[Disclaimer: This article is satire, or what we used to call "fake news" before actual fake news started poisoning the political discourse!]
LaPierre takes a call from the prez
It was a phone call that President Obama didn’t want to make, but he knew he would eventually have to. He also knew that it would do little good, but that it had to be made anyway. So, on Wednesday, he did. And he was right.
“Good day, Mr. LaPierre. How are you doing today?”
“Oh, I was OK until you called.”
“Well, I am sorry to hear that. I think it is time for us to have a little chat.”
“Why? I didn’t vote for you.”
“I am sure you didn’t, Mr. LaPierre. But there is no need for us to speak bitterly to each other. I think we can have a civilized conversation and try to address some points.”
“Well, I don’t see what there is to talk about. I believe we are both familiar with how each of us feels about the issues that we hold most dearly to. And I think the only point I would have to discuss is the one on your head.”
A brief snort of derision sounded from Obama’s side of the phone. “I am truly sorry that you feel that way, Mr. LaPierre. I was hoping we could have a professional conversation. I just feel that the constant political maneuvers the NRA is engaging in are just getting to be too much. You are aware that there are other Amendments than just the second?”
“Oh yes, indeed I am. But the second is all that matters to me. The rest are for wussies and liberals. If a man has a gun it can do all the speaking for him.”
“Hmm. I suppose this shouldn’t surprise me.” There is a significant pause before he speaks again. “I really believe we need to come to some sort of understanding on arms control, Mr. LaPierre.”
“The only arms control we need is to have is enough strength in our own two arms to hold and aim a gun. That’s why liberals and Demo-detractors don’t like them; because they are too wimpy to lift one. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
The silence at Obama’s end was even longer this time. When it ended, however, it ended with a roar.
“OK cracker, now listen up. I ain’t gonna bother with talkin’ nicey nicey with you no more. It’s like tellin’ dirty jokes to a retard. I’ve had it with your Captain America attitude. You ain’t no Captain America. You don’t even rate as Captain Americas laundry boy.”
“You are about as fake as bling-bling on a ten dollar whore. All this “America this” and “America that” crap. The only thing American you are patriotic to is the dollar bill. And that you worship more than Jesus.”
“I am getting damn shit tired of having to appear at all these funerals for victims of mass shootingswhere some jacked up dude with a stick up his ass decides to go blow away people he don’t even know. I gotta take time out from things like speaking with foreign leaders and stopping wars to do this shit which is downright depressing when you get down to it. It ain’t fun talking with people who have had their moms, dads and kids blown away by idiots who you do your best to put guns into their hands. I would love to have your house wallpapered with the police photos of what people look like when they have their guts blown all over the sidewalk by guns meant to be used by armies fighting ‘the bad guys’ as you say.”
“Don’t tell me this crap about ‘Guns only being in the hands of good guys.’ You’d sell guns to Al Qaeda if you could get away with it! You would gladly make special mini guns for babies to use so they would get into the NRA groove early. You don’t care who or what lives or gets their lungs blown out all over the walls just so long as you have enough dough so you can sit by the fire at night swilling Jacked-up Daniels watching a John Wayne movie while you give the whore you picked up on Fifth Street a feel.”
“Now wait….” stated LaPierre.
“Shut up, dip-shit! You’ve done enough talking for one lifetime, bitch, most of it bullshit. Now you need to back up and get off this big stump you are on. You need to speak softly and carry a big stick rather than carry a big ass gun and shoot your mouth off at the same time. You and your homeboys want to go mano-a mano with the government and we’ll just see how you like having a couple drones come down on your stupid butt! I tell you that will be one can of whoop-ass bigger than any assault rifle you got!”
“Now listen here…”LaPierre tried to interject.
“Hell no, you listen here LaPerrier. As long as we are being brutally honest here I might as well say you are one of the screwiest crackers I have ever seen. You look like you got whumped a few too many times on the side of your head with bricks in a bag. And its affected your thinking-if you got any thinking to begin with. Or maybe you are one of them borgs like on Star Trek that are half human and half robot. That would explain a lot. I know for sure that the robot side was programmed by the NRA. And one more thing, when you call me pointy headed you ought to take a good look in the mirror at that thing sitting on your shoulders. You so pointy headed that your head must fit perfectly in those Klu Klux Klan hats you like to wear at the meetings. Maybe you been going to too many of them recently- they make that narrow mind of yours even narrower.”
“Anyway, have a good night, or at least as good a night as you are able to pull off. Say good night to your Fifth Street whore for me too. Be sure not to shoot her in the heat of passion with that machine gun you keep under the bed, OK? Bye.”
LaPierre, his fist white from clenching the phone so hard, heard the click at the other end but didn’t register it. His ear was still reeling from the verbally-lethal assault that had just been launched on his brain.
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