See that chair to the left?  It’s made with shotgun shells and besides looking quite interesting the brass of the shells is supposed to provide a very pleasant massage effect (more info here).

I’m considering this as a mother’s day gift, the irony of which will be appreciated by all in our family.  You see when it comes to guns my Mom makes Cindy Sheehan look conservative  by comparison.  My brother and I weren’t allowed to have toy guns, although exceptions were made for water guns.

I’ve taken the opposite approach with my boys: they have a gazillion toy guns and my oldest has an air rifle.  He also tromps around the house in combat boots and cammies, and has decided that he’ll make his fortune designing tanks, helicopters and armed Hummers. Actually his drawings are quite good and he’s pricing them below a million since he’s done pricing research online and has figured out that at $750,000 he’d be severely undercutting the competition. I don’t have the heart to rain on his parade with things like production costs, but my heart is all a-twitter at my budding little entrepreneur.  I’m a little concerned that I might have bred a mercenary, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. You’ve heard of grandchildren being a grandparent’s revenge?  Well I’ve turned this one on its ear haven’t I?

Anyway, back to the chair.  I might get it even if I don’t give it to Mom (she’d break into hives if she ever actually sat in it).  You see I have this pathological fear of guns, what with the childhood brainwashing, and I’m trying to break myself of it with my own weird immersion therapy.  A couple of years ago I shot skeet while on vacation (got two with one shot I’ll have you know) and I figure if I use this chair at my desk I’ll continue my de-programming.  This might also help increase my masculinity score on the PersonalDNA test I took yesterday.  I’ll keep you posted.