I’m starting to think that 80% of children born after 1998 are serial killers in training. This thought is buttressed by the fact that this morning, puke sick from chemo, joints full of cement and head full of pounding keeblers I ran into the back yard wearing nothing but a nightgown. No underwear, no shoes. Hair uncombed.
I had to do this because one of the “children” in my neighbourhood was poised on the hilly common area behind my house, aiming a gun at my dog.
Now, I’m a gun-rights person. I really am. But if you point a gun, any gun, at my dog or any of my other loved ones I will rise from my very deathbed and frak you up. No ifs ands or buts.
The thing about being so pro-gun is this. I’m pro-gun because I think they are necessary tools for both food and freedom. That means i take them seriously. When other people don’t take them seriously it really undermines the cause for gun rights.
It also makes me blood raging to think that, for a few moments of fun, some evil child would even consider firing a gun–bb, .22–at my dog. Even worse is that, deprived of Quinn for target practice, he turned the gun on his playmate. Lovely.