Beanery Online Literary Magazine

August 11, 2008

I HAVE A PERMIT TO CARRY…

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

I HAVE A PERMIT TO CARRY…

Mustang Sally

 

 

Why, you will ask, would I need to carry a weapon? 

 

Well, my mind is going a bit and I don’t exactly remember. There was a time when home invasions seemed threatening. However if you produce the “Permit” as picture identification, people nod their heads and say: “Why, yes. You can stay in our motel tonight,” or “The plane will be leaving in five minutes.”

 

But you know that they wish you had chosen Holiday Inn or taken Delta. They look out to see if you are driving an armored Hummer.
    
What I have is a tiny pistol that has a fold up barrel. It is a .22 and probably would kill anything it hit, if I ever used it. However, its explosion is so loud that I am afraid to practice with it, and bullets rarely hit what I aim at.

The chance of hitting anything further away than three feet is very small. There would have to have a total threat to my life or someone I love for me to use it.

 

Confronted by someone who threatened me, I imagine I would have the presence of mind to say to the miscreant: “This is not a great gun. I will not try to hit your genitals or other delicate parts of your body, but with this gun, who knows?”

 

I should think that that would paralyze a bad guy with fear. Then, I would 911 the police, who are, oh, perhaps a mere 40 miles away.  Oh well.  Might as well just go ahead and shoot the bad guy.
 
Anyhow, since I can’t picture actually shooting anyone, I am thinking of getting a new weapon. One I would actually use.

 

I just got back from wedding time for well-to-do Floridians and staying in an absolutely perfect gated community.   These relatives defend themselves with the perfect weapon. A useable one.
         
I want to bring you to a sympathetic understanding of the Florida cousins. Their beautiful house is on a charming lake, which has visiting sand hill cranes, many varieties of herons, and white egrets. On the top of a dead tree that raises stark, gray, branches forty feet higher than the impenetrable jungle below sits an osprey munching on fresh fish. Got the picture? 
         
Paradise.
        
The demon enters in the form of a great huge turkey vulture, which brings herds of relatives to darken the tree and the sky. They land on the perfect house and poop on the roof. They sit on and shred the screens of the lanai and poop truly disgusting stuff into the swimming pool and spa. I mean, Gee.  The stuff vultures eat is pretty bad before it starts through their system. Imagine after.

  

Let’s add to the frustration of the Floridians: vultures are protected. But not from paint ball guns. I don’t think I need to finish this except to say that Young Cousin Once Removed (the groom) bought a $1500 paint ball gun that can shoot to the top of a 40-foot tree with rapid-fire pellets.  We get to imagine him sideling around the end of the pond, concealed from the disgusting vultures by graceful overhanging fronds. He carefully moves into the open, the rifle raises slowly, and carefully, and pop,pop,pop,pop,pop.pop.

 

In the color of the day, turkey buzzards, in brilliant red, green, or yellow, take off in desperate panic. They don’t come back.

 

Wonderful. These cousins attack. They defend. I couldn’t be prouder of them. 

My heart almost bursts with pride.

 

I want a paintball gun.

 

ADDITIONAL READING:

RAINBOW’S END Part 1

MUSTANG SALLY’S GUIDE TO WORLD BICYCLE TOURING

MOONSTONE RHYMES

LET MIND GIVE WAY TO HEART

SHOULD I REVEAL OR BURY THE FAMILY SECRET?

THE ICE CREAM MAN

TO MATTIE

IMAGINATIVE, ORIGINAL, PURE, PROFOUND POEMS by CHILDREN

DRESSING FOR BLESSING: GOD AND FASHION Part 1

IF I COULD CRY

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