Next Stop: License to Kill


by Joe Buonfiglio

I just shot Father Time in the face.

That’s right; you heard me.  I was vacationing in Florida and felt threatened when I found out that “time is a thief,” so I shot the bastard.  And quite frankly, that incessant “It’s a Small World” song at the House of the Mouse is making me a little trigger-happy in the feeling-threatened department, too.  I’m also allergic to citrus, so that woman selling fruit and stale pecan rolls at roadside just might have a target on her back as well.  It depends on what kind of mood I’m in.

NO, I DON’T WANT ANY FREAKIN’ ORANGES, BITCH!  Back off!  It’s not my job to feed your family.

Poor people threaten me.  I may have to buy an automatic weapon at the gun show today.  Hey, there are a LOT of poor people out there.

Come to think of it, people at gun shows tend to be a little threatening, too.  Hmmm.

You know, I think the gun nuts may just have it right this time.  Stand and Deliver— er, I mean “Stand Your Ground” laws can be fun.  Who should I shoot next?  That biology professor in college; never did like that prick.  Always talking about Galápagos finches.  Finch this.  Finch that.  Fuck the finches; he’s next!

Don’t give me that look; finches can be threatening.  Oh sure, they seem all sweet and innocent.  Then BAM!  They swoop in with their finchy death-screech and peck your eyeballs out with those cute little beaks.  One minute you’re walking the streets thinking, “What a lovely day to enjoy this peanut butter and bacon sandwich.”  The next thing you know, you’re blind with emergency-room sounds all around you while a paramedic is using the Jaws of Life to pry off your underwear, because you crapped yourself so badly in what the news anchor is calling the worst unprovoked finch attack in human history.

Screw you and your guttural sighing.  It could happen.

You don’t think I should be able to just walk around shooting people simply because their rap-music blaring car stereo threatens me while I’m trying to listen to my Hee Haw soundtrack?  Up yours, hippie.  I’ve got a “Right to Carry.”  Not only that, but—

Nuts!  I just remembered that I’ve got a colonoscopy scheduled for next week.  That REALLY threatens me.  Old Doc Latexfinger may just find himself on a last-minute blind date with the business end of the Glock 42 I conceal up my ass just in case.

Just.  In.  Case.

And it’s not just Florida that has both “Right to Carry” and “Stand Your Ground” laws.  A lot of states do.  The opportunities to fire off a round because Cindy Lou Who’s cocker spaniel stole your half-eaten Ding Dong cake before you were finished sucking the cream filling out are virtually limitless.

Hold on.  There’s a woman walking by pushing a British-style perambulator.  Maybe it’s just a nanny out shoving a kid around the park in that baby carriage … OR, maybe she’s a foreign terrorist packin’ automatic-heat in that stroller.  There’s no way to tell, is there?

I feel threatened by her.  Excuse me while I shoot her in the face.

Okay, so I—  Hold on again.  What the hell is this now coming my way?  A clown handing out balloons with a monkey on a leash?  Those baggy pants could hold a lot of ammo.

Bullet to the balls.

See ya’, Mister Bubbles.  The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a worse guy with a gun…. ME!

Where were we?  Oh, right; “Right to Carry” meets “Stand Your Ground.”  So if there’s a reason to—  Look at this guy now.  He’s walking around the village shops emptying catsup packets on his exposed penis shouting “I’m the Hindenburg! I’m the Hindenburg!”

Okay, nothing threatening there.  Even so, this is all becoming tiresome.  Our nation’s army of the armed want something on a significantly grander scale than these two laws.  And though it would be fun to see what happens when a heavily armed “Right to Carry” guy meets a “Stand Your Ground” guy who feels threatened by someone else with a gun in close proximity, one has to wonder what the endgame really is here.  What is the next stop, the definitive destination on this Paladinesque “Have Gun – Will Travel” trip?

“Do you expect me to talk?” queried Her Majesty’s Secret Service superspy 007.  “No, Mr. Bond,” said Goldfinger.  “I expect you to die.”

There it is, my friends.  The ultimate expression of the 2nd Amendment for the gun crazies is to obtain the Holy Grail of the weapon aficionado: the license to kill.

Why should some fictional Brit son of a bitch have all the fun, right?  Chicks dig the whole “License to Kill” gig.  Why do you think we gun-toting daddies walk around pushing “Right to Carry” bullshit in public anyway?  Because if the ladies see that big gun strapped over your shoulder or on your hip, they KNOW you’re packing (if you know what I mean).  Doesn’t matter how fat, drunk and slovenly you are, when the last time you bathed was, or how much of your “plumber’s blossom” butt-crack is exposed every time you bend down to pick a penny off the sidewalk in the hopes of someday paying off your rust-bucket of a pickup truck; if you’re locked-n-loaded, Daisy Mae is a-gonna treat you like a man tonight.

That’s right.  Work it, girl.  You like that NRA membership card, don’t ya’?  You know you want it.  You know you want it bad.

And hell, why stop there?  License to kill?  Even that’s “so yesterday” baby-shit!  Survivalist-militia End-Time crazies and over-the-top, out-of-control gun nuts often align in philosophy, don’t they?  Let’s take this warped civil-liberty view of the U.S. Constitution all the way, shall we?  How about a license to kill … and eat!

Now you’re talkn’; we’re going with full-blown legalized cannibalism!  Why pussyfoot around?  You kill it; you eat it.  Now THAT’S an America ready for The Four Horsemen, wouldn’t you say?

Holy shit, that’s threatening!  I feel threatened by myself now.  (This could be my last post.)  Wait a minute.  You don’t like my blog?

I feel threatened by that….

… VERY threatened.

© 2014 Joseph P. Buonfiglio        All Rights Reserved.

Sin título-1Picture1twitter-button



2 thoughts on “Next Stop: License to Kill

Go ahead and leave a reply. What the hell, right?