The only thing real about reality shows are the profits they generate. Hello? They had a writer’s strike. Sons of Guns struck me as carefully scripted fiction from the moment I clapped eyes on the down home gunsmiths’ Frankenguns and suffered through their interminable interpersonal “drama.” The Red Jacket Firearms employees also annoyed me with their lax safety; they laser each other more frequently than the kiddie commandos at Lazergate. RJF builds, how do I put this, stupid shit. Never been done before! And for good reason. When Will Hayden makes his heartfelt plea to “don’t do this at home”—before an episode which has him stuck inside an M36 Tank Destroyer for all of three seconds—I had to laugh. Why would I? Aside from slow-mo gun porn, why would anyone continue watching Sons of Guns? Seriously. Why?