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People want to fling dung at this hat
WELLINGTON - A New Zealand court ordered an anti-monarchist on Tuesday to  stay away from Britain's Prince Charles and his wife Camilla after he was  charged with planning to throw horse manure at the visiting royal couple.

Sam Bracanov, a 76-year-old with a history of protest against the British  royal family, pleaded not guilty to preparing to commit a crime, a day after he  was arrested in Auckland. The royal couple had not yet arrived in New Zealand's  largest city.

Sitting outside the courthouse, Bracanov said he would have thrown the manure at Charles, the longest serving  heir to the British throne, and Camilla had he not been arrested. 
 
"I make it liquid - like porridge," he told reporters. "I would have done  it."

From MSNBC: http://worldnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/11/13/15134821-new-zealander-accused-of-plan-to-throw-horse-manure-at-uks-prince-charles?lite

This sad tale of thwarted, addled vengeance is what you get when you deprive a nation of firearms. When a country's native loonies are reduced to threatening their  enemies with poop guns, that sovereign state is forced to the back of the bus of nations that one has to take seriously.  

I'm not saying that the threat of poop attack should not  be viewed through a lens of utmost sobriety, especially in a place like New  Zealand, where the number of farm animals far exceeds the number of people. Every one of  these mammals can be viewed as a grass-chomping, hill-wandering munitions  factory in this age where individuals like Mr Bracanov share, probably via the  Internet, their clandestine knowledge of how poop can be weaponized. I imagine  Mr. Bracanov and his fellow travelers have dotted the fair New Zealand countryside with scores of secret poop labs, bubbling away in the dark like  natural American meth labs, the ammo dumps by which they plan to settle the score with the objects of their brooding hatreds.
 
Neither am I advocating poop control, although the New Zealand authorities seem to be practicing it. When poop is criminalized, only criminals will have poop. Poop doesn't splatter poop on people; people splatter poop on people. Law-abiding citizens who spread poop for legitimate reasons should not fear any government attempt to confiscate their manure mortars or  double-barreled shitguns. 
 
Nor am I saying that Charles and Camilla don't deserve to be sprayed down with animal excrement. Obviously they do, and the sooner and more thorough the dousing the better. But which of us can say honestly that we  have gone through life without ever deserving a drenching in dung? Mother Theresa, maybe. And Ted Nugent.
 
I was just kidding about Ted Nugent, of course. I bring  him up to illustrate my point, which is that here, in the USA, we don't need to threaten the objects of our political hatreds with poop. We have guns.  Sometimes we use them. More often we just threaten to use them. Sometimes we like to be photographed with them, like Ted does, in poses that plainly suggest obvious phallic and erotic undertones. But if afterwards, we threaten people's  lives, we do so with dignity and seriousness of purpose because we are armed, and are investigated by the Secret Service afterwards in the same spirit. We're not just a  bunch of turd bombers.



The situation  of the violently delusional  in these pitifully unarmed countries is even worse. Imagine a raging schizophrenic bursting into a crowded movie theater in New Zealand and flinging feces randomly at the unsuspecting audience.  Instead of  a national spasm of horror and soul-searching, all New Zealand would get would  would be a minor news story about a nut case getting a thorough, smelly beating. 
 
It's guns that keep our nation free, strong and proud.  When you point your gun at me, whether it is for political or criminal purposes, or merely because the voices in your head tell you to or the neighbors have told  you what I've been up to with your wife, I know that I am dealing with a fellow  American, not some foreign farm-boy with a fist full of crap. We stand for liberty together, as your trigger finger sweats and my sphincter contracts. And if you do discharge that weapon, while I may be  seriously killed or hurt, I'll know we are contributing to the American legend,  the epic story still unfolding of a nation that has shoved its way to the  center stage of history by shooting first and shooting some more later. 
 
Not some barely noticed island nation in some far hemisphere whose citizens are flinging cowpies at each other in the dark.





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