Yet More Contemptible GFW Inadequacy

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Via Ahab, we have this, from, well…good grief, just read it (emphasis mine — ed.)…

“Guns are great to have around,” he continues. “Just like seat belts and fire extinguishers – you don’t know when you’re going to need one, but when there’s an intruder in my house I’ll be glad to have it.” I look around and watch a dozen or so gun-toting, plaid-wearing bearded guys nod in agreement. I decide now’s not the time to mention that children can’t accidentally kill themselves by playing with seat belts and a fire can’t steal your fire extinguisher and use it against you.

My, aren’t WE witty today…but for the fact that a kid can get hurt or, yes, even killed by playing with the seat belt. If kid takes off seatbelt while Mom’s blasting down the highway at 75 mph and they get in a wreck, chances are kid will be hurt, or, yes, killed. As for the fire stealing the fire extinguisher, well, that’s what training and practice are for, so the bad guy doesn’t get the drop on you…It’s been said before, but it deserves to be said again: Being in possession of a gun doesn’t make you armed any more than possession of a guitar makes you a virtuoso musician. Something that was quite obviously lost on this, this…person. *spit*

Having completed my eight-second firearm tutorial, I don my safety goggles and large red earmuffs and head for the shooting range. Carefully cradling my pistol and a box of 50 .38 Specials to my chest, I ease my way down to lane number six. Every few seconds I violently twitch as another gun is fired; even with ear protection the noise is deafening. I’ll be glad to get out of here without soiling my undergarments.

There is much I could say to that, but the fact that a grown man would admit — in print — that handling a firearm makes him want to crap on himself, well, that says volumes more than I could, even at my most eloquent. (As an aside, I personally think the .38 Special is a pussycat, relatively speaking. I guess it’s a good thing this cretin didn’t try .357 Magnum. He’d probably have suffered a massive heart attack right there on the spot.)

I take my target – a large off-white sheet featuring a potential intruder’s head and torso – and clip it to the metal pole above me. A flick of a switch sends it flying backward into space. I load my pistol and take aim, briefly wondering how much it hurts to accidentally shoot oneself in the foot.

I squeeze off shot after shot, jumping at the sound of each one. Some people feel powerful with a pistol in their hand; I feel terror. I reload rapidly, hoping I run out of rounds before I run out of luck and end up with nine fingers.

Well, kemosabe, if you keep your hands and feet away from the hole the bullet comes out of, you won’t have to wonder how much it hurts to shoot yourself, because you won’t do it…but I guess that kind of logic is obviously way out of the league of some people…

It’s not until I leave that I relax enough to take a look at my target. Though I aimed at my intruder’s heart on every shot, most sailed wide, past his right shoulder. When I find an intruder in my house, I’ll just throw a fire extinguisher at him.

You do that. But don’t expect a real man to have any sympathy for you when said intruder takes that fire extinguisher and bashes your pathetic little skull in.
Sorry if I come off as harsh, but there is just no excuse for this kind of thinking. I think Eric S. Raymond said it best:

To believe one is incompetent to bear arms is, therefore, to live in corroding and almost always needless fear of the self — in fact, to affirm oneself a moral coward.

Moral coward. Sounds about right to me. They might scream and wail about me being judgmental, but the hell with them. I just call it like I see it. And a man who’s so obviously unwilling to defend himself with whatever means he has at his disposal isn’t a man at all, but a mere shell of one.

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