13. Guns Are Easier to Get Than Help

(We fund violence faster than we fund survival.)

Write. Laugh. Hope.

You can buy an AR-15 in under an hour.
But try getting a therapist?
Good luck—
six-month waitlist, paperwork maze, $200 intake fee, and no one takes your insurance.

This country doesn’t ask if you’re safe.
It asks if you’re armed.

We normalize metal detectors in schools
before we normalize mental health support in communities.

We fund police tanks faster than we fund food banks.
We subsidize bullets before beds.
We protect the right to bear arms louder
than the right to bare your truth and still get help.

Got trauma?
Take a number.
Got rage?
Here’s your receipt.

You don’t need to prove sanity to buy a weapon.
But you’ll need to prove trauma six different ways
to get a single hour of therapy covered by Medicaid.

A nation drowning in grief
with a gun in one hand
and budget cuts in the other.

The headlines keep coming.
The bodies keep piling.
The politicians keep praying.
And the systems keep profiting.

Because the truth is:
Peace isn’t profitable.
But panic is.

And if you’ve ever felt scared, ignored, disposable—
you’re not crazy.
You’re observant.

The world’s not broken.
It was designed this way.

Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because what the hell else is there?

The Swear Jar

If this Wolf pissed you off in a productive way—good. That’s kind of the point. Tip if you want to support someone calling out predators dressed as protectors. This system’s been chewing people up for decades. Help me drag it into the light, one toothy truth at a time. No guilt. No pressure. Just justice, satire, and a virtual swear jar. Click if you’re tired of playing nice with wolves.

Got your own story of fighting the system? Unleash it here.
This isn’t a comment box—it’s a megaphone. Blow the lid off.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share to Facebook
Tweet This Story
Pin This Story
Post it to Threads

Follow

-The Funny Farm-

About Us

If this place sparked something in you—or just made you feel a little less alone while mentally spiraling—drop a tip in the flame fund. I built this place while burning out. Now it runs on caffeine, survival grit, and scrolls of half-sane truth.