Based on the title of this post you may think this story is about guns or the second amendment. I can assure you it is not.
Or something even better?
He mussst have been an admiral a sssultan or a king, and to hisss praisssses we sall alwaysh sssing. . .
Look what he hass done for us he'ss filled ussup with cheer. . .
It was becoming painfully obvious that this would be 1) a boring story, 2) a quick run through the CT scanner, 3) a few sutures, 4) a litre or four of saline to sober him up, and 5) a discharge to whatever cave Rufus called home.
Lord blessh Charlie Mopsh, the man who invented beer beer beer . . .
My Inner Pessimist can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.
At 11 o'clocks we'll ssstop for 5 short sheconds, we'll remember Charlie Mopsh . . .
"Yeah, he takes his fake arm off and starts beating the hell out of me with it."
I'm glad I was on the other side of the room, because I somehow doubt my agape look was terribly becoming. Nor was the ensuing laughter from everyone within earshot of this conversation.
Alas, it wasn't. I only know that because, unbeknownst to me, I was about the 14th very uncreative and not-quite-as-clever-as-I-thought person who asked.