I’m Bad, I’m Bad!!: Crips and Blood Sauces

This article may require (click here) that I rethink my opinion on gun control.

I’ve often held up the Swiss model of arming the good guys as a means to control the gun violence associated with criminal activity.  As we’ve discussed, Switzerland has universal conscription so every male citizen (and some female citizens) keep semiautomatic weapons in the home during service and beyond.  So there are very few crimes that are normally associated with guns here in the US committed Switzerland. 

But there’s is something very, very disturbing in this article about Switzerland that speaks, at it’s core, to who we are as Americans.  It may cause us to shift the way we think about threats to our national security and take up a new resolve to protect our own ideals as one people.  We cannot to continue to allow fear to perpetuate through our politics and culture.

Cuz I’ll be damned if I’ma be held up at gunpoint by some French dude.  OK?  I don’t care if he is wearing a ski mask.  You betta get the hell outta my face, Francois (I don’t have the keystroke to make the funny little “c” with a tail)  and get your ass back in that kitchen, workin’ on your heavy cream-based sauces.  The laaaaaaaast thing I need is some puff pastry expert in tight pants yellin’ at me to hand over my dough…pun intended.  Plus yellin’ at me in French?  Are you serious?  You’re practically a woman yourself.  I outta kick yer ass.

Plus, the whole thing sounds like a bad episode of Chef Academy gone awry.  In both situations, we have a haphazardly shaven Frenchman, waving his weapon of choice through the air.  How the hell would I even know I was being robbed?  Y’all know the French take their cuisine seriously!  Now, that Carla Sarkozy has wrecked her face with plastic surgery, they’ve got nothing else to be proud of.  So, these French guys storm the casino, barking commands with their words melting together into one long nasally, throat clearing episode from which I’m supposed to figure out they want my shit?  I wouldn’t know whether to hand over my purse or to quickly fricassee a rabbit.

Look, I’m just not going to live my life afraid of every damn thing.  I have to draw the line somewhere.  And if you can’t draw a line on the French…uh, I’ma leave that one alone – it involves a taser, some rope and a Fisher Scientific pen.


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