For years I’ve told anyone who would listen (and their numbers are rapidly dwindling) that the only common sense left in the world is the amount I see in my paycheck every other week (common “cents” for those knotheads still scratching their noggins – and geez, folks, I can’t keep explaining these things).

There certainly is very little left anywhere else.

It used to be – and we’re not talking pre-Industrial Revolution here – that there was such a thing as folks who actually acknowledged that guns kill people, and that it might not be a bad idea to make guns and other weapons a little more difficult to obtain than, say, a gallon of milk.

These days?

Ho hum, 26 people, including 20 children, snuffed before their lives begin by some scumbag carrying (drum roll, please) shotguns.

Now, back when it existed, common sense would suggest that many of the people tucked away in body bags at an elementary school in Connecticut would be alive today if said ass wipe wouldn’t have been armed with deadly (are there any other kind?) weapons.

These days?

Oh, another tragedy? Just count up the bodies and ratings points and turn the channel, there’ll be another massacre coming up soon enough.

Anesthetized? Christ, we’re lobotomized. Every single person capable of producing even the smallest thought in their head has to know what guns do. That is their purpose, the reason they exist. Wouldn’t it be, ahem, common sense to make sure that as few people as possible had them in their possession?

Instead, you can bet your private parts the NRA and all those other Ted Nugent-type morons are circling the wagons, standing firm behind the second amendment, which when adopted in 1791 gave the militia the right to keep and bear arms, but since has been amended to allow even non-military personnel to pull triggers at their leisure.

Let’s again turn to our pal common sense to reconstruct how such an amendment would even exist.

Hmmm, let’s see, 1791? According to the wayback machine, that would be around the time the bulk of the general population resided in log cabins in the middle of nowhere (kind of like modern-day West Virginia). In order to do such mundane things as chopping firewood, picking a few berries or answering nature’s call, Mr. Colonial Settler had better be armed, lest he run afoul of Mr. and Mrs. Grizzly.

Gun. Protection. Living to see tomorrow sans bear or wolf claws up your ass.

Check.

Perhaps I don’t get out as often as I used to, but I can’t recall the last time I was confronted by a wild beast when I found it necessary to piss on a tree. Kinda expect most wild and woolies would have a whole lot more to do with their four-legged lives than terrorize some poor old white coot urinating in their woods.

Common sense, then, would suggest that most citizens in today’s world would not require slingshots let alone some of the arsenals full of assault weapons some jerk-offs find it necessary to store in their gun vaults.

I’m not a hunter and never will be, but I’m really not against the self-called sportsmen who can’t get a full erection until hunting season rolls around. I’d prefer to appreciate the beauty of nature rather than blow off its head, but that’s just how us pansy liberals are.

I do, however, think it’s common sense that if someone comes into a store to purchase an instrument that can end a life with a simple finger movement, it might not be a bad idea to do an extensive check on that potential buyer, and perhaps make them wait a while before handing them an Uzi. In other words, make it difficult to become a gun owner. In some states it’s harder to vote than it is to be a gun owner, right Mr. Kasich?

But for a lot of reasons that’s not what happens these days. Instead, in the aftermath of the tragedy in Connecticut there will be just as many people screaming for fewer gun restrictions as there will be for tighter ones – even with 20 not-yet-cold kids lying in the ground.

So stay tuned, folks. There’ll be more mass murders, more homes, schools and movie theaters shot full of holes to come. Guns are made for one purpose. And whether it’s justified, self-defense or just some wackadoo who didn’t get enough momma’s milk wielding a weapon, more innocents are going to be dead.

That’s a fact.

And common sense would suggest that CNN, MSNBC and all the others can’t wait.

 

 

 

Being what some people would call a writer, I have an affinity for the English language.

I like its intricacy, the way there are seemingly an endless number of ways to describe an emotion, a gut feeling or a passion.

One of the great atrocities heaped upon the English language was when the bozos in charge of deciding what should be taught in public schools injected math into English class by introducing the concept of diagramming a sentence. I don’t know if it’s still done, but I’d rather see my kids taught to eat garbage than to learn to break down a sentence into subjects, adjectives and adverbs.

A , it’s boring as hell. B, it’s teaching English as though it were a mathematical equation. Noun plus verb plus adverb equals sentence.

To quote Charlie Brown as he again whiffs on the football, “Aaaaagh.”

Should a child be able to identify nouns and verbs, adjectives and adverbs? Sure. Should it be done as if he or she were trying to produce the answer to xy + 2b = s6?

Nyet, with a capital NY.

In fact, when I had to go through the process of diagramming sentences in eighth-grade English class, I can assure you I was thinking of diagramming the potential ways of decapitating my teacher, Mrs. Ramsey. Looking back, I can’t blame her. She was probably just as pissed having to teach that nonsense as I was having to learn it. She, however, had the bonus of being able to drink herself into a stupor every night to try and forget such stool.  I only had Mom’s cookies and prime time television. Hardly an equal trade-off.

To me, a sentence has nouns and verbs, but there’s no formulaic process for creating a good one. As you find out when you start reading wordsmiths like Steinbeck, Joyce and Faulkner, sentences are like Play- Dough – they can be twisted in a million ways and made to resemble anything. It’s got nothing to do with formulas, and it can be kick-ass great or piss-poor pig droppings.

Short story long, I like the English language.

So I get positively homicidal when knuckleheads screw it up.

If you want to see, up close and personal, the hatchet job being done on our language, read any story online and then scroll down to check out the public responses which are now, unfortunately, integral to any such posting.

Textspeak aside, if these opinions represent the intelligence level of the general public, perhaps, in the spirit of the long-thankfully-departed Ebonics, America should be congratulated for creating a new bastardized language. This one’s called Moronics.

Here’s a favorite: “How can you say that about are Flyers?”

Really? Are Flyers?

“Are” is a verb. “Our,” which I presume was the word that was supposed to be used in this context, is an adjective.

There are pairs of oxen in India someplace who know the difference.

Here’s another gem: “That’s really to much money to spend.”

To , two, too, which are closely related to that other often bollocksed-up trio, there, their and they’re. Once again, if you actually attended school for about 20 minutes and did something other than draw tanks and airplanes on your loose leaf, you know the difference. Unfortunately, far too many nimrods (about two billion or so) believe those three words are interchangeable. Worse yet, that same faction of pinheads don’t believe the improper use of those words should be corrected.

“Do you understand what I mean?” they’ll grunt, in a tone best resembling Og the Caveman asking for directions to the nearest wooly mammoth. “That’s all that matters.”

No, chucklehead, that’s not all that matters.

These are words, the ultimate means of expression. If you can’t demonstrate a little intelligence, how about a little respect?

If a celebrity dies or dyes on Easter Sunday, you’d better know whether said star has colored eggs or met his maker before you report it on the news. Actually, both would probably be the lead story on “Access: Hollywood.”

The point is, the number of words you’ll use in your lifetime will likely outnumber the steps that you take or the amount of money you’ll spend. They can help, heal, hurt or alert you to a falling piano plummeting toward your head. They can get you killed, get you laid and get you out of as much trouble as they can get you in.

They can describe a game-winning goal, a stunning woman or a ghastly murder. And when they’re put together properly they can transport you to another world, hilariously tell off a nagging salesman or incite you to defend your country.

With that kind of potency, language should not be bastardized because some dolt never took the time to properly use it and it shouldn’t be analyzed like it was the Pythagorean Theorem.

In other werds, stooped, git im write oar dont uze im at awe.