As our nation settles solidly into the vise of a rank recession with a tax and spend president and cabinet that are morally vacuous and weak on national defense, more and more non-Kool Aid drinking folks are starting to shvitz like a hooker in church.
When I get antsy I look to my sustaining roots and three things that have never let me down, namely God, guns and gumption.
I like God. For clarification purposes, when I say God, I mean the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Yeah . . . them. Of the Holy Trinity, Jesus, in today’s environment of Puss-in-Boots political correctness, is the Simon Cowell of this trio (i.e. He gets booed more than the other two). Our sassy, secularized society hates just the mention of His name. Ah, poor bebe poquito.
At present the PC punks, the libtards, the socialists, the atheists (yawn), and the wanks that make up Hollywood don’t like it if you like Christ and take a stand on His word. Especially Sean Penn. He gets real pissy if you truly believe and will furrow his brow and lecture you about how biblical values are hurting your grandchildren. I know, scary, eh?
Anyway, I know it’s not cool to like God and His word, but I still like Him. This is good for me, seeing that He can arrange my death and where my soul will take its eternal siesta. Not only is it good for me seeing that God sorts out the affairs of the afterlife, but unlike the deists’ deity I believe He’s busy jacking with us mortals, and presently He’s shaking everything that can be shaken. Therefore, I wanna be on His team. Call me goofy.
Unless you’re high, dumb, or a multimillionaire who’s stashed most of your cash and gold in a hollowed-out volcano on your private island, you’re presently feeling the shake and bake. Typically, when people freak they look to someone or something to calm their nerves.
Socialists look to the big-breasted government for solace and some scraps—even though they’ll lose liberties and their lives will still suck like a car wash vacuum.
Atheists, if they’re true to their “faith” in times of crisis, look to man. Which man, I do not know. Maybe Christopher Hitchens or Queequeg.
When faced with life’s anxieties, Curly would look to the calming effects of cheese.
As for me and my house, I’m hanging my hat on Yahweh. Yep, superstitious, silly, anachronistic, un-evolved and crippled little old me is going to look to the Rock that is higher than I for help. Why? Well, I believe heaven provides and protects in the direst of straits.
Unless I’m reading my Bible wrong, I keep getting the message that if I fully follow God (as much as a goofy sinner can) then He will send wicked favor my way that He doesn’t afford to the pagan cattle. This favor entails not only security but provision. If God exists, and if the Bible isn’t an insane stack of slush and superstition, I can rest assured that as God met Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’s needs He will handle my affairs if I’m busy with His business—regardless of the crappy circumstances.
Many Americans consider their guns to be some of their most prized possessions. I love mine. They’re beautiful. With my lovelies I can shoot targets with my friends for recreation, whack some venison for food, or off whatever dillweeds seek to do me or my family harm. Y’know, that whole provider, protector, hunter, hero thang guns afford the responsible owner. Yum, yum.
Gun ownership has been a satisfying tradition my family has held since black powder was invented. Not only that but it is as my friend Major General Paul Vallely said, “A priceless freedom won by our forefathers which few other nations have so cherished and enjoyed. It is because of the conviction about the right of citizens to own and use firearms for lawful purposes that the Constitution was amended to provide that ‘the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.’ That right is a foundation stone of American liberty.”
My guns aren’t as soft as my pillow, but they sure are comforting to have, especially if things get dicey. BTW: I wonder if crime rates will escalate as our entitled culture gets restless? I’m guessin’ yes.
I could be wrong here, but I don’t believe life favors the indolent. Therefore, when times get tough, I’m going to not only lean on heaven’s everlasting arms and cuddle my firearms like a teddy bear, but I’m also going to start working my aspen off like never before. What I’ve noticed about life in my forty-six scrumpdillicious years of cruising this planet is that the harder I work, the luckier I get. Yep, bold, hard, creative, excellent and wise work will always yield up the Benjamins.
In these times of uncertainty in which everything that can be shaken will be shaken, I’m not banking on big government wet-nursing me into Nirvana. I believe this suckulus package spawned by the Obama administration is going to leave the Americans who are looking to it as the grand societal salvo more disappointed than Lisa Marie was when she finally locked lips with Michael Jackson.
Nope, I’m fixing my hopes in the coming nightmare on God, guns and gumption. That’s my stimulus package. What’s yours?