The Skinny Post - Foot Locker, Eh?

After about a half hour of marinating at a buddy's house, he randomly asks me to come upstairs to his room. He says he wants to show me something. So, thinking nothing of it, I follow, naturally not expecting much, maybe some previously-rolled goodies or a new pet or something. Turns out that this kid has a foot locker up against one of the walls of his room, and in this foot locker is pure adrenaline and sheer testosterone with a sprig of delight and masochism. He's packing an arsenal of assault rifles and shotguns that could hold down a small battalion. Turns out that he's collecting these things. Turns out that I like this kid a whole lot more than I thought I did. Here I am, blatantly awed by this run of events and visibly excited from the mere presence of these beasts of destruction. So, first, he reaches in, breaks out his twelve-gauge, and passes it around, unloaded of course, for me to feel up and play around with. Next thing I know, he hands me a 1917 Smith and Wesson, old school rifle mostly made of wood. I forget what kind. I take a long gander and place it back in its respective cubby, and right away there's another gun in my hands, this time a World War I sniper rifle of some sort, equipped with a contemporary scope and a five round clip. Absolutely unreal stuff. Then, comes the grand finale. I'm fiddling with these guns, laughing and drooling over them, and he reaches back into the foot locker and pulls out an AK, built from the ground up. This was easily the coolest thing my tender eyes had ever seen. The rifle is at least three feet long, resting nicely in my hands and has a banana clip that's two times bigger than Mr. T's head. And the damned thing is heavy. All I could think of at the time was the video clips of destitute children living in poverty-stricken African countries in the midst of never-ending civil war. At the ripe age of seven, they're handed these guns, fed some drugged concoction, and told to fight for a side. There are still two hundred thousand child soldiers on the continent of Africa. Insane. Heavy. Too heavy. Nonetheless, who could really think about that in this particular situation. Especially with some tasty spirits already flowing through me. This gun was clean, unadulterated power in my hands, and I loved it. I remember being speechless for the following half hour or so. Then, we went outside to drink another brew.