Soldier on Shooting Range – Can’t Miss! Army humor of a soldier on an outdoor shooting range in the military. It is hilarious to see some soldiers trying to shoot! One of the best memories was with Scotty, who couldn’t hit anything, and of course blamed his gun for “barrel error”.

Scotty and the Mystery of the Missing Targets

It was a perfect day at the outdoor shooting range. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and the smell of gunpowder wafted through the air like an inviting perfume of chaos. The camaraderie was thick, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement as we gathered for some good old-fashioned military marksmanship practice. Or, as I liked to call it, “let’s watch Scotty embarrass himself again.”

Now, let me set the stage: Scotty was not your typical soldier. He was the kind of guy who could trip over his own shadow and somehow blame it on “distracted energy waves.” But when it came to the shooting range, Scotty was a legend in his own mind. He was convinced that he was the next sniper to come out of the Army, but sadly, his targets had other plans.

As we set up our stations, Scotty was already whining. “This gun is just… all wrong,” he lamented, fiddling with his M4 like it was a Rubik’s Cube. “I’m telling you, it’s got barrel error.”

“Barrel error? Is that even a thing?” I laughed. “I thought that was just code for ‘Scotty can’t shoot.’”

“Ha-ha,” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “I’ll show you! Just wait.”

So, the time came for Scotty to take his shot. With all the confidence of a toddler in a new pair of shoes, he stood up to the line, adjusted his ear protection, and aimed at the target, which was a solid 100 yards away. It looked so innocent, blissfully unaware of the impending doom.

He took a deep breath, and with all the intensity of a heavyweight boxer, he squeezed the trigger. BANG!

Everyone jumped. The target stood there, unfazed.

“Nice shot, Scotty!” I yelled, laughing. “You almost got somewhere near it!”

Scotty furrowed his brow. “Barrel error, I swear! It’s got to be the barrel!”

Now, we all knew that the only thing in need of adjustment was Scotty’s aim. But he was undeterred. He tried again.

BANG! This time, the shot ricocheted off a nearby tree, sending a squirrel scurrying for its life.

“Did you see that? That was a warning shot!” he declared, puffing out his chest. “Just letting them know I’m here!”

“Yeah, right,” I said, trying to stifle my laughter. “Next time, maybe aim at the target instead of the wildlife.”

After a few more attempts, all of which were similarly fruitful (for the trees, that is), Scotty finally turned to us in desperation. “What’s wrong with this thing? I can’t be the only one having this problem!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Scotty,” I reassured him. “We all have our off days. You know, you should try something different… like closing your eyes. It might just help.”

With that, he dramatically squeezed his eyes shut, pulled the trigger, and—BANG! This time, a shower of dirt flew up as the bullet hit the ground, somehow missing both the target and the trees.

“That’s it! I’m done!” Scotty shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “This gun is broken! It’s not me!”

“Oh, come on, Scotty,” I said, trying to hold back the laughter. “You’re just giving the target a chance to get to know you. Maybe you should go over there and introduce yourself!”

As if summoned by fate, the instructor approached us, eyebrow raised. “Everything alright over here?”

“Uh, yes, Sergeant! Scotty just wants to ensure his gun is properly calibrated,” I said, barely keeping a straight face.

The sergeant glanced at Scotty, who was looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Is that right? You’re having barrel errors?”

“Exactly! Barrel errors!” Scotty agreed, pointing accusingly at his gun.

The sergeant took a long pause, then cracked a grin. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but the only thing ‘barrel error’ is your aim. You might want to practice more and blame less.”

We all erupted in laughter as Scotty glared at his weapon like it had personally offended him.

“Fine! I’ll show you guys!” he declared. He marched back to the line, determination in his eyes.

Once more, he raised his weapon, aimed, and—BANG!

This time, the bullet went wild, hitting a target a full 90 degrees off to the left.

“See?” I shouted. “You just invented a new sport—target deflection! Perfect for the next Army Olympics!”

At that, everyone lost it. Even Scotty had to chuckle, finally accepting his fate as the worst shot on the range.

As the day wrapped up and we packed our gear, Scotty turned to me with a grin. “Well, at least I didn’t hit any of you guys.”

I patted him on the back. “Hey, Scotty, next time we hit the range, maybe we can work on some barrel error together. How about we just aim for the general direction of the target?”

And so we walked away, leaving the targets and the squirrels unscathed, but definitely not our sides from all that laughter.

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