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The Story of My Father's Gun, The Final Chapter.

We all remember how things ended up with my search to get my father's gun back. A Cliff Notes version is as follows: Dad sells gun. Ernie wants gun back. Ernie calls gun shop where Dad sold gun. Gun shop contacts New Owner, to inquire about selling. New Owner says Fuck off. Wait until after the holidays. Ask New Owner again. New Owner says, okay but it's $1,250. Ernie shits himself. Keep in mind my dad sold it for $213. Ernie asks for photos. Gun shop sends photos. It's the wrong fucking gun. Ernie tells Gun Shop this. Gun shop reports they are not about to track down gun, sorry. Back to square one.

I should also relay that from that last conversation, I could kind of tell I was beginning to wear out my welcome. That's not to say that I played any fucking part in them chasing he wrong fucking gun for four months -- I must have said "snub-nosed .38" about a hundred fucking times -- but I suppose when push comes to shove they're in the business of making money and from their perspective there isn't much incentive in chasing down a person-to-person sale. I got the, "we gave it the old college try," speech and was going to leave it at that for a little while before trying again in a month or so.

I'll admit, I was a little discouraged. I mean it would have been nice to get his .38 back, but he's still got that nice .22 Magnum and since that was his first gun, perhaps I can take some solace in that. But later that afternoon, I received the following email...

Pretty much what that amounts to is, "I'M TELLING MOM!" And you know what? I was totally cool with that.

So I called the gun shop back up, and sure enough Neal answers. Normally this is where I'd ask to speak to Ray since he's been very cool to deal with and Neal seemed like a dickhead the last time we spoke. But knowing that Neal was the boss and knowing that I was going to be a passive aggressive asshole, Neal was perfect. "Hey Neal, I just wanted to call up and say thanks again for all the effort you guys went through in trying to find my father's gun." "Oh, that's no problem," he began, and I could hear in his voice he was already tired of talking to me, "I'm sorry we couldn't find it for you." "Yeah pretty funny how the gun ended up being something entirely different, a 1917 versus a 64... did you guys happen to check for Model 64's at all?" "Yep, yep, we tried that, nothing from your father, sorry." "Nah, that's okay, again my thanks for trying. But an FFL friend of mine suggested I might want to actually try the ATF since they might be able to assist me since I have a paper receipt to start looking from." A brief pause. "The ATF, huh?" "Yeah I wouldn't know where to begin I guess I'll have to start calling the local offices, and hope they can point me in the right direction." "Well," Neal began, with a little more interest in his voice than a scant thirty seconds ago, "before you do that, we'll take one last look through the books and see if we get lucky." "Oh, that's be great," I cooed, "yeah let's hope we get lucky."

I don't really know if the ATF would have been able to help me, for all I know they'd send an agent to swing by the gun shop and they'd say, "Yeah we know where the gun is, this kid is just being a pain in the ass so we blew him off." "Oh, see ya." The best I can figure, sometime after my initial call, Ray probably made an innocent mistake... maybe read the line above or the line below my father's entry and that's how they ended up tracking down the wrong gun. Hey it happens, no harm, no foul. But since the owner of that gun was such a raging asshole and made this like pulling fucking teeth, I had pretty much expended my goodwill and the gun shop's powers that be didn't want to expend any more effort in another potentially fruitless search. But when faced with one pain in the ass versus another pain in the ass, they chose the lesser of two pains in the ass and went back to the books, found the entry and called the New Owner. Turns out five weeks after trading it in, my father's gun was sold to a guy that owned and operated a local laundromat. Evidently he bought it to keep in the back office, and after taking it to the desert a handful of times, it's sat in his desk drawer for the better part of a year. This New Owner by the way, turned out not to suck a big fuckin moosecock like the other guy, and when presented with a hey-how'd-you-like-to-make-a-quick-$200 deal, had absolutely no qualms about parting with it. He brought the gun into the gun shop the following morning, Ray gave me the thumbs up and it went into the mail that afternoon. New Owner's $526 purchase price + $200 thanks-for-selling-it bonus + $50 to the gun store for "shipping and handling" = last night I picked my dads's gun from my FFL for around $800 all said and done. She needs a good cleaning and polishing, but is no worse for wear. Oddly enough, it seems heavier then I remember it as a kid.

So had there been no slip of the finger back in late October, this whole ordeal should have taken no more than a week and been buttoned up by Halloween. But hey, what's life without a little adventure, am I right? So this morning when I called my father to pass on the good news and explain this ridiculously long story, he stopped me mid sentence, "No, you want to talk to Ray. Don't talk to Neal, Neal is an asshole." On that note I have a couple of bottles of booze to send off; one to Ray for all the time and energy he put into this, and one to Mike -- aka The Wolf -- for solving problems. Thanks fellas!

Fuck that, I had to search for the definition of inguinal.

Piers Stefan Pughe-Morgan, known professionally as Piers Morgan, is a British journalist and television presenter. He is editorial director of First News, a national newspaper for children. Morgan has attracted criticism particularly for his TV work, with claims he is smarmy, arrogant, self-satisfied, and too full of himself. His show on CNN, Piers Morgan Tonight, has been described by Hank Stuever as droning, unnecessary, and rubbish. In contrast, Theodore Anthony "Ted" Nugent is an American guitarist, musician, singer, author, and activist. From Detroit, Michigan, he originally gained fame as the lead guitarist of The Amboy Dukes, before embarking on a lengthy solo career. He is also noted for his conservative political views and his ardent defense of hunting and gun ownership rights. A strong advocate of the right to bear arms, Nugent currently serves on the Board of Directors of the National Rifle Association. And when Pussy Morgan runs face first into The Nuge, it looks like this. In related news, in October 2003, journalist and television personality Jeremy Clarkson reportedly emptied a glass of water over Morgan during the last flight of Concorde. Then a year later at the British Press Awards, Clarkson punched Morgan three times in a clash over The Mirror's coverage of his private life, and accusations that Clarkson did not write for his column in The Sun himself. In related-related news, if you want to your kid to grow up into a raging pussybag, name him Piers. By the way, two students were stabbed at aschool today, putting them both in the hospital, one in critical condition. Yet this did not make the national news, nor will it spur cries to ban or register knives. OMFG! GUNS ARE SO EVIL!

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