A tale of lust, repression, guilt and firing ranges.
Ah the human condition. The eternal struggle of Id, Ego, and uh, the other one, the ego that can leap tall buildings and run faster than a locomotive. Um... anyway, him.
Knowing what's right intellectually, and feeling it, down in your gut, down lower, in fact; these can be two separate things. And oh man, do I like guns.
It's taken a while for me to come out of the gun cabinet, so to speak. I am, and probably always will be, a believer in gun control. And by that, I mean I really don't think you need to have private ownership of guns. The rest of the Western world gets by without being armed to the teeth, and I see no reason why the US can't if it really wants to.
On the other hand, oooh yeah. There's just something about a gun, you know? Living here in Texas, it's only getting worse. Knowing that I can turn up for Sunday worship still packing a snub-nose .38 just makes me want to, well, turn up for Sunday worship packing heat.
I've been giving serious consideration to getting licensed to carry a concealed firearm. In Texas this requires basically a day's training and the requisite fees paid to instructor and state. It's tempting. Not, you understand, that I'd ever actually want to carry (or own) a firearm. It's just that being licensed strikes me as kind of neat, and it plucks the strings of my irony harp like a crack-addicted monkey on a weekend bender.
I probably won't though. It's the better part of $250, which is a tad much for the privilege of being a pro-gun control permit holder, fun as that would be to whip out at parties.
The other problem I'm having is the sheer availability of it all. I mean, I visited gun shops in California, and they were cool. But here guns and gun shops are so ubiquitous.
"Yeah, I'd like the double cheese burger, no fries please."
"Sure. You want some ammo with that?"
Gun shops that look like they could equip a small third world power are scattered around like nail salons. Guns here. Guns there. Little guns, big guns, guns in attractive colors for the ladies. Guns of every kind, arrayed for your amusement and consumption.
I'm getting all sweaty palmed just thinking of all those AR-15s reclining teasingly about the place, with their 'peek-a-boo' packaging. You know I actually heard a radio ad for one of the local gun shops using the phrase "Come and get them, Clinton ain't in power you know!"
If guns could dance, I'd be right there, chugging a beer and stuffing dollar bills into their barrels. Oh, they know how to tempt a man. DAMN THEM. Sweet, sweet rifled temptresses...