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News & Editorials

Gun Rights Activist is a One Man Army

Petition to Restore the Second Amendment
Has Attracted Some Serious Commitments

October 17, 2001

If one man can get hundreds of signatures on the Petition to Restore the Second Amendment, what would happen if everyone would begin -- today, right now -- taking this Petition as seriously as Mr. McGee is?  NOTE: Notes below, contained within brackets [like this] are from KABA.


Letters From Lee

by Ernest L. McGee

[The following correspondence was sent to regarding the "Petition for Enforcement of the Second Amendment" from a Louisiana activist -- it clearly illustrates the difference between those who have a "can-do" attitude and those who don't. While one "activist" wrote to us, in response to our Petition, "fat chance," Mr. McGee has garnered well over 500 signatures on his way to the thousand he committed to obtaining. We found his enthusiasm contagious and his style of communication inspiring, wise and often hilarious -- oh yeah, and very colorful. Enjoy!]


I'm getting all of south Louisiana stirred up about this petition. Does the NRA not wish to join in on this great idea? How about the Gun Owners of America? I'm shooting for 1,000 signatures by Oct. 16, and I'm a pretty determined fellow. Why don't you folks get hunting groups like Ducks Unlimited on your side?

I crashed a Ducks Unlimited Banquet, last night. They wouldn't give me the mike nor speak up for the petition but they "allowed me" to solicit signatures by going from table to table during the fundraising auction. Trying to explain to each person at every table, while shouting over the public address system, simply wore me out. But I still picked up 117 signatures out of a possible 300. Actually, it p****d me off; because I coulda got 'em all!

Tell your people that I've got my spiel down pat. I can walk into a barroom, hold up the petition and shout : "Who would like to tell Hillary Clinton to kiss their a**?" That normally elicits a cheer and I can get everyone's signature within 20 minutes. Being white in south Louisiana poses no handicap: when I walk in a black bar or welding shop where better than two thirds of the folks are black, I shout: "who would like to tell the republican controlled congress to kiss their a**?" or "Do you want George Bush to take away your gun?"

Keep up the good fight. I'll be sending you a couple hundred after this weekend.

[Note: He sent in more than that. The most recent batch of signatures from Mr. McGee came in a stack of 30 full signature sheets.]


In south Louisiana, coonasses don't approve of the way the government is being run, probably 90% of the time. Since we seldom have an opportunity to poke a stick in the eye of those in power, steering the folks in the right direction is like stealing watermelons from a blind melon farmer. You just do it on yor end, we'll do it on ours.


I hit the 500 mark, yesterday. As you know, there are a whole lot of boat building places across south Louisiana. While driving by one of these, I decided to drop into the office and asked to speak to the boss. Brandon Breaux (of Breaux Bros. Boats) steps out and introduces himself. Upon hearing what I was doing, he walked out into the shipyard and stopped the work in progress, called over all of his hands (hunters all) and asked them to sign the Ashcroft Petition. Then he directed me to his competitors (they're tough on one another when it comes to business, but they all hunt and fish together). I picked up 80 signatures before I had left the little hamlet of Loreauville. As i try to thank them for their signatures, people are so nice they thank ME for the work we're doing. My wife tells me I've got too much time on my hands and oughtta find myself a hobby. What do you think?

[We think that if everybody had Lee's attitude and approach, we'd have several million signatures to send to Attorney General Ashcroft and President Bush -- before the end of the year.]

Kicking a***s and taking names, Lee



During this past week out hustling to give the nice people a crack at lending us a hand, I've come across several local and state politicians working the different area functions (lots of festivals, fairs and cook- ups in the fall in south La.). You can read the gleam in their eye and the scam in the voice when it becomes evident that you've managed to get so many of their area's constituents to cooperate with whatever the hell your program is and get the signatures on the dotted line (I'm a horticulturist by education, inclination and avocation, so I recognize slime mold when i see it). They sort of ooze up beside you trying to get some of the magic to rub off (jeez! gives me the willies just thinking about it). Then they glad-hand everyone within reach, put their manicured hand on my shoulder and steer me off to one side -- steer being the operative word, here (while normally used as a verb, politicos quickly give you that noun feeling: you know, like the goat in jurassic park). Pretty soon they invite you to one of their "get- togethers", because they "want to know what you think" (yeah, right! i was born at night, but not last night). Enough about the lower life forms. Enclosed is a bunch of signatures. Keep up the good work. I always enjoy hearing from you.

"Liberty is the only thing you cannot have unless you are willing to give it to others." -- William Allen White

Damned if I don't just love quotes. You can use them to demoralize some highly educated pinhead; and the more softly you speak, the more they lean in to listen.


My wife (sweet darlin' that she is) makes me promise at working to give people the benefit of the doubt, once in a while. My usual comment is, "when pigs fly." I thank the good and gracious Lord that my wife has enough of the milk of human kindness for more than 20 earthdwellers like me.

As to the "enclosed signatures": I'd been writing it every time I put your name down somewhere, so it sort of spills out. It must be a natural reflex (you know, residing somewhere in my limbic system or some such psycho-babble bullsh*t). And btw, I mailed out a whole p*sspot full of 'em, this morning. You oughtta be gettin' 'em in a coupla days.

[We did get more signatures from Mr. McGee. Hundreds more.]

Tell the hardworking group at KABA that the coonasses in south Louisiana appreciate their hard work and everything y'all doin' on our behalf. And before I forget, have you and the NRA people settled your grade school p*ssn' contest, yet?

[We invite NRA and all other gun organizations to join us in this effort. To all our readers who are members, why not contact them and urge them to come on board?]

Gotta go, miles to go before I sleep.

Molon Labe, baby. Lee


My wife and I live in a small house behind and a little off to the side of my 84 yr. old mother's home. Around 9 p.m. a week ago, my old mama slid thru the door to my abode slightly out of breath and told me there was a big guy banging on her door shouting something and demanding money. It ain't too easy to shake up my old mama, so I chambered a round into my ruger p89 (love those golden sabres), tucked it into the small of my back and walked over to have a chat with this fool.

As I approached, this big guy (about 6' 5" and 260) growls out, "BOBBY DUHON LIVE HERE?". I told him that he was mistaken; nobody by that name lives anywhere around here. He then growls, "BOBBY OWES ME SOME MONEY AND I AIM TO COLLECT."

Now some people just don't catch on too quick, so I let my right hand with the p89 sorta lay against my right leg and reiterated, "sir, you've come to the wrong house." This guy definitely wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack and growled at me again, "I'M GONNA GET MY MONEY, YA KNOW." Even the dumbest bovine will eventually realize a cottonmouth moccasin is a threat. Suddenly he noticed what was in my right hand and said, "man, you don't have to be like that."

My kids like to tell me that I'm older than dirt; so I can unhesitatingly claim that if you just hang around as long as I have, even a turnip will pick up a few tricks. One of those pick-ups is: the more serious the situation the softer and more slowly you oughtta speak. So I said, "sir, you've really come to the wrong house. In fact if you'll give it just a little thought, some remnant of synapses within your alcohol depleted brain will click on and the alarm bells will verify that fact."

Reminding me of a taller sooty santa in "the night before christmas" -- but with much less verve and cheer -- he couldn't get away fast enough. Dr. John Lott can chalk up another success story. My neighbors were never endangered, my weapon was never fired (nor even pointed in the direction of the threat) and my mama's happy.

BTW, my mom said she'da shot him but was afraid he was someone I knew (you know, my mis-spent youth and some such foolishness like that). My mom's a trip.



If my wife didn't look after me, I'd probably drown in the first rainstorm come along. After chasing signatures at every wine shop within 25 miles of my home town, my wife (sweet little darlin' that she is) commented that I was after the beer drinkin' more than the signatures. So to protect me from my own self-destruct tendencies, she suggested (and if you'd meet my wife, you'd realize her suggestions are the equivalent of an edict from the Almighty; as in moses and the burnin' bush) I go the source. Instead of catching these workin' stiffs after working hours at some wine shop, she said I oughtta go to the companies that hire them and ask their employers to let me put the petition in the break rooms.

While that ain't near the fun of drinking with 'em, it's more productive. I ain't had so much fun since grandma died.

Molon Labe, baby.



[We have to date received three separate envelopes from Lee containing multiple pages of signatures -- the following letter was enclosed with the next to the last batch.]

Enclosed you will find ten (10) signature sheets [crossed out and replaced with the note: "20 [again crossed out] Hell, I don't know how many. You count 'em."]. My signature is not among these since I am using it to "prime the pump" in obtaining more signatures. Thanks for your efforts on our behalf.

More to follow from deep in cajun country.

[Lee added the following handwritten note.]

Try Barber Shops, Pawn Shops, Wine Shops, Mechanic's Shops, Lumber Yards, Saloons, Welding Shops. All these are where real Americans work.


Just got back from the New Iberia, Louisiana gumbo cookoff -- with 62 separate teams trying to prove they're the best mass producing gumbo pot-stinkers in Cajun country. There were probably 2,000 people in the crowd. I worked the crowd like Picasso slingin' paint; and after eight hours had garnered 440 signatures, which will go out with the monday morning mail.

[Those and more came in the most recent batch from Mr. McGee.]

I'm so tired I'd have to jump up to kiss a snake's a**. However, I am overwhelmed just thinking that you kind folks at KABA want to put some of my mindless meanderings into print. Have at it, my friend. If it makes you happy, it just tickles the living sh*t outta me.

May the wind be always at your back,



[Thank you, Lee! If a few more patriots like you joined us, we could move the world -- to everyone who has not yet signed the Petition, what's keeping you? To those who have, please don't rest -- keep recruiting more signatures. Keep urging gun organizations and gun- related businesses that you patronize to back this effort. And take heart in Lee's message -- he is living proof that individual activism can produce amazing results. Why not follow his example and prove it to yourself?]

[This just in: another package from Lee, looks like 50 pages of signatures in this batch...]


Can you match Lee's enthusiasm?  Begin here:


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