Stolen from:

USPSA Classifications Explained
by “Trigger Warning”

D Class: Derp
Awful. You are functioning at a level of retardedness that must truly tax your mother’s faith in the Almighty to not seek a retroactive abortion. You are lucky to escape the porous net of an overtaxed social services system that would certainly have you committed, where you would eventually be heavily medicated and moved to a secret government compound to be studied as a backwater evolutionary waystation between modern humanity and distant echoes of our primordial ancestors who struggled for existence armed only with instinctual reactions to environmental cues and a pointless but very real desire to survive.

C Class: Crap
You are looking up the wrong side of the bell curve; it’s an Everest-like climb for you to think about summiting at average. Likely you will die in the attempt, frozen and alone, existing as a reminder that not everyone who dreams should dare.

B Class: Blah
Not terrible. You’ve reached a place where you can assign your lack of any singular achievements in any facet of your life as the admirable result of a focus on work/life balance. It’s not fooling anyone else, but it gets you through the day.

A Class: Asshole
You are a constant threat to break the top 10 at a local, depending on attendance. You rest assured that people unfamiliar with USPSA who hear you are an A Class shooter must think you are good, since the class labeling system bizarrely puts the highest grade letter in the middle of the actual class rankings.

M Class: Meh
You are a walking embodiment of Ben Stoeger’s maxim that anybody who puts in enough effort can be good at shooting (or something like that). You have won some locals and you are almost good enough to be considered match heat. Almost. That means not good enough. Your finest moment and key to M-Class glory was finding a range that let you put up classifiers that you could practice incessantly after Facebook stalking matches and match directors to divine the upcoming Classifiers.

GM Class: Gun Masturbator
You’ve made it to the top. There is nowhere dumber to go. You are capable of winning a local match with accompanying glory similar to that achieved by being on the winning team of a pick-up basketball game in a suburban park. All it cost you was thousands of dollars on an income stream that would have Dave Ramsey punching you in the balls with a set of borrowed brass knuckles if he only knew that a major portion of your free time and disposable income that could have been used to strengthen family relationships or learn marketable skills, along with tendons that will now be chronically inflamed for the rest of your life, which is, by the way, downhill from here.

IDPA Classifications Explained
by “ShootsLikeaDog”

You’re shooting IDPA. Kill yourself.

You’re shooting IDPA and you’re not even top-tier at it. Kill yourself.

You’re shooting IDPA, but you might not be good enough with a gat to kill yourself. Have a backup method for killing yourself.

You’re shooting IDPA, but you’re definitely not good enough with a gat to kill yourself and you probably can’t figure out a backup method. Have someone else do it.

You’re not even shooting and we’re amazed you haven’t ND’d yourself to death already. You’re basically a vegetable. Someone will be along to disconnect the ventilator shortly.

NRA Classifications Explained
by John M. Buol Jr.

A Marksman Classification is “earned” by merely showing up to a match and failing to be disqualified due to flagrant safety violations. You can’t shoot worse than this. Scratch that. Given only 2% of the NRA membership will bother to ever show up, 98% of the herd are less involved and probably worse than your terrible level of non-skill.

The worst you can shoot while meeting a minimally-low cut off. One step up from the bottom. Good job!

You’re actually invested and have practiced to become this bad. A complete lay person (which describes nearly every gun owner that has never attended a match) might be fooled into believing an “Expert” Classification denotes actual skill. You’re shooting just well enough to eventually stumble into enough “leg points” to earn a Distinguished Rifleman/Pistol Shot badge if you keep at it, the marksmanship equivalent of the infinite monkey theorem.

Possibly good enough to be a contender for a win at local, or small state/regional match. You consider a trip to a drained swamp on the southwest-side of Lake Erie to stay in a hutment that deployed Marines would complain about to be a vacation while spending enough money in travel, lodging, match fees, and ammunition to have instead gone to Europe.

High Master
You’ve reached the Classification pinnacle of a century-old sport sponsored by a political organization that not even the directors and card-carrying members know or care anything about. And it only took an investment in time and money that could have paid for an early retirement. After giving your paycheck to Chump’s Choice, avoid considering this fact by enjoying beer and pizza at Bell Mell or an ice cream at Andy’s because ya can’t go to Nick’s anymore…