Guns, Guts, and Aurora

     It happened again; some miscreant had some part of his brain slip into overload and decided to kill a bunch of people. And, as usual, he chose a place that he was certain he would meet with little or no resistance. And he was right. I don't know why this loon did what he did, and you know what? I don't care. This sorry pustule on the ass of humanity took it upon himself to murder 12 people and wound 58 others for no good reason, and as far as I'm concerned, we should save the taxpayers a bunch of money by marching him out behind the courthouse and putting a bullet in his brain.

     I can hear it already, "But McWopski, what about due process?" Well, we know he did it, and we know people died at his hand. Seems pretty cut and dried to me. And if he's insane? All the more reason to kill him. The last thing we need is an insane, evil, genius sitting around in prison thinking up new ways to cause trouble.

     And of course, the anti-gun crowd couldn't be happier.

     Chuck Schumer oozed out from under whatever rock he's been residing under and immediately called for a ban on magazines capable of holding more than 10 rounds. He was joined by The Usual Suspects, Diane Feinstein, Frank Lautenberg, and the rest of the "U.S. out of North America" crowd in attempting to control us. And make no mistake; gun control has nothing to do with wanting Americans to be safer. It has everything to do with control. Because if it were really about making us safer? They would work to see to it that every law-abiding citizen had access to, and training with, firearms. If guns are the problem, why is it that places where people are allowed, and even encouraged, to carry a firearm for self-defense have lower rates of violent crime than those places with Draconian gun laws?

     I also find it a little odd that these guys always seem to flip out when there is some piece of anti-gun legislation up for a vote. This time, it happened to be the ill-fated UN Arms Trade Treaty. Interestingly, it also happened to coincide with the investigation into Fast and Furious; another botched attempt to gain some positive publicity for the BATFE.

     Plus, I was reminded of another little tidbit by my good friend Kevin Starrett of the Oregon Firearms Federation; one of the worst mass murders committed by non-government entities in the United States was committed by one Julio Gonzales, who killed 87 people with about a dollar's worth of gasoline and a match. Yet there was no outcry to ban matches or limit the amount of gasoline one could purchase.

     Of course, there is the endless mewling about how we can't be certain that an armed citizen could have stopped the shooter. My response is simple; we can be certain of what happens when no one is armed; we've seen it time and again. Someone in that theater that had been armed would have stood a greater chance of stopping the massacre than the bunch of unarmed movie goers did. If you need to see how effective one armed person can be, look no further than  at Jeanne Assam. Had she not taken action to stop the shooter at New Life Church in Colorado Springs, he would have killed and wounded dozens. When an active shooter enters someplace populated by armed citizens, it is ludicrous to think that those that are armed won't act to stop him. Their lives are in as much danger as anyone else's, they just have the means to resist. Hopefully, they'll make a better account of themselves than the sorry eunuch that abandoned his fiance and children to their fate while he escaped.

     Make no mistake; anti-gun politicians are the worst kind of scum. They are amoral opportunists that use other peoples' tragedies for their own political gain, and those that support them are just useful idiots. As soon as the election cycle comes around, we would do well to send these back to whatever steamy pile of excrement that spawned them.

"Look Kids! Scenery!"

Yes, it's true; it is possible to overdose on scenery. We left Mackinaw City early the next morning and headed for the scenic coast of the Upper Peninsula. I wanted to get two things while I was there; pictures of the U.P. and a Pasty.

     For the uninitiated, a Pasty is, pure and simple, a turnover filled with a combination of spices, meat, and Rutabagas that is baked in an oven. Since I can think of no other use for Rutabagas, I have to believe that God put them on this Earth to be used in Pasties, and they are delicious. Make no mistake, I am fond of nothing so much as sampling the local cuisine of whatever locale I happen to visit. In the case of the U.P. pretty much everything involves the use of meat, potatoes, and whatever wild game happens to be in the freezer. And Rutabagas. So, when I went to the U.P. for the first time, I tried a Pasty, and quickly became a Pasty junkie. The problem is, the only place I know of to get Pasties is the U.P. That seems to be a long way to go to get one, so I will hold out for as long as possible and, when the cravings become too much, venture forth to the U.P. again.

     So, fortified with Pasties, we set forth West on Highway 2 to see the beautiful southern coastline of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. And it was breathtaking. I never envisioned that the Great Lakes would look so majestic. It was a lot like the first time I stood on the beach looking out at the Pacific Ocean; I wished I had had the experience 20 years before (I suspect that that is much of the reason that I drag my kids all over the country; I want them to see more than I did when I was their age.)     Now, human nature being what it is, the novelty wore off in about three hours, which left another five hours to get to our destination: Minneapolis. So we drove along, gazing out the windows at 55 M.P.H.

     Some of the older readers of this blog will remember the 55 M.P.H. speed limit. It was created in the 70's in a misguided effort to force drivers to save gas. Then President Jimmy "The Peanut" Carter insisted that the lower speed would conserve energy since everyone would be driving slower. Somehow, the fact that there was no energy crisis escaped him. If you have ever driven at 55 for long distances, you understand when I say that the drive along Highway 2 at 55 was much like running in wet sand; you know you're faster than that, but you're held back by the condition of the running surface.

     There were numerous places I was tempted to stop and call a rest period (Bark River Knives topping that list) but, in the interest of getting back to a place with a sane speed limit, I pushed on. By the time we were ready to stop for the night, my euphoria about the U.P. had been replaced with disgust at having to drive well below the capabilities of my vehicle on a stretch of highway on which the time between curves could be measured with a calendar.

     So, I'll call it a wash; we got to see some new places, a LOT of scenery, and we had the chance to fill up on Pasties, but the 55 mile an hour speed limit was tedious and nerve wracking. We didn't get to see all of the people we would have liked to see, but we did get to see those we needed to see. I discovered that Michigan has much to offer, but it's stifled by the crushing unemployment and misguided fiscal policies.

     A piece of my heart will always reside there but, next year? Next year, we're going someplace we want to go.