88 Lines About .44 Magnums
by Thomas Pluck
Some people call Florida “America’s dong,” but that title belongs to the .44 Magnum.
You’ll know this if you ever hold one.
Like Budweiser is the King of Beers, the .44 Magnum is king of Big Dick American guns.
So what, the .38 Special has a lame-ass band named after it.
Hold on loosely to a .44 Magnum and it’ll crack you upside the head for disrespecting it.
Even dumb shit Ted Nugent wouldn’t call his band .44 Magnum because he could never live up to it.
Pick it up and you know how Dirty Harry felt, packing 3 pounds of stainless American steel swingin’ dick.
The obnoxious weight of the nine inch barrel.
The hefty baw-bag of the fully loaded cylinder, swollen with fully jacketed death sperm.
It dangles low even in the strongest of hands.
It’s a two-hander.
A growy AND a showy.
This is the closest you’ll ever get to holding Chuck Norris’s dick in your hand.
But if you were to confront Mr. Norris at heaven’s urinal and request to squeeze his mighty member, you would want a loaded .44 Magnum to argue on your behalf.
He would round-house kick your head off, but he would respect your choice of weapon as you died.
Magnum condoms are named after the .44 Magnum.
Not the piddly little .357!
That’s the participation trophy pecker of handguns, the one that elicits, “Oh, it’s perfectly fine.”
The Glock was designed to be light and ergonomic.
.44 Magnum don’t care.
It’s the honey badger of handguns.
.44 Magnum don’t give a SHIT.
Or take any.
When a .44 Magnum is your face, you get sprung.
My anaconda don’t want none unless it’s .44 magnum, son.
The Colt Anaconda is the second most famous .44 Magnum after Dirty Harry’s Smith & Wesson Model 29.
It is to Smith & Wesson’s eternal detriment that they didn’t retire the Model 29’s name and just call it Dirty Harry’s Big Ol’ Dick.
Their loss.
The Colt .45 might have a malt liquor named after it, and one more hundredth of an inch in caliber, but it knows not to fuck with the .44 Magnum.
Billy Dee Williams would never endorse an enriched malt beverage named after the .44 Magnum, as it would certainly be too potent to ever drink responsibly.
Everyone who’s seen Taxi Driver remembers the damage inflicted by Travis Bickle with his .44 Magnum.
What they rarely recall is what Martin Scorsese says in the back of the taxi.
He plans on murdering his wife with a .44 Magnum.
Specifically, because she is committing adultery with a black man.
This scene perfectly captures the American cishet white male’s inner terror of the black penis.
Which is the subconscious selling point of the .44 Magnum revolver, and all the advertising it will ever need.
Like George Carlin said, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
And sometimes it’s a big brown dick.”
Or in this case, a big forged stainless steel dick with checkered wood grips.
The Son of Sam was first known as the .44 Caliber Killer for his choice of weapon, killing women in lover’s lanes because he couldn’t get it up.
‘Nuff said.
In the ‘80s gangster movie spoof Johnny Dangerously, Joe Piscopo’s character wields an .88 Magnum.
“It shoots through schools.”
That was funny in 1984.
Today, not so much.
March 2020 was the first month in the United States without a school shooting since 2002.
That’s fucked up.
You can’t shoot up a Zoom meeting.
But someone will try.
The .44 Magnum is the perfect gun for social isolation mass shootings.
Only six rounds.
That’s enough for the average family and a bystander or two.
Waste not want not.
Don’t forget to save one for yourself.
Darling, save the last round for me.
This shit’s gone pretty dark, huh?
Maybe we should get back to the dick jokes.
I once wrote a story where a dominatrix wears a .44 Magnum strap-on and read it at Noir at the Bar in Washington D.C.
It ends pretty much as you expect.
Chekhov’s Law dictates that if a .44 Magnum dildo is introduced in the First Act, the .44 Magnum dildo must go off by the Last Act.
That’s how you know that Anton never had a gun stuck in his face.
The terror is in the anticipation.
This is line 69.
Nice.
There are no .69 caliber firearms.
Having a big dick gun means never having to say you’re sorry.
Or reciprocate oral sex, for that matter.
Those brave souls who have held a .44 Magnum in each hand and fired them at the same time speak of the experience as combining Zen enlightenment and tantric sex in a cosmic melange of spiritual ejaculation.
The ones who live to tell, that is.
Kids today don’t respect the .44 Magnum.
They all want an AR-15.
Quantity over quality.
If every teacher was issued a .44 Magnum, as some politicians would like, there would be one hell of a lot more school shootings.
But fewer interruptions.
.44 Magnums rarely figure in noir stories.
They are too big and loud, too flashy and too fashy.
But maybe if you live in an open carry state, someone sporting a holstered .44 Magnum will stand too close to you in a grocery store line.
Without wearing a mask, of course.
Masks are for pussies.
And when they refuse to stand 6 feet away from you, you can stab them in the throat with the pen from the credit card machine.
The cord is broken and the cashier has stuck a pen cap on the end, which is all that protrudes from the punctured trachea of Mister Little Dick Magnum as he clutches at his throat and hot blood pulses out to mist your hand-sewn facial protection.
You could take his big steel dick if you wanted, but you are weary and only remove your credit card from the slot and drop a twenty dollar bill for the cashier, who gladly hands you your bags, and tosses you the dying douche bag’s jumbo pack of toilet paper before you zombie walk out the door.
88 Lines… about .44 Magnums.
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© 2020 Thomas Pluck