Justified!

Ok, fellow patriots, as you all must have heard, recently I’ve been dipped in a big pile of stinking controversy. The lamestream media has taken a break from peddling communism to come gunning for yours truly. In the past few days, I’ve been called “a murderer,” “a monster,” and “one sick wombat.”

This is grossly unfair.

Yes, it’s true, last week I did draw my Sig Sauer P365 X-Macro and shoot a local firefighter, volunteer Santa, and grandfather of 22.

But friends, I had no choice!

His vehicle, a 3400-pound, fully-loaded, Toyota Prius, was heading RIGHT AT ME. We all know a car is a deadly weapon!

Yes, I’ve heard the liberal haters. “You were in a crosswalk!” “He was slowing down!” “It was a red light!” “He was screaming, ‘Please, Mister, don’t shoot!’”

But what terrorist-lovers don’t understand is that I didn’t have the luxury of sitting in my patchuli-filled living room, wearing a fleece Patagonia vest, and watching 11 slow-motion videos of him desperately waving pictures of his grandkids while I pumped shell after shell into his car. I was faced with a split-second¹ to make my call, and I did what had to be done.

I’ve heard some anti-Second Amendment wimps asking why I unloaded my whole 17-round magazine, 15 of them after his car had already stopped. Muscle memory. I’ve been trained to keep firing until witnesses pull out their cell phones. One shot, 17 shots, it’s basically the same thing.

I know that once I get my day in court (and my full pardon the next day), America will see that I have justice² on my side.

1. “Split second,” “five seconds,” it’s a fine line.

2. Or at least five out of nine of them.