Please don’t screw this up. Please don’t screw this up.
Please don’t screw this up. Please don’t screw this up.
I’m going to quote myself in full with only minor changes because it still applies
Gun Control, Because It Feels Like Doing Something
No one wants to feel powerless, helpless, hopeless. We are all so horrified by the events in
CTOR that we’re devouring information and trying to answer the question of why. We just can’t accept that we just don’t know.
We don’t know why the shooter succumbed to the darkness. Why he targeted innocent
children.people. All we know is that he did. And it hurts. It shakes us to our very core. We don’t want to acknowledge that the darkness lurks in everyone. We want to push it to some outside force. He can’t be like us. Surely my darkness couldn’t ever look like that.
It must be the video games, the mental health issues, the loneliness, the gun. Right? Please let it be something definable. Something we can tie to the stake in the funeral pyre. Anything other than the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. No. Something must be done! We must have a culprit at which to direct our pain, our confusion, our sorrow, our rage.
For the children.
Guns are the easy scapegoat for the simple-minded. Never mind the fact that not one single gun restriction has ever reduced violence. Never mind the fact that as gun ownership has increased, violent crime has decreased. Yes, I know. Correlation does not equal causation, but causation requires correlation. Therefore, the claim that more guns cause more crime is demonstrably false.
But history, logic, and facts have no place in an emotional argument.We must Do Something. It doesn’t really matter whether or not it’s the right something. It doesn’t matter whether or not the something saves a single life. It doesn’t even matter if we’ve tried it before only to fail. It must be done, and it must be done now. Now, so we can stop staring into the evil. The something must distract us from the darkness. The darkness hurts. It’s frightening. The something feels better, warmer, brighter.
And it continues to leave our children defenseless. Not just our children, but us as well. I have never committed an act of violence, and yet the something would confiscate much of my property and leave me with only harsh words to fend off the rapist twice my size that is overwhelmed by his darkness. I’m a well-trained vocalist with a lot of voice, but I’d rather have a proven equalizer for that battle.
I reject the something. Even if it means I must stare into the darkness with no security blanket. I accept the fact that human beings are capable of unspeakable evil, and that we must each chose for ourselves whether or not we embrace our own darkness. I acknowledge that most chose to keep their demons at bay. For those that do not, we need more than harsh words, empty platitudes, and regulations to protect ourselves and those we care about. My gun is no security blanket. It is not a talisman warding off evil. It is a tool. It is the tool with the best track record of putting an end to the evil actions of others.
I don’t want to feel like your children and mine are safe. I want them to be safe.
Saturday, EvylRobot and I made the questionable decision to head down to a particular flea market that we don’t generally frequent. It’s not exactly in our normal stomping grounds. One of the establishments we pass between here and there in a nightclub known as Fantasy Island.
Overheard in the car:
ER: That doesn’t really look like much of a fantasy
Me: Well, unless your idea of a fantasy includes syphilis.
And so you can imagine my giggles when this story popped up as breaking news.
Last week, a task force raided Fantasy Island and wrote more than 20 citations ranging from possession of firearms to illicit sexual conduct.
Nice place, there.
Edited to add: 2nd place and no one died!
I’ve officially lost my mind and may have to call in dead on Monday.
That’s the message I just sent my boss. Yes, he was just as confused as you are.
You see, I just registered for a 5K.
I don’t run.
It’s taking place tomorrow.
There’s a decal.
Have I mentioned that I don’t run? Ok, there was the one time with the silver medal*.
But it’s for a good cause. You can support my madness here.
You’ll find my body somewhere near Lake Hefner. It has been a while since I’ve made an entry into the injuries category.
*I found the medal. I’ll add a picture later.
This has gone too far. The swan song of the hate chicken has finally hit a sour note.
How dare you attempt to poison me! And with a silent migraine, no less. We’ve gotten along just fine for all this time, but I go to one Pride Blockparty. Coincidence? I think not.
The nerve. The blatant bigotry of completely ignoring my unique food allergy that I failed to inform you about! Putting delicious mandarin oranges in the fruit cup! Monstrous.
I am THE VICTIM here! Nevermind that you clearly display the presence of those diabolical spheres of swelling and misery in your menu photo. #citrusprivilege
I didn’t even eat them. I stabbed them with my fork and put them aside. But it was already too late. You didn’t even warn me that stabbing oranges may spread their juices indiscriminately across the strawberries and blueberries. Typical. So patriarchy. Did the melons consent to being sprayed with those fluids? Please.
Someone fund my pain and suffering!! I will not be satisfied until I have my own clothing line and reality show!
Yes, I’m kidding. I know I’m allergic. I know they put oranges in the fruit cup. I should have been smart enough to realize that removing the offending wedges by stabbing them with my fork was maybe not the brightest idea. Or just had the waffle fries.
Recently, a friend shared this story over on the book of face
Today at <restaurant> while <child’s name> and I were eating a man started talking to <child’s name> about his stuffed animal.
Man: that’s an unusual dog. ( it’s a teddy bear)
Child: [looks at man. Does not respond]
Man: you aren’t gonna talk to me ??
Child: [looks away]
Me: no he isn’t .
A. You are a stranger . My son is not being “rude,” and there is no reason for him to discuss or chat with you .
B. We teach kids not to talk to strangers. Social niceties are not necessarily a good practice for kids
Bravo, I say!
But, of course, there was dissent, this is the internet, after all. One commenter lamented that it was “sad” that she was “creating unnecessary fear” in her child. Another tried to make the argument that it wasn’t a threatening situation. Another implied that she was teaching her son to be rude and disrespectful.
All because she supported her son’s choice not to speak to a stranger. This is insanity.
As a society, we’ve developed this warped idea that not nice=rude. There’s space between. He was not impolite, and he was not rude. He has absolutely no responsibility to be nice. He should be, and I assume he is, kind where warranted, but he doesn’t have to be nice.
No one has the responsibility to be nice. You do not have to speak to the stranger in the parking lot that just needs a bit of change, or gas money, or…Well, really that stranger just wanted to get close enough to grab your wallet or steal your car. Or worse.
Because of course you should be nice to the young man that wants to sit in on your Bible study.
Sure, she was right there. The risk potential of that situation was minimal, but what kind of lesson does that teach her child? If Mom encourages him to be nice to the stranger in the restaurant, how should he react to the stranger in the bathroom? As a parent, you have to think beyond the moment. You must model the skill set so your child can make appropriate decisions in the future.
My friend pointed out that later, her son approached the cashier and politely requested a refill of his beverage. This doesn’t sound like he’s being crushed by unnecessary fear of people. Instead, he is learning an appropriate level of caution.
Living in a polite society does not mean that you must be nice to strangers. Of course, one should not be rude, impolite, or unkind, but that does not mean you owe it to anyone to be nice.
I’m so very sorry this happened to you. That your trust and physical autonomy was violated by someone so close to you. It should never have happened, and no matter what anyone tells you, it was not your fault. It is something that happened to you, and despite the harm done, it does not have to define you. The guilt is not yours to carry in any fashion.
It’s okay to be angry about it. The news says that your brother asked for and received your forgiveness, and I hope that is true. Really and fully true. I hope that he came to you with humility and remorse and that you granted him your forgiveness out of a desire to release yourself from the anger, and not to save the very public face of your family. Your forgiveness does not excuse his actions, but it does release you of the burden.
You are not broken. You likely carry scars and sometimes they will flare up. I’m sure having your story broadcast to the world has reopened your trauma. I’m sorry for that too. Mostly, I’m so very sorry that your brother inflicted that trauma in the first place.
It breaks my heart to see your parents rallying behind your abuser with nary a mention of you. I’m sorry that your parents turned your lives into such a circus and present their faith as a grotesque caricature of Christianity. You deserve the support and protection right now. Just as you deserved it back then.
Unfortunately, yes, bad things happen even in good Christian households. Families participate in denial and cover-ups. It’s not because they are Christian; it’s because they are human. People without sin have no need of salvation. I hope this has not shaken your faith. It was your brother, not God, that let you down.
I want you to know there are people out there praying for and supporting you. That you are not alone.
If it was meant to be, they missed the mark. I know, some people wanted so desperately for it to be that they twisted the story to match up with their pre-conceived notions. You know, because that never happens.
It’s a fire-breathing action movie with a power babe* and an excellent entry into the Mad Max franchise. Seriously, go see it. It’s awesome. No man or woman will be ruined by seeing it. At least, none that aren’t ruined already.
Yes, there are going to be spoilers ahead. This is your warning. It will be COMPLETELY FULL OF SPOILERS!
Ready? Don’t read if you plan on seeing the movie. I mean it.
Let’s just go on and throw a trigger warning here too since I can’t keep up with what upsets people lately.
Fans of the originals already know Max is a broken man just trying to survive in a broken world with no hope of redemption. It’s made him hard. The world hasn’t gotten any better. Shortly after the story opens, Max is overtaken, captured, and turned into a living blood bank in the Citadel.
Imperator Furiosa is a desperate woman. She’s learned that to survive in this man’s world, she’s got to be smart, and she’s got to be deadly. And don’t think for a moment that the world of Fury Road is anything but a man’s world. We don’t know exactly how, but she has worked her way to a position of responsibility under Immortan Joe. Probably because she’s good with machines. (If I may be so bold as to read between the lines, I’m going to go ahead and assume the shaved head was an attempt by Furiosa to minimize her femininity in such a heavily male dominated world.)
She drives and maintains a War Rig. She’s also smuggling out Immortan Joe’s breeders under the guise of a fuel run. Yes, Immortal Joe keeps women in sexual slavery in an attempt to impregnate them with his sons. Nothing is mentioned of daughters. His elder sons drink mothers milk which comes from other women being kept as dairy cows. Feeling empowered, ladies?
Immortan Joe learns of the betrayal and rallies the war boys to follow him into battle to retrieve his property. Yes, he considers these women his property. He also admonishes them not to harm a single hair on their heads. Yep, they are just pretty things with wombs. Rah! Rah! Sisterhood!
Mad Max gets chained to a war boy so he can continue to bleed for him and strapped to battle vehicle. Epic battle ensues. Explosions, madness, chaos. Max is pissed that not only are they stealing his blood but they’ve got his car as well.
Somewhere in the midst of the first battle, we get a glimpse of the breeders. They are whining because they are uncomfortable. Nevermind that Furiosa is risking her life for them. They are uncomfortable.
More explosions and we reach the pause in the first battle. Max has gotten free of the battle vehicle, but he’s still chained to and bleeding into a war boy. He comes upon Furiosa and the breeders. Yep, they are pretty and scantily clad and playing in the hose. They have bolt cutters, but they are too weak to cut Max free from the war boy. In fact, even though Furiosa catches a few good openings, Max still beats her in hand to hand combat while chained and bleeding. The war boy, thinking he can now return in triumph with the wives, cuts Max free. Yes, it required a man to cut the chain. Max commandeers the War Rig.
Ah, but Furiosa is not so easily beaten. She’s smart enough that she saw it coming and had wired kill switches. She talks her way back into the truck and is soon telling Mad Max that she ‘needs’ him. They soon form a tenuous partnership and fight many more epic battles. Yep, she’s the better shot. No, she doesn’t take the rifle, he hands it to her because he knows he can’t make the shot. A man’s got to know his limitations.
And, believe me, they are epic. Flame throwing guitar and mad crazy drummer truck epic. Pay the extra for the 3D.
In the end, it’s still Mad Max that wins the day and finds his redemption. And in true hero fashion, wanders off into the sunset away from the glory.
Yes, the bad ass power babe couldn’t have done it without the man. Totally feminist.
*You know, like Ripley, or Sarah Connor, or Tank Girl, or…. Yeah, Imperator Furiosa is totally groundbreaking and will single-handedly suck the testosterone from society .
(Edited for typos)