Richard Daybell – Novels, stories and short humor
I published my first post four short years ago. Since it’s applicable to the season, I’m trotting it out again.
It’s My Party and I’ll Write What I Want To
(You would write too, if it mattered to you)
I was going to start off on a high note – with a celebration of winter in Vermont, an ode to snow (as they sang in White Christmas, snow, snow, snow), an ode to frigid temps, an ode to frozen pipes. But sorry, Irving, I must sing of something else.
I sing of Utah (armum Utahque, canto). Utah, you ask? It’s my state of birth, my state of youth. Thus I follow its news a bit, its sports a bit. It, like Vermont, has snow, snow, snow, Irving. But unlike Vermont it now has a state gun. You got it, a state gun. And not some romantic firearm like a Winchester Rifle or a Colt 45, but a semiautomatic whatsis. Utah is the first state in the nation to have a state gun, but others will follow. I won’t name states.
Here in New England, the bastion of reason, this could never happen. Well, we’d like to think so, but we have a state among us that’s sort of like the crazy aunt locked in the attic. That would be New Hampshire. New Hampshire has a history that includes its desire to have a nuclear weapon. And where would this nuke have been aimed? Duck and cover, Montpelier.
Jumping to the present, New Hampshire has just armed its state legislators, but in a tip of the hat to Yankee reserve, legislators are not allowed to brandish those weapons. This is good. In Utah and other unnamed states (rhymes with Texas), brandishing is required. It’s the philosophy known in academic circles as ‘brandish or perish.’ Basically, you keep it concealed (“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”) or you brandish it (“I can shoot the ear off anyone in this playground.”) This of course has been disastrous to the holster industry, which has been struggling for quite a while.
I’m guessing that the sight of a bunch of snow bunnies with bullets to their brains lying in the snows of Utah will send people to the snow, snow, snow of Vermont, where, I might add, we have designated it as the official state precipitation.
Wretched Richard’s Almanac: January 5, 1920, marks the official beginning of the curse that was visited upon the major league baseball team whose home was Boston, Massachusetts. Check it out.