Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
You know what it would take to get some gun control legislation passed in this country, you just don’t wanna say it out loud. It’s the sort of sentiment that folks with decent jobs and families don’t pipe up about, so I understand your reticence. If I had a mortgage, if I were a professional-type with a professional-type reputation to worry about, then I’d be quiet, too. But you know. You’re not an idiot. You’d be reading Bleacher Report if you were, but you’re here. You’re smart enough to figure out the needed variable in the equation. You know that a bunch of Mexicans at the Walmart ain’t gonna cut it.
It’s gonna have to be some rich white motherfuckers.
Couple dozen poor assholes got shot? Well, if they didn’t want to get massacred, then why were they poor? Ethnics got it in the ear at close range? So? Show me in the Constitution where it says you’re not allowed to murder ethnics.
No, it’s gonna have to be some rich white motherfuckers. It’s like Zappa said: Brown folks won’t make it! Yacht club would be a good spot. Debutante ball. Polo tournament. I think Sidwell Friends School has a talent night. Soft targets, all of ’em. If you brought enough ammo, you could set a record. Augusta is perfect. Weekend of the Masters. Sure, there’ll be one black guy there, but he’s real rich and friends with the President, so he’d be counted as white when the tally was taken. Upmarket mall might seem like a good idea–Short Hills in New Jersey, or Boca, or the Beverly Center–but they’re usually filled with Jews and the world has always had a laissez faire attitude when it comes to Jews getting murdered. Gotta be whites, and they gotta be the right kind (rich).
Ten bodies would do it, but best to be safe and make twenty.
Congress would set speed records realizing there ain’t no reason anyone needs an AK-47, and there ain’t no reason anyone should be allowed to smith one, sell one, buy one, or own one. It would be one of those eureka moments history books are written about. Archimedes in the bathtub, and McConnell in the Senate! Minds can change so quickly when donors’ brains are on the wall.
The truth is that some people are gonna have to die if we want the killings to stop.
“I don’t like the Grateful Dead.”
Well, what do you know about them?
“Excuse me?”
I mean, are you making an argument from logic and reason, or are you just being emotional?
“I don’t know. Whichever one of those ‘preference’ falls under.”
What do you know about the Dead? You can only dislike them if you know everything there is to know about them.
“That’s not how it works.”
What are some of their songs?
“I don’t know. Touch of Gray? Trucking?”
Ah-ha! It’s Truckin’. There’s no g. How can you have an opinion on something when you don’t even know how to spell it?
“Dude, I just don’t like the Grateful Dead’s music or want it around me.”
What specifically is it that you don’t understand?
“I understand it.”
Clearly you don’t.
“I do.”
Name all the keyboardists.
“How many were there?”
Depends on who you ask. Anywhere from 5 to 7.
“That doesn’t seem right.”
And yet it is, and the fact that you didn’t know that says to me that you’re not knowledgeable enough about the Dead to have an opinion on the Dead.
“You don’t need to know all the minutiae of a topic to dismiss it! I’m quite sure there’s a debate in the trepanation community about which side of the head is the best to drill into, but I don’t need to be up on the discussion before deciding not to cut a hole in my skull.”
…
The left side is the best.
“Fuck off.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Yello?”
“Prayers? It’s Thoughts.”
“Hey, T-Money.”
“Don’t call me that. Where are you?”
“I’m in Texas.”
“You are? What the fuck, dude? We travel together.”
“I have my own life, Thoughts. I’ve told you this.”
“Oh, not again.”
“You had your chance. You could’ve married me, but now that door’s closed forever.”
“I can’t have this conversation again. We have a job to do.”
“You’re right. This is a tragedy. People need Thoughts and Prayers.”
“We’re like the Tango and Cash of not actually doing anything.”
“We rock. So, where are you? Puerto Rico?”
“Did we even go to Puerto Rico?”
“Kind of. We did that Virtual Reality thing.”
“Oh, right. Between you and me? I loved that. Didn’t even have to put my pants on.”
“Eh. VR makes me nauseous. You gonna tell me where you are or not?”
“I’m in New York City, Prayers.”
…
“The van thing where people got run over.”
“The van thing.”
“Thoughts, buddy, it is tough to keep up with all the bullshit.”
“Coming at us hot and heavy this year. Anyway, I’m on my way down.”
“Great. These folks are hurting and really need their Thoughts and Prayers.”
“We’re better than nothing, but just barely. Hey, Prayers, why were you in Texas?”
“Funny story: the people who got shot?”
“Yeah?”
“They were literally praying at the time.”
“You don’t say.”
“Small world, right?”
“Wow.”
“They were in a church engaged in prayer at the moment they all got shot.”
“They were praying and the gun still worked?”
“I know, right?”
“Well, you can’t be blamed.”
“No.”
“Tell you what, pal. I’ll be there in a few hours. We’ll slap on the smiles, plow through our act, then we’ll fly out to LA and hit the Chateau.”
“Oh, that sounds like heaven.”
“Great. Hold down the fort. I’m on my way.”
“Unless there’s another mass shooting in the interim and we have to meet there.”
“You said it.”
If guns are outlawed, then only outlaws will have guns.
Aren’t we lucky that they’re legal, so everyone can have them?
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