Yeah, but an armed ditz

Rico says let's think of a less-than-likely gub owner. She's a woman (obviously), a blonde (not that that has anything to do with it), an apparent ditz, an actress, and a star of Saturday Night Live. Her name is Victoria Jackson (yes, the one with that voice), and she owns a gub:

I have a gun. It has never shot anyone. Not even people I’m mad at. It just lies there, like it’s sleeping.
I bought it in 1986 when Richard Ramirez was on a killing spree in Los Angeles and I had a new baby. You know, the guy who used his victim’s blood to paint pentagrams on their walls? They said he liked yellow houses. I lived in a yellow house in Laurel Canyon. It was hidden in the trees far away from other houses so no one would even hear us scream.
So, I bought a gun to protect my daughter.
Some people think owning a gun is bad.
I sure wish I would have had a gun the night I got held up by the six foot tall man in the parking lot of the Variety Arts Center. I was 21 years old. All I had to protect myself was my scream. The man was holding a gun to my head and trying to push me into a dark alley. Fortunately, my blood curdling scream scared him away. A friend ran out of the V.A.C. to help me and said he thought he’d heard a siren. I filed a police report and used the experience as material for my next Johnny Carson appearance.
I still have the gun. It’s still lying there. Hasn’t shot anyone.
My husband Paul shot and killed a man. Paul is a cop. Actually, it happened to be the night he was flying from Miami to NY to see me at Saturday Night Live for his first time. (We were dating long distance.) Maybe he was anxious to see me or something. He had to stay up all night filling out paperwork and getting counseling, because I guess that’s what happens when you shoot someone. He finally got to SNL and I was on the stage getting out of an alien space ship with eyeballs on my nipples, because we were doing a sketch about a planet where women’s eyes have mutated to their nipples because men stared at women’s chests for so long.
Kirstie Alley was our leader. I said, “Paul this must be so surreal for you… to kill someone… and stay up all night… and see me in a spaceship.”
Paul said, “It is.”
When I introduced him to the cast, Mike Meyers said, “Hey, you got any war stories? Ha, ha!”
Paul said, “I killed a man last night.” Silence.
I realized our worlds were completely opposite. But we do have some things in common:
1) We both like donuts
2) We both could die, him for real and me onstage, and they’re equally painful
and 3) We both get rewarded for a big bust!
Anyway, don’t feel bad for the man who got shot. He was drunk and firing a gun at his wife because she wouldn’t “wife swap” anymore. She called 911. The SWAT team arrived. The man aimed at Paul. End of story. The woman was saved.
The purpose of a gun is to protect the innocent. (Or, feed them. Hunting is practice for the day when we might need to catch our dinner.)
My gun is still sitting here. Hasn’t moved. Hasn’t killed anyone.
But, I’ll be keeping it just in case.