The Pissed-Off Prologue
By way amusing myself, I had a look a few "survivalist" forums today.
Amazing. Simply amazing.
Apparently, all my years of shooting, learning self-defense, working as a journalist; and doing paperwork/legwork for a public defender (in one of America's rougher cities) have left me ignorant of and completely unprepared for the challenges of life in the 21st c. US of A.
Well fuck me dead.
My parents assured me that I'd amount to nothing, and that I'd squander my life in the company of ne'er-do-wells. Neither of 'em said shit about combat, though...
Somehow, the "realities of combat" (one sees so much of it, after all -- if claims on the survival forums are to be taken at face value) have eluded me.
P'raps I should drink less -- or stop watchin' NASCAR an' Rasslin' on TEE-VEE...
But why bother? If NASCAR is cheap flash, and if Rasslin' is third-rate psychodrama-cum-morality play; how does one evaluate the content of "survival" forums? Every bit as harshly, one hopes.
"Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six!" runs the popular wisdom.
"Overpenetration is nothing to worry about!"
"When your life's on the line, you don't think about laws!"
"It's a jungle out there!"
There are many, many, more; but temporal and spatial limits preclude addressing them all.
"Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six."
Sheer idiocy. It's the pabulum vomited by cops who face temporary suspension and Review Boards rather than pre-trial detention and juries, and by those who've never done jury duty. If ever you've seen the species of moron that makes it through voir dire, you'd be more comfortable blaspheming the Holy Spirit than repeating the phrase.
"Overpenetration is nothing to worry about."
Bullshit. If you overpenetrate the walls of my domicile or the bodies of my friends or kinsmen, I become the defender of life and property. "Think deeply upon this," in Musashi's words. It ain't all about you, sweetheart.
Not to mention civil liability. If your round misses Muhammad Shabazz Ho Chi Minh Trotsky Feinstein and hits my wife or my mother, I will return fire until you correct your aim. Afterwards, I'll sue you. By your own admission, "warrior-boy," we don't owe each other a fucking thing.
"When your life's on the line, you don't think about laws!"
True enough -- and more's the pity. But when, me camo-clad buckos, are your lives on the line? Do you live in Beirut, Belfast, or Bogota? I think not. You're more likely from Boise, Blairsville, or Boulder. One suspects that the laws (and the conditions under which said "laws" evolve) differ from locale to locale.
Cut me some fucking slack.
"It's a jungle out there!"
Glad you noticed. So did Livingstone and Stanley.
The Fun
Two weeks ago, I went shooting with a new friend. Aside from popping vermin with the air-gun betimes, I'd let my marksmanship go to hell. Five years since last I'd put lead through paper; and I was a tad worried. Doubly or trebly so in the case of handguns.
I needn't have been. With the aid of my venerable Taurus Model 66, I perforated the symbol of Islamo-Commie-Wiccan-Fascist-Amish-Hare Krishna-Jewry rather neatly. All six in the "x." Not bad for an old fart Redneck who done married him a Greaseball an' don't know that he lives in a JUNGLE!
PFFT!
My new friend also shot well. Very well. Unfortunately, the sights on the newer S&W revolvers need work. And did we EVER work on 'em...
And more.
Breathe. Point. Squeeze -- gently.
A rational and realistic man. An honest man: "I'm nervous. I'm forgetting...."
"Don't feel like the Lone Ranger!"
The Climax
There is none. Shit happens. Accept life as it is, or accept the sick assertions of morons who haven't a clue.
By way amusing myself, I had a look a few "survivalist" forums today.
Amazing. Simply amazing.
Apparently, all my years of shooting, learning self-defense, working as a journalist; and doing paperwork/legwork for a public defender (in one of America's rougher cities) have left me ignorant of and completely unprepared for the challenges of life in the 21st c. US of A.
Well fuck me dead.
My parents assured me that I'd amount to nothing, and that I'd squander my life in the company of ne'er-do-wells. Neither of 'em said shit about combat, though...
Somehow, the "realities of combat" (one sees so much of it, after all -- if claims on the survival forums are to be taken at face value) have eluded me.
P'raps I should drink less -- or stop watchin' NASCAR an' Rasslin' on TEE-VEE...
But why bother? If NASCAR is cheap flash, and if Rasslin' is third-rate psychodrama-cum-morality play; how does one evaluate the content of "survival" forums? Every bit as harshly, one hopes.
"Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six!" runs the popular wisdom.
"Overpenetration is nothing to worry about!"
"When your life's on the line, you don't think about laws!"
"It's a jungle out there!"
There are many, many, more; but temporal and spatial limits preclude addressing them all.
"Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six."
Sheer idiocy. It's the pabulum vomited by cops who face temporary suspension and Review Boards rather than pre-trial detention and juries, and by those who've never done jury duty. If ever you've seen the species of moron that makes it through voir dire, you'd be more comfortable blaspheming the Holy Spirit than repeating the phrase.
"Overpenetration is nothing to worry about."
Bullshit. If you overpenetrate the walls of my domicile or the bodies of my friends or kinsmen, I become the defender of life and property. "Think deeply upon this," in Musashi's words. It ain't all about you, sweetheart.
Not to mention civil liability. If your round misses Muhammad Shabazz Ho Chi Minh Trotsky Feinstein and hits my wife or my mother, I will return fire until you correct your aim. Afterwards, I'll sue you. By your own admission, "warrior-boy," we don't owe each other a fucking thing.
"When your life's on the line, you don't think about laws!"
True enough -- and more's the pity. But when, me camo-clad buckos, are your lives on the line? Do you live in Beirut, Belfast, or Bogota? I think not. You're more likely from Boise, Blairsville, or Boulder. One suspects that the laws (and the conditions under which said "laws" evolve) differ from locale to locale.
Cut me some fucking slack.
"It's a jungle out there!"
Glad you noticed. So did Livingstone and Stanley.
The Fun
Two weeks ago, I went shooting with a new friend. Aside from popping vermin with the air-gun betimes, I'd let my marksmanship go to hell. Five years since last I'd put lead through paper; and I was a tad worried. Doubly or trebly so in the case of handguns.
I needn't have been. With the aid of my venerable Taurus Model 66, I perforated the symbol of Islamo-Commie-Wiccan-Fascist-Amish-Hare Krishna-Jewry rather neatly. All six in the "x." Not bad for an old fart Redneck who done married him a Greaseball an' don't know that he lives in a JUNGLE!
PFFT!
My new friend also shot well. Very well. Unfortunately, the sights on the newer S&W revolvers need work. And did we EVER work on 'em...
And more.
Breathe. Point. Squeeze -- gently.
A rational and realistic man. An honest man: "I'm nervous. I'm forgetting...."
"Don't feel like the Lone Ranger!"
The Climax
There is none. Shit happens. Accept life as it is, or accept the sick assertions of morons who haven't a clue.
