These little old ladies are gangsta. Why would a bunch of wrinkly biddies want to bust a cap in someone's ass? Perhaps they merely felt the need to defend their frail little bodies, or maybe bingo was full and they were forced to find another cool-kids club in the name of the NRA. Heck, if I handed my beloved grandma a gun, she'd look at me, shake her head in bewilderment, probably ask for another peppermint patty and return to reading her Mary Higgins Clark romance novel.
On the other hand, old men hosting firearms may not be quite as shocking, but it can be equally frightening. A telephone conversation I had with my 60-year-old 6'2" Vietnam veteran father just last week:
Dad: Tina, I sold my shotgun and bought me a handgun!
Me: Oh? Why? Are you going to start carrying it around everywhere?
Dad: Yep! I'm getting my license right now. I know you don't like guns, but you'd like this one.
Me: Why, is it pink?
Dad: No! It's small, a little .380 automatic. A great gun to put in your pocket.
Me: Why do you want to put a gun in your pocket? What if you accidentally shoot yourself?
Dad: I won't shoot myself, Tina.
Me: Yea, but you're getting older. Sometimes you talk to yourself and fall asleep at funny times. What if you're playing with it, and you're not fully aware of what you're doing?
Dad: I know better than to play with guns. It's not like I'm going to point it at the wall and shoot stuff.
Me: Well, why'd you get it?
Dad: So I can protect you. What if someone tries to rape you in my presence?
Me: Dad, that's a sweet gesture, but I live 2,000 miles away. And no one has tried to rape me yet, so the chances of that happening in front of you are pretty slim.
Dad: Well, I'm getting older, and I need to be able to protect you properly.
Me: OK, Dad. Just please be careful.
Check out more Dirty Harriets here!
All the dumb that's fit to blog! Follow us on Twitter.