Also, fun fact.
A few days ago, I was enjoying a (several) nice glass of one of my favorite whiskys the fiance brought home. Was out doing chores, when out on the property, I usually carry my old S&W 5 screw in 38spl on my hip for varmints. Had come back in, so unloaded the gun. She asked me to take our 91 Seville (Caddy with the Good Hair, not the Northstar variant) out to put gas in it.
I'm not too drunk, our local gas station is only a five minute drive. Nice little place owned by a respectable pajeet family.
Go down, notice that the windows and one door glass are now replaced by plywood.
Walk in, notice the two most wiggerest wiggers to exist standing at the register. Straight up look like characters from the Boondocks.
Usually keep a light jacket or button down over my carry, but also a little drunk, so don't notice it's on full display.
Fresh off some work in the field, so look like uncle yokel's hokel pokel.
I go up to the counter, and the two wiggers have airsoft guns in their waistbands (cheap looking, so I hope) that they have their hands on.
Nice pajeet son looks worried.
They're buying papers, and they keep asking how many people are working there that day.
Indian dude looks down at my exposed revolver, 2 wiggers look down at my exposed revolver, and then decide "Yeah, just the papers then."
Pay and leave. I realize that I had not replaced the bullets before heading out. Realize how absolutely fucked I would have been had they had iron and weren't cowards..
Pajeet is thankful.
I go home.
Moral of the story, do not leave your house with no bullets, kiwis. My asshole was tight the whole way home.