I sit near the fire of the gun club fortress this morning, as classical music wafts through the air and my nostrils quiver with the scent of Peruvian Fair Trade Organic Roast. It is some killer java, to be sure.
The Gun Club has been on unplanned hiatus the past few weeks, with some of us traveling. Two weeks ago, only one member showed up for the meeting. Dutifully, he drank a large coffee for each one of us. He was later seen screaming "I'm a wigwam! I'm a teepee! I'm a wigwam!". Apparently, the coffee made him too tense.
At a midweek meeting with one of the Gun Clubbers, the topic of bad jobs came up. He described how he recently found himself laying carpet in a bus at 1am, with the only light coming from his miner's headlamp. He described it as 'diabolical'. I think he was being kind.
Ah - they're arriving now. Time to close the computer. Have a great day, and keep your ammo dry.