Main Lady stated that her three little darlings, Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail, were all arriving for the fourth of July weekend and suggested I bring Mom over so we could all have dinner outside, celebrate Mom's birthday and watch the local fireworks. As it turned out Cottontail's visit was brief and precluded the festivities on Sunday. Perhaps this is just as well, as Cottontail is so far to the left that she has considered joining PETA. That still left yours truly, Mad Jack, as the only male at dinner - although to be perfectly accurate Excellent Rachmaninoff was there as well, but he doesn't do well in polite conversation, having a limited vocabulary you see.
During casual conversation Flopsy mentioned that when some friends of hers were vacationing in Alaska during the spring, they were warned by a local to play music or sing while in the vicinity of a blueberry bush.
"Is this a local custom of some sort?" I wanted to know.
"I suppose so." Flopsy replied. "The guide said that bears like blueberries and the momma bear has cubs with her in the spring, so if you sing the bears will hear you."
This seemed a bit contrary to common sense to me, so I somewhat idly pursued the topic.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to carry a rifle with you?" I asked, expecting to stir things up a little. Okay, I was hoping for an irrational, hysteric response about guns and cute, furry animals. Sue me, but I was bored.
"No." Flopsy replied, refusing to take the bait.
"Ah, I see. So it's better to be eaten by the bear than to shoot it and not get eaten." This is a tired argument and I know that, but I find it valid none the less.
"No, that's not right either. It's better to play music."
"Something on the order of Nearer My God To Thee, maybe?" I debated asking how the bear felt about all this, but I decided not to get side tracked. I might be on to something here.
"Ha ha - no." Flopsy laughed politely. Mopsy smiled and I could tell she thought it was funny but didn't want to laugh and set Flopsy off. I gathered myself for a truly herculean leap to conclusions.
"So if it isn't better that you get eaten, then what are you supposed to do?" I said, launching myself for a try at the unofficial right wing gun owner record for leaping to left wing conclusions.
"Ah ha! I have it!" I raised a finger dramatically, pausing for a second. "It isn't better that you are eaten - it's better that someone else is eaten!" I paused for a minute, considering the import of my words. I'd truly stumbled upon Moonbat truth and hadn't really realized it until just then.
Moonbat gun control works like this: Disarming the populace is good because each Moonbat thinks of himself or herself (or itself) individually and concludes that disarmament is a good idea, because the harm will always come to someone else. That the 'someone else' who is harmed might be a gun owning, bear shooting right wing-nut is a sort of bonus and a good reason not to feel sorry for anyone. A kind of 'they had it coming' logic.
My statement was greeted with a long silence, finally broken by Main Lady asking if anyone would like some decaffeinated coffee with desert. I accepted the change in topics of conversation gracefully, savoring my new insight. Possibly the government had overheard Flopsy's slip and the Democratic party would try poor Flopsy in absentia levying some sort of fine and a possible demotion.
The fireworks were excellent this year, and we all had fun. Mom enjoyed herself tremendously.