"This Is My Rifle; This Is My Gun. This Is for Fighting; This Is for Fun."

After years of steady "No's," I finally caved to the boy's constant pressuring for his first toy gun. It's not a Red Rider BB gun with a compass in the stock, so at least he won't shoot his eye out. His new piece, an overpriced, malfunctioning, cap smoking pistol from Tweetsie, is dubbed the "Doc Holiday." I keep trying to get him to say, "I'm your huckleberry," but he has other ideas for this extension of his manhood. The boy strapped the holster on, shoved his piece in it, and slung it around to rest between his legs before engaging in a series of pelvic thrusts.

"Daddy, this is probably unappropriate," he said, smiling proudly. (And, for the record, I do realized the correct word is "inappropriate.")

"I'm pretending my gun is my willie!"

R. Lee Ermey would've had his ass. I just laughed my ass off.