Creative Writing – Page 34

The Hippy and The Hillbillies

My father was born,grew up in, lived and worked in two major Northern cities before he met my mother at his job. My mother was working in the second city ,BUT she was from a very small southern town where she was born and raised before seeking employment in the Northern city.

As you may imagine though they lived in the Northern city they made frequent yearly trips to visit my mothers side of the family down south. Now my father noticed in the first few years of their marriage that when he wanted to go into town my grandfather automatically would send one of my mom’s relatives to accompany him. In all due favor it was the mid seventies the deep south. At this time my father had a full on beard, prominent jew fro, wore aviator sun classes and sported a military type jacket . Well finally my father got rather fed up with the whole baby sitter situation and asked my Grandfather strait out why he couldn’t go into town alone.

My Grandfather in brutal honesty told him the reason he wouldn’t allow my father to go by himself into town. My Grandfather said it was because until the towns people knew who he was, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY that he was married to my mom and my Grandfather’s son-in-law it simply wasn’t safe.

The Cop, The Crooks and The Kegger

It was a night as another night in the small town of Phucitville USA when I along with my friend Space Dog ran into a couple of friends of ours at a local shit strip mall. their names were Firefly and her on again off again love triangle entangled boyfriend Hermoor which is Scandinavian translates into ”War Spirit”. Now the gruesome twosome had gotten themselves into a bit of trouble (selling counterfeit acid) and needed a ride out of town about as fast as they could get one. They asked Space Dog and myself (though I was the one with the car) if they could bum a ride, but this wasn’t just a spin around the block as it were they needed a road trip into the deep south. With Space Dog as my copilot as well as my traveling companion for the return trip I said it be no problem so we planned to meet up the next day and hit the road.

When the morning arrived I drove over to Space Dog”s, picked him up and headed out to meet up with FireFly and Hermoor at the designated location. Once we got to the spot we had to find them in a crowd of people who turned out for some fundraiser “fair” that had been scheduled for the same day. Finally we found them collecting money owed (as he was the biggest drug connection in the entire county in spite of his acid antics) and peddling whatever contraband they had left to fund their/our road trip. At last with cash in hand and out of contraband (accept for the personal head stash Hermoor kept at all times.) we managed to get going as it was going to be quite awhile on the road to say the least. We spent the entire day limping down the highway as my car (being older then dirt) kept over heating every 45 minutes or so (turned out once we arrived to be a minuscule hole in the radiator hose) and smoking weed at every rest area along the way waiting for the car to cool down. Once the sun set traveling was much more productive since obviously it was much much cooler.

It was around 1 am I was driving (Hermoor and I were trading off driving as Space Dog and FireFly where old enough but yet still didn’t have a drivers licenses) I had been driving 6 hours or so straight and started to suffer white line syndrome, thats when your so tired you start to see double as your vision becomes increasingly blurry. I took the next exit I could find and pulled into a gas station at the bottom of the exit ramp. I woke the crew up for refueling the car and ourselves then decided it was time I called home since my family hadn’t seen hide nor hair of me in 72 hours (friends used to call and where told by my family that wasn’t there and had the caller seen me and if so when) I moseyed over to the pay phone (Yup life before cell and smart phones) and called my family collect. No one answered because it was after 1 am in the morning , but the answering machine (yup life before voice mail hard to comprehend even for me) so I left a message saying I was on the road with friends headed into the deep south and would be home in a couple days or so. As soon as I hung up the receiver out of the corner of my eye I saw a fucking cop drive into the gas station and park. Now he didn’t park at a gas pump nor near the gas station’s front door instead he pulled up next to the curb where he could see us and us him (common cop tactic to intimidate so if the civilian acts nervous because fuck their being intimidated on purpose then the cunt cop can fuck them over 9 ways till Sunday.) The first thought that went through collective conscience was “FUCK! Now what the hell we do??!”

What you must understand is the following facts:

I was 19 and my friends were 17-19 years old so to the cops we were a group of young punks.
There was the matter of the various contraband items that comprised Hermoor’s head stash in the car.
We all were exhausted not to mention stoned as Tommy Chong at the time.
We had out of state plates on the car (a natural attractant of unwanted police attention) too.
We had by this time ventured into the religious region of the south and we obviously weren’t church going folk.
Cops are BIGGER assholes in the religious religion of the south BIG TIME.
The way we were dressed made us stand out like the Las Vegas strip. I was wearing a leather biker jacket (no shirt), worn as worn can get jeans, a pair of shot out shit kickers and a dog collar with pad lock. Hermoor was sporting his Black Metal Scandinavian heritage gear that consisted of a Leprous Troll T-shirt, combat boots and some sort of Norwegian viking kilt. FireFly was sporting a tie dyed sun dress and was barefoot like some wannabe woodland hippy elf. Lastly Space Dog was wearing a Sonic the Hemp Hog T-shirt, ragged jean shorts and a stuffed pair of Doc Martins.

At this point we figured all we could do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best as we were destined to get royally fucked with and likely over by this deep south son of a bitch pig. The cop after pausing an exorbitantly long pause (also designed to instill unease in citizens by the cocksucking cops.) rolled down his window and asked us strait away if we were coming from the local collage kegger party to which we responded that no we hadn’t been at the party as we were out of staters just stopping off to get some gas before moving along. Once again there was a longer then normal drawn out pause on the crappy cops end. After his 2nd planned pause the cop said something we had never anticipated so much it almost turned our brains into shit with utter surprise and awe. What follows is almost verbatim but time has worn my memories so its not quite a direct quote.

Cop: “Have you all coming from the kegler down at the college?”

Us: “No just getting some gas and heading out back on the road and not aware of this or any kegler.”

Cop: “Well then, I’ll tell you how you can get there….”

The cop went on to give us complete details and directions to the party before telling us rather cheerfully to be safe, take it easy and safe travels before rolling up his window and slowly driving off into the shadowy vail of night. As soon as he was out of sight we jumped in our car and drove like a motherfucker as far away from there as we could get.

Nice not to get arrested for once, not to mention a cop has never given me directions to a college kegler or any party for that matter. Luck be a lady tonight.

The Bastard Brothers of BarFly

Back in the day when I was a real son-of-a-bitch I had the great displeasure of knowing The Bastard Brothers of Barfly for a few miserable months. First off BarFly barely constitutes a town out in “the boonies” of TCM. BarFly is such a tiny,tiny bankrupt micro town its not even a small dot on the map, and the people’s families/friends of BarFly residents received enthusiastic emails when the town got a 2nd traffic light for Christ’s sake. As you can imagine there isn’t diddly shit for the youth of BarFly to do but drink, fuck, vandalize, smoke weed, loiter and drive around the rural landscape of nothingness that is BarFly.

The Bastard Brothers are a classic example of the youth of BarFly, but I’m sure by now BarFly has developed or died providing a much more active environment. The older brother was named Bell-End who was the most transparently fake as fuck person I have ever run across in my chaotic travels.

This story unfolds in a time before smart phones and social media when Headbangers still existed in diminishing tribes but where a dying breed since Seattle ejaculated Grunge music and flannel in the face of America. Now Bell-End was a wannabe metalhead he had the long hair, played guitar, smoke’n drank, wore jeans with torn knees, and a lame denim vest (a jacket he had cut the sleeves off of, he missed the memo stating sleeve removing is for t-shirts not jackets the moron) covered with band patches (such as Metallica, Motorhead, Anthrax etc.) ultimately he was a shitty sheep in metal clothing. Not only that but he has a condescending, egotistical, snide “I’m gods gift to the fucking world” smarter than all attitude ,but in reality he was just a lame legend in his own minuscule mind.

His younger brother Dingus was not any better then his big brother accept he was a scumbag of a different shitty color. Dingus has short man’s insecurities all Napoleon complex and shit because the guy is 5 foot nothing. Dingus dropped out of high school in the 10th grade to hangout 24/7 attached at the hip with a scummy emo goth chick named Slutica When I say attached at the hip I mean it in the most extreme stereotypical manner, you NEVER saw one without the other being no more than 3 feet away like the pair of codependent cocksuckers they still are.

This particular cool fall evening I was loitering my balls off outside the one and only connivence store/ gas station in BarFly called the Bub’s Gas’n Grub in the entirely vacant lot somewhere around 8 pm or so. My buddy Slaytanic who had be relentlessly hounding the pay phone (yes they too still existed in limited numbers as cell phones evolved society) trying to find something, anything to do other than what we were currently up to. Slaytanic finally reached The Bastard Brothers on his mental rolodex and found out the two douche bags had a party ball of Schidt. The Brothers also claimed to have in their possession a bag of Northern Lights so if we needed something to do Slaytanic and I could stop by The Brother’s house since their parents were off visiting relatives. After a brief no brainer consultation Slaytanic and I were walking our way over to The Bastard Brother’s parents place.

Once Slaytanic and I arrived Bell-End announces that the two twats had decided to charge everyone $20 to party. This was beyond stupid as fuck for two key principals 1 being imposing a last minute party tax is like a bullshit cover charge, and we’re in BarFly not NYC. The 2nd principal being the Brother’s claim to marijuana fame (Yes again there wasn’t ANY legal weed medical or otherwise.) which was blatant bullshit. There was not a chance in all the religious hells the 2 twits could have gotten their grubby hands on Alaskan high grade shit. What The Brother’s had was what everybody had Mexican brick weed which is very low quality shit (especially by todays standards), and were simply lying to try to warrant their $20 turd tax. Not to mention this was the farthest thing from a party as it was the 2 Bastard Brothers, Slaytanic, myself and one other person who also was a good friend of mine named Space Dog.

It was not just the fact I was hanging at the home of 2 colossal cockbangers but it was the surprise last second tax that just royally chapped my ass, and thus kicked off my rampage of drunken revenge. I had had enough at this point of the to Bastard Brothers with their endless torrent of complete horse shit and even shittier personalities. To get the ball rolling I decided to pound beers like an alcoholic yeti until they went down like water. The entire group adjourned to the backyard at one point to smoke the alleged (and yet totally fake ass) Northern Lights aka dirty ditch weed. After smoking it was back to slamming beers like I was trying to keep Schidt beer from going into bankruptcy until the beer finally ran out. We had been hanging out in the Bastard Brother’s garage but without beer our rag tag group of miscreants headed inside to the basement, thats when I knew the shit was going to reach absolute apeshit levels.

In the interest of time and due to the fact I can’t remember the minor details I present you with a list of pertinent highlights.

I sat down on the crappy couch in the basement (which is where we ended up) propping my foot on the coffee table while holding onto an imaginary steering wheel. When Slaytanic questioned what I was doing exactly I respond by damn near yelling “I’m DRIVING my car MOTHERFUCKER you gonna get in or what?!”
I walked over to the out dated tv with an archaic VCR on top of it. Once I reached the VCR i flipped it upside down and proceeded to start unplugging cords by ripping them forcefully from their various attachments. Again when asked by Slaytanic what the hell I was up to I glared at him and demanded to know “How do you get into this thing?!!!”
In the drunk urinary tradition I wondered over to the water heater and promptly started pissing all over it as well as the floor.
I violently and voraciously vomited in the kitchen sink clogging the holy hell out of it with chunks of regurgitated fish sticks (I had at this time managed to escape from the confines of the basement and was freely walking around The Brother’s parent’s house.)
I was quickly escorted back to the basement where I stumbled into The Brother’s Mother’s at home pottery making shop. Turned out she was really into making clay pots and shit as a relaxing hobby. Now the mother had lined the walls with those cheap rickety metal shelves (not to mention the cheap selves where lined up around the room not just against the wall). They were the kind you see in industrial warehouses anyway she used them for storing her clay pots in various stages of completion . I decided I needed to sit down so I attempted to sit but ran into a serious issue. I tried to sit on one of the shelves but my ass and lower back got sort of stuck so I got trapped in a squatting position. When I stood up I incidentally shoved the self back (thanks Einstein ya dick) and the entire book shelve of clay pots came crashing down in a hailstorm of homemade havoc. Every one of those pots hit the cement basement floor and exploded sending clay fragments flying in every direction.
The next morning after crashing in the basement I went upstairs to make the bladder gladder when I ran into The Bastard Brother’s parents The Dullards. Now the Dullard’s had arrived home an hour or so before our encounter, and they were staring intently at me as if to ask “Who is this bum in our house?!” I hate people staring at me period not to mention I also was insanely hungover and no longer gave a shit about any of it. I turned my head as I passed them on the way to the crapper I stated in brutally blunt honesty “What me? Your sons are the real assholes here.” In all do favor I was made aware before hand that The Dullard’s hated my specific race so thats why I gave them a face full of shit, fuck’em their racists.

Around the crack of noon Slaytanic, Space Dog and I walked off into the sun rise never to see The Bastard Brothers or their racist parents The Dullards ever again, and I for one couldn’t be happier.

Uwe Boll SHUT YOUR MOUTH

If you don’t know who the hell Uwe Boll is consider yourself lucky thats for sure. Uwe is a german screenwriter,director,producer and actor based in Canada of all places. There is simply 2 parts to Mr.Boll his work in film and his pungent personality (Boll won the “Worst Career Achievement” Award at the 29th Golden Raspberry Awards)

WORK: Uwe Boll has made many movies over the years since 1990 that have one thing in common, THEY SUCK on a monumental level. They are all gutter garbage for the same reasons as well, the acting is like watching a nervous summer camp talent show skit were the actors are literally reading their lines off a piece of paper as they try not to shit their shorts. But thats just the beginning of the cinematic shit storm that are Uwe Boll’s films. As far as a script is concerned its like Boll took a crude amateur script, shoved it through a industrial sized shredder, and then picking up the shreds to tape them back together in a completely random order. Not to mention 95% or more of Boll’s work is based on the same similar subject matter and basic Boll business plan. The whole of Boll’s work consisted of him buying the rights to popular video games (such as Postal, Bloodrayne and House of the Dead to name a few) and adapting them into his movie template. Its not a surprise that video game fans have blasted Boll with aggravated anger claiming Boll butchers the games he bases his films on by destroying the plot and ad-libbing a bunch of his own idealistic gibberish. Some Anti-Boll minded people have also said that Boll’s work is low budget as if thats a contributing factor to how much blue whale cock his movie(s) suck. I DO NOT AGREE With The Previous Statement for I’ve seen brilliant independent movies made for around $25,000 and shitty ones too ,and same goes for bigger budget hollywood films as well. You can make a masterpiece or a monstrosity with 1 or a million dollars.

As for his pungent personality its plain to see Boll is overtly egotistical and self assured, far beyond opinionated, a bit delusional and a extremely intense person who truly believes the endless stream of bullshit he perpetuates. Boll blames everyone else for his failure from distribution companies to underachieving Kickstarter account its ALWAYS some else fault, as Boll believes the world is out to get him because of his outspoken self perceived talent and self deluded cinematic genius. Boll who was/is an amateur boxer has over the years challenged many of his critics and detractors to a 10-12 round boxing match to prove he and his work isn’t a laughing stock of the entire film industry. After Boll’s last failure he posted a handful of videos on Youtube screaming like a banshee. Boll went on to yell about Hollywood is for fake motherfuckers, no one is smart enough to understand his work, Big Name Hollywood actors (i.e. George Clooney) are talentless whores who sell their faces for films, American directors (such as Eli Roth and Quentin Tarrentino) are slaves to the film industry who have no originality Boll said in his random rambling rant.

What set Boll off was the Kickstarter page he started to fund the 3rd installment of his Rampage film series failed to secure the needed funds. Boll’s baby all along was his Rampage project about a disgruntled average American Joe who can’t take the corruptions of the country (and world) with all its injustices and brutality (Calling Micheal Douglas via Falling Down) and takes matters into his own vigilante hands. Unfortunately for Boll who wrote,directed,produced and acted in the previous two Rampage movies (Rampage and Rampage:You End Now) were a PERFECTLY PRIME EXAMPLE of what makes Boll such a wannabe bitch. The Rampage movies were shot on a single shaky digital video camera by what one can only imagine is a teenage high school AV Club member. As for any sort of proper sound recording/editing there is none just the microphone on camera which causes the sound to cut in and out like a shitty WiFi signal. As for the screen play its just a vague and artificially angry monologue spewed out by the lead actor (who’s body armor is blatantly a run of the mill paintball outfit) thats supposed to be this hyper intelligent socio-political commentary of the current state of affairs in American and its citizens. Instead the “dialogue” comes off like Boll got a paranoid schizophrenic conspiracy obsessed person to hook up with a elderly homeless person with late stage dementia ,and the script was dictated to him by their outrageous offspring.

Boll’s bottom line is he spends more time trying to make people believe he’s a great film director/writer instead of just MAKING A GREAT FILM.

LSDeity

I don’t believe anyone knew his actual name but as kids we called him Smiley Jesus. You would only see him bare foot leisurely wondering through my and surrounding neighborhoods in summer. Besides the bare feet he also preferred to be shirtless wearing a red pair of 1970 high school gym class shorts like a personal uniform. Obviously looking like the traditional white version of christianity’s Jesus along with his penchant for constantly smiling earned him the nickname Smiley Jesus.

I found out from my father years down times long twisting road a basic backstory biography about Smily Jesus. First off he didn’t find ANY OF THIS OUT for Smiley Jesus NEVER spoke a single word as far as any of us knew he just paced around smiling and not bothering anyone at all.

My father had found out from some of our neighbors that Smiley Jesus occasionally mowed various peoples lawn for cheap. My father admitted he had hired Smiley Jesus to cut our lawn BUT said it was by far the strangest social interaction of his life. My father went on to explain that Smiley Jesus only spoke a sentence or two max and was unable to answer basic questions pertaining to cutting lawns he would just stare vacantly not saying a single thing. Also in spite of the reference no one told my father Smiley Jesus’s real name ,and he never found it out on his own. Some how the two of them managed to do business so to speak a few times over the summers.

Now a friend of our next door neighbor was in fact also a dear friend of Smiley Jesus’s family and knew what his story actually in fact was. Again his actual name was not mentioned as he was referred to during the conversation as he and the story’s bottom line was this. Smiley Jesus was a strait A student (that was a member of even fucking club and School events) a well rounded over achiever who upon graduating high school was accepted to Princeton University back in the late 60’s. Smiley Jesus excelled in chemistry (on a rocket scientist level) and had access to a full laboratory ,and he for some unknown reason started manufacturing LSD. That was until one batch he made was systematically fucked up, or in plain english a “bad batch”. Apparently Smiley Jesus didn’t know about or decided not to use a volunteer genie pig and tested his product personally. Needless to say he totally fried his fucking brain and destroyed any possible future he had.

I’m ending the story there with no wise life lesson or tragic hero sob story, or cautionary tale shit. The guy made a bad life decision and fucked over his life.

The Coolest Cake I Ever Encountered

I’ve never really liked sweets as I have always preferred salty over sweet. Don’t get me wrong now I am in the end just a human ,and once in a blue moon even I need to score a Snickers. But just like you I’m part of the birthday party propaganda machine so on my birthday I would always get the traditional cake and so be it.

Now back quite a few years at this point my wife and championship tag team partner’s cousin Jameson (please drink responsibly, what? if your changing names have some fun with it for christ’s sake.) and his first wife Opal threw me a 30 something (don’t recollect which 30 though) birthday party at their house. After quite a few rather strong beers and pot smoking it was time for the whole cake fiasco. The first cool thing about it was no one said some stupid shit like ” OK guys its time for the cake!” or everyone up and disappears into the kitchen all of a sudden. Basically we were hanging out on their back porch when a tray comes down in front of me from behind me. Once the tray hit the table I saw it was entirely covered with various colored Jello Shots. Heres the kicker and coolest part my wife along with Opal had taken those cheap candy letters you can buy at the supermarket and spelled Happy Birthday Less by placing the letters on top of the appropriate jello shot.

See plenty of people know my aversion too sweets but don’t take it into consideration where as my wife and Opal did ,and as a result came up with the kick ass Jello Shot “Cake” concept.

I Don’t Repeat Myself, You Should Have Been Listening

DISCLAIMER ONCE AND FOR ALL: Just like any tv or movie bullshit, all names and places have been changed because I don’t want to get fucking sued for slander or defamation of character or some shit.

Another reason I change Names and Places is due to the fact I don’t want people to know shit about me as far as the off line world is concerned.

BUT I assure you these people are real living, breathing people, and why the hell should you believe me? Good question, the answer is YOU CAN’T MAKE THESE PEOPLE UP. Reality always trumps Hollywood, thats why I believe its Art Imitates Life and not the other way around.

Peddling Death Door To Door

I was sitting in my apartment one summer afternoon enjoying a craft beer or two when the door bell suddenly rang. Now I’m the type of person who knows who and when people are coming ,but no one was supposed to stop by on that particular day. I weighed the options and decided to for once to answer the door instead of ignoring it due to the fact I didn’t know who was ringing my door bell (and I utterly hate to be bothered)

So I exited my apartment on the 2nd floor, walked down the stair case to the 1st story exterior door and opened away. To my surprise it wasn’t any asshole asking if I found Jesus/accept christ or little kids going door to door selling candy as part of a school fundraiser. It was in fact a little old lady about 60-65 years old, hair white as snow with a cliche grandmother vibe. I said hello and asked what I could do for her today to which she replied she worked for a local funeral home with a neighboring cemetery. So she was going door to door talking with (and hopefully selling funeral home services) people about their or a loved one’s final preparations. More ironic then sending a senior citizen representative to sell funeral services (coffins,flowers,earns,cremation etc.) but I had amassed a short list of 3 personal questions on the matter of post death options for myself when I too die. I invited the little old lady in and took her up to my apartment where she set up shop so to speak in my living room. I informed her that yes I did have some questions about said funeral services and she very politely told me to ask her what they were.

In the time of efficiency and time management here (in no certain order) are the 3 questions I asked her alone with her answers.

Can I have my skeleton bronzed and placed in a certain pose?

No due to laws pertaining to the desecration of a corpse where there ABSOLUTELY NO acceptations.

2. If I chose to be cremated could I have my skull bronzed and placed on top of the earn’s led?

No something similar too the answer for question 1 ,but dealing moreover with the issue of handling dead bodies or some shit.

NOW THIS IS WHERE SHIT GETS DARK FAST AND MAKES NO SENSE: I SWEAR TO THE STARS ABOVE HOW THE FUCK THIS OTION IS POSSIBLE (CONSIDERING THE ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS 1 AND ) AND MOREOVER HOW THE FUCK ITS LEGAL AS THERE LAWS OUTLAWING CANNIBALISM.

3. Can I have my corpse (and possibly certain organs i.e. liver) cooked and served to the funeral party quests?

Yes if you can find someone willing to butcher and cook a corpse.

( There has to be some bizarre loophole because I can’t get my head around the yes to Necro Cannibalism.)

Ladies and Gentleman thank you, that is all.

Befuddled By The Bartender

Last night I went to my favorite dive bar which is a dark, smoke filled,tiny hole in the wall filled with all kinds of characters. This makes it my favorite place not only to drink with friends but to people watch as well. The bartender working last night is far from my favorite because she is too fucking odd to live (so you never know wtf your walking into) so best to stay off the radar as they say. Last night she was aggravated because for once it was almost a busy night. The first bizarre interaction was when I went up to the bar to get another beer at which point the bartender said and I quote “You drink too fast.” First off I wasn’t drinking any sort of cocktail as I said I was drinking bottled beer so all the bartender had to do was reach in a cooler, grab a beer, open it and serve it (how fucking easy is that?!) Also I couldn’t help thinking well if I drink fast then I drink a good bit before I leave and I tip putting money in the bartenders pocket. Let me take a second to explain the tip deal. This dive bar is also a private club were the patrons pay annul dues of a whole whopping $20 (sarcasm abounds) thusly they believe that they’re absolved from tipping ever. I’ve frequented this bar for 7 plus years and only saw 2 other people in all that time actually tip and they were newbies.

Fast forward a few hours during which time the people who had to work the next day leave followed by the elderly patrons and then by the heavy drinkers/alcoholics leaving only a handful of lingering local barflies. Now at this point in the evening I had switched from beer to Rum&Coke of which I drank 3 before ordering my final drink of the evening (which is a double Rum&Coke) and this led to an even more absurd interaction between the bartender and myself. I went ahead and ordered my double Rum&Coke. What happen next I don’t understand at all as not only do I tip but I wasn’t bitching about her drinks being weak nor in anyway talking shit to the bartender (i.e. giving her a hard time) With that said the bartender walks over to the bar, grabs a 8oz glass and proceeded to leisurely pour 7oz of rum into the glass and then stopped. She then turns her head to look at me and asked angrily “Is this OK?!” as if we were having some sort of altercation and now I’m stuck with a pissed off belligerent bartender. The bartender then tops of the glass with a slash of coke, walks it over to where I was sitting at the bar and again gets in my face like we’re involved in a non existent disagreement. This time she places the drink in front of me then leans over the bar and asks me snidely “Does THAT make you happy?” and I simply said “Yes” and that was that.

Enough With The Great Gun Debate

Lets fucking face it there people that have a million reasons to ban all fire arms and other people who have a million reasons to keep the gun game going. As we hopefully are all aware there pros and cons to every fucking thing on Earth so this argument has always gone around and around in an endless circle( as it will till the end of time), and I for one am sick of fucking hearing all the hoopla.

Allow me play devil’s advocate to show the true reality of the situation. Lets say the anti gun people some how pull an ace out of their sleeve and win so all guns are illegal BUT SO FUCKING WHAT? The anti gun groups believe as part of their argument that if the guns were gone violent crime (especially murders) would drop to an all time historic low. I call bullshit on the grounds of basic human behavior which never fails mankind. Once the guns are gone people will shoot each other with fucking bow and arrows until they are banned too. Then you’d inevitably have to ban swords/knives/razors/machetes as they would be the next things people would revert to to kill each other. After all that absurdity there would need to be yet another ban this time on blunt objects because at that point people would simply beat each other to death. Now once all of those items are removed through banning your still fucked. Your fucked because people still have hands with which they can beat,torture and kill others so wtf do you do then? Cut every ones fucking hands off? Yet thats the only true way to end violence in society.