I don't like "cockholster." "Cockholster" sounds like...I don't know. It's too macho. "My cockholster." Maybe that's the point, maybe it's supposed to be ironic. I much prefer the sound of cockthistle or even cockwhistle or dickweasel or taintlick. A cockthistle, for instance, would be someone who is so stupid it hurts, much as I'd imagine would a cockthistle, while a cockwhistle is a ****ing weirdo with a weird **** that whistles. He should probably see a doctor, and stop being so ****ing weird. A taintlick...well, that's pretty self-explanatory, and also gross...because that should be no man's land.
...and I don't know. Cockholster carries with it so much false bravado. "I'm John Wang, Pilgrim...and I reckon if you ain't careful, weeeeeelll, I'll just have to pull this here love gun out of my cockholster and fire off a few rounds. Whaddaya say ta that? I been shootin' skeet and skeetin' shoot for as long as I can remember, and none of those Navajo Braves with their dickquivers can outdraw me and this here trusty cockholster. No, ma'am. Now, when you're ready to stop yer cryin' about a coupl'a dead horses and act like a goddamn lady fer a change, I'll come back...or maybe on yer back. Whichever you'd prefer, but, fer now, I have things...and a thing, needs tendin' to."
