OK. The lad here is having fun with a lady who (I seem to understand) supports the wrong party and the wrong contender for the Republican presidential nomination (not a democrat, and besides, a right-wing goofball named Ted Cruz.
The good news is: the fun-having lad there respects peoples’ right to bear arms. The bad news is: the lady he’s joking about, named Jamie Gilt, who “jacks up her four-year-old” for some unforgettable drills at an 0.22 was reportedly shot in (or rather through her seat, her back and her complete torso by that four-year-old, from the back seat. No, not with that 0.22, but with a 0.45. So it wasn’t exactly the gun he was meant to operate.
But the irony, you know. The little story has an irresistable moral, or so thinks the Breakfast Club:
The poor child couldn’t make a choice, they say.
Oh well, you know … when I was a four-year-old child, I was forced to eat chemical extra food, because at the time, the industry in Germany who produced it even sold it, and my chemicals-lovin mom bought that.
I think it’s perfectly OK to train a four-year-old on a cute little 0.22, as long as he wears adequate earplugs and knows how to use chopsticks. And when an accident happens, an accident happens. If an aggreessive idiot overtakes me on the country lane with 150 mph and crashes into a deer and ends up in a ditch, I will do my best to get him out of the water and to keep him from drowning.
And that would be that. No funny news, no appearance in the >>Donkey of the Day<<, provided that the police keep their mouths shut about the event, too.
Let’s sum it up: Jamie Gilt looks good, she loves guns, she loves her spoilt brat who – surprise, surprise! – was toying around with even bigger guns than she’d let him have in the back seat, and shit happens.
And she looks good. That’s even worse. A woman who smells like a tea partisan and who’s looking good. And possibly loaded. I mean, people without much money could hardly afford to be in the nutrition supplement trade, a trade that hardly supports you for one week a month. Looks more like a hobby to me.
So people don’t like her. And therefore, they make a big fuss about her.
And I’m making a nice little fuss about her, too, because I find her likeable.
If I was twenty years younger and if she had watched out four years ago, I’d propose to her.
But anyway, Ms Gilt – how about a nice holiday? We can spend ours in Venice, and little Gilt can spend his in Sandhurst. On a shooting range.
Let’s hope it isn’t THAT bad