Pew! Pew! Pew!
Pew Pew PEW PEW PEW! What an intense fight this was. Petra was repeatedly clicking her gun. PeW PEW PEW! Wow, this contracted sleeping hobo was just made of steel of or something.

You don't even have a gun...

Oh that's right, she was an old lady with no gun. She was shooting the hobo with an IMAGINARY GUN. Imaaaaaaaginary. Petra paused in deep thought. She stopped pew'ing for a second. As an unidentified assailant pickpocketed her while she was in deep thought. She stood there, her hands as a hand gun, and asked herself how many dimensions of pew pew pewing was in this thing of ours.

First, there was the idea of pew pewing someone. That's one. Then there is the thought process of actually pew pewing someone. That's two. Then there was the act of Petra herself pew pewing. That's three. What's the 4th?! Could there be someone beyond this permanant grey screen of a dark sky that is controling her pew pewing?! What an eerie thought. Nah, no way! There is no such thing as an entity controling her pew pewing in this world. Petra dropped her imaginary gun in her pocket, and hobbled off.

Guns don't go pew pew pew, they go BANG BANG BANG!

Some are even louder..with a roar so primal it causes even the boldest of men to quiver in abject terror.

And some of them go...squirt squirt squirt.

Potato guns give a bit of a pop to be fair.