IF I go down, it'll be in a murderous hail of semiautomatic weapons fire with my three sons dishing it out in equally deadly portions on my right and left flanks.
I didn't inherit 300 years of Chirstian heritage and the freedom forged between Calvary's cross and the garden's empty tomb just to roll over with nary a whimper at the advent of a band of bloodthirsty thugs coopting a freakish and false religion as a means of abetting their dirty work.
They came from Hell and, by God, if they pop up over here, I'll send 'em back!
Yepper! I thank God at least once a week that I was born in America, and that I was taught how to shoot a rifle at the tender age of seven.
(We've been military as far back as I've been able to trace...before there even WAS an America. One of my grandfathers was lost in the War of 1812.)