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.