Dept. Of Righteous Shootings

Reader Mike L. sends me this happy tale, wondering if it’s Dept.-worthy.  If it isn’t… well, it most certainly is.  Herewith the story:

Goblin forces his way into a Louisiana home, threatens a woman and her kids, whereby she shoots him in a manner in which his body has assumed room temperature by the time the cops arrive.

Background:  said goblin (a.k.a. career criminal) was out on parole, original crime being armed robbery.  After being released, he appropriated someone else’s car and made his way over to his would-be victim’s house.

More details are unclear, but the district attorney is looking into the matter, no doubt before giving her an “attaboy” for ridding the parish of a violent asshole.

Interesting People

I’ve never read any of the late Fay Weldon‘s novels, but I have to say that she was an interesting person.  In a time when 22-year-old “influencers” trade on their bodies and faces to create wealth out of nothing, there’s something appealing about a woman who grew up — and later flourished — during a time when such a life would have been absolutely impossible.  And by being outrageous despite all that, she became a true feminist — the kind of feminist I applaud rather than despise (i.e. the modern feministicals).  And let’s face it, how can you not love someone with these two snippets on her resume:

[Her] first script was rejected as too explicit — no one, explained a man at the BBC, wanted to watch a drama about prostitutes, ‘no matter how well written’.

Her career flying, at a party in 1961 she fell into bed with that man who introduced himself next morning.  For the next decade they were rarely out of bed — sex was the whole basis of their relationship.  ‘I thought the only way to know a man properly was to know what he was like in bed,’ she said, ‘and my appetite for knowledge was formidable.’

Formidable, indeed.  I’m going to get one of her novels and read it.

Our next interesting person also did things his own way.

He started off life as a bricklayer, and then set out to conquer the world.

In his 86 years, David Gold conquered the worlds of retail, property, publishing and air travel and was estimated to be worth a staggering £500m.

What kind of publishing, you ask?   Sex magazines — hitherto unavailable in Britain.  What kind of property?  Four stores called “Ann Summers”, which sold sex toys.  The he made his daughter Jacqueline (who needs her own post, but she isn’t dead yet) the CEO of Ann Summers, and she promptly turned the business into the sex toy equivalent of Tupperware, amassing her own personal fortune of just over half a billion dollars along the way.

And then David became chairman of first Birmingham City and then West Ham F.C. in London, and died recently with a mistress of twenty-four years’ standing, who happened to be nearly twenty years his junior.

Just as formidable, and not at all bad for a one-time brickie with no university degree.

I love life stories that read like this.

Conviviality

We have a guest in our house:  New Wife’s brother will be staying with us for a week or so, having managed the 330-hour flight from Johannesburg to DFW (some exaggeration, perhaps).

Anyway, he is a man of gargantuan tastes (despite being slender in frame), so yesterday consisted of picking him up from the airport, feeding him breakfast at our place followed by an evening which consisted of beer, wine and BBQ.  Also much laughter and good times (see title).

Today promises more of the same — and we haven’t even reached the Christmas weekend yet.

Oy.

And he brought with him from Seffrica all sorts of delicacies e.g. biltong, Richelieu brandy and various Christmas comestibles, so the effects of his visit will be felt long hence.

Next week will be spent pretty much at the range, as he attempts to deplete my ammo stock as much as he’s started to attack my booze cupboard.  Little does he know…

What fun.  What glorious, glorious fun.

My head hurts.

Changing Times

I have mentioned in the past that I planned on giving Connie’s Browning High Power to Daughter for her birthday, for hereditary reasons.  Well, I broached the topic with Daughter, and was surprised when she showed no interest in the Browning at all.

“I have enough handguns.  I mean, I have as many as you do.”  (true)
“But it’s your Mom’s gun.”
“It’s like offering to give me her favorite hammer — it really doesn’t mean anything, but thank you for the offer.”

She’s completely unsentimental about the gun — although I wouldn’t be surprised if the Browning didn’t also trigger some unwelcome memories along the way, but I’m not going to explore that little issue.  She doesn’t want the High Power, and that’s that.

Which is fine by me.  I love the BHP, its Europellet chambering notwithstanding, so it’s not going to go anywhere.

I also listened to Hackathorn and Wilson discussing the 9mm cartridge, and Bill Wilson is of the considered opinion that in terms of tissue damage and even stopping power, the new breed of 124gr 9mm hollowpoints are as effective as the lighter 185gr .45 ACP cartridges — which are exactly what I’m carrying in the 1911 because of recoil (pain) issues with the heavier 230gr.

So the plan has changed.  Son&Heir will indeed be getting my old Springfield 1911 .45 ACP for his birthday, and…

I’m going to be carrying the High Power 9mm in its place:

…loaded with these: 

You may all pick yourselves up off the floor, now.

And yes, I’m aware that these may be the End Times.