Talking sensibly to people with no sense at all: a waste of breath, as always.
TO THE man I sat next to on my way in to Boston:
When I boarded the commuter rail, you were already in the midst of a spirited phone conversation and didn’t seem to care about how loud you were talking. You were talking with someone about the Paris train attack and the growing epidemic of gun violence in America.
You spoke about the “murderous NRA” and “bloodthirsty gun nuts” who were causing our schools to “run red with blood.” You spoke profanely of the Republicans who opposed President Obama’s call for “sensible gun control,” and you lamented the number of “inbred redneck politicians” who have “infiltrated Capitol Hill.”
I found myself amazed at the irony of the situation. While you were spewing your venom, I sat quietly next to you with my National Rifle Association membership card in my wallet and my 9mm pistol in its holster. You were only 12 inches away from my legally owned semiautomatic pistol. I suppose I didn’t look like the “bloodthirsty gun nut” you thought I should be. It apparently didn’t register to you that I could so cleverly disguise myself by wearing a fleece coat, Patriots hat, and khakis.
So, to the angry liberal who sat next to me on the commuter rail: I don’t hate you. I don’t have any ill feelings toward you. I don’t wish to do you harm. And I don’t regret sitting next to you. On the contrary; I feel bad for you. It must hurt carrying that much hate inside of you.
And as predictably as this morning’s sunrise, the comments section explodes with a frothing spew of hatred and inchoate fear, as the good Boston “Strong” mouthbreathers declare themselves absolutely terrified that there might be a legal and properly handled gun in their midst, and accuse the stout gun owner living in the cauldron of such irrationality of being a “coward” and a delusional victim of “paranoia.”
Hopefully not too many of the bleating, cringing sheep will be slaughtered before the men with guns get there to save them the next time some boiling-point nutcase goes off like a grenade in their local gun-free zone. I say hopefully, because inane “hope” is all they have to defend themselves with.
But speaking strictly for myself, I wouldn’t care a whit if the next Tsarnaev wannabe gunned down every liberal in the Boston metro area. He could take all year about it before I’d lift a finger to stop him, were I unfortunate enough to live among such useless, despicable fools.
They’ve certainly come a long, long way from Lexington Green, that’s for sure. In light of that sad, pathetic fact, the author is going to have to rethink his misplaced sympathy for them sooner or later; they’re more to be censured than pitied, seeing as how they won’t rest until we’re all rendered as contemptible, dependent, and helpless as they are. He’s extending them a courtesy and a humanity they in no way deserve, and they surely wouldn’t grant the same to him.
To hell with them all.