Mr. Man, in his infinite wisdom, has determined that I, the OCD Chick, should jump willingly through the proper legal, instuctional and governmental hoops so that I can conceal a firearm somewhere on my person whenever I’m in a weapons concealing kind of mood.
I don’t know your stand on gun control and there’s a good reason for that.
I don’t care.
Why should I care where you stand on guns when I can’t figure out where I stand? Some days I am absolutely for gun control and others (mostly after I watch the news), I ask myself how in the world I could ever be against something even Moses endorses?
But I digress. This post isn’t about debating the pros and cons of gun control. It’s about me… and who I would shoot if I had a Glock tucked between my boobs.
Since the Mister first approached me about his desire to have me tote a gun, my mind has been running wild. Suddenly I feel like a cross between Miss Kitty and the Terminator. Everyone in my path unknowingly sits in my crosshairs and I alone make the decision as to whether they should live or live with a hole somewhere on their person.
I’m drunk with imaginary power.
Although Mr. Man heads back to work tonight, for the past several days he’s been off and we’ve been road tripping here, there and everywhere. That’s given me plenty of opportunity to play my new favorite game.
“Who Would I Go All Bonnie Parker On?”
I would definitely go all Bonnie Parker on a guy we saw tooling around outside a store in his Little Rascal. He weighed… no joke here… right about 600 pounds and was a Pig Pen kind of dirty. It wasn’t his size or lack of cleanliness that made me want to shoot him, however.
He found on the ground a shopping bag which he picked up using what I would guess is his designated “pick stuff up I can’t bend over to pick up” stick. The bag was filled entirely with panties. I know this because he proclaimed it loudly to his much smaller, but equally dirty friend. On and on this guy went about the panties, as he rooted around the plastic bag and held each pair up to examine… as if there were any chance in cross dressing hell he could wear them.
I shot him with my pretend gun right in his panty hand.
I also wanted to go all Bonnie Parker on the check out guy at Barnes & Noble. “Would you like a Snickers bar to take home with you today?”
In the history of retail, that is the single dumbest thing I’ve ever been asked. I thought about telling him I’d love a Snickers bar, but I wanted no part of taking it home with me. Perhaps if I could eat it right there in the check out line, I would be more inclined to purchase one.
Sensing he was about to get shot by a woman with a gun in her bra, he hung his head and said, “They make me say that. I’ve been written up three times because I think it’s stupid and I don’t ask when I’m supposed to.”
That’s when I took him off my Bonnie Parker hit list. In his place now stands the Barnes & Noble marketing executive who is in bed with the Mars people. When I find him, he will suffer a gun blast to his Snickers, but only after I force him to ask me something embarrassing… like whether I would like him to Piourette and cluck like a chicken today.
And finally, there was the hostess at Carrabba's Italian Grill. She was Kelly Rippa perky, which of course put her on my list immediately. But when she seated us and bubbled, “My name is Cindy. Now that I’ve told you mine, I realize I don’t know your names,” I knew she served no useful purpose on the planet and my shoot would be justified.
“We are Egor and Sipsie. Please turn around and put your hands in the air.”
Now that I’m considering becoming a gun slinger, I realize for the first time how many people there are in any given day that need to be shot. That’s probably one of the first questions they’ll ask me on my test actually.
“How many people do you think cross your path each day that might cause you to want to whip out your pistol and shoot them?
I believe the answer is 83. Yeah. At least eighty-three people a day.
I’m gonna ace this test. Sweet.
You were expecting an Guns n' Roses song here weren't you? Sorry... I'm more in a Billy & the Beaters kind of place today. Deal with it. (Or I might shoot you.)
Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.
Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com
Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.
Visit Ms. Crazy On Her Face Online