Me and My $500,000 Gun.
I just bought a $500,000 Gun, and I feel fanfuckingtastic. It’s heavy and deadly and sexy and when I hold it in my arms it has the sort of cruel efficiency that makes me sweat just a little. When I feel the trigger beneath my finger and look down the long barrel I can sense what heroes and judges and Gods must feel the moments before their wrath. I’ve never fired it before, because when I do the man [or woman] in the crosshairs will deserve the rifles maidenhead. It will travel at intangible times the speed of sound a fraction of a hairsbreadth beyond the round. The round itself will be tailor made by a foreign defense firm that specializes in providing the artists of death craftsman’s tools for their trade. It will be depleted Uranium with a Lead Teflon jacket. It will shatter on impact with the force of a freight train. My $500,000 Gun could explode your torso like a piñata at 5,000 meters. Those bathed in your blood and viscera would not hear the shot until I was back home napping. I could shoot through ten armored trucks while jumping them on a flaming bull-rocket and if I can cram the magnesium into the animal I may just do that later in the week. Or I may assassinate the world. I’ve determined a means of using The Bible, a pen with gum on the end, a 9 MM round, and the Manhattan telephone directory to “randomly determine” a list of high ranking officials across the globe. I won’t tell you who they are for fear that you’ll come for my $500,000 Gun! With such a tool one could command the will, hopes, and fears of billions. For now I am content to oil it. Polish it. Make the Nickel shine so I can see myself inside of it. The part of me that is inside the gun now. But both of us are smiling.