Make My Day

I don't want a gun. Or maybe I do.

I know it's my constitutional right to own and carry one with me when I walk, for example, to the library.  A tidy little Glock pistol would fit nicely in my shoulder bag, along with my reading glasses and iPhone. 

I don't know what peril I might find between my house and the book depository. It might be a disgruntled car driver or bicyclist. A street person might suddenly shout an expletive into thin air. 

Would I be prepared to shoot? Would I feel safer? If I came upon a mad person maiming people with a military-style AR17 assault rifle could I take him out and save the day?

Following the Supreme Court's recent decision to knock down New York City's attempt to outlaw toting guns around neighborhoods, I have heard the argument that not only is it our constitutional right to have a gun but we will be safer.

I'd likely shoot a few toes off the end of my foot. Or maybe fire a bullet into the window of the flower shop. Maybe I'd wound an innocent bystander, or even end their life. Considering the collateral damage that occurs with professional shooters, it's a good bet we're going to see more missing legs and arms, more people in wheel chairs. Or heads blown off.

That could be good for the economy. The sales of healthcare hardware could boom. Even dressings like gauze could see an uptick.

In a free enterprise system like ours we can count on selling more goods to address the situation. 

I think we'd also need to build more hospitals, although currently many are going into bankruptcy. But that's a good problem, right? More construction means more jobs.

Just knowing that I have a gun on me at all times would add a little tension to my dreary days. I could pretend to be the Terminator, or Clint Eastwood. 

"Make my day," I could say to a would-be assassin. "Just try it."

Maybe a slick Colt 45 with a pearly white handle would be more my style than a wimpy Glock.

I probably would begin to walk with a strut, with my hand hovering near my pistol.

"First one who tries anything is a dead man," I could proclaim.

These are my gun fantasies and they're pretty damned cool.

The more I think about it, the crazier I get. I mean, like "crazy baby."

I could call myself "Second Amendment Sam." Nobody messes with SAS.

I could ask myself, what's been keeping me from being armed all these years? Fear? Was I chickenshit? Not a real man? Would a gun make me more of a man?

And what's the deal with rules? Imagine if they had a no-guns rule in the saloons of old Dodge City, wouldn't you just stick one in your boot? Nobody followed rules during the days of the Western Frontier. 

Times haven't changed. Guns are like the milk of our land, the honey of our soul, they're embedded in our culture like hardcore whiskey. 

Don't fool yourself. Thanks to our new Supreme Court it's 1791 all over again.