Of course the most honorable (and exciting!) way for a guy who enjoys anilhilating small animals with shotguns to meet his maker, is to feel that final blast of cold shot himself.
Exciting, at least, for an instant. Before shock, and death set in. A real Texan wouldn't want it any other way. Unlike so many pansies who linger around intensive care wards, tubes hooked up, shot fulla pain drugs, cheating god (and wasting tax-payer dollars) when He has clearly called them home.
Ok, in this case death wasn't "instant." The meeting with god has been delayed. At least for a few more days. And there've been drugs. Lots. And intensive care. And yes, probably a tube or two stuck in as well. In fact, Scott reminds us the whole thing is kind of well, funny, really!
But it wasn't supposed to be like this. Was it??? Er, no. The point was to kill a bird, not a donor.
Actually, I wanted to shoot and kill things myself for years! Over my mom's protestations, I took the NRA class for kids after school. I wanted to shoot and kill something, anything, so bad! Til I finally did, at around 14. And instantly regretted it. Wracked with guilt and remorse, and profoundly struck by the utter unnecessary pointlessness of it, I never shot anything again. Just as my cluelessly square father had predicted. Having experienced exactly the same phenomena himself at the same age years before.
There's obviously something about boys and testosterone that makes us love killing, but that most of us eventually outgrow by the time we become men.
And then there are some men who never outgrow it.
Killing stuff is just as fun and for these guys as the first time they saw Bonanza on TV! And some of those guys actually grow up to be President, and Vice-President, of the United States of America, where they can enjoy killing and carnage on a scale only dreamed of by 14 year olds watching action shows!
Yes, there is a paradigm here.
Were only Cheney out shooting with the President on Saturday.