Last week M gave the neighbors a hand carting some branches to the compost heap at the dump. And they invited us over for a drink last night to show their appreciation.
J was spewing bile, as usual, but last night he gave the immigrant topic a rest and saved his ire for the pigeons that roost in his yard and eat his plants.
After a few beers he offered to show us around his house and I was a little surprised to see a marksman's rifle leaning against the wall of his study. M asked him about it and he said "Oh, that's nothing! You should see the other rifle I've got!" and led us back to the bedroom to show us.
So he pulls out this serious-looking rifle and hands it to M, who kind of smiled and asked about the grooved tip-- "yes, yes, that's for the silencer." And then J starts digging in his nightstand to see if he can find it.
Meanwhile, his tipsy wife is chuckling and digging through their chest of drawers "I just know we've got bullets in here somewhere!"
When I'd recovered from my shock I said jokingly "J, what the heck do you have this for? You planning revenge on those pigeons?"
To which he replied "Oh no, Betsy. I use dum-dum bullets, which explode on impact. There wouldn't be enough of those pigeons left to put in the pan afterwards..."
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