Like a polished pair of leather soled shoes, a tailored suit, or a set of designer sunglasses your choice of carry handgun can say much about the type of person you are. Except not. And nobody is supposed to see it anyway. But given enough creative freedom and psychoanalysis (imbued with fruit from the vine), we can divine some uncannily accurate personality judgements* from each brand:
Heckler & Koch – you see yourself as a stylish and passionate connoisseur. In reality you are a creepy masochist who had to remortgage your house to afford the weapon. You can’t get spare parts or magazines…which is OK because you also can’t afford ammo to shoot. You have recurring nightmares of people breaking into your house at night and dry firing it. Your credit rating is appalling, and you never win at anything. You think the G3 and MP5 are still relevant. Striker-fired handguns confuse and intimidate you. You probably listen to Heino records on your dad’s turntable.
Glock – you are as generic as vanilla ice cream, and about as original as a Eurotrash pop song from the late 90s. You probably drive a Toyota Hilux. You are addicted to Instagram filters, and tell yourself that you are cool in an “alternative” way. You see other firearm owners as some sort of untermensch, and own an insufferably elaborate collection of Glock-branded items. You constantly get into meaningless Internet debates which you take personally. You are probably reading this off an iPhone. You have no real friends.
CZ – you suffer from an ill-disguised inferiority complex, and believe reliability comes second to good looks and “accuracy”. You make terrible relationship decisions, and probably have a short attention span. You see Glock owners as knuckle-dragging troglodytes who just crawled out of the primordial soup. You see yourself as some sort of misunderstood virtuoso, like Mozart or Charles Manson. You believe sport shooting is like practicing for a real gunfight. Vowels terrify you. All your shooting gear is CZ branded. Your friends see you only as comic relief.
SIG – you believe Swiss/German/Teutonic engineering is superior to any other. That is why you bought a handgun made in the USA. You secretly want an H&K but can’t afford one. You see yourself as Operator-as-Fuck, and wear Tru-Spec gear to the range. Everyone thinks your shemagh makes you look fat. You still live with your parents, and will never get laid. You have a “High-Speed, Low-Drag” bumper sticker on your lime green Opel Corsa. You think IWB-carry is a fad embraced by try-hards, and that drop-leg is GTG. You subscribe to Instructor Zero.
Taurus – you are either a legless Paralympian or steroid-popping power monkey. You like the logo of a bull’s head, because it matches the tattoo on your lower back. You spend your free time screaming at the mirror in your gym like a deranged parakeet. You refer to your friends as “bru” or “brah”…incessantly. You still listen to Blink 182 and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Your “mate” owns a “gat”, so you got a Taurus because it was shiny. Your idea of quality liquor is cane spirits. Your entire wardrobe is tank tops. You ingest more growth hormones than cattle.
Beretta – your favourite movie is The Boondock Saints, and you keep a Bible next to your bed to quote from during a home invasion. You secretly wish you were Irish or Italian or both. You are schizophrenic and probably overweight. You have been trying to start smoking in order to appear more sophisticated, but it makes you cough. You drink sambuca (and hate it) and cheap whisky, and listen to 80s Italian pop music. You think polymer handguns are for peasants. Except for the PX4, which is the Sistine Chapel of pistols. You throw tantrums a lot.
Arsenal Firearms – you have a hard-on for Russian guns, but they hurt your soft hands. Your ideal car is a Lada with a Fiat engine. You have a difficult relationship with reliability and aesthetic. You secretly want a Beretta, but have problems committing to anything more complicated than a peanut butter sandwich. You named your daughter after Larry Vickers. You have an extensive balaclava collection, which you wear to bed. You are probably autistic and own a dakimakura pillow. Your only meaningful relationships are with inanimate objects.
Smith & Wesson – your favourite film series is Police Academy, and you aspire to be like Sergeant Tackleberry. You eat maple-flavoured syrup over your crumpets in the morning in a misguided attempt to be “more American”. You subscribe to Arfcom and Police One, but you are in IT and don’t even own an AR15. If you did it would be an M&P15, and you would call it your “patrol rifle”. You have an unhealthy obsession with bacon. You have a love-hate relationship with Bruce Springsteen. You drive a Ford Ranger because it’s the closest you can get to an F-150. You think South Africa should get its own World Series. Your only stable girlfriend is your right hand.
Star – you are still fighting the Cold War every morning after you wake up. You have a legitimate fear of carrying with a loaded chamber. You see people who carry AIWB as suicidal madmen. You believe the best firearms come from Bilbao. Bankruptcy and liquidation are merely temporary setbacks to you. The Carnation Revolution personally affects you to this day. You probably aren’t reading this because the Internet is something that happens to other people…as do polymer-framed handguns. You stopped following US politics after Reagan. You have accumulated more dust than a Diplodocus fossil. You listen only to Roger Whittaker.
.38 Special Snubnose – you are a master operator who ends all violent confrontations in 5 shots or less. In fact, you don’t even need a firearm to be dangerous, which is why you keep it locked in the safe. Reloading is for amateurs and try-hards who can’t shoot straight. You know that semi-automatics are a passing fad, and that all shall return to the Church of the Wheel Gun…in time. Using sights are a dangerous fantasy, since all gun fights happen at 3 meters or contact distance. You can kill a Mastodon with a plastic spork. You probably live with a harem of 10s, who worship you as a God of the Gun. You have 500 children.
*The author owns at least two of the above, and no: he isn’t going to tell you which.