Fear not, citizen: Second Amendment Man will protect the Applebee’s

When these Muslim terrorists storm the Applebee's, Second Amendment Man will be there to greet them.

When these Muslim terrorists storm the Applebee's, Second Amendment Man will be there to greet them.

You will not notice me, the unassuming man with his wife having dinner in a booth. Only it won't be my wife. She ran away with Ron, my best friend until the aforementioned running away thing. I don’t want to talk about it.

Playing the role of wife will be Margie. I met her at the shooting range. It's strictly platonic, though in her eyes I detect the glint of unfettered desire. This is understandable. I am a hero. Or at least I'm about to be.

For I have courageously entered ground zero of radical Islam: the Applebee’s at Eagan Town Center.

It’s a hotbed of Muslims, Mexicans, transgenders, and foreigners. Think of Fallujah, only with cheeseburger eggrolls.

At any moment a gang of swarthy men will burst through the door bent on mayhem. They will not be trying to make America great again.

I have requested a booth with keen sightlines to the door. I am inconspicuously accompanied by a duffel bag, which carries America’s last defense against tyranny: My AR-15. I call her Sally.

You will be startled when they arrive. They will fire randomly in a bold attempt to destabilize the mid-priced chain restaurant industry, the heart of the U.S. economy.

You will quake and quiver. Weeping cannot be ruled out. For you have chosen to forsake your Second Amendment rights.

You're a moron. Thankfully for you, I am not.

I will leap from the booth at the speed of sound or light, whichever's faster. I will say something cool like, “Make my day” or “I’d like you to meet Sally.”

In the flash of a moment, when it all goes down, you will not have time to admire me. I will dispatch the intruders with a marksman's precision, a bullet between each of their eyes.

Only when it's all over, after I've strode gallantly from the premises — and Applebee’s has naturally comped my meal — will you ask yourself, "Who was that brave, brave man? And is he currently dating anyone?"

But by that time I will be back in my Aunt Judy’s basement, where I’ve been living since I was let go by Dominos. Margie will probably want to make out.

I will bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. And I will ask for no thanks. Except for maybe from Ron.

For I am Second Amendment Man. I will save you.