"Do your duty in all things. You cannot do more, you should never wish to do less." -Robert E. Lee

Ever have a short little section of a story- a sentence or two- that you were particularly proud of?

Vanilla Sugar's got a lot of those.  It's so getting posted.  Mind you, this is Not Safe For Work, kids, so don't go whining at me if you didn't want to see smut.  You coulda just stopped here.

Vanilla Sugar

Tink groaned and rolled over, throwing an arm around the sleeping form next to him. Yet another night of not-so-wild sex, with Dev being too tired for a cuddle afterwards. Fine and dandy. He loved the gunner, he really did, but sometimes he wanted a more gentle touch- slow lovemaking, soft caresses, and most decidedly some post-coital pillow talk
“Dev?”
“Mm. Hey, babydoll.”
Tink’s heart melted when he saw Dev’s tired smile. “Do you… could you hold me tonight?”
“What? Uh, sure. C’mere.” Dev ruched closer to his lover. “Sorry I been fallin’ asleep so fast lately. Just worn out, is all.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“Do I look it?” Tink grinned as muscular arms slipped around him. “Just a little put out, is all.”
“Sorry. Love you.” Dev buried his face in blonde hair and sighed happily. This was good. This was right. This… this should happen far more often, really. And what shampoo did Tink use? Didn’t quite cover up the scent of engine grease- not that that was bad, good heavens no- sorta… vanilla-y. Sweet. Girlier than expected, even from Tink. God, it smelled fantastic.
“Dev?”
“Mm?”
“You’re sniffing my hair.”
Oh. Damn. “The hell shampoo you use?”
“Same shit you been pouring on your head the past three weeks- toasted sugar vanilla.”
Ah. “Smells nice, is all.” Another sniff. “How come I never noticed this before?”
“You ain’t never sniffed my head before.” Tink giggled. “You’re weird, Kentucky.”
Shit, it was getting intoxicating, that sweet addictive scent and oh man he was getting hard again but that vanilla, the vanilla was dragging him by the cock into bed and he just didn’t care…
“Mmmhh…” He ground his hips against Tink’s and clutched him close. “Goddamn.”
“Holy shit, ‘Tucky’s got a kink,” the mechanic said softly, running a thumb over Dev’s nipple. “Take it slow there, now.”
Dev barely heard his lover through the haze of vanilla- soft buttery yellow, same as Tink’s hair- and he’d have been damned if he didn’t hear the ocean, or was it all the blood rushing to his crotch? Did he even care?
“Tinkerbell,” he moaned. The engine grease was joining in now, dark brown doing some kind of lewd tango with the yellow. Perhaps more of a rumba? He threw his head back for some air, gasping.
“You okay there?”
“I don’t fucking know.” He felt lightheaded. “There’s… there’s a… goddamn if I know what there is.”
“Take it easy- we got all night.” Tink nipped at Dev’s collarbone and smiled. “You’re actin’ almost high there.”
“I… I think I am.” The rolling feeling in his gut was settling down. “I need to go outside, get some air. I think. Yeah.”

“Feeling better?”
Dev nodded and sighed. “I don’t know what happened. Just all of a sudden- bam! Swimming in a sea of vanilla.” He shook his head. “Am I going crazy?”
“Dunno. Might be. At least you’re enjoying it, right?”
“Tink, as much fun as it might be now, I can’t be coming in my pants every time I get a whiff of your hair.”
“Aw.” Tink grinned and lit his cigarette. “That’d just make my day.”
“Too bad. We’re changin’ the shampoo.”
“Well, could just be that you’re tired out from all the work we been doing. Tell you what. We take a break tomorrow, get our heads in order, see what happens. Sound good?”
“Sure, alright.” Dev looked up at the sky- overcast, as usual. Faint glow where the moon was hiding behind all them clouds. No, not clouds. Smog. Fucking North Jersey smog coming off the burning hulk that used to be New York City. He wondered vaguely if this had ever been a nice place to live, or if it was the Eternal Cosmic Armpit of the universe. Probably the Indians hadn’t even liked it- cursed ground or some shit.
“Wanna light?”
“Sure.”
Nicotine. Just what the doctor ordered.
“What’re you thinkin’ there?”
“Thinkin’ how this place has always been a shithole.” He chuckled. “One of these days we gotta get out of here, babydoll. Just take a transport and go.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Tink shivered. “Get over here, ‘Tucky, I’m freezin’.”
He rubbed the older man’s arms and pulled him into a hug. “Be damned if I’m gonna let you catch cold. Why ain’t you wearin’ a sweater?”
“Didn’t think it was that cold out.”
“Crazy.”
Oh. There was the vanilla again. Damn.
“Tink,” he gasped. “It’s… again…”
“Jesus.” Tink moaned as fingers trailed down his back- had Dev ever been this passionate before? –pressing him closer to the broadly muscled chest, making him drop his cigarette as he nuzzled at a shoulder. He slipped cold hands up Dev’s t-shirt.
“Christ in heaven, not in public…” The gunner wasn’t resisting, though, and he let out a quiet growl as a near-frozen hand found its way to a nipple.
Shit, he hadn’t been this hard in ages. Tink had never looked this tasty before, either, with his hair down and a little more stubble than usual. Fucked if he was gonna let it get the best of him, though.
He pulled his lover into the shadows and kissed him, whimpering softly as he pressed his crotch against Tink’s thigh. Couldn’t let anyone see. He had a reputation to… oh goddamn that felt good, he thought as Tink nibbled at his collarbone. Fuckin’ A.
“You doin’ okay there, Kentucky?” Tink’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “You’re not gonna faint or nothin’?”
Dev growled again and fumbled at Tink’s fly, wanting at his lover’s dick as soon as humanly possible. He’d never craved cock before, but he’d be damned if that wasn’t about to change.
“It’s… really cold out,” Tink gasped as Dev slipped a hand down his pants. “Can we… can we do this inside?”
A grumble. It was imperative that he got at that cock now.
“Come on, Dev. I’m freezin’.”
He grunted and picked up the little mechanic, carrying him into the house and up the stairs.

It was amazing how good a straight man was at sucking cock, Tink mused as another wave of pleasure washed over him. Boy knew exactly where to lick, where to graze the teeth- oh so lightly- when to look up at him with those doe eyes of his and smile around the dick in his mouth.
Never in his wildest dreams did he think that Devon Rhea, golden boy of Kentucky’s Finest, knew what to do with a cock.
He ran his fingers through thick, silky hair and thrust into that soft mouth, moaning his lover’s name. Fuck, that felt good- if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Dev had made a living doing this.
A soft rumble started in the younger man’s throat, and Tink gasped as the vibration hit his dick just right. Jesus. And those big, callused hands weren’t off being useless, no; they were joining right in- one stroking the inside of Tink’s thigh, the other… the other reaching to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube.
In a few moments, a slick finger slipped into his asshole, and he squirmed a little. Dev knew about the on button? Apparently so, because within moments Tink was hit with that sharp jab of euphoria. Fuckin’ A, where the hell had he learned that?
Never mind. Between the thorough licking his dick was getting and the gentle massaging of his prostate, Tink was losing it… so very close…
And suddenly he was coming harder than he had in ages, fucking Dev’s mouth as he cried out wordlessly, barely noticing the gunner’s smirk of glee as he swallowed every last drop.
Holy shit, that was amazing, Tink thought as he came down from his high. He grinned as Dev stood, pinning him against the wall.
“The fuck did you learn to suck a cock?” The mechanic was breathless as his lover nuzzled at his neck.
“I know what I like, figure you ain’t too much different.” A gentle nip just below the ear. “Goddamn you taste good.”
Tink sighed happily and melted into Dev’s arms. “I knew that shampoo was a good idea. Figure I oughta save it for a rainy day…”
“Mm.” Dev stroked himself through his boxers. “You gonna leave me hangin’?”
“Course not. Just… on the bed, please? I’m a little weak-kneed right now.”
“Anything, babydoll.” Dev grinned and flopped on the big bed. “Come on and give daddy some sugar.”
Tink snickered. “’Give daddy some sugar?’ The hell did you get that from?”
“Shut up ‘n get over here.” Dev tugged on his lover’s hand.
“Hold yer horses. I’m comin’.”

---

It's not finished as of yet, but I like how it's turning out.  It's un-beta'd, so forgive any inconsistencies or errors.

I'm not kicked out anymore, but I AM going to get myself committed. I have the sinking feeling I'm actually certifiably insane, and am therefore seeking treatment.  Finally.  I'll smuggle you all some fun pills.

My dad is in the hospital, puking blood.  Everyone, please wish him well.

I got kicked out of my house yesterday.

I wish I was back in Kutztown.  I know I'm missing out on some entertaining drama- especially DnD drama.

Ah, me.

Obviously, I haven't gotten my alloted pagecount done on my porn.  I've spent far too much time playing Katamari Damacy and goofing off.  Such is the life of an unemployed cartoonist, eh?

My mother keeps harping on me, about what my "life plan" is.  I have it narrowed down to five steps, five steps that she will quite obviously not like.  As far as I'm concerned, she can funting well rotate, for all I care about her concern with appearances and "what will the neighbors think?"

It's come to my attention that I am very nearly twenty years old.  More developments to follow.

I'm in the midst of writing something, and I've hit an impasse. This is frustrating to no end, of course, especially when you have fangirls awaiting your latest installation of porn.

I'm three pages in.

THREE.  BLEEDING.  PAGES.

In smut terms, that's quite a lot for me, but really, when you pare it down to the pure, unadulterated porn, it's only about a page and a half.  The rest is "plot" and fluff- put in to keep the kiddies happy, and everyone in character.

I want to write a man's version of "School Life In Paris."  To hell with the lesbians.  Everyone writes lesbians nowadays.  And what isn't lesbian or straight porn is invariably this "yaoi" crap that demeans bottoms to no end.  For once, I want to read a good, porny story with a bottom that isn't basically a girl with a dick.  Fuck the girly bottoms, and not in the fun way.

Ah, well. Such is the life of a porn writer.

Maybe if I get enough done tonight, I'll post it on here.  After all, this is my lit blog.

There is an outside entity in my dreams.

He's very persistant. Harmless thus far, but very persistant in his pursuit of my company. It's been nearly a week, and he's appeared in every one of my dreams since I first met him.

All I know about him is that his name is Kevin, he wears polo shirts(usually blue and white striped), he lives in a college town in his own apartment, and wherever he lives, it's really cold out, but not snowy. He presents himself as a satyr, a young one.

He's very pleasant to talk to and be with. I hope he gives me more information soon- I know he knows where I am.

I've been having odd dreams lately, and here's one of my favourites.

I begin in what looks like an attic room, lit by a bare bulb. There is a nameless, unknown presence in there with me; I cannot see him except out of the corner of my eye, and he does not speak to me at all. In fact, I am quite sure that he is dead, and merely watching me.

It seems I have been in this room for some time.

There are artifacts all around me- notable ones being a rocking chair with a teddy bear sitting in it, a mirror with a dress hanging off of it, and a noose suspended from a rafter. There are many more things populating this extraordinarily clean space (it almost looks like an antique store, save for the heavy locks on the door, to which I have no key), but none of them really catch my eye.

I reach for the rocking chair to run my fingers over the seasoned wood, when I am suddenly sitting in the chair- but I am not entirely myself. I scream, rock, and tear at my now-ancient flesh with ragged fingernails, trying to escape my own mind, with no success. The teddy bear falls from my lap. My nails gouge ravines in my arms and chest, and I am suddenly forcibly ejected from the chair by someone much stronger than me.

I come back to myself, and go to pick up the teddy bear, to place it back in its home, when again I am the old woman, tearing at herself and screaming- only now she has bled herself into a ruin, and I can hardly feel the pain of my wounds. I fall from the chair, and black out.

When I come to, all is as it was. The teddy bear is in the chair. I am, for the most part, alright, if shaken.

The dress on the mirror catches my eye, and I go to investigate. It looks like an old bridesmaid dress, somewhat tacky, but obviously high fashion in its own time. I reach out my fingers to touch the pink satin-

I am wearing the dress, feeling pretty for the first time in my life. I twirl happily. I look like Mommy used to, before she was married. We share the same lips, the same eyes, the same smile. Admittedly, my hair is much shorter, but that's just a technicality. I'm pretty.

I hear the door slam downstairs, and my breath hitches. If Daddy sees me wearing Mommy's dress, he'll be very angry with me, and I will be beaten.

He calls my name. I hear his footsteps coming upstairs, and can all but smell his rage. He's been drinking again, I know it.

The door bursts open, and the look on his face as he sees his son in his dead wife's dress is that of pure wrath.

Daddy will be angry...

And I am back to myself. The dress is still hanging on the mirror. The figure in my peripheral vision is a little less distinct, but giving off a strong feeling of sadness. I look into the mirror to assure myself that yes, I am alright-

It's all worthless. I'm never going to live up to anyone's expectations. I may as well stop being such a damned burden to everyone.

I raise the pistol to my head, and look in the mirror. I'm so young, and yet I know I'm never going to amount to anything. I can't take it anymore. Dad never forgave me for being a fag.

I begin to squeeze the trigger-

I'm back. I'm on the ground, crying for my mother, and glad to be back in my own body, with my own face.

It's pretty obvious by now that tragic things took place in this attic- a young man (transgirl? Unlikely. I never actually got that vibe from his mind) killed himself up here.

One last eye-catching object to go- the noose.

I gird my loins, and reach up to touch it-

-how did I miss with the gun? The doctors said I was lucky, but they don't know. They haven't seen what I've seen. They haven't had those hands on them. They haven't had that disapproving glare trained on them.

I make doubly sure the rope is attached to the rafter, and place the noose around my neck. Good. I've got it.

I kick the stool out from under me and-

I'm back to myself, but I'm still choking, still hanging, and the world is starting to sparkle around the edges...

...and wiry arms are lifting me up, pulling the noose off of me, gently setting me down on the floor. I see what used to be the indistinct figure smiling down at me(he looks like Justin Long), and his lips move as if to speak, but no sound comes out. I reach for him, and he pulls away, still smiling, and points up.

I look to where he gestures, and am horrified to see what looks like a human face stitched onto the ceiling, just low enough for me to touch. It's fairly clear that he wants me to reach for it, so I do...

The mouth opens, and a great wind sucks almost everything in the room away, save for the noose. A crunching sound behind me makes me turn. There's now a hole in the plaster and brick, and I must go through...

That's where the dream ends. I wake up.

Bizarre, eh?

"Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita."

"Midway in the journey of our life
I came to myself in a dark wood,
for the straight way was lost."

-Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

Happy Wintereenmas, everyone.

Interview With A Dragon

"Old Scarface, they call me. Guess it's pretty accurate, but still, you'd think they'd show a little more respect to someone who's repeatedly saved their asses over the past few aeons." He chuckles softly and slugs his ale.

I must say, when I was told to meet the most venerable specimen of Draconis rex, I hardly expected the interview to take place in a tavern, let alone one so shabby as this.

"You were expecting a dragon's lair, full of gold and whatnot, weren't you," he laughs as I tell him. "Never much bothered with all that nonsense- we're supposed to be some kind of peacekeepers, not treasure-hoarders. Not to say I don't have a tidy sum in an account in Innsmouth, that is."

Times most certainly have changed.

"Yeah, not much good comes from sitting on a pile of gems- doesn't accrue any interest, and you're stuck watching over the damned thing just to make sure nobody gets any ideas. Fuckin' inconvenient. I prefer getting out and raising a little hell in my old age." Another laugh. "You wouldn't believe how many adventuring parties I've joined up with who're all trying to get their mitts on my hoard. It's the big thing nowadays, apparently.

"Kids these days! All they want to do is get the best of everything, now, now, now. No patience anymore. Used to be I'd have one apprentice every half millenium. Now they're lining up at my door, all too eager, no-one willing to take the time and make the effort to be a half-decent mage. Sad, really.

"Oh well. Guess the times are changing. I feel sorry for any poor bastard who takes on one of those impatient wanna-bes."

So now that he's given up training acolytes, what had he been up to in recent years?

"Ye gods, what haven't I been up to? Adventuring, mostly. Hearkening back to my younger days. Surprised the blue-eyed hell out of a few kids when they found out their ex-army curmudgeon was a fuckin' dragon. Funny, really. This one group had been going on and on about how easy dragon-slaying was, how stupid we'd all gotten, yadda yadda. I say nothing, keep quiet, and when we were all about to get gutted, bam, back to true form, kick some ass, and turn around to find the rest of the party has quietly shat themselves. Apparently they hadn't figured on me being so damn big. Seems like they'd been going after drakes; never even seen a real dragon before. Gave them more than a little pause, I'll tell you that.

"Spent a little time up north, with those really big orcs up in Svallund. Good bunch, really. Shame they had to retreat so far into the wastes to keep from getting slaved out. Met one- Reig, I think his name was- lost his entire family to slavers. Been leading warbands down south in revenge, and I can't say I blame him. One of these days I want to get some of your University fellas to interview him, get his story out there. Slave trade just ain't right."

"What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty quarrels rise from trivial things,
I sing--This verse to C--l, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays."

-Alexander Pope, The Rape of the Lock

I guess this will be my literary blog- the random essays and poems I've been writing need to go somewhere, so why not here?

Might not get updated too often, but hey, it's something.

I’m an asshole, and I know it.

I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry for how I treated you. I’m a stupid fuck who doesn’t know how good he’s got it until it’s gone, and now it’s probably too late to make amends.

I hate myself for making you hate me. Maybe not hate. I don’t know how you feel about me. Probably deep loathing. That’s how I’d be, if I’d been utterly ignored by someone I thought cared for me.

I do care for you. I do. And I’m a dick for not showing it. I’m a complete, utter cunt for not calling you, not keeping in touch.

I should have made more of an effort.

I’m kicking myself, I know. I’ve been kicking myself for months, now. Too scared to ‘fess up and tell you that when I said I wasn’t a transguy, I was lying. Lying to keep you from leaving me.

Then I go and leave you in the dust, because I’m not brave enough to deal with things that frighten me, like, say, the truth.

I’m sorry.

I can never really say that enough. I was a moron, and I’ve been regretting it.

I hope you’ve found someone who can tell you the truth, communicate, and treat you like the god you are. You deserve it, after what you put up with from me. I hope she’s everything you could ever hope for, and so much more. I hope you’re genuinely happy. I hope you have a fantastic life, with or without me in it. May it be infinitely successful, and all your wildest dreams be achieved.

I hope you can forgive me for treating you like dirt. That’s all I ask. Forgiveness. Forgiveness for being a stupid kid with all the emotional range of a teaspoon.

You were better to me than anyone.

-Sean

I can't wait until Friday.

OMGWTFBBQ WOLVES.

It was zarking hoopy.

I can't really describe how zarking hoopy it was because I'm totally wired and hyped right now and want to totally go out and howl at something and maybe scare the neighbors but it was zarkingly hoopily sweet and so cool you could store a side of beef in the sheer force of the awesome.

Fucking wolves, man.

Wolves.

Everything is so damned disposable nowadays.  We make cars that we can't easily fix, toys that we can't repair when broken, technology that can't be upgraded.  Everything is made to break and be thrown away.

And yet we talk of this legacy we leave for future generations.  What legacy?  The legacy of "it's just for now?"  Nothing is made to last.  We will not be remembered fondly.  We may not be remembered at all.  We're not producing anything antiquable.  What will we leave our kids?

God, I'm depressed.

1. What did you do in 2005 that you'd never done before?
Went to college, wore a corset, voted, played DnD

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
FUCK RESOLUTIONS.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Lots of family members.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Too many for comfort.

5. What countries did you visit?
None-diddly-un.

6. What would you like to have in 2006 that you lacked in 2005?
Money.  I really need the stuff.  And a place to live that isn't Mom's house.

7. What date from 2005 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
November 11th,2005.  One year from that date I shall exact vengeance in food form upon one Christopher "Poz" Drackley.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Going to college and not totally flunking out.

9. What was your biggest failure?
English class.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Assorted sniffles and bouts of food poisoning.

11. What was the best thing you paid for?
Entry to RenFaire.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Sam's, for having remarkable self-control.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Anyone who is a member of the "Good Ole Boys" club of the US government.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Food and Walmart runs.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Seeing Sam again.

16. What song will always remind you of 2005?
If You're Emo And You Know It, Slit Your Wrists

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Much happier.
ii. thinner or fatter? I put on at least 25 pounds at college.  Yeuch.
iii. richer or poorer? I occasionally have money.  This is an improvement.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Organising my crap so I can move out officially.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Goofing off during classes.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Avoiding my family like the plague.

21. What was the most embarrassing thing that happened to you in 2005?
My piano recital.  I bombed liek WHOA.

22. Did you fall in love in 2005?
Yes, with Sam.  And I have a feeling that once we get back together, we'll go very far.

23. How many one-night stands?
With Lefty and Righty and their buddy Mr. Dildo?  Every goddamn night.  Ugh.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
I stopped watching TV.  It's depressing.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Johnny Damon, the lying, cheating, no-good, two-timing putz.

26. What was the best book you read?
The Tin Drum.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Poz.  He has a voice of russet silk.

28. What did you want and get?
Dice.

29. What did you want and not get?
A fuctional brain cell.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
H2G2 was this year, right?

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I did nothing, and turned 18.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Writing more.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2005?
Step 1, roll out of bed.  Step 2, find clothes under bed.  Step 3, smell clothes.  If not too stinky, go to step 4.  If their reek rivals that of Limburger cheese, return to step 2. Step 4, wear clothes.

34. What kept you sane?
Poz, surprisingly enough.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Alan Rickman, Sean Connery, Karl Urban...

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
EVERYTHING.

37. Who did you miss?
Sam.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
All my rennies, but especially Poz.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2005:
Don't livejournal while drunk.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Ah don't care if it rains or freezes/long's ah got my rubber penis/riding on the dashboard of mah ca-AAR"

Happy belated New Year, to anyone who chooses to read this.

Rewatched Gettysburg, took Mom out for lunch, tried to go shopping and failed miserably since everything is closed. Cleaned a lot. Did a lot of silver polishing. All in all, a slow day. I think the highlight was doing the crossword in the back of an old New York mag while watching Pirates of the Caribbean and Mary Poppins.

I need to make more pasta so I can dry it and sell it to out-of-towners for massive amounts of money because it's "homespun" or some shit. I love tourists; they're so damn gullible, especially middle-aged New Yorkers. They're so dumb I could sell them a stick for $50 just by saying it has some fucked-up Native American religious value. And the wannabe hippie wicclets that show up to "commune with nature" are just as bad. Play some mystic woo-woo at them and have a few crystals lying around and you're their goddamn messiah. Fucking hell, people need to step back and look at how ridiculous they look to locals. I don't buy anything for any more than I would pay at home, thank you very much. Has the world lost its mind?

Oy vey. I need a drink, methinks.

Happy new year, once again.

General Lee isn't a FUCKING CAR, folks.

Dukes of Hazzard SUCKS.

Civil War ROCKS.

Get over yourselves and your fetish for blonde bimbos with legs up to HERE.

Fucking America. Doesn't even know its own history. For god's sake.

I feel like someone is taking sandpaper to my uterus and a rasp to my fallopian tubes.

CURSE YOUR BLACK HEART, BIOLOGY.

And I swear I want to rip out someone's throat with my teeth.  I'm all... gung-ho and ready to take on the entire army with only a damp napkin to aid my fight.

I'm gonna go downstairs and see if Mom was telling the truth about Gramma's guns.  I need a weapon in my hands, if only to hold it.

Me?  Dangerous?  Never!