You are all getting worked up for nothing - unless one counts the humor element inherent in this first installment of what promoses to be a laigh-a-week series.
Ms Heidi Yewman openly admits that she is the antithises of every Bubbaette who walks into a gun store and comes out totin' a heater.
I wondered what would it be like to be that good guy with a gun? What would it be like to get that gun, live with that gun, be out and about with that gun. Finally, what happens when you don’t want that gun any more?
What gunnie still wonders what it would be like to be the good guy with a gun? Don't gunnies, even before they get a gun, have both dreams and waking fantasies about coming upon the Bad Guy and blowing him into the next county? Don't gunnies already know that getting the gun is like picking up a new puppie, and going on a first date with the captain of the cheerleaders who already agreed to go past second base with you, and like winning the lottery when you are only 16 but your partents cannot tell you how to spend (or not spend) the money? Don't gunnies already know that swaggering down the aisle at Wallyworld with a gun on their hip negates every other reason why they should be this week's star in "The People of WalMart"? Don't gunnies already know that being out and about with that gun is like being Superman and Batman and Chuck Norris all rolled into one and instantly gets you respect from bullies and causes muggers to go running down dark alleys with the front of their sagging drawers stained in fear? And finally, what gunnie ever even considers that they might not want the gun anymore? (No, trading for another gun does not count as not wanting the gun - it's more like wanting another one instead.)
And then her reputation for veracity goes through the mangler with
So here I sit at Starbucks, and the irony couldn’t be thicker. On March 12, 2010, I was surrounded by big hairy men with guns on their hips, yelling at me as I led a protest against Starbuck’s gun policy. Today, I’m surrounded by five-year-old boys sitting with their moms at the next table. Now I’m the one with a gun on her hip. The gun makes me more fearful than I could have imagined.
In some way, I feel a certain vindication. I was right to protest Starbucks policy. Today, they have a woman with absolutely no firearms training and a Glock on her hip sitting within arm’s reach of small children, her hands shaking and adrenaline surging.
IIRC, all the "big hairy men with guns on their hips" were quietly sitting at Starbucks, sipping on a latte and nibbling away at that bannana-pumpkin bran muffin while gossiping about how Cletus-Ray's new holster leather brought out the red highlights in his hair (what was left of it) when she and the rest of her herd of harpies descended, screeching and caterwauling (mainly that the big hairy men were not playing their parts by getting up and making big, gory holes in the harpies).
Most people seem to have missed the very important bit of evidence she let drop: A person with a documented record of losing self control in public and verbally assaulting people who were quietly enjoyong the morning and each other's company now, when she straps on her shootin' iron, becomes peaceful herself. The zen of the gun works even on the shrillist of harpies.
Thank you, Heidi Yewman, for demonstrating what we have been saying all along.
stay safe.
