After the shooting in Orlando, you may have heard the disturbing rumor that the gays are enraged and coming for your guns.
This is correct.
Judging by the panic ablaze on Twitter (of course), a phalanx of bears in Prada tactical gear will be crashing through your front door at ANY MOMENT to seize your beloved boy toys. So you’re no doubt sitting in the dark, polishing your barrel, awaiting the invasion of suspiciously pleasant-smelling men who want to seize your gleaming steel while rolling their eyes at the contents of your linen closet.
Oh, you have it so wrong. We’re not coming through the front door, darlings. We’re going to make you give your guns up all on your own.
“But no!” you squeal with just a hint of false panic. “Never in a million years will I surrender to the homos!” Oh dear, we’ve heard THAT one before. Guess what, boys? We know how to push just the right buttons.
That’s right, we’re going to make guns uncool.
We have the cultural power, and we’re going to use it. All across America, film and television producers, web designers, writers, social media managers, Instagram fashion bloggers and everyone’s favorite office gossip will get their marching orders and turn as one to the task of ridiculing and vilifying your beloved iron viagra. We’re going to do to guns what we did to mustaches (Yes, I know they are back. Don’t ask.), transforming them into a limp symbol of fragile masculinity, a loser’s accessory as uncool as the fanny pack (Yes, I know. Sigh.).
Make no mistake. Women will dump you.
The words “deal breaker” will be bandied about at a million brunches with the boys. Revealing your gun ownership will have the same effect on a date as telling her about your anime collection or your 4chan profile. As you finally get the message and roll out of the club broke-hearted and empty-handed, she’ll be over in the corner with her main ‘mo bestie, laughing about how small you must be to want to carry around one of “those silly things”.
Your mother will worry about where she went wrong.
Your buddies (let’s assume for a second that you’re not a friendless loser) will all fall silent when you brag on your gun, as embarrassed as if you’d just mentioned that you were in marriage counseling. They will have secret get-togethers down at the bar where they will drink too much and discuss whether to stage an intervention before guiltily deciding that they’ll just keep an eye on things for now and see where it goes. But you’ll notice that they are suddenly super supportive, never cracking on you, asking you how you are doing way, way too often.
Listen, we’ve brought down Senators and mega-pastors, police chiefs and Fox News commentators. We’ve whipped beer brewers and pasta makers, car companies and retail kings. Hell, we even humiliated Chick fil A, and that shit is delicious. When we’re done, guns will have the cultural status of the mullet and the mankini, washed denim with pleats, PT Cruisers and popcorn ceilings. We will make your guns Dave Mathews. We will make your guns Ed Hardy. We will make your guns Tim Tebow.
We will make your guns Donald Trump.
Fewer Americans own guns now than ever before. We’ll turbocharge this trend, and when the numbers fall to where we need them to be, we’ll pass whatever legislation we want by supermajority. We’ll organize and fundraise and lobby and cocktail the hell out of every greasy-palmed down-low pol on the Hill until we fix this shit. Because that’s what we do when all hell breaks loose — take a deep breath, think of every word of wisdom Mother Ru ever preached us, dry our tears, and Break. It. Down.
Ammosexuals, prepare to be read.
You won’t like it, and your sad little ping-ping machines aren’t going to help you at all.