Only the Target Mag Pug is not even the best revolver that $533 can buy. But I’d like to own a wikkid Yank-built revolver from someone other than “the” name in revolvers-just to be able to say, “Actually it isn’t a Smith & Wesson. I traded-in the Charter Arms Target Mag Pug for a Smith & Wesson 686 this very day. Don’t get me wrong: I’m a big fan of most of Smith’s 4,564 products. Lastly, the target Mag Pug is not a Smith & Wesson. To my eyes, the Target Mag Pug’s relatively compact dimensions make the handgun dainty in a macho sort of way, like, dare I say it, a certain NRA-loving martial artist from The Lone Star State I could name (but don’t have to, now). With a four-inch barrel and a full-sized grip, the perfectly-proportioned weapon isn’t as massive as the big-ass L-framed. At the risk of sounding like an oxymoron, the revolver is distinctively generic. Second, the Target Mag Pug is a gorgeous gun. It’s an American-made handgun fashioned from American parts by an American-owned company staffed by documented American workers living in America paying taxes to an American government propping-up socialist countries whose inhabitants spit on our flag and mock our way of life. Which, strangely, I did-by not using the Target Mag Pug’s sights at all.
357 Target Mag Pug revolver is as far from perfect as you can get without wandering into the realm of perfect imperfection. If we operate from the basic premise that a perfect handgun would do no such thing, that it would let you hit your target exactly where the sights indicate with every crisp, clean, predictable trigger pull, the Charter Arms. After said owner has adjusted the rear sight to its maximum height, the point immediately before a screw smaller than an anorexic tick files off into the ether the moment you pull the trigger. 357 Target Mag Pug revolver in question has to aim a foot above what he or she wants to shoot.
A shame that Charter Arms can’t show the world what storied revolver maker can do when customers demand the very best-and pay for it. 38 caliber snub-nosed revolvers for women shooters more intent on style than marksmanship. As a result, Charter Arms makes most of its money selling brightly colored. So what happens when a manufacturer can’t aim high? Ask Charter Arms, a gunmaker producing products whose potential perfection is restricted by the prices set by Smith & Wesson. Bling out a Camry, slap a Lexus badge on it and call it good. I bet the head of the japanese luxury carmaker placed his briefcase on the desk one day and said screw it.
Manufacturing perfection is like trying to get the last word on the Bill O’Reilly show: it’s only possible in theory. In 1989, Lexus trimmed its slogan from “The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection” to “The Pursuit of Perfection.” I reckon Lexus made the change out of sheer exhaustion.
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