea.

Submitted by Dervel (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:02:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Stringing a crossbow is difficult? Pfft. Even Italians can do that.

Try drawing back a competition archery bow never mind stringing the bastard.

Submitted by Scotsman (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:02:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

I used to make crossbows. Nothing fancy though. Just a cross of wood with knicker elastic and fire wooden clothes pegs....bloody sore at point blank range though!!

Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2004-09-01 12:01:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Trebuchet's are extraordinarily difficult to produce... They need to be very finely counter weighted to stop the projectile either going straight up in the air, or being thrown flat into the ground, or even not leaving the sling and simply tearing the firing arm off.

If I was to build a piece of medieval siege machinery, it would be a mangonel. Simple to construct, and close to no engineering knowledge required. Just lots of rope, lots of wood, and an earth spike you use to hold up fence posts in your garden. Done properly, it'll fire through a brick wall easily.

Enjoy your folly though, Boomslang.

Submitted by boomslang (user info) at 2004-09-01 11:50:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

I'm going to construct a Trebuchet in my backyard.

Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2004-09-01 11:47:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

I now have a sudden urge to build a medieval weapon.
I think that this weekend I'm going to have a catapult party.


It takes two to lie. One to lie and one to listen.

-- Homer Simpson
Colonel Homer