Paps has been sending me really weird text messages lately.
Well, weirder than usual.
He sent me the local weather report a couple of times and when I asked why he thought I would care that it was 80 degrees and rainy in West Palm, he responded with, “Just trying to make conversation…”
You know, like I’m some stranger on the bus.
I shouldn’t complain, though because compared to the utterly insane messages he sent to me today, I kinda miss the weather updates.
Paps: I’m going to get me a concealed weapons permit.
Me: Oh dear God. That is a terrible idea. A truly wretched notion. Why? Why?
Paps: Well, only if your mom lets me.
Me: Oh. I have a greater chance of being prima ballerina for the Moscow Ballet than you do of getting a gun.
Paps: Who said anything about owning a gun?
Me: Why the hell would you get a concealed weapons permit if you’re not planning on getting a gun?!
Paps: Just for target practice.
Me: That is a terrible idea. What would you even use for targets?
Paps: Idiot. You go to a police gun range. I know quite a few cops who would teach me.
Me: No. No. No. Veto. You are not allowed to carry a loaded firearm.
Look – the Second Amendment is an important part of the fabric of this country and I’m not trying to get lured into a debate about gun rights.
But, I don’t allow Paps to use the remote control when I’m at home. Oh, what? It’s a complicated device and he watches just really terrible things sometimes and OH MY GOD, what is the point of having HD if you don’t use it!?
So listen up gun aficionados of South Florida:
If a smaller version of Erik Estrada tries to purchase, borrow or use a loaded firearm in your presence — wrestle him down to the ground, grab his phone and use it to call his child.
I’ll be listed under: “Mouthy Jerk Kid Who Yells At Me All The Time.”
