This is a proper fisking.
Reading for comprehension in action.
OK, so I don’t have an NRA sticker. Although I’m an ardent gun rights advocate, I am not an NRA member. The NRA and I never really got along all that well. But nonetheless, bear with me here, because I’m about to explain why the NRA sticker says much more about the metrosexual douche pickle who wrote this column than it does about anyone who has that sticker on their vehicle.
I see that NRA decal on the rear window of your car and my eyes narrow. I look at the back of your head in the driver’s seat and I wonder if you are a threat.
A threat to my children. A threat to me. A threat to society.
I see you quivering in your panties about a sticker, and I snicker just a bit. I look at you and I wonder if you ever had any courage, any…
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