the number one reason why i hate guns:
a gun killed my friend Bill. an ordinary, fairly average gun-owner (again, Bill) weilded it.
a gun left my friend Jessie with one of her friend’s brains covering the walls, ceiling, and floor of her bathroom.
a gun damn near killed a good friend of mine. he was walking home from a gay rights meeting many years ago now, when some asshole gun owner, who was probably a fairly average and responsible person if you’d caught him on any other day, put a gun to his head. had him down on the ground, pulled the trigger and everything. if that gun hadn’t’ve jammed, i’d be without a pal and mentor. (all because my friend was present at a rally which this guy somehow felt threatened by). the guy probably went home that night and went to work the next day and no one ever found out what he did. now he’s just Joe Sixpack, from Anywhere, USA.
the number two reason why i hate guns:
last week, i figured it out. if i had been the proud owner of a Constitutionally-sponsored high-velocity violence delivery implement from the day i hit puberty, i would have offed myself somewhere around 70 times by now. that’s 18 years at maybe 3-4 halfway serious thoughts of suicide a year (in my best years, i think about it never… in my worst, maybe up to 5-6 times). the reason i haven’t done the world a favour yet is because i want to be insured that when i decide i wanna fuck off for good, it’s gonna be spontaneous, fool-proof, and instant. i want the protection guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution that when i pull that trigger, the result will be so terrifyingly violent that there will be no turning back, no way in hell the best EMT in the world is gonna squeeze what splatters out of my skull back in; no possibility of putting Humpty in a hospital room on life-support for the rest of his pitiful, comatose or vegetablized life. and i want it to be effortless and instantly fatal; that’s the main thing. if i can’t do it right then and there, without hesitation or second thoughts, then i’m just not gonna. hence, i’m alive. for almost 31 years now. no miracle.
and no, i’m not in trouble; i don’t have serious mental issues. lots of people think half-seriously about killing themselves once in a while. few actually do it. and i’m not going to, either, regardless of what a good idea it may seem at times. unless i get my hands on a big, bad .45.
that’ll be the day. i never want to see a fucking gun ever again for the rest of my life.
p.s., i started this because i was thinkin about the beltway sniper in MD… so don’t freak out. i’ve got plans. FUN plans. Good plans.
