Son of a Gun

I am tired of this whole gun issue.
I dont own an automatic weapon and I doubt I ever will. I do own a lovely 16 guage shotgun though and it is really pretty and fun to use. Its mine and no one is going to take it away from me.
I am not part of the NRA and I think anyone that owns over 7 guns has way too much spare cash.
I am thinking of the latest fruit loop who shot 7 innocent people because he couldn't get laid.
The prevalence of firearms is not the issue here. Someones ability to buy a gun is not the cause of them becoming a serial killer. They are going to do what they are going to do no matter what weapon they have on hand.
If we didnt have guns in the united states we would have more axe murderers and knifing. By trying to take away the guns you are not solving anything, you are just taking away a tool.

I know I am not making a strong case here. I am just talking off the top of my head.

Stop with the "Take away the guns!" and lets channel our focus into more important matters, like getting the nation up and running a prosperous again.

Just a wee note

We have a lady at my office from Scotland. She has just the lovilest lilt to her voice. I could listen to her read the phonebook and still be enraptured just by her accent.
A few months back her and I were out having a smoke and for one reason or another, I cant recall, I laid my Scottish accent on her.
"Oh that's definitely Glasgow ." was her reply. "If not Glasgow directly then one of the seaboard cities nearby."

This pleased me.
I was so happy to know that my accent is good.
I knew it was passable but maybe a bit cartoony at best.
 Then to be told that my accent is good enough that a native Scot can even tell me what part of Scotland my accent is from.

Well that just made my day.

Paco

My best buddy Paco.

He was my wife and I's first dog. A German Shepard/Irish Setter/Chow mix. Smart as a whip and a ferocious teddy bear. Anyone or thing that entered his backyard without prior written permission died. I regularly removed birds and squirrels and cats that did not have the proper documentation. Yet he would let my cousins crawl over him like a jungle gym. They could even touch his food while he was eating and he wouldn't mind. He'd just look up at them as if to say "Hey not done!"

One day he ran at the gate and the wind blew it open for him.
He stood straining on his leash just outside the fence, basking in his new found freedom I would suppose.

The gate rebounded and slammed shut on his leash.

Its been 20 years and I still miss that big lug.