Dear Flippy,

So I recently got arrested for something. Don’t ask me what. Anyways, while I was sitting in the clink, I thought, you know, now would be a great time to reread my pocket Constitution, primarily because I was bored but also because there is a very real possibility I could go to prison. Anyways, when I pulled that Constitution out of my pocket, I saw something that made me think of you, my sweet, sweet bear friend: the second amendment, the right to bear arms. So, you know, I was just wondering, out of morbid curiosity and the need to drown out the thoughts of being condemned to a prison jail with a man named Kevin who always decides to pee just as soon as I close my eyes to go to sleep—fuck you and your octogenerian bladder, Kevin—do you, Flippy Flispus have the right to bear arms?

Sincerely,

Bevan Birch

P.S.

If you get a vile of urine in your mailbox, don’t open it up. Don’t ask me about it, but please take my advice. There were some issues with USPS.

Dear Bevan Birch,

If you’re asking me whether I have the right to my own anatomy, you must be fucking stupid. But, if you’re asking me whether I have a secret stash of furry arms in an undisclosed location north of Nevada, you know what my answer is. Bear arms are great! You can use them to scratch your back, assert your power by using them to point to things on a whiteboard, or scare a bunch of small children until they piss themselves in fear. Yay! Now, all of these things are my right, but they’re not yours. Why, you may ask? Because I am the übermensch, and so I am ruled not by morals but by my own obvious superiority. Oh, and if you’re asking me whether I have a chopper, obviously I have that shit on me. The Flipside is literally funded by the NRA.

Sincerely,

Flippy