March 8th, 2020
“But I wasn’t about to throw the bastard away, either. A good .357 is a hard thing to get, these days. So, I figured, well, just get this bugger back to Malibu, and it’s mine. My risk– my gun: it made perfect sense. And if that Samoan pig* wanted to argue, if he wanted to come yelling around the house, give him a taste of the bugger about midway up the femur. Indeed. 158 grains of half-jacketed lead/alloy, traveling 1500 feet per second, equals about forty pounds of Samoan hamburger, mixed up with bone splinters. Why not?”
(*the writer’s lawyer and previous owner of the .357 mag)
Hunter S. Thompson – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Hans called yesterday. That is not unusual.
Hans bought a new gun. That is also is not unusual.
It is relatively easy to wrap my head around things that are rational. However, with our eldest son, Hans, things are not always rational.
Hans called me and said,
“Hey Dad, I bought me one of those revolvers that people used back in the Wild West days.”
“Uh, yeah. Great. What did you buy?”
“I got a .357. The kind you see in the cowboy movies.”
I was tempted to ask him why he bought this weapon, but some questions are not worth asking.
So, instead I asked, “So what kind is it exactly?”
“It’s an Uberti 1873 Cattleman .357 mag. It’s a replica of the original Colt Cattleman.”
“So, what’s so special about it.”
“Well, you have to pull back on the hammer every time you want to get a new round in the chamber. You have to cock it after you shoot a round. It’s not double-action like most revolvers.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Hans replied, “Well, it makes it a lot more difficult for rapid fire. If somebody is coming at you, you might only get off a couple rounds. If you’re a good shot, it don’t matter that much.”
“Hans, with a .357 you only need one shot.”
“And this gun is for self-defense?”
“Yep. I got a good deal on it. It was only $500.”
Hans went on, “I like it. The fittings are all brass, and grip is wood.”
Then Hans asked me, “Do you know why it’s called a ‘Cattleman’?”
“Well, back in the old days, most of the pistols were Army issue. They were like this one except that the barrels were longer. Now the ranchers mostly carried the Army pistols, but they weren’t good for drawing quick, when you needed to shoot a rattlesnake…or something. So, the cowboys sawed off the end of the barrel on the pistol. Eventually, Colt just started making short-barreled revolvers like the one I got.”
“It sounds like you got what you wanted.”
“I like my new gun.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
“Now, I’m thinking about buying a Glock.”
Another quote from Hunter S. Thompson concerning firearms:
“The sun was hot and I felt like killing something. Anything. Even a big lizard. Drill the fucker. I got out my attorney’s .357 Magnum out of the trunk and spun the cylinder. It was loaded all the way around: Long, nasty little slugs–158 grains with a fine flat trajectory and painted aztec gold on the tips.”
Makes you think, doesn’t it?
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