Someone has finally taken the time to carve the hallowed Shotgun Rules in proverbial stone (thanks Ben). It seems to me that calling Shotgun is primarily a guy thing (pardon my male chauvinism). I say that only because I can fondly recall parking lot brawls over my friend’s circa early-1980’s Pontiac Safari stationwagon. You know the one with the oxidized paint, oil-stained carpets, and non new-car smell? Man, when that baby would roar to life with 60% of the pistons firing, the music blaring through the tweeter, and our adolescent bodies compressing the springs to near driveway-grind levels, that’s when you truly knew you were alive! At any rate, having never witnessed it, I’d love to hear about some particulary bloody Shotgun tale from the women in the audience…