Guns & Newspaper Editors

Since I dragged the 1942 Mosin-Nagant rifle into the hacienda, I've been catching hell from Cid about how guns are dangerous and guns kill people and guns don't belong in houses and cats and dogs might learn to use 'em and then they could bribe us for more food and warmer places to take crap.
      I usually respond to this stuff by pointing out how many gun owners there are on the planet and how many guns are in the hands of people at any day of the week and how, except for members of active duty military units actually in combat positions, there ain't that much shootin' of other people. And how most of the guns on the planet are hangin' on walls, stashed in gun safes or cabinets, or holstered on belts, some of which might be on the bodies of policemen and other law enforcement folks. And yes, them's is both long sentences but that's how it works.
      Guns in the hands of people kill people.
      Guns in the hands of military folks trying to make the other poor, dumb sonovabitch die for his or her country kill said poor, dumb sonovabitches.
      Guns on policemen's belts generally stay there unless they find themselves in combat-style situations, in which case the statement above applies.

And then there's the biggest one: Guns handled stupidly in social situations.

So up I get Sunday morning, awaked by a cat's plaintive call 'cause there was another, unknown cat on the front porch. And as much as I am sure the cat calling about the intruder probably would like to learn how to load and fire a Yugoslavian Tokarev and light off a few rounds at said intruder, I ignored the cat's demands for summary justice and hauled my coffee mug out of the dish washer.
      Part of the paper's sittin' on the table. The rest of it's sittin in Cid's lap in the living room.
      I put three pieces of old multi-grain, crunch-up-your-teeth bread in the toaster, which when toasted I then butter and slather on some Keiller's Dundee Marmalade.
      I sit down at the kitchen table, look in the obits to see if Paul Simmons had made it there yet, read the cry-baby tantrum letters to the editor and then Cid brings out the front section. We trade. I turn to page A13 and there at the bottom of the pages is a picture with a cut headline that says “Horsing Around at the Cattle Baron's Ball.” At which point I know that if I mention what I see to Cid, she'll go off like a rocket.
      I quietly read the bit under the picture and then go upstairs to write a letter to the editor.
      Why?
      Holy shi'ite, Mask Man, check out the picture!

A group of south suburbanites (Dayton, Ohio speak for “rich people”) are standing around while a grinning woman, identified in the paper as Sherry Oakes, holds a Winchester Commemorative 94 lever action rifle and waves the muzzle of the piece around. One of the guys in the picture seems to be turning away and pushing the muzzle out of the way of the guy next to him. The rest of the gang has the silly monkey look.
      Right there on page A13 of the Dayton Daily News is the picture of someone doing something stupid with a very powerful, albeit pretty, Winchester. And there are other stupid gun tricks on the newspaper's website for the event.
      Remember thing about guns and stupid people?
      The “Guns handled stupidly in social situations” part?
      Right there on the page, waitin' for Jimmy Nobrain lives down the street with his grandparents 'cause his own parents stupidly shot each other playin' with a couple .357 Magnums with real elephant ivory grips one evenin' while drinkin' whiskey shots around the family's nightly bonfire.
      Right there on the page, waitin' for anybody who thinks that guns are dangerous and guns kill people and guns don't belong in houses and children might grab one subsequently shoot themselves, their parents, a guy drivin' down the street or their own little brother of three years age.
      As, I will admit freely and with complete horror, happens every so often around here and likely elsewhere in Gringolandia.

So I get on my high horse of horror & disbelief and send a letter to the editor of the newspaper saying that they should be ashamed of themselves publishing that picture. I didn't mention that the person with the rifle in the picture should be taken out for brain scramblin', although not much would be necessary, given the evidence for having no brain at all presented in the picture.
      At the same time – and I didn't mention it – the picture is all you need for Cid's proof, of course. Never mind that my Mosin is hangin' on the wall behind me with one of those obnoxious trigger locks on it that defeats any safety that the rifle might have had – which is an argument for ancient firearm design – by holding the trigger pulled all the time. Or that everyone I know who has a gun or guns gets real nervous when they pull the piece out of a holster or a gun safe or off the wall, even if they know that there ain't no way it's gonna light off a round, basically because, as I said in my letter to the editor

As a gun owner and veteran, I know such “horsing around” as a public invitation for someone to get shot or killed. Obvious in the picture is the simple fact that two primary rules of gun ownership and handling are being ignored.
      Treat every gun as loaded is the first rule. The second rule states that the only safety on any gun is the person holding it.
      It makes no difference whether you're talking about grandpa's 1890s pump action .22 rifle, Uncle Igor's 1942 Mosin-Nagant, a Winchester Model 94 commemorative, a rusty Tokarev pistol brought back from Vietnam or the 1911 Colt service pistol Dad carried in Guadalcanal.
      All firearms are potentially dangerous and deadly mechanical contrivances. Nobody should “horse around” with any fiream. Ever.

      And never mind how many gun owners there are on the planet and how many guns are in the hands of people at any day of the week and how, except for members of active duty military units actually in combat positions, how many people don't get shot. And how most of the guns on the planet are hangin' on walls, stashed in gun safes or cabinets, or holstered on belts, some of which might be on the bodies of policemen and other law enforcement folks. And yes, them's is both long sentences but that's how it works.

In the end it all comes down to stupid humans doing stupid things. Leaving a gun under a bed – as if you're gonna be awake enough to choose a target if you hear a bump in the night – is pure ignorance and a callous disregard for the curiosity of children. Keeping your father's 1911 Colt .45 auto loaded 'cause that's the way Dad carried in in the war is asking to get shot or to shoot yourself. And putting five rounds in the mag of your Mosin 'cause that's the way Uncle Igor carried in the Revolution when every day was strйggle and then install a trigger lock that turns the Mosin into a quick trip to the morgue is outrageously moronic.

The rules are simple:

Treat every gun as loaded.

The only safety on any gun is the person holding it.

Never point the muzzle of any firearm at anything or anyone you don't want to shoot or kill or maim.

      Any firearm is a dangerous & deadly mechanical contrivance, as dangerous as a moron settin' his car to launch on a highway. As dangerous as a cast iron printing press built in 1875. As dangerous as a gas oven, an open frame high voltage power supply or that switchblade you bought in Genoa on the '71 Med Cruise that you carry in your right pants pocket.
      You can die horsing around with guns. You can kill people horsing around with guns.
      Wealthy society folks obviously don't understand that. Mental defectives.
      And the Dayton Daily News should be ashamed to have published that picture.