Okay, I was, as usual, sitting in the desk drawer of this named Fred or Joe or Aziz or whatever, I don't really give a shit, fully loaded of course in case someone wants to kick the door in and force his fat wife to have an abortion or rape his dog or whatever. Look, I don't give a shit why you want to kill someone or who the hell it is. I'll kill anyone or anything. I can pop off 10 times in less than 10 seconds--with me you have the firepower of an 1861 infantry platoon. I can shoot the shit out of pretty much anything smaller than a grizzly bear and even if I don't kill it, that bear would not be feeling well at all. And I take pride in that. It's my job.
But to say, I don't kill people? Then why the hell did you go to "The Shooting Gallery" on Main and Fifth and plonk down $431.99 plus tax to take me home? Not including ammunition, lessons, and even that weekend with the "Freedom Militia"? Oh yeah, I know all about it--I was there, you idiot. You paid $1000 of your hard-earned cash to play soldier like you were six years old just to severe sunburn and poison sumac. I would have gone to Disney World. I mean, what the hell?
Yes, I'm sure you could shoot into a crowd of people and massacre them with a rusty steak knife or a heavy wooden chair. I'm sure you hide a car in your pocket, walk up to the fifth floor and kill your ex-wife that way. I'm sure you could assassinate a political figure from 20 meters with a tomahawk. Yes, please go postal with a boomerang and let me know who it works out for you. Jackass.
No, I can kill people and I'm pretty damn good at it. So maybe you should mention that at your next NRA meeting. You don't want to get on my side.