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Do not takesess our precious.


Since America is no longer great, according to certain dimwitted candidates for president, we are sharing ideas to Make America Great Again. Read more entries in the series here.

“My preciousssssssssss.”

Gun rights extremists are Gollum. Any whisper of an idea of a notion of a threat to take away their guns are met with wide-eyed horror and undecipherable hissing. They love their guns. They need their guns. They are their guns.

So when they believe the black Muslim president (Hillary Clinton) is coming for their guns, they aren’t just afraid their favorite toys are being taken away. They believe an essential part of their identities are going to be stripped from them. Of course they say you can only take their guns from their cold dead hands; without their guns, they don’t believe they’d be alive in any meaningful sense.

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Needless to say, it’d be super fun to take those lunatics’ guns away.

But what do we do with them? Sure, we could recycle them into playground equipment, or send them to the Middle East because that always works out so well, but those solutions lack style. Remember, we’re destroying people’s entire lives here, and that calls for something a little more dramatic.

First, we need to find the American equivalent of Mordor. With free trade and corporate greed shutting down our manufacturing sector, that shouldn’t be too tough. The Midwest is littered with shuttered plants and broken towns. Just pick one.

Then, in the greatest American public works project since the Hoover Dam, we build a volcano.

Not some vinegar-and-baking soda science fair project. We build a mountain, an actual mountain, hollow the sucker out, and fill it with churning hot lava.

One by one, we collect the guns. We tie them on a chain around Elijah Wood’s neck (he’s not busy these days, right?) and make him walk across the country to our very own Mount Doom and toss them into the volcano.

Sure, sometimes he’ll be followed by the guns’ owners, who will try to cajole and beg and trick him into giving them their preciouses back. And every now and then, one of them will dive in after a gun and melt along with it.

That’s the price of freedom.

The ones who don’t leap to their doom will spend the rest of their lives wandering aimlessly around the mountain, bereft of the one thing that gave their lives meaning. Soon our own Mt. Doom will be a wasteland surrounded by men who have become little more than zombies, bereft of anything resembling a soul.

There will also be a snack bar, you know, for the tourists.

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