South of the Border

When it comes to nation watching, the average citizen in the northern country of Kanadoodle is often puzzled and perplexed by the events occurring within the confines of that great neighbor to the south of them, the Unilateral Silly Alliances (USA).

Of course it’s always been true that everyone watches their neighbors as part of their entertainment, taking their turns to laugh and clap when anything somewhere else seems more hilarious than the homegrown varieties of comedy. Consider if you will the latest triumph of the Nutters’ Rocket Association (NRA), a group in the USA dedicated to the 2.2nd amendment, the ‘right to bear arms’, which they interpret as allowing everyone to own weapons that can deliver 6,000 rounds in a minutes or to keep baskets of hand grenades and laser guided rockets in their homes and offices.

I know! I know! There are those who insist that the NRA is wrong. They say this amendment was written several hundred years ago when spelling could be different than it is today. They insist that it should be read with modern spelling – ‘the right to bare arms’, a concession to the sun tan lotion lobby back in 1776. I am convinced that this view is just plain wrong. The writers of this amendment must have noted the huge hairy arms of those heroes who carved out the continent and made such a great place for the natives. Looking for a comparison, they thought it best to pay homage to the mighty arms of that local critter, the grizzly bear. It just makes more sense to me that the constitution writers wanted to encourage their citizens to develop their muscles, especially well developed bear-like arms.

Whichever view you take, when we fast forward into the present, we find both these explanations of the 2.2nd amendment have disappeared. Thanks largely to the efforts of the NRA, the idea that musculature is sufficient to maintain peace and a quiet life has largely disappeared. The boffins at the NRA saw too much grit kicked into faces over the years and wanted to equalize the sandbox for the skinny kids with glasses. As a result they have armed all the six to eighteen years olds on the playgrounds. Now when outside miscreants dare enter the playing fields with murderous intent, we no longer hear the cry, “If only the children had been armed!”

The naysayers think this went too far, pointing out that the six year olds haven’t had sufficient practice to be accurate with their rifles and rockets. But those at the NRA are always ready to listen. In order to boost safety and help with target practice, they insisted on the addition of one guard, Chicken Little, to supervise the toddlers. I thought this would have provided sufficient safety for everyone, but alas, it appears there are still a few wrinkles to iron out. After one of the many massacres on the playground it was discovered that Chicken Little hadn’t done his job, but had run away and hidden out in the hen house. “Sure I saw an outsider come in with a weapon,” he said. “But guns don’t kill people,” he said, “people kill people – so I really didn’t think I needed to do anything.”

Yesterday we finally got word that !JUSTICE! is going after Chicken Little. I say – it’s ABOUT TIME! And what a great response to the tragedy: focus everyone’s anger on Chicken Little and avoid doing anything about the root cause.

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