An open letter to Bob Costas and Jason Whitlock
Gentlemen: I see that you have chosen to use the horrific crime of the murder of Kasandra Perkins to express your belief that guns are the problem, not the men who wield them. I am utterly certain that you believe that you have the moral high ground on this matter. I am equally certain that such a belief is appallingly wrong, not to mention terribly misogynistic. Why do I say this? Because had your desires on gun control been in place, I would not be alive to be writing this now.
I have an Ex. I have an Ex who, in the process of becoming my Ex, made credible threats to kill me. Why did I believe these threats were credible? Because among the primary reasons why I left him were that he had anger control issues, that he was a problem drinker well on his way to full blown alcoholism and that the things he was throwing at me were getting ever closer to my head. I decided to leave before finally snapped and actually hit me. He was displeased by this and made such displeasure known.
Do you know what kept me safe? Not some piece of paper. Not a judge tut tutting at him and shaking his/her finger and telling him to leave me alone. Not the police, who, after all, would only be able to respond once he had caused me harm. No, what kept me safe was my Glock. What kept me safe was my Glock and the fact that he knew I had both the ability and the will to empty a clip into his chest if he made good on his statements that if I did not come back, I would not see the next week. He never tried to do any of the things he screamed he would because he knew that not only would I defend myself but that I could. My Ex was nearly a foot taller than me and, at the time, had about 150 pounds on me. If he had been able to get close enough to me to harm me, there were very few options I had to protect myself. But with my Glock, well, I would be able to stop him before he got that close. I am alive today because he knew that if he tried to make that otherwise, there was a better than even chance he would be the one lying there in a pool of blood instead of me.
There’s more. Savor the luscious goodness as Alexthechick straps the interracial Laurel and Hardy to a Brazilian fire ant mound and proceeds to rub honey in every crease of these moron’s fat folds and man-cleavage.