So what made me decide to ditch that piece and write this one instead? My teenage son came home from work early, and we decided to go to the shooting range. We have a little .22-caliber revolver that’s fun to shoot. I’m a good shot, but he’s an excellent shot, and it never stops being hilarious for him to point that out to the old man.
Editor’s Note: The following post comes to SanAntoniomizer from Felix Culpa. The person is real, but the name is fake, obviously. It’s the blogger equivalent of a stripper’s stage name. Felix is an executive at a San Antonio company we’d all recognize. Because he/she is kind of lefty, he/she thought it best — for the sake of his/her mortgage and retirement plans — to disguise his/her identity.
This isn’t the guest essay I was going to write for the SanAntoniomizer. I had a completely different piece finished, fairly glittering in its smugness, about how I’m at least as liberal as you are but because I’m an accomplished hunter and sport shooter, I actually know something about firearms. That qualifies me, and not you, to opine upon the topic of gun control. Because clearly, hippie, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
I haven’t changed my mind about that. Until you learn something about guns, you have no more business spouting off about “assault rifles” than Donald Trump has business spouting off about the many, many topics he doesn’t understand.
Amid all this fun, though, I noticed that the clientele at the range was a lot more female than usual. What I really should say is that it was a lot more lesbian. I say that without judgment and only a modicum of stereotyping. Suffice it to say that I needed no special gaydar powers. You would have come to the same conclusion.
A group of five or six women to our left was getting handgun instruction from one of their gun-toting sisterhood. An all-female couple to the right of us was popping off a pistol for what looked to be their first time ever, with the patient assistance of a range officer. There was another couple on the 25-yard rifle range, also being assisted by a range officer, shooting what I guessed was a brand-new AR-15 with open sights.
A sobering thought occurred to me: These women were probably at the range in response to last weekend’s shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. They weren’t joining the chorus of the uninformed, braying about banning weapons they don’t understand. They were learning how to protect themselves against the insane, the extremists, the bigoted.
I thought: Good for them.
Then I thought: And good for the range officers helping them. I hoped they were being as kind and non-judgmental as they appeared to be, but you never know. It must have taken some guts for the women to venture into that world.
My next thought was: It’s the return of the Gay Communist Gun Club!
You probably don’t remember the Gay Communist Gun Club, which was a lame Saturday Night Live sketch from the late 1980s (you can look it up). Phil Hartman and John Larroquette portrayed gay communists who host a call-in show about guns. People would call up wanting to join and say they were gay, or communist, or gun owners, but they were never all three, so they were told they weren’t welcome.
The punchline was that of course the universe of people who were gay, communist and gun-happy was so tiny, it was ridiculous to even have a Gay Communist Gun Club. It took a few decades, and a deranged homophobic Muslim, to make it not-so-ridiculous.
Here is my last thought: If you would like to be a part of the Gay Communist Gun Club, but are kinda nervous about being laughed at by the camo-clad, tobacco-spitting rednecks at the gun range, send Mr. Jefferson, who runs this blog, a message. He’ll get hold of me, and we’ll all go shoot some guns in a gay-OK environment. (By the way, Mr. Jefferson is a stone-cold bunny killer. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.)
So suck it, ISIS! How can you possibly win when we have the Gay Communist Gun Club on our side?