After almost 27 years, Craig's Hlist has found himself immersed in gun culture. It's not so much a masculine phallic thing (believe us, we have questioned it), as much as it is a family bonding experience. It's easier to go to a gun range with our family out in Pearland on a Sunday afternoon than it is to get them out to the Mink or a Vietnamese sandwich shop.
We acquired a small handgun through the family a few years back, not really sure what to do with it. We didn't have any ammo for it, so we just sat and looked at it every couple of weeks. We cleaned it, bought a fancy pouch for it, and looked on the Internet to learn about our steel friend. Maybe we posed for some provocative photos with it, too.
It's been fun times being a gun owner. It also puts us in league with a marginally reviled segment of the population, all those Yosemite Sam-looking dudes howling about the government, along with the Palin Pals, and hunters and huntresses. And, you know, most violent criminals.
We just like things that make loud noises - no more, no less. If dynamite was legal to carry and play with, we probably would be damning the consequences. Fireworks, on the other hand, we equate to pornography. Sweet, sweet brightly-colored pornography you can shoot at your friends and that explodes. Pretty much anything dealing with gunpowder is right up our alley. We shot an M-16 in the USMC, so we are no stranger to the big ones either.