The Jackson Reaction: March for Our Lives and Rationalizing President Trump

In one week, I watched misguided and manipulated children take to the streets to only take AR-15’s (bullshit), Donald Trump voted with Democrats but somehow is a conservative (bullshittier) and his base defended him like a beaten wife screaming of her husbands innocence because he’s better than Hillary (bullshittiest… he is the same). It is times like this that I wish that it was July 1st here in Vermont (the day I can smoke a joint legally).

The mental gymnastics of rationalizing irrational behavior; first, you tell everyone that they had the votes to override the veto (which would have changed nothing). Next, you screech incoherently how this was the only way to fund the wall (even if you’re in a room full of liberty GOP and small/big L libertarians that oppose said wall). Finally, after a bald but dashing writer from the Green Mountains points out the fallacy in your arguments using logic and sound economics, you call him a beta-male cuck and block him.

You know, it’s really not a big deal that someone would rather run from the truth and block me as opposed to open their mind… but so be it! But just like Jenna Jameson and John Cusack would tell you (if they weren’t such ego-inflated, fart sniffing blowhards that they can’t admit they have no argument), debating me and then blocking me because you can’t argue your point doesn’t make me look bad… it makes you look inept and unprepared. The fact that it’s done while defending that which is not defendable by Trump just makes you look like his bitch. But like I told these idiots, as long as you do not show up on the LP candidates page in 2020 begging/screaming for our votes… do you, bro!

But it is the supporters at this point that still shock me. (I am numb to Trump now). While I certainly never hid my enthusiastic support of Gary Johnson, I had zero problems holding his feet to the fire either. When it came to bake the cake, I made it clear that I valued voluntary and consent-filled transactions. I didn’t rationalize it. I emphatically said that he was wrong and that this was contradictory to freedom.

But it was also just one issue. One issue that I believe we could have negotiated with him on. While I certainly want the baker to be free to engage in transactions with whoever he wants, without the ability to defend ourselves, all the other rights are worth a skid mark in Chelsea Handler’s man-thong. Rights do not exist because we need them, they simply exist by way of our birth. Asking if I need a bump stock is as useful as asking if I need internet porn.

No, of course I do not. I can meet women (no problem), and I am not broke so I can certainly buy it (porn, not women). But then there is this thing called property rights. The owner of the site offers it for free because he gets so much in ad revenue that he can give it away for free. Enough so that he can run a business and pay his staff. But even though I don’t need it, doesn’t mean I don’t want it or deserve it.

And before you bring up obvious differences between porn and guns, there is mounting evidence that porn can push young men towards a deceitful and disrespectful attitude towards women. (Funny how the left skips that part).

On Saturday, March 24th, 2018 (yesterday) the survivors of Parkland, Florida’s mass shooting marched on DC to voice their desire for gun control. One that got a lot of attention was Emma Gonzalez. She listed off the names of those slain and then went silent for the amount of time (six minutes and change) that it took Nicholas Cruz to gun down her peers and teachers. While I do not agree with her stance, I felt moved by what I felt was a genuine show of emotion.

It also made me remember the time a gun might have saved my life… (at the very least it saved me from an ass-beating). So I didn’t hesitate when I got out my phone and started filming my story. How a local drug dealer decided (for whatever reason) that my sovereignty was worthless and that I had two choices – stay in my house forever, or risk whatever he was planning. The fact that I knew it was coming for weeks, that the police were powerless and that it could happen at any time was terrifying. Even worse, I had to hide my fear. Fear is not considered a manly trait where I am from.

And then it happened. I was returning from the local Fish and Game club with a single shot 12ga shotgun when I stopped to talk to my friend, the incomparable Doctor Maurice, when all of a sudden, he was there.
Here it comes, Jackson… You ready?

His walk was casual. Not like the slow crawl of a cougar before he pounces on a bighorn sheep; no… this was confident. More like a king walking towards the balcony of his castle to view the execution (or to perform it himself).

The shotgun was on the ground under my jacket. It was unloaded. 10 feet away… now only 8…quick, move…. I grabbed the shotgun and slowly started backing up to maintain distance as I opened the chamber and slammed the shell in, with a flick of my wrist it was closed.

Before putting the shell in, he warned me…

You better not do it! (I slide shell into shotgun). Oh shit, you’re federally fucked now, Jackson!
But once that chamber clicked shut, his pace towards me stopped…he left.

This man was a dangerous criminal, known for excessive cocaine use (we called him the “Joker” because his shitty coke was called the “joke-caine”). This man threatened me for two weeks knowing the police couldn’t do anything until he actually did something (at which point it would be too late).

If you are thinking I am telling you this to sound cool, brave, or to paint the Second Amendment in a positive light, you would be very wrong. I am telling you this for one simple reason. Because the video I was speaking of… never happened.

After three attempts to upload this video… where I tell this story and then list my father, two dogs, mother and countless others that may not be here if I had died that day… I gave up because, for some very odd reason, YouTube kept rejecting it (wouldn’t let it upload).

I am sure that is a coincidence though.

Anyway, I hope my story reaches these kids so that we might have a real discussion… but I doubt it.
But in conclusion, I would like to challenge Cameron Klasky or David Hogg to actually debate fellow MSD survivor Kyle Kashuv. (Kashuv has recently challenged both to debates). If for nothing else, I doubt the “you must support killing kids” rhetoric would work on Kashuv. (Who’s clear thinking and balanced emotional approach impresses the hell out of this writer.)

Until next week… live free!

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