Archive for the ‘Guns’ Category

Lunacy

September 14, 2019

If you must do something outrageous around the full moon, try howling at the sonofabitch. Always works for me.

I’d love to be able to blame the full moon for this, or maybe Friday the 13th, but it happened on Thursday night.

The scariest part may be that this apparently was not a single incident, but rather three separate shootings.

What. The. Fuck.

And lo siento mucho, but candlelight vigils with Modelo backs are not the answer, any more than thoughts and prayers.

Put down the fucking guns, please. And thank you.

The sky is crying

August 6, 2019

Look what snuck over the Sandias when
the weatherperson wasn’t paying attention.

The weatherman must have missed a memo while compiling today’s forecast.

That “20 percent chance of showers and thunderstorms after noon” turned out to be 100 percent, and by 7 a.m., too.

It reminded me of the Yiddish proverb, “Man plans, God laughs.”

Last week I logged nearly 150 miles on the bike, and come Sunday evening the legs were lobbying for a bit of R&R. So although Monday was a beautiful day for the old bikey ridey, I checked the forecast for the rest of the week and said, “OK, I’ll take today off. Haul the glass to the recycler, put a new chain and cassette on the Voodoo Nakisi, whip up a bowl of hummus. And tomorrow I’ll do a nice, long ride.”

Get bulletproof backpacks on the cats? Dream on. I can’t even get them to stop napping in front of a window. Worse than sitting with your back to a door.

Ho, ho, etc.

Tuesday dawned warmish, bleak and breezy, and soon I had to close all the doors and windows I had just opened because the vertical blinds were clattering like skeletons dancing the Charleston.

It was the flip side of Sunday, when, after Saturday’s deluge, I added fenders to Herself’s bike and a rack trunk full of rain gear to my own.

Naturally, the only water we saw on our ride was confined neatly to roadside puddles and ditches.

Man plans, etc.

Dark mornings breed dark thoughts, especially for a lifelong news addict. For example, did you know that the hot back-to-school item is a bulletproof backpack?

Look for them at big-box retailers everywhere. I recommend shopping online until you get one, and maybe even afterward. See if you can find a new congressperson while you’re at it, one of those action figures, not the kind that just sits there between massacres, cashing checks while the NRA pulls its string.

“Thoughts and prayers … thoughts and prayers. …”

Speaking of which, I could use a few of those myself. The sun has finally made an appearance, and even though I don’t have my bulletproof backpack yet, I’m going out for a ride.

Rumble thy bellyful

August 3, 2019

King Lear would be freestyling on this afternoon’s rain, yo.

There’s a whole bunch of the boom-boom-boom going on around here today.

But lucky for us, it’s only thunder. And the only thing raining on us is, well, rain.

Who was first to the “thoughts and prayers?” I had Ted Cruz in the office pool.

Capped

March 5, 2018

C’mon. You know somebody’s working on this. Probably .380 instead of .22LR with a Bluetooth trigger.

Hasta la Vista, baby?

 

Thoughts, prayers and tacos

November 5, 2017

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Force), proposes that all serious cats bring more than thoughts and prayers to a gunfight, or even a taco truck.

Our “leaders” are sending thoughts and prayers around and about once more, this time to a small Baptist church outside San Antone.

I often think about tacos. (“Man, a taco sure sounds good right about now.”) I have even been known to pray for tacos. (“Jesus, let there be a taco stand around here somewhere!”)

None of this has ever gotten me a single fucking taco.

The American nightmare

October 2, 2017

Mandalay Bay, pictured from the walkway into the neighboring Luxor.

If Charlie Manson checked into the Safari tomorrow morning, nobody would hassle him as long as he tipped big.Hunter S. Thompson, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream”

If we learned anything at all from the good doctor, it’s that anyone can bring anything at any time into a Vegas hotel room.

I’ve been doing it for years. Big black rolling suitcase with a big black messenger bag strapped to its handle, a camera bag, a 25-liter backpack, even a cooler. I always thought if anything drew a floorwalker’s eye, it would be the cooler.

“Sir, you’ll need to return that to your vehicle. We have beverages for sale in the resort.”

But nope. Not a peep. Not at the Luxor, anyway. And I’m gonna go way out on a limb here and speculate that Mandalay Bay doesn’t hassle Charlie either.

Regulars here know I own firearms, but nevertheless believe the Second Amendment was in dire need of a copy editor. And I’ll leave it to another Charlie, the invaluable Mr. Pierce, to bring the heat regarding our national acceptance of blood sacrifice on the constitutional altar.

But I will note that while eyes pop at massacres like the one in Vegas, their lids droop at the day-to-day body count in places like Albuquerque, where we are on pace to exceed last year’s 61 homicides, up from 56 the previous year and the highest number in two decades.

So I’ll encourage you to pester your legislators to consider both the cascade of blood and the steady drip, drip, drip. Urge them to do more than send thoughts and prayers, which have proven remarkably ineffective against the gun lobby. Remember that elections matter (we have one here tomorrow).

And cling to hope while remembering another quote from Thompson, a man with his own firearms fetish:

This may be the year when we finally come face to face with ourselves; finally just lay back and say it — that we are really just a nation of 220 million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns, and no qualms at all about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.

Trump card

August 10, 2016

The 2016 pestilential election is turning into one of the less-than-hilarious Monty Python sketches.

“You’ve got a nice representative democracy here, citizen.”

“Yes.”

“We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. …”

“What?”

Even the dumbest casino guy knows a Smith & Wesson beats four aces.

Even the dumbest casino guy knows a Smith & Wesson beats four aces.

What indeed. Ronald McDonald McTrump has clearly let the fat in his fast-food diet go straight to his head, where a .25-caliber brain struggles to govern a .50-caliber mouth.

I wonder what his Secret Service detail thinks about his quip about a Second Amendment solution to a president’s constitutionally derived authority (Article 2, Section 2) to nominate judges, given that their colleagues protect the other candidate for the job.

The candidate whose back Der Trumpenführer just decorated with a red-white-and-blue bullseye.

Peace through inferior firepower

December 7, 2015
The Ruger Mini-Thirty next to a banner displaying the character for "peace."

The Ruger Mini-Thirty next to a banner displaying the character for “peace.”

The prez made his statement last night, and good for him. I made mine on Thursday, when I turned over my Ruger Mini-Thirty to the Albuquerque Police Department crime lab.

My intention was to have the weapon destroyed, after deciding that an untrained civilian really doesn’t need a 7.62x39mm semiautomatic rifle lying around the crib. But the weapons wizards at the Metropolitan Forensic Science Center said they didn’t have a Mini-Thirty in their collection — which includes the worst machine gun in the world — and asked if they could keep it for use in their work.

I could’ve sold it on consignment at one of the local dealers, I suppose. Made a little money. But after Bibleburg and San Bernardino I decided I wanted to take this one out of circulation. One less gun.

It’s not much of a statement — “One less gun” — but I was sick and tired of writing about the issue and it felt right to actually do something for a change, however feeble the gesture might be.

Black Friday redux

December 2, 2015
Happiness is a warm gun.

Happiness is a warm gun.

From our Hey, Look, There’s a Fire Over There, Let’s Pour a Record Amount of Gasoline On It Department. Boy, do I ever hate being right.

• Late update: Oh, good. The national barbecue continues unabated.

Business as usual

November 28, 2015
Robert Lewis Dear, held in the Bibleburg shootings. Photo: CSPD

Robert Lewis Dear, held in the Bibleburg shootings. Photo: CSPD

Yesterday’s terrorism in Bibleburg is getting the usual reaction across the Innertubez — shock, horror, dismay, etc., plus the usual elbows being thrown in pursuit of sociopolitical points. Seems everyone has a dog in the fight, including Your Humble Narrator.

A friend asked if it was official “that Colorado leads the nation in this sort of violence,” and it’s true that my old home state has generated more than its share of headline-grabbers.

But maybe we should be paying less attention to wholesale bloodshed and more to the steady drip, drip, drip of retail homicide that somehow eludes us.

There’s Chicago, for example. And Baltimore. Body counts that mostly don’t have a damn thing to do with revolutionary politics or a slight to somebody’s imaginary friend.

It’s just too easy for Americans to kill each other. And while we wait to add a bit of insight regarding cause to what we already know about effect, we can be certain of one thing right now: Gun sales will skyrocket, in Bibleburg and elsewhere.

It’s like watching the fire department fighting a five-alarm with a tanker truck full of gasoline.