Oh, so you’ve got one of those little stick figure family decals on your windshield? I guess that scrawny little “dad” cartoon does capture your likeness. Yeah, I’ve got something like that on my truck. It’s right there above the plastic nut sack hanging off my trailer hitch. Meet my family. It’s a collection of firearms.

And guess what? I’m incredibly lonely.

My sticker is hilarious because instead of a normie cartoon of my nonexistent wife and darling children, I’ve got two big guns to represent the mommy and the daddy, and then some smaller guns for the children, and the grenade is—you ready for this—the infant! Killer, right?

Ya see, I bought this sticker because, number one, I love guns. Number two, I hate those lame family stickers that chodes like you put on their wimpy hybrids. And number three, I’m so desperate for any physical contact I figured this would allow me to pick fights with random strangers in parking lots.

But now I’m beginning to think this novelty decal I bought at a gun show may have been a way for me to subconsciously address my fear of dying alone and unloved. Or maybe it’s just that guns are rad and I’m a total alpha. At this point, the reason for my purchase remains undetermined!

Also, I’m not a pussy. But if I was, I would be very disturbed by the implication that guns reproduce, and small guns such as Rugers are the result of two big assault rifles copulating. To be clear, despite owning this sticker I do not believe that Smith & Wesson factory workers are dropping big guns into a pen and coaxing them into reproducing like pandas at a zoo.

Besides, how could an AK-47 and an M14 rifle make a shotgun baby, anyway? Is there some form of adoption in the gun family world? Or did the AK cheat on the M14 while it was serving in Iraq? It doesn’t make sense.

Now you’re probably asking, “If this is your family, does that make you the daddy to these guns?” Good question, nerd. In fact, it’s one I’ve spent much time ruminating upon because again, I am achingly lonely. While yes, the guns are more or less my entire personality, and I do spend much of my free time caring for them, taking them out to the firing range, and dressing them in little colonial outfits I ordered from the American Girl store, the answer is no, I am not the guns’ daddy. I am very much aware my guns will never replace the warmth and affection that only a real, human family could bring.

Either way, let my sticker be a reminder to you and all the lib betas such as yourself—when you’re out in the world doing weak-ass shit like taking your kid to ballet class, I’m polishing my AR-15. When you’re helping your son with his AP calculus homework, I’m cleaning my Remington 750. And when you’re making love to your wife like a total cuck, I’m eating a cheese sandwich over my bathroom sink because I don’t have any clean plates, and then I’m cleaning my Glock 9mm.