THE GUN RUN

BY FIRESTORM “I hope not to see you here again, Fred,” said the guard, I forget his name, as he signed my release papers. We both knew he would, of course. I had been in and out of prison for forty years, since I was ten years old. Obviously, it had been JV back then. I tried not to break the law, but for a paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic, bipolar, multiple personalities, individual, all of which I had been diagnosed with when I was seven, along with every other psychological disorder, it was difficult if not impossible to avoid breaking the law. About the only thing I hadn't done was armed robbery, since with my criminal and mental health history, I was on the list of DO NOT SELL TOS even for private dealers at gun shows, and no one would even sell me one out of their driveway, and believe me, I had tried all of the above. Two days after my latest release, though, I am watching the evening news when “this just in, Hothead Trigger Finger's Republican Majority in The House has just followed the Republican controlled Senate in voting to override President Coolhead's veto of bill grae36,which repeals every gun restricting law ever passed, effective immediately. “From now on, if you have money, you can get whatever you want, even military grade weapons” The Speaker of The House said just after the final vote. “No more background checks or any of that other nonsense. . .” I don't hear the rest, for there are fireworks going off inside my head and stomach. “All it takes is money” I muse to myself. Well, I have plenty of that. My parents had left me quite a trust, since they knew that I would never be able to hold down a typical job. Of course, I had always had a trustee who administered my financial arrangements, but since this most recent time I had gone to prison for murdering her and of course a new one could not be assigned during the five and a half years that followed, I had used a revolver, after all, and the Republican judge had not wanted to be too hard on a fellow gun enthusiast. So, Monday morning, I go to my bank and clear my account before anyone gets any the wiser about it. Then I go to the nearest gun store. “How may I help you, sir?” asks the clerk. “I want one-hundred m-16s, and enough ammo to refill each of them twelve times,” I reply. “That will cost. . .” he begins, then sees the bill I am holding. “Would a one-hundred thousand dollar bill cover it?” I ask. He nods and the exchange happens. Once I have the guns, however, I shoot him point blank in the forehead and so keep my money as well. Then I walk down the street, randomly shooting people, sometimes to kill and sometimes just to maim. But then, someone shoots a shoulder fired missile back at me. “I need one of those,” I say aloud. After a long search, I find a military grade weapons store and walk in. “I want two-hundred shoulder fired missiles, five-hundred rocket propelled grenades and one-thousand rocket launchers,” I say before he can even ask. Before his next question, I dangle a one million dollar bill in front of him, and the words die on his lips. Once I have what I wanted, so does he. When I leave the store, I mount one of my new treasures on my shoulders and shoot someone clear to oblivion before they can shoot me with their alien laser beam. Then I shoot a charging elephant that moments before had been in the guise of a person. “You shot my mother,” cried a boy of not more than ten. He points a rocket propelled grenade at me. “Prepare to d. . .” Suddenly, he stops and cries out as one of my grenades hits him. Then I shoot one of my nuclear missiles into a crowd of gaping spectators, which includes some alien and government spies that have been watching me fir years. Suddenly, I hear a rocket launcher go off behind me. I turn just in time to dodge it and throw one from my shoulder to retaliate. Then another comes at me, and I reply with equal force. Another shot, and I shoot back. Then I fire at someone trying to control my mind, and the person standing beside them shoots back. Something whistles past my ear from behind, and I throw a grenade and empty one cartridge of my m-16b in that general direction. And suddenly, everyone on the street is shooting, at me or at each other, and I am throwing everything in my considerable arsenal in all directions, by means of retaliation or preemption. Projectiles from every fire arm known to man fly in all directions, and soon the air is full of every kind of ammunition there is and people's death cries and the scrams of the injured and dying. I hear another shot whiz past my ear from behind, whirl and shoot the boy who fired it. Suddenly, I feel a great weight smash into my spinal cord, cry out and then I also die. THE RIGHT WORDSS AT LAST: If Republicans and their bcd mates in The Nut Case Rebellious Anarchists get what they really want, all gun restrictions at all abolished for everyone, even those with criminal and/or mental illness histories, this story is mere child's play compared to what will actually happen, so let us make sure that they never get that chance. GUNS DO NOT PROTECT PEOPLE, GUNS ENABLE PEOPLE TO KILL EACH OTHER MUCH MORE EFFECTIVELY AND EFFICIANTLY THAN ANY OTHER METHOD WE HAVE YET FOUND FOR DOING SO, SAVE CANONS AND BOMBS, WHICH ARE TYPICALLY NOT AVAILABLE TO CIVILIANS OR SOMETHING THAT ONE PERSON ALONE CAN USE, SO RATHER THAN THE NUT CASE REBELLIOUS ANARCHISTS' CLAIM THAT MORE GUNS MAKE PEOPLE SAFER, IN FACT THE OPPOSITE IS CLEARLY TRUE, THE MORE GUNS THERE ARE, THE MORE PEOPLE WILL BE DEAD, NOT MORE PEOPLE WILL BE PROTECTED AND SAFE. THE NUT CASE REBELLIOUS ANARCHISTS ALSO LIKE TO SAY “GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE, PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE” AND WHILE IT IS TRUE THAT IT TAKES A PERSON TO PULL THE TRIGER, IF THERE IS A TRIGGER TO BE PULLED, IT IS A LOT EASIER TO KILL A LOT OF PEOPLE MUCH MORE QUIKLY AND EFFICIANTLY THAN WITH ANYTHING ELSE YET KNOWN AND TYPICALLY AVAILABLE TO CIVILIANS.

THE THUNDER BOYS BEGIN

80%, he was closing on John, but not quite there yet. Mark wasn't sure why it was so important to him to equal his boy-friend's 84% of the width of his face nasal apparatus, what John called the absolute minimum for what could be called a snout, but it was. The ringing doorbell roused him from his musings. He glanced at the clock. "7:30," he cried. "How did that happen?" "Well," said his younger sister, Hillary. "Half an hour ago it was 7:00 and. . ." "It was a rhetorical question,"snapped Mark, as he quickly finished getting ready and then ran to the door and flung it open. "Anxious to go, Mark?" John teased. "No need to be in quite such a rush." "Sorry," said Mark. "I was distracted and not as ready as I had intended at 7:30, so I rushed the rest and rushed to the door." "The party doesn't even start until 9," John reminded him. "And it won't take us twenty minutes to get there, even if traffic is terrible. I have to say, I'm also not looking forward to my thirtieth birthday party as much as you, the spring chicken, apparently are." "I'm only two years younger than you," Mark reminded him. "So it's not like I won't be there pretty soon myself." "True," John agreed. "But since we're all here and apparently ready, and we don't need to leave for at least an hour, shall we have a drink?" "You and Hillary can," Mark replied, then rattled the car keys and John nodded. * * * An hour later, Mark sat in the driver's seat, his boy-friend beside him and Hillary and her boy-friend Sam in the back seat, making out. "There will be private rooms at the hotel," Mark called teasingly over his shoulder. "As long as you're there for the singing and the cake, the evening is everyone's to do as they wish. No need to make love in my back seat." 'We're not making love, just making ou. . ." Hillary started defensively, until she saw that her elder brother was laughing. "OK," she said grumpily. "You got me that time, Mark." For the rest of the ride, no one spoke, and nothing else of note happened. * * * "Great party you put together for John, Mark," said David as he took a break from dancing with Pauline to grab a drink. "How did you get a conservative joint like this to agree to host one half of a gay couple's birthday party put on by the other half?" "Well," said Mark sheepishly. "John and Joan don't sound that different." David nodded, then took his drink to the table where Ralph sat waiting. "Being bisexual must be EXTREMELY complicated," Mark reflected looking at his best friend besides John. "So," said John, surprising him from behind. "What were you so absorbed with just before I got there, Mark?" Mark hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. "The fact that I've still only reached eighty percent while your. . ." "THat again," said John. "I don't know why you get so worked up about that. I love you for who you are, not how you look. Not that there is anything wrong with the latter either, in my eyes." Mark started to answer, when they heard the siren. "Morality police," shouted their friend Angela from the window. "Lights out, duck, and run." The first two were easy, but running while ducked was not, particularly in the raging thunder storm that greeted them when they reached the back door. Suddenly, Mark stumbled and fell. John started to help him up, when there was a click followed by a very nasty voice. "Got you," he got out his radio. "I've caught the primary offenders, sir. What should I do?" "There was a moment of silence, and then a voice crackled over the communication device. "Shoot them. We don't want their filth clogging the jails or the courts, so make it quick." Knowing there was no escape, John and Mark held each other as close as possible, wanting to at least be together at the end. Suddenly, though, as the vigolanty of what he called morality and justice pointed his gun at them and cocked it, a huge bolt of lightning struck right where they were, engulfing them both, and the thunder clap that followed was deafening. But when it was over, Mark discovered, to his astonishment, which he saw reflected in John's eyes, that they were both totally unharmed. The man's eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Well, if nature can not do it, I still can." He pulled the trigger and Mark felt John stiffen in the same dreadful anticipation that he felt. Six inches from their bodies, however, the bullet flicked and vanished. "what the hell," cried the man, and shot again, but again the bullet descentigrated six inches from their bodies. The same thing happened with his four remaining bullets. He started to reload. "Why don't you take that as a hint and leave us alone," said Mark, waving a hand as if to shoo the man away like a pesky fly. As he waved his hand in this manner, however, he felt a jolt in it immediately followed by a clap of thunder that had nothing to do with the sky, and instantly the man's gun vanished. Looking shocked, the man produced a knife and threw it, but a flick of John's hand brought forth another thunder bolt that discentigrated it as well. "What the hell are you?" the man cried. "Freaks from the netherworld?" "No," said Mark, beginning to understand and instantly deciding on a name. "We are the first of the Thunder Boys. No weapon can touch us unless we allow it, and. . ." he raised a hand with a clenched fist, then opened it and suddenly there were two separate and equally violent thunder storms raging in the same place. "You can see how we can effect the whether." The man gulped, then ran. "Do you think this is only for us, or could any gay couple use this to defend themselves from people like him?" asked John. Mark thought about it a bit. "My sense is that this could not have happened to me when my nose was any smaller than it now is because it could not have held the lightning, so to speak. I guess that's why I was so obsessed with that. I also feel that its only for males, why else would I have come up with the name 'Thunder Boys', and only strictly gay couples. It is 'boys' after all, not 'boy' and also boys not boys and girls. With 'boys' it also feels like there must be an age cap." "Ys," said John. "Both ways, I sense. I feel you're almost too young and I'm not that far from too old." "It must be no younger than twenty-five and no older than thirty-five." "So, shall we try and get some of our friends to find this path to freedom of sorts?" asked John. Mark raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You mean encourage them to get struck by lightning?" "Fair point," John admitted. "But at least the two of us can do some good for our cause with these new powers, now that we have become the first Thunder Boys." "Agreed, said Mark, and he raised both fists into the air. John placed his fists against Mark's and together they shouted: "LET IT BE KNOWN, THIS IS THE DAY THAT THE THUNDER BOYS BEGIN!"

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE BEFORE THE REPUBLICAN PARTY GETS OUT OF BED WITH THE NUT CASE REBELLIOUS ANARCHISTS

Seriously? I mean, how many mass shootings do there have to be before they realize that they CAN NOT both call themselves "Pro Life" and be making love to The Nut Case Rebellious Anarchists (what NRA really stands for, in case you missed it) every single night. The tired line "Guns don't kill people, people kill people" may be technically true in that it does take a person to pull the trigger, but if there is a trigger to pull it makes it much easier for one person to kill another person than with any other tool. And yet, no matter how many mass shootings there are, all we hear from The Nut Case Rebellious Anarchists is that if there had been more "good guys with guns" present, there would have been fewer deaths, when obviously to any THINKING person the more bullets there are flying, the more bullets there are that could just as easily hit innocent bystanders as the bad guys. Besides,the line between good and evil is not that thick; all it takes is one little trigger to turn a good guy with a gun into a bad guy with a gun. A much better solution is universal background checks (if a private dealer can afford a booth at a convention center, they can afford a background check machine) and getting military grade weapons out of the civilian population. If Republicans were truly "Pro Life" or not all Nut Cases, they would not oppose an of this. So, I repeat, how many mass shootings must there be before Republicans stop making love every night to The Nut CAse Rebellious Anarchists.