A gun, no matter how fine,
only serves its destiny if it is shot.
My first day out with my gleaming, brand-new 28-gauge Rizzini side-by-each, I managed to ruin the finish on the right side of its buttstock within a round or two of of trap because the zipper-pulls on the cuffs (yes, the cuffs) of the (very strange) jacket I was wearing gouged the living Hell out of it whenever I mounted it. It'd cost me nearly a year's rent. I looked at the damage I'd inflicted for a few seconds, and decided to laugh.
I'm still laughing. Now I have no excuse to not shoot the thing wobbly.
