Stop Drinking


We aren’t done yet; not by a long shot

Dennis E. Florianby Dennis E. Florian

If you’re anything like me (not that there’s anything wrong with that), there has been a lot of celebrating going on in your house for the last few days; quite a bit of it of the liquid variety.  There’s been off-colour gun-grabber jokes, about-damn-times, sighs of relief, back-slapping, clinking and cheersing — to the eternal dismay of the usual suspects — and of course, a few mornings after.  Funny, that; it never used to be a problem when I was young…

Well, stop it.No, I’m not trying to be the turd in the punchbowl; I just want all of us to remember a few very simple things.  The first and most important one is that we aren’t finished yet.  No, we aren’t.  Bill C-19 has passed the Commons, thanks to Harper’s Conservatives and two Dippers who suddenly managed to figure out that Nycole Turmel can’t save them from the wrath of their constituents, but that’s only half the trip.  It is now on its way to our nation’s beloved Chamber of Somnambulant Second Thought®, where the Grit old guard has promised to take the matter in hand and drag their arses hard enough to dig a slit trench.  It will be months before the bill gets shat out the far side of the Senate so, on the off chance that it actually needs to be said:


You can bet your favourite gonad that, as the end draws nearer, the usual suspects will be pulling every cheap stunt they can think of to try and screw you one last time.  Am I being paranoid there?  You tell me.  After all, it’s not like we’ve seen any sort of complete and utter bovine byproducts from the retroactivists of the gun-grabber bureaucracy lately, is it?  Hey, that .22 was always really an AK-47 anyway, right?  It was just hiding it really, really well.  Sneaky gun.

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It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

Reasonable people are glad to be rid of the damn thing. Others, not so much.

And let’s not forget Quebec (why, oh why Lord, can we never forget Quebec??) and their own little registry fetish.  La Belle Province’s latest tantrum is a sermon to launch a Snit Crusade to the Holy Land of High Courts and bring back the grail of Quebec-specific data, which is essential to its plans to launch a provincial registry.

So friggin’ what; it’s not like it’s actually going to come to anything, right?  Well, here’s so friggin’ what:

It’s not like the ‘roos in the red robes haven’t coughed up anti-freedom idiocies before.  There is a chance, however remote, that they might actually win the damn thing.  Yes, I know that sounds nuts, but nuts is what I’ve come to expect through experience.

Then there’s the fact that, even if they lose, they could successfully drag the matter along and delay the destruction of the records … for years.  Yes, YEARS.

And that, more likely than anything else, is going to be the ultimate goal of the whole farce: to stall for time and pray with all their might that the Evil Tory Majority™ will just go away so they can get back to their gun-grabbing business and all the masturbatory Machiavellian manipulations that go along with it.

So what he hell can we do about that?  I’m glad you asked.

Here’s my advice, a humble suggestion, if you will, to all the registered gun owners of Quebec: Transfer your guns.

No, don’t give them away, don’t sell them, don’t even take ’em out of the safe (wouldn’t want to disturb the queen, ya know).  Just find yourself a friend in Blow Me Down, Moosehorn, Whiskey Gap, Skookumchuck or Ochiichagwebabigoining (bonus points if you can pronounce that one) and transfer the guns into his/her name.  Double bonus points and pick a prize from the top row if you can transfer them to a lady friend from Big Beaver.

Let the screeching buggers have their little dog and pony show, for all the good it will do them.

“Alright, Mr. Firearms Centre records keeper, we finally won.  Give us the records of all the guns registered to Quebeckers, right now!”

“Do you want those one at a time, or should I just give you them both at once?”

Just my happy little thought for the day.


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