Guns & Roses

Arthur "Firearm Safety" Sedille

Just before Christmas 2010, the emergency operations center in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma got an unusual call from one of its citizens. Twenty-three year old Arthur Sedille called 911 to report that his wife had been shot in the head and needed medical attention. When authorities arrived they found Rebecca Sedille, 50, deceased in the couple’s bedroom.

As the night progressed, Arthur admitted that he and his wife often engaged in “fantasy love play” involving firearms. On the night in question, Arthur was lovingly holding his pistol to the side of his wife’s head when it discharged. He claims to have been unaware that the weapon was loaded and insists that the incident was a tragic accident. Pending further investigation, he has been arrested on suspicion of first degree murder but as of this writing he hasn’t been formally charged with a crime.

At the risk of sounding prudish, exactly how does a person discover that they enjoy having a handgun pressed to the side of the melon while engaging in carnal activities? Did Arthur just shoehorn that little nugget into dinner conversation one night?

“You know honey, I couldn’t find the newspaper again this morning. Maybe we should call again.”

“I will take care of that tomorrow…..By the way, what are your feelings concerning homicidal fantasy role-play?”

Perhaps it was just how I was raised, but the gentlemanly thing would involve starting out slowly with a knife or a vial of weaponized anthrax before moving on to the big leagues. I realize that it can be difficult to keep the romance alive (especially when one half of the couple had the ability to rent a car before the other was even born) but I cannot help but wonder if they had actually exhausted their other options before purchasing the N.R.A. Valentines Day kit.  

If, as Arthur claims, Mrs. Sedille enjoyed having a Desert Eagle .50 join them in the bedroom, common courtesy would dictate that you check the chamber before playing the dirty version of “Who wants to see grandma again?” Forgetting the scented massage oil is easily remedied, forgetting to check the safety and un-chamber the hollow points is a slightly more complicated “oops.”

Of course, the other possibility is that Arthur has created a near-perfect cover story for a premeditated act of murder. After all, how is a prosecutor to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Mrs. Sedille didn’t enjoy sexual gun-play? There is no proof one way or the other and I doubt that she listed it under Hobbies and Interests on her Facebook profile. This means that he could have shot his wife, fabricated a story about violent fetishes, and then used her modesty to explain why such a story cannot be verified.    

I would be interested to know whether or not the late Mrs. Sedille happened to be covered by an unusually large life insurance policy or was the recipient of a robust trust fund. I realize such a view is cynical, but I will not be shocked when the Lifetime movie premiers next fall. I have even taken the liberty of penning a few prospective film titles for them to use:

• Semi-Automatic Lover (The Rebecca Sedille Story)
• Shotgun Wedding (The Rebecca Sedille Story)
• Weapons of Mass Seduction (The Rebecca Sedille Story)
• Colts & Deadbolts: The Secret World of The Sedilles
• What’s The Worst That Could Happen? (The Rebecca Sedille Story)

I fear that if such a fetish were to become widespread, an onslaught of bad country songs would not be far behind:

• My Smith & Wesson’s Got Her Undressin’
• She’s Got a Round In The Chamber And A Bun In The Oven
• Budweiser, Buck-shot, and Becky-Lynn (The Manslaughter Song)
• Hair-trigger Hoedown
• You, Me, & and a Remington Makes Three
• 5 Hours, 6-Shooters, and 7 Years Upstate

White Supremacy & You!

Recently, I watched a documentary about the Imperial Klans of America, a white supremacist organization based in Kentucky. A subsidiary of the original Klu Klux Klan, the IKA currently has the second largest membership of any Klan organization and sponsors a yearly music and cultural celebration known as NordicFest where hundreds of able-bodied crackers gather to reaffirm their commitment to the white race.

Like the KKK before them, membership in the IKA is restricted to “pure” Caucasians who have never been in a romantic relationship with a member of another race. They hate Jews, Asians, Latinos, African-Americans, Indians, and presumably, Mariah Carey.

There were two aspects of the IKA in particular that struck me. The first was that they opened their rituals (such as the annual cross-burning) with a prayer, specifically because they wish to pay homage to Jesus. Unfortunately, the documentary did not capture the full prayer so I began to wonder what a white supremacist prayer preceding a cross burning might sound like, and this is what I came up with.

Heavenly Father,

                     We just thank you for bringing us together on this beautiful day to hate the Jews and the Mexicans. Though we may walk through the valley of the shadow of Negros, we fear neither Asians nor Native Americans for you are with us. We ask that you bless us as we ignite the device used to crucify your Anglo-Saxon offspring and may the racial slurs of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be pleasing unto you. May your ethnically-specific grace continue to shine on our genetically translucent skin tone.  

Amen

The second thing that struck me was how heavily the IKA leaned on white power music as a recruiting tool. This seems rather unwise since it appears that quality songwriting is not the strong suit of those espousing the idea of a “master race.” I realize of course that I shouldn’t be expecting The White Album (pun absolutely intended) from a band named “Jew Slaughter” or “Grinded Nig,” but perhaps a little variety in subject matter would expand their fan-base. After all, how many songs can you reasonably compose with “white power” in the chorus? What they need are more love songs because there cannot be a large number of Aryan couples in these movements who exclaim “that’s our song!” every time “Kansas City Kike Massacre” comes on.

Surprisingly, many studies corroborate the group’s claim that white supremacy music brings in hundreds of young men to IKA and similar organizations. This means that in a majority of cases it isn’t overwhelming hatred that drives youth into their ranks, just a lack-luster music collection. If this is indeed the case, we could disband the entire white power movement with a few well-placed Led Zeppelin albums and an iTunes account.

All joking aside, you guys really are embarrassing the rest of us white people. We are having a hard enough time recovering from Gary Busey’s last stint on Celebrity Rehab without you claiming that you and your unnecessarily-camouflaged Uncle Jimmy represent the pinnacle of human evolution.

And by the way, Jesus was a Jew and I am pretty sure he would tell you that your music sucks too.

Roid Rage

In response to my wife’s chronic sinus maladies, we finally broke down and decided to consult a specialist. He spent an hour or so giving the misses a once-over and decided that she needed a strong round of Prednisone to clear up any remaining intranasal inflammation. For those of you unfamiliar with this wonder drug, it is a steroid that suppresses the immune system to reduce swelling and inflammation. In our case, my wife was given double the normal adult dose. Partially because her condition was somewhat severe and partially because the prescribing physician is not married to her and knew her return appointment was scheduled for well after the effects would have worn off.

I had taken Prednisone before to somewhat dramatic effect, its euphoric highs being balanced out by long philosophical soliloquies that usually ended with me crying on the couch. I silently prayed that Ashley did not suffer a similar fate, but it was not to be.

At first, the effects were negligible; but after several days a change began to overtake my spouse and I became a man living in fear. Rudderless anger was the most conspicuous side effect and it would erupt with no warning. Something as innocuous as a misplaced hand-towel or the asymmetrical arrangement of periodicals on the coffee table would lead to a heated confrontation.

One particular evening I had gotten home from work early and was sitting on the couch when I heard the familiar humming of the garage door opener. Sweat began to adorn my brow as my eyes swept the living room for points of contention. Were the television remotes arranged by button quantity? Was the ottoman askew? Were my soiled boxers still adorning the entertainment center?   I felt like the kids in Jurassic Park staring hopelessly at the glass of water as the T-Rex approached to devour them. Unfortunately, seven years of marriage had taught me that lying motionless on the couch did not prevent my wife from seeing me nor did such behavior mitigate her anger.

Oddly enough, her contempt was not limited to waking consciousness. The tiny pills also produced what I referred to as “violent insomnia” in which she would grunt and flail wildly at the slightest noise or mattress vibration. One night as I lay motionless in a fit of paralyzed terror, she kept yelling at me to stop “jiggling around” although I hadn’t moved in ten minutes and my heart rate had dipped to dangerous levels. Had the sink started dripping, I feared she would have to be sedated and restrained. I remained motionless until she huffed the words “finally” (although I hadn’t shifted for the duration of the episode) and she fell back into a fitful slumber.

That is not to say that unbridled wrath was the only result. One particular day, after we had spoken a few cross words about the arrangement of the mail, I retreated to my man cave to gather my thoughts and plan the easiest way to slip her a barbiturate. However, after about ten minutes had passed I heard uncontrollable sobbing from the living room and immediately emerged expecting to be informed that all of my in-laws had perished during a Harry Potter screening. I hadn’t seen my wife that distraught since the matrimonial debut of my “dance of seduction.”

Between the violent bursts of tears I was able to discern only a single word: “Wolfie.” I quickly racked my brain searching for a childhood friend or distant relative who could have acquired such an unusual moniker but could produce nothing. It was only minutes later, after finally regaining her composure, that she revealed the source of her heartbreak. 

It turns out that “Wolfie” was the heroic canine who had just been shot on a stirring episode of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. This chilling act of poorly-scripted animal cruelty had sent my wife into an emotional tailspin. I instinctively changed the channel (to avoid any other ill-timed frontier hijinks) and began consoling my wife by assuring her that Wolfie’s sacrifice had not been in vain. She seemed to accept this, and for the remainder of the evening I made sure to only approach her position at perpendicular angles.

After two weeks of chemical enhancement, my compassionate loving wife was returned to me and I was able to shift positions in the night without having a pillow firmly placed over my airway. In the future, I may stipulate that any physician wishing to prescribe Prednisone to my wife be required to board her for the duration of treatment. 

Spread 'Em (For Safety)

On November 13^th 2010, a passenger named John Tyner attempted to board a flight from San Diego International Airport. Apparently Mr. Tyne wished to avoid submitting himself to the much-debated full body scan machines so he was walked through a metal detector and asked to submit to a pat-down. Once he was removed from line, a TSA employee explained that during the search they would be checking his “groin” area. Upon hearing this, Mr. Tyner eloquently replied "you touch my junk and I'm going to have you arrested.” This statement set in motion a chain of escalating absurdities that ultimately ended with Tyne’s ticket being refunded before being told neither he (nor his reclusive junk) would be allowed to fly.

The encounter was made all the more remarkable because John had captured much of the scene with his nearby cell-phone and posted it online. During the recording, Tyner insists that no one other than his wife and doctor should be accessing his “junk” and that he did not understand how “sexual assault can be made a condition of my flying." The confrontation, and resulting audio, has quickly become an Internet sensation and reignited the debate of personal privacy versus public safety (and whether or not “junk” is a viable euphemism for genitals).

John (Don't Touch My Junk) Tyner

 

Tyner’s argument was that being submitted to such rigorous screenings, whether through pat-downs or body-scan machines, is a growing example of the freedoms that the government has taken away from us since President Bush created the TSA in November of 2001. John’s notoriety may be exceptional, but his viewpoints are shared by a growing number of Americans who feel that safety officials are overstepping their boundaries.

The idea is that once all major airports receive body image scanners, passengers will have the option of receiving a pat-down or submitting themselves to the imaging machine. There are currently two main objections to the scanners:

• We do not yet fully understand the long-term effects of exposing a human body to the image scanners and for frequent travelers (and airline personnel) this could pose a potential health risk.
• I do not want a TSA employee leering at an electronic facsimile of my (or my child’s) naked body. What if they keep a copy and post it online? What assurances do I have that I will not appear on TSAHOTTIES.COM?

Both are valid concerns, but based on our current understanding of radiation exposure it would seem that unless you flew constantly or were employed as a crew member, your exposure levels would be fairly negligible. The invasion of privacy issue seems to have more traction and some countries are investigating whether or not the screening of children violates child pornography statutes.

I have done some research on the airport body scanners and while the images produced do allow the security agents to see under your clothes, the result is about as erotic as a dimply-lit Polaroid of a CPR dummy.

Others have argued that the TSA (despite their insistence to the contrary) is storing these images for some as yet unforeseen invasion of our civil liberties. While I doubt that the images are always destroyed, I am not sure what nefarious purpose the TSA could have for retaining such data.

Of course, since the scanners are not yet widely available many fliers are being subjected to pat downs. While I agree that having a complete stranger rub me down like a thoroughbred in the middle of a busy airport is unpleasant, I am willing to submit myself to it for the privilege of being suspended inside a metal Tylenol 30,000 feet in the atmosphere.

I recently watched a Roman Polanski film where the protagonist, an elected official, opined on the hypocrisy of the general public concerning airline travel. He proposed the following compromise:

Travelers will be given the choice of flying on an airline where all passengers have submitted themselves to rigorous security screenings and uncomfortable searches or they can elect to fly with an airline where all onboard were allowed on the plane without having to be searched, questioned, or screened in any way so as not to make them uncomfortable or infringe upon their freedoms. He wondered which airline would turn a profit. So do I.

There are those, however, who would argue that there is a viable middle-ground that America has left unexplored. This approach has been dubbed “Israelification” after the sovereignty which pioneered its use. At Tel Aviv Ben Gurion International Airport, visitors must pass through six layers of security that take a radically different approach to screening. The process is so efficient that the average time from the parking lot to a seat on the plane is around twenty-five minutes. So how does it work?

1.  Everyone coming into the airport is screened at a roadside checkpoint before entering the parking lot. They are asked a few innocuous questions so that the screener can gauge their temperament and mental state.( If your temperament is unacceptable, I assume that you are shot.)
2. You then pass through heavily armed guards who are trained to look for suspicious behavior as customers approach the ticket desk. (Like the kind of nervous demeanor a normal citizen might display in the presence of heavily armed guards.)
3. Guards watching on camera will then select certain passengers to have run through metal detectors. (This includes known militants and Christian Slater.)
4. Once you approach the ticket desk, you are asked another series of innocuous questions by the clerk who looks for behavior patterns. (Such as “How are you today?” or “Do find the imperialist dogma of the United States is detrimental to the moral fabric of our modern world?”)
5. Your luggage is now placed through a screener machine that is surrounded by blast-proof glass that can withstand 100 kilos of plastic explosive. (If you have managed to calmly navigate an Israeli airport with enough plastic explosives to take out a Ford dealership, it would seem a shame to fall victim to such a rudimentary device.)   
6. The last layer involves more trained personnel looking for behavioral patterns.(Such as open hostility at having your 100 kilos of plastic explosives confiscated during step 5.) They do not screen for liquids or ask you to remove your shoes. 

This onsite system, combined with tireless information gathering and threat analysis by Israeli intelligence agencies, allows their security to be pro-active instead of re-active. The real question, though, is does it work?

The last documented security breach at Tel Aviv Ben Gurion International Airport was in 2002 when a civilian accidentally carried his handgun on a flight. Not bad for a country with such tumultuous unrest. Of course, it must be kept in mind that Israel’s busiest airport only handled ten million passengers in 2009 which doesn’t even put it in the top fifty in terms of traffic (Atlanta handled over 88 million in the same time period) so it helps to place that in perspective. According to Rafi Sela, an international security consultant, there is one other important difference between Israel’s approach compared to the western world, “"Israelis, unlike Canadians and Americans, don't take s**t from anybody.”

I believe to an extent, we have embraced a sense of entitlement concerning commercial air travel. After all, life is possible without it. In Mr. Tyner’s case, he could have elected to get in his car and drive if he wished to avoid any violations of his privacy but like many of us he has become accustomed to the convenience that flight provides. Although we would never admit it, many of us vehemently denounce the TSA when they inconvenience us but secretly find their presence reassuring. If it comes down to privacy versus mid-flight catastrophe, I say bring on the “Nude-o-tron!”