Once upon a time, as an American Patriot set off for market, he asked each of his three daughters what she would like as a present on his return. The first daughter wanted a brocade dress, the second a pearl necklace, but the third, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and sweetest of them all, said to her father:
“All I’d like is a gun for self-defense!”
When the Patriot had finished exploiting the free market, he set off for home. However, a sudden storm blew up and progress was slow. Cold and weary, the Patriot lost all hope of reaching an inn when he suddenly noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near, he saw that it was a castle. He drew his gun.
His weapon, an AMT Automag II, made him feel safe and powerful.
When the Patriot reached the door, he saw it was open, but though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Taking the safety off his weapon, he went inside. Wary of an ambush while calibrating his optimal kill zone and putting on his night-vision goggles,
he called out, hoping to flush his target from hiding.
Nothing.
As he continued his room-to-room search, he came upon a great hall where a splendid dinner lay served. The Patriot shouted for the owner of the castle, but no one came, so he sat down to a hearty meal.
Exploring his new surroundings, the Patriot ventured upstairs where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting, so the Patriot lay down, carefully put the safety on his weapon, placed it beneath his pillow, and fell asleep. When he woke next morning, a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit were by his bedside.
The Patriot had breakfast and went downstairs to have a look around when he saw a beautiful, unlocked gun collection. Remembering his promise to Beauty, he reached in to the display case to pick out a great semi-automatic he thought would be appropriate for his favourite daughter. Instantly, a horrible beast wearing splendid clothes appeared from out of nowhere. Two bloodshot eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep and a terrifying voice growled: “Ungrateful man! I gave you shelter, you ate at my table and slept in my own bed, but now all the thanks I get is the theft of my favourite semi-autmatic! I shall put you to death for this slight!”
These were the last words the beast ever uttered.
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
The Patriot, shooting in a controlled manner and ever conscious of maintaining a tight kill circle on the beast’s chest, emptied his entire clip into it, killing him on the spot. Any man or beast careless enough to leave a gun collection unlocked deserved whatever he got! The Patriot, knowing that 9/10th’s of the law is possession, moved his family into the grand castle and enjoying the high ground and excellent site lines from the turrets, lived happily ever after, sparing his daughter, through savvy gun ownership, of ever having a relationship with the beast.
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Q. What is your biggest weakness?
A. I’m quite handsome and clever and sometimes people, particularly those less handsome and clever than me, find it intimidating.
In my past job at the box factory, they talked behind my back and said things that were, at the time, entirely untrue about my sex life and the way I treated animals. Well, I showed them, I tell you. Anyway, there will always be people like this, people who have drunk deeply of the Hatorade and are out to get you, and so you just have to take care of it, you know?
Q. What irritates you about co-workers?
A. Usually, and I know that this sounds petty, but it’s the way that they dress. It’s always so predictable and lumpy, their outfits typically accented with some sad detail of their life like Cheesie dust or cat hairs. It just depresses me, and then I get mad at them for depressing me. It can be a toxic cycle.
Q. How do you handle stress and pressure?
A. I’m glad you asked this question because it’s really quite a complex issue. Often, I simply take time off work. This helps, but it doesn’t really solve the problem, and so after trying meditation and finding it useless, I’ve discovered that I need to create a cocktail of prescription medications to help calm the “BLACK TORNADO ZONE” I typically spin into. Also, I find that regular target practice at my gun club near Brampton is incredibly therapeutic.
Q. What will you do if you don’t get this job?
A. I will go and see Iron Man 3 again. I always get inspiration from the Iron Man. He’s made of iron, you know? Nothing gets him down. And then, after a good, inspirational cry, I will just try and take what I’ve learned from this experience and apply it to the future, hopeful that I may yet get a job at your shitty company when the next opportunity arises.
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