There once was a man called Jiffy Jank,
Who bought himself a KAC tank,
A Knight's Armament, shiny and new,
But hide it he would from me and you.
He'd speak of the bolt, the rail, the grip,
Then clam up tight like a sealed crypto zip,
"I've got it at home," he'd say with a grin,
But show us the goods? Not a chance—he won't begin.
The SR-15 sits in a foam-cut case,
While we squint at pixels, a JPEG trace,
"Is that a Sandcutter?" I squint and I beg,
He just sips his coffee and adjusts his leg.
Oh Jiffy Jank, you cruel, wealthy soul,
With your KAC secrets and your trigger control,
Someday you'll slip, leave the range bag unzipped,
And we'll finally see what our boy has equipped.
Until that fine day, we suffer in jest,
Jank with his KAC, and us with the rest,
Of the gear we can handle, the guns we can share—
While his sits in darkness, locked in its lair.
Show us the KAC, Jank. We know it's there.
🔫👻