Cold Dead Hands
“As you know, the Socialist Progressive Freedom Hating Democrats are once again after our Constitutional right to bear arms,” said Bariston Fuller, addressing the Reading, PA chapter of the NRA. “The Democrats in Congress have introduced a bill to outlaw legal ownership of the American made Mk. 777 grenade launcher for law abiding Americans.”
“Outrageous!” shouted Charlie Border.
“A travesty!” yelled Nicki Holmes.
“This constitutes a direct attack on deer hunters across America,” added John Clem. “All I ever wanted was to help my children connect with nature just like I did when I was a child; with a high explosive shoulder mounted antitank weapon.” A chorus of ‘harrumphs’ echoed in the hall.
“Well said, John,” Bariston continued, raising a hand to calm the group. “No doubt times are dire. Our rights are quickly diminishing. First it was assault rifles, now it’s our grenade launchers, the next thing you know we won’t be allowed to shoot skeet using immigrant babies anymore. Where does it end? Have you heard what happened to poor Tom over there?” Everyone’s attention turned to a small man sitting in the corner of the room. His eyes were red and his face wet from tears.
“What happened, Tom?” asked Nicki. Tom looked back at them as though coming out of a dream. His voice was weak and wistful.
“They came in the night, those bastard Government Huns. They told me I didn’t have the correct permits and they were there for my guns. My permits had only expired three months before. How could they do such a thing? They took all seven of my AGS-17 stationary machine guns. How am I supposed to defend my family against everything that’s out there: home invaders, roving gangsters, and genetically engineered dinosaurs?” He fell to his knees and looked up to the sky, his hands clasped in a desperate prayer to his Lord. “What can I do? Please Charlton, tell me what to do!” Bariston nodded solemnly.
“Indeed, we should all pray to Brother Heston for guidance.” The crowd agreed and they bowed their heads for a moment of silent reflection and prayer. After everyone had finished, Bariston lifted his head and cleared his throat.
“Now, before I forget, I do want to make one side comment. Let’s all congratulate Phil Dawkins on his son’s 5th birthday last weekend. I know some of us were at the party,” he said with a smile. There was a round of applause and Phil stood up to take a bow.
“Thank you all so much,” Phil said, his voice swelling with pride. “He really is a special little boy and he’s growing up so fast. He already rallied all his neighborhood friends together and took them out into the woods in the backyard to form their own little militia group. They look so cute in their fatigues and their little junior M16s.” The group issued a collective nostalgic sigh.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Phil added. “He loved the gift from the Chapter. He’s been asking for the Smith & Wesson SW.40 about since he could talk. He was so happy he must have shot every animal in the yard! My pinko neighbors were pretty pissed, but how many cats do they really need? What can I say, boys will be boys!” The assembly laughed and nodded in agreement.
“They grow up so fast,” Bariston said happily. It’s seems like only yesterday my son Jerry was two years old and said his first words to me while I was trying to take his toy pistol. He looked up at me, eyes so wide and innocent and said, ‘fwom my cold dead hands, daddy.’ Now he’s winging NSA agents at an 8th grade level!” The Chapter applauded merrily. Nothing brought them greater joy than seeing another generation of Americans learning to perform their lethal patriotic duty.
“Now, I would like to open the floor to any proposals for names to add to the Liberal Traitor Hit List.” Charlie Border rose quietly and waited to be recognized. Bariston nodded in his direction and he lifted a news paper.
“I submit Harrison Voight, leader of the Safe Streets Initiative to take guns out of the hands inner city youth.” Bariston shook his head.
“Stick with us here, Charlie. We hired that drug dealer to shoot Voight two weeks ago. He’s already been neutralized.” Charlie, blushing, sat back down sheepishly. Nicki rose to her feet and was recognized by the Chairman.
“I submit State Senator Muggy Walsh. As you all know, this freedom hater recently proposed a ban on explosive howitzer shells. My children just started duck hunting! What am I supposed to tell them now?” The assembly called out in agreement. Bariston nodded his head and pounded his gavel.
“Very well, her name will be added to the list. Now, if there’s nothing else, we will end tonight’s meeting.” Rising to his feet, he put his hand over his heart and turned to the flag. The assembly followed suit and he called out the Chapter pledge.
“A gun in every hand,” he cried and the assembly answered in kind.
“A bullet in every Immigrant!”
The Big Red Ones
“I officially call this meeting of the Socialist Progressive Freedom Hating Democrats to order,” said Senator Harvey, raising his hand to the crowd. The Democratic caucus settled down to listen to their well respected colleague. “As you may have heard, a tragedy has befallen our nation once again. A young man shot four of his classmates with a H24 High Powered Hunting Rifle.”
“My word!” shouted Senator Jennings. “Were any of them killed?” Harvey shook his head solemnly.
“No, they are all now recuperating in their local hospital.” The assembly exchanged concerned glances.
“Damnit,” said Jennings crossly. “That would have been perfect. We’ve been trying to ban that gun for months now.” The other Senators nodded in agreement.
“Never fear,” said Harvey soothingly. “Our friends in the media have put the name of the gun on the front page of newspapers across the country. I think now may be the perfect time to push our legislation against this rifle and many others.” Barry Folcum, Junior Senator from Delaware, rose up in jubilation.
“We’ll finally be able to curb inner city gun violence!” A dead silence fell over the crowd. No one looked Folcum in the face for the shame of it.
“Inner city what now?” asked Harvey, utterly perplexed. Folcum, confused and thoroughly embarrassed, sat back down and fell quiet.
“But is it enough?” asked Senator Berkley, breaking the silence. “There will still be dangerous guns out there in homes and on the streets. What can we do against these odds?”
“Patience, Berkley,” Harvey replied. “We’ll achieve our goals soon enough. Our stockpile continues to grow and the addition of these rifles will make our roving death squads all the more effective when the time finally comes for the take over.”
“But how long?” Berkley replied. “How much longer must we labor under the crushing freedoms of this wretched Constitution? We have their assault rifles. Why should we not march out now and cut down those Conservative dim-wits. The day has come for the pogroms of Progressivism to reign down fire upon the Capitalist pigs! C'est la lutte finale!” he finished at a crescendo, heaving for breath. Harvey waited for him to sit down before he spoke.
“Now Senator, you know as well as I do that we’d all like to drag the Wall Street bourgeoisie into the street and execute them in front of their crying children, but these things must be done gradually. First we take away their guns, then we open the border to our many subversive Mexican allies, and only then will we have sufficient power to paint the streets red with the blood of vile propagators of republicanism. We must not alter from the plan, my friends.” Berkley nodded in understanding, trying to calm himself. Senator Jennings patted him on the shoulder and he smiled gratefully at her.
“Of course, Senator. My apologies; I just hate freedom so much,” Berkley said.
“We all do,” Harvey replied. “We’re Democrats.” The assembly pounded their tables in agreement and Berkley felt that familiar sense of pride in his colleagues. He knew that the global revolution could never really fail and that someday soon, the proletariat would overcome all odds.
“Ok,” said Harvey, bringing them back to order. “Next up for debate: H.R. 108, Bill to institute mandatory housing of Illegal Immigrants during peacetime…”
The End
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