A world-champion young lady capable of 1,000-yard bull’s eyes with a 30-pound rifle
Here we stand, Ted & I, a couple old long hairs. He is a goofy guitar player and me ~ I am the White House’s second most favorite secret agent. I don’t know where the first most favorite secret agent might be. Horseback riding, I guess, with another one of her many beaus.
Here we stand, he & I, each under his own hat, each under his own wing of the wooden eagle perched above. We’re all caught by surprise with Ted Newscent’s sudden shift in viewpoint. This is an epic seismic happening. What if, what if ~ it’s real? Mr. Gun Rights backs Mr. Gun Regulation? He is standing right here next to me ~ and now I note an old style Colt 44 or 45 revolver, a beautiful specimen, stuck down the front of his pants ~ must be an 8,000 dollar piece of equipment thar.
Here we stand. I’m looking around ~ such a shiftless man I am ~ part weasel ~ yearning for a knothole in the floor that I can crawl through. Meanwhile Newscent & Peeintheair eyeball each other ferociously. I imagine electrical current crackling from one pair of eyeballs to the other. Maybe I’m not imagining this at all. Maybe the lightning is actually there between these two men. A storm is brewing. I almost expect rain to start pouring down any second right here inside the Bird Cage Saloon.
Peeintheair thunders, “What stops a bad man with a gun?”
The loyal choir of over-armed NRA toughs all around their leader drops its jaws & instead of the gang’s raucous reply, to my immediate left I hear a more subdued perhaps more powerful answer, “A good woman with a gun.”
She done sneaked in through the front door & is standing to the other side of old horn-dog Rawclyde ~ daughter of a bee-bee gun! She’s armed to the teeth and then some. This is downright ridiculous. How’d I get into this situation? I’m way out of my league here. A bunch of NRA loophole-ed morons full of freshly loaded hardware not but ten feet away wanting to splatter yours truly into splats of blood on the floor and walls, Ted “fricking!” Newscent to the right o’ me pulling a Colt 45 outta his trousers, and to the left o’ me ~ we now got camofloughed, armoured yet provocatively revealed, mounted by ten kinds of firearms, one gattling & a cannon of some kind, not to mention a wheel barrow full of ammo & blunderbusses, so loaded down with evil intent that she’s setting up a tripod in front of her to bare some of the weight, my young & dynamic mysterious mystique secret agent partner, Submissivania Whapp!
Everybody gots their guns drawn. Except me. I don’t have a gun. In my old age I’m just an eunuch. I’d rather be killed than kill. And Submissivania’s last tripod nut is tight. So I figure now’s a good time to lecture all these fine & fancy folks:
“You know, my fellow Americans, a bunch of citizens with loopholes in their brains, armed to the teeth, isn’t what makes this nation free. The Bill of Rights, of course, is what makes America free. The 2nd Amendment of this Bill of Rights advocates a well regulated militia made up of the people & their firearms. Let’s concentrate for a moment on the phrase ‘a well regulated militia.’ Concentrate real hard. Okay, get a license to own your guns & register & insure them. Now you’re real Americans. And everybody else with guns are illegal & can be legally disarmed. Wouldn’t it be nice if you were a well regulated militia, my fellow citizens, duly licensed, your guns registered, and insured. And that’s the other half of the 2nd Amendment that Mr. Peeintheair & you have been ignoring since I don’t know when.”