RANDY & PATRICIA JOIN THE NRA

RANDY & PATRICIA JOIN THE NRA

By:  Randy Gillis

 

 

 

 

Because guns don't kill people.  Lesbians with guns kill people
(and if there's one thing scarier than a pack of rabid hillbillies armed to the teeth, it's Patricia...packing heat). 

 

 

There are few subjects that are off-limits in our respective homes.  Guns would be on that short list.  Patricia knows that no firearm of any kind shall enter my home (a place where 'short, controlled bursts' means something completely different).  And I know that 'no hippy, pinko, commie, anti-gun, pussified propaganda' (Patricia's words, not mine) shall enter hers. 

Until now everything was going smoothly because we knew the rules and we followed them.  I remain silent with each new mass shooting and she moves the higher caliber ammunition off her couch so I can sit.


But with the media, the church, and the politicians telling us that the world could just apocalypse at any moment, Patricia decided that I needed to re-think my position on owning a gun.

 To this point, my relationship with guns has been nonexistent.  I had no thoughts on the subject one way or another.  I do have a vague childhood memory of my father trying to teach me how to shoot.  I don't remember what kind of gun it was.  It was one of those long ones (rifle maybe?).  Anyway, all I remember was how heavy it was, how loud it was and how my shoulder hurt after I fired it.  I also remember how scared I was of it (my poor dad, the hell he must have gone through trying to man-me-up).  I was obviously not going to be the hunting partner he was hoping for.
 

After that, guns were never a part of my life.  My family was pretty well split down the middle between 'gun people' and 'not gun people' with the former being what I would consider...very enthusiastic.  To me, guns were like little league, high school PE, and heterosexuality.  I just had no interest at all.

So how I wound up back at the VFW, sitting next to Patricia as we listen to one hysterical NRA representative after another drone on and on about various constitutional violations and revolutionary-type scenarios, I'll  never know.  It was nice to see Slim and the rest of the folks I met at the militia meeting/revival I recently attended with Patricia.  In fact, the crowd was pretty much identical.

As the never ending barrage of vein-popping, flop-sweat producing, oddly sensual proselytizing continued, I decided to duck out for a while and astral projected myself to a happy place.  Anywhere where Harrison Ford is holding a whip.

The words 'arming our teachers' jolted me violently back to a sitting position.  I looked over at Patricia.  "Did I just hear what I think I heard?" I whispered.  She nodded in the affirmative.  "No offense," I continued, "but your peeps need better spokes models, someone less....slatheringly insane."  "These idiots are not my peeps," she said tersely. 

I can't deny that I was a bit relieved to hear her say that.  I had always considered Patricia to be one of those 'responsible gun-owners' you often hear about but are evidently invisible to the media.  All snark aside, she takes her weapons very seriously and, because of her military training, very responsibly.  I have to respect that.

As yet another old, fat, white man sporting mutton chops and wearing a leather vest hobbled to the podium I leaned over and informed Patricia that the only thing this meeting has inspired me to do is to go home and throw out all my leather vests.  I also decided to begin organizing the country's first 'Guns for Dildos' campaign. 

There was really only one reason I was still sitting there.  I was waiting for Ted, The Earl of Nugent to show up.  It's how Patricia conned me into going in the first place. 

I leaned over to her.  "You said he'd be here," I complained.  She silently pointed to the man behind the podium.  I stared at him until I finally saw through the crazy and sighed with relief.  As I started to unfasten my pants, Patricia grabbed my hand.  "What are you doing!" she screamed in a whisper.  "I'm going to throw my underwear at him," I calmly stated.  "You don't think I came here to listen to him talk, do you?"