Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Two guns, talking
a sawed-off shotgun and a pistol
talking in a McDonalds attached
to a NASCAR racetrack
and the shotgun says,
"I know I'm a gun, but
I feel out of place around here."
"As do I," says the pistol,
"and do you ever listen to these guys?
Ever think about who's handling us?"
"I do, I do," says the shotgun. "It's
disturbing. Unkind, a bit blind, which
worries me, me being what I am."
The pistol clicks it's trigger, yes.
"Again today I heard him talking
about how women can't be leaders because
of their feminine bodies and curses
and changing moods."
The shotgun nods it's barrel.
"Yeah, like they don't have their bodies,
this testosterone; do you ever feel it
in their hands?"
"Of course I do; and then they have their
bodies chasing down every schoolgirl they see."
"And they just can't help it, they say
because it's their wiring."
"Bodies," the pistol concludes, yawning now.
McDonalds closing, the manager nods at the door.
"I'm bored with it all, sick of it,"
says the shotgun to the pistol.
"As am I," says the pistol. "Maybe we
should turn on them and fire, they who
love us so much."
"Are you loaded?"
"No, I don't even have any bullets on me."
There's a little shine on the shotgun's barrel.
"Even better. We'll just shoot them with nothing. That's all they ever do."