Sentence of the Week #1

When your right to keep and bear arms meets up with my right to keep and arm bears, good luck, because after the novelty of training a squad of grizzlies in my basement firing range wears off, I'll probably set them free, guns and all, so they'll roam the streets until they reach your neighborhood, at which point you'll panic, grab your guns and start shooting at a bunch of bears that are, let's face it, simply obeying their natural instincts to feed themselves by hunting for food--your food, granted, but they're bears, dammit, they don't understand advanced concepts like property rights or saying "Please"--which will trigger, if you'll pardon the pun, another natural instinct, that of self-protection, an instinct that will be manifested in the bears' returning fire, and when your lawn becomes a kill zone running with blood and your cul-de-sac echoes with the cries of the wounded and dying, I'll be home laughing because everyone, you, me and the bears, is exercising their rights, yet you and the bears are dying in a war of attrition while I'm stretched out in my recliner, doing word search puzzles to the music of distant gunfire.