Many years ago I was a low-level sergeant in Special Forces. LOTS of the older, experienced guys had .25s as their ‘go to town’ gun, usually berettas…which rode in the breast pocket of the celebrant’s shirt.
Since we all were familiar with useful firearms, a favorite greeting in many Fayetteville watering holes became the usual smile and hello…and then to openhandedly slap HARD on the Buddy’s breast pocket…the safeties on most of the .25s were defective…often enough for the fun of it, the pistol would ‘go off’…this was always good for a laugh and another round of drinks.
I had a great Martin guitar for several years with a .25 caliber hole in it.
A guy from the 3rd, a banjo player, got a ‘case of the chapped hips’ at my playing one night during a jam session that had moved outside the barracks. He popped a hole in my Martin…didn’t affect the sound.