I dreamed I was at a gun show, and I was walking the aisles looking at stuff, carrying my McCann Puffin Magnum knife and a Ruger Super Blackhawk that I was trying to sell. Who knows where the Blackhawk came from, but anyway...
So I run into Kirk from Fun Turns To Tragedy!, who wanted to buy the knife. He had apparently gotten a job at a super-secret Area 51-type compound for the Military-Industrial Complex, so I needed to mail it to some permanent address for him.
Now I'm left wandering the aisles with just the Ruger .44. As I'm browsing over a table full of Colt Lightnings and top-break Smiths, up walks frickin' Charlie Rangel, right in the middle of my dream, and asks to buy the hogleg. I'm all like "Charlie Rangel? At a gun show?" And he's making noises about how he likes guns just fine himself, but they should be kept out of the hands of the wrong people and blah-blah whatever.
I figured this was my only chance to get these particular tax dollars back, so I let him take advantage of the ol' gun show loophole right there. But I spent a good long time checking his ID.
While I was dickering with him, somebody bought the Colt Lightning I'd been looking at.