Books. Bikes. Boomsticks.
"Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre, mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað…"
"Je suis Canadien!" ;)----"Put your hands up if you're American.""How about I draw and just bring them up halfway?"
I doubt their laws would allow you to carry in their country./just sayingIts always wise to look up the laws of a particular state or country before paying them a visit. Its why there are states here I'll never set foot in.Gmac
Tam, tried to e-mail you with a copy of the goodies list being shipped today, but I can't get through to your e-mail. Compusticator problems? Ed in CT.
Email's working fine on this end...tamslick AT aol DOT com.
7 tries, still zip. Damfino. Call Dave at Riverview Sales. He needs some contact information. Ed.
There are many places that I just will not go, because I can not carry. Some of the best wonders of the world are in our own back yards, and we should be able to protect ourselves in that world, come darkfall.
A gun weighs a couple of pounds.One's conscience weighs a lifetime. You could dress it up as "Not being able to see the defenceless get killed" or "having to shoulder the Dootee of Societee". Or you could just say "Not on my fucking watch. No fucking way. I'm not going down like that."I don't care how or why - ferryman's fee, or defending the light. Either way, wait for me to shout "Reloading!" before discharging the last few in the mag. And I'll cover you while you reload.For whatever reason. I'm not going out like that either. And I have your back.Oh no way. No WAY! Word verification:FRACKER.You tryin' to tell me something?
Remember, the most important word in "gunfight" isn't "gun," it's "fight."The gun is only a tool. Now, it's a tool that makes the job a lot easier; my old man used to say "Anything's easy if you know what you're doing and have the right tools for the job."The important word is "fight."Uncle Jeff Cooper (pbuh) used to recount stories of goblins doing things like hijacking busses in Colombia or Brazil, and being, literally, ripped limb from limb by outraged---and disarmed---passengers."Fight."The passengers on Flight 93 didn't have guns, but they fought.Did they lose that fight?Maybe, maybe they did. I mean, they died. But is life everything? "I could not love you half so much, loved I not honor more."I'm not a tough guy. I was a Marine, but only just barely, a pogue linguist in peacetime. Maybe, when the flag goes up, I'll curl up in the corner, wrapped up in a fetal position, keening quietly to myself like Puddles the Poodle. I don't like to think so, but hey, maybe that's how it would go.But I know that the gun is just a tool. Sometimes you don't have the right tools for the job. Does that mean the job goes away?If there's a fight, you fight.We're the tool using animal, yes. But what if you don't have the tools? Do you quit? Do you give up? Do you lie down and die?What was it Heinlein called us? Killer primates with a conscience? (Something like that.)We think a lot about our tools. "What gun would be the best tool to respond to a situation like that? A ten pound Garand? A scandium Smith .38? A Marlin .357?" But those are just variations on "the gun is a tool."There are tools all around us. Use a spear, use your car keys, use your computer bag, use a hammer. Use a machete. Use your teeth and your hands. Use your head.You may win. You may "lose" or at least, lose your life. But when the fight comes, fight. Die with the wounds in front, charging in to locate, close with and destroy the enemy. If you die, die fighting.If you die fighting, I'll bet Uncle Jeff Cooper(pbuh) would say that you'll be piped to Valhalla by a flight of ravens.Cooper said that the order of preference was live hero, dead hero, dead coward, live coward.Maybe when the flag goes up, you'll curl up in the corner and wet yourself. But you know that's wrong.The "gun" part of gunfight is an important word. But the most important word is "fight."
My daughters shoot with me, though don't carry, yet. I bought a prewar Walther PP at a show a few weeks ago, had some old German marks still on it but most of the Nazi stuff gone (thus a great price). Use it as a backup carry (.32 acp).Anyway, when the 21 yr old saw it she loves it especially for aesthetics - she shoots a PPK. But also said it was creepy how it may have been used to kill innocents during the war.I told her it wasn't the gun that was evil, but the hand that held it.That cleared it for her. Now she wants that gun.
Amen Cossack, and Semper Fi. When Randall Wallace wrote Braveheart(and rewrote history by giving his kinsman William all of Robert the Bruce's good lines), one of the best bits he swiped was about living to be an old man on his deathbead, wishing he hadn't run, wishing he could have made the inevitable mean something. Even if the something was only that one man, or one woman, stood his ground and spit in the monster's eye. Without that lesson from time to time, that example to form us, we lose the spark. That little flame inside us that says "I'm here, I matter, and I'm free". You mentioned Flight 93. The people who did that were Americans. I could also see it happening with Israelis, who are trained for it from kindergarden. They have drills in school, where a man with a burnoose and AK comes into the classroom, shouting and threatening. Every child in the room immediately throws any book, pencil, or heavy object they can find at the enemy, then rushes him in a screaming wave, biting, kicking at the groin, and clawing at his eyes. A friend of mine travels to Israel on business several times a year. Because of his military background, he is one of the passengers issued a 20 gage single shot pistol, holstered discreetly under his seat. I feel very comfortable flying El Al. I can see the same thing happening with Irishmen, or Australians, or English soccer hooligans. And Sikhs of course, God bless them. If a Sikh dies confronting evil, he becomes a saint. The more hopeless the odds, the greater the sainthood. Ask one of them sometime what that little bit of sword steel around their wrist signifies. They MEAN IT. But sadly, that's about it. The rest of the human race would cower in their seats, either hoping the men in uniforms would come and save them, or hope that by being the meekest and most obedient they would be the last to be chopped. I remember that once, when the conversation wandered into this same general area, I semi jokeingly quoted a few words from "Horatius At The Bridge". Two southern gentlemen chimed in as soon as I started, and together we finished the stanza that ends "for the ashes of our fathers, and the temples of our Gods". It seems that, in the way back when, every southern boy had to memorize at least part of Horatius. I'm sure most of the people in the room (faculty at the University of Hartford) were uncomfortable and/or contemptuous. I felt several inches taller. And you wonder why I feel most comfortable when surrounded by Good Ol'Boys from Dixie. Abraham Lincoln once called America the last best hope of man. Sadly, it's still true, even though most of our urban areas are occupied by cultural non-Americans with the European Disease. I'm not looking for the fight that comes inevitably to every civilization. It may not happen in my lifetime, but come it must. How many times could Rome have fallen before she finally did? But each time a Marcellus,a Marius or an Augustus arose and gave their Patria a few more centuries of life. They weren't supermen. They were crystals around which honorable men could form, creating a force strong enough to resist those who would destroy all they held dear. The pendulum swings, and it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings. That might be the simplest litmus test. How do you feel when Kate Smith reaches that last, pure note at the end of God Bless America? Are you annoyed at the simplistic rubes who find such tribalism comforting? Or do you feel like there's a chunk of good old American peanut butter stuck in your throat? Do you have to take a deep breath to keep the tears from flowing? If it comes in my lifetime, I think I know myself well enough to know I won't disgrace myself. If it comes after, I like to think there is enough of it left in my kids for them to make a difference. There's something steady in them, and there is a calm place inside me because of them. My family has fought at Fredrickberg and Kettle Hill, Belleau Wood and Tarawa, Frozen Chosin and Hue. Some of us came here running for our lives, and had to pay the butcher's bill as a cost of entry. It means something to me, and it means something to my children. Win or lose, when the day comes, there will be somebody left to spit, and goddamn it, they'll have a rifle in their hands and know how to use it. That makes me a scary old atavism doesn't it? Another line from Braveheart. Sed ego sum homo indomitus. Odd, isn't it, that the Romans used the same word for a savage and for someone of unbreakable will?
Ed Foster & all -- read this at Breda as well (if you haven't). It contains a link to the Wolves, Sheepdogs and Sheep article.http://thebredafallacy.blogspot.com/2008/12/how-soon-we-forget.html
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