Freakin' Causes

I was listening to NPR recently when I heard a story that made me think about “causes”. It seems that Green Peace in their patchouli smelling and eco-addled brains decided to beat their heads against a wall by building a re-creation of Noah’s Ark on top of Mt. Ararat (the supposed landing zone of the “real” Noah’s Ark). Like, ya know, to like totally raise awareness of like global warming ‘n stuff…man. I just love it when groups decide they need to “raise awareness”. It’s like listening to someone telling you something everyone already knows while jerking their protester comrade off. “Hey man, did you know that like running your car burns gas. Hey, don’t get any in my dreads bro!” Nobody wants to hear it and really nobody wants to have to see it.

Kinda like how PETA has decided to spin its wheels by holding a public protest outside a fur farm in Texas. “Well, what’s so bad about that”, you might be asking; the simple fact that all of them will be naked and covered in red paint. “Again, what’s so bad about that?” Think about it. It’ll be a bunch of malnourished, aging, hairy (because as you know they are pro-fur not anti-fur), angry protesters. Probably with a good amount of dudes in there too, and no one needs to see that.

Remember “Hands Across America”? It was that nationwide stunt that sparked our country into dramatic and everlasting action to fight hunger and homelessness. Yeah, remember hunger and homelessness? Whew, sure glad that we stomped those two things out; now lets all go out for free ice cream. The whole event did about as much good as pissing into the wind.

I just feel that all these groups don’t get it. We all fucking know about “Global Warming”. You doing some stupid, ill-conceived stunt isn’t going to hammer it home anymore. We all know that you morons hate fur. But what you want is for people to join your bandwagon and not just decide that being naked and covered in paint is the surest way to have all your friends thinking you’re “special”. Finally, some notion that you are going to end something (hunger) that has been around since the earth started to spin, just by holding fucking hands is about as nuts as thinking you can slow down time by spinning. I tried that when I was like eight and let me tell you from experience, it will only work for couple of seconds at best.

Still, I felt like there was probably a buck to be made here. I mean how much do you think those Prius’s and Patagonia shirts cost? It’s expensive to be a sanctimonious hippy. So, I handed the job over to my Half-Assed Innovations crew, remember them, to see what they could come up with; and I have to admit they really surprised me.

Let me introduce “The Exercise in Futility: Exercycle”. For the angry protester who wants to fight the causes (to as much effect) from the comfort of their own home. The Futility-Exercycle comes complete with “wheels to spin” to no practical result. Other than maybe the repetitive and possibly brain damaging movement of the plate that will give you the very real sensation of repeatedly “beating your head against a wall”. And lastly, the pedal motion turns a tiny generator that will operate a small, but powerful, electric fan; so that one might bask in the spraying droplets of your very own urine whilst “pissing into the wind”! All components of the Futility-Exercylce are made from recycled nothing. That’s right none of it is recycled at all. The best part of all though is that all of the proceeds go to fighting need. My need! Of stuff like video games and guns and like sports cars.

Clint Eastwood, Eat Your Heart Out

I have been saving my pennies for a while now; ever since last year in fact. Right now I have around $600 at my disposal. That is enough to buy a Play Station 3 (the nice one) or maybe a good tattoo and even a spiffy new snowboard. However, I have fallen head over heals with the idea of getting a gun.

Not just any gun mind you. What I want is a Schofield, model 3, top-break, .45 colt pistol. This was one of the first guns to ever be manufactured to fire cartridges. Before that revolvers had to be arduously loaded one cylinder at a time with powder, wadding and shot. This gun (the model 3) was modified by General Schofield to break forward while simultaneously ejecting all spent shells to allow for a faster reload and greater access to all cylinders at the same time. Wild Bill Hickock had one; Jesse James carried two and it’s said the Wyatt Earp used one in the shootout at the O.K. Coral. Hell, my hero Indian Jones packed one in “The last Crusade”. It is an amazing gun. Enough of me blathering on though.

So, cognizant of the fact that I have never purchased a gun and that I had no ideas of what the laws were in regards to where I could carry and fire it, I decided to do a little research. Now, anyone reading this from the east coast or California needs to prepare for a shock. There are almost no laws in Nevada for guns in general. Not just hand guns, but any guns. You could buy a Tommy gun an M16 or an Uzi if you so desired. “Well maybe but you can’t carry those nasty guns anywhere” you might be thinking. Not so! I can buy the .45 caliber hand-cannon I was just talking about, load it, then strap it to my hip and go to the mall to get a smoothie! Let me tell you there is nothing as satisfying as sippin’ down a “Berry Blast with energy boost” and packing iron at the same time. Where can I fire it? Anywhere, as long as I’m a mile from any buildings and so forth.

The only stipulations on the laws that I could find was that you couldn’t carry your gun into any building that is governmental, has metal detectors, a school, or has a sign that says no guns allowed (of which I have seen none). That said; you can strap on your favorite piece, march right into Barnes and Nobel and head strait to the harlequin western novels. Oh, almost forgot. You don’t need to wait to buy a gun. If I’m out getting bed sheets at Target and decide “Shit, you know I think I should get a 50 caliber Desert Eagle at the corner gun store on the way back home”, I can. No waiting periods! God bless Nevada. I may have even enticed LJ into getting a gun for herself. She may want a colt pistol and a lever action rifle. I love that girl.

We went to In-N-Out to get a milk shake the other day and this kid sitting at the table next to us was talking to his brother. I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard him proclaim loudly “I’m the sheriff!” At this point LJ and I locked eyes for a moment. It was plain that we were both thinking the same thing so I vocalized it. I uttered softly “I’m the Sheriff.” Well maybe not yet but soon…soon.