Rant

Now You’re Just Some Country That I Used To Know

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes — turn and face the stranger — but you might get your brains blown out by some cray cray!

Had a chat with some college students about life on Earth and what we might expect to see during our (mostly their) lifetimes.

One suggested that in fifty years, one will never leave one’s closet biosphere. Everything will be input through some advanced AI. Education, work, food, extracurricular activities, and relationships will flow through one’s body as custom designed by algorithms.

Surprisingly, I took this as a good sign. I’m not agoraphobic, mind you. But all I once believed in and cherished about America has been locked and loaded in the chambers of 434 million guns.

The only journey is the journey within. — Rainer Maria Rilke

My new journey is going to be within the four walls of my garage:

I’m done with neighbors. Don’t want to be blasted walking through my hood. Don’t want to be knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door while some senile prick stands behind it to guard his treasure trove of Preparation H.

No way I’m getting my basketball from Ralph’s yard. He probably has a spring gun loaded on his gate to protect his weeds. Ain’t sittin’ on my porch no more. Ain’t smilin’ at nobody.

RIP Fred Rogers. Ain’t no more beautiful days in my hood. The sweater and shoes are at the Goodwill. Got me a flak jacket and steel-tipped boots.

No more hangin’ with my posse. I’m giving up stoops, lawns, cul-de-sacs, parks, downtowns, uptowns, and one-horse towns. Me, you, babies, friends, and passersby might be mowed down by some asshole conquistadors looking to claim my block for their kingdom.

Cars are out. Don’t want to be capped by a sniper’s target practice while I’m listening to Metallica during rush hour on the I-10. Can’t have my 1983 Hyundai carjacked for parts by some modern-day Jessie James.

Don’t want to be chased by the cops for no reason — sneeze — and be shot 400 times or beat to death by the side of the road across the street from my crib. I promised myself I’d saw my arms off rather than twitch and be blown to smithereens.

No eating a hamburger in a parking lot. Who cares if I’m a fucking straight-A student, speak ten languages, play the violin, and work at a soup kitchen on the weekends. No more making U-turns in anyone’s driveway in upstate New York — where stand your ground extends to the Canadian border. No Arkansas car shows either!

No more public transportation. Subways are out. Buses too. No bikes, skateboards, or scooters. Staying off every city street and country road in LA, NYC, NOLA, Chicago, Philly, Riverside, Albuquerque, Kenosha, Indy, Rockford, Okmulgee, Jacksonville, Tampa — anywhere — everywhere!

No schools. No more teaching college. Preschools, elementary, and high schools, are off limits. It’s tough to nurture one’s mind when it’s spread all over the hallway. No living anywhere within 1,000 miles of a campus! No waiting for the gleam in the eye of that 6-year-old as he plugs me with the gun mom packed in his unicorn lunch box.

And no religion, too. I have family from Jewish, Catholic, and Muslim faiths. But no more synagogues, mosques, or churches named after saints for this guy. It’s pretty much impossible to overcome a madman with a bandolero unless the congregation is packing and doesn’t give a shit about loving thy neighbor in the crossfire.

No more parties, events, gatherings. How sick does must one be to squeeze a trigger and drain the life from the kids at a Sweet 16 birthday party? No more Vegas or Dallas concerts, Harvest Festivals, peaceful gatherings, picnics, backyard barbecues, dinner parties, garden parties, cocktail parties, tea parties, pool parties, and especially Christmas parties in San Bernardino. If I’m going to die, let it be by choking on a hoagie rather than on my own blood.

Better to be unemployed than to be sorry! I will never work at a bank, particularly if a disgruntled employee with a fish for a last name is on staff. No post offices, military bases, bars, nightclubs, mobile home parks, rail yards, real estate offices, hospitals, or mall boutiques. No company that has recently fired or reprimanded anyone for any reason. No farms in Half Moon Bay. No cornfields in Menomonie. I’ll stick to selling index finger superheroes online.

Massage parlors supermarkets, convenience stores, and Walmart are history. My back will be killing me but there’s no way I’m going to a massage parlor in Georgia. The devil is still there with his backwards ball cap, tactical camo gear, and bazooka.

I like to squeeze my Charmin at home rather than using it to patch the holes in my splayed gut on aisle 13 of Tops (not so) Friendly Market.

Don’t want to take the last can of malt liquor at Shifty’s Minimart and piss of the fat bastard greaseball with the MAGA hat. There will be no walking anywhere near a car in the parking lot.

I sure as hell don’t want to be slaughtered by some AR-15 toting homophobic, misogynistic, racist — mikey-hates-everybody, 20-year-old white dude, while I’m buying all that cheap Chinese shit from Walmart.

I’m swearing off parades, movies, and dance halls. Parades are feeding grounds for crazies.

Being shot in the head during a sucky movie might be the climax for the couple yapping behind me — who I suspect won’t stop munching on their popcorn as I bleed out.

No chance of having moves like Jagger when my legs and arms are on opposite sides of the dance floor.

Inside my crib, your crib, anybody’s crib. Let’s face it, there’s way too much risk staying in my crib. That’s why I’m moving to the shithole garage where I am statistically less likely to be smoked by a gunslinger but more likely to be smoked from carbon monoxide. I’ll take my chances with the gas.

Public Service Announcement: Grandma’s guns, mom’s guns, dad’s guns, store bought guns, handguns, assault rifles, machine guns, mortars, grenades, artillery, big, small, 3-D printed, concealed, shouldered, or strapped guns, don’t kill people. Yeah, right! Only fucking crazy assholes surrounded by guns kill people.

Note: 48% of mass shooters leak their plans in advance. 23% have manifestos. In cases involving K-12 school shootings, over 80% of individuals who engaged in shootings stole guns from family members. National Institute of Justice — 2022. 75% of all workplace shooters showed signs of crisis or a marked change in behavior, often triggered by a job dismissal. National Institute of Justice — 2022. Shootings at houses of worship are up 34% over the past several years. Church Shootings. 95% of mass shooters are male. 29.4% of mass shootings take place at the workplace. 25.1% take place at schools. Rockefeller Institute. There were more mass shootings in the past five years than in any other half-decade since 1966. There has been a 66% increase in mass shootings between 2019 and 2021. The Marshall Project. There were over 690 mass shootings in both 2021 and 2022. There have been 163 (and counting) in 2023. Mass shootings are normally planned. Community involvement is a key to preventing mass violence. Those closest to people who may commit violence often know what behaviors are unexpected for that individual. If you observe unusual behaviors, notice one suddenly acquiring weapons or tactical gear, or hear one express direct threats of a potential shooting, contact your local law enforcement agency. CNN Article 2019.

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