Why Obama Makes Americans Want to Stockpile Ammo
The prosecutor addressed me, his back to a courtroom full of my peers, my friends, my family and Gladstone. The prosecutor spoke.
"Please state for the record your name." "Sure. D to the-" "Into the microphone, please." I leaned forward and tapped the small microphone a few times. "Check. Check. Can you hear me in the back? One. Two." "Yes, that's fine, now-" "Three and to the four, Snoop D-O-B and Brockter Dre is at the door." "Just your name, please," the prosecutor said. "Ready to make an entrance, so back on up." "That's plenty." The prosecutor again. Brockway stood up from his seat at the defense table. " 'Cause you know we 'bout to rip shit up." "Order," the judge shouted, banging his gavel. For real, judges still use gavels. It'll always amaze me that, in 2009, where we have the Internet and indoor plumbing and spaceships, it's still acceptable for a respected official to express his opinion by bashing a giant, wooden hammer over and over again. It's not like I wave a giant sword around my head whenever I'm bored. I mean, I might now. I'm just saying if hammer-smashing is so socially acceptable, I should be able to swing a sword around or chuck some grenades when the mood strikes me. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. O'Brien," the prosecutor asked. I paused thoughtfully. "Mr. Prosecutor, Dr. Judge, members of the jury: I'm just saying if hammer-smashing is so socially acceptable, I should be able to swing a sword around or chuck some grenades when the mood strikes me." The courtroom was completely silent, except for Brockway who immediately chimed in with, "Seconded." "
Since the prosecutor was, in fact, a man, my whole defense strategy was pretty much shot right to shit. I looked to Robert Brockway, the co-defendant in this case, and Michael Swaim, who was acting as our lawyer. They both looked very optimistic, so I got myself started. "I guess I'll begin with the truth," I said. "OBJECTION," Swaim shouted. Brockway shook his head violently. "No," the judge said, "I'm... I'm going to allow the truth." "Thank you, your honor-I-barely-know-her. So, it's like this. We've got this United States president elected, right? Tall guy. Hampton something-or-other. " "Barack Obama," the prosecutor offered. I looked to Swaim and Brockway, who both shook their heads, agreeing with me that the prosecutor's clearly made-up name was some kind of trap. "No, I think you're wrong about that. I'm pretty sure it's Hampton something. Anyway, he's elected president, and you know what
"Objection," Swaim yelled. "What if my client is buying bullets in anticipation of laws that would take away guns and bullets from America? If, for example, we were suddenly forbidden from buying bullets because of Soc... Socialist Health Gay Care," he said with a wink, "then we'd be utterly defenseless against outside forces." "Overruled," I said. "There haven't been any bills or laws restricting gun ownership. In fact, the opposite is true. We're legally permitted to carry guns in more places
The prosecutor started: "Your honor, this is not an isolated incident. There are people across America just like Mr. O’Brien…," he paused here, probably because he was impressed with how many bullets I can fit in my mouth (so many),"…almost exactly like Mr. O’Brien. It’s not just this court room, it’s the nation, your honor!” “Get to the point councilor!” the judge bellowed, his hammer poised. "It's just," the prosecutor said, faltering. "It's just all so retarded."