Guns galore

This is a gun. That is my hand on the gun. I like guns. Get over it.

Many years ago I was house sitting for my paranoid brother and at some point a friend from college showed up and we did what people of a certain age did at the time, which was drink to excess and play with weapons. It was a time in American history where excessive drinking and gun play was really almost considered a sport.

So there we were, outside of my brothers mansion, late at night, firing off hand guns, just having a good time. As was often the case at the time, we started getting carried away, which in retrospect may have started when we mixed guns and alcohol, but then again, we were young and out of control, or something to that effect.

Soon enough police were called. Now, because my brother really did have a mansion is a fairly exclusive part of Northern California and because he had a hilltop mansion, we could see what was happening below us and on that late night, not much was happening, until we saw the blinking lights of a police cruiser. That was about the same time we decided to sober up and put the guns away, it may have been the exact time, if not, it was close.

Needless to say, when the chimes started reverberating around the large home, the gun play was over, the weapons stored in the gun closet, yes my paranoid brother really had a gun closet, my family is big on closets, and we were prepared to lie convincingly to the police.

The good thing about being in a wealthy area of Northern California, shooting weapons that were no longer in our hands, and answering a mansions door to some police officer, was the sense of entitlement that comes from just visiting such a lifestyle. When you are in a ten thousand square foot home on the top of a mountain, and police show up, the very last thing you are going to worry about is if they want to talk about gun play.

The officer asked about shots being fired and we mentioned some horny coyotes that we had to run off the property by pellet gun. See, even in our semi-drunken state we both knew that the last thing either of us wanted to admit to was shooting a real gun off a balcony, into the darkness. Plus, what we really feared was a police officer looking around the gun closet, because there were weapons in there that certainly had to be illegal, if unregistered.

The officer took great joy in the fact that we were drunk and shooting at coyotes. He gave us advice that now might be a good time to get some sleep, which was really quite wise.

Now, about that picture of me holding that lovely handgun. I am unable to say much about it, and even if I could, I am certain the vast majority of people who may be reading this would even believe it. Suffice to say, some professions feel it necessary to have guns in the office, "just in case."

Enough said already.