Bob disassembled his 1911 and went to cleaning the barrel. There was always something zen about cleaning his guns… at least until President Obama appeared at the door to his den. “Oh, come on.”
Obama’s face was very serious. “There’s some important matters we need to discuss.”
Bob continued to clean his gun. “If I appear to be ignoring you, that’s just how I listen.”
“So, I’ve been reading your emails–”
“You’re not supposed to be reading my emails,” Bob said firmly.
Obama looked confused for a moment and then continued. “So I’ve been reading your emails, and I found out that you seem to own various firearms.” Obama motioned to the guns on Bob’s desk.
“Well, I’m… How do I explain this.” Bob thought for a moment. “I’m an American. Do you know know what that is?”
Obama laughed. “Now, I want you to know that I am a supporter of guns and their use in hunting and sports.”
“And what about their use for actual important things like self-defense and a hedge against tyranny?”
Obama hesitated. “Well…”
“Mr. President,” Bob said firmly, “I know this might disappoint you, but I’m not interested in talking about guns with you. At all.”
“This is important, though,” Obama said. “There have been a number of mass shootings, and something must be done.”
“How about you get rid of those gun free zones that make mass shootings so easy?” Bob suggested.
Obama laughed. “You’re funny. No, I’m thinking of more regulations on your guns here.”
Bob sighed. “Well, when I bought these guns, I signed an agreement saying I wouldn’t use them in mass shootings, so you don’t have to worry.”
Obama looked serious. “This is a grave matter, Bob. People are dying.”
Bob nodded. “Of which my guns have nothing to do with.”
“Well, why do you have this one?” Obama asked, pointing at the AR-15 on Bob’s desk. “I can tell by the big handle on it it’s very deadly and made for killing people. Why do you really need a gun like that?”
Bob smiled. “Well obviously I bought because I love ninnies asking me stupid questions.”
Obama didn’t find that funny. “I don’t think you should have that gun.”
“And that’s great you have opinions on things,” Bob said. “So why don’t you write that opinion down and go put it in my suggestion box. It’s that plastic receptacle in the kitchen under the sink.”
Obama picked up one a black object off the desk. “And this a high-magazine clip?”
“That’s a stapler.”
Obama set it down. “It looks dangerous. I don’t want you having too many bullets in your guns.”
“What’s too many?” Bob asked. “You obviously don’t know a thing about guns, so how in world are you judging how many bullets people should have?”
“And I don’t want you carrying any of these guns in a school or a post office,” Obama said firmly.
“If I’m no threat carrying a gun in a supermarket, why am I suddenly a threat in a school or a post office?” Bob asked.
Obama thought for a moment. “This isn’t about logic. This about doing something.”
“Well, how about you go after murderers and take their guns and keep them from carrying at schools and leave me alone?”
“I don’t know their addresses,” Obama said. “I only know how to find you.”
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, a hole burst open in the floor. Bob quickly grabbed one of his assembled guns. “What’s going on?”
“Oh. Biden is downstairs,” Obama said. “He’s going to teach you proper gun usage.”
“I thought I saw something!” Biden called through the hole. “So I fired my shotgun in the air!”
“I don’t want him in my house,” Bob told Obama.
“I checked,” Obama said. “You’re childproofed.”
“Take him and get out,” Bob commanded. “You’re not doing anything to stop gun murders; you’re just annoying me.”
“We have to do something about gun violence,” Obama said.
“So go after the murderers,” Bob said, “and leave law-abiding citizens alone and let us be armed.”
Obama thought for a moment. Then with a sweep of his arm he knocked all the gun parts off of Bob’s desk.
“Why did you do that?!” Bob yelled.
“I had to do something,” Obama asserted. “Hopefully that will help stop gun violence.”
Bob bent down to start picking up the gun parts. “You are a such a pest! Now get out of my house!”
“I’m hungry!” Biden yelled from below.
“Yeah, I better go,” Obama said. “He gets cranky if he’s hungry… and then he’ll give the news some new soundbite derailing whatever I’m working on. Well, if you ever need me, you know how to find me.”
Bob fished a spring out from under his desk. “Yeah, I’ll use my lame duck call.”