On Being Called the P-word on Facebook - #40
Hello Maiyah (and friends)!
This will probably be a low effort newsletter simply because I forgot to write it this past Sunday as I was traveling and fixing up my apartment from Sunday through Tuesday. And Facebook is dumb, but an old Texas friend of mine posted something, and I thought to respond politely. And he ruffled my political feathers, so I responded in my typical 800-word unartistic prose. Enjoy:
— (redacted)
On Being Called the P-word on Facebook
789 words | 03min reading time
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His initial post was about how Democrats should be pro-gun, that way they can make rich people pay taxes, be #1, etc and etc. And I simply comment:
So, here’s my reply:
If I don't want a gun cus I never needed one, I'm apparently a pussy. If I get a gun because I'm scared of some fantasy government tyranny, I'm also a pussy. What to do?
How about this. We all get a nice gun right of doing militia service at 18 (like the Swiss), get rid of all restrictions, sell guns super cheap, no training or permits needed, and anybody who's anybody is allowed to get a gun. And hell what's the point of having it if I can't take it for a spin. The grocery store, parties, the bank, oh the places you'll go -- but with a gun! Finally, I can be armed to the teeth 24/7 at Home Depot and at my home, just in case someone breaks into my house and wants to steal my TV. Or worse, hurt my family because as we all know, robbers will try to harm you as that was their initial motivation for entering your house. No matter -- I know I can be a savior in public when shit hits the fan! I'm in the bank and -- the doors SWING OPEN, "Everybody on the ground!" -- they messed with the wrong whipper snapper that day! Like 99% of gun owners, I'm fully equipped with the proper training and can deal with highly stressful situations because, through daydreaming, I did two tours in Afghanistan. I calm down and take aim. I miss. I get hit.
And I wake up in the hospital. "Dad," says my boy, "are you okay?" "Yes," I reply, "I am." I reach under my body in the hospital bed, my shoulder hurting from the pure heroism I did that rarely occurs, almost never, outside of TV and movies, and pull out my trusty lil black twenty-two. "Son... I'm giving this to you." I throw it into his 12-year-old hands. He fumbles with it, but it's okay -- the safety is on. "Why Dad? Why are you giving me Heather?" "Son," I muster as I lean into his face... "Someday, I don't know when, but someday THEY are going to take Heather. Aside from keeping the general populace safe from the certainty of increased homicide and suicide statistics, they're gonna take Heather for one reason and one reason only..."
"Oh my god, who's THEY... and what do THEY want?"
"The GOVERNMENT! And they want TYRANNY."
"Will they take Heather through a volunteer effort of people turning in their guns or us receiving kind notices in the mail?"
"Son, this ain't some Euro-shithole where women don't shave their legs -- THE US GOVERNMENT WILL TAKE OUR GUNS THROUGH BRUTE FORCE. There's going to be black vans! Somehow Obama is involved even though his administration has ended years ago, but they'll take Heather so that they will control your freedoms!"
"I don't want my freedoms curtailed through the absence of weapons!"
"Well, that'll damn sure happen if you give up Heather."
"Even in an extremely conservative administration that would allow such loose gun laws to pass -- even they would ironically take Heather?"
"Even then."
The nurse comes in. "Don, your wife is downstairs, she's here to pick up Kyle."
I say thank you. She leaves.
I hear a soft whimper...
As the boy begins to cry.
I realize I painted a stark dystopian future where the government takes your freedoms by confiscating your guns through brute force. Just gotta tell the kid facts. It's happened before in modern 21st-century countries... I think -- I'm pretty sure... Yeah, it's happened. Yea. Somewhere in bumfuck nowhere, it's happened. Like France or Bolivia or something like that.
"Son."
"Dad?"
"If someone dressed in a 3 piece suit comes knocking on your door, and they look like they work for the government -- or are one of them Jehovah Witnesses and they look like they want to convert you -- well, you show them Heather. You got that? You're a big man. And if they insist, say 'I am not afraid of you'."
The boy looks up... And smiles. A hug.
"Thanks Dad. I love you."
He reaches the door.
"Wait," I say.
The boy turns around.
"Remember... when you carry a Heather, you'll be courageous as a feather!"
Kyle gives an assured look and runs away.
--
So yeah, 99% of American's shouldn't have guns because we Americans are fucking crazy, scared of everything, don’t trust anyone, and love 10X everything out of proportion.
I’ve lived in the countryside and I’m living in the city. I’ve lived in the good bit (near North Hollywood) and the rough bit (near Compton). I have never needed a gun and I will never get a gun.
So yes, I'm a pussy.
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End of reply.
He’s an alright cool guy, trust me, he’s not bad lol. And I’m aware my reply is stupid, don’t take it too seriously, please.
