Merry Mass Christmas Shooting

Does this sound right?  

A 28-year-old county health inspector attends a potluck Christmas luncheon at the IR center in San Bernardino, CA. Small talk about work turns into a darker conversation. This civil social interaction turns ugly. The health inspector takes some remark made in passing personally and storms out of the luncheon.

On the drive home in his black SUV the health inspector and Father of a six-month-old child begins to boil with rage. By the time he reaches his house, a few minutes drive away he is livid.  His wife greets him at the door surprised to see him home so soon.

"That was a quick luncheon, Dear."

"They're infidels all of them. Honey is my black ski mask and cammo outfit back from the cleaners?"

"Yes. Just picked the cleaning up yesterday."

"How about your mask and outfit?"

"Oh honey, you know I always have my mass shooting outfit ready to go."

"Perfect. Now what else do we need? Grab a couple of our AK 47s, we'll need some pipe bombs from the garage and don't forget our matching Glock 9mm's. They go so well with the cammo outfit. Oh, did you replace the ammo supplies?"

"Sure did, Honey. We have 1600 rounds for the AK's and about 900 rounds for the 9mm. Should I wear my suicide vest?"

"No, definitely not. It makes your ass look bigger. Let me see your Jihadi face." The inspector inspects the radical face his wife is trying to make.

"That's not scary at all, Honey. Just don't take off the ski mask, okay? How quick can you be ready for a fatwa?"

"Only a few minutes. What about the baby?"

"Rats. I forgot all about the kid. Can we get a babysitter this quick?"

"That's impossible, the baby sitter is in school."

"The baby will just have to fend for herself. Get in the car. We need to get back to that party before they get to Sally's desert. Last year no one hung around very long after that cake was gone." 

"Okay Honey, let's rumble."

The couple dressed in their finest urban combat attire return to the party and open fire with their matching automatic weapons.  In a short moment of chaos and rage 14 people are dead and 21 wounded. Seven hours later the Inspector and his wife are spotted driving the black SUV and after a 1000 round shoot out with police, they are dead. 

For almost ten hours of non-stop television the same five-minute story is told. The police play the events very close to the vest.  As if we were playing Zombie Apocalypse instead of watching the news, the scenes of well-trained SWATT teams from all over the area demonstrate their well practiced maneuvers. The action is punctuated with participation from the County Sheriff's office, Police from several surrounding cities and their own SWATT teams, the FBI, ATF and Homeland security. The FBI won't rule out terrorism. The ATF won't rule out illegal guns, the police won't rule out employee rage and Homeland Security won't rule out anything. Finally the identity of the shooters is released and the inspector, born in the United States, has an Islamic name. The Muslim community goes into Community outreach mode, condemning the shootings. 

Just another mass shooting made in America. We have grown accustomed to the "disgruntle" employee who chooses to register a complaint with his boss using a long gun. However, for the mentally unstable employee to have access to a cache of bombs, fire arms, assault weapons, combat wardrobe and a wife willing to aid in an armed assault, makes this event unique.  The fact that they both have Muslim sounding names.... well, that just high jacks the discussion from gun control to "immigration control".  Look for Mr. Trump to double down on his notion of registering all Muslims and spying on Mosques the next chance he gets.  

I ask again, does this sound right? No!  When 31 people are either severely wounded or killed just because they attended a potluck Holiday luncheon, that is not nor will it ever be, right. 

America, the alarm has gone off loud and clear but we have punched snooze on this gun issue for decades.  It is time to get up and at least try to keep this sort of thing from ever happening again. 

As you were,

Jay