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  • To Kill, Or Subdue?

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        Saturday, December 29, 2007

    To Kill, Or Subdue?

    I realized not too long ago that I no longer have the choice of subdue, so in a physical confrontation, I have to either back down (unacceptable) or kill or cripple my opponent.
    You see, I have gotten old, and rickety, and much like a small woman or handicapped person, I do not have the luxury of not fucking you up, should you get jiggy with me.

    I have seen strong young men killed or damaged badly by trying to 'talk some sense' into an attacker, or try to wrap them up with pure muscle until the police get there.
    I resolved early on to not allow that to happen to me, so I became a skilled gunfighter, knife fighter, and dealer of shattering damage and pain with the eleven points on my body suited to do so. In that order, people. Priorities...

    Then I got old...

    I genuinely despise that appellation, and took great effort to not become so, but no opponent was ever able to end me the way I wanted to go out, screaming in blood and pain, spitting my dying blood into their face as the Valkyries took wing to fetch me.

    So, it became time to find alternative forms of energy...

    So, to illustrate, let me tell you about the other night when I met my youngest Marine's girlfriend in my bar (with him there, too, nasty) for only the second time. He, apparently, had been telling her tales out of school, and she expected a monster, and instead, was confronted by a debonair, handsome, cultured and intelligent man who not only knew of everything she talked about, but could expound at length on it.

    I don't think he has told her of my blog, so I kept mum, as well.

    Well, I screwed up, blew my cover as it were, while my son and I were shooting pool. On a difficult long table shot, that looked impossible, I held my stick one handed like an epee, and skewered the shot into the pocket.
    They were right to gasp over the shot, it is a thing of grace and beauty, performed correctly, and somehow I got into a lecture on knife fighting (being sword fighting, with a much shorter sword, and yes, I'm a swordsman) and...

    It seems he had mentioned to her (likely as a warning) my penchant for weaponry, and she asked me innocently (is any woman truly 'innocent'?) if I was armed.

    I brought out this, which when palmed and slapped in a cupped hand to the side of an opponents head, spills good whiskey, and poorly utilized brains.

    Then in an escalation of force, I consider this my primary weapon within 20 feet.

    This was in the breast pocket of my jacket. For serious, yet curiously quiet killing, multiple targets.

    Then we have this, and this, and I won't tell you where they were. The .25 lets out a horrible bang, is loaded with Glasers, and I wouldn't think twice about chucking it into any one of several bodies of water after the fact. Too many people don't take the 'what now?' obvious steps to mind when they end up covered in the secret sauce of others.

    What to do...what to do...

    I would squirt hot tears of anguish should circumstances demand I ditch my 10mm, though. She is like one of my children to me. A child who can put a hot pellet through a car door, two idiots, and the far car door. Sigh...

    And that, my children, is what keeps me from getting drunk in public, or mouthy, or rude to accompanied ladies. I have not, will not go to the government for permission to be armed like a man, a gentleman. And the dark cloud that forms over me when certain lines are crossed, has so far kept anybody of importance and threat from crossing them.

    The door would be closing behind me before they hit the floor. Do not wave your weapons around, and don't talk, especially to threaten.

    I could say more, but these are my plans...make up your own. You won't worry about being in court later, if you have played your cards close.

    Besides, I'm just a harmless old man, telling wild tales by the fire...