The Church of the Second Amendment

The Church of the Second Amendment

Is it any surprise that Americans are perceived around the world as a bunch of loud - mouthed gun toting killers? I suppose it is – but only to Americans. Holeeeeeeeee! Talk about your screwed up priorities. I took it upon myself to do a little reading on the National Rifle Association to find out where they sit in all this gun control business. Well I can’t say I was speechless – that rarely happens to me. More to the point, I was speechful – but with a lack guidance as to where to start speechifyin’.

It appears the National Rifle Association is the papal agency of the Church of The Second Amendment (of the American Constitution) – a powerful and vocal religion not easily denied. It is very similar to the Islamic extremists whose intransigent interpretation is its main mantra. “Death to anybody who interferes with our right to the pursuit of freedom, happiness, and the American Dream”. And they’ve got the guns and ammunition to back them up. Man, do they have guns and ammunition! Three hundred = odd million of them!

Turns out that the whole idea of this church was born out of fear of British oppression in around 1812. The Americans weren’t going to let that happen again after they whipped the Brits the first time! So the Association came into being. It proved to be highly successful too. The Brits haven’t attacked once since then. Go figure.

Well by 1860 or so, the Americans took issue with their national identity (among other things) and with the proliferation of guns and ammunition, started shooting each other. Shit! That wasn’t what they had in mind, so the Church of the Second Amendment started training programs to teach gun owners how to use their weapons. They held competitions, issued publications, had massive education programs, even set up gun clubs. (It never occurred to them to reel in all the guns). By the time the civil war was done, some six hundred thousand Americans lay dead and rotting in the fields.

Well, the Church of the Second Amendment has a powerful incentive to continue its mission. Profits from the manufacture and sale of arms and munitions, along with membership fees and donations are their mainstay. And of course their adherents are happy to pay too. The Catholic Church has its investments in real estate and other diversified portfolios, while the Church of the Second Amendment is invested in cash – the good old U.S. greenback. Both of them organizations are stinkin’ rich. But the difference is that while other churches preach to their parishioners and squirrel away their donations, the Church of the Second Amendment gives their parishioners guns and bullets, and preaches to the government. Hell, they ARE the government! Congress is full of them buggers.

Mind you, since they are so heavily invested in cash, perhaps if the government had any guts, they’d make them pay for policing, for legal fees and for funeral costs of victims of “lead poisoning”. But then that’s pretty well a republican organization – and you know what that means. Every American is a loser. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

 

Just sayin’.

 

Idle No More For Seniors

Idle No More for Seniors

I’ll bet you thought this was gonna be another one of them rants about First Nations issues again. Well, you’d be wrong! I’m just borrowin’ the title of their protest movement for a whole different purpose. It’s a pretty catchy phrase, don’t you think? Not only is it a catchy phrase, but the whole set up to ambush the government is perfect. That’s what I’m talkin’ about – a government ambush.

Well it don’t take much to ambush them folks these days, given the rattled state they’re already in. I figure us old-timers could give them a run for their money – teach them a lesson or two.

The whole idea came to me the other day when I was telling my daughter about one of the guys in the “Over the Hill Gang” wanting to go sky=diving on his eightieth birthday. I said I wouldn’t mind to go too, if I was invited. You’d think she’d be complaining about old dad doin’ a stupid adventure. But no, you should’a heard her; “Yeah, yeah,” she says excitedly, “you should do it! I’d like to film that!”

It doesn’t take that much imagination to put government + a catchy slogan + a gang of old geysers together to figure out what needs to be done. See, I figured if the whole bunch of us got together, we could land on the lawn of the legislature, carryin banners and demandin’ our rights. Can’t you just imagine a sky full of senior citizens descending on the government with banners flyin’ and screamin “Geronimo!”? I’ll bet we’d have a whole yard full of old timers as spectators and supporters surrounding the legislature that day! No government official would escape us until we said so!

Well, it’s a natural. Old Vince – he used to fly his own plane, so we got that covered. He ought to be able to get us up in the air a couple’a miles. And John, well he’s got a bum knee, so he knows how to fall down already. And the rest of us are also good at collapsing on demand. The air rushing at us on the way down will keep us alive and breathin’ at least ‘til we hit the ground. After that all bets are off. And I think Leon could probably arrange for a couple’a wheelbarrows to cart our carcasses off to the cemetery when we splat down the ground.

The only thing I gotta do is to try and find Maudie Frickert to come along and throw us out’a the plane. She’s an old time stewardess (they used to call them that) and she was good at flingin’ people out’a planes. Oh – and there’s one other thing I nearly forgot. We gotta figure out what rights we wanna demand. I guess we’ll have to have a meetin’ to get that straight. And well have to write them down in case we forget. Wouldn’t it be a shame if the premier asked us what our demands are, and we gotta say, “Oh ratz – I forgot!”

Seems to me it would be a worthwhile adventure. Sure sounds good in my imagination. Well, it probably won’t really happen but my old ticker starts beatin’ again, just thinkin about it. Tee Hee! GERONIMO! What a blast! Just like the good old days! At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’. 

 

Talking eBooks

http://talkingebooks.wordpress.com/

 

I'm excited! We finally got the contact heading up on the website, allowing people to email me with their comments and requests. I'm hoping to hear from all my followers on this blog site.

 

It takes a lot of work and forethought to put together an intelligent website and I think Shane Ward from Worldwide Sunshine Records has done an excellent job of putting it together while I just keep busy telling stories.

 

Storytelling is my business. That's what I do. My stories in the blog are mostly observational, based on what is happening during the course of the week. They normally tend toward humor - well, unless I'm upset with some governmental issue. One of the things I've noticed is that I'm never at a loss for words. Well, the net result is that I write these things for my own enjoyment and that's good enough.

 

But I wanted  to say something else while I'm acknowledging the work of others. Having narrated and put together the DVD's for the stories contained in the website, I decided to finish the whole project. That is, I burned all the DVD's, designed the labels, printed them and glued the in place. Well, my computer burns about one DVD in two hours, printing the labels is only marginally faster and gluing them on to the disk is an exercise in dexterity. I'm glad I did it, but reluctant to do it again. That's too much work for me!

 

But I look forward to hear from my readers, wherever you are. I hope you will write to me. Perhaps it will generate even more stories.



The Value of a Grudge

                                              The Value of a Grudge

Things happen from time to time to cause one to reflect on the meaning or even the value of certain things in life. Well, grudges – everybody’s got at least one against someone or some thing. So I got to wondering what the value of a grudge is. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s worth absolutely nothing – zero – zip. Now why didn’t I figure that out long ago? I’da saved myself a whole lot of time and trouble carryin’ all my grudges around.

Well you run into somebody who’s done you wrong, for example, knowingly or otherwise. You pass the time of day, nice and polite and then part company. In the wake of his exit trail you mutter quietly (so he won’t hear you), Jeez I hate that rotten ##%%&**! So now you’re grousin’ and grumblin’ about that rotten S.O.B. who done you wrong a while ago (you don’t even remember the when or the what of it).

The thing is, you’ve gone and got yourself all riled up over something you don’t even remember, and now you are in a bitchy mood (again). Spoils your whole otherwise perfect day. It seems a shame, the ways we have of ruining our own dispositions. It seems that instead of punishing someone else with our distain, we punish ourselves with it.

That’s stupid. That’s just plain stupid. If you’ve been around the block a few times with your eyes open you’ll find that if somebody does you dirt, it usually comes back on them – all by itself. You don’t have to lift a finger. You can just sit there and gloat and get your enjoyment that way without carrying the weight of the grudge around to weigh you down. Now that’s a whole lot easier than carryin’ the weight of all your different grudges around, keeping track of which is which, and it’s a whole lot more enjoyable too.

In the end, whatever you think of someone else or their activities don’t matter a rip anyway. After all, whatever they did to you is past, and you’re still here. The only thing you got out of the whole business is to get a bent back from the weight of all them grudges you been carryin around all this time.

As I said; that’s just plain stupid. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

 

Just sayin.

 

 

Mother Canada

Mother Canada

Well, ya never know what’s goin’ to set me off next, ‘specially when it comes to politics. There’s always somethin’ brewin’ in the pot. It’s hard to leave it alone. Well, last weekend the Ontario liberals chose a new leader and premier. All well and good as far as it goes, but what does our prestigious press jump on? She’s the first openly gay premier, like that’s a big deal. Is that all they can talk about for heaven’s sake?

I said to the wife; “She’s a politician for God’s sake. The people are goin’ to get screwed one way or another anyway.”

Well – you should’a heard the wife; “You can’t say that!” she literally yelled at me. “You can’t write things like that! It’s demeaning. Besides, you’re a better writer than that!”

“Well okay,” I agreed reluctantly. “I won’t then.” So I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I’da stood my ground, just on principal, except I discovered a more insidious move afoot here. So I didn’t write it.

There was a more ominous cloud approaching our political process. We are quickly being covered by the “Mother” syndrome. A few years back there was none of them – and now there’s six. Holy jumpin’ Jehosephat! We’re turning into a matriarchal society. And don’t kid yourself; you don’t want to stick your nose in these women’s business. Just look at the action goin’ on between B.C. and Alberta – ha, ha – no thanks!

Can you imagine what goes through the minds of all these estrogen overloaded, power-hungry, old boys-club parliamentarians when they have to listen to their mothers? They would probably all rebel except (like me) they could hear the echo of; ‘wait ‘til your father gets home’ – enough to strike fear into any red-blooded Canadian coward. I don’t know who father would be in this case, but I can imagine a sizeable belt buckle, a thunderous voice, and lightning flashing from his eyes. I can’t think of anything to make Mr. Harper run harder and faster and more scared than a few more female premiers. He’d be proroguing parliament on a daily basis.

I remember the late John L. Lewis back in the forties who led his coal-mining members on a long and protracted strike in the U.S. It was long and it was ugly, and neither side would budge. One day the wives of the strikers decided to visit the picket lines. They and their children were getting real hungry and this could not go on. Armed with brooms, shovels and pick-axes, they ended the strike forth-with and post haste. Even the powerful union boss had to run for cover.

There’s no question we’re headed for a matriarchal society, and maybe it’s about time too. The old boys club sure isn’t working. Me, I’m all for it. If my wife says don’t write something, I won’t write it. I know who cooks my dinner and I ain’t gonna ruffle any feathers. And if these mother figures manage to corner the prime minister and his buddies, they’d better all soon tow the line or it’ll be; “Wait ‘til your father gets home!” At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

 

Just sayin’.