Max lived in a very modest house in a rural area.  He drove an old pickup with many miles on it.  But none of that mattered to Max because he had finally achieved a long time goal of his - to own 100 guns.  He had rifles, shotguns and handguns of many makes and models.  It took almost fifteen years for him to complete his collection, but he had finally done it and he was pleased.  Max felt safe now.  Protected from anything with 100 guns.

One day, Max stood inside his screen door with a gun in each hand keeping a close  watch for any robbers, rapists, or furry critters that might need to be shot.  While he watched, a germ flew through the screen and right up his nose.  The germ entered his brain.  It began to feed and multiply, feed and multiply.  It took some time for Max to realize there was something wrong.  Too wrong to be fixed with aspirin or a shot of bourbon.
So he went to a doctor.

The doctor told Max he had waited too long.  There was nothing the doctors could do for him.  A few months later Max died.  The last thing he said before he died was:
"Dammit, I could have shot that germ if I'd known it was there! I have 100 guns!".