My father taught me never to direct a gun on a person, even in a joke, even if checked, even if without a store.

My neighbor asked me for a gas key. I went out with him to the garage. I crawl into the toolbox and hear the neighbor picking up the pipe from behind. I turn around, and he has my old toy pistol in his hands, which was shooting with plastic bullets. “Hands up!” The neighbor smiles. I told him not to point a gun at a man. He directs to the ceiling and shoots, and nothing except dust comes out of the trunk: "You see, I have checked what you are afraid of." He nodded again and directed into his mouth and shot again. A dead beetle runs straight into his throat.