Do we really need to freely allow people to purchase assault weapons?

In memory of the 28 who died needlessly at the hands of a crazed assault-weapon toting "citizen" in New England this past week.  

I am a southerner. I get the whole gun thing (as it were). 

My grandparents going back centuries owned guns. I own several of those very guns handed down to me by some of those fine folks to whom I owe my very existence. Those who lived long before me surely needed guns to hunt and for personal pleasure (to shoot clay pigeons, skeet, cans and what not). Sure, an argument can even be rationally made that -- depending on where they lived -- they needed those weapons for their own defense especially those living in the wilds of colonial Virginia. 

As technology progressed (so to speak. Is this really "progress?") the weapons have become capable of killing many in the blink of a child's eye lash - alas. Our founding fathers -- the very ones who created the second amendment allowing us to keep and bear arms for our DEFENSE -- would not even allow the average non-land owning person to vote! Do you think -- had they lived in our time -- they would allow the average citizen to own an assault weapon? Would they have allowed average citizens the right to bear these insane weapons for OFFENSE versus defense? 

When you think about it, our country has tacitly approved the ridiculous interpretation that anyone who can fog a mirror (apparently) may be allowed access to weapons whose primary purpose is offensive. It's called an "assault" weapon for a reason. I do not own assault weapons. Why would I need a Sig? Or an AK-47? Or anything that is designed to obliterate a target - human or otherwise? There is only one reason someone might own such a weapon. For their own personal narcissistic pleasure or paranoia. 

Oh, and the nutty idea that the same crazed and twisted murderer who snuffed out 28 lives this past week -- if they were hell bent enough -- could pack a van full of explosives and cause the same kind of murderous mayhem -- is specious at best. Sure, murder is a human constant; mass murder is as well. But we have reached a point where we must be as willing to die for a right to live in a society free of these kinds of narcissistic weapons as we are to live in one with this self-fulfulling gun culture tyranny. 

We allow paranoiacs in the NRA and their lap dogs in Congress to convince us that the path to true freedom is accompanied an assault weapon Bull shit. Why not a rocket launcher? Or, my own personal tank? Flamethrower? I don't know that I want to live in a society that so easily allows every one to own a tool that is designed to annihilate everything in its sights. Sure, someone could come along and bludgeon me with a stick or an ax. But, he or she would have a helluva time using that same stick to kill and murder dozens in seconds. 

You want to own an assault weapon for your own protection? Fine. Go live on an island then. Have all of the assault weapons you like. Just get out of my country. I don't want you here. 

Ban these assault weapons. It won't stop murder. But, it will limit the devastation and the ability of someone like the crazed nut in Newtown from making a life-ending spectacle with the blood of small children. Enough. Please.

Birthday for Packy the Elephant?

I am 10+ year member of the Oregon Zoo. Sure, I like animals. But, I just received the most ridiculous birthday party invitation. It was from an elephant -- "Packy."

I continue to be surprised at the lengths human beings will go to leverage events to the nth degree to make a buck. When I get invited to celebrate someone's birthday, I am not given 500 opportunities (depending on my donation or gift level) to pay homage. Why can't we just have some cake (albeit a gigantic one) and ice cream, some candles and call it a day?

"Hey Kids! Come celebrate Packy's birthday! For a tax-deductible donation of just $25 you can get a complementary bag of 'Packy's Patty's' for your Mom's garden. If you want your garden basil to grow as tall as Packy, you'll want to get here early to avoid the lines!"

For a donation of just $50, you can get some of Packy's toe nail clippings (Hint:these make great gifts).

And, for a donation of $100 or more, Packy will use his trunk to splash some paint on a piece of paper for you. Yes, Packy is an artist.

Of course he's an artist. He's been in prison for a half-century.

I recently had the opportunity to interview Packy in the prison, err I mean Zoo, visitor center. Zoo officials sat close by in order to monitor our conversation, though this reporter politely refused to allow Zoo officials to edit or review the answers.

Reporter: Packy, you were born in prison. And from the looks of you, it does not seem to have bothered you much.

Packy: Three squares and two hours in the yard a day. Someone to hose you off and scrub you down and all the free hay, healthcare and drugs I need. I live better than most people. Got a roof over my head and a concrete floor to nap on. Life's pretty good. Besides, I am used to it by now.

Reporter: But, don't you think it would've been better to grow up in the wild?

Packy: Elephant's live in the wild? (Pauses). I am kidding! Of course they do. Naw. I ain't that kind of elephant. (Laughs). Besides, I am lazy as hell. Don't like to work.

Reporter: I see that you paint.

Packy: Sure, I enjoy flinging a paint brush around. The people at the Zoo (glancing over his enormous shoulder) spend weeks trying to find meaning in my art. It's hilarious. I am just flinging paint around like a drunk kindergartner and everyone thinks it's a sign of some higher intelligence. I mean...look at me. I am g'damn elephant! The only thing I can draw is flies.

Reporter: What else keeps you busy?

Packy: Showers. Especially when Zookeeper Tammy scrubs my privates. (Giggles).

Reporter: So you are allowed conjugal visits.

Packy: Yeah. You could call it that, I guess. There are other elephant's here, though. These damn keepers are always trying to get us to, uh, you know, get it going on. It makes me laugh. Just the other night after visitors hours were over, Tammy put Marvin Gaye's "Let's get it on" on the loudspeaker. She set the lights down low in the cage, fed me and what's her name some fresh hay and then began to push us close together with sticks. My boys need a lot of room to breath; all that effort ain't gonna cut it in a cage. Besides, I need some g'damn privacy.

Reporter: Have you ever thought of escaping?

Packy: From what?

Reporter: The Zoo?

Packy: Why?

Reporter: Because you are in a cage?

Packy: You serious, man? This is a great gig. I sleep when I want. Eat when I want. Step in my own droppings when I want. Pee on the zoo keepers when I want. I especially enjoy that; drenches them to the skin. They walk out of the cage sloshing in their boots; makes me crack up every time. Priceless.

Reporter: People say you like practical jokes.

Packy: Yeah, I like a good laugh. What I really like to do is break wind in the direction of people who talk on cell phones near my pen. What the hell. Here they come to the zoo with their kids and all they can do is yack on the damn phone? What is wrong with these people? Believe me, they get out of their quick when I send a little "poison air" their way.

Reporter: Do you have a cell phone.

Packy: (Long pause). Are you stupid?

Reporter: Sorry.

Packy: I would like to make a suggestion.

Reporter: What's that.

Packy: Maybe you could report that my feet are killing me. I need some rubber mats or something in here. The concrete floors are really not very ergonomic. Maybe Nike can grind up some shoes and make a soft floor for me. Can you let 'em know about that?

Reporter: Sure, Packy. Any last thoughts?

Packy: Yeah, got a cigarette? This g'damn patch is the size of a mouse diaper.