The Right To Bare Arms
So, there I was watching my favorite TV show, “My Mother-in-law Is a Succubus” when the phone rang. It was my sister calling to say that I had just inherited $10,000 from my Uncle Joe who had recently passed away. My first reaction was; “Uncle Joe’s dead…I thought he died ten years ago”! My second reaction was; “$10,000 dollars, man, I’m gonna buy a new gun”! Now, I’ve never actually owned a gun, but, with ten thousand big ones, I thought, why not indulge myself—and then I hung up the phone and began dancing around the living room with a glee reserved for people who just found out they were $10,000 richer and did absolutely nothing to earn it. After all, the sweetest money isn’t the money that you earn, but is the money that you did nothing to earn—and that just happened to come your way through pure, blind luck. I realize that Uncle Joe had to die in order for me to get it, but he would’ve eventually died anyway, so if somebody’s going to benefit, it might as well be me. This seemed perfectly logical, and after a couple more choruses of “Money for Nothing” I realized that I had better show some respect for poor old Uncle Joe, lest I appear ungrateful to the forces of goodness.
A few days later I collected the cash and hurried down to the local sporting goods store with the hope of purchasing a flame thrower, or some other such lethal device. I was quickly informed by the guy behind the counter that they didn’t sell flamethrowers. This seemed a real shame, since I have to believe that there would be a big market for them. I then asked if they had a small, desk-mounted Gatling Gun for my cubicle at work. He told me that they were illegal, and that, maybe, I might want something more practical. So, I pulled out my list of things to buy, and there, just a few places down the list were,
Invisibility Cloak
Time Machine
Self-producing Acid Rain Machine
Concussion Bomb
It was obvious; the first three were probably outside my budget. But, a “Concussion Bomb” seemed within my grasp. I reached over the counter with my index of deadly weapons and pointed to my choice, believing that he would clearly nod in agreement with my final selection. The clerk snatched my paper and said; “We don’t sell any of these things, they’re illegal, you got it”! And then said; “Maybe you should leave”!
I felt a chill in the air, the temperature drop was as precipitous as it was sudden, like an unexpected shift of season, as though all of the heat in the room had been displaced by a cold, hard, blast of winter—one that mirrored the violation of my right to bear arms…or is it the right to bare arms?—are my arms naked, or are they, like the arms of a wild Kodiak, filled with a Gatling Gun and a Time Machine? Either way, I knew that he must be one of those hippie-punk, left-leaning, Obama lovers, who hated the Constitution and wanted to replace it with the Communist Manifesto! I could feel my rights being abridged even as we spoke—and it should be obvious that having one’s rights abridged is not good!
In fact, I never did get any of the things on my list. The hate-filled government and the leftist media made sure of that. But, I did try to figure out how I might be able to get my hands on some more free money. So, I tried to reconstruct, as carefully as I could, the events leading up to my sister’s phone call. That seemed to be how all of this started anyway, so I might as well give it a try. I made sure that everything was just right. I waited for my favorite TV show “My Mother-in-law Is a Succubus” to come back on, sat down right in front of the TV, ate the same meal, wore the same clothes, and told my sister to call at exactly the same time. But, when she did, no money was forthcoming, where had I gone wrong? Maybe I missed something, what could it be?
There is the obvious connection that we all seem to make when trying to decipher why something happened the way that it did. Gamblers may have a lucky shirt, or some other object that is believed to bring good fortune. Athletes may carry a picture of a loved one into competition. Even religious snake handlers believe that if God is with them they’ll handle deadly serpents and not die—and the fact that many do handle deadly serpents and don’t die tends to reinforce their beliefs.
A few days later I collected the cash and hurried down to the local sporting goods store with the hope of purchasing a flame thrower, or some other such lethal device. I was quickly informed by the guy behind the counter that they didn’t sell flamethrowers. This seemed a real shame, since I have to believe that there would be a big market for them. I then asked if they had a small, desk-mounted Gatling Gun for my cubicle at work. He told me that they were illegal, and that, maybe, I might want something more practical. So, I pulled out my list of things to buy, and there, just a few places down the list were,
Invisibility Cloak
Time Machine
Self-producing Acid Rain Machine
Concussion Bomb
It was obvious; the first three were probably outside my budget. But, a “Concussion Bomb” seemed within my grasp. I reached over the counter with my index of deadly weapons and pointed to my choice, believing that he would clearly nod in agreement with my final selection. The clerk snatched my paper and said; “We don’t sell any of these things, they’re illegal, you got it”! And then said; “Maybe you should leave”!
I felt a chill in the air, the temperature drop was as precipitous as it was sudden, like an unexpected shift of season, as though all of the heat in the room had been displaced by a cold, hard, blast of winter—one that mirrored the violation of my right to bear arms…or is it the right to bare arms?—are my arms naked, or are they, like the arms of a wild Kodiak, filled with a Gatling Gun and a Time Machine? Either way, I knew that he must be one of those hippie-punk, left-leaning, Obama lovers, who hated the Constitution and wanted to replace it with the Communist Manifesto! I could feel my rights being abridged even as we spoke—and it should be obvious that having one’s rights abridged is not good!
In fact, I never did get any of the things on my list. The hate-filled government and the leftist media made sure of that. But, I did try to figure out how I might be able to get my hands on some more free money. So, I tried to reconstruct, as carefully as I could, the events leading up to my sister’s phone call. That seemed to be how all of this started anyway, so I might as well give it a try. I made sure that everything was just right. I waited for my favorite TV show “My Mother-in-law Is a Succubus” to come back on, sat down right in front of the TV, ate the same meal, wore the same clothes, and told my sister to call at exactly the same time. But, when she did, no money was forthcoming, where had I gone wrong? Maybe I missed something, what could it be?
There is the obvious connection that we all seem to make when trying to decipher why something happened the way that it did. Gamblers may have a lucky shirt, or some other object that is believed to bring good fortune. Athletes may carry a picture of a loved one into competition. Even religious snake handlers believe that if God is with them they’ll handle deadly serpents and not die—and the fact that many do handle deadly serpents and don’t die tends to reinforce their beliefs.
But things are not always as they seem. Poisonous snakes tend to inject venom only about one out of every ten times they bite, meaning that, on average, you can be bitten nine times without ever getting sick. Most people don’t die even when the snake determines to inject its poison. And snakes that are used to being handled are less likely to bite because they’ve been conditioned by human interaction.
In other words, a snake handler can get away with a lifetime of risky behavior before the supernatural ever needs to be invoked. The point being, that what appears to be an obvious connection between events, not only the effect, but its cause, may only appear obvious because we simply don’t have all the facts. Or, to put it another way, we just don’t know what the hell we’re talking about—which leads me to a story about a cow.
In the great city of Chicago, a poor Irish woman had a cow. The cow wasn’t unusual in any way; it couldn’t do tricks or solve complex math problems, it just stood in the barn eating grass, or hay, or whatever it is that cows eat. Sometime during the evening of Oct. 10, 1871 the wind began to gust and, coupled with unusually dry weather and a broken kerosene lamp, a fire broke out and began to spread. Before it was over a large portion of the city had burned to the ground and at least six-hundred-and-five very unfortunate people had lost their lives. It was one of the worst disasters in U.S. history.
The people cried, “Who’s to blame? Somebody must be responsible”! When the fire was traced back to Katherine O’Leary’s barn at 137 DeKoven Street, the place where the cow resided, it became clear that the criminal had been found, with a little bit of help from The Chicago Tribune, that is. Michael Ahearn, a Tribune reporter, saw an opportunity, and like the opportunistic predators that have always lived at the heart of too much of the media, he filled in his own “facts” where none existed. He needed a hook, made up the story about the cow, and the festering well-spring of anti-Irish hatred did the rest. The people bought the story hook, line and sinker, and it has been the “truth” ever since.
Now, exactly what do wrongfully-accused, allegedly-arsonist bovines have to do with flamethrowers and free cash? It’s simple really. We can ban cows, fire, barns made of wood; we could even attempt to do something about dry weather. After all, Congress has, at various times, attempted to outlaw swimming pools and even bathtubs.
Here are just a few shining examples of the wisdom that rests at the foundation of global civilization. In Australia the government outlawed porn actresses with small breasts. In China, they banned the film Avatar in 2-D (apparently height and width alone is somehow politically subversive). This puts a major crimp in my upcoming cinematic masterpiece filmed in only one dimension, it will be the first film ever released solely in width! In Greece, they banned video games; in Russia it was Emo clothing. Again in China, it was reincarnation without prior consent (&**$%#!!)! In Iran, they banned American and European-style haircuts. In Denmark, it was Ovaltine (that tasty chocolate drink), as well as a long list of prohibited baby names (clearly, somebody needed to step into the gap against nom-deplumes like Buckwheat and Latrine) and the list goes on.
What should we conclude from all of this? That governments tend to be filled with idiots? And that the public isn’t very far behind? That we should keep a close eye on cows with matches? That demised Uncles can be good for the pocketbook? Or that, if we suddenly banned everything that was dangerous, life would somehow be free from suffering? Maybe it’s that the NRA and the various gun lobbies can’t discern between the right to bear arms, and the proliferation of increasingly lethal weapons let loose on the streets and shopping malls of America—placing the safety of innocent people somewhere down the list of priorities right after the right to kill a moose with a grenade launcher and the possibility of violent dissent against one’s own government.
Why is it that every time a tragedy occurs we begin to sift through the barely cold wreckage in search of an answer that can be encapsulated between the commercials of our favorite pseudo-news program? Thus we trivialize its meaning in an attempt to find some easy resolution. There is, no doubt, great comfort in simplicity, especially when dealing with uncomfortable ideas like one’s personal mortality.
It may be that the only way to answer is to say that bad things happen because people do bad things. Why? How should I know, I can’t even program my channel changer! Sometimes, even nature, for reasons unknown, behaves badly, at least badly as determined by us. And since all roads inevitably lead to “us,” “us” is all that matters.
One thing is certain, however, tragedy can be a catalyst for positive change, but, without some distance, it can make for reckless policy as people seek simple solutions to what are some very difficult problems.
Politicians tend to use suffering to drive their agenda, which, first and foremost is about getting reelected. Newspapers (and media in general) are no better. Tragedy sells, and happy, feel-good resolutions are like so many fairy tales—they pander to the expectations of a populace conditioned by movies, television and popular culture, one that no longer seems capable of making the tough choices.
What I can tell you is that tragedy and tyranny are fellow travelers, companions with a common cause—where one goes, the other tends to follow. I may not know much, but at least I know that!
Mark Magula
Now, exactly what do wrongfully-accused, allegedly-arsonist bovines have to do with flamethrowers and free cash? It’s simple really. We can ban cows, fire, barns made of wood; we could even attempt to do something about dry weather. After all, Congress has, at various times, attempted to outlaw swimming pools and even bathtubs.
Here are just a few shining examples of the wisdom that rests at the foundation of global civilization. In Australia the government outlawed porn actresses with small breasts. In China, they banned the film Avatar in 2-D (apparently height and width alone is somehow politically subversive). This puts a major crimp in my upcoming cinematic masterpiece filmed in only one dimension, it will be the first film ever released solely in width! In Greece, they banned video games; in Russia it was Emo clothing. Again in China, it was reincarnation without prior consent (&**$%#!!)! In Iran, they banned American and European-style haircuts. In Denmark, it was Ovaltine (that tasty chocolate drink), as well as a long list of prohibited baby names (clearly, somebody needed to step into the gap against nom-deplumes like Buckwheat and Latrine) and the list goes on.
What should we conclude from all of this? That governments tend to be filled with idiots? And that the public isn’t very far behind? That we should keep a close eye on cows with matches? That demised Uncles can be good for the pocketbook? Or that, if we suddenly banned everything that was dangerous, life would somehow be free from suffering? Maybe it’s that the NRA and the various gun lobbies can’t discern between the right to bear arms, and the proliferation of increasingly lethal weapons let loose on the streets and shopping malls of America—placing the safety of innocent people somewhere down the list of priorities right after the right to kill a moose with a grenade launcher and the possibility of violent dissent against one’s own government.
Why is it that every time a tragedy occurs we begin to sift through the barely cold wreckage in search of an answer that can be encapsulated between the commercials of our favorite pseudo-news program? Thus we trivialize its meaning in an attempt to find some easy resolution. There is, no doubt, great comfort in simplicity, especially when dealing with uncomfortable ideas like one’s personal mortality.
It may be that the only way to answer is to say that bad things happen because people do bad things. Why? How should I know, I can’t even program my channel changer! Sometimes, even nature, for reasons unknown, behaves badly, at least badly as determined by us. And since all roads inevitably lead to “us,” “us” is all that matters.
One thing is certain, however, tragedy can be a catalyst for positive change, but, without some distance, it can make for reckless policy as people seek simple solutions to what are some very difficult problems.
Politicians tend to use suffering to drive their agenda, which, first and foremost is about getting reelected. Newspapers (and media in general) are no better. Tragedy sells, and happy, feel-good resolutions are like so many fairy tales—they pander to the expectations of a populace conditioned by movies, television and popular culture, one that no longer seems capable of making the tough choices.
What I can tell you is that tragedy and tyranny are fellow travelers, companions with a common cause—where one goes, the other tends to follow. I may not know much, but at least I know that!
Mark Magula