"Gun-Touchiness". . . . . When Talk of
"Gun Control" Makes Men
JUMPY
"Over your dead body, 'Pussy-Party'!"
I will admit it. . . . . there is a difference between us "and other people".
If we can sit down together over this little spot of the internet and "gnaw over mule jerky" like real men, with the occasional woman stickin' her head in "and soaking up that badness" as we turn down the crudeness a notch "and act a bit more like the gentleman we know we can be". with maybe a little eight year-old girl putting her hands on her hips and affecting "a mean expression" to feel like "one of the gang", we know what we're talkin' about.
We mutter quietly amongst ourselves and share the quiet, hidden truth "that not all men are created equal", that for every reasonable, sane "gang of fellers" you have who can cut through the distortion of modern life, there are always going to be some yahoos whom we give "wide berth", who it's best "to leave well enough alone". Some problems are too abtruse for solution, and it's probably better not to think about it, lest your head gets spinnin'. For instance, the state of Missouri has over 1000 meat-packing plants but only THREE inspectors to make sure that everything is safe, clean, and sanitary as we serve up pork-steaks on this porch-side barbeque.
It's kinda better not "to think about it", actually. . . . . but such is the way of the world.
To say that the average man needs "an assault rifle" with hell-tracer bullets is ridiculous, but then again such a man would probably not particularly be interested in such "toys" under normal circumstances. But then once you have PTA/Rosie O' Donnell types wagging their fingers, more and more guys are going to "rub their hands together" like an eight year-old over his treasures "gettin' one over on the fat playground lady" with anti-social glee. And included in there are going to be "the yahoos" who probably had no business handling a firearm in the first place, lest they charge the school-yard full of kindergarten'ers in a flak jacket n' war paint.
Part of the existential absurdity of childhood, and later adolescence. . . . . is being thrown in "with adults you don't quite respect". When there's the difference between what they're asserting, and the greater truths that exist within our hearts that know "life ain't like Sesame Street" or an "ABC After-School Special" and exists inside like a sharp, primordial stone.
It's what led to "The Declaration of Independence", The American Revolution, when you tell the school yard lady "to go to hell" and become your own authority. And theoretically, the purpose of the 2nd Amendment is to allow the people, the average feller, to band together and keep this nation strong. . . . . or in a worse-case scenario, when this government is no longer operating by the principle: "by the people, for the people", to overthrow it and draw up something totally different-- "when the state" is not the progenitor of inalienable rights, but "The Creator" with spiritual truths and cosmic energies swirling toward a recognition of man's pain, and honors it with dignity, honor, and courage. Something not immediately-apparently, however, in our "sound-byte" society.
Perfect safety or "peace of mind" can never be achieved, not at the expense of other very important factors. For instance, in the design of commercial aircraft there has to be a balance between wing span, engine power, and total weight of the craft. If the jet was made out of "indestructible materials", like the "black-box" that is recovered after disasters, it would "be a rock". . . . . and wouldn't fly in the first place. End of airline industry. Compromise is of the essence, and here we are like kids screaming over the blueprints. You heard it here.
*******************
"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Rheeee of Crickets)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
("I heard that, Missy!")
© 2010 by Insufferable Industries
Drop "The Bard" a line at