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June 8, 2010
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                                                                   Autobiography
Many issues envelop the modern world, terrorism, environmental disasters, along with many others. I remember a time when things were simpler, and people were care free most of the time. My name is Buck Hansen and I was born on July 4th 1900. I lived a short and fiery life in St. Louis, Missouri and died in a speakeasy shootout on July 4th 1925. It all started the night before, around ten o'clock. I was having a drink with a few friends in one of the busiest speakeasies in St. Louis. As soon as the clock struck ten a man came stumbling in and shouted "hide the booze! The cops are coming!" Well, the place was in chaos for a few moments as bartenders hit secret buttons, which dropped the alcohol into the basement, and patrons dropped their drinks into special hideaway chutes. The room had been cleared of all evidence long before the first cop had set foot through the door. When the group of police stormed in we were lounging about and shooting the bull. The police knew what was going on, but they couldn't prove anything. The head officer walked over to me and started to smell my breath and my clothes. He said "Boy, you stink to high heaven of highballs! Have you been drinkin' this fine evenin'?" "No sir" I replied. "Well since we can't find anything incriminatin' at the moment we best be off" the officer said to his cronies. As they were leaving  he addressed the entire crowd, "Ladies and Gents, next time we enter this fine establishment we may have a pistol or two with us, and we may not be so friendly" and with that they exited and left us all with a feeling of dread. A few of the patrons formed a group and decided to stand up against the police. I decided to join and help in their endeavors. The next night we set up some couches in positions around the entrance, and prepared to fight for our right to consume our beverages of choice. At the stroke of ten the police kicked down the door, and boy let me tell you, all hell broke loose. Shots were flying everywhere, people were dropping left and right, and all the booze was being shot up. Pretty soon I was the last one left, fighting the police, and all I had was a small caliber pistol with a couple of rounds left. As the police fired over the couch I was hiding behind, I looked around the corner and saw a BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle) laying next to one of my friends. The only problem was that it was halfway between me and the line of police. I thought for a bit, and decided it was now or never. I adjusted my fedora and suit, and proceeded to jump over the couch, and made my way to the BAR. During the run I emptied my pistol and threw it to the ground. When I was within arms' reach of the BAR a bullet pierced my kneecap, and sent me to the ground. I limped to the gun and made sure that it was loaded. After I finished checking my surroundings I stood myself against the chair in front of me and let the BAR rock n roll. As the led poured out of the barrel the police emptied their guns at me. At the end the police were dead, and I was barely able to support my own weight. I collapsed on the ground and died on the spot. I was hit with a grand total of 14 bullets, 1 in the kneecap and 13 in the torso. Now I'm sitting here in the chair I was leaning against, waiting for my judgment, but I've been sitting here for god knows how long. Waiting….waiting……
Story written out of randomness.
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