Tombstone Blues

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.
Hunter S. Thompson

Just read on the wire that our neighbors to the east, Arizona, have a new law that commences tomorrow that allows the carrying of firearms into drinking establishments. The law also applies for concealed weapons if you have a permit. You can easily obtain one for $30.00 and the completion of a basic firearms course. Bars and restaurants have the option of regulating guns in their establishments but must post the signage prominently.

Alcohol and bullets seem to go together like peanut butter and jelly. A perfect marriage. This should be a great alembic test for the rest of the country. All it will take is one too many cowboys crying listening to Patsy Cline to start the desert equivalent of World War III. Or get liquored up and hunt down a few of those godless liberals.

I own guns, I shoot guns, but I have never felt the necessity to bring one into a tavern. Because people are known to do stupid shit when they are drunk. The NRA, which helped sponsor this legislation, wants to tell you that criminals are responsible for firearm violence. We all know that all kinds of people are capable of a lot of dumb behavior when they become inebriated, behavior that may turn criminal real quick.  But the writers of this bill are the ones that are criminally stupid. They are asking for trouble and it will certainly come and the victims will be friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, children and innocent bystanders. Little insults will suddenly be backed up by serious firepower.

I don't get the sudden fascination with open carry. In the north county of San Diego where I live, a group of deranged seniors have been practicing open carry prominently around town lately with unloaded weapons. Now that will do a lot of good. Arizona has always been strange.  I remember driving to the Colorado River as a young adult and seeing lots of toothless biker mamas packing heat and more recently saw some crewcutted youths playing Johnny Ringo while filling up their cars with gasoline.  It was a little creepy, if you ask me. And I will never forget Kerry's story about being at the Arizona bar where a cowboy wanted to fight him for his wife. Honestly. If I beat you up, can I have her? How does the old joke go? What separates California from the lunatics? The Colorado River.

What is everyone so afraid of? Is this serious penile compensation?  I predict a lot of unnecessary killin'. Hope I'm wrong.