Of course we're happier. We own guns. And everyone knows that happiness is a warm gun.
What's funny is that there is a large demographic slice who will read the preceding and shake their head like I'm nuts, and I'd be lying if I said I never uttered stuff like it for the shock value alone, but it bears closer examination.
There are folks out there who are absolutely convinced that claiming to enjoy ownership of a gun; to use the word "love", however metaphorically, in relation to an inanimate object is a sign of mental illness, and yet will then prattle on about their new iPod, cell phone, chain saw or whatever. You have to admire them for being utterly guileless in their irony.
These same people are convinced that owning a gun must be a sign of anger, and it's only a matter of time before it gets used in that state. I find that an especially interesting insight into their minds. For what it's worth, most workdays between 1993 and 2007, I spent in the presence of coworkers with loaded guns on their hips. These were normal workplaces, with normal workplace dramas; rivalries, office gossip, disagreements... I have witnessed more than one red-faced, in-your-face, shouting match, and both participants were gunned down where they stood, along with me and everyone else in the room... no, wait, that's not how it happened. The argument ended, and both parties walked off, and everybody was buddy-buddy again the next day. You know, the way sane people do it in offices full of letter openers and blunt objects every day.
Why, you'd have to be crazy to even think of solving personal disputes with violence. Some people's kids, I swear...
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8 comments:
You crazy white cracker! You're not happy, you're bitter and clinging to your guns. Don't you know the Magic Negro is going to lead you to the promised land?
The black Pied Piper may have the Demorats marching to the sea but he will never be able to play a tune I would follow.
Funny, the mental image of Louis Armstrong with big ears keeps popping into my head.
I shot a military rifle match a month ago, with my K31. It was raining and sleeting. I was kneeling on the ground. My hat got soaked. At the end of each round, I warmed my hands by gripping the barrel shroud.It was warm enough that I was able to keep my trigger finger warm.
That feeling, standing there in the driving rain with a warm rifle barrel in my hand, a red shop rag tied around the trigger to keep it dry...
Happiness is a warm gun. No question.
All I know is I'm MUCH happier since I got mine.
I wanted to know if their sex life was more interesting, I already knew I was happier. Having spent a couple of tours in combat zones with everyone armed and dangerous, - with anger, alcohol and stupidity abounding I was happy fragging was never an accident, nor very effective except as a fool's message to another.
Every time I start to get grumpy (which is happening a lot these days -- I need a vacation), I wander out to the garage, open up the gun safe and....
Damn! I'm suddenly in a good mood.
Works every time.
I finally bought a gun safe a couple of months ago. Has room left to expand my inventory. Now who'd think that large, dark, hard box of steel could feel so warm and cuddly.
Of COURSE I'm happy!
Tam,
Almost twenty-seven years ago, my older sister first became aware that I was a gun owner. I immediately got a HALF-HOUR long lecture on how I was "opening [my]self up to the path of violence" by owning guns". Yes, that's a direct quote.
You know, they say that revenge is a dish best eaten cold... I've taught both of her kids to shoot. Her son got a Ruger 10/22 for his last birthday (from me) and as soon as her daughter has a place to keep it (that's not in my sister's house), she's getting one, too.
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