Shoot 'em dead, no matter who they might be

Anyone who wants a few moments entertainment should check out the NRA webpage.  They seem to be having a hissy fit over the movement to make gun shops register multiple assault weapons purchases along the border with Mexico, since the assault weapons used by the Mexican drug cartels mainly come from these sources--smuggled, to be sure, but purchased along the border.  The NRA tries to convince everyone the guns are coming from Guatemala, but hey, please, put down the Acapulco Gold and get real. 

You can certainly understand how they feel.  No red-blooded, big-dog Southern citizen wants to have home and hearth put at risk by having to register the purchase of machine guns, AK47s, bazookas, grenade launchers, ground-to-air missiles and other items necessary to stand off the....well, let me see...people ringing the doorbell?  Jehova's Witnesses?  A massive attack by...hmmmm...okay, a ravening, wife-raping gang of liberals, for example.  A bunch of foaming-at-the-mouth lawyers from the ACLU.  Or even, God forbid, some very pigment-blessed folks trying to register voters door to door.  The skin crawls at the danger, women swoon, men go around with solemn faces and glower determindly into the sunset while attempting to pull in that beer gut so as not to ruin the effect.

Who knows why they worry.  It is now legal to mow down that guy at the curb who gave your vintage Mustang a longing glance, as long as you claim self defense.  And that little girl two houses down in a brown uniform selling Girl Scout cookies...well, I mean, brown, for the love of Christ!  The very color suggests a nightime raid by some kind of mob determined to rip those stuffed animal heads from the wall and run off with them.  With that kind of danger looming, there is full justification for breaking out the bazooka and having at it.

You could stay up nights in a sweat just thinking about opening the front door to find an African American teenager standing there trying to get you on his newspaper route, or a Mexican gardener wondering if you'd like him to mow your lawn.  Nothing says "security" like a machine gun behind the door.

Nothing says "paranoia", either, as well, or "I've left the bonds of earth and now float several feet above Myrtle Beach, dressed in my cowboy outfit, because I stopped taking my medication."