Mike Brown: A Gun For Valentine’s Day

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I’ve been thinking about buying a gun lately. In these uncertain economic times, it seems like a rational decision. I guess crime is on the rise because of the recession, and protecting my assets with a new set of hollow points made sense, until I thought about it more.

First off, the recession is relative to how rich you are. I say this because I don’t fall in a very high tax bracket, and my non-existent 401K is unscathed. As far as my finances go, I haven’t noticed shit. I’m kind of glad about it really, it’s like, “Hello you rich fuckfaces, welcome to my standard of living! That uncooked Top Ramen doesn’t taste so bad now, does it?”

The recession hasn’t done anything but help the safe manufacturers, gun makers and gigantic rice barrel companies. The Mormons could be on to something, folks.


Illustration: Snugs

So seeing how I have very little to protect, a gun wouldn’t do to much for me, other than make me feel like a total badass, which I think is the real reason so many people pack heat. But not wanting to write off the issue, I talked to my sister about getting a gun anyway.

My sister just married a cop and is somewhat of a libertarian in her political views. So she’s the perfect person for me to ask about guns. She knows how to kill because she once took a dog out with some horse tranquilizers. Don’t feel bad though, that bitch dog had it coming.

I asked her what a good gun for my apartment would be. She suggested a shotgun. I told her that a shotgun might be too messy, and I was kind of thinking of something that would fit in a safe or a lock box. So she suggested a nine-millimeter, but then said that the right gun for me is the one I was most comfortable with.

That made sense ... I used to tell people the same thing about snowboards back when I sold them. She said that I could go shooting with her and her husband down at the precinct and to check out their arsenal, to see which hand cannon would feel the warmest against my palms and itchy finger.

I have yet to go shooting with them, but I still really want to. Having a gun in my apartment is probably a bad idea. First off, there’s no point in keeping a gun in a safe. If I do need to wet an intruder and my shit’s locked up, well that makes my hollow points pointless.

And besides, the price of therapy that I might need after blasting away some stranger honestly outweighs all the shit I have worth stealing in my apartment. If someone wants my dusty old Xbox that bad, well they can have it. My Nintendo Wii on the other hand? Well, you just might get two in the head before that leaves my living room. The biggest reason I don’t have a gun in my apartment, though, is I’m afraid I’d lose it under a pile of shit and accidentally blow my toes off or shoot my cat or something. If you’ve ever been to my pad you know how messy and unorganized it is. Bullets by the dirty dishes and a 45 hidden in the soiled laundry that doubles as my bedroom floor doesn’t seem smart.

So scratch that, no gun for the apartment. But a gun for Valentine’s Day? Now there’s a great idea in my book! Diamonds may be forever, but a fucking gun can make somebody’s forever come to actuality. And what says, “I trust you. I trust you so much that I can get you this implement of death and I know you won’t use it on me!” like a semi-automatic?

Chocolate-covered cherries vs. fully-loaded shotgun shells? No contest, my friend. A love sonnet gently tied to the trigger describing that the direct way to a persons heart, literally, is most easily accomplished with an AK 47. That would be the most romantic thing that I can think of right now.

Now for the record, I fucking hate Valentine’s Day. I’m one of those pretentious self-loathing ex-romantics who thinks dedicating a day to candy coated hearts and selfless expressions of intimacy is retarded. I neither have anyone this year I could give a gun to, or any ex-lover I feel like shooting. I guess that’s another good reason for me not to have a gun in the first place.

Al Capone, the coolest gangster ever, made guns popular for Valentine’s with his epic Chicago massacre. Is there a cooler name for an old-fashioned gangster slaughter than the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre? I don’t think so.

I had my own personal St. Valentine’s Day Massacre once. I’m sure we all have. On a stormy Valentine’s night in 2001, I was in my truck with a cute plate of cookies and flowers to make a petty attempt at romance on some broad. I got distracted, ran a red light going 40 MPH, and T-boned some unsuspecting couple. Nothing ruins Valentines like watching a couple get loaded into an ambulance because it’s your fault.

Needless to say, some dumb girl I was trying to bang didn’t get her cookies. This accident capped off a two-month stretch where the apartment I was a week away from moving into burned down, forcing me to squat in my best friend’s exgirlfriend’s mom’s old house, and my current girlfriend decided she liked crystal meth more than me (although there’s no easier way to break up with someone than by telling the bail bondsman to tell your girlfriend in jail that you wont be putting up the bail money and that you want to start seeing other people). That car crash was just the frosting on the cake that tasted like the worst dog shit ever.

If I had a gun that Valentine’s, who knows what would have happened? Things probably would've been so much better.