Pass the ammunition.

It's a red letter day for my family, and countless other paranoid gun fetishists everywhere. Why is that you say? Well for all you pacifistic hippie jackasses today is the first day you are legally allowed to bring your bazooka with you while camping in our nation's fine national parks. I, for one, am deeply relieved that very soon a small army of older white diabetics with "Ditto Rush" stickers will be on duty defending our parks from the Communist threat. Wolverines!

This of course also means that my fine Uncle Gary is carefully packing his suburban full of fire arms and Olympia beer on his way to exercise his right as an American to sit in the forest and frighten others. I have choosen a picture of Magnum here in place of Gary as the crafty old bastard seems to have never allowed anyone to take his picture. He's always one step ahead of the black helicopters and the T-Men that way. 

Now I imagine some of you are saying that Gary is just a good Christian gentleman who loves his country, is knowledgeable in the ways of the thunderstick, and loves the outdoors and I should just leave him alone. All these points couldn't be more true. Gary loves the sweet baby Jesus, hates Catholics, and has had more deep philosophical discussions of firearms with his friends and the voices in his head that anyone I know. All I'm trying to say is that after a lifetime of hunting with the man I've learned that he doesn't go out into the woods with a gun without bringing back some game. I'm just worried what the game is this time. (Run Juan Valdez!)