Let's talk about guns and knives

     People who know me personally are probably aware of the fact that I'm a pretty liberal person. I generally have no problem with homosexuality, religion, or the government monitoring my emails and text messages. What a lot of people aren't aware of, however, is that I'm also a pretty staunch advocate of the 2nd amendment. To anyone who isn't familiar with the U.S. constitution, that means that I believe that people have the right to own guns.
     When people hear someone say "2nd amendment," they generally begin to stir up a big shit-storm like a fat 8-year-old who put way too much chocolate powder in a glass and started to swirl a spoon around.
     Let's make one thing clear: we live in a pretty fucked up world. Guns play a large part in why there's so much murder and other violence in the world. There's no denying it. Guns exist and, if someone wants a gun badly enough, they'll find a way to get it. You think that theater in Colorado wouldn't have been shot up if there were more strict regulations on guns? You're a fool. If you really believe that it's that hard to get your hands on an AR-15, I sure hope you own one and are getting ready to make a bowl of soup with your skull and a hollow-point.
     It's inevitable that you, or someone you know, will be involved with guns at some point. No, you probably won't get shot, and neither will your friends or family. But you'll be involved in a situation at some point where you'll think to yourself, "man, I could have avoided all that if I just would have laid a piece on that fucker."
     I'll give you an example.
     In late May of this year, I was riding my bicycle home through a residential side-street in a suburb called Lake Oswego. My head and tail lights were on, and I was clearly visible to anyone paying even the slightest modicum of attention. So, I'm taking a side street through this area, and I come to slow myself at a 4-way stop (because in Portland, the law states that a cyclist only has to YEILD at a stop sign before crossing). Suddenly, I saw a white truck pull up about 8 inches beside me and stop. Had he gone any further, his passenger's side mirror would have collided with my shoulder and knocked me to the side. I looked him in the eyes and gave him that look that most people would classify as the "dude, are you fucking kidding me?" look.
     On a side note, I'd like to make clear that in Oregon, as with most other places, the law states that any vehicle has to give you one full meter of room on either side, regardless of a cyclist's position on the road. That means that, if I feel like it's necessary for my safety, I can ride in the middle of the lane and you're not allowed to pass me unless you give me 3 feet.
     So, I chose to believe that this gentleman in his truck was just some asshole and wouldn't fuck with me again. Obviously I have too much faith in people, because he proceeded to speed past me and park his truck in my path. I crossed him on the left, this time, so that I could pass safely without a collision.
     As I passed, I noticed he had his window rolled down and I stopped. I said, "where's my three foot, man?" to which he responded "aren't you assholes supposed to stop for stop signs?" At this point, I simply nodded and proceeded to ride along.
     To his credit, he stopped at all the stop signs along the way, and didn't manage to catch up with me until I reached a rather large intersection that was occupied by a lot of traffic. This particular intersection was notorious to me for being incredibly dangerous and, cold and wet as I was, I decided to wait until I saw a safe opening to pass through. Unfortunately, this irate motorist caught up with me and knocked into my back wheel, just slightly. No, I wasn't thrown off balance, but I was jarred enough to notice. He then killed the ignition in his truck and stormed out in a huff. "You bikers think you're just the top, shit, don't you? What the fuck did you think you were doing back there?" he said. I replied, "just following the rules. Get off it, dude. I'm cold and wet and I want to go home and get drunk."
     Shit hit the fan right about here. The driver proceeded to grab me by the shoulder and pull me away from my bike. My bike fell to the side and I stumbled over it into a puddle, with my arm still in his grasp. Adrenaline started to pump in a way I had never felt before.
     Now, I'm not a fighter. I don't like to be confrontational when it isn't necessary. The only times I've ever been in fights, they consisted of a single hit followed by me sitting on someone's shoulders until they decided they'd had enough. I'm not a tough guy and I know myself well enough to know that, in a real fist fight, I'm fucked. What I can say for myself, however, is that I'm quick. So, when an opening presented itself, I tucked myself in and escaped this asshole's grip, and asked him what the fuck his problem was.
     He posited that all cyclists were criminals and assholes. I'm sure that, were I a black man, he would have probably called me a nigger, too. He had that kind of face. You know, that kind of face that looks like it's been waiting all day to issue someone a horrifying racial slur. I ALMOST wish I had provoked him a bit more, but it was too late. Another motorist pulled up in a Volvo and asked if they should call the police. Shouting to them over the sound of the traffic, the rain, and the asshole's comments (which amounted to "you wanna fucking fight? You wanna fucking go? I could take you on one handed!"), I said "I think you probably should."
     I don't think they ever called the police. The interaction was over about thirty seconds later. Obviously, this prick was a bit too scared to fight when there were people watching it happen. I climbed on my bike again and rode the rest of the way home.

     That was a story that you probably had no interest in reading. I don't give a shit. Fuck you.

     My entire point is that, had I been in the same situation but with a GUN, it would have taken about half as long as it did in real life. He would have stormed out of his car, grabbed me, and I would have escaped and flashed a 9 mil in his face. That's it, and it would have been done. I have to say that I would also probably have thoroughly enjoyed the look on his face as he shit and pissed his pants all at the same time. I also like to imagine that I would have held it up to his head and asked him to beg for forgiveness. But I'm not quite that ruthless. YET. Let's give it time.
     I mean, even a knife would have done the job. I don't think it would have been nearly as effective, but it would DO THE JOB. I'm certainly not the kind of person who would ever buy a gun and load it. That's the kind of line that I just wouldn't cross. Even if the gun was loaded, I know that I would never have shot a person. I don't care what kind of shithead you are. I don't think I could ever handle taking a human life. But I can say that there is a kind of power that comes with intimidation. That's the kind of power that has an effect on people.


     So, when I say I'm in favor of guns, don't get me wrong. I don't think people should use guns to kill people. I don't think you should use knives to stab people either. I think that would be a waste of a valuable knife that could later be used to mercilessly decapitate a head of broccoli or emasculate a stalk of celery. But friends, there are people in this world who want to hurt you. Are you going to let yourself live in fear of people who don't deserve to lick the shit from the soles of your shoes? No. You should teach them a lesson about acting like humans TOWARD other humans. Sometimes, all it takes is a threat.

Kids can teach you a lot of things. I just wish they would wait until I've had my fucking coffee.

     People who know me in real life know that I recently moved to Portland, Oregon. Recently, meaning about 10 months ago. I used "going back to school" as an excuse to move out of the shit-hole more commonly known as Boise, Idaho. Now, don't get me wrong. There are a lot of things about Boise that I really liked, and still think about. For instance, Boise is pretty much central to a lot of outdoor activities that can be enjoyed by just driving (or cycling, in my case) a very short distance. Bogus Basin, a decent ski hill, is only about 16 miles away from my old apartment. While I'm not a skiier, I appreciated the fact that a short 16 mile ride uphill could essentially kick the ass of even the most seasoned cyclists. Boise also has a notoriously good record store, called The Record Exchange, which just happens to sit on the same block as the Neurolux (known to many as "the only bar in Boise that isn't filled with pricks and shit-heaps.")
     Let's get back to my original point. Even though Boise has a lot of great things about it, it's still full of assholes. Also, there's really no cycling infrastructure, which makes it nearly impossible to NOT own a car. Public transit in Boise is absolute shit, and nobody who lives there would even bother arguing with me because they know I'm right. I'm always right. Fuck you.
     In either case, I live in Portland now. Portland is a wonderful city. It's only about 4 times the size of Boise, population-wise. So, it's not nearly as big as San Diego or Manhattan, but it's big enough that there are a lot of entrepreneurs eager to make a name for themselves crafting unique trinkets and foodstuffs, and that keeps things pretty interesting for a consumer.
     I'm going off on a tangent, here. My bad.
     So, I lived in Lake Oswego for a while. Lake Oswego is a suburb that sits about 8 miles southwest of the heart of Portland, Oregon. My roommate was an aspiring actor who was roughly two years younger than me. He was a really nice guy and I have to say that because he put up with a lot of the shit that I did. And I think he would be forced to say the same of me, only because I put up with a lot of his shit, too. But about 3 months ago, I moved into the heart of Portland. Not downtown, because downtown is full of heroin addicts and muggers. But, I live in the kind of place that most people imagine when they think of Portland. I live about 30 seconds' walk away from an old asian couple's bodega, and I like that because the lady that works there speaks with a thick Vietnamese accent and calls me "hon." I love it here.
     One thing I don't love, however, is that I live with 2 adult roommates, and one of them has two kids, aged 7 and 11. Now, I like kids most of the time. And, honestly, I like these kids most of the time, too. But I'm not used to dealing with kids like these.
     These kids wake up at normal times, around 7:00 in the morning. Now, being that I'm a night person, I usually don't wake up until around 8 or so. Thankfully my job has very forgiving hours and it's essentially the perfect job for a functioning alcoholic. But, because these kids wake up before I usually do, it's pretty common for me to hear a lot of stomping and screaming that wakes me up before I want to be woken up. I'm okay with that. What I can't understand is how they think that they actually have problems that they need to yell and cry about.
     The younger of the two is certainly the baby of the bunch. He's seven years old and, yesterday morning, I awoke to hear him wailing about how his dad is a "bad dad"because he was forcing him to wear jeans to school. Twenty minutes later, he threw yet another fit because "dad" made him turn off his iPod during breakfast.
     Let me make this perfectly clear. The kid is 7. He has an iPod. If you don't see a huge problem with that, you're probably a parent who is so dreadfully inept that you just use electronics as a way to shut your kids up because you're not brave enough to tell them to shut the fuck up when they're doing something wrong. I'll cover that in a later post.
     The older of the two is an authority figure.
When the 7 year old is having friends over, the older sibling makes them sign contracts in order to keep them in line. CONTRACTS.
     But, living in this environment has taught me a lot of things. For instance:
     1. "Milk ALWAYS makes you fall asleep." This is a direct quote, verbatim, out of the mouth of the youngest child.
     2. A promise is a promise, no matter about which day the promise was made from, or for.
The 7 year old loves jumping on the trampoline. I told him on a sunday that, after work the next day, I would jump on the trampoline with him for twenty minutes. He was gone at a friend's house all day, and when I eventually left for work he was nowhere to be found. I assumed, naturally, that he no longer needed me to jump on the trampoline with him. I fell asleep later that night, unperturbed.
The next day, I was awoken by a knock on my door. In my groggy, half-drunken state I opened the door to see him staring at me, asking if I would jump on the trampoline with him. I replied "dude, I told you I would do that yesterday. Now it's today and the offer is off the table," to which he replied, "but you said you would jump on the trampoline with me tomorrow and that was two days ago and we didn't jump yesterday so now you have to do it today."
Are you following me, here?
So, this kid just doesn't understand that the offer was rendered invalid after the clock struck midnight that day. So, what I've learned from this is that, "tomorrow" is, in a 7 year old brain, essentially any other day that is not today.
To be fair, I didn't jump. He cried like a bitch and I asked him politely if I could bottle his tears because his sadness fuels me. He didn't know what to say to that, so he walked into the kitchen, drank a glass of milk, and left me alone. I sold 5 bikes that day because I was in such a good mood from seeing him cry.
     3. Smoking a cigarette after 5 months of abstaining isn't "quitting, it's just taking a break."
Now, this one came straight from the mouth of the elder sibling. I have to say, the little fucker got me there. I was speechless when he said that to me. He's a smart kid, what can I say? I honestly have no way of reasoning my way out of that one. To be fair, I didn't WANT to take up smoking again. It just sort of happened. When you work 50 hours a week, you can't really sustain a social life. So my downtime was relegated to getting drunk and sleeping. When all you do in your spare time is drink and sleep, it's really easy to readopt old, bad habits. And unfortunately for me, smoking is a habit that I kicked for some time, and was readopted when I was working so much that I couldn't fucking see straight. Too bad. My liver and lungs will get over it eventually. They're a bunch of pricks anyway and that's why I don't talk to them anymore. I hope they die.

Juggalos

Over the years, I've had to deal with a lot of horrible people. Working in retail means that you have to put on a fake smile and act nice to a bunch of hicks that have reason to get up in the morning other than getting drunk on malt liquor and abusing their wives and children, with the occasional two week meth binge. But, in and outside of my work, I've often had to deal with a particularly reprehensible group of people, and they call themselves "juggalos."

It's really hard to describe in words exactly what's wrong with these people. Just to be near them is offensive to all five senses. They smell like a rotten egg that was shit out the back end of a dead dog that's been festering in rancid milk for three years. In addition, they also tend to be missing more teeth than they've got remaining, and their skin appears to have the texture of a relief map of the pacific northwest. It would be hard to imagine that their diet consists of much more than ramen noodles and mountain dew. I'd much prefer being in a room full of compulsive World of Warcraft players for a week than have to be in the vicinity of a "juggalo" for longer than the two seconds it takes to tell them to go fuck themselves.

They also have a penchant for painting their faces to resemble clowns. They don't attempt to look like traditional clowns, though. Oh, no. They only paint their faces in black and white, which makes them look much more like mimes as opposed to clowns. The reason that this is done is because the subjects of their idolatry, the "Insane Clown Posse," happen to paint their faces in the same way. Somehow, these people have managed to create an entire subculture out of these habits, and often refer to themselves as a "family."

Now, if you met a juggalo on any normal day and you didn't know that they were a juggalo, you'd probably meet them and think that they were a pretty normal person. That is, until they open their mouth. Typically, a juggalo won't be physically able to complete a sentence without screaming "whoop whoop" at the top of their lungs, which serves as a type of mating call to attract all nearby juggalos to the general area. You'll also notice, in the process, that they'll typically be missing at least two teeth. Most juggalos are missing more than this, but two is considered the absolute minimum. I can't imagine that there is any other reason for this than that you have to constantly be high on meth to be able to listen to listen to this shitty music.

There is no substance to the music other than talking about murdering people and raping their bodies. You know, if John Wayne Gacy wanted to write an album about killing people and raping their bodies, I might actually listen to it, because he has a frame of reference as to what he's writing about. But instead, these guys - Shaggy 2 Dope and his obese counterpart, Violent J - are just a couple of middle-class white dudes from Detroit who advertise cheap soda and tell people that if they don't buy a t-shirt with a silhouette of a man running with a meat cleaver, then they'll never be accepted.

But, really, this group of people is so much more unattractive than my words can explain. I'd recommend going on YouTube and just looking at a few videos of these juggalos to understand a little bit more about them. I'd hate to advise anyone to violate their brains in the way that you're sure to do if you look at these people, but at the same time, you should be able to recognize these people with ease so that you know who to avoid. And, really, I would never advocate murder in any scenario, but I would not be particularly offended if I found out that every juggalo in the world had been beaten senseless tomorrow. I'm not going to go out kicking the asses of a bunch of armed 14 year olds, but I don't mind if you do it. Just be prepared to face the consequences.