REBEL, GUNDEALER

Towards the end of my work day, I was standing outside smoking. A yuppie in a luxury SUV pulled in to the parking lot. I greeted him and asked if I could help him find anything.

"I’m looking for an assault rifle."

"We only have one, it’s the second from the left."

He looked at it and made the traditional man with an AR poses.

"Is that the kind of AR you’re looking for, or were you looking for something different?"

"I don’t know what I’m looking for, I just want to get one before the democrats take office."

"Well, if that one doesn’t suit you, I can order new ones too."

"Oh! What kind?"

I showed him the catalog, and he stared slack-jawed at the options, and asked me for my opinion. I explained the different manufacturers, and he was impressed. To be quite honest, I don’t really know dick about AR’s, but he knew even less than me. He decided that he needed to do more research and call me back.

"What is your name?"

"Rebel."

"No shit? Yeah, I’ve got a gun-lady named Rebel. Awesome."

He left smiling. Aunt Cheryl thought it was funny and told anyone that would listen.