Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Inanimate Object?

I invited guns, booze, and weed to my house — and the results were frightening.

The world is full of scary things, but it’s getting harder and harder to figure out what to be scared of. Fortunately, there are ways to test and evaluate these things.

I recently read a letter to the editor about an experiment the author conducted, where he placed a locked-and-loaded gun near his front door and waited patiently to see what it would do.

Much to the author’s surprise (and mine, too), nothing happened. The gun didn’t shoot up a school, grocery store, synagogue, or other public places where mass shootings have become common. The gun, apparently, just sat there and did nothing. His hypothesis — inanimate objects are incapable of immoral actions — is groundbreaking.

I had to try it for myself.

I opted for my old, reliable Remington 870. Ol’ Remmy, a decades-old 12-gauge handed down from grandpa, has never disappointed me. I placed my trusty shotgun on my front porch and waited. Other than occasionally yelling at my children (“Hey! Put that down! Don’t point it at your brother!”), I experienced the same results: nothing. Even Ol’ Remmy couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn — or my children.

An experiment’s replicability is a great indicator of its scientific soundness, but this hypothesis still needed more evidence and data to be considered thorough and credible. So, I decided to try some other inanimate objects to broaden the sample size.

I went with another trusty friend: a fifth of Jack Daniels. Jack has never let me down — at least not figuratively speaking. Jack has caused me to sleep on the floor once or twice.

I set the bottle down next to Remmy. Several weeks passed, and except for my children again (“Hey! Stop drinking that!”), nothing happened. Jack didn’t go on a bender and lose his job. He didn’t stumble home after Poker night and rough up his wife, Brandy, or his two kids, Johnny and Jim.

I even upped the ante and set my car keys next to Jack. Again, nothing! I was almost positive Jack would take my truck for a joyride, cruise Main Street, and wrap the front end around a telephone pole. But I was wrong. Turns out, the 21st Amendment was onto something.

Maybe Jack was too reliable, and this experiment called for a more erratic test subject and alcoholic beverage — something like Bud Light.

Bud recently angered a lot of people because of the ongoing battle over gender-identity politics. I don’t know what gender Bud identifies as (nor do I care). But, if it’s any indication, Bud is mostly water with a yeast infection.

Kid Rock was so pissed off that he gunned down a whole case of already-purchased Bud live on Twitter. Even Travis Tritt said he would no longer request free Bud from his hospitality rider, which is a funny way to boycott something that you didn’t pay for in the first place. This beer was apparently influential enough to cause over-the-hill musicians to lose their ever-loving minds.

Surely something crazy would happen if I incorporated Bud into my experiment.

I placed Bud next to Remmy and Jack and waited. Weeks passed — and still nothing. Bud didn’t experience gender dysphoria or start popping hormone blockers. He didn’t try to groom my children. In fact, my kids showed zero interest in Bud; even they instinctively knew that nobody should drink Bud in the first place.

Even Remmy didn’t leap into action for some performative virtue signaling like Kid Rock. Guns don’t waste ammo on already-purchased beer; only has-been rockers do.

Next up: cannabis. Of course, I had to drive out of town to buy some legally. So, I took my hard-earned money outside city limits and purchase enough pot products to make Cheech and Chong blush. I had sativa, indica, gummies, cookies, brownies, concentrates, cartridges, bongs, pipes, vaporizers, rolling papers, and even a hollowed-out apple. To be safe, I also picked up a Grande Meal from Taco Bell, in case anybody got the munchies.

I placed this treasure trove of Mary Jane paraphernalia next to Remmy, Jack, and Bud.

Mary proved to be as equally inanimate. Her reputation as a gateway drug proved to be overrated; she didn’t invite harder drugs, like Crystal and Fenty, to my house as so many people had promised. Though, Mary claimed their invites were lost in the mail. Most likely, she forgot to pick up stamps and envelopes. This experiment mostly confirmed Mary’s reputation as another useless pothead.

Maybe there’s some truth to this theory that we shouldn’t be afraid of an inanimate object. And if one inanimate object doesn’t strike fear in you, then why would you fear other inanimate objects?

Instead, maybe we should hold individuals who cannot handle such responsibilities accountable and not limit the choices of those who can. You know — like people who leave guns, booze, and weed lying around on their front porch while children are present.

And if you doubt the validity of this experiment, feel free to stop by my front porch to observe my experiment results firsthand. Also, help yourself to a burrito, a beer, some whiskey, or an edible. There’s plenty to go around.

Hey! Put that down. Or at least share with your brother!

(The aforementioned events are purely satirical. Please do not report me to social services.)