“But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”
Matthew 18:6
To the folks out there who think of guns as Magical Totems of Manly Power (and for the record, I speak as a gun-owning deer hunter, okay?): A gun is not a penis.
It is also not, by the way, a remotely realistic means of countering government tyranny (you have 12 gauge shotguns and hunting rifles; the government has B52s and nuclear weapons and the Air Force and napalm and the 82nd Airborne Division. Capisce?)
I’m going to be blunt here: I read a fair amount of gun-nut postings on the intertubes, and lots of it seems to be a bunch of childish guys with manhood issues talking about what flinty-eyed badasses they’ll be when The Shit Hits The Fan. I knew guys like this…in junior high school. They were the ones bragging about some guy they “totally whaled on” … in another school across town where it would be impossible to check.
Personally, I like guns because, when it is time to take a deer, using a rifle (specifically, a Remington Model 700 in .270) is way easier than throwing rocks. I have a healthy respect for the (actual, as opposed to mythic) power guns have, and am something of a stickler for safety. For example, my strict rule on hunting trips is: when the first beer is cracked open at the end of the day, all guns are locked in the truck for the night – period.
But, look: when all is said and done, a gun is a thing – just…a tool – nothing more.
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