Beautifully Unique Sparkleponies: On Myths, Morons, Free Speech, Football, and Assorted Absurdities (11 page)

Deep breath.

Your third logic fallacy—and, oh boy, does this one crop up a lot—is that of
cum hoc, ergo propter hoc.
Now, I’m guessing your Latin may be a little rusty (although it may not be, in which case, well done!), so if you need help, I’d like to ask the entire
class to say it along with me: CORRELATION DOES NOT IMPLY CAUSATION.

You can’t make the statement “Bless the single parents who try, but there is a direct correlation between single homes and crimes of all types” and not expect every moderately intelligent person to jump all over it. Single-parent homes don’t
cause
crime. That’s like saying, “I rode my bicycle to work today, and it rained, therefore my bicycle causes rain.” There are a multitude of factors related to crime, including income, residence location, public resources available, education, education available, age demographics, police presence, temperature patterns, et cetera, ad nauseam, ad infinitum (which means I could go on for a while [also, way to take a giant steaming literary dump on every single parent, infertile couple, and those people who choose not to have kids; you’re making all sorts of friends today]). To single out single parents is, to put it bluntly, absolutely absurd.

And then, to make it even better, you manage to link an unsafe environment for children (somehow caused by single parents?) to same-sex marriage by claiming same-sex marriage “reinforces changes to the marital definition.” Hoo-boy. Tell me: Were you worried about the children when all those colored folks started marrying the white people? Because that sure was a change to the “marital definition,” and, funnily enough, there were a bunch of people using this same argument back then. Or how about when women started working? Are the kids unsafe now because Mom wanted to actually do something with her life instead of putting on a plastic smile and
tending to the kitchen all day? (No offense to any stay-at-home moms or dads who choose to do so; I know that’s a full-time job in itself, and you have my respect.) What happened when the “marital definition” changed to allow divorce and remarrying? Should we pass some constitutional amendments preventing those? C’mon, don’t stop with the gays; go oppress a bunch of other people too!

AND THEN, to make it even more betterer (grammars!), you return to the mind-projection fallacy by claiming, “Currently, as a society, we have wavered from this traditional motivation, and many, not all, view marriage as a venue for self-fulfillment.” It’s so nice of you, Mr. Balling, to define my and countless others’ marriages as a “venue for self-fulfillment.” Oddly, though, I don’t remember you ever hanging out with my family and me, or with our neighbors, so I don’t see how you could provide any sort of factual information to back up your claim. (And if you say that I need to provide evidence so you can disprove it, that’s called
onus probandi,
in case you were interested.) The only fact that I’ve been able to glean from your entire ill-constructed argument is that you don’t know how to construct an argument. You know, with facts and stuff. (The basis of your argument is what’s called an appeal to emotion—more specifically, it’s an appeal to fear—if you wanted that for future reference.)

Deep breath. <1 percent, don’t wipe now!>

Frankly, sir, your blatant attempt to sway people by using the “OH MAH GAWD, THINK OF THE CHILDREN” argument is tiresome, bothersome, and insulting, and anyone who has
the slightest interest in doing so can pull aside your curtain of self-satisfied drivel and expose the ugliness underneath. Furthermore, you never made any sort of logical attempt to explain how same-sex marriage affects your marriage in any concrete way, instead offering up vague generalizations with no proof. When it comes to the children, I can assure you that I
am
thinking of my children, and not just my children but all the children they will come in contact with and all the adults they will someday be, and it is my sincerest wish as a parent that I can raise them to be tolerant, to respect the free will of others, and, above all, to be able to see beneath the smug bigotry and oppression of those who would enslave the world to satisfy their own ugly lust for control. If you have any children, it is my hope that they enjoy a peaceful life, one free of tyranny.

Aaaaaaaaand
fin.

I
would like to share some of the things I thought were important from the Vote No gathering I recently attended.

1. Gay people are exactly the same as straight people. They laughed, they yelled, they congratulated me on the Vikings winning, they told me they rooted for the Saints, they spilled beer on the floor and apologized for doing so. They asked for autographs, shook my hand, posed for pictures, and introduced me to their significant others. They talked about how excited they were for the Vikings’ season this year, told me how long they’ve been season-ticket holders, and asked if I thought that Ponder kid was going to be any good (I said yes). At no point was I excessively fondled and at no time did a bacchanalian riot threaten the chastity of
   my pants fasteners. In short, it was American citizens doing American activities in a quintessentially American way.
   
2. Gay people are not treated as American citizens. The number of individuals who came up and thanked Brendon and me for taking a stand was staggering and, frankly, depressing. I use the word
   depressing
   because if so many have to thank us for showing basic empathy, thank us for recognizing that they are human beings just like everyone else, that means that many, many other people have not. What that says about our society makes me ill, and it means that we are failing the American dream. America is supposed to be where people go to escape oppression, to escape persecution, to escape tyranny; sure, we haven’t always gotten it right over the years, but we should always strive for that elusive goal of equality. Right now, we’re just not getting it done.
   
3. One conversation that I had will stick with me for the rest of my life. It involved a local high school teacher and coach. He walked up, introduced himself, shook my hand, and said these exact words: “I want to thank you for speaking up. What you did will save children’s lives.”
   

This really hit me, in a primal way I was not expecting. A man who interacts with our youth every day, who sees their struggles and their triumphs and their failures, told me that my words meant a child might find hope instead of despair, might dare to believe he could be accepted for who he is.

Do you know how exceedingly ANGRY PUMA GROWL that is? A child should
never
have to feel that way. A child should
never
think that suicide is the only option, the only solution to the tormenting
and bullying and unthinking viciousness adults often unwittingly pass along to the young. A child should
never
become a casualty in a war of oppression, of bigotry, of petty small-mindedness.

Because, make no mistake, children who suffer this way are casualties. All the hopes, all the dreams, all the wonderful potential life has in store are as dust before the scouring winds of intolerance (whether it be racist, sexist, or religious). Every time you propagate the message that a person who is gay is less than human, that same-sex marriage cannot be as filled with love and laughter and tears as heterosexual marriage, that gays don’t deserve to pass a legacy on to their families, you quicken that howling storm and sweep away a tiny bit more humanity from the world, drive one more child to contemplating the cold razor’s bite or the yawning abyss of the overdose because he or she simply cannot deal with the unceasing assault upon the psyche.

Well, I, for one, will not stand for it. I will not stand for a world that demeans those it finds “different” or “gross.” I will not stand for an ideology that promotes slavish adherence to a single arbitrary standard, that sacrifices children on the altar of oppression and control. I will not stand for one more RED-TINGED-MUSHROOM-CLOUD second of people thinking that they have the right to live other people’s lives for them, of the complete lack of empathy so often shown in our society.

I stand for gay marriage. I stand for the end of segregation. I stand for a woman’s right to choose, both whom she votes for and what is done to her body. I stand for equality under the law, for treating others how I would want to be treated, for the fundamental human right to live a happy life free of tyranny.

I stand for my children.

T
he year is 2065, and the world hovers in an uneasy peace; 3D printers, capable of creating almost anything the mind can imagine, are used to manufacture everything, including weapons. All anyone needs to do to obtain a gun is download the appropriate program from the Internet. Despite this, no gun has been fired in anger in ten years, owing to a vast surveillance program called the Panopticon that senses any imminent violence and activates a weapon’s safety mechanism, disabling it thoroughly and immediately. There’re still a lot of weapons, though.

Two men exchange furtive looks across a narrow strip of no-man’s-land. Each man lies artfully concealed in a shallow fortification, his gun pointed unhesitatingly toward the other. They’re both armed with AK-69s, which is the only assault rifle printed anymore, due to its cheap material cost and overall reliability. Both are on a hair trigger—earlier this morning, they separately
received news from their respective high commands that the Panopticon would be going down at three o’clock that afternoon, and hostilities might possibly commence. There wasn’t really a solid reason given for why hostilities might commence, but judging by the high command’s tone of voice and word selection, each man sees clearly that commencing is the desired outcome.

Sweat trickles down the chin of the man in the northern bunker. His timepiece reads one minute until three. He shifts slightly and zeros his sights in on the bridge of the other man’s nose. He can see his adversary doing the same to him.

Thirty seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Suddenly, the first man’s earpiece squawks and a voice cries out, “It’s down! It’s down! Take the shot! Quick, do it now!” The line goes dead.

He wastes no time and tightens his finger around the trigger, preparing to fire the first live round directed at another person in ten years. The occasion will no doubt be regarded as historic in some future history book. In the split second before the trigger depresses all the way, he can see his opponent’s finger tightening as well, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Click.

Nothing happens. No bullet goes racing out, no metal slug comes tearing into his head. Confused, he pulls the trigger several more times.
Click. Click. Click.
The gun still won’t fire. He hits it several times with his fist, but nothing—it’s dead as a doornail.

He turns his attention back to the man lying in the other bunker and notices he’s trying to get his weapon to work also. Gradually, the other man gives it up and looks across the short distance separating the two. Their eyes lock, and then they both shrug
sheepishly and stand up, throwing aside the camouflage blankets that cover their revetments. They slowly amble toward each other and meet in the middle of the clearing.

“So…”

“Yours not working either?”

“Nope, darn thing won’t fire. Ammo’s loaded properly, I made sure the safety was off, but nothing.”

“Same over here. I think I’m going to run another one off the printer, make sure it didn’t skip any lines of code or anything.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. I’ll go try mine.”

The two men separate and walk back to their bunkers. Each one puts in an order for a new AK-69, and they find themselves drifting back to the clearing while the guns are printing.

“So, uh, got any kids?”

“Yeah, a boy and a girl, twins. They’ll be turning nine next month. How about you?”

“Only one, a girl; she’s seven. Cutest little thing, nose like a button. Here’s a picture.”

“Very cute. I see what you mean. She looks like she has your eyes.”

“Yeah, but luckily she got my wife’s face.”

They chuckle as two distant
ding
s announce the printers have come to a halt. Both men turn and head back once again. Upon arrival, each man pulls out a brand-new AK-69, loads in a full clip of freshly printed bullets, and then settles down to draw a bead on the other. Out of courtesy, each one makes sure the other is set properly, and then their fingers close on their triggers at the same time.

Click-click.

The soft sound of metal sliding home is the only noise ringing
across the battlefield. Both men stand up and, by unspoken consent, walk out to the middle once more, their guns casually leaning on their shoulders.

“Well, now, this is just weird.”

“Tell me about it. These are supposed to be the most reliable guns in existence. I know it printed out perfectly this time, so why isn’t it firing?”

“No idea. My diagnostics scanned clean too—it printed exactly to spec.”

Both poke desultorily at their guns for several minutes, awkward silence hanging in the air.

“Hey, uh, maybe we should check Wikipedia, see if there’re any known issues?”

“I already did, says they’re the best guns ever made. The source is cited too.”

“Well, shit. Now what?”

A bird chirps in the background momentarily. One of the men looks around and then seems to brighten up.

“Hey, hey, I know! We’re a couple of smart guys, otherwise we wouldn’t have been stationed here, so why don’t we just make one from first principles? I mean, a gun can’t be
that
hard to make, right?”

“Brilliant! Let’s use your printer, though. Mine’s been running kind of rough lately, and you know how complicated those expense reports get if you have to replace something.”

“Ugh, I know. Just last week I had to order in new base materials; I was starting to run low. You would
not
believe the number of forms I had to fill out for some carbon. Carbon! I tell you, it’s a mixed-up world when you have to justify, in triplicate, ordering carbon.”