A passing observation for the non-political

I am getting too tedious about politics, screaming “I told ya so!” repeatedly. There are too many firearms in the house. This is a formula for disaster, although formulas for disaster seem to be the guiding national policy these days.

Ah, well, enough of that. I only have one question these days: “Are you worried yet?” When the answer is “Yes”, I’ll pop from my spider-hole like any good NVA. Until then, I am not running; I am taking cover as a good soldier taught me, and staying out of the way of incoming that has become too intense to dodge.

What chaps my hinder this week is something I have been catching between news snippets for far too long.

I’m a newshound, and my bedroom TV wakes me with the—so far—reassurance that America hasn’t been attacked again, and the world as we know it isn’t ending. Then, I play for a half hour with the notion I can play Russian roulette with a clip-loading pistol, then I try to get a more constructive perspective on the day.

First, there was a clever ad for a “home security” company featuring a man and his alluring wife in bed; their first night in their new home. She wakes up. “Honey, I hear something downstairs.” “I’ll go check,” he says bravely. Then he creeps to the bedroom door, peeks out like a nervous 12-year-old girl. When the burglar kicks open the back door, he pees himself and runs to hide until the B----- Security Company calls to make sure it isn’t a false alarm…which in California will get you a $250 fine from the locals.

So now we have a teenager who kisses her parents good-night for a night on the town. She then climbs onto an exercise machine, plugs in the rock ‘n roll, and begins making the miles. Seconds later, the two hulking thugs who have been stalking outside the large, plate glass window smash the front door open. May I write the rest of this script?

[Dispatcher] (in some state 600 miles away): “This is B----- Security. Are you all right?”

[Terrified teen]: “Two men just broke the front door down! The alarm went off!”

[Dispatcher]: “I’m sending help right now! Unfortunately, the local authorities will take twenty-to-twenty-five minutes to arrive. In the meantime, these men will drag you out of the house, drive you to a secluded location, where they will rape you and stab you repeatedly before dumping your body under a freeway overpass. Your parents will come home to find the police standing around waiting to give them a citation because five neighbors called to complain about the hooting siren at your house. They might drop the charges when your parents notice the blood trail and the fact you’re missing. Do you own a gun?”

[Terrified teen]: “No! It’s against the law!”

[Dispatcher] “Well, good luck, kid! Please stay on the line for further assistance.”

Yeah, I’m a sick puppy for thinking of this kind of stuff. On the other hand, you think this kind of stuff doesn’t happen every day?

Okay, what’s wrong with these respective pictures? It’s not like finding Waldo, or Elmo, or whoever. What common household tool, according to the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution—a tool that lies there and does nothing unless you pick it up to use it—is missing from these two scenarios?

If you live in LA, or Georgia, or New York City, do you really want to depend on a well-meaning dispatcher in Arizona to call your local cops at 3:00 in the morning and tell them haul ass to your home because the siren is hooting?

I can think of at least one sound that is a lot more disturbing, and familiar, to the average sociopath than the wail of a rooftop siren. It’s the distinctive “click-clack” of a .12 gauge shotgun racking a shell into the chamber. Second place goes to the “click-clack” of the slide actions of any number of semi-automatic pistols charging a round.

A lot of states still have the “make my day” law. After the “click-clack”, you don’t have to turn on the lights, or yell “Freeze”, or any of that movie stuff. Good combat shooting dictates you ascertain your target is clear and hostile, and then you go for it.

Firearms have saved more lives than they have taken. I have kept large-caliber handguns in or on the headboards of my beds for decades, and never once have they jumped onto the floor, run out the door, and journeyed down the block to rob the local 7-11. I strongly resent the phrase “gun crime”.

So, Sponge Bob Brave Jammies might feel more protectively macho, and Terrified Teen might still be alive if there had been something slightly more lethal, but equally benevolent as a hammer around the house somewhere.

There is a political aspect to all this, but I’m not going there right now. Those People aren’t just picking your pockets; when they finally ruin your country and you want to revolt, will you have anything more threatening than a finger to wave at them?

The choice is yours. Would you like that siren on the roof, or would you feel more comfortable with that “click-clack” when your children are sleeping just down the hall?

It’s just an uncomfortable advertising trend I see these days. Call me crazy, go back to sleep.