I ain't goin' out like that...

This may come as a shock to people who only know me through my carefully-constructed web persona, but I'm really pretty much a shiny, happy person. I like kittens and flowers and blue skies full of fluffy clouds and smiling Mr. Sun. Also, I carry a gun.

Now, here in the upscale west end 'burbs of Knoxville, the odds of me ever needing to actually use my gat for anything other than a spot of recreational target practice are about the same as the odds of me winning the Powerball jackpot (and I don't buy tickets) but I carry one around just the same, more as a concealed symbol of my personal creed than anything else, the way some folks carry a St. Christopher's medal in their pockets. And my creed is a simple one: "I ain't goin' out like that."

Imagine a happy college campus, set in tightly-gun-controlled Canada. Not just in Canada, but in the part of Canada where they speak French, a language with more words for "surrender" than the Eskimos have for "snow". The only place that could be safer would be at a convention for Mother Theresa impersonators, right? Right. At least until some Emoid freak with a bad 'do, a Matrix wardrobe, and a cheesy plastic Beretta popgun shows up and tries to live out his Quake fantasies in real life.

"I saw the gunman who was dressed in black and at that time he was shooting at people," student Michel Boyer told CTV. "I immediately hit the floor. It was probably one of the most frightening moments of my life."

I ain't goin' out like that. Whether it's some Columbine wannabe who's heard the backward-masked messages on his Marilyn Manson discs, distressed daytrader off his Prozac, homegrown Hadji sympathetic with his oppressed brothers in Baghdad, or a bugnuts whackjob picking up Robert Frost quotes transmitted from Langley on the fillings in his molars, I am going to do my level best to smoke that goblin before my carcass goes on the pile. I am not going to go out curled into a fetal ball and praying for help that won't arrive in time.

Barone said a police officer emerged from a corner next to the cafeteria and fired a shot in the direction of the gunman no more than several yards away and missed him.

Even if the police are right there, it might not do me any good. Heck, I might not do me any good. But, dammit, I am going to try. If a 51 year-old nurse can overcome a hammer-wielding psycho with her bare hands, the least I can do is go out on my feet. I'm not going to wait for the coup de grace under a desk; I'm not going get in the abductor's car; I'm not going to comply with their demands; I'm not going gently.

Barone said as they were crawling out toward an exit they saw a girl who had been shot in the torso and who was face down surrounded by a pool of blood.

He said officers told them: "Don't look, don't look. Keep going out."

I ain't goin' out like that.




UPDATE: Marko weighs in with his views, as well as the Quote of the Day:

(As a side note, "killed by Canadian police" is high up on my list of "most uncool ways to die"...so much for going out in a blaze of glory, loser-boy.)