Wednesday, 16 May 2007


Now look at this story:

This is disturbing on many levels: that an infant can be granted a gun license, even though "Illinois gun laws are said to be among the strictest in the US", is just the tip of the iceberg.

In fact, kudos to the kid's father for following the legal niceties and ensuring that the kid won't actaully get to play with his weapon until he's 14 [snigger!].

No. The really disturbing, nay, horrifying, fact in this story is this:

The kid is called "Bubba".

I had always assumed that "Bubba" was a nickname, endemic to a certain strata of American society, and granted only to those men who have demonstrated that they deserve the moniker.

In my mind, this is how the "Bubba test" works:

First, you have to be born in the South somewhere. My knowledge of US geography is poor, but I do know that Illinois is not famous for mint juleps, crinolene dresses and lynchings.

Next, I reckon you need to have spent at least half your childhood bunking-off school to drive around in a battered blue pickup truck, knocking over mailboxes with your baseball bat. Unless you're the driver; in which case you get to drive along with a beer in your hand, another between your legs and a third in your hat. The hat, of course, has a curly transparent straw which allows you to drink the beer like a caged hamster.

Finally, after a night spent cow-tipping you fail your high-school exams and end up as a janitor in a pool hall.

Only then have you earned the right to call yourself "Bubba".

Of course, I could be wrong about all this. Perhaps it's a name with a long and distinguished history:

Abraham "Bubba" Lincoln.
Benjamin "Bubba" Franklin.
Martin Luther "Bubba" King Jr.

The truth is out there...


Norm said...

You forgot to mention that waaaaay down south in Illinois, Bubba's parents are probably cousins and if Bubba had been born a girl she would have been named Bubba Sue. ;-)

A gun license? Seriously? Around these parts you just buy 'em at the 7-Eleven from the display case next to the candy bars. Or -- my favorite -- pick up a six-pack of semi-auto .40 cal pistols at the local drive-through liquor store. (At our house we prefer to buy in bulk on account of fewer trips to the store saves gas and is good fer the ecology.)

It's more fun than a kick in the teeth. Yeeeeeee-haw!

PT said...

Hi Norm, thanks for dropping by.

By the way, when I go to the shop to buy propane for the barbecue, I always go on my bicycle to balance out the gas usage.

MaryB said...

Again, I apologize for the United States of America. Bubba. Sheesh! Can't wait till he grows up and blows away a few people at a restaurant or Amish school.

But do stop knockin' my Dixie-homeland, PT! ;-) (Your New-York-livin'-Georgia-peach pal, Shorty)

PS - trying to donate to your bike riding efforts. Still waiting for it to go through (I promise the card's good!).

PT said...

I thought we'd established that Illinois is not Dixie! :-)

MaryB said...

Yeah, but you say that like "Dixie" is a bad thing. ;-) (And you're right, Illinois is MOST DEFINITELY NOT Dixie.)