One of my best Christmas gifts an a-salt gun

Fair warning this is, given to protect your eyes and general psyche from sudden and perhaps overwhelming shock: If you open the door at our house that leads five steps down into the garage, you will find bodies everywhere. You will have literally stepped into a killing zone.

So, there. You have been warned.

A couple or three years ago, a dear friend gave me for Christmas one of the best gifts I have ever received: it’s an a-salt gun.

I didn’t say “an assault rifle.” This particular type of weapon is almost certainly going to remain completely legal no matter which candidate wins the upcoming election. Absolutely no background check is required to purchase one. No questions regarding a buyer’s mental health. (But get one, and I promise your mental health will improve.)

Gun and ammunition sales generally increase before elections, but before this political contest, the increase in sales is off the chart, prompting high prices and supply shortages. But ammunition for the weapon I’m discussing here is plentiful and incredibly cheap.

I’ve fired this thing so many times in the last couple of days that my left arm is sore from pumping ammo into the chamber, and my right thumb is sporting a painful blister. The safety switch on this weapon has to be toggled after every pump, every shot. Pump the gun, flip off the safety, and fire! Repeat. I’m getting pretty fast at the whole cycle, but my thumb hurts.

I’ve had a good time shooting during this present dove hunting season; I won’t be bragging too much about my shell to bagged bird ratio, but it could be worse.

But my kill ratio with my a-salt gun is much better. Much better.

This weapon, you see, is literally a “Bug-a-Salt” gun, and I love it. What a great product! What a fantastic gift!

This thing shoots salt. Really well. Pretty safe, it’s got the usual lawyer litter: “Don’t be a brainless fool and shoot yourself in the eye.” But if you shoot yourself in your bare foot, it’ll likely only sting and maybe make a red mark.

But what it will indeed do is massacre flies. Even on a normal day, say, a Saturday such as the Lord intended in which you sit outside and smoke meat, you’ll find having this weapon by your side a genuine comfort and help.

Even in the house, it’s much, much better than a fly swatter, and you’ll hardly notice a little salt on the counter.

I despise flies. I’m willing to stop anything I’m doing to kill just one. “Suffer not a fly to live” is my motto. But right now, right as the first deep freeze is upon us and flies rush through any open door - say, an open garage door - in biblical plague numbers, desperately seeking life-extending warmth, this weapon makes doing battle with them and watching the disgusting little bodies pile up an absolute pleasure.

Before my next column, the looming election will be over. At least, I pray it will. Election Day, in any case, will be over. I hope we won’t be cast into weeks and months of election limbo, interminable court cases, and high-pitched whining from losers.

If I start feeling stressed (I personally don’t expect the results, whatever they are, to bring much joy), I plan to take my gun into the garage and kill some despicable creatures. It’ll make me feel better.

But what will really make me feel better is realizing that, no matter who “wins,” the gospel, the truly good news of genuine hope in this and in all times for God’s people, is that the victory that truly matters is in Christ, and he will win. Our King, our Lord, will be on the throne long after the present pompous politicians are dust, historical footnotes, long gone and almost completely forgotten.

My vote is cast. The one in this election. And the one long ago that matters much more. My real hope is secure.

Now back to the hunt.

Curtis Shelburne writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him at

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