Betty
Member
Ever seen green furry guns? Dad has.
"Did Phil (my brother) tell you about the green furry guns?" he asked.
I looked over my glasses and cocked an eyebrow.
"Noooo.......?"
"Well, you know it's been raining really hard this past week?"
"Yeah......?"
"And how humid that room (where the gun safe is) gets when its warm and rains?"
"Ummmmm...."
"Well, I went to go check up on the guns. You know how bad I am about that. Anyhow, I open the door and from the bottom to about a foot up, all the guns were coated in green furry mildew - it looked just like a.... carpet. The dessicant bags were sopping wet."
How he managed to say all that in his typical nonchalant manner I'll never know! My face contorted and I was screeching, "Eew! Eew! Eeeeeew!" like a horde of giant hissing cockroches was marching up my leg.
I pictured 40 cramped rifles, pistols, and Civil War cavalry sabers screaming for dear life in the pitch black tomb. "Please, please let us out!" A 1911 here, a Krag there, an '03 Springfield trying to trample over a Garand, all beating on the safe door, trying in vain to call for help, their tiny little voices muffled in the padded Safe of Death! Leather slings turning green and sticky! Brass coated with icky green goo! Green fur over each and every historic buttstock!
And the rust... I didn't bother to ask if there was rust. I clenched my teeth and tried to make the horrible screams in the tomb go away.
"Phil's probably not going to keep some of his guns in my safe anymore."
Dad, I am so ashamed of you!
"Did Phil (my brother) tell you about the green furry guns?" he asked.
I looked over my glasses and cocked an eyebrow.
"Noooo.......?"
"Well, you know it's been raining really hard this past week?"
"Yeah......?"
"And how humid that room (where the gun safe is) gets when its warm and rains?"
"Ummmmm...."
"Well, I went to go check up on the guns. You know how bad I am about that. Anyhow, I open the door and from the bottom to about a foot up, all the guns were coated in green furry mildew - it looked just like a.... carpet. The dessicant bags were sopping wet."
How he managed to say all that in his typical nonchalant manner I'll never know! My face contorted and I was screeching, "Eew! Eew! Eeeeeew!" like a horde of giant hissing cockroches was marching up my leg.
I pictured 40 cramped rifles, pistols, and Civil War cavalry sabers screaming for dear life in the pitch black tomb. "Please, please let us out!" A 1911 here, a Krag there, an '03 Springfield trying to trample over a Garand, all beating on the safe door, trying in vain to call for help, their tiny little voices muffled in the padded Safe of Death! Leather slings turning green and sticky! Brass coated with icky green goo! Green fur over each and every historic buttstock!
And the rust... I didn't bother to ask if there was rust. I clenched my teeth and tried to make the horrible screams in the tomb go away.
"Phil's probably not going to keep some of his guns in my safe anymore."
Dad, I am so ashamed of you!
