The origin of the
right to keep and bear arms
Barry Bright
March 12, 2008
(This is my version of this.)
A long
time ago, in a forest, or on a plain, no one knows for sure, there was a
watering hole.
A group of primitive hominids, whose ancestors had transitioned
from veganism to
omnivorism, were waiting patiently in the brush surrounding the watering
hole for some prey to arrive so they could run out and catch it.
Another group of primitive hominids, whose ancestors had remained
vegans, were partying their way up to the water’s edge, having gathered some
of the berries from the haight ashbury bush. They were called stoners
because they crushed the berries with stones to cook up their concoctions,
about the only real work they ever performed.
Not being cannibals, the meat-eating hominids were annoyed at this
intrusion on their hunting grounds. The meat eating chief stepped from his
hiding place to run off the stoned vegans.
The ‘leader’ of the stoners, a mixed breed mutt of questionable
lineage, staggered forward to meet the meat eating chief. With a broad smile
on his face, he slurred out loudly: “Hope!,” in early hominid speak of
course, probably with a short grunt and a squeak.
Taken aback for a second at the obvious lack of evolved
communication skills, the omnivore chief stammered, “What are you doing at
our watering hole? We paid a high price for it and I can show you the deed.”
With arms outstretched the stoner leader threw his head back and
declared, “We believe in from each according to his ability, to each
according to his need, and so this watering hole belongs to us all.”
“That’s a load of mammoth hooey,” the brave stout chief replied, as
he looked down on the swaying would-be messiah. “You can leave our lands now
or you can face the consequences.”
“Oh no,” the stoner replied. And he turned to face his troop and
motioned one of them forward. It was carrying an early tree bark briefcase,
harvested from an already dead object of worship and sanctified by the
stoners’ shaman in a ceremony that involved several days worth of
‘meditation,’ humming, and dancing around the haight ashbury bush.
“I’m a member of the bar,” the tree bark shyster declared. “And
I’ve filed a lawsuit with the Neolithic Environment Protection Agency that
will keep this issue tied up in litigation for years and make me the
greatest holder of dried haight ashbury berries in all
Pangaea.”
At this news the chief’s face turned red and his knuckles white
which were now gripping a piece of driftwood that he found laying on the
ground as he walked up.
“Oh no,” the shyster demurred, “You must lay that driftwood down,
and let it return to its natural condition, for we’ve also passed new laws
forbidding the use of clubs, rocks, sticks, thorns, or any device capable of
slinging more than ten rocks per minute in any act of self defense.”
At this last effrontery, the chief swung his club and sent the
brains of the most dangerous creature in front of him, the bark shyster,
spraying through the air. He then caught the stoner ‘leader’ in mid sway,
breaking his back.
The less intoxicated among the stoners started to drift toward the
chief, but his tribe came out of the bushes with their clubs and rocks and
the stoners slinked away through the brush, carrying their whimpering chief.
“What will we do with the tree bark shyster,” asked one of the
meat-eaters. “Maybe we can throw it in the watering hole.”
“Oh no, it’ll pollute the water and poison the game that comes here
to eat,” replied the chief. “Let’s take it to where it belongs.”
They drug the body of the tree bark shyster to the haight ashbury
bush and left it there. Later when the vegans were stoned out of their minds
and dying of the munchies, they invented the now eons old tradition of
“Liberals” hypocritically ‘eating their own.’
So there you have it. The origin of the ‘right to bear arms.’ Our
early ancestors realized, that if allowed to take their insanity to its
limit, our enemies would even outlaw our arms. They didn’t waste time and
dried berries on what should be a simple solution.
Blacksburg
Willowtown
Photography Home