In the Old West, the young man with the big iron on his hip walked into the bar on the edge of town. The deputy sidled up and said, “You need to give me that gun and holster, stranger. We don’t allow people to wear shootin’ irons in this town. When you decide to leave you can pick it up at the sheriff’s office. We have had so many people killed by accident that it’s a crime. We don’t want you drinkin’ too much of that ‘red eye’ and breakin’ up the place and fightin’ with the local boys. I recommend rollin’ one of the funny little cigarettes and smokin’ it to calm down if you’re feelin’ angry.”
The big iron guy was taken aback. “I feel naked without my pistol. And how do I know I will get my gun belt back?”
“All the other young galoots are just as naked as you are, and we keep track of everything in our register. You won’t have to worry,” said the deputy.
“Well, I’m headed down to the OK Corral to talk with the other naked boys about the caliber of the guns we wish we had.”