Already have their guns I need to buy a gun before November 9th.
Formerly, as a Democrat, I didn’t need to own a gun. We Democrats don’t believe in FEMA concentration camps, the New World Order or the United Nations Army or anything else us owning a gun would prevent.
We don’t shoot at chemtrails.
Likewise, we don’t own guns because we believe that the government wants to take them away, a position that is logically akin to keeping bales of marijuana in your garage to keep from being arrested for drugs.
Some Democrats hunt, and those lucky Dems already have guns, but I don’t, because I fish when I want to kill and eat one of God’s perfect creatures. Hunting involves too much lying in a freezing, muddy blind before the sun comes up for my taste.
Now that Donald Trump is threatening to dispute the election results, though, the next logical step is for him is to send his followers into the streets if the numbers come out badly for him on Election Day.
“Aw, that’s never going to happen,” I hear you saying. “White people aren’t going to burn down their own neighborhoods, because they own them.”
I’m not taking that chance. I look at the throngs of Trumpeters at Trump rallies, thousands of crazy old women wearing “Grab My Pussy” t-shirts and throngs of bellowing, over-fed men with "Trump That Bitch" stickers on their RV's and I think “Better safe than sorry. I don’t want these people having diabetes all over my front lawn.”
This despite the fact that I currently live in the safest, most boring neighborhood I have ever inhabited in my life. We actually had a crime the other day. Somebody vandalized our community mailbox, looking for checks or trying to steal identities. This happened at night, and so it was possibly one of the most pointless crimes ever committed, because most of my neighbors are pushing 80 and, like all old people, collect their mail eagerly no more than four minutes after it is deposited in their box. The thieves gave up after crow-barring six or seven boxes open.
And there are no Trump yard signs, here or almost anywhere in California. That doesn’t mean Trumpies aren’t hidden among us, ready to wreak havoc if Trump loses, is what I figure. My second closest neighbor is a middle-aged white guy who could stand to lose a few pounds. He rides a motorcycle. He also hang-glides, but I don’t know if that has any political significance. He has a bald roommate. When the roommate showed up, I said to my girl, “Bob must have noticed how well your bald guy was working out for you, so he got one of his own.”
But the time for kidding around could well be past. He could be a Trumper. I’ve never talked politics with him, but if he overturns my car and sets it on fire after the election, I need to be ready with an armed response.
The only way to stop a Trumpkin with a gun is to be a Democrat with a gun.
Where do I sign up for the NRA?
Formerly, as a Democrat, I didn’t need to own a gun. We Democrats don’t believe in FEMA concentration camps, the New World Order or the United Nations Army or anything else us owning a gun would prevent.
We don’t shoot at chemtrails.
Likewise, we don’t own guns because we believe that the government wants to take them away, a position that is logically akin to keeping bales of marijuana in your garage to keep from being arrested for drugs.
Some Democrats hunt, and those lucky Dems already have guns, but I don’t, because I fish when I want to kill and eat one of God’s perfect creatures. Hunting involves too much lying in a freezing, muddy blind before the sun comes up for my taste.
Now that Donald Trump is threatening to dispute the election results, though, the next logical step is for him is to send his followers into the streets if the numbers come out badly for him on Election Day.
“Aw, that’s never going to happen,” I hear you saying. “White people aren’t going to burn down their own neighborhoods, because they own them.”
I’m not taking that chance. I look at the throngs of Trumpeters at Trump rallies, thousands of crazy old women wearing “Grab My Pussy” t-shirts and throngs of bellowing, over-fed men with "Trump That Bitch" stickers on their RV's and I think “Better safe than sorry. I don’t want these people having diabetes all over my front lawn.”
This despite the fact that I currently live in the safest, most boring neighborhood I have ever inhabited in my life. We actually had a crime the other day. Somebody vandalized our community mailbox, looking for checks or trying to steal identities. This happened at night, and so it was possibly one of the most pointless crimes ever committed, because most of my neighbors are pushing 80 and, like all old people, collect their mail eagerly no more than four minutes after it is deposited in their box. The thieves gave up after crow-barring six or seven boxes open.
And there are no Trump yard signs, here or almost anywhere in California. That doesn’t mean Trumpies aren’t hidden among us, ready to wreak havoc if Trump loses, is what I figure. My second closest neighbor is a middle-aged white guy who could stand to lose a few pounds. He rides a motorcycle. He also hang-glides, but I don’t know if that has any political significance. He has a bald roommate. When the roommate showed up, I said to my girl, “Bob must have noticed how well your bald guy was working out for you, so he got one of his own.”
But the time for kidding around could well be past. He could be a Trumper. I’ve never talked politics with him, but if he overturns my car and sets it on fire after the election, I need to be ready with an armed response.
The only way to stop a Trumpkin with a gun is to be a Democrat with a gun.
Where do I sign up for the NRA?
RSS Feed
