Gun violence is rampant, and other than restricting access to firearms — an absolute nonstarter — there’s simply nothing we can do about it. Not a single sensible answer exists. Which is why we have to abandon sensibility and latch on to some good ol’ fashioned American hardscrabble ingenuity.

We have to start killing our own children.

As Abraham stood ready to sacrifice Isaac upon God’s command, America must now willingly sacrifice its young on the altar of its dedication to the Second Amendment. Not metaphorically. Literally.

The natural side effect of easy, constitutionally guaranteed access to firearms is clear: lots of people’s children are destined to die…


“Is it just me, or is that really stupid?”

The lady gestured broadly toward the six adults chatting across the dog park. I had been thinking the same thing and found myself catapulted onto my feet like I’d been swept up at a tent revival. The open invitation compelled me to commiserate with my newly-found kindred spirit.

Minutes before, a little girl in that oblivious group’s “care” had met me at the gate. Her grabby little mitt thrust through the chain-link holes as she yelled “DOGGIE!” at my little buddy. I’ll give her credit; Lemmy is indeed a doggie. But…


Police have a tough job.

It’s not a particularly high-paying career, especially starting out. You’re expected to deal with people who dislike and distrust you for no good reason, other than that you’re an authority figure. The work is physically demanding and mentally stressful, and there’s a chance you’ll get shot in the line of duty.

Sorry, did I say police? This was supposed to be my description for teacher. I’ve been doing this for 26 years, and I “accidentally” drew one rhetorical weapon when I meant to grab another. But I guess this works pretty well for cops, too.


I’ve done it. I have invented a machine that gives you the power to change your race.

I know! I am as surprised as you are, given my complete lack of scientific and technical knowledge.

But now, with the mere push of a button, you will no longer remain confined to the skin color, hair texture, or facial features assigned by your DNA. Please mail my Nobel Prize and large cash award at your earliest convenience.

Want to try it out?

While the Race Swapper 3000 (working title…I’m open to better ideas) warms up, I have to give you several…


I’m an American, and that means a few things.

It means I’m self-made. Everything in my life was crafted from three simple ingredients: my two hands and a lot of hard work. I won’t take any guff from a communist like you who relies on “big government” for sustenance. If you don’t like the way I live, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

My horses? Self-fucking-made, chief. I personally tracked down and bred two wild horses to create my own horse. Once my pony was old enough to ride, we galloped into town — which, incidentally…


If you drive through the coastal plains of Texas, you’ll see a few standard images. Cows behind barbed wire fences. Gas station and barbecue restaurant combos. And around this time of year, you’ll see young suburban families desperately pleading with little Ambreighlynne to LOOK AT THE GOD DAMNED CAMERA as they trespass to get the locally coveted “Toddler Among Bluebonnets” photo.

The state flower of Texas is the bluebonnet. It’s a bright blue wildflower that grows in friendly territory, such as busy highway medians and other people’s land.

Listen here, y’all: do not pick bluebonnets under any circumstances.

Ask any…


“Imagine” is a catchy tune about the pitfalls of religion and materialism, written by a guy who got filthy rich selling jangly three-minute pop songs about love and walruses and shit.

That sentence is a good summation of my bitterness as of late. I’m having a hard time enjoying much of anything, even ubiquitous peace anthems by former Beatles.

I turn on the TV. How’d some lousy sitcom actor get to be famous while I am sitting here in obscurity? I drive to the store. …


Unpopular opinions are the spice of life. And who doesn’t like spice? Besides people living with irritable bowel syndrome, of course. And the English.

But let’s ignore those contingencies for now. If everyone feels the exact same way about something, it fades out of our active attention. No one spends much time talking about how awesome “blue” is or how much they just love oxygen, for example.

Now, if someone piped up with a hot take on the uselessness of O 2, they’d stand out against the backdrop. When a talking plant has an opinion, after all, we instinctively listen…


I have a weird confession to make.

It’s going to come as a shock, so I hope you’re sitting down. You probably are, as it’s hard to walk and read at the same time.

Okay, here goes: I haven’t seen that movie.

I know, right?! Crazy. You know the one, the one with that one guy? The one where they go places and do stuff? Yeah, never seen it.

And I’m constantly, irrationally embarrassed by this fact.

You could insert any one of a thousand different popular movies from The Jazz Singer to Pretty In Pink, and the chances are…


The act of “canceling” people is as old as civilization itself.

Sometimes we canceled people via exile. Sometimes it was through removing their heads from their bodies. But the reasoning was always the same:

You did something that badly compromises our community’s shared values, so you gotta go.

Before humans started divvying up the hunting versus the gathering, we already had the basics of a limited social contract. It went something like this:

“What’s up, fellow hominid? Here’s my offer: in honor of the fact that you look vaguely similar to me, I won’t kill you when you turn your…

Rickey Dobbs

hittingthetrifecta.com is my blog. It’s full of analysis, hilarity, insight, punctuation, spaces, and words.

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