I was nominated for the Darwin Award when I threw an old hunting jacket in a fire (I was cleaning out the garage) and it had a pocket full of .22 shells. Lucky for me I live away from other people so I can't hurt anyone.

On a revolver, the part of the gun that makes it go off is called... Wait for it, ... THE HAMMER! Darwin award Winner right there folks.

What would possess someone to hit a cartridge in the first place?... even it is a blank cartridge. This is pure stupidity, but I will give him the credit of admitting it. I must admit that I have had my stupid moments at times.

Maybe for his next trick he could slam his hand in a car door repeatedly.

Geez..............

Jim

well there's a lesson learned.
SBW

He already voted. You are living with the result...

My attempt at a Darwin award came when I was 18. A buddy and I decided to tape a 12 gauge shell on the tip of a target arrow so the tip would hit the primer on impact creating an expolding arrow. What we failed to account for was the fact that upon impact with a tree the explosion caused the arrow to fly back at us in reverse (the equal and opposite reaction part of physices we must have slept through). We were lucky we were not hit by the arrow and walked away a little smarter for our trouble.

I once used a .22 lr to hang a target up and when i got sick of shooting the center of the target i was wondering if i was good enough witth my 10/22 to shot the .22 lr holding up the target and i was. not the smartest thing to use as a target clip

All:

When I was a kid growing up on the family farm, my stepfather permitted me to "borrow" his handmade fiberglass recurve bow, which had a pull on it of about 110-115 lbs. at full draw. Since I was both scrawny and young, but since I had a buddy who was just as foolish and stupid as I was, one day we decided to tape bottle- rockets alongside the shaft and tip of extra-long arrows we got for cheap from some mail order supply store. When the arrows were as "launch ready" as we could make them, I lay on my back on the ground, positioned the bow over my feet, and extended and locked my legs and knees while pulling back the string to full extension. I then gritted my teeth and held onto the string with all my strength while my buddy quickly lit the fuses on the bottle rockets. When the fuses were about halfway down, and just as I was just about to lose control of my better-than-full-draw bow position, I arched my feet back to a perfect vertical and released the string.

My buddy and I then giggled and cackled madly as the arrow went straight up, shrunk to a microscopic dot, then the "ignition stage" of our "booster rocket" kicked in and the arrow ascended rapidly and vanished. We screamed with laughter and boyhood manic glee.

All this took place in one of several farm fields on my family's property. But of course, since this was a farm, there were farm animals in these fields, not to mention us stupid boys and our very attentive-audience sisters, brothers, and assorted other neighborhood boys and girls and all of our assorted farm dogs.

All of us gawked and gaped and pointed and laughed as the arrow ascended upwards and disappeared.

Right about then one of the smarter kids blurted out, "Hey, isn't that arrow gonna come right back down on us??!!?? How are we gonna see it? What about the cows and horses? What about the dogs? Godd*amn, what are we supposed to do????!!!!"

There was instant widespread pandimonium and panic. Everyone ran everywhere at full sprint, in all directions, screaming wildly. The dogs barked excitedly and ran in circles. The horse and cows bolted and scattered and ran because we were doing the same thing.

Our mighty arrow--our "Atlas V" plunged deeply into the earth not more than 40' from where my buddy and I had launched it, and very close to where some of the neighorhood farm kids had only recently been standing. But, fortunately, nobody got hit. No animal got hit either.

It scared the crap out of us that no one had spotted the arrow on its way back down.

Naturally, our being morons with an eager audience, shooting arrows vertically into the sky became one of our favorite pasttimes.

However, our good luck did not last.

One particular bottle-rocket-assisted arrow fired on a particularly gusty day a few months later did veer sharply far off course from its intended vertical ascent and descent. We knew the arrow had landed, and where it had landed, however, when we heard the arrow strike and impale itself deeply in the hood and radiator of my stepfather's large livestock truck, a circa-1965 Ford.

At that moment we all wished the arrow had struck and impaled us instead.

My rear was severely whipped. I permanently lost the bow, the arrows, and my beloved altitude-increasing bottle-rockets. I suffered for a long time, as did, to a lesser degree, my brothers and sisters--none of whom had ever tried to stop me from shooting the arrows, and some of whom had actually assisted me in achieving near orbital heights with them.

I admit it: What I and my buddy and others did well over three decades ago was insane, stupid, dangerous, reckless, foolish and maybe even crazy.

But god, it was also just so much fun.

TWD

c. I think because it could reck your friends gun and it would not be safe to bary it.

When I was 15 I took a .45 cartridge, clamped it primer up in a vise, drove a finishing nail just through a small block of wood, set vise on ground, wood on primer,
and tapped the nail with a ball peen hammer. the bullet
bounced off the vise base, hit me 'tween the eyes, and knocked me cold as a fish. This just weeks after my IQ was measured at over 140. Boys will have fun.