The sheer, unmitigated gall of the sorriest sumbitch ever to shit behind a pair of shoes. Well, usually behind them, that is, up until the last few years.
Oh the Irony: Biden Calls for Stricter Gun Laws Hours After Son’s Conviction on Gun Charges
In a speech delivered Tuesday afternoon at the annual misnamed Gun Sense University conference, President Joe Biden pushed for more stringent gun control measures, mere hours after his son, Hunter Biden, was found guilty of federal gun charges in Delaware. The irony of the president advocating for more gun laws while his own son faced legal consequences for violating existing ones was not lost on many.The event, hosted by Everytown for Gun Safety, a group heavily funded by anti-gun advocate Mike Bloomberg, served as a platform for Biden to call for a ban on assault weapons and high-capacity magazines in front of a crowd that supports such actions.
“It’s time once again to do what I did when I was a senator: ban assault weapons,” Biden proclaimed and then again showing he or his speech writers understand nothing about firearms, went on to say, “Who, in God’s name, needs a magazine which can hold 200 shells?”
Note ye well: HE did. Him, and nobody whatsoever else. Fucking execrable cocksucker.
“None of this violates the Second Amendment or vilifies responsible gun owners,” Biden claimed, though many gun rights advocates disagree.
Yeah, fuck you all to Hell and gone, ***”pResident”*** DickWithEars. Prithee tell, though: just what part of “shall not be infringed” is too complex for you to wrap your empty head around? Not that he doesn’t understand, mind; he not only knows full well what the words laid down by the Founders are, but that they mean exactly what they say. Like the rest of his fellow gun-grabbers, it’s just that he’s ag’in it, that’s all.
As for those 200,000+ capacity magazine-clip-drums (!!!) of yours: according to the specific, explicit words of the late, lamented US Constitution you loathe so intensely, it is NOT given to you to decide who might need what. Nor is it any of your fucking business, either. If I want the things, it is my fundamental, unalienable right to by God have them, without reference to what you think I do or do not “need.” I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, nor to the horse you rode in on, nor to anybody who fucking well looks like you. Go fuck yourself in the lower pyloric sphincter with a rusty railroad spike marinated overnight in hydrochloric acid, you and all your hoplophobic Goosesteppin’ Left fellow-travelers.
Something from last night’s Memezapoppin’ post springs immediately to mind.
And WOOT! There it is. That right there is all the explanation you’re ever gonna get from me, and way more of one than you deserve or are owed—period fucking dot, end of fucking story. I say again: stop yer blubbing and just come and take them already. Let’s just see once and for all how that works out for ya when all’s said and done.
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Ill give em up when im dead.
A-yup, T. As we ReichwingNaziDeathBeast hoplophiles like to say, he can have my AR any old time, just for the asking…bullets first, that is.
This would all be over once and for all if Emperor Poopypants and his governmental fellow-travelers would get on the horses themselves to lead the column to Lexington Common to come and take them.
We’d never hear it mentioned afterwards until the last person in living memory present at the unravelling of such a cunning plan had passed away.
Which is largely why it took until years after the last Revolutionary War veterans passed away before Civil War could break out.
Wait and see what happens when everyone who ever witnessed an atmospheric nuclear blast in real time is gone…
“Which is largely why it took until years after the last Revolutionary War veterans passed away before Civil War could break out.”
Now there is a point I’ve not considered before (for that scenario).