#227 Guns and Roses

The other day I was at a meeting where we were discussing potential sponsors for a charitable event. One of the folks suggested we go after one of those “lovers” supply stores. You know, the ones with marital aids and adult toys and such like. A couple of people on the fundraising committee expressed concern. As the names of the sponsors were to appear in the advertising, these members cautioned perhaps it wouldn’t be good for this business of questionable taste to be included. Fair enough, I suppose, maybe the Father Murphy Home for Impoverished Adolescents is not the appropriate recipient for the largesse of a store devoted to lovers, um, accessories.
The meeting proceeded and other less controversial names were thrown out. Finally, one of the members suggested the local gun shop. Yeah, other members chimed in. They were a business in the community. They appeared to be making money and would no doubt be interested in supporting a charitable cause, and etc. It was decided by acclaim that indeed this gun shop was worthy of going after for a charitable contribution. No thought was apparently given to whether anyone would be offended by a gun shop being a sponsor—maybe the society for the prevention of cruelty to Bambi or something. Or the 50% of folks polled in our country that are upset by our culture of violence and gun-toting hunters and their desire to slaughter innocent wildlife. Could be some of the same people, in fact, who think that stores that offer the promotion of love through marital aids deserve at least as much right to public acknowledgement as a store devoted to hunting down and killing.
Now before you come out to shoot me or drape me in lingerie remember I’m just reporting here. But it is odd. You got your sexy undies. Apparently it’s okay to have a Victoria’s Secret show on TV. Apparently, it’s okay to talk about sex in ordinary conversation. But we must be sure to refer to it in euphemisms lest little pitchers with big ears hear us. Or a more prudish adult should happen upon our conversation and—land of Goshen—be offended by an open and frank discussion of sexuality. Unless that discussion is Senator Bob Dole talking about erectile dysfunction in a TV ad during dinner hour.
And yet, it’s perfectly okay for that same child or schoolmarm to be subjected to an endless discussion of how many beers someone drank before they brought down a bear from the cab of their air conditioned pickup. And the bloody and gory story of where they actually lodged the bullet in said minding his own business ursine and how they skinned it out and which bloody parts they brought back and which parts they left to rot in the meadow for the coyotes and crows. Odd how we’re more comfortable with the expression of violence than the expression of love...
America, ya gotta love it.