Usually when some talking head or columnist from the MSM blathers about "an arsenal of weapons being found by police in the home of Joe Smith, whose neighbors describe him as a moody loner", the camera then goes on to pan shakily across a bedsheet covered with grandpa's old .30-30, a couple .22 plinkers, an SKS, and a $79.99 single-barrel twelve gauge from Wally World. It always turns out that the "over a thousand rounds of ammunition" is only because Mr. Moody Loner (apparently being introverted and prickly about the neighbor's dog peeing in your rosebushes is a sure sign of a future spree killer,) picked up a couple bricks of .22 during a 2-for-1 sale at K-Mart when they were closing out their gun department ten years ago.
Rarely do I sit up and say "Okay, that is a lot of guns."
It's good to have goals. Mine is that, when they finally come after me for felony jaywalking or confuse my address with the crack house two blocks down, and in the aftermath spread all my stuff on bedsheets in the front yard, I want the kids on the intarw3bz gun boards to look at that junk-on-the-bunk display and say "Wow, that is an arsenal."