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"They'll be sorry they weren't nice to me!" the angry gunman swore

as he picked up his extra ammunition and headed for the door.

No one knows what sparked his rage, but it really doesn't matter,

for he abandoned all claim to sympathy when the blood began to splatter.

We can't properly measure anyone's life by nothing more than its length;

we know that it's life's breadth and depth that give a man most of his strength.

Thus the rampaging gunman possesses, so we are compelled to report,

a weakness that comes from having a life that was narrow, shallow, and short.

He believes that an infantile vanity is the virtue that makes him strong;

he believes that he is always right; claims he's never wrong.

And that explains his failure to grow up; his reasoning ability is dim.

He believes that when people criticize they're just being mean to him.

Self-pity is wonderful to the inferior soul, for responsibility it displaces.

It's so much easier to blame girls and women for the problems that he faces.

Watching girls and women fall dead on his shooting spree,

he thinks "Bet they're sorry now that they weren't nice to me!"

The gun was invented as an equalizer, to protect the rights of the meek.

But it also lets the inadequate keep themselves stupid and weak.

Idiot, dummy, moron, imbecile, and fool

he believes that brandishing his poptoy makes him look tough and cool.

But stupidity is the inability to appreciate what's obvious and clear,

so the gunman fails to see that he cringes behind his gun in fear.

Because he gets hurt so easily, he wants to make people suffer.

He never developed the friendships that would act as an emotional buffer.

He cut himself off from all Humanity, a grave moral error.

He left himself no recourse for his grievances, except the language of terror.

Now he'll get his name in the paper and his stupid-looking face on TV.

His final thought as he kills himself is, "They're all sorry they weren't nice to me!"

Yes, the inevitable end came quickly to his display of macho might

and at long last he did the only thing he's ever been able to do right.

He cocked his pistol and placed its muzzle, angled up, just under his chin,

then pulled the trigger and blew out his brains as the police were closing in.

We'll never know just what it was that really made him mad.

But we do know that his reaction was merely pathetic and sad.

His moral fiber couldn't stand the stress, it was simply flaccid and limp.

Yes, ultimately "gunman" is a synonym for a crybaby and a wimp.


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