Where The Wild Things Roam

Shortly after moving into our new house a couple of years ago, I was standing in the kitchen one morning preparing a cup of coffee. From the back yard, something caught my attention through the nearby bay window. It turned out to be a large male deer. I took a sip of my coffee and proceeded to watch the impressive animal casually make his way through. As time passed, I would sometimes see families of young deer doing the same thing. It's actually quite soothing to watch these creatures.....

However, there are some other creatures that stir up completely different emotions.......

For instance, we have no shortage of moles and voles that have pretty much destroyed my back lawn. I'm told that the moles actually burrow underground to hunt down earthworms. If these bastards would ever agree to discuss the matter with me, I'm sure we could work out some kind of deal. Maybe if they agreed to stop demolishing my grass, I'd offer to occasionally bring them home some Nightcrawler carry-out from the local bait shop. If we can't work out a deal soon, I'm liable to go "Caddyshack" on them.

There is also at least one large snake that has claimed squatter's rights to my property. First off, I do not like snakes. There's just something very creepy about a armless/legless animal that can move faster than I can. We first encountered this creature when we opened up our pool a couple of months ago. Slithering near the edge of the pool, the snake rose up like a cobra when I approached him. It was like he was saying, "This is my turf, big boy. So, stand back!" Anyway, I had one of the pool guys throw him into the woods at the back of my yard. Shortly after they left, I was winding up the garden hose near the back porch. I look down and this son of a bitch is within striking distance of my bare ankle. So, in an effort to stand my ground and show the snake who was boss, I blasted his ass with a jetstream of water. I'm not kidding you, the snake actually looked at my as if to say, "You dick!". I didn't know whether to laugh of drop the hose and haul ass. Luckily for me, the snake decided to sliver through the lattice and under the back porch.

Well, a little while later, Tina comes home. I tell her about my adventure with the snake. To paint a more masculine picture of myself, I tell her about how I handled the the serpent with the confidence of an Indian snake charmer. I think I took it a little too far when I tried to tell her that folded the snake up like a sourdough pretzel. Anyway, she asks the inevitable question, "So, where is it now?" I tell her that it's "hiding from me" under the porch.

"Come on, Ken. You can't leave that thing under there. You gotta get him out", she says.

Confused, I reply, "Get him out? How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should crawl under there and hunt him down", she instructs me.

"Hunt him down? Do I look like the f*ckin' Crocodile Hunter to you?!", I responded.

She just shook her head and walked away. Hey look, here's the deal. If the snake aggressively makes a move on either of us, I will do what I have to do. However, I'm not going to go looking for trouble. So, as a result, the snake is now a permanent resident. I'm actually considering writing him off as a dependent on my tax forms next year. (Note to the IRS: That was a joke!)

Speaking of residents, here's a good one for you. Recently, while getting ready to fire up my gas grill, I noticed something moving beneath the cast iron grates. It turned out to be a field mouse. As I tried to shoo him away, he boldly stood up on one of the grates and stared me down. I'm not kidding you, it was like he had his little mouse hands up and was saying, "Bring it on, asshole!" What is it with the attitude on these animals? At my old house, the wild animals would just scurry away. But here, everything turns into a confrontation.....

So, if this wasn't bad enough to deal with, we soon discover that the mouse has made a nest in the drip pan that sets below the burners. And lucky for me, the nest is loaded with several belligerent baby mice. Of course, Tina sees this and tells me that I have to leave them be. Come on, I've got steaks to cook! I offer to find these intrusive bastards a new home, but it's still  not good enough. You're going to love this.....In an effort to stop the eviction process, Tina then tells me that I'm going to have to buy a new grill! And people wonder why I drink...

One Saturday night, several weeks ago, I'm lying in bed watching some late night TV. My sister-in-law, who lives around the corner, sends me a text that says, "Hey Ken, what's that strange animal noise coming from your back yard?"

Reluctantly, I pull up the bedroom window to investigate. I immediately hear a loud, screeching sound coming from the darkness beyond the backyard trees. I couldn't tell whether it was a distress call or mating call. But nonetheless, it was a sound that I have never heard before.

After a few text exchanges, my sister-in-law started to pressure me into going out back and checking it out. First off, if I march through the back yard in the yard, there's always the possibility of my old friend, the snake, showing back up. And secondly, I have no idea what else is lurking in the shadows. Sometimes at night, I'll shine a flashlight out in the back yard. This will occasionally light up the reflective eyeballs of some unknown creature. Maybe it's just a rabbit, but for all I know, it could be Sasquatch. I just don't want to take that chance. So, I just let the crazy animal noise fade away. I'm guessing that it was either a possum or a raccoon.

Speaking of raccoons......

Something has been getting into my outdoor trashcan. This particular trashcan has a hinged lid so it takes a little effort to lift it. But surprisingly, when I lift it sometimes, the trashbag inside is shredded, giving evidence that a trash picking predator has been there. I'm told that raccoons have long fingers, almost humanlike, and would be the most likely culprit. It's probably inevitable that one day, I'll catch him in the act. At that time, I'm sure like all of the other animals around here, he'll give me an attitude and it will resort to some type of square-off in the back yard. The weird thing is that I've always thought raccoons were kind of cool. But if it comes down to it, I won't hesitate to whoop one's ass.

The other night, I went out to retrieve the mail. I guess all of the animal surprises have taken their toll on me. As I opened up the mailbox, I peered in carefully, I halfway expected something to leap out at me. I felt like one of those hillbillys who reach into swampy tree trunks to retrieve a catfish. So, attempting to get the mail as quickly as possibly, I jabbed my arm inside and nervously clenched whatever I could with my anxious fingers. My neighbors probably think I'm crazy, but they just don't understand...

All of this reminds me of the old show "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom". I don;t know much about Omaha, but I can surely tell you, there's certainly a wild kingdom in at least one back yard in Pasadena......

kw

Paula Deen - The N-Word's Latest Victim

By now, most of you have at least heard of some of what Paula Deen is going through. Basically, while testifying under oath in a workplace lawsuit, she admitted to using the "N" word about thirty years ago. Yes, that's right, thirty years ago!

In Deen's statement, she admitted to using the "N" word while describing a situation where a black man held a gun to her head during a bank robbery thirty years ago. Again, I'm not saying that it was an appropriate word to use. However, after having a gun held up to your head, isn't it possible that your emotions might be running a bit high and you might say something that you normally wouldn't?

As a result of Deen's confession, The Food Network, Home Depot, Walmart and Smithfield didn't waste time cutting ties with her. This will inevitably amount to millions of dollars of lost income for the celebrity chef. From the Food Network alone, it's been reported that Deen gets about $50,000 per episode for her cooking show. In response the dropped endorsements, support groups are now forming and threatening to boycott these businesses for ditching Deen so quickly. (By the way, I find it bit ironic that Walmart is so quick to throw Paula under the bus since they have had their own share of discrimination allegations in recent years.)

Over the past few days, Deen has been paraded around the talk shows like she's a card-carrying member of the KKK. (Just curious, why did many of these same media people never have a problem with Senator Robert Byrd who was a member of the KKK?) While the talk shows are trying to sensationalize the story and milk it for all they can, Deen is desperately attempting to defend her reputation, character and ultimately her livelihood. It's really kind of pathetic. You would think a sincere apology would be sufficient but it doesn't quite work that way here. Who hasn't said something in the past that wished they could take back?

So, does Deen's 30-year old remarks justify the character assassination that she's facing today? Was the word that she used offensive? Absolutely! But here's where I have a problem. It seems like we pick and choose who we hold accountable in these situations. For instance, why are we tearing Paula Deen apart for a few infractions thirty years ago while we say nothing about the countless rappers who continue to use the word repeatedly today? Not only do rappers use the word freely, they also get rich off of it! Why is it acceptable for a comedian like Chris Rock to drop the "N" bomb throughout his performance and then have his ass kissed by the likes of Oprah Winfrey. But at the same time, others are raked through the coals for it? We see this scenario time and time again.

Again, I want to reiterate that I'm not defending what Paula Deen said. I'm simply saying that there seems to be a double standard on these issues. While some careers are ended by the "N" word, others seem to blossom from it.

People will have varying opinions about the context of the "N" word and who should and should not be penalized for it's use.  But that's all bullshit to me. If the word is so hurtful and offensive. it shouldn't be acceptable for anyone to use!

kw

The Burnt Chicken Episode

Whenever I go to a bar/restaurant, I usually sit up at the actual bar as opposed to sitting at a table. I like to chat with the other folks at the bar. I generally like people and usually enjoy the conversations that ultimately ensue. However, sometimes things sometimes spin in an strange direction.

Case in point, yesterday I found myself sitting in one of my favorite local watering holes. There was a really good band playing out on the dock and the place was pretty crowded. Wanting to get out of the heat, I ventured inside and found a spot at the bar. I ordered a beer and a jerk chicken appetizer. I happen to really like the way the cook, who I know personally, prepares this particular item. So, as I'm served my food, a guy sitting to the left of me starts staring at my plate like it's a circus animal. He was starting to make me feel a bit uncomfortable, so to disrupt his concentration, I say, "Hey, how's it going?"

Momentarily, he takes his eyes off of my plate and says, "Your food looks burnt."

I assure him that's it's not, but he persists, "But it looks burnt."

Figuring this guy just wants to argue, I let it go and resumed eating. I barely get another bite when the guy asks,"So, what is it?"

With a mouthful of food, I manage to mumble, "What is what?"

"The stuff that looks like burnt food on your plate", he responds.

I say, "It's jerk chicken. I get it here all the time. Trust me, it's not burnt."

The guy, who I assumed watched way too many Columbo reruns, hammers away by asking, "So, why does it look burnt? It's all black."

Oh, Lord! Of all of the seats in the place, I have to pick the one next to a wannabe detective with a case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I patiently put down my eating utensils and explain nice and slowly, "The chicken looks black, or burnt as you like to say, because it's seasoned with pepper and other spices. It's very good and I assure you that it is not burnt."

Then, I take a swig of my Landshark and go back to eating. Amazingly, the guy still won't let it go. As if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head, he says, "You really seem to like it. I guess if it was burnt, you wouldn't be eating like that, huh?"

"That's a very good assumption, my friend.", I say without even looking up from my plate.

He responds, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

I should have just ignored him, but his comments were like a fly buzzing past your ear when you're trying to sleep. So, in a final attempt to defend the honor of my jerk chicken, I say, "It's not burnt. For f*ck sake, dude. Can we just leave it at that?"

After an extended pause, he says, "Yeah, if it was burnt, you probably wouldn't be eating it like that."

At this point, I felt like stabbing him with my fork. In an effort to escape this madness, I almost ordered a triple shot of Jim Beam. But I decided against it, figuring that it would only provoke more comments from Mr. Congeniality.

Seriously, it was like sitting next to Slingblade. I started to get a little nervous as I envisioned this guy cracking me in the back of the skull with a lawn mower blade. For this reason, I kept him in my peripheral vision. He made a few more comments about my "burnt" chicken but I just ignored him. Then I overheard him asking the bartender for a special Chardonnay. This brought an instant "WTF look" from the bartender. When he informed the guy that he didn't have the Chardonnay, the burnt chicken guy said, "Ok, I'll just have a white Zinfandel."

I found this to be almost as odd as his fascination with my chicken. For those that don't know, white Zinfandel is like the Pabst Blue Ribbon of wines. To see him go from a fine Chardonnay to this was a bit peculiar but I guess it went along with his overall personality. Additionally, I don't think I've ever seen a guy order a glass of white Zinf before. Strangely enough, my perception of the guy quickly shifted from Slingblade to John Wayne Gacy. Not really an improvement....

I quickly finished up my plate of food and headed back outside. The area was filled with bikers, drunk people dancing to Led Zeppelin, an enthusiastic girl who flashed her tits at the band, a guy who had enough tattoos to make a carnival act jealous and at least one middle-aged woman with shorts that were small enough to fit a Barbie doll. It was good to finally be back with the normal folks.....

kw

Stropin' - A New Baltimorism

For the past month or so, every time Oriole relief pitcher Pedro Strop takes the mound, he usually creates a whirlwind of expletives from O's fans. He has become infamous around Baltimore for his silly looking crooked hat as well as blowing leads late in the game. I was watching the O's game in a local bar a few weeks ago when Strop was called in from the bullpen. And even though he hadn't even thrown the first pitch,  the bar patrons were calling him every thing from asshole to the Anti-Christ. A few minutes later, when he predictably blew the lead, the bar erupted into chaos. One guy looked like he was about to throw his beer mug at the large screen TV. Oh wait a minute, that was actually me....

So, while sitting around the fire smoking cigars last night at my friend Kevin's house, he came up with an idea. He said we should come up with a new term: Stropin'. I think he might be onto something here. After having some time to think about it, I've come up with some ideas on how we can use the new word. Below, I've listed a situation and followed it by the appropriate use of our new "S" word:

After Pedro and his crooked hat blow the next O's lead........"Well, he really Stropped that up!"

If the game is totally out of reach...."Strop it. Let's get out of here!"

The next time you buy a beer at Camden Yard......"$9 for one Stroppin' beer? That's Stroppin' ridiculous!"

When Yankee or Red Sox fans gives you a hard time....... "Go Strop yourself!"

When rain threatens to disrupt the game......"Look at that Stroppin' sky. I think it might rain."

When Manny Machado makes a great play at 3rd base......."That kid can Stroppin' play!"

When Chris Davis hits his next bomb......."That Stroppin' guy is a beast!"

When the umpire blows a call...."Stevie Stropin' Wonder could have made a better call than that!"

When you see the Oriole bird dancing atop the O's dugout on a 95-degree day..."The poor guy in that costume must be sweating his Stropin' ass off!"

When the guy sitting in front of you stands up and blocks your view...."Sit the Strop down!"

If he happens to turn around say something....."Shut the Strop up!"

Of course, the use of our new word isn't limited to the baseball game. You can use it almost anywhere. Take rap "music" for example. The average rap song drops more f-bombs than a Good Fellas film festival. So, to make things a little more family-friendly, rappers could do something like this:

Driving down da road in my Escalade,
I don't give a Strop 'cause I got it made.
Crazy mutha-Stoper gettin' up in my grill,
I slap his Stropin' ass and commence to chill.
Go motha-Stroper! Go mutha-Stroper! Go!

(I don't know about you, but I smell a top-10 hit in those lyrics....)

Moving on...... the next time someone lies to you, look them in the eyes and say, "This is Stroppin' bullshit!"

If you're sitting on you back porch reading a book and a strange-looking bug lands on you, say, "Whoa! What the Strop is that?!"

When someone gives you a hard-luck story, you can console them by saying, "Damn, dude, That's pretty Stroped up!"

In perhaps it's most simple form, the word can be used to voice total displeasure or frustration. For instance, the next time you drive over the Bay Bridge and realize that the tool has increased to $6, you might want to yell, "Strop!"

And feel free to use it with traditional terms of endearment like "Strop you and the horse you came in on!"

So, the next time you feel the urge to drop a traditional f-bomb, try substituting our new word. If this new vocabulary campaign takes off, I'm thinking about getting t-shirts and bumper stickers printed up!

kw

The Friday Night Cornhole Tournament

So, last week, my buddy (Kevin) asks me to partner with him at the Friday Night Cornhole tournament at the local Greene Turtle. I figured, "What the hell". If nothing else, it was a good enough excuse to knock back some beer and blow off some steam.

Prior to going to the Greene Turtle, Kevin asked me if I wanted to get some practice in before we left. Just so no one gets the wrong idea, cornhole is a game where you throw beanbags at a 2' x 4' board. The board has a 6 inch hole cut into the top half. The object is to get your beanbag into the hole (or at least up on the board). But anyway, when someone invites you over for "corn-hole practice", you gotta make sure you know exactly what their intentions are.

So, as I'm finishing up dinner, I tell Tina that I'm heading around the the corner to Kevin's for some practice before the big tournament. For some reason, she found this to be exceptionally funny. So, I asked, "What's so humorous?"

Trying to catch her breath in between laughs, she says, "Are you serious? You guys are actually having cornhole practice?"

I didn't even respond, I just grabbed my things and headed out the door. I've got a serious contest to win and my wife is treating me like I'm Bozo the Clown. So much much for getting any support on the home-front.....

Once I got over to to my friends house, we threw a few games on his front lawn. A couple beer-toting guys throwing beanbags on the front lawn was vintage Pasadena. To add the the to redneck visual, Kevin's friend stopped by with his jacked-up '57 Chevy. I'm not kidding you, you needed a ladder to get into this thing. This only thing missing from the whole scene was a Confederate flag and some Lynyrd Skynyrd.

We eventually make it over to the Greene Turtle. We grab a beer inside and then head out back to the patio. The end of the parking lot has been roped off and covered with a large tent. Under the tent, there's a line of cornhole boards which will soon be transformed into a redneck battleground. Some of the cornhole boards are so busy with artwork that they look more like a "Where's Waldo" painting.

As I look around, I quickly notice how serious these guys take this stuff. I see one heavily tattooed guy rotating his arms and neck as if he was getting ready for an MMA fight. One guy is putting on a knee brace, which I find really odd. I overhear two other guys discussing loft and wind resistance. Still another guy tells me about how it's a strategic advantage if you force your opponent to throw next to one of the poles that happened to be supporting the tent. Like I said, these guys were all business!

The "cornhole host/announcer" began to announce the rules over a shitty PA system. He informed us that these rules were under the same guidelines as the ACA. Putting my ignorance on full display, I naively asked the guy next to me, "What the f*ck is the ACA?" He tells me that it stands for the American Cornhole Association. Who ever knew that there was such a thing? (I'd be willing to bet that the ACA headquarters is somewhere in downtown Pasadena.)

After waiting for what seemed an eternity, Kevin and I got finally paired up with our first opponents. As we exchanged handshakes and salutations, my opponent and I  looked at each other with a degree of familiarity. It turned out that we knew each other. I guess all of the beer that we consumed while waiting to play must have slowed our ability to recognize one another. Once the game started, Kevin and I took an early 12-0 lead. We really thought we had the game sewed up. So, I began to offer up some words of encouragement to my adversary, "Hey man, look at the bright side. It's a double elimination tournament. At least you'll get to play another game in the loser's bracket." I was sincerely trying to be nice. But looking back on it, I probably did sound like a bit of a dick.

During this time, my opponent tells me how competitive his partner (and son) is. He tells me that if he loses, he'll probably go "apeshit". Great! Now, I've got to decide to whether to throw one through the hole or get my ass kicked by the kid with the anger management problem. Right on cue, the father-son team comes storming back and it's now 19-19 (the game ends when one team reaches 21). Kevin wound up throwing a good round and we wound up winning. We all shook hands and I'm happy to report that no one went apeshit.

As the night went on, so did the drinking. Our next match didn't come up for roughly two hours later. I can't help but think that the long wait was intentionally designed by the bar in an attempt to get you to buy more drinks. Well, in my case, it worked. By the time we took to our boards, I was practically seeing double. My new opponent, who looked a little like UFC legend Chuck Liddell, shook my hand hand and asked, "So, do you want to flip a coin to see who goes first?"

For some unknown reason, totally forgetting how serious these guys take this stuff, I say, "Nah, I'll go ahead and get this party started". Then, I toss the ceremonial first beanbag. It's a wonder Mr, Liddell didn't ram my oversize head through the 6-inch cornhole. But was cool about and he and his partner went on to kick our asses by a score of 21-0. I have to admit, that stung a little. When people asked how we did, I simply said we lost and left it at that.

We eventually got another match in the losers bracket. I honestly can't remember the details from that one. But I think it's safe to say that we lost. Oh well, maybe next time, I'll put on my game face and lay off of the Heavy Seas. I need every advantage I can get against these seasoned Cornhole veterans.....

kw

Father's Day 2013

On Father's Day, most of us think of the good times we shared with our Dad. We also remember those tough times when Dad provided us with the support we needed to get through. We often saw Dad as our own personal Superman. And even as we grew older and increasingly more independent, we continued to view our Dad as a man of steel.

As I went about my travels today, I noticed fathers spending quality time with their kids. Maybe I had an increased awareness because it happened to be Father's Day. But nonetheless, I found the scene very comforting.

With this being said, not all of us are fortunate enough to experience these things. I've heard the stories of deadbeat fathers who were largely absent from their children's life. After all of these years, I still don't understand how a man can just bail out on his children. Fatherhood is one of life's most rewarding experiences. When I hear of these instances, I obviously feel bad for the kid that never got to know his real father. But in a crazy way, I also feel bad for the absentee father who missed out on all those timeless moments in his child's life. (Harry Chapin pretty much summed it up in his classic song "Cats In The Cradle")

Later this year, my son will become a Dad for the first time. I can't wait for him to experience the joys of fatherhood. When he was about eighteen years old, my son gave me a birthday card. The card was nice but what really got my attention was the handwritten note inside. In it, he explained how he always looked up to me and that he was grateful for the support and all of the good times we shared together. He also said that, one day, he hoped to be "half of the father that I was" to his child. If he would have bought me a new Corvette, it wouldn't have meant as much to me as his heartfelt note. It still sets in my desk drawer and anytime I need a pick-me-up, I pull it out and read it. Although fatherhood hasn't officially occurred for him yet, I have no doubt that he will also be the father that his son or daughter will be proud to call Dad.

Being thought of as a good father is perhaps the greatest compliment a man can receive. Happy Father's Day to all of the Dad's who took the time to make a positive difference in a child's life.......

kw

A Buy-Back Program for Toy Guns?

The war on the Second Amendment continues to escalate. We've all heard the recent stories about kids getting suspended from school for making gun-shaped Pop-Tarts and/or pointing their index finger at a classmate. But an elementary school in Hayward, CA has upped the ante in the race to ridiculousness. I'm not making this up...the principal at Stobridge Elementary School has come up with the ingenuous idea of having a toy gun "buy-back" program. Please note the word "toy" in the last sentence.

In an effort to rid the streets of toy guns, the school will offer a book and a raffle ticket for a new bike in exchange for the children's plastic firearms. The principal's argument is that kids who play with toy guns may become "desensitized" to the dangers of real guns. (I assume that the principal has already banned "A Christmas Story". Yes folks, Ralphie's yule-tide pursuit of a Red Ryder BB-gun might be a cute holiday adventure to most of us, but out there on the left coast they probably view this film as terrorist training material.)

The principal also points out that toy guns can be a danger because they can be mistaken for real guns by police officers. I've heard of these stories in the past. But the bottom line is that if you decide to point anything at a cop, you probably have more of a "stupid" problem than a "desensitized" problem. Hey, here's brilliant idea.....Maybe our schools should try educating our kids instead of trying to turn them into a bunch of oversensitive pussies. I seriously worry about the future of our kids if they continue to be subjected to this kind of lunacy.

Going back quite a few years, I can still remember some of elementary school classmates bringing in their toy guns to "Show & Tell". Amazingly, they walked these "weapons" right through the front door without so much as a pat-down or a waltz through the metal detector. And yet no one felt the least bit threatened or intimidated. Today, if a kid brought a toy gun to school, he would be met by a SWAT team and be required to appear on at least one segment of Dr. Phil. I can also imagine the countless television programs that would be interrupted by the President's press conference:

"Today, at my direction, law enforcement officials averted a tragedy at ABC Elementary School. Due to their quick thinking and total disregard for their own safety, police officials took into custody a seven-year-old suspect who was armed with a double-barrel Super-Soaker, a neon-green plastic pistol and a large assortment of foam bullets and rubber darts. The suspect is currently being detained for further questioning at an undisclosed location. Make no mistake, we will do everything within our means to determine if he acted alone or if this was part of a bigger plan. And let me be perfectly clear, I will not rest one minute until our society is free of toy guns, water blasters and every last piece of  foam ammo....."

(I might have mentioned this before but I was in Walmart a few months ago and noticed that the toy guns were locked up. I instantly wondered if the Walmart police are now required to do a background check on any child who might want to purchase a cap pistol.)

In my opinion, this is just another effort to indoctrinate our kids. Instead of having honest discussions about responsibility and the seriousness of firearms, the gun-grabbers prefer to brainwash them into believing that all guns are evil. If guns are so bad, why do the good guys (police, military, etc.) continue to carry them? I'll tell you why. It's because they stop the bad guys!

The anti-gun crowd continues to miss the most important reason why gun control will never work. Simply put, criminals do NOT obey the law! So, choosing to ignore this, they prefer come up with new ways to demonize guns in general. It's as if they want us to believe that every senseless shooting is the result of the gun magically growing a finger and pulling it's own trigger.

I have to admit, I didn't think that anything could top the Pop-Tart incident from a few months ago. But the folks at Stobridge Elementary prove that the sky is the limit when it comes to absurdity. I can hardly imagine what they'll come up with next.....

kw

http://www.breitbart.com/Big-Government/2013/06/10/Elementary-School-Urges-Students-To-Turn-In-Toy-Guns