>>> Primal Urges
By staff writer Nathan DeGraaf
June 14, 2006

Chris: Dude, killing people is not cool.
Nathan:
Says you. I happen to think it is the very definition of hip—where you going?
Chris:
Don’t you worry about that, Nate. I’ll see you later. Probably from far away.
Nathan:
Fine then. I’m buying a new scope for my rifle. I’ll be seeing you later, Pal.
Dave:
You know, if you didn’t drink so much, you might make a friend.
Nathan:
Emphasis on the word, “might.”

Recently, I used a semi-automatic weapon to kill a man. I would have used an automatic weapon, but they are illegal and I am a law-abiding citizen. After I stepped over the fresh carcass and out of my apartment, my neighbor Janine took one look at me and said, “Great, Nate. That’s just great for property values.” (I mean, some people, right? A man just died and all she can do is think about herself. The nerve.)

Anyway, killing people is not all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, first the police showed up, and they were all hammering me with questions about why I killed the guy. Then they made me explain, at least five times, that the man broke into my apartment with a loaded weapon. They even threatened to take me to the police station for some serious questioning. Fortunately for me, the person I killed was a wanted felon and had no rich relatives, so I got off with a warning and a seriously blood-stained carpet.

“We can barely get away with shooting someone in our own home anymore. The world socialist movement is clearly taking over.”

But it got me thinking. I mean, what if I hadn’t owned a gun? That man may have killed me. He may have taken the life of one of mediocrity’s least well-known humor columnists, all the while thinking I was just the same as everyone else. Boy, would he have felt stupid when he found out the truth. So then I thought, it’s a good thing our government is not so strict as to deprive me of my right to gun ownership or I may be dead.

And then, just for the hell of it, I sang the National Anthem.

As I sang, my neighbor Terry came by to offer me congratulations and to inquire about my newly purchased weapon. We had a few too many drinks (I guess), and Terry accidentally shot himself in the face, spraying his brains and lots of gooey head blood all over my newly purchased television.

Great, I thought, another trip to Wal-Mart for cleaning supplies.

So anyway, now I had to call the cops again and when they came out, I had to explain to them that Terry had mistakenly taken his own life; that he was playing with my gun when he shouldn’t have, and he simply died.

To which the fatter of the two cops responded, “Have you been drinking?”

To which I replied, “Certainly, sir. It is my right as an American.”

We argued for a little bit before we learned that Terry had no rich relatives and was actually wanted in Texas for statutory rape. Boy, was I relieved when we found that out.

Then, the meaner of the two cops (the skinnier one) took my gun away. The bastard. I mean, that thing cost me five hundred bucks.

The mean cop said that he just didn’t think I was responsible enough to own a gun. I told him that wasn’t his decision to make, and he told me that may be true, but arresting me or not was also his decision. So basically, the fucking cop stole my gun. I mean, what is this, Mexico?

Anyway, after the cops drank a few of my beers and we barbecued (I try to be a good host, even to gun-stealing assholes), I got to thinking, it seems that the government feels that they can take away all of our rights without asking.

We have no right to privacy, no more right to land ownership, and we can barely get away with shooting someone in our own home anymore. The world socialist movement is clearly taking over. And I’m pretty sure it took my gun.

So now, because I have been the victim of society’s horrors, I have decided to dedicate my life to eradicating the machine by using its own ways and means. Which means I need to get Congress to back me. Which means I need a few billion dollars.

But what the hell? Every movement starts somewhere. Folks, gather your dollars together and send them to me. Let’s do something good and decent for the world. Let’s bring freedom back for all.

Because I miss my fucking gun.