I was nothing short of outraged when I read an article this week reporting that the mayor of a Detroit suburb wants to ban personal flamethrowers in his fair city. A local startup called "The Ion Productions Team" manufactures the devices, which can be bought online for $899 and look like this:
Let me be the first to warn you that Mayor James Fouts of Warren, MI is poised to trample all over our Second Amendment rights. Apparently, Mayor Fouts has forgotten that our Founding Fathers envisioned a nation in which every man, woman, and child has the right to bear a "handheld device that shoots 25-foot streams of fire and is fueled by an attached can of combustible liquid."
So I'll be damned to a cold, flamethrower-less day in a flame-free hell if I sit idly by while one power-hungry, fascist jackboot of a local elected official tries to strip me of my God-given right to a personal flamethrower. Next thing you know it'll be personal surface-to-air missiles. What's next? High-powered assault rifles?
Mayor Fouts stated his position that the personal flamethrowers have "very deadly potential for a deadly disastrous result, with no benefit. I think the biggest fear people have is the fear of being burned alive."
Mayor Fouts, with all due respect sir, I beg to differ: There are many, MANY benefits to owning a personal flamethrower. And the biggest fear people have is the fear of NOT being able to wield their personal flamethrower to obtain those benefits. Furthermore, I am less afraid of being burned alive than I am of living in a country where I'm not allowed to burn myself alive. (Also, you used the adjective "deadly" twice in one sentence, and this redundancy greatly diminishes the impact of your argument).
Why, just today I thought to myself, "I wish I had a personal flamethrower," because my daughter, Paige, called me Severus Snape (a.k.a. Alan Rickman) from the Harry Potter movies, and told me I looked exactly like him. He looks like this:
And I look like this:
I'm not saying I don't see the resemblance. But Paige's observation made me want to light a lot of things on fire very quickly--something only a personal flamethrower can do. Moments later, Paige had a complete meltdown when, after no fewer than 18 tries, I failed to put her hair into an acceptable "Professor McGonnagall bun" that met her exacting standards.
At that point, I felt compelled to gather up every Harry Potter related item in our home (along with a defunct juicer, several paperback copies of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "Toddler 411," and a box of photos from 1993-1999), place them outside in a pile, and immediately set them ablaze with my very own $899 personal flamethrower.
In fact, I
felt like knew with certainty that no other disposition of these possessions would do, and I am aghast that we live in a country where this option may not be available to all.
Ever since being compared to Severus Snape by my own progeny, I hereby commit--here and now--to securing the basic human right to personal flamethrower ownership for every American.