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Gun Control, a Modest Proposal

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Or as modest as it gets from the Files of the River Journal's Surrealist Research Bureau

The late Charlton Heston’s iconic “From my cold dead hands,” speech at a long ago NRA Rally is remembered nowadays fondly, if a tad worshipfully, by gun rights enthusiasts. It was in reality however, a craven, underhanded ploy by the consummate actor Heston, defiantly raising high an old muzzle-loading musket which he was undoubtedly aware absolutely no one on God’s Green Earth was even wildly considering asking him to give up. Hitchcock called such ploys MacGuffins and, if Heston was honest, he’d have been holding instead a lethal AK-47 with a 30 round banana clip magazine. If he weren’t dead already I’d tell him, “For Grid’s sake, hurry up and die old man, so I can pry your gun from your lifeless, useless, cold dead hands!” No more elementary school kids need to be slaughtered! 

My 12-year-old nephew, Tyler, has just recently been given rudimentary instructions on possible schoolhouse “incidents” like barricading doors and (my suggestion) waiting ‘til a madman shooter has to change his magazine and use that short interval to try and swarm and beat him (hopefully to death) with a metal chair or whatever’s handy. It seems like limiting magazine capacity to three or four rounds is the absolute bottom line we can do.

The first person I killed was also my most memorable. In Spring of 1967 I was an 18-year-old armored infantryman in Asia behind the muzzle of a 60 cal. machine gun when we received mortar and small arms fire and I saw a running figure perhaps 50 yards away carrying something in his arms, maybe mortar rounds (?). Without thinking I opened up on him on automatic and watched as he danced frozen in mid-air for a timeless moment before falling in pieces to the ground as a small red mist blew away on the slight breeze. It turned out later he’d been an innocent civilian suffering from elephantitis and had been carrying an abnormal, enormous pair of cantaloupe-sized testicles, who was simply trying to evade the bedlam which was magically, fatally erupting around his tiny rice field. 

In the next two years I seldom came across live enemy; they were usually already dead. We shot at shadows, at muzzle flashes, we called in Phantoms of Death from Above and unholy rains of iron and fire from mystical faraway firebases named Uplift or English and bodies came to resemble more and mean less to us than manikins frozen into a grimace, growing fat on their own corruption. It does not seem right to me now to allow one man to kill another. And yet...,

After a statistical survey by the CDC (Centers for Disease Control) found that homes with guns in them had a “higher than expected likelihood of violent death,” the members of Congress pushed through a law supported and written by the NRA to withhold funding for any agency, including the CDC, from even researching or even compiling data on the issue. The ATF, which is tasked by Congress with enforcing our nation’s guns laws, has been emasculated by NRA supporters in D.C. It has been leaderless and without a Director for six years. The last person Obama nominated for the position, Andrew Traver, was blocked by the NRA for the mere fact of his having attended once, long ago, a meeting of Police Chiefs who discussed, among other things, gun control. The NRA also prohibited the ATF from even compiling a national statistical database and reduced the penalties for dealers who falsified records to a mere misdemeanor.

My own modest proposal is win-win for everyone: all gun owners can keep their penises, I mean weapons. I’d simply require assault weapon owners to surround their homes with barbed wire fences, only allowing them out when an electronic monitoring system verifies their guns are safely locked away and accounted for. Firing Ranges and shooting galleries will have their property and business taxes doubled. Hunters choosing to hunt with assault rifles will have their license fees tripled. So that normal, patriotic Americans can recognize and shun these penis-lovers, I mean gun-fanciers, perhaps they should be required to wear a symbol, like maybe a big yellow star with a rifle in the middle.We can tell these Goobers its a badge of honor, like a junior sheriff or something, I bet they’d go for it like Trish’s dog Carl scarfs up a powdered donut! I dunno’ , I got a hundred a’ these great ideas. 

‘til next time, keep spreading the word; “Soylent Green is People!” (It just occurred to me that Charlton Heston was the first man to scream those words). Oh Irony, thy name is Eris! All Homage to Xena!

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Author info

Jody Forest Jody Forest When he's not hidden behind the palatial gates of his Dover estate, Casa de Bozo, Jody is out using outdated and corny pickup lines on various gullible women.

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gun control, Surrealist Research Bureau, Viet Nam, NRA

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