Parrothead Ramblings

So yesterday I took a backhanded swipe at Wal Mart. Then I poked fun at Japanese security robots and Christopher Walken. Later that same day, some idiot killed two people in a Glendale Wal Mart. Police then used a robot to communicate with the alleged killer, who was holed up in a nearby house.

If somebody assassinates Christopher Walken now, I'm really gonna get the heebie-jeebies.

When a tragedy like this Wal Mart killing hits the news, which is far too often, it makes me wonder how I've nearly (very nearly) reached the half-century mark without getting shot at by some maniac in a public place. The odds are probably better that I'll get hit by a cross-dressing alien riding a meteorite, but it's still disconcerting. All things considered, we're actually very safe living here in the US of A. It's just that when Granny goes to Wal Mart, buys some Preparation H, and returns home safely, she doesn't make the ten o'clock newscast.

Oh, I was involved in few shooting or near-shooting scrapes, back in my law enforcement days. My backup officer and I put a couple of homeboys in the hospital once when they thought they could handle their fists and handguns better than we could. Big mistake, putos. You were fortunate enough to survive and go on to prison.

But this random, psycho craziness is just too much. Granted, I'll never get shot in a Wal Mart, because I wouldn't go into one if they were giving shit away. But the fact that stuff like this happens on a daily basis is the reason I am the proud carrier of an Arizona Concealed Carry Permit. Yep, that's right. This laid-back Parrothead packs heat. You didn't know that, because I don't make an issue of it.

You see, it's freaks like this Wal Mart guy that cause people to feel insecure about the personal ownership and carrying of firearms, not guys like me. But nonetheless, when some people learn I often carry a concealed handgun, they give me that look, like I'm about to go postal, or go Wal Mart, or go Columbine.

Let me put it to you this way: It's guys like me, who are responsible and competent in carrying, concealing, and handling firearms, that you want in the cookie aisle with you when Herb the stockboy finally takes that plunge off the deep end. Or when some guy wearing a heavy, bulging jacket in the middle of summer starts yelling "Allah Akbar" in a crowded shopping mall. Maybe, just maybe, it's one of us crazy gun totin' types that will give you a fighting chance.

And that, my phriends, is where On Sheep, Sheepdogs, and Wolves comes in. I wish I'd written it. And I hope you read it.

Back tomorrow with lighter fare. Parrothead's honor!
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