Back when I began writing professionally, I resolved that if my cynicism ever began to overshadow my usefulness, I’d expend my supply of typewriter ribbons and find something else to do. Since my trusty Remington Model 5 is still tapping out manuscripts faster than a social-media influencer posts selfies, I guess I haven’t crossed that threshold just yet. But a second resolution—that I’d hang up my spurs when the big ammo makers stopped introducing new, cutting-edge, centerfire-rifle cartridges—has.
After years of legal wrangling, clandestine pogo-stick competitions and receiving written assurances that I intend to stop writing, reps for Federal, Winchester, Hornady, SIG Sauer and TulAmmo have assured me this April 1st that their organizations are definitely done developing new rifle cartridges. That means I’m finally and fully abreast of my assigned area of specialization. Thus, it appears that this is the right moment to pass my lacquered-steel gunwriter’s scepter to a younger, smarter and more philologically gifted gun-stuff writer.
Lately, I’ve caught myself delighting in honorific titles, so the timing for this move is probably right. While I never cared for being called “Sergeant Major,” especially while in uniform, a recent spate of letters addressed to “[expletive deleted] Rifle Guy” has me thinking of writing a how-to tell-all book. That’s a sure sign that it’s time to start grazing a different pasture.
To be perfectly honest, I only became a gunwriter because I couldn’t afford a certain rifle and figured that a media connection would help me get my hands on an evaluation sample. As it turns out, the widely held notion that gunwriting is the surest way to land free guns and gear turned out to only be partially true. I was never able to convince Finland to send me a free Lahti L-39, but I did end up with enough monogrammed lens cloths, media-badge holders and disposable safety glasses to equip three generations of descendants.
Speaking of freebies, if you happen to see a certain 13 mm-Gyrojet-chambered sword cane lying around, we would really appreciate a call to the editorial desk. Speaking of editors, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the unfortunate Shooting Illustrated staff members who have dutifully read and repaired my monthly column for the past 15 years. In fact, it’s entirely due to the editorial staff’s diligence that a number of my past articles have had correct sentence structure, word order and near perspicuity.
As for the future of this column, I have been informed by the Editor-in-Chief that he has a 12-strong stable of journalism-school-trained writers currently thumb wrestling for the chance to jump into my flip-flops. He also mentioned doing some sort of write-off prior to an April 15th deadline, so I feel assured that this print space will be in capable hands very soon. To help the lucky winner get a clean start right out of the gate, I’m gifting him or her the following unfinished assignments:
Is it true that any person who even thinks of picking up a rifle really is a sniper after all?
Are rifle shooters who lock out their support-arm elbows stronger than normal people, or do they have sticks duct-taped to their arms?
Is it possible to make a long-gun version of Taurus’ Curve pistol that will better conform to middle-aged body “contours” while the rifle is slung across the chest?
Are fluorescent rifle-part-anodization colors intended as camouflage for graffiti-ridden areas or just a ploy to help move excess inventory?
Once my associate membership in the Subject Matter Expert Guild comes to an end, I’ll certainly miss having to debate bullpup centers of gravity with random strangers on the subway. Likewise, I’m anticipating withdrawals once those middle-of-night “Can you reassemble my HK91 bolt right now?” emergency calls stop. On the plus side, I’ll finally have time to work on my own quandaries, like why the pokey thing on the end of my rifle sounds like a tuning fork after every shot.
Before I slink quietly into the night like the guy who keeps raising ammo prices while we sleep, I need to dispel two rumors that have been rocketing around social media since making this announcement. I’m not returning to my circus-family roots and I absolutely have not been named Czar of the new Ministry of Obdurate Gunscribe Accountability and Transparency Studies. It’s true that I was asked to help craft a mission statement for MO-GATS, but after further consideration, I never received a call back. Instead, I’ve stumbled onto a path which leads straight into the revenue-rich world of assumed personas.
The inspiration for this new venture comes from the power that distressed and pre-worn firearm finishes have to transform once-in-a-blue-moon rifle shooters into decorated veterans of the most recent dystopian fantasy war. My new paint schemes, “Saddle Scabbard Scratched,” “Gravel Rake” and “Oops, I Used Vegetable-based Lube Again,” are sure to make any new rifle look like a combat-battered, bring-back trophy. For the hunt camp roleplaying crowd, “Too Close to Bonfire,” “Matches My Flannel” and “S’more Fingers” are also in the works.
That really is all I have to say. In the next installment of my final column, I’ll address the question that is most frequently submitted to our Q&A desk: “Why do we still have coin-slot caps on electro-optics? Who has pocket change at the range or in the field? Can we trust someone who’s still carrying coins to mess with optics in the first place? Shouldn’t those slots be designed to interface with something everyone carries, like a stack of morale patches or a harmonica?” Stay tuned for the answers.
