meet my dad.
Your dad was into shooting shit before you were and he has the gunpowder residue on his hands to prove it. Nothing says “I’m going to tear some shit up” like a pistol fully loaded with anarchy and aimed at the heart of fun. But, that was back when a man could eat a bag of shrooms and wander off into the mountains for a night of rage fist terror tripping. The gun was a necessity for him, because without it, he couldn’t kill the illusions that chased him through the hills.
