NRA = No Real Answer
The NRA's been calling me. I'm not sure how I got on their list. Aside from squirt, I've never owned a gun, and for the most part am vehemently against gun ownership. Mostly because hot headed gun enthusiasts scare the crap out of me. And if I have to hear one more politician pander to the NRA saying how much they enjoy the wholesome, all-American sport of helicopter wolf sniping, I'm going to puke. But I digress. I've turned into one of those people who almost always uses his cell phone. My home phone is becoming a dinosaur. (I'll probably be dropping it off at the Tar Pits by the end of the year.) We'll receive no calls on our home phone all day and then dinner time rolls around and ring! One glance at the caller ID showing me an 800 or 866 number confirms my suspicion: people selling shit . I become smug as I spoon mac and cheese onto plastic plates, letting the call go to voice mail, where a message will never be left. I'm not going to be your surve