Worrying In My Mighty Incisors
Gun shops around here are strange.
I got my first shotgun at the age of five. No joke. I’m from West Virginia.
You know what they call a sporting goods store in West Virginia? A sporting goods store.
For instance, if Bob wants to open a gun shop, it would be named “Bob’s Sporting Goods.”
What are they called here in Pennsylvania? Shit like “Advanced Freedom Tactical,” or maybe “Second Amendment Armory.”
Go into a gun shop in West Virginia and tell the guy behind the counter that you want to do some grouse hunting with your double barrel 16.
He’ll say something like “Mighty fine gun, that there 16 gauge. Don’t know why they quit makin’ ’em.” He’ll point you to an entire wall, floor to ceiling, covered with shotgun ammunition. 31 flavors! He’ll help you pick the ammunition with just the right shot size, the right charge, etc. Perhaps even give you a free repulsive baseball hat.
Try that around here, they’ll stare at you like you’re made of beans and just asked for directions to the Jell-O fucking party.
“Hello, I want some shells. I have a 16 gauge double barrel. Doing some grouse hunting.”
“Oh, uh, I think we have some shotgun ammo there in the back corner. Yeah, between the machine guns and the armor piercing ammo.”
“I don’t want 10 gauge teflon-coated ‘fed killer’ slugs. I want to hunt grouse, not explode them.”
“Oh, I get it, boy. You want to do some ‘actual hunting.’ How do you expect to defend your freedoms with a double barrel, anyway? It’s your Second Amendment right to blow away nig- I mean, intruders!”
“Is that why all the targets in the shape of black people?”
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