Let me start out by saying that I do not own a gun, nor have I ever owned one. For years, my home has been gunless which, according to my pro-gunnie friends means I’ve been grossly unprotected from marauding packs of robbers, rapists and murders – or, in the words of Hedley Lamar from Blazing Saddles: Rustlers, cut throats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers and Methodists.
And Jehovah’s Witnesses.
It seems strange to the pro-gun people that I’m not concerned about being unprotected. “But what would you do when the bad guys come into your house?” they ask.
“Bad guys? In my house? But why would they do that?”
“Well, to kill you.” they answer haughtily, as if I were terribly naive about the ways of the world.
I have various answers to this question, my favorite being, “I guess if they really want to kill me, then they can.” After a brief moment while they sum up my response they usually reply with the standard “Oh, you don’t mean that!”
But I do. I do mean that.
In my opinion, the only reason to own a handgun is to kill another person. And I’m not sure I could do that. Besides, even if I could manage to access my handgun from my (supposedly) locked case, load it and point it at the bad guy, it would be insanely easy for said bad guy to simply walk up and take it from me.
I’m one of those people who are most likely to be killed by my own handgun.
Right after the 4th of July, one of our vendors came into my office. “Did you have a good 4th of July?” he asked. “Well, the firecrackers really bother me” I answered, signing his paperwork and handing it back. “I’ll bet you’re one of those people who doesn’t like guns” he said, giving me a knowing look. “You’re right.” I said. “I don’t own a gun. But I’m not an anti-gun person either – I just don’t want or need one of my own.”
I waited for the inevitible question that I knew was coming regarding bad guys and home invasions. However, he surprised me with a new variation on that familiar theme: “What are you going to do when Al Queda comes to your door?” he asked, serious as a heart attack.
Al Queda? At my house? Was this guy serious?
Maybe I am naive, or just plain stupid, but I don’t believe the bad guys are coming for me. And little do my pro-gun friends know is that I already have a strategy for when the bad guys (or Al Queda) forces their way into my house and says “Hey you! Defenseless woman! I’m gonna shoot you dead!” It’s a strategy that involved no guns or fancy, karate chopping self defense stuff either. And it’s pretty much guaranteed to work – so here it is:
First I will act all “Oh no, please don’t hurt me bad guys (or Al Queda guys). I’ll do anything you want!” Then, real quick, I’ll flash them my boobalicious breasts, thus rendering them completely and totally speechless. After I start my mesmerizing dance of boob seduction, I will be slowly making my way to the kitchen where I have the only weapons a women needs: A sink and a small appliance. Then I’ll crook my finger at them and say “Come here you naughty boys and watch me wet down my tshirt for you! And if you’re really good, I’ll let you have your way with me” (Note: Guys cannot resist the possibility of having sex with me. This is a known fact). I’ll encourage them to wet down my tshirt from the sinkful of water, while continuing to do my dance of seduction and yelling “More! More water! More wetness!” As they’re spashing water at me and trying to join me in my dance of seduction, I’ll be waiting for just the right moment when I’ll grab the plugged in coffeemaker, throw it into the sink, and fry their dumb bad guy (or Al Queda) brains.
Then I will call the authorities, explain that there are fried bad guys in my kitchen, and go change into a dry shirt.
Diabolical, isn’t it?