Just two dudes.

My roommate and I went to Target the other day. I didn't really need anything. I was driving Colin there so that he could pick up a few items that one usually goes to Target to get. Soap, cat litter, sox, poster hangers. We were also there to get a frame for a signed Flogging Molly poster we had each obtained while at a signing/concert the night before in Portland. We got those things. But as is usually also the case when visiting Target, we got some other things. Things that you don't actually need. Now, Colin and I are by several technical and sociological definitions, men. We are both in our mid to late 20s. We live on our own (depending on how you look at it) make our own money, drive cars, have bills and other responsibilities. However in many ways and perspectives (most notably that of women and boring people) we are still very much boys. We have hobbies and obsessions. Colin is the biggest sports fan that I know and has collected countless items of clothing and memorabilia. I collect Comic Books, Records and Movies. We both spend alarmingly irresponsible amounts of money on said items. Most of our free time is spent watching t.v. and discussing either zombie apocalypse escape scenarios, top 5 lists for everything in our lives or who would win in various super-hero fights. Like so many our age we are also obsessed with our own childhood's pop culture history. We think back fondly on cartoons, movies and toys from when we were young. When thinking of toys I had when I was a child, most of the memories (other than actually playing with them) are of being in a store somewhere and begging my mother or father to buy it for me. When most people think of becoming an adult, they think of responsibility, self-reliance and a certain degree of confidence. These are all required for adulthood. However I believe that one of the most important moments on the road to becoming a grown-up is the moment that you realize that you can buy your own toys. The best part is that I still forget this sometimes. I'll be standing in a store looking at something and i'll realize that i'm my own damn person and I have money and I can buy this for myself because I want it. That's an great feeling. Some of you may be saying to yourselves "Um. That's shopping addiction." but it's only because you're cynical.

And so, we were looking for poster hangers, which happen to right next to the electronics department. It was there that we happened upon the Walkie Talkies. The cheapest set was $20 and said they had a range of up to 8 miles. We spent a few seconds discussing whether or not we could use them between the apartment and my work and then decided that it didn't matter and that we were too much of a sitcom duo to not own Walkie Talkies.

We walked a little further and that's when it happened. That's when we found ourselves standing the toy section, staring at Nerf guns, deciding which ones we were going to get. We were in the aisle for something like twenty minutes. We compared features, ammo capacity, color. Colin got a pump action rifle with a rotary clip an ammo belt. I got a simple six shooter and an extra pack of whistling darts. Don't get me wrong. I'm for gun control. But at the same time I will insist to the grave that plastic guns and violent video games have almost zero effect on actual gun violence. If you shoot people because either of those things somehow disconnected you from reality then there are two possibilities. You were either born a psychopath or you were raised wrong. That may seem harsh but I firmly believe in nurture over nature. We can blame movies and t.v., first-person shooters and the current state of society. It's just parents. It's just us.

Jeez, got serious there for a minute. Sorry.

My point is, most males belonging to the human race have a need to shoot each other with guns. It's written into our CPUs. We don't actually want to hurt or kill each other. We simply want to take cover behind walls and turned over tables and shoot at each other. Is that too much to ask without someone calling me immature or violent? I don't think so.

So find me a Wendy Lady to scwunch, some lost boys to play with and a hand full of pixie dust. Go straight to hell boring people. I'm never growing up.