Our neighbor Ron is a master storyteller and consummate salesman. I took something over to his wife a few days ago and stood there on the porch for an hour listening to some of his stories. The one I remember most clearly was about Ron’s friend, a retired NYC policeman. The last tale Ron told about Bill involved shooting guns at a target out on the mountain. Ron won, hands down that day. He had five bullets, shot one corner of the target after another, and ended with a perfect bullseye.
Well, it seems Ron knew of a Glock for sale. He wouldn’t spend the money for it, but he “sold” Bill on the idea. Bill bought the gun for himself, and the first thing he did was take it apart to see how it was made.
After all the parts were laid out on the table, Bill exploded. He shouted, “Blast it!”
I thought that was quite a controlled epithet for a New York cop, but I heard it wrong. My ears are not what they used to be. Ron repeated it to make sure I heard it right.
Bill actually yelled, “PLASTIC! This thing is made of plastic!”
Ron later acquired a Beretta for himself, but that’s another story. Bill may yet be green with envy.