by Mr. Mean-Spirited
Spree shootings are a mark of freedom. Paradoxical evidence, to be sure – but random killings are still a dead-certain marker of a nation’s liberty.
Think of it like this. The more traffic accidents each month, the more extensive is the nation’s transportation infrastructure. The more miners that perish in cave-ins, the greater the geographic extent of the subterranean coal mines. And (wait for it) the more mass killings reported in the news, the greater the individual citizen’s access to firearms – and that means the greater the personal sovereignty. The more bullets raining down on the population of a city, the greater the firepower in the possession of the citizens.
More than any pansy parade, more than faggot flags, more than any official fireworks display, celebratory gunfire is proof of liberation.
Victims, whether of automobiles or anthracite or ammunition, are just collateral damage. Your freedom is always more important than possibility (remote possibility, mind you) that some stranger might come to a rather unfortunate end. Who cares about the assholes that might conceivably be caught in some unknown assailant’s crossfire? – someone else’s bad luck is no concern of yours. Somebody is always going to die eventually – just so long as it isn’t you.
The greatest threat to civilization is not the occasional shooter, but the politician who wants to do something about it. The probability of a straw bullet actually piercing your skin is almost infinitesimal – but the government’s attempt to restrict your constitutional right to carry weaponry is a far more immediate worry. It is not the lawbreaker that will hurt you; it is always the lawmaker that does you harm.
In today’s America just as much as back in 1776, the scent of gunpowder and blood on the streets is the smell of freedom. Stuff that up your nostrils.