My Confesssion

I have finally found the strength to admit it.
I was 12 years old when I realized that I’m not really a man at heart, but rather a 30-inch rifle weighing 8 pounds.
All my life has been a lie but I’m setting that right today. I was designed to shred and maim everything and anything in my path, including soldiers, but not limited to trees, shrubbery, soil, glass, and other building materials in various locations, such as a Chinese mountain prison, a Hong Kong market, and a French subway.
From now on, call me “FÉLIN.” That’s my real name.
I’m having plastic surgeons attach a 25-round magazine that accepts the 5.56x45mm intermediate cartridge, a lever-delayed blowback system, an integrated stubby foregrip-bipod, slimmed-down optic rails, and a compensator. Sgt. Major Nexter said I’m ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ stupid and I can’t be a FAMAS, but I’m beautiful and I am a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ FAMAS.
If the French Foreign Legion won’t pay for me to get the surgery, I’m just going to bring in Code Pink and point out that that Manning loser is getting hormones, and he’s in prison, so why shouldn’t a perfectly well-adjusted and honorably serving soldier have the right to be who they truly are, a plastic-housed bullet hose?
I am so sick and tired of being oppressed. Now my fellow FAMASkin and I are on the French Army's chopping block, waiting to be replaced by another rifle. It’s sickening to see all the rude wine-drinking, white-flag-waving baguette-frogs literally raping my people with their actions.
It’s my right to spray 1,000 5.56x45mm NATO rounds per minute with reckless abandon at soft, hard, and all non-living and nonexistent targets, and if you don’t support me and my transformation, then you’re a FAMASphobe— and you need to check your rifle privilege.