Sheeple Listen

The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth.

It happened again.  I heard on the news that “It is in our nature to demand an explanation”, so by all means, let the explaining commence.

Tell me how he was such a nice young man whose mother just so happened to purchase the very weapons that were later used to take not only her life, but the lives of 20 children and 5 other adults before her son turned them on himself.  I guess she got her money’s worth. I mean, killing human beings; that is what they’re designed to do, right?

Tell me how we didn’t miss the signs because there weren’t any.

Tell me how more guns equal less crime.  Like more vermin equal less disease?

Tell me how video games are probably to blame.

Tell me how a lunatic, is a lunatic, is a lunatic and will find a way with, or without, access to a gun.

Unabomber, Jeffry Dahmer

let us pray

for Timothy McVeigh

but god didn’t stop them.

Adam Lanza could’ve showed up with a car bomb or a pick ax, but he didn’t. The s’umbitch showed up with a gun, just like Jared Lee Loughner, just like James Holmes, just like all the other legally armed murderers who, in the name of self defense, purchased an arsenal sufficient to defend a small country, when in fact the killer was on the lawn the whole time. They outnumber Hanibal Lector a thousand to one and yet we look for explanations that favor insanity over weaponry. Brave Clarice. You will let me know when those lambs stop screaming, won’t you?

Tell me how guns are not the problem.

Tell me how pedaling fear is not the problem.

Tell me how the unabated sale of firearms to any deranged asshole with a credit card is not the fucking problem.

Go on now, tell me, I wanna know.

Tell me how this latest incident won’t incite scores of new gun sales.

Tell me how one of those guns won’t end up in the hands of a disturbed individual when they slip past the end of their rope.

After we rinse and repeat, you can tell me again.

Tell me about your 2nd Amendment rights.

Tell me how god hates abortion,

don’t tread on me, motherfucker.

Tell me why I should have to defend myself against a legally armed murderer.

But on second thought, maybe guns aren’t the problem.

Maybe YOU are the problem.

Maybe your tiresome rhetoric and psychotic, garbage-head paranoia are the problem.

Your back woods, snake handling revival, seventh grade ed*u*macation and “family” values just might be the problem. Trolling the floor of wal-mart, blind-sided by falling prices and high on Diet Pepsi; yeah….that’s you alright.

When Jesus talks, the sheeple listen.

Therein lies the problem.

Author: d. Nelle Vincent

I write stories about wine and the human condition because the devil, as they say, is in the details.

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