not butter, guns
Scottie Bowman (rbowman@indigo.ie)
Wed, 18 Aug 1999 20:55:18 +0100
Last week on British television we were treated to the views
of the President of the National Rifle Association on
the merits of - as Jim would no doubt put it - arming
the populace against the infringements of its liberties
by an overweening government.
It's rather easy in these backwaters of parliamentary democracy
to fall behind modern thinking in regard to political rights
& originally I'd thought it something of a drawback to have
the death rate by gunfire increased by several hundred fold
when compared with our own rather cissyish figures here
in Western Europe. However, the longer he spoke &
the more I thought about it the more I began to realise
the advantages of a greater access to guns.
To start with, the pack of bastards who are forever taking
away my money for what they call 'taxes' would think twice
if they knew they were going to have to confront a couple
of Spandaus at the end of my driveway. And the cops -
the ones that in this country go by the pretentious title
of Gardai Siochana - might be less keen to haul me up on
their endless 'speeding' charges if they had reason to suspect
I had the old Ouzi in the glove compartment. The same
might go too for those shitty traffic wardens. (God, I can
hardly wait to see their faces when I put out my hand
to accept one of their bloody tickets & at the same time
pull back the jacket to reveal just the butt of the Biretta
in the belt.)
Yes. Once I was blind. But now I see.
For which I have to thank the kindly old cove who set me
thinking. Heston, I believe the name was. Some sort of
cinematographic actor Johnny. During the two broadcasts
that I personally caught, he seemed to be exhibiting on
his head the trophies of his favourite sport. One was,
by the look of its reddish fur, a dead weasel & the other,
more greyish, may have been, I think, an extremely elderly
beaver. Grand old bloke.
Scottie B.