I owe Wayne LaPierre, none of whose body parts I wish to see impaled on any inanimate object, now and forever, amen, a great debt of gratitude. For, you see, he has opened my poor eyes to the light, and where I once was blind, now I can see, my friends.
When I picked up the first Assassin’s Creed game for my vile PS3, everything seemed fine at first. When I started reliving my ancestors’ lives and going around (as them) jumping on rooftops and slashing people’s throats all the time, I thought that was odd, sure, but I wasn’t terribly concerned. But now, as I’m playing Assassin’s Creed III, which is actually the fifth title in the series because gamers don’t count so well, I guess, I must have amassed a body count in the thousands if you include all the times I relived my ancestors’ lives and fucked something up so I had to go back and start again. I’m SORRY I fell too far behind my target, whatever, assholes…anyway, I digress.
As I got more and more freaked out about what was happening, I started blaming things. Guns, I blamed guns. I blamed my apparently ridiculously violent ancestors. I blamed the retracting knife that I suddenly had in place of my left ring finger. I blamed myself. It wasn’t until I listened to Mr. LaPierre’s
shit-flinging sidewalk nutjob shrieking session press conference this morning that I realized that it wasn’t the knife, or my ancestors, or me, or especially guns that were to blame, it was the video game itself! Well, like any sensible, Real American out there, I did the right thing; I immediately bought myself an AR-15 with a high capacity mag, armor piercing rounds, telescoping night sight and laser targeting system.
Then I shot the living shit out of my PS3 and that damned game, and maybe some of the people next door or out in the street or across the street or wherever the bullets flew once they punched through the walls of my house; whatever, that’s not important. What is important is I got your message, Mr. LaPierre.
And I’m with you all the way. Shooting shit.
Because, and I don’t mean to repeat myself but it bears (bears being another great reason to own some guns!) repeating, freedom.