Guns and gun laws are hot topics these days, especially among the seniors citizens at the political discussion group I attend. We have the gun advocates and the gun law advocates. Nobody there wants to hear My Opinion, so I’m posting it here. I’ve found My Opinion is more popular among the half-our-age generation than in My Cohort, which is living on Social Security and stock/bond investments, thus heavily invested in keeping the federal government and Wall Street afloat. At the moment, I’m one of the younger members of the group, but listening to the squabbles is aging me quickly.
I wrote the following piece in 2008, but My Opinion has changed little since then. Please note that it is political satire. I do not really believe in castration for gun-toting criminals.
A group of retired combat vets stood around the flea market awhile back, bragging about their guns. They turned to the Constitution’s second amendment, gun control laws, licensing, and the use of guns for self-defense.
I say I’m more afraid of gun laws than guns. Laws put all the legal weapons in the hands of the military and police. The laws create outlaws, raise the black market price for munitions manufacturers, burglars, and anyone who feels the need. So gun laws multiply chances that a bullet will fly my way.
Later, I recalled the two cases in my life when someone assaulted me. Both times, a gun would have been more dangerous for me than them. Without firearms, I used my big mouth to talk my way out of the scrape or scream bloody murder. So, for practical rather than moral reasons, I don’t believe in guns for self-defense. I believe in common sense for self-defense.
I imagine having a gun. If an assailant bursts into my house, I will not have the gun handy, because I frequently can’t even find my glasses, and I use them every day.
“Wait a minute,” I would have to say. “I need to find my gun, load it, and make sure it works. I’ll be right back.
“Better make sure my license is current, too, because I can’t remember when I last renewed it. I’ll bet it has expired. It’s too much trouble to go downtown – or wherever you get licenses these days – deal with traffic congestion, parking, standing in line, government drones, and getting all that nasty fingerprint ink on my hands, plus paying the parking and license fees.
“I may not be able to shoot you, after all, because if my license has expired, the police will ignore you, book and fine me, take my gun and license, and charge me with felony. Then I won’t ever be able to vote again, not that voting makes a difference in today’s market.”
By then I would have bored that robber enough to make him leave. He may even offer me his gun. “It’s not doing me any good, either,” he might say. “You can have it.”
“No way, Jose,” I would respond. “Pack out your own trash. I have enough of it. As long as you came to rob me, what do you want? How about these Wall Street Journals? They can teach you how to make crime pay.”
I figure my best weapon in an emergency is my brain. I’m likely to have a cup of coffee by my side, a book or knitting needles in hand, or if I’m in the kitchen, a kitchen knife. I could throw the coffee mug or book at his face, stab him with knitting needle or knife, and distract him enough to make him drop his gun, so I can borrow it and hold him at bay. Then I could call the police to rescue him from me.
I don’t know statistics on how many armed assailants are male. In my case, it was 50/50 with two women together in one assault. I theorize they are victims of testosterone poisoning, either directly or by proxy, curable by castration, better insurance than gun control laws and more cost-effective for taxpayers.